Kinky: Three Men, One Collision

by Peter Butler

  Now, he began to get really excited, she traced a tiny circle with the tip of her tongue around his navel. He was sure if the pants and belt had not been restraining him something else would be getting that attention right now. She sensed the urgency vibrating inside him and slowly moved her fingers to the buckle. Her eyes were watching his every expression, it was like he was an instrument and she was playing him. Ever so slowly she folded the buckle back and released the prong from its little hole. The pressure coming from inside Dillon's pants immediately forced the belt straps to slide apart and Emily made sure it came all the way out. Next, using just one hand she deftly released the metal stud that held the waist of his pants together and spread both sides wide apart. Dillon wore boxers underneath his jeans and he was momentarily embarrassed when he realized he was wearing the pale blue pair, covered with images of Micky Mouse. His mother's idea of a joke Christmas present a year ago. Emily gave a little laugh as she noticed Micky had suddenly grown an extra head.

  Emily hooked her fingers deftly inside the boxers and jeans and tugged them down as one. Dillon helped by lifting his hips up an inch or two, they were both grunting and not only at the effort it required. A moment later he was completely free.

  Emily beamed at him, but quickly turned her face back to focus on what she had just unveiled. 'Welcome to my room... giraffe boy,' she lifted her eyebrows in mock surprise and gave a suggestive little chuckle.

  Dillon smiled at the top of her head. Emily was busy trying to free his pants that were caught around his ankles.

  She lay beside him, propped up on one elbow and in a pretend, serious tone she said, 'Enough of this funny business, you're here for medical attention.' She sat up and then she placed the back of her hand flat on his belly, just beyond the tip of his penis, then as she slowly edged her other hand over the top of his genitals, she said, 'Tell me where it hurts.'

  The anticipation was building inside Dillon and the fact that she was deliberately delaying taking hold of him was not helping. His penis was straining hard, desperate to be handled and slowly her hand slid under it sending any nerve endings that she brushed into spasm, simultaneously her other hand cupped his balls. 'How about here?' she said, and squeezed... and then her other hand closed around his penis and also squeezed. 'How about...'

  'Arrgh....!' Dillon stifled a scream through clenched teeth, as he exploded with a force he had never before experienced. His seed shot in an arc almost to his chin.

  Emily cried out, 'Oh no..!' and released her grip in shock, which caused another eruption from him that went almost the same distance.

  The look on Emily's face was tragic. She had clearly planned a series of events for the evening and, to use a boxing metaphor, Dillon had tripped over the ropes while climbing into the ring and knocked himself out. She prised her eyes away from the once proud member who was now beginning to shrivel back to a more normal size, and said with a sad shake of her head, 'I'm so sorry, Dillon, I overdid it. I forgot you were new to this.'

  Dillon was holding back tears. He still couldn't read Emily's moods, but the look on her face told him that he was not going to have sex tonight and he hadn't even got to touch her properly, or even see her naked. That was the bad part, the embarrassing part was smeared over his chest and stomach.

  While he had been feeling sorry for himself Emily had grabbed a box of tissues from her bedside table which she dropped beside him on the bed. He nodded his thanks and he began to clean himself.

  'That's just so disappointing,' she said, after she had paced back and forth across her bedroom. She was standing over Dillon who still lay on the bed and was in the process of zipping-up his pants. 'You have no idea how much I wanted to do it with you tonight.' She shook her head to emphasize her sadness.

  Dillon had been busy with his pants and hadn't quite absorbed what she had said, and then her last sentence sunk in. His eyes shot wide open. 'You mean you're not disgusted by me?'

  Disgusted? No, I'm not disgusted. Why would I be disgusted?' She cocked her head to the side and looked at him, trying to read what was going on in his mind. He looked like a lost little boy, but there was a spark of some sort she could see in his expression. 'I'm totally impressed, Dillon. Compared to what else is out there, you're a prize.' Then she laughed a little. 'You're a beautiful present. You just seem to unwrap yourself before you can be handed over.' She laughed a little harder at her joke.

  'So you're not turned-off by me?' Dillon had suddenly become serious. 'You don't want to never see me again?'

  'Of course not. I'm just pissed that we can't do it tonight.'

  'Why can't we do it tonight?'

  'Because you just came bucket-loads all over the place.'

  'So?'

  'So... You just came! It's game, set and match. Thank you linesmen... Thank you ball boys.'

  Dillon looked at her like she was talking to him in a foreign language. 'But that was just the first one. There's heaps more.'

  'Heaps more?' Her face began to change, a hint of a smile appeared. 'Are you saying we can call the ball boys out, again?'

  'I don't really like your tennis reference that much, but if you have to use it at least go with ball girls, that might speed things up a bit.'

  'I don't believe you.'

  Dillon slid off the bed and stood in front of her. 'Normally it might take another minute or two, but if you let me take that T-shirt off you, I'll bet that'll get things started.'

  Emily instantly put her arms straight up in the air, as she did the black T-shirt rode up revealing a little of her stomach and Dillon grabbed the ends and lifted. He gentle eased the tight shirt up her body and over her head. His mouth dropped open when he realized she wasn't wearing a bra and he was looking at two of the most perfect breasts he had seen. Admittedly, apart from Sherri Jennison, these were the only real breasts he had seen. He discounted the ones he'd seen on the internet as being just pictures.

  As Emily tossed the T-shirt on the floor she said, 'I don't think they'll break if you touch them.' She pumped out her chest, thrusting them just that little closer to him. He was admiring the way the upper part of her breasts gently curved down with a slight inward section in the middle. They were works of art. His eyes explored where they gracefully rounded back again and folded under like a beautiful teardrop - Perfect symmetry. Her nipples were delicate little pale red protruding buttons on the very tip of each breast. Dillon was in heaven. He had always thought of himself as an ass man, now he knew he was a boob man as well. He reached out and ever so gently touched them, and before he could stop himself he was kissing them.

  Emily stood quietly watching his action. Inside her body, hormones were running rampant. His touch was so gentle, so loving, so respectful, she felt a tear form in her eyes. She quickly wiped it away with the back of her hand. She looked down at Dillon and wondered how he was managing to breathe, he looked like he would gladly spend the whole night doing what he was doing.

  'Has that sped things up?'

  He reluctantly pulled his face away and took a step back. He pointed to her hand and then to his crotch. Emily reached across the void between them and patted his groin. Things were definitely starting to move, but not quite as impressively as before.

  'Not there yet,' she decided. She scratched her head like she was trying to think of something. 'Maybe if you take off my skirt...? That might make a difference.'

  He didn't need to be asked twice, his hands darted out and released the button and then slid the zipper down on the side. Unrestrained, and no longer held up by her hips, the weight of the scissors in her pocket dragged the skirt to the floor with a small thud, revealing Emily's satiny black panties. They were more like a thin, narrow fabric triangle, that for the most part was not much wider than a band-aid. Once again Dillon's mouth fell open. Emily was perfectly formed; her hips just wide enough to create the subtle hourglass shape synonymous with female beauty. Her belly was flat and inviting without in any way looking muscular, her thighs tight and perfec
t with no hint of the bulges that some girls had at the tops of their legs. Dillon knew all this though years of intense study - at beaches, sports fields and on the internet - even through gaps in curtains.

  Emily loved watching the effect her body was having on him. His expressions and reactions were so genuine, so real, she was getting turned on from just watching his face. Then she dropped her eyes to his waist.

  He caught her eyes move and smiled. 'Told ya.'

  'If I unleash him, will he be... okay? Will I need to stand back?' she asked in a light way, but he knew she was serious.

  'Release the beast,' he said with a grin and a melodramatic flourish of his arm.

  As she struggled to undo his belt he added, 'each new time should last a bit longer... before things start popping.'

  'Each... new time? Good to know,' she said. 'Last time lasted all of five seconds, should we try for ten this time?'

  He wanted to joke back with her but he couldn't do it. 'I really don't have a clue, Em. I'm so bloody turned on by you I can't promise anything.'

  Dillon's pants joined her skirt and T-shirt on the floor for a second time. 'But you said... heaps of times?' She said, excitedly as she admired what stood before her.

  'Yeah. I'm pretty sure I can promise that part.'

  'Good!' She gave that deep, sexy chuckle that he had already heard a few times tonight. 'We'll save the rubber gloves for the next one, or maybe the one after that.'

  Then she lunged at him.

  ***

  Josie, a plump, fiftyish Mexican woman, was in a state of disbelief bordering on shock at what she was witnessing when Douglas Cramer turned to her and said in a soft voice that was meant for her, alone, 'Josie, run back to the house and call 911. We need an ambulance. Tell them to hurry. And when you come back, please bring my cell-phone with you. It's in my office on the charger.'

  The best Josie could manage was a small nod of understanding as she took a step back and without taking her eyes off the terrible mess, that she would probably be required to clean-up, backed out the doorway. Eventually she had to turn to stop from backing into something, then she ran - not out of urgency, more out of fear of the people around her. As she raced to the front door she noticed yet another painted mess on the wall of the main house that she would need to deal with. She shook her head in wonder as she hurried by.

  These gringo's might have all the money in the world, but they are sure fucked in the head...

  'Look what the fuckin retard has done,' Zac bellowed at them as he gesticulated and pointed agitatedly at various areas that had been sprayed.

  'Yes. We can see what's happened, Zac.' Douglas answered in an eerily quiet but steady voice, the same calming one he used in his office when a client became agitated, usually by the number of zeros on the bill Doug had just presented to them.

  'The piece of shit has tag'd me. I'll kill the retard.'

  'Calm down now Zac,' Douglas said, preparing to ooze out another thick layer of charm as he made his way cautiously towards his son. 'We'll make it right. Just stay calm, now. Nothing we can do about it this very minute,' he smiled reassuringly at Zac.

  Douglas Cramer was an attractive looking man in his mid forties. His luxuriant crop of silver hair had made his office nickname - "The Silver Fox" an obvious choice. Those who dealt with him regularly, usually added slimy before silver when they used the nickname. Deep inside, Douglas was livid at the destruction and vandalism that surrounded him, knowing that it would almost certainly be him who had to pay the repair bill. On a scale that measured good parenting, both Douglas and his wife Meredith, would have barely rated a score, but on the chart that mattered to Douglas, the one measuring a person's street-smarts, his score would require an extra page on top to draw it in. Not so Meridith, her score on that chart would match her parenting level. In reality, Douglas barely knew his son, he had no idea what sports or movies he liked, how Zac was performing at school, who his friends were. Put simply Douglas did not actually like his son. The only time he found out if Zac had a girlfriend was when a fellow member of the legal community presented him with papers claiming abuse by Zac against yet another young female, and threatening dire consequences unless Douglas was prepared to hand over a sizable chunk of compensation. He always did, not so much to protect Zac, but to maintain the good name of his law firm.

  Not caring about his son was one thing, but knowing about any activities that might bite Douglas and his reputation, was another thing altogether. Being in the divorce business, along with most of the tawdry areas of human confrontation meant Douglas had extensive experience with Personal Investigators. He preferred that term to Private Investigator as it better described their activities. Benito Nicolini, or Benny as he was known, was the investigator Douglas had assigned to compile a pictorial report on Zac. That report was locked in a safe in his office and Benny had been threatened with the complete loss of his income if he spoke to anyone of its contents.

  Benny couldn't see what the fuss was all about. He'd followed and taken pictures of politicians doing things that would make a porn star blush, and Hollywood heavyweights, known for behaving badly, doing things that even they understood were more than a few steps over the line. In fact Benny made more money selling those pictures before Douglas even knew they existed.

  So, some pictures of a kid spray-painting a wall... what the hell was the fuss about?

  Benny didn't get that this time the person potentially being harmed was Douglas, not a kid with a spray-can. The Personal Investigator had got personal.

  Douglas had known of Zac's graffiti escapades for at least a couple of months. He just didn't know how he could deal with it.

  He put his arm around Zac's shoulders, thinking as he did that the last time he had done that would have been when Zac was about three. His son barely noticed his father's arm, he was still agitated and waving his own arm around. 'Look at the crap!' Zac yelled. 'It's terrible. A bloody chimp could do better.' Douglas had also been studying the disfigured walls and had to agree that what had been done here bore little resemblance to the pictures he had of Zac's work in his office safe.

  'It's awful, Zac,' he said, still trying to calm him with a low voice and very mellow tones. 'But there is nothing we can do about it now. It's the middle of the night. We should sleep on it and in the morning we will begin to deal with it.' As he had said that, he had been gently turning Zac towards the door. Now he began leading him towards it. Zac was going with him, but he was unaware he was walking, he was still preoccupied with the graffiti. 'What the hell is that meant to be?' He jabbed his hand at one of the huge TV's on the wall as Douglas led him beside it. 'Don't try and tell me that's a fuckin Z. It's nothing like it,' Zac bellowed as they edged closer to the door.

  The three women had moved back outside to make way for the men. They all still had horrified looks on their faces, but dared not say a word.

  'You can sleep up in the main house tonight,' Douglas said soothingly as he led Zac out the door and between the watching women, who had already stepped back, creating as large a gap as was possible. 'We'll make sure you get a good nights sleep and in the morning we will deal with this problem.'

  Half way back to the house Josie met them, holding the cell phone out for Douglas, which he took in his free hand. 'They're coming boss,' she said quietly to him. Zac didn't hear her, he was mumbling to himself about how he was going to kill some retard, or something. Douglas had given up listening and was deep into planning his next move.

  'Make sure the main gates are open,' he said to Josie. She trotted away ahead of them, her bottom swinging wildly in four different directions, as she demonstrated her version of running.

  Two minutes later, a couple of burly paramedics were ushered into the main living room where Zac sat with Douglas. He was still muttering. Meridith and Livvy sat side-by-side on a distant couch and watched in silence, happy to have some distance between themselves and Zac. Douglas stood up and went to greet the medics.

  'I'm
Douglas Cramer, gentlemen,' he said, adopting a tone that left the two men in no doubt that this was a man who got what he wanted. 'My son, Zac is in need of your attention. He's in a state of shock and I want you to administer a very strong sedative to him and transport him to hospital.'

  'Yes sir,' one of them answered, 'but we will need to do a complete examination before we give him any medication.'

  'No you will not, young man. He needs sedation right now. He has a tendency to become extremely violent without notice.'

  'But sir...' the medic tried to restate his legal obligations, but Douglas would have none of it. He cut him off.

  'Which hospital are you taking him to?'

  'City Central.'

  'Who is in charge of the Emergency department?'

  'Um... Dr. Raylene Morrow... I think.'

  'Okay, gentleman. You can go over and do your preliminary check of my son, but you both duly note that I have warned you he can be violent?'

  'Yes sir,' they said together.

  As they headed off towards Zac, Douglas was punching numbers into his phone. Seconds later he was talking. 'This is Douglas Cramer of Cramer Legal. Put me through to Ray Morrow in Emergency, please.' Years of dealing with layers of bureaucracy had taught Douglas that the best way to cut through it was to assume first hand acquaintance status with the person you wished to talk to. This gave secretaries, personal assistants, and in this case nurses, the idea that it would be a bad idea to try and keep this conversation from happening. Hence he had dropped the doctors title and abbreviated her name. It worked.