Taste of Power--Part 17

Part XVII


Zane strokes my hair as I gurgle on his thick, bulbous cock-head.

Calvin lies motionless against the cabinet, hand-cuffed, still refusing to open his eyes.

Chris teeters in the hammock, hanging from the chandelier, his groans muffled by the ball-gag.  His gargled protests rise in pitch as he realizes what I’m doing.

“What’s wrong, Chris?  Don’t like watching your cocksucker worship me?  You had your chance with him, and you blew it.  You should really stop drawing attention to yourself up there.  Better to be forgotten, I should think.  What do you suppose is going to happen when I let you down?”

I feel a sting against my cheeks as Zane claps them.

“Did I say you could stop?”

Slowly, I lick the vein of his grungy cock.

“Good boy,” he says, tickling my neck.

I cough and start to gag.  Zane holds my head down, making me choke around his cock.  I shudder; I whimper; my vision blanches.

He lets me go and I gasp for air.

“You should let Chris go,” I croak.  “Does he really need to watch this?”

I flinch as Zane raises a fist, but he looks over at Chris instead.

“Let him go?” Zane asks, standing, thumbing circles into his curled up pointer finger.  With one foot, he pushes my face into his other foot, and I take the hint, drooping my tongue out and licking softly.

“I’m not going to give up something for nothing,” Zane adds.  “Care to take his place?”

I suck the raunchy space between his toes.  “Yes,” I whisper.

“Can’t bear to see your idol in a compromised position?”

“Please, Zane.  You’ve made your point.”

“I suppose that’s one way to look at it.”  He pushes my face away with his foot.  “Faggot pussy position.”

I crouch, pressing my face down into the carpet, and jutting my ass into the air.

Zane tugs my boxers down, exposing my ass.  He pulls the boxers off and throws them into the corner.  I maintain the position, my breathing heavy.

Zane reaches down and gropes my ass cheeks.  “You’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you?”

I nod, my mouth half-open.  “Let Chris down.”

He circles me and presses his other foot against my lips.

I kiss it, my lips smacking.

Zane steps on my face with one foot.  Not hard enough to break anything, but enough that I feel a light stab of pain.  “Don’t move a muscle.”

I look into his eyes, my ass still pointing up.

He drags his feet away from my face, one after another.

He saunters over to Chris.  “Having fun?”

Chris shakes his head slightly.

“Bummer,” Zane says.  He punches Chris in the gut.  Then winds up and does it again.  “You think I should let you down?”

Chris nods gingerly.

Zane unties the hammock, and Chris--still trapped inside it--falls flat on the floor.  There’s nothing to break his fall but the carpet.

The thud reverberates through the floor; the chandelier shakes.  Zane chuckles, rolling Chris over, freeing the space over the hammock.  Chris cringes, his face flushed.  I think he got the wind knocked out of him.

“Get over here,” Zane says, beckoning me.  I crawl toward him.  He bundles me up in the hammock, then lifts me up moments later, tying me in place.  I’m suspended in space, naked, hanging above the scene, the cross-weave digging into me.  My hardening dick has nowhere to hide, instead burrowing through a gap and pointing down at them.

Zane paces in front of Chris, finally bending down to take the ball-gag out of Chris’s mouth.

“You fucking asshole,” Chris says, his voice breaking.

Zane walks back to me, shoving the gag in my mouth.  “It’s cute, see?  It’s like you get to make out with your hero.  Do you like the taste of his spit?”

I teeter back and forth.

Zane sneers and slaps my dick.  My dick springs around.

Unsure of what to do, I nod.

“I wonder if Chris feels the same way,” Zane says, pacing back over to Chris.

“This has gone way too far,” Chris says.  “I didn’t agree to this.”

“Good point, Chris.  You agreed--to kiss my feet.  Since you lost.”

“You already had Travis do that.”

“But I want you to do it, Chris.”  He looms over Chris, who lies on his stomach, crippled for the time-being, his hands still tied behind his back.  Zane grabs him by the hair, tilting his face up to make eye contact.  “And you are going to do what I want.”

He drops Chris, who flops back to the floor, his face landing on Zane’s foot.

“Aren’t you good for your word, Chris?”

Chris cranes his neck up at Zane, reshaping his shattered expression into a blank one.  Chris pecks Zane’s foot with a short smack.  “There.  You had your fun.  Now let me out of here.”

“Are you just going to leave Calvin and Travis here with me then?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Does anyone?”

“Enough bullshit, Zane, let me go!”

“Hmm.  You know, that wasn’t much of a kiss.  Everyone knows a good kiss has some tongue.”

“Go to hell, Zane!”

“I want a good kiss, Chris.”

“Fuck off.”

Zane smirks.  “How long are you going to put on a show, Chris?  You want to prove you won’t just do as you’re told?  You aren’t some little bitch?  Can’t we just skip ahead to the part where you decide its best to just get it over with?”

“No,” Chris spits.

Zane hunches over and pulls down Chris’s silk boxers, exposing his ass.  “Look at that ass.  So muscled and masculine.  Just like the rest of you.  Except your mind.  The human mind…is such a malleable thing.”

“I’m not gay,” Chris says.

“Maybe not yet.”

“You can’t just make someone gay!” Chris says.  “Get real.”

Zane’s cock bounces freely as he walks.  He never bothered to put it away.  He rounds on Chris, squatting behind him.

Zane massages Chris’s ass.  “During the whole gay rights episode, people loved to parrot that.  ‘People are born a certain way!’  It’s genetic—or something.  There is no environmental cause for sucking cock; there is no one to blame.  And thus it’s convenient for all those who didn’t want to blame themselves.  But if there is nothing wrong with being gay--then there is nothing wrong with causing someone to be gay either.  At any rate, it isn’t a question of what is convenient.  It’s a question of what makes sense.  I’ve seen people talk about identical twins—how if one is gay, the other one has a 50-50 chance of being gay as well.  Therefore, being gay must be at least partly genetic, one supposes.”

In a soft motion, he pulls Chris’s ass cheeks to the sides, exposing the rosy star.  “The flip side is that being gay is NOT totally ingrained.  So what is it then?  Some experiences people have must MAKE them gay.  In prison, there were guys you would never imagine…who let me make their ass into my fuck-sleave.  For protection.  For social order.  For peace of mind.  For a perverted sense of brotherhood.  Because I made them feel SOO good.”

“Get the hell away from my ass.”

“It’s always ‘straight’ studs like you that make the greatest show of how averse to gay stuff they are.  Why the passion?  It’s not like you would be so perturbed if I accused you of being a doorknob.  Falsehood has no bearing on offensiveness.  It’s the status you read into the insult.  It makes you seem prejudiced.  It also makes the truth about you ambiguous.  Maybe most truths are.”

“I’m not letting you get a ‘perverse sense of brotherhood’ with my ass to prove some point.”

Zane drags his finger over Chris’s hole, who shudders.

“Are you going to kiss my feet?  For real this time?”

“Fine,” Chris grumbles.  Zane walks back around, and pushes his foot under Chris’s face.  Chris steals a glance up at him.  “Look—since for whatever reason, fags like Travis drive you completely BONKERS, maybe you should just find a girl instead, and save everyone some trouble.”

“Aren’t you listening?” Zane asks, kneeling and stroking Chris’s cheek.  “I have found my girl.”

“Why are you so--hateful?” Chris croaks.

“You’ve got it all backwards.  I’m not hateful.  I think faggots are--misunderstood.  They lacked the tools, historically, to explain what was wrong.  They want to become their true selves.  Society wouldn’t let that happen.  So they appealed to society’s bogus promise of freedom as a pathway to get there.  An ends to a means.”  Zane smirks.  “Kiss my foot—NOW.”

Chris groans.  He opens his mouth and presses his lips against Zane’s foot.  His tongue prods the crown of Zane’s foot gently.

“Our society hates sex, because sex is subversive.  It forms bonds between persons, but not between peoples--at least--not at society’s convenience.  That’s why betrothals dominated for so damn long.  Gay acts are very subversive.  And thus society hates gays too.  And that’s why you are the one who hates gays—not me.  Because you are society’s little envoy.  I hate society just as much as Travis does.  A real person loves sex, naturally, but the weight of culture makes people two-faced.”

Zane wiggles his foot.

Chris drops one more slow kiss on Zane, his expression blank.

“Gay people thought that by asking for respect, they might be able to make a good case for why they deserved rights.  That’s fine for them as a people, but not for them as persons.  As individuals, they are tired of being so respectable.  They want to lick balls.  They want a big dong up their ass.  They want the subversive stuff that is the opposite of what society told them they should want; in many cases, the opposite of status and power.  They want the self-determination promised in the civic phrase ‘all men are created equal, endowed with the unalienable right of liberty.’  It lets them pivot and be utterly emasculated in private.”

“We’re not in private,” Chris says.

“But we have been before,” Zane says.  “Why don’t you tell them?”

Chris looks up at Zane, not blinking, not cringing.

“Tell them why you let me have my fun with Travis in the basement, showing off for Calvin?  Why you let me test my theories out on Calvin just hours ago?  Why you even agreed to this game, even though you had already won?”

Chris looks down.

Zane turns and looks at me.  “Chris here has already sucked my cock.”

I can’t react, so I just look at him, swinging in space.

“That’s right Travis!  Your hero, your DREAM here, is a fraud.  It happened when we were twelve.  After playing car-jacking video games in his basement.  With his parents upstairs.  We were curious about sex, you see?  We agreed that I’d suck his if he’d suck mine.  He wasn’t very good, but somehow, after a desperate effort, he managed to get me off.  Anyway, by the time it was my turn—I didn’t want to.  People are always entitled to have a change of heart.”

Chris didn’t move a muscle.

“Now I can get you to do it whenever I want, can’t I?”

“Liar,” Chris says.  “You’re a liar.”

“But I wasn’t before the last part?”

Chris freezes up.

“Your honor gives you away—again!  But now—I think it’s about time for you to redeem yourself.  I want to feel your wet lips on my cock again.  C’mon Chris—won’t you be my girl?”

“No fucking way.”

“You were so afraid they’d find out what happened.  Well, now they know anyway.  And I want to give them some firsthand knowledge.”  Zane jacks down on his cock-shaft, pulling back foreskin and exposing his bulbous cock-head.   His cock jumps and thickens in his palm.  “Things don’t have to be so complicated.  Stop puffing out your chest in mock pride.   Stop trying to ascend.  Stop trying to prove you are a man.  Sink down, into the depths of what you really are meant to be.  Be my girl, Chris.”

“Go fuck yourself, you white trash piece of garbage!  You’re the faggot, or you’d have a girlfriend of your own.”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say.  I think you owe me an apology.”

Chris spits on Zane’s foot.

“Well, if you aren’t going to apologize like a civilized person, then you can apologize like a brute.  Do you know how people apologize in prison?”

Chris closes his eyes.

Zane prods Chris’s mouth with his foot, and Chris looks up tentatively.

“People apologize by kissing ass, Chris.”

Chris struggles against the twine, and Zane steps on his back.

“You owe me an apology, Chris.”

“Gross.”

Zane shrugs, rolling Chris onto his back.  “Two apologies then.”

Chris falls silent.

“There are ways you can avoid this, you know?  Just say what I want to hear.”

Chris looks away.

“Well, if you want my ass that bad…”

Zane sits on Chris’s face.

“Kiss my ass, Chris.  I want to feel those wet lips.”

Zane closes his eyes—moaning--subtly rising up and down.  “Mmn.  Don’t forget--good kisses have tongue.”

Zane bites down on his lip, snarling.  “I wanna feel that tongue—kinda like you wanna breathe.”

His eyes roll up into his head and he arches his back, flexing his thick, tattooed pectorals out.  “Fu-u-uck!  Fu--uck yeah, girl.  Fuck.”

Chris writhes fruitlessly as Zane heckles him.  “Are you sorry now, girl?  Now that I’m about to make you my faggot?”

Chris kicks into the air in futility.  Zane sneers.  “Maybe you are, maybe you aren’t.”

Zane rises up, balancing on his knees and outstretched fists, far enough that Chris gets a chance to gasp for air.  Before Chris can catch his breath, Zane lowers his ass on his face again, making Chris inhale right into Zane’s crack.

“Time for the second apology,” Zane says, sneering, grinding around.  “For calling my ass gross.  Are you hard yet?”  He reaches down and grips Chris’s cock, which is limp in his hand.  “Nope, not yet.  Not as spirited as Travis, I guess.  Well—it’s easier to think of you as a dickless bitch this way.”

Zane bides his time, holding onto the sides of Chris’s head.  He farts, then after another chuckle, crawls off of him, twisting around to look at his work.

It looks foreign to me: the historically groomed face and hair of the boy who may as well be the school’s patron saint…is now a barely recognizable, sweaty, grungy, mess.  Some of his hair is downcast over his eyes, while other portions jut outward.

He gasps for air, trying to control himself, trembling in place.

“Still think I’m gross, Chris?” Zane asks.

Chris looks at the ceiling, stunned.

“Answer me,” Zane says, prodding him in the balls.

“No, Zane.”

Zane grips tightly on Chris’s balls.  “I know you like to call Travis a bitch.  But everyone can see that you are my bitch now.  Wouldn’t you say?”

A glazed look spreads across Chris’s face, and he surprises me by starting to hum the mokimon theme.

“WOULDN’T YOU SAY?” Zane shrieks.  He rolls Chris back onto his stomach.  “I needed to teach Travis how to rim.  Now it looks like I’ll need to teach you.”

Chris doesn’t register a reaction as Zane spreads his ass out and licks.  His eyes fall shut and he continues humming.

Zane either decides he’s done enough, or he isn’t satisfied with Chris’s meltdown, because he sidles up Chris’s back and slaps him in the face.  “Snap out of it, bitch.”

Chris blinks a few times, his mouth falling open.  “Don’t do this, Zane.  Please.  I befriended you—even though you were on the other side of the tracks.  Even though everyone thought you were crazy.  Don’t prove them right.”

“Your face may not make a good cunt.  But your ass begs to differ.”

“I’m a man, Zane.  I’m a straight man.”

“Not anymore.”

Zane lines up his cock.

“STOP.”

Zane freezes, surprised to hear the voice from over the couch.

Calvin’s voice rumbles.  “Stop Zane.”

“You must be joking.”

“If you keep going, it’s a crime.”

I am pretty sure Zane already passed that marker by assaulting us, but I’m in no position to qualify Calvin’s statement.

“A crime would be letting this opportunity slip through my fingers.”

Calvin shudders.  “If you keep going, you’ll get sent back to prison.  Let him go, and you won’t regret it in the long run.  I swear.”

“I’m not going to give up a virgin jock hole when I’m this pumped up.”

“So take mine instead.”

Zane perks up.  “And that wouldn’t be a crime?”

“No.  I’m asking you to do it.  You get the same prize, with no guilt.”

“Guilt is a social construction,” Zane says, chewing on Chris’s ear, his cock sliding precariously along Chris’s crack.  “People get embarrassed around other people.  They feel anxious about being embarrassed.  And society rebrands that anxiety as ‘guilt.’  They hope people will relieve that anxiety in a way that serves society.  Guilt isn’t real.”

“Whatever.  Believe that if you must.  But jail cells are real in any case.  You don’t even like being suspended from school.”

Zane snarls.  “If I let Chris go, I’m going to take out my rage on you ten-fold, Calvin.  You really think you are ready for that?”

“Yes,” Calvin says, finally looking him in the eye.

“The word ‘no’ will drop out of your vocabulary?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll call me master?”

“Yes--master.”

Zane crouches and scoops Chris into his arms.  Chris doesn’t even recoil.

“Take him,” Zane says, thrusting Chris over the couch towards Calvin.  “He’s a piece of shit anyway.”  With one arm shackled down, Calvin is barely able to guide Chris to the ground without another thunderous landing.

Zane hops over the couch, towing Chris to the back door by his tied up wrists.

“You think I should take the deal, Chris?  Calvin is still on my checklist, after all.”

Chris nods.

“So brave you are.  Look at your hero, Travis.  Look at her beg!”  Zane laughs.  “If I let you go, Chris, there are a few more stipulations.  First, you cede the first spot in our weight class to me.”

“Okay,” Chris whispers.

“And secondly—and you have to get this one right—you have to answer one simple question.  Chris—who is my girl?”

Chris and Zane look into one another’s eyes, the serpentine green ones boring into the glittering gold.

“I am,” Chris croaks.

“Great answer,” Zane says.

Zane gathers up Chris’s clothes, pickpocketing his wallet and phone.  “If you don’t run and tattletale, I’ll get these back to you on Monday,” Zane says.  “Not that I really need insurance.  Eduardo and the others still respect you, after all.  Wouldn’t want to give me a reason to change that.”

Even I got to keep my phone, when it was me.  Then again, Chris still had my keys.  Somewhere.  My dick is half-hard now, as I make brief eye contact with Chris.  It protrudes out of the hammock pathetically.

Zane slides the door open, and drops Chris’s clothes and keys outside.  He unties Chris’s wrists, grabs him by the waist, and heaves him onto the back porch.

Then he pulls the door shut behind him.  We watch through the glass as Chris stoically dons his clothes and walks gingerly into the forest, the scene augmented by Zane’s jeering and laughter.

“It’s for the best, Calvin,” Zane says, turning back toward us.  “Chris was hitting her limits.  She’ll need time for things to sink in and build anew.  Just like she didn’t get stacked muscles after a single workout.  The seeds have been planted.  Now I just wait and see when I can bear the fruit.”  He struts back over to Calvin, retrieving the lock pick from his bag.  He unshackles Calvin from the cabinet, then cuffs Calvin’s arms behind his back.  He pulls off Calvin’s boxers, smirking, slapping Calvin’s balls.

Calvin whimpers.

They stare into each other.

Calvin’s cherubic blue eyes, flecked with pain, alive under the assault of Zane’s vile glare.  

A touch of fear invades Zane’s expression; Calvin seems to score an unthinkable point.

Zane slams Calvin’s shoulders into the cabinet.

Zane snakes his tongue into Calvin’s ear, and Calvin juts out his chest.  Zane whispers into Calvin’s ear, and Calvin bites his lip.  They look into each other’s eyes again, but this time, the light in Calvin’s eyes fades, moment by moment, until he closes his eyes.

When Calvin opens them again, the hope has been snuffed out.  He bites his tongue, his expression mirroring Zane’s lust.

Zane vaults the couch again, then pulls Calvin after him, dropping him onto the floor underneath me.

“Calvin—get in the faggot pussy position.”

Calvin draws his knees in toward his chest, shoving his ass into the air.

I think of myself, for a fleeting moment.

Even though I’m swinging slowly, it feels like whiplash.  So much; so fast; I’m dizzy from the rapid movements; like watching the old seizure-inducing mokimon.  I want to close my eyes, but a morbid curiosity keeps me tuned out of myself—and tuned into them.

Though the view of Calvin is partially obscured by my drooping dick.

Zane spits on his own cock, jacking it in short, violent clicks.

Zane crouches down behind Calvin.  He grabs each of Calvin’s creamy ass cheeks, pulling on them crudely.  He spits on Calvin’s hole.  “I’m a bit too worked up for foreplay.”

“Fine,” Calvin breathes.

Zane slides his cock along Calvin’s crack.  Zane’s tan, sinewy, inked up body makes friction with the pure-hued, pale, voluptuous complexion of Calvin’s ass.

Zane grabs his jockstrap and shoves it into Calvin’s face.  “Bite down on this, faggot.”

Calvin bites.

Zane plunges his cock inside.

The image is surreal—watching Calvin’s wet hole bloom open just enough to swallow half of Zane’s adamant, fuming, corkscrew cock.

Calvin whines fiercely; his cries are muffled until he spits the jock strap out.  Calvin moans in pain.

“It’s a good thing you’ve fucked yourself dreaming of this, isn’t it?”

“Yes, master,” Calvin croaks, clearly on the verge of tears.  “Please—go slow.”

Zane grips Calvin by the back of the head, pulling on his hair, making him arch his back.  Fury etches across his face.  I expect him to ignore Calvin’s protests and take what he wants, but he pauses, holding Calvin’s trembling upper body in place.

Zane doesn’t just like fucking guys.

Into submission.  Into emasculation.  Into oblivion.

He likes making them want him to.

“Fuck,” Calvin whimpers.  “Oh, fuck.”

With one hand tugging on Calvin’s hair, Zane employs his other hand to coax Calvin’s ass, rubbing the left cheek in slow circles, slowly nurturing the hole.

Another chunk of Zane’s cock digs inside.

Zane switches to the right, gripping Calvin’s ass tightly, his thumb impressing into the skin, making a rosy blemish in its wake.

Calvin’s asshole winks open again, and the brunt of Zane’s thick cock sticks it.

“Hell,” Calvin whimpers.

“That’s good,” Zane coos.  “Good job.”

He drops his grip on Calvin’s hair, grabbing Calvin’s ass with both hands and spreading it apart.  Then, he buries the rest of his cock into Calvin’s trembling hole.

Calvin collapses forward onto his stomach, rooting his head around in Zane’s jockstrap and gnawing on it.  He breathes in slowly, closing his eyes and relaxing.

Zane puts both hands on the back of Calvin’s head, establishing a rhythm of thrusts.  Dimples form in Zane’s strong ass on each upstroke; his shoulderblades rise in triumph.  Zane pushes Calvin’s head through the leg of the jockstrap and into the carpet.

“Aren’t you grateful I gave you an excuse to play the angel?  To volunteer yourself as my cunt for the right reasons?”

“Yes.”

“This is what you wanted anyway.”

“Yes.”

“And what do you think of me now?  Honestly?”

“You are still--a terrible person.”

“I know.  Isn’t it hot?”

Zane grabs the back of Calvin’s head again, twisting it sideways against the floor.  Zane droops down, coiling into position, nibbling on Calvin’s lips.

Calvin’s mouth hangs ajar.

Zane licks the underside of Calvin’s upper lip before lurching his tongue into Calvin’s open mouth.  Calvin’s mouth softens into an ‘o’ and he sucks on Zane’s tongue, moaning.  Zane humps Calvin harder, his abs clapping against Calvin’s ass.  Calvin opens his mouth again and their lips interlock.  Calvin’s handcuffs rattle;  Zane’s arms dig underneath Calvin and do something that makes him squeal like a pig.

“C’mon, pussy faggot, shove that ass up for me.”

“God, I hate you.”  Calvin smirks in spite of himself, pushing his ass up, meeting Zane’s thrust.

“I hate you, too,” Zane says, kissing and humping him again.

Calvin whines sporadically, each noise rising in pitch and duration.

Zane’s thrusts clink like a miner’s axe, each one forcing its way a bit deeper into the glimmering, wet hole.  Calvin is prone on the floor now, fucked out of the pussy faggot position and into a position that is stiff like a board, but flexed and warped under pressure.

Calvin sniffs on the jockstrap until he snorts.

“Wish we’d unleashed your inner pig earlier,” Zane says.  He starts biting Calvin’s ear and whispering too quietly for me to hear.  Calvin’s irises seem to swim halfway into his head; he lets out another crackling moan, shuddering; he sucks on the jockstrap and struggles against his cuffs.

“Faggot,” Zane says, massaging Calvin’s ass with both hands.  He snarls, pulling on Calvin’s ass, pinching it, before lining up a few brutish slaps.  “I said I’d take out my anger ten-fold…”

“That hurts, master.”

“Good.  I’m just getting started.”

Zane grabs the back of Calvin’s neck, pummeling him like a jackhammer.  “Shove your ass up, retard.”

“I’m trying,” Calvin breathes.

“God, yeah,” Zane growls, letting loose a bit more, raining down thrusts and clawing up Calvin’s back.  “Remember how ghost-faced you were, watching me wreck Travis?  That was all jealousy, wasn’t it?”

“Half-jealously,” Calvin whimpers.  “Half-disgust.”

“Don’t lie to yourself.”

“Maybe 60-40,” Calvin says.  He tries to shrug, but Zane’s hammering compels him to arch his spine and to throw his head back.

“I said to push out your ass, not arch your back,” Zane says, pushing Calvin’s face back into the carpet and pulling his ass up into the air again.  Zane holds it in place and wallops it.  He inhales, rising up, before spitting onto Calvin’s cheek.

He reaches underneath Calvin again, flexing.

Calvin jolts his ass up, wrinkling his face.

Zane smirks.  “If you think I’m so gross why do I make you so hard?”

“Disgust and lust aren’t opposites.”

“Fair point,” Zane says.  He uses two fingers to push the spit across Calvin’s cheek and into his mouth.

Calvin chews down on it twice before swallowing.

Zane snarls, shoving his spit-covered fingers past the edge Calvin’s lips.  Calvin pushes his tongue out in order to roll it around Zane’s fingers, drawing them into his mouth.

Zane shoves his fingers knuckle-deep into Calvin’s cunt-face, using his free hand to spank Calvin’s ass over and over.  Calvin doesn’t even begin to protest; he just moans and sucks Zane’s fingers as his ass gets redder and redder.  Zane snarls, pulling Calvin’s hair back and driving into his ass like a man possessed.

“I’m losing my mind here,” Zane murmurs.  “I’m not sure I can handle how much of a faggot you are.”

Calvin babbles incoherently on Zane’s fingers.

Zane pulls them out of Calvin’s mouth, wringing his neck again.  “What was that?”

“Fuck me.  Please--destroy me.”

Calvin clenches his shackled fists, wriggling his butt into the air one last time.

Zane claps down--palming it--before striking down with the full force of his body.

“YOU FAGGOT PIECE OF SHIT.”

“Yes, master.”

Zane wraps his arms around Calvin, marking his body with pools of sweat, crushing him.  His flexing arms quiver.

“YOU SELF-RIGHTEOUS PIG.  YOU CUNT-FACED WHORE.”

“Yes, master.”

Zane’s breathing accelerates in time with his vicious clobbering.

“YOU PUSSY PUNK BITCH.  YOU MUTHERFUCKING, COCKSUCKING, DESPERATE-ASS, BASTARD FAGGOT!”

Zane hammers down, abandoning any sense of restraint.  Calvin’s asshole glints in anticipation.

“You’re getting a bit redundant, Zane.”

Zane claps Calvin’s mouth shut.  “Piss off.”

I close my eyes, trying to process what I feel.  It’s hard to concentrate with the progressively louder ‘FWAP FWAP FWAP’ of a man reaming my friend into a faggot.

The cross-weave chafes my skin.  It’s been digging in too long.  Several of my limbs have fallen asleep; it feels like thousands of little pins shooting into my skin over and over.  My blood has run to the wrong places, like the vertigo of a ghetto carnival ride, and still I float, in a nauseous half-jealousy, half-disgust.

FWAP FWAP FWAP.

Calvin moans into Zane’s palm, distending his ass in abject submission.  I wonder if I seem as much of a slut when Zane abuses my hole.  But mostly I wonder if I look as ghostly as Calvin did watching me—hovering in place—pale--prone to my own fits of invisibility.

“Who’s you’re hero, Calvin?” Zane asks.

“Albert Schweitzer.”

Zane spanks him so hard it echoes.  “TRY AGAIN.”

“You, Zane,” Calvin says, breathing hard through the pain.  “Is that what you want to hear?”

Zane lets loose; Calvin’s ass emits undignified slurping noises.

“Yeah,” Zane says, clenching his eyes shut.  “Fuck yeah.  Hear that, TRAVIS?”  He shoots me a look.  “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you up there.”

His glare says two things.

The first, I will be punished.

The second, I can’t quite place, but it’s a deeper castigation that seems to pierce the soul.

“Lick till you blow, faggot.”  Zane twists Calvin’s head and shoves it into his armpit, flexing.  He sneers at me, tonguing his lips and biting down as Calvin laps at the sweaty, mind-numbing reservoir.

Calvin whimpers, sniffing and closing his eyes.

Zane slaps Calvin across the face.  Did I say you could smell, you stupid jocksniffer?  You’ve got to earn it now.  No more stealing my essence.”

“Yes master,” Calvin whispers, licking Zane’s pit.  He starts whimpering, flexing his ass, his voice getting higher.

The battering of Calvin’s ass gets loud enough to compete with Chris’s fall.

“Who’s your hero, Calvin?”

“You are.”

Calvin’s ass starts to clench in rhythmic bursts as he licks and licks and licks.

Zane moans at the servile stimulation, then whispers again into Calvin’s ear.

“Fuck,” Calvin whines, his body cohering like an old sponge.  “FUCK!”

“Go ahead and cum, now, slaveboy.  You earned it.”

“Mmn.  Fuck it out of me, master.  Please.”

Zane grabs his jockstrap and shoves it under Calvin’s body, making Calvin twitch as he clouts him.

Zane refuses to pass up the opportunity to consummate Calvin’s gripping virgin cumhole--unleashing his primal rage in a half-dozen wicked-hard FWAPS--and an unintelligible torrent of swear words.

Then, he finishes—gasping wide--beaming from ear to ear.

“You are my faggot.”

“Yes master,” Calvin whimpers.

Zane runs his hand through Calvin’s hair before holding him tightly, still buried inside him.  Zane nuzzles into Calvin’s neck and their eyes fall closed again.

They take their time to cool down.  When Zane finally pulls out, sticky and spent, Calvin curls up on the ground, motionless, refusing to open his eyes.

Zane rises, walking toward me and pulling off my ball-gag.

“Zane, I—“

He shoves the jockstrap into my face.  “Suck Calvin’s cum, cunt-face.”

I slurp down, looking into Zane’s eyes.

“Don’t you dare think you are going to get off easy,” he says, punching me in the gut.

Pain shards nick my body like falling onto a crag of ice.

I shake my head, biting down on the jock, milking out Calvin’s sweet cum.

“You won’t.  Not at all.  I’ve got the whole weekend to make you fags get it.”  He grips my rock-hard dick.  “Capiche?”

I stare into his glimmering green eyes, and slowly, I nod.

“Good,” Zane says.  He turns back to Calvin.  “Now that we squared that away—I think you owe me an apology or two.   Don’t you?”



---
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---

The Douchebag and the Hole--Part 18, and Epilogue

Part XVIII


“Erica!” I said, sitting up with a start.

“Just me and you in here, buddy,” Duke said.

“No—it’s just—I should make sure to say goodbye before she leaves.”  I hopped up.  “Can you get this umbrella thing off me?”

“I kind of like it there,” Duke said.

“Duke!”

Duke sighed, untying it for me.  I hopped around the room, pulling on clothes.

“Not sure you should go down just yet.  Your breath still smells like ball sweat.”

My eyes flared, but then I softened.  I gurgled some mouthwash.

“Should I come down after you?” Duke said.

“Mnn.”

I bounced across the hallway past the guestroom, darted to the bathroom, and spit in the sink.

Then, I hurtled down the stairs.  Erica was still there, splayed out on the couch, with Matt’s head resting on her breast.  She played with his hair, stopping only when she saw me.  “It’s about time you got your awkward ass down here.  We were going to leave any minute.”

“No you weren’t,” I said, still short of breath from all that had happened.

“Well, everyone else did, and we would have left too--if I weren’t afraid it would make you feel guilty.  You are just lucky to have me.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” I said.  “You two—look so happy together.”

“Are we gonna meet Duke?” Matt asked.  “Cuz all I saw was a watery blur exchange about two words with Erica, then launch its way up the stairs.”

“He might come down, to say goodbye.  That reminds me--if you guys don’t want to go out this late—or are afraid the rain will start up again—you can always just crash on the couch.”

“Oh my God,” Matt said, his eyes bulging out as he looked past me.

“What?” I asked, wondering if a firework was loose in the house or something.

But it was just Duke, standing on the stairs.

Wearing nothing but a towel.

“Duke—where are your clothes?”

“They were still drenched from the rain.  And your stuff is too small.  Oh that reminds me—I just ruined one of your t-shirts.”

I shook my head.  “My family could see you, y’know.”

“I don’t have anything to hide,” Duke said, expanding out his chest.

“C’mon you big oaf,” Erica said.  “Stop looming and sit with us.  I never really got the chance to chat before.”

Duke walked over, puffing out a cheek.  “That’s cuz you shoved me and insulted me.”

“Sorry about that.  Let’s just start over,” Erica said.  “Tell us about yourself.”

“Um.  I mostly like to sleep and work out.   Eating’s good too, sometimes.  That was a good pumpkin pie, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Erica said.  “The secret ingredient is actually love.”

“Is it a sex-pie?” Duke asked.

“What’s a sex-pie?” Erica asked.

“I dunno.  You said it had love.”

“No, I mean you love the pie.  You love cooking.”

“I don’t love cooking.  I love eating.”

“Are you screwing with me?”

“Hey, it’s your sex-pie.”

“Look, there’s nothing weird about my pie!”

“Was it organic?”

I cleared my throat.  “Duke’s not always a conversationalist.  Maybe we could just chill for a bit, y’know?”

Matt nodded.  “We could finish off the game of Pictionary.  Duke can replace Billy.”

“Probably a downgrade,” Erica muttered—but she had a hint of a smile.

I had to draw pictures to get Duke to guess the secret phrase Erica brainstormed up.   If we succeeded, the game would be over.

Erica handed me the note of what I was supposed to draw for Duke, and we were off.

I looked into his face and memorized it.

I drew an oval, with sharp edges on the left and right.  In the middle were concentric circles, one flecked with lines, and the other shaded in.  Above and below were little coiling hairs.

“Eye?” Duke guessed.

I nodded.

Next I drew a pumpkin, and a pie, and the person measuring out ingredients.

“Pumpkin?  Milk?  Sugar?”

I kept shaking my head.

“Cloves?  Sex-pie?”

I shook my head again.

“Love?”

I nodded.  Then I drew an arrow pointing at him.

“Me?”

I shook my head and drew another arrow pointing at myself.  Technically, symbols weren’t allowed, but I had a feeling that Erica would give me a pass on this one.

“You?” Duke said.   “Eye...Love…You?”

“Yes!” I exclaimed, throwing the pencil down.  “You said ‘I love you!’  We win!”

“Hey no—that doesn’t count,” Duke muttered.  “We don’t win; I didn’t know what I was saying.”

“We win!” I said again.  “You said, ‘I love you’, and now we win.”

“Listen here,” Duke grumbled, putting me in a headlock, “that doesn’t count.”

“It counts,” I whispered.

Duke tightened his biceps and shifted, burying my face in his armpit.  “Doesn’t count,” he growled.

I was smothered and couldn’t argue anymore.

“I think we’d best get going,” Erica said.  “I’d hug you goodbye—but then I’m afraid I’d find out what a sex-pie is.”

I wormed my way out of Duke’s pit, still a little shocked at his audacity.

“I’ll walk you out,” I croaked.

Erica and Matt waved goodbye at the door.  Erica was laughing; Matt was still ogling.  “We’ll see you tomorrow, right?  Erica wants to show off her new air hockey table.”

“Yeah.  Sounds fun.”  And possibly painful.

I pushed the door shut behind them when they left, turning the lock.

Then I swiveled toward Duke.  “You are hopeless—you know that?”

He hung over me, putting his arms on the door on either side of me, leaning in close to my face.  “Doesn’t count, boy.  You can’t trick someone like that.”

“Seems like we just did.”

Duke’s breath was warm on my ear.  “Sometimes, you are such a fuckin’ firebrand.  And I just gotta get you under control.”

He slid his arms down the door, slipping them behind me, and grabbing each ass cheek with one hand, kneading them.

I gasped, falling forward into his chest, and tasting the salty sweat there.

“How are you going to do that?” I whispered.

He tongued my ear.  “I’m gonna hammer you into submission.”

I couldn’t catch my breath, so I spoke in undertones.  “I’d like to see you try.”

“Fuckin’ shit--you are goin’ down tonight.”

He backed off me; he furrowed his eyebrows; he licked his lips.

I hopped up the first few stairs with a bounce in my step.

I felt Duke’s hands groping my ass a second later—and I sunk into him, closing my eyes.  He let me bask in him for a moment, then slipped by me and headed up the stairs.

When he reached the top, he stood in front of the window, and I could see his silhouette etched in moonlight.  An hour ago, the rain had cleared the fog away, but now it was back, and with the way Duke’s body bent the light, it looked like it was inside—as though Duke’s body was steaming.

I felt a sense of vertigo, like I was in the subway, getting a peek at the end of the tunnel.

The next step was hard for me, for some reason.  But I willed myself forward—then again—and again—and soon I was at the top of the stairs.

“Yeah, get back on that bed, firebrand,” Duke whispered.

I wriggled back into place, and Duke locked the door behind us again.

“I liked it better finding you in here naked,” Duke said.

I nodded and started to strip off my clothes.  I lied down on my stomach with my mouth half-open, hoping my ass looked as good as he did in the moonlight.

He walked over to me, pulling off the towel and cracking my ass cheek with it, like a whip.

“Aow!” I yelped.  I rolled over, shielding my ass from view.

Duke climbed on top of me, straddling me, pinning me down.

He leaned in—I thought he was going to kiss me—but instead he just breathed in my ear.  “Did you like that?  I used to do that to Roy in the locker room after weightlifting.  At first, it made him tense, but he got used to it, and just sort of put up with it after a while.  I’m pretty sure you understand the concept.”

“It stings, Duke.  It caught me off guard.”

“Flip back over.  Don’t hide your ass from me.  Don’t ever.  You gotta learn to take it.”

“Duke—“

Duke extended his arms and legs, flexing, giving me room to maneuver.

“Flash me your ass, bitch,” Duke said.  “Show off that hole.”  He grabbed my head and pinned it sideways against my pillow.

I rolled back onto my stomach.  The skin on my ass was still raw where he whipped it.  Slowly, I pushed my ass into the air.  I rubbed an ass cheek with each hand, slowly parting them.

He exhaled into my ear.  “It’s still New Years.  Not too late for another New Years kiss.”

I moaned.  “Kiss me, Manpike.  You know what it does to me.  I love your taste.”

He smacked his lips around my earlobe, then started to kiss along my back.

“Duke…”

I felt him moving down my back, dropping kisses like a breadcrumb trail.

“Duke…”

I was pulling my ass cheeks to the sides for him when he interlaced our fingers.  We kneaded my ass together.

He leaned in and tongued the place where he whipped me, cooling it and sending shivers through me.

He massaged my ass harder, making my hole clench with anticipation.  I moaned, biting my pillow.

Then, Duke buried his face inside.

“Hell,” I whispered.

I felt his tongue digging through my crack, and then, suddenly, he used it to bludgeon my hole.

Earlier, when he kissed my face, he started soft, but when he kissed my ass, he meant business.  He wrenched it open and impaled it.  He made me wet; he battered me up and down; the static in my tendons was back from before.

“Fuck, Duke,” I said, stretching out my toes.

I pushed my ass back against his face; he slammed me down into the bed with both hands, making my dick dig into the mattress.  He snarled, shaking his head about, rooting around, and parting my ass cheeks more.  Then, with a few precise tongue jabs, he worked the boundaries of my hole.

“God, Duke,” I said, clenching my fists.  “Please—fuck me.”

Maybe he considered my desperation punishment from earlier, or maybe he was just totally lost in what he was doing, but he ignored me.  He held me down and explored every bit of my ass he could reach with his tongue and lips—inside and out.

There were smacking and sucking noises as he worked my hole numb from sensation.

I started gasping; my eyes bugged out; my thoughts were broken.

I stole a glance back at him when he pulled his head out.  His face was covered in spit and grime; it was the messiest I ever seen him, and it made me smirk.  He raised his eyebrows, and I buried my face in the pillow.

His breathing was heavy now as he moved up my back.  I felt the rigid heat of Duke’s monster as it prodded my ass cheek.  He slid it along the surface playfully, gripping my free ass cheek with his fist and nibbling my ear.

“Y’know that your asshole doesn’t close all the way anymore?  It used to when I first met you.”

My hole clenched into the open air; I couldn’t silence my breathing.

“Y’know how hot that is?  You’re—all opened up and receptive to me.  Face it—I drilled right into your life, and now you like me here.  You get off on making me at home.”

 “I’m your home, Duke.  You’re safe inside me.  You belong inside me.”

Duke slapped my ass; he hit the part where he whipped before; the force and pain reverberated.

“Dooook.”  My low groaning was barley sensible.

He sucked on my neck.  “Talk with your body, bitch.”

I didn’t hesitate—I pushed my ass high into the air.  I knew what I must look like, with my head pinned down on one side and my toes curling around a fold of sheets on the other.  The archway of my legs, ass, and back bridged the space between—like an easy access catwalk.

“That hole is mine,” he whispered.

Duke plunged his cock inside.

“Fuck,” I whimpered, my voice breaking high.

Only the head had popped past, and yet, I struggled to envelop its girth.

“You can do it,” Duke cooed.  He spread my ass out with his palms.  “I’m gonna make this second nature to you.”

“Practice makes perfect,” I whispered.

“So I’ll hammer you every day I can.”

His cock teased and bruised my mercurial hole; I had to trick my mind into letting it happen.

“I dunno,” I said.  “Seems like you can get kind of complacent.”

“You must be fuckin’ joking,” Duke said, ramming a wedge of his cock inside.

I grunted.  He pulled harder at my ass.

“You know how it is.  You become dispassionate.  How hard can you fuck me through a wall?”

“That’s why I fuckin’ banged on your door and MADE you let me in.”

The next few inches of his cock slid in; my ass lips tightened around them, lilting.

“I liked it when you did that.  I like—feeling your arms around me.  I like looking into your eyes.”

Duke gripped the back of my head and rattled it against my pillow and headboard.  “You can’t look into my eyes right now though, can you?”

He growled, then thrust his cock in to the root.

My mouth gaped open; I dragged my lip across the pillow; I closed my eyes; I willed my full-to-the-brim hole to stay open for him.

Duke blew into my ear.  “Wanna?”

“Yes, Duke,” I whispered.  “I want to look into your eyes while you fuck me.  Please.”

“You sure that sounds good?” Duke teased.  He started to drill my ass with short, piercing thrusts.

“I wanna watch a smile come over your face,” I whispered.

“I might not smile.  I might just be pissed off.”

Duke hammered me, stretching my hole to the limits.  On each downstroke, he let his body envelop me with his heat and sweat and smell.

“Please, Duke.  Please.  Make me watch your face while you fuck me.”

“I dunno.  I’m supposed to hammer you into submission, right?  Doesn’t that mean just doing whatever the hell I want?”

“It means-- whatever you want it to mean.  I tried to be submissive—when you told me to suck your balls—and I looked right into your eyes—and obeyed.”

“Fuck,” Duke growled, slapping my ass.

I whimpered.

“I need to look into your eyes again, Duke.  To submit to you--completely.”

Duke ripped his cock from me and rolled me over.

I panted, catching my breath, getting used to the emptiness.

“Is this what you had in mind?” Duke asked.  He folded my legs up so my hole glinted up at him.

He loomed over me, arranging his cock at my opening.  His body tensed; a hint of anger twinkled in the darkness of his blue eyes; the meat of his muscles flexed above me.

I nodded.

Duke plugged my hole, and I gasped, my eyelids drooping.  Moonlight caked his body; he was fuzzy with fog; he was misty with sweat.

He drudged his arms under me and massaged my back muscles, making me moan.

“Kiss me,” I said.

He ground his cock into my ass, making me quake.

“That was really more of a special New Years thing,” he said.  “Don’t get used to it.”

“It’s still New Years.  Please, Duke.  I like the way you taste.”

Duke spit onto my lip.  It caught me off guard, but I swept it off with my tongue, sucking it down.  “Kiss me,” I whined.

“You don’t even blink when I spit on you?  Are you serious?”

“I like the way you taste, Duke.”

“You are tasting your own ass.  Do you like the taste of ass?”

“Maybe.”

Duke’s thrusts were soft and slow as we talked.  The gripping, intense voyager crossed the gulf, back and forth, marking each subsequent journey with an extra pop.

“I should make you eat my ass more.”

“Sounds hot.”

“God, you are such a fag for me.”

“I’m what you want me to be, Duke.”

Duke paused, as though what I said didn’t quite register.  Then, he made this guttural noise, and pounded my hole without mercy.

“Fuck,” I whispered.

He wrinkled his brow; frustration etched into his face.  His intensity set and he humped me harder.

I licked my lips slowly—then I threw my head back.  I bit my tongue, then my bottom lip.

“You really want a kiss, don’t you?” Duke asked, his eyes twinkling.

I nodded.

“And why should I kiss you?”

“Because you love me.”

“Psh,” he said.

With a long thrust, Duke buried his cock in deep, his balls grinding against me.

“I’m just a douchebag, Holden.  I’m a player; I’m a tool; I’m a dick.  All in good fun.”

“No you aren’t.”

“Yeah I am,” he said, his face contorting.  He growled, slamming into me over and over, making our bodies clap together.

It was making me shake; I could barely focus.

“You’ve meant it without saying it, and you’ve said it without meaning it,” I croaked out.  “Just connect the dots—make the stars align.”

“Fuckin’ shut up.”

“I love you Duke.”

“SHUT UP!” Duke said, covering my mouth with his hand.

A tear rolled down my cheek and his mouth curled.

“You’re getting me all riled up, Holden.  We don’t want your family to hear, do we?”

I shook my head.

“You’re my bitch.”

I nibbled on his hand.

“Fuckin, dammit, Holden,” he said.  He drilled my hole hard enough that it hurt.

Like earlier, the sensation was at the edge of my threshold—much more and I’d go numb with nerves and pleasure.

“Fuckin’ dammit,” he repeated.

His eyes were welling up.  I felt mine widen, looking into his.

“What the fuck?” He muttered.

He pulled his hand away from my mouth—pausing—looking confused.

He looked at me differently—like he’d never looked at me before.

He stared out the window.

“Duke…”

“Fine!” He growled.  “I fuckin’ love you, bitch!  Are you fuckin’ happy?”

“We’re gonna have to work on the delivery,” I whispered.

He seemed to lose his resolve.  He waited, his cock buried half-way inside me, refusing to look at me.

“What is it?” I asked.

“You still think I’m hot, right?” Duke asked, his eyes flickering.

“Of course.  You’re the hottest person in the world.”

Duke looked me straight in the eye.  He blinked and swallowed, and slowly, his half-smile stretched across his face.  He sniffed--then tried to pass it off as a snarl.

He made his voice extra low, but still, it started to break when he spoke.  “I bet you still want that New Years kiss, don’t you?”

I nodded vigorously.

Tears streamed down my face.  I kept quiet, hoping it was dark enough he might not notice.

Duke’ body tightened; I felt him getting a grip.

My knees, which were folded up now, dug into my chest.  Duke massaged the underside of my thighs and I gasped.  He chuckled, then started hammering away at my hole with a newfound zeal.

“Yeah, you love me, don’t you?” he asked.

I clenched my ass.

“I love you, Duke.  I got it bad.  You know I’ll be a hot hole for you, anywhere, anytime.”

“You’d better.”

As he pounded away, he leaned closer.  I could feel his warm, wet breath on my lips.

My head snapped like a mousetrap, trying to catch his lips in mine, but he pulled away just in time, his eyes glimmering with starlight.

“Duke—“

He exhaled into my open mouth; I could smell my ass on his breath.

“I love you, Duke.”

“Don’t make me say it again, Holden.”

His uneven breathing was making me crazy—even more than his groin hammering away, which I could feel again with a stinging clarity.

“Duke—“

“Let it happen, Holden.  Just let it happen.”

He sighed slowly into my lips and I could feel myself shaking.

I was on the edge of the world.

“I know you are close, firebrand,” Duke breathed.  “Count it out for me.”

“Ten…nine…eight,” I whispered.

Duke tightened his grip on my thighs, rocking my ass with the force of an avalanche.

“Seven…six…five,” I said, my words floating right past his lips.

Duke wrapped his arms around me, flexing his massive biceps, his flowing pectorals, and his rolling abdominals.  His sheen of sweat glinted silver, and I felt my eyes drooping.

“Four…three…two,” I breathed.

The power lines flickered, and for a moment, all was darkness.

“One.”

Duke kissed me.

There were no fireworks this time.  In fact, there wasn’t much of anything at all.

There was me and Duke.  And I didn’t need the light, or the lines the shadows cast, because their divisions were illusory.

It was all one world, after all.

Our lips grazed; our tongues collided; Duke flexed around me, holding me in place, humping my weak hole without clemency.  I groaned into his lips; I struggled; I writhed, but he wouldn’t slow down, he wouldn’t stop, he wouldn’t let me escape it.

I relaxed my body, feeling a calmness flow through me as Duke pounded me home.

I let out a deep, crackling moan as I sucked on Duke’s sweet lips.

Duke hammered the cum out of me.  There was no other way to describe it.  I was shaking again; I couldn’t help it; rope after rope of it flew forth from my cock, arcing into the air and coating my chin.

Duke lapped my chin clean and fed me my own flavor with kiss after kiss.  He licked the inside of my mouth, scraping the cum off of his tongue and onto my teeth so I could gulp it down.

My ass constricted around his monster again and again and again.

“Yeah,” Duke said, his voice rocky, “Milk out my cum, Holden.”

I flexed my ass, biting my tongue.

Duke grabbed my ass cheeks again, rolling them over in his hands.  “God I love your ass.”

I whimpered; my ass contracted around his monster; Duke growled.

Our eyes locked—and Duke’s smile stretched from ear to ear.

Then, I felt him shooting his load deep inside.

He collapsed on me—I could struggled to support the weight—but I wrapped my arms around him—and hugged him as tight as I could—losing track of time.

The rain had started up again, although now it was just drizzling.  Flecks blemished the window till all the world was a contorted blob.  I couldn’t help but smile.

“It kills you to say you love me,” I said, “but you can say you love my ass, no problem.”

“That’s how we should do it from now on.  You start.”

Begrudgingly, I humored him.  “I love you, Duke.”

He leaned in close to my ear.  “I love your ass.”

“I think I like the other way better,” I said.

“It’s still romantic,” Duke assured me.  “It’s metonymy.”

“You know what that is?”

“Course I know what that is.  Chicks dig it.”

“I’m not sure that they do.”

He ran his hand through my hair.  Slowly, he pulled his cock out my ass.  I closed my eyes—gasping--when it popped free.  Then, I turned on my side, shivering.

Duke curled up behind, threading his warm arms around me, and we huddled together, looking out at the coiling cityscape, the soulful lights, and the soft rain.



---
Epilogue:
Six months (and three days) later
---



The subway car lurched along the rails; we danced along the underground web-work.

Haunting howls hovered over me, like a lullaby played on a saw.  My mom made sure I had a glass of milk before I left—she was shocked I didn’t buy it anymore in college—and somehow, the amalgamation was sending me into a kind of hazy paralysis.

A sudden camber fed us upward, as a spoon into the jaws of the outside world.  The light was blinding, almost sickening, and I had to look down as we threaded the gap between the buildings—which chomped on my periphery anyway.

Duke’s new apartment was north of campus.

I tightened my fingers around the toy car in my palm.

When Billy was younger, we played ‘cars’—the masculine equivalent of playing with dolls.  Basically, I would invent some adventure the cars were on: a race, or a battle, or a journey—and the cars would get in little soap opera-esque squabbles along the way.  I always controlled Phantom, a half-white, half-black car who talked like Gandalf the Grey.  Phantom had been in the box I’d given to Billy on Christmas, and I didn’t expect to see him again after Billy took over the house with his snare of tracks.

My birthday had been during Billy’s Spring Break (and his mom’s too, since she taught at his school) and they paid us another visit.  After Billy left, I found Phantom sitting on my bed.  I called Billy to tell him he’d forgotten his toy, but he insisted he hadn’t.

I guess Billy felt that Phantom’s home was with me.

My stop was approaching.  I unzipped the top pouch of my suitcase and rolled Phantom inside.  Then I stood and approached the sliding doors.


---


I found myself sweating as I clicked the knocker.

Was it the right number?

I fumbled in the top pocket of my bag, digging past Phantom in order to retrieve the little note I’d written to myself in case my phone died.  It was definitely the right number.  I checked it twice.

Duke said he would be here—didn’t he?

Another one of his jokes, perhaps?

Slowly, the door whined open.

I caught a glimpse of a big foot and a muscled leg up to the thigh.  The door swung in, revealing the brand new, navy blue workout shorts stretched over the trunks of his legs.  His broad chest was bare.  He flexed playfully.  A matching Yankees baseball cap cast a shadow over his dimpled smile.

“Happy Independence Day,” he said, beckoning me inside.

We’d agreed to watch the fireworks when dusk fell at Lookout Point.

“Happy Independence Day,” I said, stepping inside.

Duke swung the door shut behind me.  I leaned into him, my face imprinting his chest.  A moment later, he wrapped his arms around me, and I smelled the familiar scent of his sweat mixed with Axe.

“I missed you,” I mumbled.

He groped my ass, then released me with a smirk.  “Wanna see your room?”

I looked him over.  “Aren’t we sharing a room?”

“C’mon,” he said.

I followed him, rolling my suitcase behind me.

There wasn’t much to see.  The bed was raised on supports in order to lodge a desk underneath it.  The rolly chair for the desk was the only other piece of furniture.  There were makeshift, rollaway walls on the sides.  Duke trundled one of them away to reveal another similar space, although this one had the bed on the floor, instead using a big headboard as surface space.  To the side was a guitar, and on top of the headboard was a mini-fridge.

On the wall, I saw a playboy centerfold I recognized from Duke’s old room.

“You play guitar?” I asked.

“Nah,” Duke said.  “I just own one.  Shoulda had it in my dorm room, but forgot it in my closet at home.”

“You could learn.”

“What?  You would teach me?”

I shrugged.  “I can play violin.  I know enough about guitar to get you going.  Then maybe we can play together.”

“This reminds me of the whole skiing-snowboarding thing,” Duke said.

“Because now you know better than to call my interests gay?”

“No, your interests are still pretty gay.  You just have the same look on your face you had on the slopes.  You know, like the one where you look obsessed with me.”

“Duke…” I said.

He opened the mini-fridge.  “So—did you want a beer?” he asked.  “It’s called Roggenbier.  From what I hear, it’s better than the other stuff.”

“Where did you get those?”

“Who cares…don’t you wanna get drunk and suck my cock?”

“You have such a way with words…ace.”

He walked over and handed me the beer bottle.  The filmy, icy water soaked into my already sweaty palm.

He loomed over me, pulling on the bill of his baseball cap.  “That’s why they call me the Pitcher in the Rye.”

I looked down.  “Was that a reference to your summer reading assignment?  Did you actually crack open a book, or are you sticking with your strategy of skimming summaries on pinkmonkey dot com?”

“I read the books.  I just don’t understand them.  And they don’t understand me.  That’s what I like about you, Holden.  You always catch my drift.”

He snapped his beer open with the side of a can-opener and then worked off mine.  Then I sunk into the rolly chair, as he trundled the wall closed again.

“I supposed this one is Roy’s,” I said, gesturing past the other wall.  A weight seemed to sink in my stomach as I realized my room was sandwiched between Roy and Duke—with these flimsy “walls”.  It wasn’t going to be especially private.

“Yeah, that’s his.” Duke said.  “He’s going to start as a Poly-Sci Major this year.  So I can bestow upon him all my wisdom.”

“Like how you switched your major to English?” I said.

He smirked, and I looked beside him at a glimmer in the rollaway wall.  A fist-sized circular gap halfway up.

“Is that a hole in the wall?” I asked, gesturing to it.

He raised a brow.  “I dunno.  I guess it was some kind of construction error.”

I looked at the rollaway wall cutting off Roy’s space again.  “His doesn’t have one.”

“Do you wish it did?”

“No.”

Duke walked up to me, sneering, till his stretched spandex shorts were at eye level.  “Slut,” he muttered.

I looked up into his eyes and took a swig of beer.  He ran his hand through my hair and nibbled his tongue.  I put the beer down on the desk behind me, then cleaned my lips.  He pulled me in, rubbing my face amongst the fabric outlining his hardening cock.

I nibbled on it, savoring Duke’s satisfied sigh.  His chest inflated over me as he inhaled again.

“I missed you too, bitch,” he said.

I chewed his shorts and pulled them down bit by bit with my teeth.  First the head of his cock meandered into view, then--progressively--his thick, vein-piped shaft.  It strained, stretching the fabric to its limits.  Eventually, his mammoth cock snuck through, swinging forth with a bounce.  Duke tightened his grip on my head, shaking, and guided his cock into my mouth.

I clamped my lips around it, slurping deep, as Duke stroked my hair and moaned.

“I’m gonna get some lube,” Duke grumbled, pulling his cock out of my mouth with a pop.

He stumbled away before I could protest.

I reached into my suitcase pouch, pulling out the toy car Phantom, as well as a ribbon.  Then, I tied Phantom up in a bow.  I wasn’t sure where to put him, so I rolled the chair over to the half-drawn rollaway wall, and tucked Phantom into the hole carved there.  For a moment, I thought he would fall, but he kept his balance.

“What is that?” Duke asked.  He picked Phantom up on his side of the wall.  “A toy car?  Why is it half white and half black?  Did they fuck up at the factory or something?”

“Don’t poke fun, Duke.”

He picked it up and dropped it on his pillow.  I rose as Duke returned to me with his container of lube.  Duke’s crystalline blue eyes seemed to light up as he approached.

He wrapped his arms around me again, squeezing my ass cheeks through my jeans and brushing the container against me.  I stood on my tip toes and cooed.  I leaned in toward his lips and he turned away, letting me suck on his neck.

“Duke,” I whispered.  “Why don’t you kiss me?  I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

He unbuttoned my jeans, pulling them down along with my boxers, before massaging my ass with his warm hands.

“Is it New Years?” he whispered back.

“No,” I said softly.

“Then--nope,” Duke said.

“I don’t like that rule.”

“Too bad.”

“It felt right to me, Duke.  I liked kissing you.”

“It was weird…kissing your holes.  Like making out with recycling bins.”

“Kissing shouldn’t be weird.  Even rimming—is pretty standard foreplay for some.”

“Really?” Duke said.  He pushed me back down into the chair and gave it a shove, jolting me back towards the desk.  I stole another swig of beer lest the foam spill over from the chair’s impact.

“Fine then,” he said.  “You kiss my ass, then I’ll fuck you.”

“Duke,” I chuckled, “That’s backwards.”

“I don’t see why,” he pressed, strutting towards me.  He stepped out of his navy blue shorts, then swiveled around, his ass inches from my face.  “It seems to me,” he said, “that kissing ass is a sign of devotion.  You are devoted to me right?”

“Of course.”

“And you want me to fuck you?”

“Duke…” I said.  But he didn’t let me go on. He just held the back of my head and forced it into his ass.

A moment later, I found myself nibbling, licking, smacking, and sucking on his musky skin.

“Fuck,” he growled.  “This is how you let me know you want to get fucked from now on, okay, Holden?  This is something I could get used to.”

I’m not sure what came over me as I tongued his ass—but I found myself smirking.  He gave me a bit of space and I gasped for air.

Then I grabbed the beer bottle and pressed the lip right into his hole till his ring hugged the collar.  It was only about an inch inside him, but he huffed anyway.

He spun around, giving me a look as he pulled the bottle out.  “What the hell was that, Holden?”

I shrugged.

“GET UP!”

He stepped on my jeans so that when I stood, they fell to the floor.  He pulled off my shirt next, twirling me around, before dragging down my boxers.  I felt a sting as he slapped my ass.

“On your knees, back into the chair.”

Facing away from him, with the back of the rolly chair in front of me, I placed one knee after another onto seat.  I had to hold the desk to keep my balance.

“Good boy,” Duke said, palming my ass cheeks and stretching them out.  “You already lubed yourself up!  Before you came over, I suppose.  Why didn’t you let me know?”

I didn’t answer as he swirled his finger around the cusp of my hole.

“I like people who know what they want,” Duke said.

“My thoughts exactly,” I breathed.

My mind wandered…

Waking up in the bed next to Duke, in his room, teaching him what I knew about string instruments till he silenced me with a kiss.

I softened as Duke pressed two fingers inside me, then pulled them out again.

I swiveled my head to see him standing in place, his lower body held stiff like a rock, his cock jutting out, quivering with the beat of his heart.

Slowly, he flexed his arms, rolling the chair backwards, till his cock parted my ass cheeks.  He didn’t thrust in at all—he just kept pulling backwards on the chair—but nevertheless, I felt the head of his cock pop past the cusp and dig inside.

He kept drawing in the chair—the wheels turned slowly, but I could sense each revolution—as my ass enveloped his monster, slab after slab.

Then, I felt his body against mine.  He held me, flicking my nipple and nibbling my ear.

I moaned, and he covered my mouth with his hand.

“Come on Holden,” he said.  “Let’s go for a ride.”


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*THE END*  …for now, anyway.  :)
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