Tangled Sheets

by Michael Thomas Ford

  The Italian was slamming into the blond now, gripping his waist and shoving his prick in and out quickly and savagely. Sweat covered both of them, slicking their skin like oil. The blond’s eyes were closed as he pounded his dripping dick, his cockhead red and angry where he was rubbing it in his fist. Together they moved like a living, breathing machine, their motions fluid and seamless as they rocked against one another on the narrow platform.

  All of a sudden, the dark man dug his hands into the blond’s sides and plunged his prick home, burying it to the hilt inside the soapy hole. At that moment, the blond’s eyes flew open and looked directly into mine for the first time. Through the window I saw his mouth open in a silent roar of pain and ecstasy as the other man’s load tore into him. Throwing his body back against the Italian’s, he thrust his hips forward, pushing his cock toward me. His fingers were clenched around his balls and the base of his dick, and a geyser of cum erupted from his swollen head.

  Instinctively, I closed my eyes, half expecting to feel a blast of hot prick spit burn across my face. When I opened them, I saw the shining drops of cum spattered against the glass. Another jet of jism exploded from his big nuts, sending thick ropes of spunk into the air and over the metal platform to the street below. Again and again he came, the cum running down his shaft and over his hand, dripping from his balls onto his work boots.

  Seeing his juice on my window, I blew my own load. A flood of jism gushed from my cock and slathered my chest and the chair in rich waves of cream. I milked every drop, running my fingers up the throbbing vein under my prick, feeling my balls empty themselves onto my stomach. Sitting back in my chair, I tried to catch my breath. My nuts ached from all the pounding I had done, and there were tiny spots of cum on my blue silk tie.

  Outside, the two window washers were pulling their pants back on. The glass was covered with thick smears of jism. The blond dipped his wiper into the pail and across the window, wiping away the last traces of his load. Then he reached for the control at the side of the platform. It rose up, the way it had come, and after a minute the two hunks were out of sight and I was left looking out over the city again.

  I looked down at my spunk-covered body and still-hard cock, and then at the clock on my blank computer terminal. Oh, hell, I thought, starting to coax my prick back into action again, I’ve still got fifteen minutes left.

  The Confession

  This story was written as a present for a friend who complained that the porn in most gay magazines was too tame for him. This satisfied him.

  When my face hit the top of the car and I felt the business end of a gun against the side of my head, my first thought was that I was being mugged. I’d dropped my gym bag when the guy had grabbed me from behind, and I hoped he would just take it and run. There wasn’t much in it, anyway. I was still wearing my workout shorts and T-shirt, so all the bag held was a damp towel and my wallet, and all that had in it was my driver’s license and twelve bucks. He was welcome to it. All I wanted was for him to let me go.

  But he left the bag sitting there on the parking lot while he pushed up behind me, spreading my legs with his knee, and snapped something cold around my wrists. “What the fuck—” I started to say, but a strong hand grabbed me by the neck and shoved my face hard against the car. I could feel my lip split open where my teeth cut into it, and then there was the taste of blood in my mouth. Whoever the guy was, he meant to do more than rob me.

  “Shut the fuck up, asshole,” said a mean voice in my ear. “We’ve been looking for you for a long time. Now it’s our game, and you play by our rules.”

  I was yanked back and then pushed forward again in a new direction. I tried to turn around and see who had a hold on me, but it was dark, and the parking lot lights had been knocked out long ago by kids whose idea of fun was tossing rocks at the globes. Besides, despite my being in good shape, the guy was a lot stronger than I was. He held me by the neck like a dog shaking a puppy, forcing me to walk in front of him so quickly that a couple of times I stumbled to my knees. Each time, he just hauled me back to my feet and shoved me forward again. I thought about screaming for help, but I remembered the gun and knew I’d just be in more trouble if I did, so I kept my mouth shut.

  My captor led me around the corner of a warehouse that abutted the gym lot, and I saw that another man was waiting there. In the shadows, I couldn’t see either of their faces, but I saw that they were wearing dark uniforms of some kind and that they towered over me.

  “That him?” the second man said, his voice flat and hard edged.

  “Yeah, this is the creep,” the man holding me replied. “I checked his name out with the girl at the front desk. It’s a match, all right.”

  Lucy, I thought, remembering how she had seemed a little odd when I’d left. I wondered what the guy had told her about me and what the hell was going on.

  One of the men stepped forward, and the next thing I felt was a blow to my stomach as his fist exploded into me. I fell to my knees on the asphalt, unable to breathe. Through the pain I saw the second man raise a leather-booted foot, and I waited for another strike to come.

  “Easy,” said the first man to his friend. “We don’t want him really hurt yet. Remember, Sarge said to bring him in in one piece.”

  “Fucking piece of crap,” the second man snarled. “We should beat the shit out of him right now.”

  The first man laughed. “Don’t worry, by the time Sarge is done with him, anything we could do would look like foreplay.”

  I had no idea who the men were, or why they were after me. I’d never heard of anyone called Sarge. But before I could think of what to do, someone grabbed my hair and pulled my head back. I felt something sticky on my cheek, and then my mouth was sealed shut as heavy tape circled my head, gagging me. Then a hood of some kind was pulled down over my face and tied around my neck. I panicked at first, afraid I wouldn’t be able to breathe, but my nose was still free, and I sucked air in as well as I could. My ankles were held together, and I felt more tape being wrapped around them.

  Once again I was hauled to my feet. This time I was dragged by the arms down an alley. From the rumbling sounds that got louder as we approached, I knew we were going to a waiting car. One of the men opened the trunk, and then I was lifted up and dropped into it, right on top of a spare tire. The trunk was slammed shut, and I was entombed in total darkness with the smell of oil and stale air. I was on my side, my legs pushed up to my chest, and my wrists were beginning to ache from the handcuffs. I was totally helpless, and the feeling made me sick to my stomach.

  The car lurched forward, and I was rolled back and forth against the walls of my prison as the car sped through the streets of the city. Trapped inside the black hold of the car, my senses blurred into a frenzied rush of sound and smell as the driver made turn after turn. I had no idea where it was going or what was awaiting me when it stopped. All I could remember was a name—Sarge—and the way the men had sounded like they wanted to kill me.

  Finally, the car came to a halt. The trunk flew open, and I was lifted out into the warm night air. I heard a door open, and I could tell I was being carried up a flight of steps. Then another door, and more steps, this time going down. By the echo the men’s footsteps made on the stairs, I could tell we were going into a cellar of some kind. My suspicion was confirmed when I was dropped onto hard concrete. The cold was a shock on my overheated skin, and I gasped, trying to breathe through the hood.

  “Leave him there,” said a deep voice unlike the two I’d heard before. “And get out. I’ll take it from here.”

  The sounds of two men going back up the stairs rattled in my head as I lay on the floor. Then I heard a door shut, and I knew I was locked in the basement with someone I couldn’t see. I waited for him to speak, but there was no sound. I listened for his breathing, or for any sign that he was still there, but all I heard was the blood pounding through my veins.

  I lay on the floor for what seemed like an eternity, each second spent waitin
g for someone to speak or for some sound to come that would let me know where I was or what was happening. I knew three men had been in the basement, and that only two had left. That meant one was still there, watching me. But he didn’t make a sound. Again I started to panic, thinking that perhaps I’d been left there for good. I tried to think if I’d told anyone where I was going before I went to the gym, or if anyone would notice I was missing.

  Suddenly, I felt a sharp stream of icy water blast against my chest. The sharp sting took my breath away as the thin line of pressure moved up and down my torso and legs, soaking me. As the water moved across my skin, it left behind both a burning from the intense force and a bitter cold that made me shiver. Then it was gone, as suddenly as it had come, and I was left to shake on the cement floor.

  That’s when I heard the first sounds. They were of feet moving across the floor toward me. Feet that belonged to someone large. I could tell he was wearing boots from the flat, dull slap that came each time he put his foot down. Then the footsteps stopped, and I knew that whoever it was was standing over me. My entire body tensed as I waited expectantly for him to kick me or dole out some other punishment.

  The hood was ripped from my head, and I blinked as my eyes were flooded with the harsh glow of a naked bulb that hung in the center of the room, filling it with dirty light. Looking down at me was a big bear of a man. He had short, dark hair and a beard, and he was wearing a dark uniform like the men who had captured me had been wearing. The shirt was open, and in the opening I could see a broad chest covered in dark hair. His pants were tucked into heavy leather boots. He was holding a hose in his hand, and water fell in fat drops from the nozzle.

  When he saw me looking at him, he sneered, his lip turning up in a gesture of contempt for what he saw. Without a word, he bent down, fastened a thick leather collar around my neck, and affixed a short chain to a metal ring at the back. He used this to drag me across the floor to the center of the room, where he left me in the pool of light thrown down by the bulb.

  “Not such a big shit now, are you?” he said. His voice was harsh, filled with a controlled anger I knew had been sharpened like steel to a dangerous edge. Even though I’d never seen him before, and had no idea what he wanted with me, I could tell that he hated me.

  He crouched down so that his head was near mine. “I bet you’re wondering what the hell you’re doing here, aren’t you?” he said. “Well, I’ll tell you. See, it seems some asshole has been taking advantage of some of the kids in the area. You know, inviting them back to his house. Showing them some homemade videos. Playing a few games that involve, shall we say, a lot of physical contact. You get the idea.”

  I didn’t get the idea, not really. I didn’t know what he was talking about or what this guy had to do with me. The man stood up. “Now, of course the force has its procedures for dealing with this kind of thing. Talk to the kids. Talk to their parents. The usual. But you know how it is. A kid won’t talk. Can’t remember where the house was. No solid evidence. Makes it real hard to finger the guy, right?”

  He rested a booted foot on my neck and applied some pressure, so that my face was pushed against the floor. “But the Sarge here gets some leads,” he said. “Calls in a few favors. Finds out the creep’s name is McCaffrey.”

  McCaffrey? Suddenly it dawned on me what was going on. This was the Sarge the guys had spoken of when they’d kidnapped me. The man was a cop, and he thought I was some kind of child molester. I had to let him know he’d made a mistake, before he did anything else to me. I started to thrash around on the floor as much as I could, screaming through the tape on my mouth.

  His boot hit me in the stomach, knocking me silent as I was rolled onto my back, the air unable to enter my lungs as I heaved. “Shut the hell up!” Sarge ordered. “I give the orders now.” He knelt down and put his face very close to mine, so that I could see the rage boiling in his dark eyes. “I don’t like scum like you,” he said, his breath hot on my face. “But I can’t do anything about you until you confess. Got it? So tonight I’m going to give you a chance to do that.”

  He got up and walked over to the side of the room. When he returned, he was holding a length of thick chain. Standing on a chair, he fastened one end to a clip bolted into the ceiling. Then he dragged me to my feet. Undoing the handcuffs, he moved my hands around to the front of my body and secured them with leather restraints. He attached the free end of the chain to them and then pulled the chain tight so that my hands rose above my head and I was almost standing on the tips of my toes, hung from the clip above me. Because my ankles were still tied, it was difficult to balance, and the muscles of my arms and back started to ache almost instantly.

  Sarge stood in front of me, his eyes looking me up and down. He unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled the sleeves up, revealing hairy, muscled forearms. Then he strode up to me, grabbed the front of my T-shirt, and ripped it clean down the center. A few more tugs had it off me completely. He then gave my shorts a quick yank and had them off as well. I was still wearing my jock from the gym, and he left that on. With my clothes gone, my wet skin rose in goose bumps up and down my body.

  He walked around me for a minute, sizing me up as I hung, almost naked, for his inspection. He came around and stood in front of me again. “So, you like little boys?” he said.

  I protested through my gag, trying to tell him he was making a mistake. But his big hand shot out and slapped me hard across the face. “I didn’t want an answer, asshole!” he bellowed. “You’ll tell me what I want to hear, but not yet. You got that?”

  His eyes stared into mine, daring me to answer him. Instead, I lowered my eyes and nodded. I hoped that if I cooperated he’d take the tape off my mouth so I could tell him that there had been some kind of a mix-up.

  “Good,” he said. He turned away and took something from a workbench on one side of the room. When he came back, I saw that he was holding two small, wicked-looking clamps in his palm. Picking one up in his fingers, he opened it and brought it to my right nipple. Placing it, still open, around my tit, he looked into my face. “Now we’re going to see how you like being played with. Maybe it will remind you of what it was like for those kids.”

  He released the clamp, and it snapped shut around my flesh. I screamed into the tape as the tiny teeth bit into me, sending hot pain through my chest. I’d never had anything like that done to my tits, and I was sure I’d pass out from the sensation. I watched, terrified, as he brought the other one to my left nipple. Sarge smiled as I tried to twist away from him, knowing even as I did it that it was no use. He forced me to be still and let the second one close. I shut my eyes as waves of pain showered over me.

  Sarge stood watching as I arched my back and moved around, trying to free myself from the clamps’ touch. Every time my heart beat, the blood would try to force its way past the rows of tiny metal thorns into my tits, sending new bursts of pain into my skin. My breath came in short, ragged pulses as I tried to breathe away the feeling.

  “Did you like that, little boy?” Sarge teased, coming over and running the tip of one finger around my clamped left nipple, then squeezing it so that new fingers of agony gripped my heart. But behind the pain was something else. As his fingers worked my skin, I felt a jolt of pleasure course through my balls. His touch melted into the pain, becoming a mixture of both that was something I’d never experienced. I tried to let it fill my mind, to understand it. Then he let go, and it was gone.

  Sarge walked back to the bench, picked up something else, and then moved behind me. I couldn’t see what he had in his hand, and that made the anticipation even worse. The pain in my tits had settled into a dull ache, but the memory of their heat was still fresh in my mind. So when I felt his hand on my ass, I flinched.

  He didn’t say a word as he rubbed my ass cheeks, kneading the flesh with his strong hands. He ran his fingers under the straps of my jock, feeling the hard mounds of my ass. I actually started to relax as he worked my butt, and forgot for a m
oment that I was his victim—bound and gagged—and not his lover. I even felt my cock start to stiffen inside its pouch.

  Sarge felt it, too. His hand went around me and gripped my prick, squeezing me painfully. “What the fuck is this?” he growled, taunting me. “What kind of boy are you? A bad one, from the looks of it, getting hard like that.”

  He released my cock, and the next thing I felt was the slap of wood against my bare ass. The force knocked me forward, and my shoulder muscles cried out in pain as the chain drew me back. The paddle came again, stinging my cheeks as Sarge landed smack after smack with fierce precision. He would let the touch of one begin to ebb and then hit me again, sending the pain back up in crashing waves that rolled over and over me in greater waves the harder he hit me.

  “Bad boys need spanking,” he said as he beat me. “Isn’t that what you told the boys you touched?” He started to paddle me harder, moving the blows in a hot line across my burning ass.

  As much as it hurt, I was ashamed to see that my cock was actually getting harder, not softer. The truth was, I thought Sarge was one of the hottest men I’d ever seen. Besides his size and his hairy chest and arms, there was something in his eyes that made me want to do anything for him. Although I’d never had anything done to me like what he was doing to me now, I found myself waiting for him to touch me again.

  He finished spanking me with the paddle and began to use his hand again, slapping first one cheek and then the other, using his fingers to bring out little bursts of pain all over my ass. Every time he touched me, I’d moan into my gag as my body fell forward. When he finally stopped, I could feel the blood running just below the surface of the welts I was sure crisscrossed every inch of my skin.

  Sarge came around and stood in front of me. When he saw the head of my now-stiff cock poking over the waistband of my jock, he scowled. I couldn’t look him in the eyes as he ripped the jock off me and my hard-on fell forward over my balls. I knew he was angry that I’d been getting off on his punishment.