But come hell or high water, I had to meet this kid, Ryan. He was old enough to stay at the house alone, as the cousin Georgia seemed to have gone to the store. Dodge went to freshen up and find a cowboy-looking shirt, so I was stuck with the kid, who somehow knew I was a rodeo star.
“How do you stay in the saddle?”
“I ride bareback.”
“Oo! How do you stay on the horse’s back?”
“Use the reins and dig your spurs in.”
“Are you taking my dad to a rodeo? Can I come?”
“Nah, we’re just going bowling. Y’all would be bored by that.”
“Bowling? Oh. You don’t look ready for bowling.”
“You can look any way you want when you bowl.”
He brightened up. He had his father’s smoky eyes, like they were lined with charcoal. His thick, curly, glossy hair. The kid would be a looker. “Okay! Can I come bowling then?”
“Ah…” I hadn’t expected that. “Let me ask your dad.” I went down the hall where Dodge had vanished. Out the window I saw a barn that might’ve been Dodge’s workshop. A few prosthetic limbs were propped against the red planks of the structure. I had to say, I admired the stuffing out of the guy for his work with animals. I had not been kidding about that.
I wasn’t prepared to see him shirtless, shaking out a wrinkled plaid shirt. I was stunned at the beauty of his well-developed pecs, the sprinkling of silken chest hair, the nipples made to be tweaked. Inappropriately, my dick began to harden. Great. This is why I didn’t like kids around.
“Uh, Dodge? Your kid wants to come bowling with us.”
His meaty pecs shimmered as he shouldered into the button-down. “Uh-oh. What’ll I tell him?”
“Tell him he needs to man up and hold down the fort until your cousin gets back.”
“Yeah. Good one.”
I didn’t want to go back to the kid sporting a hard-on, so I took a side trip to the can to piss. Took forever, because images of Dodge’s luscious pecs kept popping into my head. Damnation! What was I doing? I had plenty of lovers, plenty of twunks and otters, even some wolves who were manly as hell but liked to be punished. My door was a revolving door, studs rushing in like the dogs were after them. I did not lack for partners. Why was I pursuing this reluctant beta? His beauty wasn’t all of it. I reckoned it must be because he was difficult. He presented a challenge. I was going to turn this hunk.
So with refreshed energy—and a limp dick—I went back to find the kid on the back deck putting together some kind of giant Lego structure. It had a Star Wars feel to it. We didn’t have that kind of shit when I was a kid.
“Listen up, Ryan. Your dad says you’re to stay here to hold down the fort. You need to man up and take care of the house until your aunt gets back.”
Ryan’s eyes glimmered with excitement. Most kids were good, deep down. You give them a responsibility and they take it serious. “Okay. I’ll sit in the front room and wait for her car.”
“No need, no need. You keep building this…uh, what is it?”
He looked proudly at his structure. “This is a rebel combat frigate. See, imperial forces are looking for Ezra and his cohorts…”
He went on for a while, not one word making any sense to me. But I thought of something. I had a few nephews in Goodnight. I wasn’t completely out of the loop. “Listen, you like K’nex? You can build roller coasters and ferris wheels? You look like the engineering type who likes to build.”
“Oh, it’s my favorite thing! I want to be a structural engineer!”
I was quite impressed that the tyke not only knew what he wanted to be already, but he knew the different types of engineers, that not all drove a train. I promised I’d bring him a box of the erector set-type toys. Dodge came out then, looking fine, and we took off bowling—err, to the Bottoms Up club.
But I felt that things were different between us. Something had shifted, maybe in the power dynamic between us. I felt more vulnerable toward Dodge, maybe because I’d made a lame connection with the kid.
I was doomed now.
Chapter Five
Dodge
“I’m not so sure about this.”
I was having second thoughts. I’d expected the other club-goers to look like us, you know? Regular cowboys having a regular time. But they didn’t.
Oh, Lord, this wasn’t the place for me. I mean, what in the name of a crippled half-mad Jesus were these people thinking? Bald guys with tiaras and facial piercings sauntered in assless chaps. And they were the sort of guys who should’ve had asses in their chaps, if you know what I mean. Shirtless guys with suction cups on their nipples sashayed next to men clad in leather aprons—what did they need protection from?—rubber shirts, and gladiator harnesses.
Okay, I’d seen King in a harness, and he looked damned jacked. But the rest of it? It just wasn’t for me.
“Do I need to get a colored handkerchief?” I wondered. “Make sure I’m not putting it in the wrong pocket. Don’t want anyone giving me golden showers.”
“That handkerchief thing is old hat, if it ever existed at all,” said King. “Come on. You’ll be okay once you’re inside and get used to it. There’s no danger. People don’t grab each other. We’ll just watch a show or two, have a few drinks.”
“What kind of show?” I asked nervously, picturing something to do with a woman and a donkey.
“Oh, you know. Trannies singing Cher songs.”
“You said you go to the glory holes.”
King slapped me between the shoulder blades. “Don’t worry about that none. I won’t leave you alone.”
Actually, I was sort of curious about the glory holes. Not from King’s angle, though. I had no desire to stick my dick into a hole and get drained. No, I wanted to be one of the guys kneeling, taking a stiff piece of meat down my throat.
I was hungry.
Why all of a sudden? What latent desires had been awakened in me the moment I saw King spanking a juicy ass, an ass that was just begging for it? It was a gnarled, knotty saga stemming back to my locker room in Modesto. An experience, a hazing that was meant to be an ordeal to be endured for entry onto the football team, morphed into something highly erotic, a fantasy I replayed time after time when I whacked off. Some boys had slapped me in the face with their hard pricks, so now I craved the heat of a nice silken dick. One boy, the quarterback, carried away, had even face-fucked me as I choked on his short, fat penis. But I didn’t give up because I wanted onto the team, so I struggled to swallow his breadth. I was glad when he came fast, shooting a big load into my gullet, but later I regretted it. I wished it had gone on longer. I imagined struggling harder. The more I struggled, the more they’d abuse me.
I’d developed a taste for dick.
I wanted to tell King all of this. He’d know what to make of it.
But I was afraid he’d take it the wrong way, that I wanted to reenact it, especially with him, so I stayed silent.
I maintained an aloof, amused face as we paid at the front door. A guy wearing a cock cage brushed against me, moving on past to greet someone, and I froze up. But I couldn’t take my eyes off the contraption, like a hard silver slinky around the guy’s flaccid penis. He strutted on by casually as though greeting his tennis partner. I saw a sign saying “Nudity not allowed,” but I supposed a cock cage wasn’t considered nudity.
I glanced at King for help. But he was shaking some other dude’s hand.
He knew lots of dudes here, apparently. He’d said he wouldn’t leave me alone, but suddenly he was chatting with Sam, Jesse, and Travis. Caleb, Jared, and a guy named Logan wearing a rubber head harness with a muzzle—so he couldn’t really talk—were there, all reminiscing with King about the last time they saw each other. Sure, King introduced them to me, but they all blurred into the same stereotypical gay guy with bright, surprised eyes, taper fade haircuts, and tasteful facial piercings.
One guy, I think it was Travis, got my attention. Below his crop top he was clad in a
leather, what I can only describe as a chastity belt. That intrigued me. The leather strap went around his waist and several attractive little locks kept it all secure and tight. I wondered who had locked him in until a tall, built guy came by and grabbed him by the arm. This guy wore a mesh harness shirt such as King had worn when spanking his beta. Through the mesh, little nipple barbells poked out, and that’s when the rush really hit me.
My cock stiffened.
Oh, holy motherfuck, my cock plumped and lengthened down my thigh as I wondered what sort of games they engaged in. Travis, his ass bare except for a leather chastity strip running between his cheeks, would not be allowed to come. His role would be to service the big stud. He derived his pleasure from pleasuring the stud. Maybe he’d jack off when he was at home alone, like I did. But the big guy would never in a thousand years allow him release.
Another guy bumped into me from behind, nudging me into King. Motherfuck, did King feel my hard-on? He must’ve, because he turned to me, grabbing my shoulders to still me. He definitely was the amused one now.
“Let’s go get a drink.”
“Okay,” I said all in a whoosh, unable to hide my relief. I hadn’t planned on drinking at all, but suddenly I wanted ten drinks. But we had to wait to get the bartender’s notice, because twenty men were ahead of us.
“So what do you think so far?” asked King.
I raised my eyebrows, but looked at the floor. “Well. It’s definitely never a dull moment with you, Kingsize. This is just frightening, though. I don’t think it’s my bag. All this latex and rubber and military breeches.”
“Oh, some of it’s sure ’nuff crazy. The pony stuff, for instance.”
“Pony?”
King nodded at a passing guy sporting black latex mittens shaped into horse’s hooves. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Then I remembered King was a cowboy. “You don’t get into that particular—”
“Fetish? Are you kidding? Those guys are crazy as a soup sandwich. See, this is why I was telling you, there is no One True Way. Those guys with saddles and reins have every right to be here. We don’t have to all join in. I’m telling you. Honest to God submission is motivated before an outsider requires it from you. It’s motivated not by some image you try to put on, but by who you really are, deep down, God honest.”
“So you can see through to a man’s inner spirit? You can tell if he’s a true submissive, a beta?”
“Oh hell yeah. Some of these guys prance around—hey, a whiskey over, and a gin and tonic—just putting on fake faces. You try and get them on their knees and suddenly they’re stiff as a statue, terrified of being hurt. When your honest inner submission is motivated, you don’t need to protect your fake face because you know nobody is perfect. Motivated submission attracts the right Alpha who knows you’re not perfect, but you’ve earned their loyalty. You’ve got to find this right type of Alpha, Dodge.”
I guessed it made sense to me. He was telling me I didn’t need to wear fake hooves or a fox tail butt plug to engage in homosexual activity. If I wanted to. “But I’m not looking for any Alpha, King.” I took my gin and tonic and gulped about half of it.
“You say that now. But it’s not until you let yourself be revealed as a fucking cock-starved, lowdown filthy sex pig that you’re going to know real freedom.”
I frowned. The words coming out of my mouth felt unreal. “Who said I was cock-starved?”
King grinned knowingly. “Me. You couldn’t stop drooling when I was punishing my friend the other day. And I don’t think you wanted to be the one doing the punishing.”
“True,” I said, noncommittal. “I’m not that type.”
King looked smug, as though he’d gotten me to admit something huge. “Didn’t reckon. Here. Let’s go watch the strip show.”
Shit! A strip show would have my dick packing the crotch of my jeans, but what else could I do? Walking through a cloud of testosterone and aroused pheromones, anywhere I could go in the club would stimulate me. Even the trotting ponies, because I could easily imagine their naked rumps being whipped.
I had to learn self-control if I was going to investigate this new world. I tried deep breathing as we joined the jammed crowd standing around the raised, oval stage. But within seconds men were hemming me in from all sides. True, as King had promised, no one was groping. At least not overtly. But more than one hard dick gently prodded my hip, my butt, as men crammed into the smallish room to watch others peel it off onstage.
“Kind of like Magic Mike, huh?” yelled King, grinning from ear to ear.
I did, unfortunately, know what he referred to. Cindy had watched that movie more than once, rewinding the parts with the beefy lead guy. She especially liked the part where he went into the convenience store, squirted water from a bottle, and humped a coke machine. I still wasn’t sure why he was doing that, because all I could ever concentrate on was his corrugated abs when he whipped off his tank top.
Oh. I had been turned on by another man since college.
Oh well. It was just some guy on TV. He didn’t count. Now I scanned the stage for the guy who most resembled that Italian stallion. Oh, yeah. He was dressed as a fireman, parading back and forth in a backup dancer sort of way, in sync with the other guys. The other strippers might as well have been in another part of the solar system for all the good it did. I only had eyes for the stiff-nippled, big-dicked fireman, and King picked up on it right away.
He elbowed me. “Hey. Don’t use all the arrows in your quiver.”
“Huh? Oh.” King was fond of dropping truth bombs everywhere, I was finding out. Shamefaced, I tried to look at the wall. But I knew my fireman was over there, quivering, rippling his pecs, clutching his big dong through his tight fireman pants. I couldn’t handle it anymore.
“Look, didn’t you say you wanted to visit the…holes?”
To my dismay, King put his arm around me. Squeezed me tightly to his side like a buddy. “I don’t always need to be doing that. Although sometimes I do like to participate in a little five-on-one, a little public bukkake.”
“A little…what?” Maybe this talk would take my mind off my beefcake. There was a guy in a tux, an army guy, the stereotypical policeman, all writhing seductively. But no. There was only one stripper whose nipples I wanted to nurse.
“Bukkake. I think it’s Japanese for ‘splatter the face.’”
“What?” All my brains must’ve gone into my penis, because none of what King said made sense. “Five-on-one? They have rooms for that here?”
“Oh, sure. Something for everyone. You’ve got guys all trussed up, swinging from ceiling hammocks. Balls and cock bound. We have to bring our own toys, but you can take turns paddling or caning guys like that, practicing your skills.”
Oh, great. The vision of actually being the guy swinging from the ceiling had me as hot as a pistol. And now I was the one jostling the guy in front of me with my giant hard-on.
The slight, grazing touch was like a lightning bolt. I had no doubt that if it had been a woman standing in front of me, the effect wouldn’t have been nearly as electric. All the hairs on my balls stood out, gooseflesh on my ass, a fine shiver rushing up my abdomen, tightening my nipples. I gasped, and luckily the clamor in the room covered it up.
“Ah, I need a refresher,” I told King, holding up my empty cup.
“Want me to come with you?”
“Nah. I need to learn to fly alone.”
But I never did return to the bar. Almost like I was on autopilot, I found myself gravitating toward a hallway behind the bar. My mouth made words, and I was asking someone where “the holes” were. I made a beeline in the direction he pointed, tossing my empty cup into a trash can. A couple guys staggered out from behind curtains, one wiping his mouth off on his arm, another fumbling with his fly buttons. They went separate directions, not speaking to each other.
This was the place.
I darted into the cubicle recently occupied by the guy with the messy face. This was my spot, my
fetish, my desire. I was completely motivated by submission, as King would say. I’m a cock-starved, lowdown nasty sex pig.
And I was going to revel in the mud.
Heart pounding, cock throbbing, I kneeled on the floor of the empty cubicle. If I was going to do this, the anonymous wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am of the glory hole was perfect for me. I just wanted a hard, velvety cock thrusting against my tonsils. No niceties, no small talk, no realizing I’m sucking on a blubbery bear who puts on his backward cap before eighteen-wheeling it out of the parking lot.
I supposed I was bicurious after all. No harm in that. Kingsize Taylor was the only person who knew I was here.
Kneeling. Submissive. Perfectly compliant, ready to serve.
I didn’t have to wait long.
Oh, yes. A long, not too fat, half-mast dick slid through the hole. I fell upon it, grasping it in my fist, opening my mouth over the slimy head where a drop of precum bobbed from the slit. Oh, motherfuck, the salty taste of someone else’s jizz brought me so far back, I was practically shoving math books into my locker.
The guy on the other side of the flimsy wall groaned loudly, falling upon the plywood divider, slapping it like pistol shots.
Am I good? I swirled my tongue around the slit, taking maximum enjoyment from the slippery taste of cum. The limb was thickening, pulsing in my fist. Oh, yes. This was everything I’d fantasized about, and more.
Then what happened? Robotic, with the force that had propelled me into the glory hole cubicle, suddenly I was back on my heels. Looking at an aroused, long, reddened dick sticking ingloriously through a well-used hole in the wall.
What am I doing? I was a fucking sheet metal worker, an upstanding member of the union. A fucking medical professional, for crying out loud! What if I was sucking on the dick of the Weimaraner owner, the dog I had to help? Worse, what if someone at Ryan’s school recognized me? Cindy would get sole custody in a hot minute! I was an irresponsible, cock-hungry jerk, and I needed to get out of there as fast as possible.
“What’s going on?” bellowed the recipient of the aborted blowjob. “Suck me, slave!”
Two Good Men [Hell's Delight: Unbridled 3] (Siren Pubishing Everlasting Classic ManLove) Page 4