Brody

by Kathi S. Barton

  “What happened?” Brody moved closer to him, his body warmed by the blanket. When Aaron spooned in so that Brody was in front of him, his back to Aaron’s chest, Aaron felt his cock stretch, his entire body harden. “What happened?”

  “I laughed.” Aaron stopped moving, his body rocking into Brody’s by its own volition. “I laughed hard, too. I mean, I fell to the floor, breaking the champagne glass that was in my hand. Knocking over the nice basket of fruit and shit that my partners had sent. I mean, I was almost drunk with laughter. And as you can imagine, she wasn’t the least bit happy with it.”

  “What was so funny? I mean, sure you found out later that you’re a homo, but what was so fucking funny that you laughed at your new wife?”

  Brody was still laughing, like he was remembering it so fondly that he just couldn’t help himself. And soon, Aaron was joining him.

  “She had toilet paper stuck to her foot.” Now they both were laughing so hard that they were crying. He could see it now, a woman dressed up in her sexiest nighty, to no doubt impress her new husband, and she had a long trail of toilet paper dragging out from the floor. “And you know what? It was still on the roll. So when she came at me to hit me for laughing, the roll of paper emptied, and there she was with her white train again, like it was her veil or something.”

  It took them another hour to calm down. Both of them would snicker or something when they were remaking the bed. They’d laughed so hard Brody had fallen out of the bed, and when he’d tried to help him up, Aaron had brought all the blankets with him. Brody confessed that he’d never told anyone that before.

  “I’m glad you shared it with me. I think that it was something that we both needed. But I have to ask, did she let you have sex with her after that?”

  Brody laughed and shook his head. “She even acted like I should have been sorrier than I was about laughing and not getting to fuck her.” They got into bed and cuddled again. “I’m glad that you’re here. With us. I just don’t think I would have been feeling like I am right now without you by my side.”

  He and Brody talked for the rest of the night. Nothing earthshattering, just getting to know each other. He knew a great many things about his mate, and he’d told him a lot about himself. They were friends now—better than friends, they were going to be lovers who were not going into this without being close first. Of course he had a raging hard on, and he knew that Brody did as well. But it was all right. They were all right. They’d just have to take a lot of cold showers, that was all.

  Closing his eyes, Aaron let sleep roll over him. He was exhausted. Holding Brody made him feel good, and sleep had never been so easy to slide into than it was this night.

  ~*~

  Waking to a dark room, Brody wasn’t sure what had happened. He was alone, that much he’d figured out, and when he was reaching for something to pull on, he heard Aaron speak nearby.

  “Don’t turn on the lights.” He said all right. “Come to the window. I want you to see this. It’s beautiful. Just don’t move fast.”

  He got to the window and was thankful for the bright moon. There on the lawn were two wolves and a small cub, playing in the new fallen snow. It wasn’t deep yet, barely an inch, and would more than likely be gone when the sun came up. However, the wolves, the family of them, were having a wonderful time.

  “I got up because I had a terrible cramp.” Brody asked him where it was, and Aaron touched his ass with his cock. “Sorry. I’m so hard that I can barely breathe through it.”

  Brody reached behind him just enough to wrap his hand around Aaron’s cock, and they both moaned. Sliding his hand up and down his shaft, Brody turned when Aaron reached for his as well. They were both enjoying what they were doing, and when Aaron kissed him on his shoulder, then his neck, Brody turned into his body and touched his free hand to Aarons chest.

  His nipples were hard as stone. The soft fur that covered his chest was thick. Running his fingers through it, Brody leaned in and took his nipple into his mouth and suckled it hard. When he bit down on it, not too hard, Aaron cried out.

  “I need more. I need you.” Lying on the bed, neither of them were sure what to do. “I want to touch you. Everywhere. Then I want to take your cock in my mouth until you come.”

  Brody nearly did come then, especially when Aaron touched him. It didn’t even matter that it was only his arm. It sent waves of electrical pulses throughout his entire body. When Aaron rolled over him to sit on his knees between Brody’s legs, Brody watched as Aaron did a sort of peep show for him by touching his own body.

  His hands rubbed his chest, pausing long enough to play with his nipples. His cock was straining hard, but he never touched himself there. Cupping his own balls, Brody’s mouth watered, his shaft strained. Looking down at their cocks, so close together, Brody wasn’t surprised by the amount of pre-cum dripping from the tip of them both. Leaning up enough to touch his finger to Aaron’s, he put the warm juices into his mouth.

  “Christ, yes.”

  Aaron moved off the bed. Brody wasn’t sure what to do until Aaron put his mouth over his member. Brody wanted to scream, to beg him to stop, yet he needed more. And when Aaron swallowed him down, the tightness of his throat muscles was like a strangling force and just what he needed to come.

  Nothing could have prepared him for the climax that he had. Never in all his thoughts about being with this man had he thought that sex would do this to him—knock his eyes to the back of his head, make his body feel like it had been turned inside out and then slammed back the right way. Reaching down to pull Aaron from his cock, he felt his balls being abused, and when they were twisted in an amazing way, he came again.

  It was just as fulfilling, just as life altering. And when he reached for Aaron this time, he came to him willingly, letting go of his cock like it had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. Brody was sure it was—he never wanted to let this man go, ever.

  Taking Aaron’s cock into his mouth, Brody took his time. He had less urgency, no less of a need, but he was more in control. But Aaron wasn’t. He needed. There wasn’t any reason to say what he needed either. It was written all over his face, much like he was sure his own face looked.

  “Please. I need you to give me relief before I die.”

  He watched Aaron as he went lower on his cock. When he cupped his balls in his hand, Brody couldn’t believe how hot they were, how heavy. And when he turned them, not sure if he was going to hurt him, Brody got his first taste of the most amazing elixir that he could have ever dreamed of.

  Aaron came so hard that Brody nearly couldn’t keep up with him. Crying out when he came a second time, Brody thought for sure they were both going to wake the house. Standing up, begging him for a moment, Brody wrapped his hand around his own cock and felt the need, incredibly, to come again.

  He and Aaron slid their hands up and town each others’ shafts. Not too quickly, as he had been relieved, and so had Aaron. But when Aaron said he was coming, his body bent up from the bed, Brody came as soon as his partner did, his love’s cum sprayed over his chest and face.

  The room darkened for a moment. Brody fell atop Aaron, his legs simply unable to hold up his weight any longer. Crawling over the other man, he made his way to the top of the bed and collapsed. If Aaron moved or even got to the pillow, Brody had no idea. And as much as he wanted to check on him, he just couldn’t move. Sleep took him like he’d been given a sedative. He was simply out.

  ~*~

  Fred tried to figure out where the girl had gone. She always slipped into the store on her way home from going to the gallery once a week. Fred would make sure he followed her close enough to put the drugs on her food. Somedays it worked well; others, he had to keep an eye on her. If she didn’t eat the tainted food right away, then it became a game for them—one he always won.

  She was easy pickings, Emmi was. Emmi Wright was stupid. To Fred, he suppo
sed everyone was. And so far, after all these years of making a killing off these poor, lonely, stupid people, he had never come up empty handed or put in jail. He was careful, and smart.

  Walking around the little store, he tried to make himself look like he was shopping. Fred didn’t eat this sort of food. Who in their right mind would have a salad and fruit when there was meat, beef, pork, chicken, and a plethora of other creatures that were slaughtered just for one’s plate?

  He saw his next woman. She was skinny, and her cart was filled with things that only someone that lived alone would buy. A single frozen dinner. A single can of soup. Fred wondered if any of these pieces of ass ever realized how much they gave away by what they brought home.

  Not that he had sex with them. No, that could get a person into more trouble than it was worth. Condoms would hide most of the DNA, but there were things like sweat and pubic hairs that could get you killed. He never touched their bodies if he could help it. The instruments that he used were cleaned and soaked in bleach every time he used them. The perfect crime.

  And he’d perfected it. There had always been a saying, “There is no such thing as a perfect crime.” Bullshit. He knew better. Fred had been doing it for years upon years. But he couldn’t tell anyone. That would get him caught sure as shit.

  When his “date” didn’t show again, he decided it was time to go by her house. He needed a little action, and the fact that she was taking it from him sort of pissed him off. But, he knew, an angry person was a risky one.

  The woman that he’d picked out was standing in the line at the grocery checkout. She even did him a favor by going to one of the self-checkout places. Watching her carefully, so as not to startle her, he nearly fell into her cart—part of his ploy—and dropped the little drops of drugs on top of her open bag of salad makings. No one was the wiser when he made his way out of the store and took off his wig and heavy fat coat.

  Fred knew about cameras being hidden in places where you couldn’t see them. He also knew that if someone happened to see him use his tool, then they’d be looking for a fat man with gray hair. He changed his costume so often that there were times when they put out a picture of him, even he didn’t know if it was him or some other person. Fred was that damned good.

  He waited in his car. That was another thing that he did—changed his car like he did his costumes. There wasn’t any way that he’d be caught because he owned this or that car. He didn’t own any. But his women did. Emmi, for instance, owned two cars that he used to drive around, an apartment in New York, as well several hundred thousand dollars in credit cards she’d given over to him.

  Not really, he told himself. But he had had a good time going through her trash and finding the invitations, then calling them to have a new credit card in her name. For most people he targeted, the amount they’d get was very low. But he didn’t use it wisely. Why should he?

  But with little Emmi, she must have had some stellar credit, because the first time he cashed in on one of the offers, he was able to get a hundred grand with low interest for eighteen months. He hadn’t told her about the timeline, but had used up the credit on a vacation, and of course, the apartment in New York.

  He’d never been to it. Never even been to New York, as a matter of fact. But he’d seen it for sale in the paper and had jumped right on it. And she was making the monthly payments on it, because he’d checked. She was good for a few more thousand dollars, too.

  But he got the most thrills in beating the shit out of her. Well, not just her, but any woman that he decided would be good for him and a few bucks. She would fight back—even while on the drugs he’d given her to make her fall into a deep sleep, she’d fight back. There were a couple of times that he was glad that he’d worn a facemask—Emmi had come that close to cutting him with her nails. And that wouldn’t do.

  Fred would kill any of the women if they touched him. They’d disappear like a fart in the wind. He’d break their little neck then take them to his hideaway. There, he not only had the means to get rid of the body, but it was also the place where he stored his car collection.

  No one knew where he stored his collection, as he called it. The cars, and other things that the women had, he’d put in the storage containers that his dad had collected over the years before his death.

  Dad’s plan had been to build a house by putting all the containers either side by side or on top of each other. He even had all the windows that he was going to put in. The windows he’d gotten from houses that were being torn down, and were covered in so much dirt and grime now, you couldn’t tell if they were glass or just a part of the earth—just the way Fred liked it. Nothing to make it so that he was someone to remember. And having a bunch of windows reflecting the sun to the road would make someone come and see what the hell it was.

  Following Sarah home—he’d learned her name when he heard one of the cashiers say goodbye to her—Fred was careful not to get caught in any of the cameras on the road. He wondered if the bozos that put them up knew how easy they were to avoid. Just sit back far enough that your face is never seen, and wear gloves, especially when you have marks on your hands that can be traced if the camera picks them up.

  She pulled into her parking spot and he drove on by her home. Soon, he told himself, soon he’d have all he needed to get into her home, get what he wanted, and show her, by beating her until she bled, what it was like to have someone following them.

  Laughing slightly, he pulled out the little book that he’d purchased some time ago. It had puzzles in it that Fred used as a timer. When he finished three of them, then it was time to move. It was getting harder to just do three anymore. He’d become just too smart for them to trip him up anymore.

  Finishing up his puzzles, he got out of his car and made his way up to her apartment. Fred was giddy with excitement. And as he stood outside the door for several moments, he had to calm himself twice before he picked the lock. Easy as pie, he told himself—easy as pie.

  Opening the door, he found the little woman on the floor, her face turned away from him. Christ, it was like taking shit from a baby. Not even a whimper in his direction. Picking up the salad that was on the table, he put it into the large trash bag that he always brought for things like this. Putting it next to the door with his other tools of his trade, he pulled his mask up over his face and reached down with his gloved hands to pick her up.

  Taking her to the bathroom where he would undress her, he made sure that nothing of his body, which was covered with a lab suit from work, touched anything. Fred put all her things in the hamper, where she would have put them, and took her to the bedroom. There, he would have his fun.

  Tying her to the bed wasn’t without difficulty. Not that it slowed him down, but she only had a bed frame without a head board. Once he got her in the position he wanted her, Fred looked down at her nudity.

  “My oh my, those little salads have done you a world of good, haven’t they?” He went to the front room and picked up his tools. Pausing in the kitchen, he looked around. He could have sworn that he saw something out of place. Shaking his head, Fred went to the bedroom again. “Let me see. First we’re going to start with those pretty little legs of yours. Then we’re going to work our way up to that tight belly.”

  He touched one of her legs, and wondered for a moment if he could take his gloves off and touch her porcelain skin. But he told himself that mistakes like that one would get him killed or caught.

  Laying out his tools was like a ritual for him. They laid in the same order, the handles of them in the same direction. There was an extra set of gloves for him, to wipe his face off when he was too hot. He was ready.

  Pulling the cat-o-nine tails up to his body, he felt his long dead cock stir. It would never harden. He would never be able to have sex with the thing. And his libido was as dead as his cock. Nothing excited him but this—hurting and then robbing someone who was too stupid to
be aware of their surroundings like they should be.

  “Mr. Simmons, you’re under arrest.” He was so startled by the hard voice behind him that he shifted around, his feet getting caught up in the tails of the whip. “You have the right to—”

  “What the fuck are you doing here? This isn’t your house. Get out of here.” He realized that he was sounding like a fool and closed his mouth. The woman arresting him tore off his mask and head gear and put him to his knees.

  There was so much he wanted to say right now, but he looked at his fun. It wasn’t who he had thought it was. It was his Emmi getting untied and being handed a robe. While his mind was working out how he’d been mistaken, she waved a little wave at him and blew him a kiss. He dodged it like she might touch him, and the police had another little laugh at his expense.

  He was read the rest of his rights and put in the back of a van. While being chained to the seat and floor, Fred knew that he was as good as released. They had nothing on him. He’d done nothing wrong. Being in the room with a naked woman? Nothing. He had been invited. The tools that he’d brought? She liked her sex rough. Fred wasn’t sure how to get around it being the wrong woman, but he’d get it figured out. He knew, as surely as he was on his way to the police station, that he hadn’t been caught, just delayed for a time. Fred Simmons would not spend any time in jail.

  Chapter 7

  Rachel was sick to death of having nothing—less than nothing, really. No food, no fun, and certainly no money. Nothing was going her way. She just wanted some money in her pocket, or a single credit card that she could use for the necessities. She really needed some soap and shampoo. Things that smelled pretty, not like Ralph.