A Cuddly Toy (The Bent Zealots MC Book 5)

by Layla Wolfe

  “No.”

  Planting each foot firmly astride his hips, I used his handful of hair as a rudder, guiding his face to my crotch. I backed him up against the tiled wall until he had no choice. “You’re going to eat my dick, son. You’re going to blow your daddy’s big, long cock because that’s what your dad wants. And you obey dad.”

  “No—” Gulp.

  “Agh!” I was surprised by how stretched Ogden’s throat was. He took almost the entirety of my penis down to the root. I could almost feel his tonsils way back there, waving against my glans.

  He swallowed, and ecstasy threatened to engulf me.

  I started up a slow rhythm fucking Ogden’s mouth. Corkscrewing and gyrating, I gave him the benefit of my every move. Maybe I thought if I concentrated more on my moves than the deeply hungry, satisfying way this sexy as sin Pretendian was sucking on me, I could make it last longer.

  Longer than an embarrassing twelve seconds, anyway.

  “That’s it. Good. Take it all, boy. Take it all in your deep throat. Use your tongue. I know you know how to use your tongue. Agh, good, that’s it. I’m fucking your mouth whether you like it or not. You’re going to give your dad satisfaction, son. I’m gonna fill your throat with my jizz. Oh God, yes, just like that. You know how to please your daddy.”

  But judging from the way he twirling his tongue around my length, the way he kneaded and massaged my tightening ball sac, it was still difficult to say who was really in charge.

  CHAPTER NINE

  NOEL

  I fled Fremont’s trailer so quickly, I left Twinkletoes with the distinct impression I’d just committed a crime.

  In a way, I had.

  I had never told my parishioners that I was straight. I had never promised to marry or even date a woman. The question actually had never come up. I had brushed off many advances from Quartzsite women and even some eligible Diné. I think many of them assumed I wasn’t allowed to date or marry. I kept my wanderings strictly close to the vest after what happened in South Dakota. The bishop up there nearly had my head on a platter. He very nearly sent me to a monastery to recover from my psychological deficits.

  Instead, for my sins, I was sent to the Colorado River Indian rez.

  Did I repent? Maybe, verbally, to the bishop. But not in my heart.

  I passionately understood how Fremont had felt, being caught by his wife in bed with another man. I vitally related to the shame, the embarrassment at being seen doing something that wasn’t intrinsically embarrassing. No, not at all—until you were caught.

  But living without God in my life, without longings or dreams, without spiritual solace, is an ordeal. Living as a disciple only to have my expectations and goals crushed would compound my agony and torment—the person I had been before seeing the light. All right, it’s true that false hope appears to be worse than no hope at all. It’s better to know you’re alone on the iceberg than to wait for rescuers who never arrive. If I wasn’t allowed to devote myself to prayer and scripture, false hope would be my only safety net.

  I couldn’t allow that to happen. The church did allow homosexual unions, but we had to play it right. We needed to date at an excruciatingly slow pace, just like the vanilla straights. Be seen at a barbecue one day. A benefit the next month. A dinner the following month. Decorum was the watchword. It took years for a couple to be given the go-ahead to marry in the church.

  And fuck, to be honest, did I want to marry Fremont? He was a delightful, cherished boy, a sort of cuddly toy for me. I was attracted by his innocence in the gritty world of S&M. He brought out the best in me, and I daresay “the best” in me would probably be considered “the worst” in someone else. His nearly hairless, ripped body made me want to suck and lick. My mouth actually watered when I caught a view of his stiff nipples under his perennially threadbare T-shirts. I pictured myself in Sheriff Leroy’s place, pleasuring him with my mouth. I would draw it out into exquisite torture, teasing his full, round balls, lapping at his slit, sucking on his corona like a Popsicle. Maybe I wouldn’t even let him come. I would drag him facedown across my lap . . .

  Fremont was driving me up a wall, but would I appear in public with him, sitting side by side at a crab feed? What if he turned on us, the people, and reported back to his company that it was okay to go ahead and mine? What if he didn’t file a statement on the uranium contamination in the houses, in my own church? I would be seen as the ultimate traitor and no one would come to my sermons.

  These and a hundred other issues churned like a water spout as I sped recklessly away from Fremont’s trailer. Walls of solid rain would fall like cartoon safes from above, completely obliterating my field of vision. Minor creeks raced across the potholed road, but after decades people had learned where the flash floods would take place and built the roads higher than them.

  Still, how could I fail to see the Chevy pickup that careened toward me, fishtailing it across sheets of water? That truck stopped; I stopped mine about twenty feet past it.

  Galileo, wearing my bright yellow raincoat, appeared like a spindly Gumby waving his arms. “Father! Father!”

  I had no raincoat, and within seconds my cassock was soaked to the skin. “What’s wrong, Galileo?”

  “It’s Klah Biakeddy! He went berserk calling Toby an apple at the rec center. He was maligning him so heavily, he was begging for Toby to throw the first punch, and he did!”

  “Oh, shit,” I muttered. “Then what?”

  “Klah screamed how Toby owed him his life now, and he ran out and got into his truck. Toby didn’t know what that meant, so we followed in Toby’s truck. Turns out, Klah led us into a trap. No one else saw but me. Klah parked next to a raging flash flood. Toby got out to smooth things over, and Klah threw him right into the river!”

  “What the fuck? Where is Toby now? How’d you get him out?”

  “Well by that time a few guys had shown up. My brother and Haven were still down here. The three of us ran down the creek bed waiting for Toby to reach us. I had the longest stick, and Toby was able to grab it. We pulled him out, Father, and took him to the rectory. But I believe Sheriff Leroy should arrest Klah for assault.”

  “Yes, I do too. Let’s get back to the rectory. Has anyone called Leroy?”

  “Well, if anyone can get Sheriff Leroy to come, it’s Fremont. Can you ask him?”

  Though rainwater dripped off my chin, ears, and eyebrows, I blushed. Did everyone know about that incredibly hot blowjob behind the stockpiles? I guess it was hard to miss.

  Galileo wrung his hands. “So many emotions eating away at me. I feel regret yet verve that Toby was thrown into the water, and horror at what could have happened to him, and vindication for Klah’s arrest.” He moaned, “Oh, Galileo, you’ve come undone!”

  Looking back on this incident now, it all seems so clear. I was learning that safety is an illusion. Avoiding danger doesn’t leave you any more sheltered than plain old risk. This life is either a bold exploit, or nothing.

  I had no choice but to call Fremont, who I had just passionately kissed on his sofa, and ask him to call the sheriff. He seemed willing if not eager, and Galileo and I proceeded to the rectory, where a couple of bikes were parked in my personal parking lot, not the church’s. Inside my toasty sitting room Ogden and Haven were sprawled in chairs, having availed themselves of a bottle of whiskey I kept for guests. Well, it was for guests. And they were bikers. And they’d saved the day.

  “Where’s Klah?” I asked. Toby had changed clothes, apparently having been given the scarecrow Galileo’s spare chinos and button-down shirt. Galileo had given him my comforter from my bed, and he looked incredibly small and wet, like a seal, with the blanket over his head.

  I put my hand on his soggy shoulder. “Are you okay, Toby?”

  He shrugged. “As okay as can be after gulping gallons of rain water.”

  Ogden tossed his head. “In there,” he said, before taking another sip of whiskey.

  “In there” turned out to b
e my study, and they had handcuffed Klah to my desk chair. Funny, I didn’t stop to wonder where the members of the Bent Zealots had gotten handcuffs at the last minute. When Klah saw me, he tussled with the cuffs, but he was secured with only an inch to squirm around. Someone knew their bondage, probably Haven.

  I took another seat. I had wrung my cassock out on the front stoop, but rivulets still ran from my sleeves and hem. I squeezed a handful of my hair in my fist and rain poured down my wrist.

  “Klah,” I said in my most patient tone, “what was behind all of this? Why’d you throw Toby in the creek?”

  He lifted his lip into a snarl. “I heard what your new boyfriend did out at Monument Number 9. I heard how he shoved his dick down the sheriff’s throat.”

  What in the name of arse? I was stunned senseless by this sudden, new line of discussion. I even stuttered. “Klah. What were you thinking when you tossed—”

  Louder, Klah shouted, “I know what kind of disgusting fags you guys all are! My cousin at Standing Rock told me why you were kicked out of there. He said the bishop found you in a teepee fucking some Dakota guy up the ass!”

  I gasped. “Klah! Why do you listen to this made-up stuff? If someone has a vendetta against me, they could come up with something better than that. Who is your cousin?” Anyone remotely related to a native was called “cousin.” But he had gotten the story at least half wrong. The bishop would hardly be wandering around a rez, for one thing. It was another Dakota elder who had caught me.

  And I wasn’t in any “teepee.” I’d been fucking Teetonka in his own bedroom in his own house. Lasciviously corkscrewing my hand around his big, dark penis as I did him. I wanted to give him the ultimate in pleasure because I was in lust with him. My big, buff, featherheaded lover. Yes, I was in lust in the purest sense, going into sweat lodges with Teetonka, learning his religion, even incorporating some of it into my sermons. My BFI, “Big Fucking Indian,” was the most sensuous, intelligent, and spiritual being I’d ever encountered, and yes, it was the bishop of my diocese who had sent me away from him forever, extracting a vow from me never to contact him again.

  They claimed to accept homosexuality, but messing with the constituents, the downtrodden, crossed the line they had arbitrarily drawn . . .

  “My cousin’s in Little Eagle, right next to the teepee where you were busted!”

  I half out calming hands. “Now, Klah. Why do you believe every word you hear?” But it was true, mostly . . . “I came down here because I wanted to be sent to the place that needed me the most.” That was a hundred percent true. That was what I had said to the bishop. After promising never to become involved with constituents again. And I hadn’t. I had just gone down into Quartzsite dressed in street clothes, prowling seedy dives. And which was better?

  “You guys are fags, all fags!” was all Klah would say.

  “Wait. Are you saying you threw Toby into the creek because you think he’s gay?” That idea had never occurred to me before. I realized Klah was just using the label “fag” as a blanket slur to be applied to anyone who didn’t toe the line. And I was glad to be off the subject of Standing Rock.

  “He’s as gay as you and that scientist! He’s got his little T Rex hands.” He tried to shape his hands into claws and flail them around, but the handcuffs prevented him. “And he’s a gay retard and all those people should be killed! Snuffed out.”

  “Klah, I can guarantee you Toby isn’t gay. But that’s not even the issue. What would Jesus say? Romans 16:17 says ‘I appeal to you, brothers, to watch out for those who cause divisions and create obstacles contrary to the doctrine that you have been taught’—”

  “Jesus is gay!” snarled Klah. “Why should I believe in your Bible? That’s not a tool of our people! You come in here with your nose in the air, with your nose up another guy’s butt, expecting us to bow to your religion. Our religion says that gayness is wrong, and we passed the Diné Marriage Act in ‘05 banning gay marriage, and we’re not gonna repeal it just because some weirdos like Toby or that Fredericka guy tell us to!”

  Fredericka was a trans teen taken in by Harte and Bond up in Rough & Ready, I doubted either Toby or Fredericka had a strong opinion on the Diné Marriage Act, but Klah was in a lather now. I’d known him to lash out against pretty much every person or stricture that he didn’t directly approve of, and the criteria for being approved by Klah seemed to change with the winds.

  I was about to leave anyway when a single knock came on my door. The door was pushed open, and Ogden stuck his head in.

  “Father. We’ve come to a decision. Please join us.”

  I tried not to display my eagerness to get away from the violent, sullen teen. As much as Klah reminded me of myself during those years, perhaps I was eager to get away from myself.

  Toby had brought the blanket down around his shoulders. Maybe he’d used it to dry his hair, for it was an attractive, scruffy mess. Feeling affection toward him for being such an outsider in his own land, I moved an upholstered chair to sit next to him. Haven, Ogden, and Galileo had somber looks on their faces.

  Ogden said, “Toby goes to high school in Parker.” Parker was the “big city” for the rez. It had something like three thousand souls. “This is where Klah has been tormenting him.”

  I nodded. “Giving him swirlies.” At least, that’s what we had done to boys we perceived as weaker than ourselves.

  “Swirlies?” cried Toby. “Pardon me, but which century did you grow up in? No, nowadays it’s flat out beat the shit out of you in front of a hundred girls or circulate fake news Instagrams about you masturbating behind the bleachers. Klah found out which girl I had a crush on and told her I was gay. Yeah, I know, real imaginative, but it ensured I had no date that entire year!”

  Galileo said musingly, “I haven’t masturbated behind the bleachers in years.”

  I sighed hotly. “What’s the decision, Ogden?”

  The men seemed to grow spines at this thought. Everyone sat up straighter. Ogden said grandly, “We give Toby a biker escort to school. Nobody is going to fuck with him after they see him ride up with twenty Bent Zealots.”

  Galileo added excitedly, “This takes massive guts. It probably won’t make a difference, but that makes it more intense. I once saw this nature show where a moose fought a wolf to protect the herd. It was so heartwarming. Nothing he did worked, naturally. The wolf ripped into the moose and decimated the herd. But what guts!”

  I ignored him. “Guys. While that sounds like an excellent idea, ah, not to sound sexist or anything, but—”

  Toby cut me off at the pass. “Nobody there knows the Bent Zealots are gay. It’s not like they have rainbow patches, or patches of cocks or anything.”

  Haven said, “I’ve got this patch.” He turned around, displaying on his cut a yellow patch with two stick figures, the sort that are depicted on signs as pedestrians, or wheelchair-bound. Only, a kneeling stick figure was blowing the standing one, and an arrow pointed to the kneeler. “You are here,” the lettering said.

  Toby waved it away. “No one’s gonna notice that. The kneeling stick figure could be a girl, anyway. I think the motorcycles, leather, and tough guys will override a couple of patches.”

  Ogden said, “We want to make a big splash. Make it so no one bothers Toby again. You in with us, Father?”

  I had to admit, it did sound like a good idea. “You want me to ride with you? Wearing my cassock?”

  Haven shrugged. “Wouldn’t hurt.”

  Another truck was pulling up in my driveway. Leroy in his police truck with the cherry on top.

  “You gonna have Klah arrested?” I asked. “He over eighteen? I believe he is.”

  Toby said, “I’m pressing charges for attempted murder. I could’ve fucking died. Would have, if these guys hadn’t come by.”

  I let Leroy into the foyer and took his raincoat, hanging it up with half a dozen other sopping wet jackets. A flicker of jealousy tickled my stomach. This guy had taken Fremont’s penis i
nto his mouth. He’d tasted it. He’d tasted Fremont’s semen . . .

  No sooner had I ushered Leroy into the sitting room than another vehicle came skidding into my parking lot. Fremont’s rental car. I stayed in the foyer eagerly watching him get out of his car. Apparently, he’d been in such a rush he hadn’t put a jacket on, and in the short distance between his car and my front door, he, too, was soaked to the skin. It was really coming down out there. I should’ve made a cozy fire in the freestanding Franklin stove in the corner of the sitting room.

  “Fremont!” I cried, ushering him in. “Jesus criminy. Let’s get you a towel.”

  “Oh, that’s all right,” he said, manly. “I just want to see this dipstick led away in handcuffs.”

  “That’ll happen soon enough. Come on.” I tugged Fremont by the sleeve, the only part of him I dared touch. Leroy was already leading the handcuffed Klah out of the bedroom. I should have been focusing on that drama, but believe it or not, I was stimulated realizing Fremont was viewing a sliver of my bedroom. He could see my bed . . .

  The bikers had jumped up, Toby was on his feet, and everyone was pointing at everyone and babbling at the same time. Worse, now Joe Bloodgood the senior was barging in my front door, his voice raised the loudest. No one seemed to notice when Fremont and I slipped into the bathroom. I took a dry towel from a cabinet.

  “Look, here, at least dry your hair. You get a cold, you can’t go out into the field and—”

  Fremont grabbed my wrist. “Listen, Noel. Father, I mean.”

  “Noel is fine—”

  He squeezed my wrist so hard it almost hurt. “I want you to know, I’m sorry about what happened at my trailer. I want you to know, it won’t happen again. I’m not interested in having sex with another man, much less a fucking priest, you know what I mean? I couldn’t tolerate the burden of responsibility for something that heavy.”

  I interrupted him. “I know how you feel. Only the strongest of men could handle the burden of me. I know I’m a burden. The stigma, the encumbrance, the guilt—”