by M. Christine
Something out front caught Will’s eye—a pedestrian on the sidewalk. The person detoured into the yard, approaching the front door. He was tall, broad-shouldered, white, slightly receding hair—it was Kevin, Will’s dad.
“Who’s that?” Ginger said upon hearing the knocks. “Maybe it’s Paul, forgot a key.”
She got up to answer it, but Will stopped her.
“Wait a sec,” he said. “Wait till I’m out the back.”
His mother looked at him, confused.
“Kevin,” he whispered as he put his jacket on.
Ginger cooperated, watching Will exit through the kitchen door. He gestured for her to lock it after he left. Will quietly walked to the front, peeking through untended shrubs to see his father being let in to the house. When that happened, he strode over the dry grass, avoiding the walkway. His car was parked almost in front of the neighboring house, and he accessed it the long way from round the vehicle’s front to escape being spotted by Kevin.
Will started the engine and steered away, and thought about his dad. He wondered why, after being so scarce for almost nineteen years, he was making appearances all of a sudden. Was he scoping out the house? Did he notice Will park near the house and visit Ginger?
“Nosy shithead,” he said out loud.
Will kept helping and sending Ginger the stuff she needed, but skipped visits for a while.
Chapter 14
Socializing
He saw Frances and Stephan twice a month, sometimes more. They had meals at posh restaurants or had quiet, family-style, home-cooked dinners at their place, in the dining room adjacent to their state-of-the-art dungeon floor. The couple was as passionate about their culinary adventures as they were about their love life, testing out new recipes like corn flake-crusted lemon pepper halibut dolloped with Greek yogurt and dill garnish, or whipping up an old reliable batch of Spicy Hongos Guisados for Taco Tuesdays.
Toward the end of Will’s first year of art school, the well-connected couple began taking him along to swanky art opening receptions thrown for museum founders, and to philharmonic behind-the-scenes tours, which were followed by opulently catered parties. They introduced him to a huge array of movers and shakers. Some of those bigwigs were the very same studio execs who courted Will at school.
Will’s social life was not limited between the good life of Frances and Stephan and the dreary reality of his mom: oftentimes before a Memorabilia shift, he would meet up early with Vincent, Ivy, and Helene for an early supper of burgers or pizza, shooting the shit before clocking in. Will looked forward to these low-profile hang times before navigating the high-energy sex club nights.
Of course, Will made sure he always had time for Yuri. Yuri was there for him long before the year of good fortune, during his rocky days tethered to Ginger and Paul. Of course, he’d been there for Will way more than his so-called father. Yuri and Will were true soul brothers, never a fight or one-upmanship or cock-blocking—just mature, unconditional support and love despite their young age.
In the summer break, Yuri was invited—along with any hip entourage he wanted to bring, which in that instance was just Will—to go to a pool party at Biff Wellington’s house. It was an expansive property that Biff bought cheap from an incarcerated porn peddler who produced legally shaky entertainment themed on the rough side, and was locked up for circumventing compliance laws as well as drug possession. The drugs were discovered when the place was raided—an amount significant enough to convict for the intent to sell. When Will and Yuri arrived, they were impressed with the lush landscaping filled with plants and a waterfall pool.
“It was barren before, almost like a snuff house—though he’s not in jail for that,” Biff said, his fake accent dropping in and out of his speech. He wore his trademark hat, flip-flops, and a swim thong that barely concealed his active snake.
The ostentatious sound system played a mixture of Skrillex and British Invasion music as Biff gave them a little tour of the grounds. He paused near a bevy of nude females sunning themselves on conversation-inspiring beach towels, such as one touting County Medical Examiner-Coroner with a crime-scene body outline that the woman lounging on it did not mimic. There was a Don’t Tread On Me towel, upon which was a blond showing off her backside so passersby could see her tramp stamp that read A Good Time. It was toward the latter woman that Biff tilted his top-hatted head, encouraging Yuri to indulge with her.
“Brandeen wants to get discovered,” he said. “A butting actress. Get it?” Biff forced a gregarious laugh to get the mood churning.
Yuri and Will remained congenial with him through forced smiles and diverted their eyes away from the buxom sunbather. Then without provocation, Brandeen began spouting off nonsensical conspiracy theories and offensive comments about homosexuals. Next to her, Biff looked refined. When Biff saw the disgusted reactions—faces recoiling, Yuri mouthing What the fuck?—of his honored guests, he sighed, rolled his eyes, and changed the subject. “Spread your pussy, luv, ‘ere I come.”
Keeping his top hat on, Biff proceeded to drop his speedos and aim his bobbing hard-on into her shaved porn twat. As their privates were joined, Brandeen grunted methodically, as if on a film set. Biff slap-grabbed her right salon-tanned haunch and yanked out his now-shiny dick, directing her to flip over. Biff drilled her on all fours, triggering a sort of humiliating sound to emit from her mouth, as if she was a car that Biff was trying to start but would not turn over. “Ehhhhh, ehhhhh, ehhhhh…” escaped from her vocal chords as Biff piped her fast.
“Gonna chuck up on your cans,” he courteously informed her.
On hearing this, her intercourse sounds grew excited, getting high-pitched and yelpy. With one hand braced on her jutting hips, Biff pulled back and controlled his dick with the other hand. He pointed it at her rear, streaming his cum on her cheeks, thighs, and asshole, her asshole twitching vulnerably in the sunlight. Biff reached into her red slit and pinched her clit, topping it all off by plunging his thumb into her rectum. Brandeen howled shamelessly, shuddering with fanfare.
“That was quick,” Will said, of course not shocked at all. He turned to Yuri, equally unfazed by this demonstration, and said with a touch of annoyance, “I didn’t know it was this kind of party. I’m staying out of the pool, in the shade.”
“I’m sure the grub is clean,” Yuri said, gesturing to a tony catering setup with signage from a trendy high-end Beverly Hills restaurant. The catering staff, all male, didn’t seem to mind the fuck show, since the sex fluids were on the other side of the pool.
The friends ate some lunch, chatting with the servers and lounging far away from Brandeen before making their polite departure. Although throngs of adult industry types were flowing into the bash, Biff seemed dejected that they, specifically Yuri, were leaving. His Speedo bulge appearing to shrink, Biff removed his hat, self-consciously using it to cover his loins.
“Mate, we hardly got to hang out,” Biff said. “Hey, when’s the new one being released? I want to hear it.”
“Six weeks,” Yuri said. “I’ll send a copy to you.”
“Aw’right, mate!”
Will cringed with embarrassment for Biff. Yuri thanked him for the party and stuck his hand out, but Biff hugged him instead, desperate to be closer to the Righteous Dingdong genius.
After they finally excused themselves they ended up at Yuri’s home and recording studio, which was in a guesthouse in the back of his parents’ property. Will listened to Yuri’s recently completed tracks while they enjoyed some beer.
Chapter 15
In Demand
Life went on for Will Franco. At summer’s end, he was taller, more muscular, a gorgeous deep golden-brown, and his hair was grown out into a mess of irresistible curls, which turned heads at the start of his second year of school. If art school girls were enamored by him, and they were, Will did not notice—his sex life was categorically fulfilled and he was able to keep his nose to the grindstone of Illustration and Interaction Design, turning
out stellar projects and pleasing his instructors.
Well into the academic year, Helene informed Will that Madison, his first catch at Memorabilia, was putting on a big birthday party for herself. She wanted Will to participate in any way he felt comfortable.
“She just wants you to be present.” Helene put it matter-of-factly, but with a wink.
The event was dubbed Andouille. During a Memorabilia staff meeting, Frances found it funny that Madison chose to name her party after a spicy sausage. The theme would be that of a New Orleans Opium Den, with scads of lavishly pillowed daybeds, chaise lounges, and exotic divans situated throughout the public and private sex spaces. Instead of putting opium pipes between their lips, revelers would be toking throbbing cocks while reclined sideways on the beds and cushions, faces level with available hard-ons. Madison arranged for a mushroom-shaped lounge to be installed into a private room, from where she would partake in her fun.
“I have to say, this Madison is innovative,” Frances commented as she looked at her event contract.
“One of the finest club members,” Ivy said. “Right, Will?”
Will, seated in the office, nodded with a Cheshire Cat smile. He stretched his limbs out to relax, though his penis twitched at the thought of Madison with her milky skin, pitch-black body hair, and adventurous submissive spirit. In anticipation, he got up to help Vincent and the crew move furniture and put finishing touches on the décor.
The evening commenced with female and male fellators dreamily sucking latex-encased penises. It was quite a spectacle: over seventy-five people were engaged, with heads propped up by pillows or hands as casually as if they were at a slumber party.
Everyone actually seemed high, giving off a lovely, even-keel, group euphoria, which was an interesting change from the sometimes-explosive energy of the usual BDSM nights.
Eventually Madison made her entrance atop a sedan chair carried by Vincent and another worker. She wore Theda Bara-inspired chainmail, her erogenous spots shamelessly exposed. As her caravan went by Will, she called out to him: “Will you get me high tonight?”
Will’s eyes twinkled and smoldered at the same time. He nodded ever so slightly, causing Madison to heave a sigh and melt into her tricked-out stretcher.
He didn’t go to her right away. He made her wait, jones for him. Will drank some club soda, then went to take a piss. He did not bother to refasten his trousers, though he shrouded his developing boner with the fly flaps and his shirt. He washed his hands and headed toward Madison’s private den. He didn’t knock, just opened then shut the door, locking it. He first met Madison bound and gagged in the pickup truck, effervescent in her aroused flesh. Placed on the toadstool couch, she writhed in slow motion at the sight of Will, as if she actually ingested some of her magic ’shroom. The two were well matched sexually; without words, Will proceeded. He took his shirt off in one swift move, pushed his pants down and out of the way, ripped open a condom from the candy bowl and rolled it on his solid might with a satisfying little snap at the base.
Madison’s angelic face was at the edge, ready for him. Will stepped up, still wordlessly, and impaled her face with his penis. Her eyes widened then went starry, and she slurped, sucking in her cheeks, forcing him deeper. Standing there, Will let her do the work at first. He silently commanded oral worship, watching Madison’s head dangle from the bed’s edge as she engulfed, her teeth scraping past the sheath.
Madison’s long elegant hands uncontrollably reached to make contact with Will’s loins, but he denied her this contact. He finally spoke with a firm reprimand of, “Only your mouth.”
Her hands fluttered down uselessly as her hungry jaws opened wider to fit more of Will inside. Without warning, he removed his member in order to search the supply closet for a toy. He found a drawer labeled Brand-New Dildos. Inside there were various toys still in their packages. He grabbed an appropriately big mushroom-headed one, purple, as the product’s copy boasted a promise of Batteries included for the anxious. Will tore open the pack, discovering an on/off button under the simulated skin on the wide base, in the crevice of the imitation balls.
Madison’s pussy was dripping, naturally. Will lifted her knee to spread her crotch visibly and inserted the rubber phallus into it. He was almost clinical about it, as if it were a speculum. Once it was stuffed in as far as the scrotum base would allow, Will pushed the switch on to start the vibration. She lit up like a string of holiday lights that played music, except Madison’s music was a succession of birdlike ooohs. Will thrust his cock back into her mouth, shutting off her sounds of ecstasy. This time he held her raven head and fucked her mouth steadily in a fine hump that exemplified Will’s carnal talents. Through the latex, he enjoyed all the sensations surrounding his penis—teeth, cheeks, soft velvet tongue, tonsils, and such a spillage of saliva lubricating his drilling. He let Madison languish in subspace, her eyes rolling back into her skull, her lithe body glowing with pleasure. The vibrator buzzed in her, which created quite a puddle on the velveteen bed cover. Without hurting her, he gripped her cheeks and hair firmly as he pounded his cock into her face, ball sac slapping her chin. Will pushed himself in to the hilt and came in the condom. Madison’s nostrils flared as he held himself in her mouth for a few beats.
Will planned to orgasm first. He yanked out his spent dick, letting Madison remain prone in all her secretions, not yet sated. He ignored her as he went to the cabinet once more, quickly disposing his condom in the nearby receptacle. He wanted to spank her ivory shanks, knowing it would put her over the edge. Will found a paddle, returned to the lounge and proceeded to slap her backside. Upon each impact, Madison’s back arched, which shoved her buttocks closer to the paddle, its stinging caress sending her closer to climax. The vibrator was an enticing sight peeking out of her slit. Will sped up the whacking, and the telltale tremble of a beautiful orgasm took over Madison’s body, racking her limbs and muscles in convulsions. Will took pleasure in watching her twat lips clamp down around the dildo.
Madison’s body calmed down, now a messy, limp mass heaped precariously at the edge of the mushroom. Will left her side, wiping down and returning the paddle to its storage spot. Will freshened up his loins before tucking them inside his fly. The room was quiet otherwise, with only the muffled hum of the vibrator still ensconced in Madison’s vagina.
“The power button is on the ridge between the balls,” Will informed her, still remaining in role as an indifferent cad.
He made no moves of affection toward Madison, since he knew she loved to wallow in feeling defiled, left alone wet and soiled. He’d give the sign to Vincent that they were done, and he would chat with her afterwards at her reserved table.
However, when he opened the door to leave the sex space, he saw Sammie, dressed in clam diggers and a T-shirt, leaning on the wall opposite. She was trying to look demure and desperate for Will. He ignored her like the plague and walked quickly into a crowd that was not actively cock sucking. Will placed himself in a shadowed nook, hoping he lost the troublesome actress. He spied Sammie searching the crowd, then checking the foyer. She started defying the personal space of party-goers in the midst of blowjobs, looking closely at recipients, bending down to face level of the fellators with dicks in their mouths to ask them, “Have you seen Will?” They were either startled by the rude interruption or shook their heads no with their mouths still full.
Finally, Madison walked out. She was barefoot, her wardrobe adornments revealing yet accentuating everything about her. Her eyes found Will, and she gestured for him to join her at her table. They both scooted into the booth, and when they were close enough to talk, he got straight to the point about Sammie.
“She’s awful. I want to leave. She’s ruining the night for everyone—see, look there.”
Madison witnessed her harassing two men involved in a sixty-nine and sighed despairingly.
“She’s insane. I am sorry for her,” Madison said. “But I’m sorry that I invited her. Maybe Vincent will intercept.
”
Just then, like out of a horror movie, Sammie spotted them. She was on the far end of the open play space, with tons of gyrating bodies between them. Sammie slowly walked, like a predator stalking prey, bumping and pushing aside couples in the middle of oral coitus, until she came about six feet from the table.
“Stop right there.”
It was Helene. Vincent flanked the other side of Sammie. She did stop, knowing she would be booted from the club if she didn’t follow the rules. That didn’t stop her from throwing a tantrum. With hands clenched at her sides, she let out a blood-curdling scream. People turned to see her take steps toward the booth, the padded upholstery of which she slugged with all the crazy she could muster.
Vincent grabbed her from behind with ease. She flailed and sputtered, looking on with unattractive jealousy at Will and Madison.
“You are disrupting everyone’s evening, Sammie,” Helene began. “Clients have been complaining that you are violating their personal space without consent.”
Helene continued to list infractions to Memorabilia policy. Will tuned out the fracas. He turned to Madison and grabbed her sylphlike hand with fondness.
“Happy birthday,” he said.
Madison watched with disappointment as Will strode out of there. Sammie’s screeching echoed off the walls. He decided to collect his pay later.
Chapter 16
Light Shone on Mess
Sophomore year got off the ground quickly. Will’s progress was so involving he was shocked to see that the winter holidays were upon him. In late November, he paid a visit to Ginger, on the condition that neither Paul nor his dad would be around.
When he got to her house with lots of pre-cooked Thanksgiving food in tow, he felt fine at first. They settled down to eat at the kitchen table. The atmosphere remained relaxed until there came a knock on the metal security door.
Ginger rose and opened it, mumbling for the caller to “come on in.” It was a male, and he remained standing near the entry as Ginger came back into the kitchen to put some money into the butter cookie tin, exchanging it for a nondescript pill bottle. Whatever it contained, Will did not want to know. Back in the front room, she gave the guy the item as they simultaneously aimed for the door, since the purchaser wanted to get to where he was going and Ginger wanted to finish her transaction so she could get back to her son.