Hooch and Cake

by Heidi Cullinan

  It was indeed a damn good show, with Sam naked and ass-up over Mitch’s legs, squirming and whimpering, holding on to Mitch’s hand as Randy got ready. Mitch was turned on as hell, but he couldn’t help checking in with Sam.

  “Sunshine, you can say no.”

  “I know.” Sam’s breath was raspy, shaking. “I don’t want to. I want to do this.” He held tight to Mitch. “I want you with me, though.”

  So that was how Mitch watched Sam get his first caning: deeply moved and hard as a Texas brick. Randy didn’t whip him nearly as intensely as he could have, Mitch couldn’t help but notice. There would be some nice stripes, yes, but they’d be pink at best and wouldn’t last more than a day. Sam wouldn’t have much trouble sitting down. Though Sam wasn’t much for sharp pain, which Skeet knew. It was mostly the idea that he was doing this thing that scared him, doing it for Mitch.

  They got him off good after, Mitch from the front, kissing and grinding against him while Randy rutted at his backside. They came in a sweaty mess of bodies that meant Mitch would be changing the sheets. Randy wouldn’t let him, though—told him to get Sam showered and he’d do it. So Mitch made out with Sam under the spray and kept him awake long enough to pour him into the crisp linens once they were finished.

  Afterward, he sat up and played some cards and drank with Randy until his eyelids were drooping too, at which point he climbed in beside Sam. He heard Randy getting settled in the spare room, tossing and turning on the air mattress, and then the next thing he knew it was morning and the house was full of wonderful smells, the kitchen bustling with Randy and Sam putting together the final dishes for the meal.

  The food was, of course, incredible. There was enough turkey for half the town, Mitch was sure of it, except when the three of them were finished, there was a lot less left than he would have guessed.

  They put the leftovers in the fridge, and then the three of them did the dishes together. Randy teased Sam and got him to blush, then egged Mitch on and made him swat Randy in the ass with a towel. It was, in short, the perfect end to a perfect day.

  Except then Mitch found out the fun wasn’t over.

  Randy pulled his pumpkin and apple pies from where they were chilling on the balcony, and grabbed forks from the drawer and a tub of freshly made whipped cream from the fridge. “Time for dessert.”

  Mitch didn’t think he had a single inch of room, but the sight of those pies had his brain correcting his stomach’s misconceptions. “I’ll get the plates.”

  “Oh, don’t bother. We don’t need any plates.” Randy smiled at Sam with the devil’s grin, backing him slowly toward the coffee table. “We’re using Peaches as our plate.”

  Sam looked equal parts terrified and turned on, and Mitch corrected himself once more.

  He wasn’t simply hungry for that pie now. He was ravenous.

  Chapter Four

  IT WASN’T UNTIL the Friday after Thanksgiving that Mitch found out Randy had cancelled his flight back to Vegas.

  “You need me here,” Randy said with a shrug when Mitch asked him why. He’d made scrambled eggs with cheese, onion, peppers—real hot peppers that made Mitch’s belly burn happily—and bacon. Randy spooned a healthy portion onto Mitch’s plate. “So I’m staying.”

  “What, you’re just going to move in?” Mitch forked a bite of egg, and pleasure rippled through him as he put the food in his mouth.

  “For now, but not for long.” Randy flicked Mitch’s sleeve with his fork. “Don’t worry, I won’t get too comfy.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Mitch took another bite and groaned. “Fuck, Skeet. The shit you do to food.”

  “Yes, if only some rich sugar daddy would put me up in a designer kitchen. Think of how fat I could make him.” Randy sipped his coffee and leaned back in his chair. “Old Man, having been here a week, I’m here to tell you this shit is a mess. It’s more than schedules and money and poor queers who can’t go to the ball. You need to get out of this stinking-thinking you two have going on. I know you can’t move until Sam’s done with school, but the second that happens, you need to get the hell out of Dodge. Until that time, you need to do your damnedest to crawl outside of the fucking box this town has you in.”

  Mitch frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean this place has been your home base for how long now, and you’ve made exactly zero friends. Sam’s BFF has potential, but she’s got her head up her own skirt.”

  Mitch had gotten an earful from Sam about how Randy had tested Emma. “You could have been a little less bull-in-a-pharmacy with her from what I was told.”

  “Yes, I could have. But I wanted a read on her, and I got one. She’s a nice girl who’ll have a vibrator in her bedside drawer until she has kids and she hides it in the back of her bureau and forgets about it, content to have sex once a month—if that—quick in the dark so the kids don’t hear. That’s about as deep as she goes. And outside of you, she’s Sam’s single, solitary close friend here. She most likely went to her sweetie’s family yesterday for the holiday and tittered over how they were making love in his childhood bedroom. Meanwhile Peaches wore a vibrating plug and a ball gag and let us eat pumpkin pie and whipped cream off his abdomen before we gang-banged him over the back of the couch. It’s bad enough you’re holing up and waiting for your prison sentence to be over, but you have to remember: Sam doesn’t know Middleton is jail. He thinks this is normal. We gotta get him to some actual kink-loving normal. STAT.”

  Randy had a point. Mitch ran a hand over his face and sighed. “I’d take him on the road more, get him out to Vegas, but with his school—”

  “Jesus. No, you can’t take him out of here to find it. He’s got to feel normal here. He needs—fuck, you need—to learn how to feel normal any-fucking-where you land.” When Mitch started to protest, Randy waved his sputter away airily. “I know you don’t know how to do that. This is why I cancelled my flight. I can play online poker and go to casinos and work on cars as easily here as I can back home. It’s just colder here and more boring.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Speaking of cars. We need to finish up here so I can go pick up mine.”

  “You bought a car?”

  “Van, technically, but yes. I need a way to get around. This one-car bullshit in a town with no public transportation is for the birds. If Sam were at school this morning instead of work, one of us would’ve had to drive him or we’d be without a vehicle.” Randy grinned around a bite of egg. “It’s an old conversion van all tricked out. Needs carburetor work, and exhaust. Gonna work at it in Mario’s brother’s garage, which’ll hopefully lead to repair jobs. But if not, there’s always online poker.”

  “Who’s Mario?”

  “Guy who owns the Mexican grocery store. He’s looking out for me, and in exchange, I’m doing some work for him.”

  Mitch tried to digest it all, but mostly he kept hanging up on the fact that he wasn’t taking Randy back to the airport on Sunday. He was waking up to eggs and hash browns and coming home to meatloaf and a clean house and fucking Sam with him. Every day.

  They got the van, and they tinkered with it in the alley until Sam got home. Over dinner, Randy shared his announcement about staying, and Sam’s joy made Mitch’s heart swell even as he felt guilty. He should have seen this, known what Sam needed without being told.

  “That’s not how it works,” Randy said when Mitch confessed as much as they did dishes together. “You can’t see stuff like that in your own day-to-day. If you dropped into my life and poked around, you’d see all kinds of things I’m missing.”

  “I wouldn’t see it like you do. And I probably wouldn’t know how to fix it.”

  “So then you be glad I do see so well and am a manipulative bossy-pants who will help you scheme to a happily ever after.”

  Mitch glanced at the couch, where Sam sat with headphones as he pored over a reading assignment. “I thought I already got that. The happy ever after, I mean.”

  “Yeah, well, that’
s where you’re wrong, Old Man. You don’t just ride Old Blue into the sunset and call it good. You keep on driving, into one hot mess after another.” He swatted Mitch on the butt with the dishtowel. “Be glad I’m here to help steer you back onto the road when you go off course.”

  Mitch was glad. He really, really was.

  RANDY HAD BEEN looking for wedding venues since before he’d arrived in Iowa, but after his Thanksgiving-week recon, he had a second and far more crucial mission: finding Sam and Mitch some local kink.

  He knew from Sam’s stories of his pre-Mitch past how he’d had a string of regular tricks—straight boys he’d blow in the bathroom, a regular fuck-buddy who turned Sam’s crank with his disinterest—but Randy also knew that since Sam’s return to his hometown, his kink was with Mitch, and multiple partners happened only on the road. When asked about this, Sam stammered and blushed and said he didn’t have time. Mitch, when the two of them were alone, said he knew what Randy was getting at and agreed, but his intense driving schedule had meant it was hard to get out and vet potential candidates.

  He also made it clear he’d be grateful if Randy put that task on his to-do list. So Randy did.

  Grindr options were thin on the ground but better than Randy had thought they would be, and in addition to several prospects for a friendly orgy, he got to be pounded in the men’s restroom of one of the bars by a burly top with a thick beard and thicker cock. What Randy had trouble finding, though, were younger men. He wasn’t sure why his instincts kept steering him into that pool, but they did, so he went with it. There were plenty of sweet young things looking for a good time, and Randy gave a few of them what they sought, but they were too friendly, and all bottoms. Sam needed a bossy, angry top to call him a slut and mean it, and Mitch needed to watch. This was a tough order to fill.

  Well—okay. Amend that. Randy didn’t know how to fill it and still keep Sam safe, physically and mentally. Yes, Mitch would be there to guard him, and initially so would Randy, but he wasn’t having anyone make his Peaches feel crappy about his fetish. It was not the case that just anyone would do. Problem was, Randy was beginning to feel nobody would do.

  Then one night Randy met Keith Jameson at the bar, and he laughed at himself for taking so long to see what was right in front of him the whole time.

  Keith was, Randy knew, Sam’s favorite straight-boy hookup at school, and given the amount of tit-watching the guy engaged in, straight was very much what Keith was. But an evening’s observation told Randy something else—Keith liked rough trade more than he liked tits and pussy. There was an edge to him, a need to fuck hard and spew venom at his partner, a yen born not out of hatred but a dark vein of forbidden. Randy would bet serious money this guy had a computer full of hard-core porn back at his apartment. This was why he liked to fuck Sam’s mouth in the school bathroom. What a rush that must have been, subjugating someone who wanted it so much.

  Odds were good the guy hadn’t had anyone like Sam since Sam.

  Smiling around the edge of his drink, Randy decided it was time poor Keith had a shift in fortune.

  Flirting with a straight guy was an art Randy had perfected long ago. There were men nobody could touch with a ten-foot pole, but they were few and far between. Most people liked attention, and nearly all men loved sex. When Randy had a straight fish in his sights, he bought him a drink, chatted him up, and laid his groundwork. Keith was no exception, and it didn’t take long to find the lure: when Keith found out Randy lived in Vegas, he was all ears. Randy told him everything he wanted to know: about the Nevada brothels, about sex parties, about the lure of a constant stream of random strangers.

  Eventually Randy moved them to a table in the back of the bar with a pitcher of Pabst, under the guise of telling Keith even filthier tales. He did—but it wasn’t long before the stories were rather gay. They always featured Randy, though—Randy letting guys do things to him and loving it. He told a lot of stories about fucking straight guys and letting them fuck him.

  “Sex is sex, right?” He leaned back in his chair and ran the toe of his boot along Keith’s ankle. “Best fun sometimes is with a guy who isn’t actually into me. Sometimes it’s good to be used. And nobody uses you like a straight man.”

  He gave Keith a blowjob in the alley—it was a little chilly, but Keith gave good hair-pull. They exchanged numbers, and it wasn’t long before Randy was making regular visits to Keith’s apartment to get the shit fucked out of him. It pleased him to be the kid’s first gay fuck. He taught the guy how to set up a Grindr account and assured him it was more than fine to say he was a straight guy only wanting to fuck and get sucked, no favors returned.

  “Bigger kink than you might be thinking,” he promised.

  Keith really was a nice guy, especially once someone let him go raw on their ass. “There used to be this guy at school. But he’s dating somebody now, and he’s not interested.”

  God, Randy loved it when a game went the way he wanted it to. “Would this be Sam Keller?”

  Keith’s eyes widened in surprise. “How did you know?”

  Randy’s grin was feral. “Let me tell you a few more stories, sugar.”

  When he went back to Sam and Mitch’s place that night, his ass was sore, his jaw hurt, and he was ready to fuck Sam like nobody’s business. Mitch saw what was coming as soon as Randy walked in the door and went for the rope. He took Sam’s books out of his hand, stripped him naked, and tied his wrists above his head. Randy spread Sam, lifted his ass with a pillow, and worked him open with a clinical efficiency that made Sam wriggle and moan.

  “Got you a present.” Randy got a third finger into Sam’s ass, burrowing to his knuckles. “Somebody’s coming over tomorrow night. You’re going to suck him off, I’m teaching him how to paddle you, and then he’s doing you while we watch.”

  Sam’s gaze went dark, a beautiful mix of fear and anticipation. “Oh?”

  “Yeah.” Randy pushed Sam’s legs open wider and admired the gape before going in again. “He’s straight, but he likes rough sex and loves using. We’ve been meeting up all week, and he’s excited to do you. He’ll twist your shame kink until you burst.” Randy pulled out of Sam, slipped on a condom, and drove inside hard enough to make Sam stutter for breath. “Best part is, you’ve already been with him. He says he misses your mouth.”

  Sam’s eyes flew open. “Randy, who—Ungh.” Sam shut his eyes and moved his hips in time to Randy’s thrusts.

  Randy bent down and ran a wet tongue down the side of Sam’s ear. “Keith Jameson.”

  Sam cried out in alarm, and Randy laughed against his neck and fucked Peaches until he shuddered and came.

  Once recovered, Sam began to protest, saying he couldn’t do it, he didn’t want Keith to fuck him—except it was obvious as hell that he did. Mitch took point, making Sam give him a blowjob, then turning him, still tied, onto his stomach and doing him hard and rough as he whispered in Sam’s ear how much he was looking forward to seeing Keith take a shot at him. Randy had mastered the mimic of Sam’s favorite porn thrust weeks ago, and they’d spent many a night with Randy snapping and rolling his hips as he pounded Sam into the mattress while Mitch looked on.

  They didn’t let Sam come a second time, and in fact they spent the better part of that night and the next morning, until Sam had to go to work, ramping him up. When he got home, they started up again, never letting him get off, always whispering about how good it would be to see him with Keith.

  “He’s been fucking me for days.” Randy stroked Sam’s dick and licked his ear as he teased him. “Grabs my hair and yanks that shit while he stuffs that monster into my mouth.” He nipped Sam’s earlobe. “Bet you miss that big snake in your throat. Bet you remember. He remembers. Said nobody whimpered like you when he fucked their face. Said you were the best.”

  Sam whimpered now, squirming against Randy, his eyes darting always over to Mitch.

  When Keith finally showed up, it was hard to say who was hornier or more anxious, Sam or t
he boy who’d come to fuck him. Keith hovered in the doorway, looking ready to bolt if anyone breathed on him funny, and Sam stayed near Mitch, watching Keith like a hawk but not letting go of his fiancé’s arm. Mitch kept a close eye on Sam, but he also shot plenty of don’t you upset my boy glances at Keith.

  Jesus, what a mess.

  Randy assessed the situation, let them all fuck with each other for a few minutes, then clapped his hands. “All right, boys. I think we could all do with a few medicinal rounds of mescal, don’t you?”

  He lined up four glasses on the counter and poured two fingers into each, launching into teasing mode as they got the liquid down. He wasn’t going to let anyone get drunk, but loose was definitely going to be an advantage here. Mitch arrived at relaxed first, taking a Bohemia from the fridge as he assumed his position in his chair for the show, and Keith’s shoulders settled into a more comfortable plane as he finished his glass and leaned against the fridge.

  That only left Sam, and Randy knew what to do with him. Putting his drink aside, Randy leaned on the counter and pointed at the floor in front of him. “Peaches, get on your knees and suck my dick.”

  Sam blushed, glancing around the room, his gaze lingering on Keith. Then he let out a shuddering sigh, finished off the last of his mescal, and got on the floor in front of Randy. His fingers trembled as he undid Randy’s belt and button, but as he set Randy’s semihard erection free, Sam began to calm.

  Not all the way, though. He turned his head to look at Keith, who was still standing at the fridge.

  Randy gripped his hair and forced his attention back to his dick.

  “My dick, honey. I know you’re greedy for Keith’s cock, that you want him to treat you rough in front of us, but you’re my hole right now.” He yanked on Sam’s hair and slapped his cock against the side of Sam’s face. “Suck this, bitch. Make it hard. Open that hole and show me what it’s for.”