About Jerry and Tom and Will

An intricate story spurred by the prospects for an emotionally sequestered, possibly bi-polar or split-personality man to discover himself through two high schoolers.

* * *

Jerry Dunbar ran a hand along his mature bed partner’s naked thigh, up to his waist, and then down along the curve of his stomach. His body was pressed against his friend’s, whose head rested on his arm. This moment had not been part of the original plan, and had surprised him. Breathtakingly so, for it already had altered his life.

* * *

There were signs – furtive glances, comments made only half in jest. Tension had built for the better part of the afternoon. Each of them silently wondering. Neither knowing for sure if they would go to the next level. And then they – he and tricky, sometimes prickly classmate Will Font – arrived at Tom Naughton’s third floor apartment which Jerry wanted to see because it had a nice view of the parking lot.

An acquaintance, wealthy Tom, who knew cars, had said there were Rolls, Bentleys, Ferraris, Audis, Range Rovers, Cadillacs, and Hummers. There were. Cars of all types bored Will, who said he had rather watch grass grow and would “go out” if Jerry didn’t want to fuck. They could, he said, “Because your faggot friend Tom’s not here and wouldn’t care if he were.”

The crude frankness startled Jerry. Unwittingly a tease, he had nothing of the sort in mind. He did not know that his behavior provoked Will’s hostility.

Heat reflected from those cars rose humidly to create a situation of overwhelming sexual tension.

“Get naked,” Will told him. “I’m going to end this crap pretense between us. You want it and I’ll give it to you.”

That had been a couple of hours ago. The rough act had taken minutes.

“Bye, car-man sucker,” was what Will said as he left.

Some friend, Jerry thought. He could not decide what to do, so he dithered there, sitting sweatily on a towel in the apartment of a man he knew slightly. His deflowered ass stung. Unfocused thoughts occupied him. He did not hear Tom come in.

“Who have we here? Jerry, my boy, what happened?”

Ashamed, he let muscular, decade-older Tom take him in hand and look him over to draw his own conclusions. “We just came here to see the cars, like you said we could.”

At the sight of the teen’s wrecked hole, Tom’s resonant voice sympathized, “This needs therapy. Go lie face down on my bed while I prepare a few things.”

An opportunistic man of action, he stripped – entertaining a wild idea – unscrewed a bottle of rubbing alcohol, saturated a washcloth with it, and proceeded to wipe down the boy’s back. “Its quick evaporation will cool you, Jerry.”

Impeccable skin, his fingers discovered – over all the boyish body. He had not been so in-touch with one in months, at least not one so young. He felt himself responding – with thoughts of breaking the law as he wiped his uncomplaining, trusting, supine, presumed rape victim.

Tom’s groin was threatening to betray him. He moved swiftly away, task done.

Tap water rinsed the cloth of its alcohol, made sure of proper wetness. He used it to bathe the savaged hole ever so gently. Took a tube of healing salve and anointed the affected area with delicate motions of a single fingertip. “Jerry, can you hear me?” he asked.

“Yes, that feels good.”

“I must work in a lot of this salve where you need it most.” He screwed up his nerve. Motivation came under a cloud of desire to domineer. “To accomplish that end, I will use my most personal tool. Initial discomfort will gradually vanish and be replaced by – well, let me show you, all right?”

“I guess so.”

The salve’s creaminess coated Tom’s throbby prominence until it glistened. A dollop extra was deposited on Jerry’s puffy, probably bruised ring. He took the decision to settle slowly. Broad though his tip was, it parted the poor, overwrought ring and held it open long enough that Jerry did not react. Moving forward by micro-increments, its crest had little trouble. Only when finally inserted to the boy’s innermost part did Jerry flinch.

The rest of Tom’s body he held from contact to begin to massage salve into anguished rectum. With subtle flexes of pelvis, he medicated Jerry. The area soon soothed to a degree.

Never at a loss for words, Tom almost crooned, “I have you. Stay as you are, relaxed and receptive. You will start to feel me and my cock to be part of you, the part which will change your life – if you remain receptive. We aren’t in a hurry, Jerry, you and I. Say nothing, but nod when you are ready for me to move again. Realize your need. I will rest with you like this until then.”

The room’s heat was stifling. Might that add to the experience of salving the raped passage?

No response. In one’s absence, Tom lowered himself onto the boy not to crush him with his man’s weight but to situate a cheek into his hair, whispering, “It’s up to you.”

The nod came.

Its small thrill inspired a small gesture: Tom rubbed his cheek and chin through soft, short-clipped, mousy tresses as he drew back carefully through sensitive tissues, taking time, then pausing to repeat his whisper, “It’s up to you.”

An almost imperceptible nod.

Holding his breath to retain control, Tom slid a shallow distance before pausing for what he hoped would be a confirming nod from his desirable visitor.

It came. Most of the rest of his cock was moved further. Stopped from touching where it had initially, it pulsed as if waiting another instruction.

Jerry turned his head to the side, “If you don’t hate me for what happened here, do you like me?”

Timorous. In the circumstance, titillating.

“More than you know. If you cooperate with me for the next hour or so, you will know that you like me even more.”

“I liked you before. I like you now. You are a nice man.”

“That’s a compliment, Jerry, which means a lot and gives me incentive. I’m going to ride you from what you know now of me to what I believe will be a meritorious beyond, or reward for your trust.”

Seconds passed before two, perhaps three nods signaled acceptance, if not understanding.

Tom considered what he was about to do the way a damaged canvas is returned to life, one tiny stroke of paint after another. His cock and salve must be the tool and material to restore Jerry’s fuckability. His virginity had been stolen in crudest fashion, the teen deprived of the wonder of surrendering it to a lover and of the delights which surely would have ensued.

If truth be known, Tom Naughton had harbored sexual interest in Jerry Dunbar soon after seeing the boy ogling expensive vehicles on display through the plate glass wall of his car importer’s showroom. Another occasion, at the local children’s museum, there the boy was looking inquisitively at miniature replicas of famous autos. Tom’s collection, on loan anonymously.

The young body’s unconscious language of innocent desire and susceptibility triggered the man’s latent pederastic inclination. He had never acted on it, although what he knew of its power dynamics prodded his consciousness when a certain type of teen crossed paths with him.

There, beneath him, the canvas already prepped (badly) for his restorative strokes.

A quiver, a push, a pull. Retract and push. Augment the distance and commence anew. Prod back. Set a pattern lightly insistent. Bring him along. Undulate. Kiss his neck. Begin to buck. Let him sniffle. Kiss him. Spit him deep, full length. Begin to fuck – all the way back, all the way forward but slowly. Ever so slowly. Cause no fright, no alarm but course in and out. Streamline the path to excite sensitivity from ring to brain. Long-distance strokes distribute both salve and love. Dispense well-being. Convince by screwing him to orgasm. There-there-there-and-there! Again, but with another slow build-up. Take lots of time. Screw with different rhythm to keep him focused, breathless though he be. Now, fuck him. With vigor. Piston from his slight body another orgasm and, when he has to abandon thin cum he did not know remained, fire weightily into his gut manly sperm in copious gobbets.                                                                                                                        

Cries signaled the end. Both spiraled to the limits of feeling. In exhaustion, Tom fell away, rolled to the side, and blissed out as he heard Jerry say, “You hurt me so good.”

* * *

Jerry kissed Tom’s bare shoulder, nudged with his nose the bristly, unshaved cheeks, and listened to his breathing. Debilitated as he was wont to be after sex in really hot weather, he was sound asleep.

Jerry, ass smarting differently than after his near-rape by Will, lay still for a long moment, completely intoxicated by the smell and touch of his handsome companion. His insides retained the memory of what Tom had done to minister to him. 

Pulling himself away from the contact, he rolled on his back, instinctively squeezed not to lose any of Tom’s load, and stared at the ceiling fan’s ineffective, slow-turning blades. Beyond, the balcony door and the sound of honking horns.

* * *

Tom woke, sleep-sodden. Jerry lay beside him. “What are you doing?”

“Watching the fan.”

“Let’s take a shower.”

Reality hit: Tom’s earlier rush had occupied him so totally that he forgot to turn on the apartment’s air-conditioning. Little wonder the place was stifling.

Cool-seeming, room-temperature spray washed down the drain soap suds and sweat. The two of them remained under it, embracing, head against head, rocking slightly as if about to dance. To the boy, the intimacy was love; to the man, it caused thought – about what vile Will Font had done.

Continuing the special silence between them, Tom dried Jerry with a thick, hydrocotton bath towel. Sensuously luxuriant, the towel was used from ankles to knees, from thighs to crotch and buttocks – blotting, buffing every inch until it glowed in pink health. Satisfied thus far, Tom moved higher with similar attention to rib cage, chest’s nipples, under and along arms, around neck and, as he dried Jerry’s hair, pressed their mouths together in a brief kiss.

The while, an idea led to a decision.

“Come along. I want to show you how the next phase of your medication is to go.” In the bedroom, Tom took up a formerly well-employed object not quite like a penis. He explained, “You medication is water soluble, which means you have probably already absorbed it. You require another dose. Look how I open this end and load it with salve. Now I screw back the cap. Feel right here – how if you squeeze it, salve comes from the insertable other part. Marvelous, isn’t it?”

“I can, like, wear it?”

“Good boy. You’re catching on. That’s the idea,” he ruffled damp hair. “Stand as you are and I’ll show you how it goes right in and stops where this raised part is. Yes, Jesse, you have it nicely now. It will stay in place with the slight contraction of your ring muscle. Try it. Squat a few times. Walk about the room.”

“Feels sorta odd, but okay.”

“And it will feel better. Now, let’s get dressed. We’re going for a drive.”

“A drive?” Jerry’s voice escalated.

“You know those cars you were looking at in the parking lot? We’re going to take one for our spin. Have you ever been in a Rolls Royce? P.S. – by the time we return, the air here will be much more comfortable.”

The boy, unused to a personal dwelling’s climate control, heard the announcement without reaction. The question – he could not believe the question. A ride in a Rolls-Royce?

But dressed, he followed smartly attired Tom from the apartment’s elevator to the high-polished, maroon-and-tan Rolls and sat carefully on its hand-tooled white leather front seat. It was like sitting on a cloud – with something up your butt. There was a question he wanted to ask.

Not a chance.

“Direct me to where you live. I want to see it. Let’s go.”

A directive not to be questioned.

Jerry’s heart sank as he pointed the way to the city’s most dismal section, a slum of tenements.

“I live in that one, in the basement with my older cousin who takes in laundry. It’s not too hot down there.”

“Where does Will live?”

“In the one next to it, over there where the trash is piled up. He’s on the second floor with his dad.”

Tom said nothing, but faced forward to say, “Show me where the two of you go to school.”

In the same depressing neighborhood. Tom glimpsed the shoddy place. “What kind of grades do you make?”

“Cs, with some Bs.” Not wanting to go that way, he swiveled toward his driver, “Whose car is this? I mean, is it okay for us to be riding in it? Did you borrow it?”

Not to laugh in the boy’s face, Tom sniggered an instant. “It’s mine, Jerry. I bought it.”

Chagrined, Jerry tightly contracted on his dispenser’s base. “I think I have all of it now – you know – what you put in me.”

The Rolls took them back to Tom’s apartment building.

Conditioned air – comfortably cool and dehumidified! After removing the boy’s inset, Tom went to prepare a light supper. Jerry looked from the window down and marveled further about having been in that Rolls. Another person was down there, in the shadows. Prying off hubcaps – Will! With a small crowbar.

“Tom! Come here. See what a mean guy Will is. He doesn’t even like cars, and he’s stealing hubcaps.”

Tom Naughton saw. He called the police, gave them the address, and described the crime in progress.

A patrol car in the vicinity drove up to the lot’s entrance within a minute. After a scuffle involving the crowbar, Will Font, his snarling face somewhat skinned by abrupt contact with the pavement, was arrested, locked in handcuffs, and driven away.

He had not seen who witnessed his crime.

“We can relax now. They’ll take care of him for the immediate future.”

* * *

“You don’t have school tomorrow. Will you be missed if you stay the night here?”

“Nobody ever misses me.”

“Are you feeling all right? You look perturbed, Jerry. Perturbed means worried. Nervous. What’s that about?” Tom wondered whether he was going too far.

The boy’s cheeks narrowed. Finding the right words was never easy for him. Not when an authority figure asked questions.

“It’s down there,” he helplessly pointed behind. “I don’t know, I feel, like, uh, something ought to be in there, you know, like when you were helping me before.”

Lips trembling, eyes watery, his was a face of pathos when he finally could bring himself to ask, “Will you fuck me again?”

“It may be too soon, and you too sore. The medication is probably still working, I gave you so much.”

“I wasn’t jumpy after that.”

Tom figured he was being entreated, medication or not. He stood, erecting through his sweat pants. His appearance powered Jerry’s libido.

“Please?” he begged.

Bemused, Tom bided his time, hands on hips. With a hand movement he signaled up. “Do you remember how to kiss?”

“Yes.”

“Come and show me.”

The boy approached his man, stopped, realized he had to make the move – but how? Tom was taller and motionless. Jerry stood on tiptoes to pucker his lips yet was not close enough to deliver them to Tom. A step closer took him into contact with the insistent stiffness whose action he coveted.

“Take off my pants. Kiss my cock first.”

To obey Tom – nothing less would do. Jerry looked up to see his man looking down as he stepped from the pants and waited.

Such an innocent kiss. “Jerry, when you’re with me and kissing, you use your tongue. Try to get inside the slit on the end – with your lips around the head. There. Good. Now’s the time for your clothes. Disrobe.”

Tom removed his shirt as the boy stripped. “Kiss it again, this time with a lot of spit – because your spit is going to be its lubrication.”

Job done, Jerry extended his arms, was hoisted high and lowered as if to sit on Tom’s cock which, in an instant of pelvic crunch, went into his hole. To an unearthly sounding “Yes!” the lad’s legs encircled Tom’s waist, his arms the man’s neck, and he was being bucked into roundly.

Supporting him while taking a few steps and pausing to thrust more decisively, walking further and thrusting, Tom exerted authority’s strength. His voice darkly serious, he stopped to say, “I like the way you trust me. So, you’re getting fucked. But wouldn’t you rather I loved you with my cock?”

Jerry’s response was to sway his rear. He had tightened, his ass loving the thickness bored into it.

“Tom, I don’t know. You know. You…”

Dropped heavily on the bed and mounted from the front, he struggled erratically for breath, lips parted. Tom’s cock pierced him in the one place, his tongue stuck out to take Jerry’s mouth. Lips brushed back and forth over the curves of cheeks, eyes, brow, nostrils, and chin. Tongue flicked each before returning to succulent mouth.

Tom gripped Jerry’s hair and smashed their mouths together. A display of need in the form of hunger – tasting, sucking, biting. He held back nothing – kissed the boy harder, urged his mouth wider open. Said something the only words of which Jerry made out were “so soft and sweet.”

Then clearer, “Hands over your head.” Chest stretched. Untried nipples brought forward for manly fingers to tease – a new development in sexual stimulation of the unwitting boy who asked only to be fucked. Tom dug his cock deep. “Let me and I’ll love you, Jerry.”

“Love me.”

“Love me back.”

With mutual clamps and clasps, open-mouthed kisses, grunts and moans, they thrashed against each other – and came.

Air-conditioning returned the two overheated bodies to normal.

Tom touched Jerry’s little finger nearest him on the soaked bed, stroked it a little, asked, “Feeling better?”

Jerry looked his way, “Yes,” and looked back at the ceiling fan’s slowly turning blades. “I feel like I did before.”

Emotion welled in Tom. A sigh cracked in his throat. The boy resembled an animal which, until the present moment, had never been petted. He willingly accepted what probably did hurt. Devotedly, his nature equipped him to endure such attention with childish cheer – dished out by not just any man. One who saved him.

Guilt hovered in the recesses of Tom’s conscience. Responsibility he had not sought nagged. What was he to do after their night’s sleep?

He spoke toward the ceiling fan, “Jerry, in the morning, what do you want to do?”

“Have more salve.”

“If you rest well and don’t disturb me, I will tend to you then.”

Jerry’s eyes were open before Tom woke. At first stirring from the other side of the bed, he was careful to turn away and assume a fully prone position. Tom buried his face in the boy’s neck.

Already wet on the end, his cock had a promise to keep. It met token resistance, furrowed past, and ground steadily in on its last night’s leavings there. Sharply defined, its coronal ridge flared to mix sperm and unabsorbed salve, churning the two by its pistonings.

The cock’s strokes grew in power as Tom, completely awakened, took command. Instinctual action became purposeful. Promise’s duty turned into domination’s pleasure.

Not lost in Jerry’s consciousness, the change was sensed. His reaction was to find his man’s feet with his own and to hook toes around ankles. A form of possession, the act sent a signal to Tom, one made more obvious as his feet were pushed apart further and further, opening the boy’s ass to its driving penetration.

“You..lov-ing..me?”

The question keyed Tom’s, “Yes, you need loving,” voiced low in his throat. The specter of responsibility infiltrated his strokings. The hair on the back of his neck lifted. Every inch of his skin tingled. He lessened the act from moderately fast to slow, not to stop but to bump in tiny increments until sexual imperatives absurdly ordered him to seek climax.

“Accept this love.” A struggle to say, but necessary.

“Yes, Tom.”

The ceiling fan whirred as man inundated boy.

* * *

Shuffling to the kitchen for Saturday breakfast, flooding bowls of cereal with light cream and touching up the flavor with sprinkles of unrefined brown sugar, paying no attention to the morning news on television while they ate and drank instant coffee, and cleaning up, they smiled at each other.

“I want you to go with me to my gym.”

“Yes, Tom,” as he followed the way back to their bedroom.

“I want you to do some exercises. They will make you healthier.”

“Yes, Tom.”

“Do you need to use the toilet?”

“No, Tom.” Unexpectedly perceptive was his added information, “Some of you is inside. I like it.”

“Remember this?” Tom tried to clear his mind. He picked up yesterday’s salve dispenser.

A nod accompanied the boy’s expectant look. “I’m going to wear it again?”

Filling it deplenished the apartment’s supply of salve. “While we are out, remind me to get more of this.”

With the dispenser secured in Jerry’s inner recesses, Tom and he dressed for the morning, gym wear underneath. Jerry wore a tight-fitted, jockstrap-lined pair of satiny boxing shorts left behind by one of Tom’s former short-term-resident guests. The outfit concealed what was appropriate.

As they drove. Tom cautioned, “No matter how good it feels, do not squeeze all the salve too early. You must make it last all morning.” A pause, then, “There will be consequences if you misbehave about this.”

“What?” was asked in innocence.

 “I will coolly take you in the nearest rest room and spank you so hard you will be crying. It’s time you learned to obey if you want to stay in my company. I won’t let myself love a disobedient boy.”

A few heads noticed the Rolls pull up beside the gym’s entrance. Two people got out, Tom, known to all, and a boy with an absent look on his face.

Assigned simple push-ups from the knees, Jerry tried. Before his arms gave out, he almost made it to a count of six. Told to lie on his back with hands holding his neck and touching elbows to alternating knees, he tried, once he understood Tom’s demonstration, and achieved eleven reps before his stomach refused more. Almost beyond his coordination, jumping jacks lasted only briefly before he was out of breath – and embarrassed by Tom’s critical gaze from the weight-lifting bench.

Through his expenditures of effort, unseen muscles clutched and relaxed, clutched and relaxed around the insert. Tom knew that had to happen. Always did with the untrained. It was a test whether the trainee would betray his disobedience sooner, or later. When would simple Jerry?

A moment of rare insight occurred in Jerry’s mind. He would not let on…he would mind his manners and force himself to behave as if all within were all okay.

“I tried real hard. Guess I’m weak. If you do this often, will I come with you and get stronger?”

Tom wanted to say that he did not want Jerry along with him, that he wanted to get rid of him. Alas, the sight of the boy’s heaving collarbones and quivering thighs, he cut short his workout.

“Next time, you can try the treadmill, maybe the rowing machine.”

They dressed without exchanges, eyes betraying quite different interest in the other.

At the Rolls’ steering wheel again, Tom did not see the sweat on his coping passenger’s brow. “Remember where we first saw each other?” he asked, eyes on the traffic.

“At the museum…where the little car models are. They are pretty.”

“We are going there now, to see them again.”

They did.

“You know a lot about cars,” Jerry said after his tour guide’s description of the features of the collection.

“I should. This is my collection.”

Jerry looked as though he were a kid about to cry. “They..are..yours?”

Provoked to mindless erection, Tom hustled Jerry abruptly to the museum guard’s desk. “Henry, key us down to the workshop level, if you will.”

“Certainly, Mr. Naughton. Anything for the chairman of our trustees.”

It being a day off downstairs, no one was there. Tom switched on fluorescent lights. “I want to see how you’re doing,” he told Jerry as he pushed him to a remote corner. A sawhorse caught his eye. He bent Jerry over it and pulled down his street pants and satiny shorts. The insert was so deeply imbedded that his fingers slipped off at first grasp.

“Give it up.”

The boy did, wanting to be obedient. He did not want to be spanked. Spanking was not good. Hurt the wrong way. Let the thing go.

It was a strange, exciting feeling to lose the comforting object with one firm pull and to have Tom’s living, hard pole replace it straightaway. The real thing made him feel better. That it delivered a pure, lust-driven fuck sufficed. Tom, an important guy, was playing attention to him, to Jerry Dunbar.

The wide, blunt head had become naturally wet at the sight – between pushed up shirt and tugged down pants – of the tender place waiting for it. Sufficient to enter easily into the tunnel where accumulated sperm and salve coated muscosal walls. Lust mounted to fill Tom’s mind as he submerged his member in the heady environment. Nothing else mattered. Breaths matched the slow rhythm of his rockings and rollings. When he circled slowly inside, Jerry seemed to melt.

It was as if the teen’s small body – bones, sinews, tissues – were dissolving the way certain substances do when put to a simmer before coming to a boil. Under virile thrusts and slides of superb cock wielded with increasing flair, the sawhorse shook and scraped on the concrete floor.

A maelstrom inside him cast Jerry adrift from awareness of anything except his anal bliss – caused by Tom, the man whose erogenous zones raged.  A single circuit of riotous, mob-rule power blurred his pelvic descents and ascents. Climaxes neared at chariot speed. Accompanying the crash of man into boy was the single sound let out by Jerry – one syllable, no word, indiscernable – a lone, loud yelp that rose to the ceiling’s upper reaches and startled even Tom.

Fuel of body and mind expended, Tom sagged heavily on Jerry before managing to lift up and out. He fought to bring his breathing back to normal.

It weighed on him that he must steady his emotions. Be more rational. It was risky to confess naked desire that way to Jerry. The boy must not rely on him. The contrary. Tom wanted no responsibility with regard to the future.

While disconcertingly pensive, Tom felt his sweat go cold under the basement’s air-conditioning. Feeling around his rumpled clothes and standing up to look at the damages, he saw remnants of their union, spots and puddles on the floor. He must inhibit another entanglement with Jerry.

On the floor, the discarded insert lay. Should he? Yes. He lubed it, with agonizing slowness, before he began pushing it into Jerry. Air-chilled, the metal part pierced the boy’s stupor as his ass swallowed it.

“Easy, babe, this will help to moor you back in the real world.”

“Huhnnnh?”

“Hi. Glad you’re with me. Let’s dress and go out again. I want to show you something.”

Docile by nature and with good-natured acceptance, Jerry let Tom help with his clothes. He would have tried to return the favor but Tom was quick. Ready to go out, car keys in hand. The insert settled as he was shown to the elevator.

The Rolls’ burled dashboard snagged the boy’s eye as Tom drove, so he was not first to see what caught Tom’s attention as they slowed near the Municipal Court House: Will Font being dragged angrily by a man obviously his father, thrust into a nearby alley, and being beaten with a belt.

“Put your head down and don’t look up until I tell you it’s safe.”

Tom pulled over to park, got out, and walked in their direction. “Are you Mr. Font?” he interrupted the flagellation.

“What the fuck do you care? Who the hell’re you?”

“Never you mind. Do you know there can be consequences for what you are doing?”

“Well, ain’t you the fancy one. I’m beatin’ my son with his own goddam belt, punishing him in a way a father can take pride in.”

Will twisted to see his savior. He sneered, “Shit! Dad, it’s that queer guy, Mr. Naughton.”

“Shut up,” Font yelled and swung the belt another stunning blow across Will’s butt. His fury-red face dared the interloper to interfere.

Thoughts raced through his mind. Internally, Tom frothed.

The deflection came out as, “You were beaten by your father, so you continue the family tradition? Did it make you less violent-prone?”

“I ain’t giving him what he deserves ’cause  he’s fuckin’ violent. He’s a fuckin’ failure’s what he is. What’s it you?”

“A failure? – at what?”

“Goddam kid got caught. I had to go to court to git his ass out. His ass is mine ’n’ I’m whippin’ it!”

With contempt, “So, you aren’t punishing him for the rape he committed?”

“Whut rape? Boy, you rape some girl? Was she fun?”

Will turned ashen at Tom’s words, “Your son there forced himself on his classmate, Jerry Dunbar, and raped him in my apartment. Must’ve had a lot of fun because Jerry’s ass required medical attention. And…I think you ought to know that I have the whole attack on my CCTV.”

“Whut’s CCTV?”

“Closed-circuit television. My apartment has it, motion-sensitive,” he lied. “Like I said, the whole thing. If I turn it over to the police, Will’s going to be known as a boy molester. The news media will seek you out for explanation and comment.”

Font looked as though he might puke. Grabbing Will by the neck, he screamed, “You gay, you little shit? I’ll kill you! No Font fucks guys!”

He might have strangled the boy. He didn’t. He slapped him viciously.

“Here. You got a beef agin him, you kill him. I’m outa here. He’s disgusting!”

Will fell to the sidewalk. Font snatched up the belt and began slashing him with it – then abruptly stormed off. Will bled in one place through his pants, another on his right arm.

Another dilemma faced Tom. What to do? Poor Jerry’s attacker in need of more than medical attention. Call what agency – the police? the 911 emergency service? Or…

Jerry thought he couldn’t bear to do what Tom asked, yet he did help him to lift the protesting victim of his father’s attack into the rear seat of the Rolls. Paper towels soaked what they could of the seeping blood. More were added with the injunction, “Stay on your knees back here. Don’t bleed on my leather. I’m going to get you some first-aid.”

Will’s voice was pained, “You and who – him?”

Once in the apartment, Tom persuaded Will to drink some orange juice into which he had crushed an old ketamine tablet from earlier days. Saved the two others in his fridge. There was no small talk, only the patience to wait for sleep to take over, then to remove his clothes and to tend to his wounds. The boy could hardly prevent it. He was a mess, limp-limbed.

Tom used Q-tips to gather evidence from Will’s foreskin – “Your DNA’s doubtless here.”

No reaction. Will was out.

“He smells bad.”

“Yes, Jerry. Let’s put him in the bathtub and wash him off.”

Jerry craved to ask why, but chose to follow Tom’s lead. That was bound to be safe.

Will’s sleeping body was effortfully given a cold water bath and relocated, face down, to a blanket on the floor near Tom’s bed.

Their discovery was evidence of multiple lacerations on the boy’s butt – old scars, purplish-blue bruises with scabs, and the new hemorrhaging.

After dabbing with disinfectants and dosing with healing creams, Tom wrapped Will’s arms with surgical gauze. Tearing the broad gauze’s end into strips, he secured the prone boy’s wrists in the small of his back. The butt he decided could not be bandaged. Disinfected and creamed, its small arcs and narrow cleft must remain turned up as they were.

To Jerry, he said, “It that drawer over there is a smaller version, a scale model of the insert you are wearing. Find it for me, please.”

The object, similar but a third the size of his, was explained as “for beginners.” Tom filled its flexible chamber with his efficacious salve, then lubed it with Anal-Ese and inserted it through sleeping Will’s very small anal muscle.

“We can keep our eyes on him from the bed. Would you like to show me your love again?” Tom fought himself to ask the question, but it seemed the best way to hold Jerry in thrall while passing time.

Feeling wanted again, Jerry’s smile was liquid sunshine.

“From now on, I’ll call this your magic wand,” Tom confided as he rotated Jerry’s full-size insert gently, twisted it dramatically, ran it back and forth a few times, and whipped it out. It went to the other side of the bed. Tom jockeyed himself where gaped the gate to the heady paradise he had created. To Jerry’s great elation, he roller-coasted in and set himself to the task.

The rises and falls of his action brought balls into contact with perineum too vigorously for the circumstance. It was necessary to moderate the pace if he was to occupy Jerry until Will came to. If he shot prematurely, it would ruin his plan to display loving-man-on-boy techniques for the emotionally mangled teen.

With support of his elbows, he laid into Jerry at a steady tread. Composure had to be maintained. He kept control. Kisses to Jerry’s head at odd intervals received tremulous responses. Pushing and pulling, sliding deep without urgency or strain, coasting back, he realized his was the reserve to continue as long as need be.

Jerry and he breathed peacefully. Their placid union allowed each to treat the other with calm possession. Tom wished consciousness would return to the boy on the floor lest Jerry begin to think the act one of domestic bliss.

A horn blowing with insistent rudeness down in the parking lot cut into the hubcap thief’s drug-induced but ebbing sleep. His head hurt, his whole body hurt, his ass felt odd, his hands couldn’t move from behind him, his cock was hard, he was naked, he was on a floor. He knew that floor, it was Naughton’s!

His inchoate sound of perplexed disgust and helpless frustration filtered up to Tom.

“Shhh…don’t move a muscle,” he whispered to Jerry. “It’s my time for Will.”

In a single move, he extracted himself and rolled to the bed’s edge in a seated position, and dropped his feet to the floor.

Will craned his neck in the other direction. His fear was evident at the sight of the man’s slimy hot hugeness fully swollen. Fear rose more when a strongly muscled arm and hand sought and began moving something in his ass. In his ass!

“Squeeze hard, boy. You’re going to need what you’ll get. Squeeze, I said!” the order emphatic. “Okay, now stop squeezing.”

The object’s removal flustered him. But Tom Naughton’s looming presence over and behind him struck terror. He was going to be raped!

“As you sowed your sperm into Jerry, I will sow mine in you. You belong to me now, you know. Your father in effect gave you to me, or don’t you remember how he discarded you for being a worthless piece of shit?”

The teen’s effort to growl a protest was met by the sight of his assailant taking up that thing, the thing from his ass, and holding it in front of his mouth. “You make too much noise when I’m fucking you and I’ll cram this filthy thing down your throat, do you hear me?”

He did not wait for the answer, but added as he bore down on Will’s salved asshole, “You can thank me for opening your virgin hole with that implement, something you didn’t do when you raped Jerry.”

Actual rape was not in his mind. Tom drove into the tightness about as far as the scale-model insert had reached to begin his seduction of young Font’s recalcitrancy. Delving those few inches, he nudged around and about unthreateningly if uncomfortably – until the sphincters gave way and stretched. Rummaging, actually – to complaints muffled by a deliberately closed mouth.

He practiced coitus interruptus, and called Jerry.

“Jerry, take a look. Will’s first lesson of the day.”

Sarcasm marked Jerry’s greeting, “Hi there, Will, how did you like that?”

“Hated it. Did something to me. I gotta go to the bathroom now – like now.”

Tom glanced at Jerry, “We can help you do that.”

“Don’t need your goddam help. Just lemme up.”

“Stupid fool. Get yourself up. You aren’t tied to that blanket.”

He tried to get to his knees, thinking he could stand from there. The pain from his butt wounds stopped him. Without the use of his hands he could not push from the floor. He fumed.

“Your dad’s handiwork” – Tom said wryly – “with your own belt.”

“Goddammit, get me to the toilet or I’m going to shit right here.”

Furious that he couldn’t sit on the toilet seat and that he had to be supported, legs spread to do his business, Will gritted his teeth in shame at being degraded. What was worse: with hands tied where they were, he could not clean his bottom.  Humiliation had him seething.

Jerry, who was getting into care-giver mode, helped Will bend while Tom squirted his insides with warm water until his evacuations ran clear.

“Lots ahead for this area,” Tom said. “I want you to be clean for me.”

What materialized was a modestly-dimensioned anal plug, lubed by Jerry and placed securely while Tom forced the still feisty boy over a cassock facing his bed. “Your job is to watch us making love. If I catch you not watching what we do, I will tape your eyes open.”

Whereupon with ever-ready Jerry facing forward from the bed, Tom took him doggy style. A bit of a show-off, Tom ramped into Jerry from behind until Jerry’s head shook, a goofy grin on his face. After some minutes, Tom drew Jerry’s shoulders up against his furry chest and delivered a blast straight up inside him causing the boy to cum at the same time. Small wads flew in Will’s direction but not that far.

Daylight was beginning to wane. Suppertime. Tom said nothing about food to Will on the cassock. He discussed what he and Jerry would have: seared Kobe beef burgers with scalloped potatoes and steamed broccoli – which Jerry immediately agreed to eat. They left for the kitchen without a word to tied-up Will.

Aromas from cooking onions, boiling chicken broth, shredded cheese, thyme, rosemary, parsley, and garlic made Will’s mouth water. Hunger and thirst drove him to lift off the cassock and make it to his feet aware, as he stood shakily, of the plug in his ass.

At Tom’s kitchen door, he leaned on the frame and said, “Can I have something to eat?”

“Why should I feed you? You haven’t shown the least bit of gratitude for my having saved your sorry life.”

“What do I have to do? I’m hungry.”

“Jerry, go over and pat him on the head. If he thanks you for your attention, you can give him some juice. Then we’ll see about food after we’ve eaten.”

Tom turned back to his pan of potatoes. Jerry, who would prefer to slap Will, did as he was told. He patted his sulky classmate like a pet and stood, waiting.

A small voice complied with the requirement, “Thank you.”

Tom slid his skillet of potatoes off its burner, covered it and, a finger held up, went to fetch something from his bedroom’s supply cabinet.

Skin-toned, it was an adolescent-size, hard-cock replica under a container with a snap-top lid. Jerry was shown how to hold a finger over the slit at the circumcised head’s point while cold Hawaiian Punch from the fridge was poured in from above and the cap clicked shut.

“Put it in Will’s mouth. And Will, you hold this with your teeth while you suck the fructose-rich punch to sate your thirst. Let one drop run down your chin, let the ‘straw’ fall from your mouth – you will forfeit actual food for the night.”

Oral sex – a simulacrum – for a drink!

Will’s jaw clamped. He sucked, a dribble at a time, initially; finally catching on that air had to travel from the fake cock’s tip to replace the volume inside the airtight container. Each gratifying mouthful like a thin, sweet ejaculation. Later, Tom was going to make him suck his cock. He was repulsed, but his thirst and the promise of food spurred him to comply.

Tired of standing, he walked stiffly back and lay, stomach down, on the ottoman. The plug in his ass bothered him less. He burped. He waited. Still mad.

Tom came. Not with food, with intent. “I’m going to fuck you,” he announced as he slowly extracted the plug. “Want me to gag you, or will you keep your noises to yourself?”

“I’ll try, if you feed me like you said.”

“First though, I’m feeding you my cock, as much of it as I can without harming you. Regular lube. Here’s some,” he said, smearing KY around the anal ring’s perimeter. “You know, the way I’m going to bang you, you better hoist your butt up or your super-sore buns are going to be jackhammered every time.”

Dread forced Will to dig his toes against the floor to tilt the way Tom said. His parts dangled where the man could see them. His touch there, his taking balls and prick in-hand unnerved Will.

Tom turned them this way and that but made no remark. Released them to add KY to himself.

He spaded his way, digging in the tight trough – to Will’s silent rage and fuming anguish. Turned on by the power he held over the arrogant boy, he allowed his lips to part and eyes to close, losing himself to the pleasure of dominance.

Tom’s groans attracted Jerry. Fresh from the dishes, he looked in on the scene. Wished he were where Will was – even if it meant having his wrists tied with surgical gauze. Ruthless thrusts such as Tom’s, which Jerry saw stopped short of the man’s whole length, had to be thrilling. Their speed’s increase suggested the bout was coming to its end. If Tom came, there might not be….

Jerry broke in, “Tom. Tom! You said we’d feed him. We’d better. He’s looking kinda haggard, if that’s the right word.”

Achingly hard and dripping, Tom’s cock looked feverish when drawn into view. “Oh, I guess I forgot.”

“You better put some more medication on his bottom. Looks like it needs it.”

Sobered, Tom was gentle with the application, even helped Will to stand afterward. “Go, follow Jerry. He’ll feed you. I’ve got things to do before we put you to bed.”

What Tom did was little short of diabolical.

The guest room bed’s headboard featured metal bars rather like those of a jail. Restraints could be and, in Tom’s colorful past, had been attached to each for wrists, necks, and ankles pulled up and over – separately or in combinations. So that Will could be kept under his total control while sleeping, Tom prepared fleece-lined ankle and wrist cuffs to fasten him prone, butt up.

It was no afterthought to place a thick pillow where his midpoint would lie.

When he saw the setup, Will’s body tensed. He was ordered to position himself over the pillow. Awkwardly, he sprawled there.

Hands were at his bonds with scissors. A moment of freedom. Tom rubbed the first wrist, “Restraints chafe, so never fight them.” Fastening the one wrist and taking the other, “These fleece-lined cuffs will be better for you.” He moved to the foot of the bed to anchor the boy’s ankles as widely, “You’re a perfect X.”

“You gonna torture me, you cocksucker?”

“Torture? No, too simple. For now, I’m going to be nice to you.” He reached between Will’s gluteal cleavage and pulled his genitals into view against the pillow. Jiggled the balls, “Take these, for instance. They’d be easy to crush. Feel my grip? If I grip tighter?”

Tom hissed, constricted his asshole. “Please don’t hurt them.”

“Please is nice to hear coming from your foul mouth, so what I’ll do is wrap them so they stand out for when I choose to pay attention to them.” He clipped into the soft scrotal skin a one-inch ball strap, and felt skin’s stretch. “Yes.”

“You gonna fuck me now?”

“Hardly, I’m setting you up for the night. All alone in here, you will need companionship, so…” He filled his original magic wand and, with a grinding motion, pushed it inside. “When you feel lonely – and you will – squeeze a little. Feed yourself some salve. The wand won’t desert you.”

“How long are you gonna keep me a prisoner like this?”

“Your dad cast you away like garbage. I picked you up – actually, Jerry and I did. You are no prisoner. You are property, Will, and you’d better assimilate yourself to that idea.”

The light was switched off. The guest room door closed after Tom. Will, in total darkness, lay skewered and nervous.

* * *

Other days and nights passed similarly. Often, at a pre-dawn hour, Tom would slip quietly to the bedside to rotate the magic wand prior to replacing it with his personal extension. Out swept the one, in swept the other, always waking Will.

The boy continued to resent his situation but with slowly adapting attitude.

Initially there was striking ecstatic pain at having Tom push inside him and begin hard thrusting! Rudely awakened more from the pain to his buttocks than inside, he had been quick to recover the presence of mind to cram fingers in his mouth against making sounds. Hatred almost broke his resolve, but Tom’s cock skin was doing something frictional to his anal membranes, something that made his toes clench hard. Then bumping something else that stretched his limits with fiery sensations which threatened, then caused a shock-wave to rise and whip him to orgasm.

The frustrating thrill happened over and over.

Over a week’s time, Tom continued to gouge at Will, so high on the authority of his passion that he entered a fog of hot determination. Causing pain crowned his achievement. It geared him up for powerful climaxes that wracked his body. He stiffened with each of the series of paroxysms that flooded the boy with outpourings of cum.

It was as if his emotions had disintegrated. Without volition, time after time, he coasted down, vibrating in ecstasy, his joy-stick encased, soaking where it had spiked in pleasure of surpassing intensity. At excruciating intervals, he ran in and out of the ass he owned, shifted his pelvic angle, rested, rode hard, stalled for effect, cooled and, in a gentle whisper filled with certainty, observed, “You liked it, didn’t you? You came. I know you did. Boy, you should thank me.”

Tom slipped free from Will’s useless effort to cling, his mind so consumed by pride that he occasionally neglected to re-plug him. Jerry did not awaken as Tom habitually returned to their bed.

* * *

On a particularly memorable occasion, hands unbuckled Will’s wrist restraints. Jerry’s hands! What did it mean?

“Listen carefully. Tom left me in charge of feeding you breakfast. I’m going to let you eat normally because he told me to. It’s a reward because you came for him last night. I did, too.”

Ankles were freed but attached by a foot-wide spreader. “You can hobble to the table. Only don’t talk. If you talk, you won’t like what happens, so keep your mouth shut except to eat.”

It was true. There even was a soft, foam-rubber cushion for his beaten buns placed by Tom, he was told, in the kitchen chair facing Jerry on the other side.

Sausage, eggs, grits, toast, coffee followed by a supervised visit to the bathroom where Will was allowed to clean his own bottom brought from Jerry, “Keep behaving. He wants you to be tight in the back. Like a virgin again. So he can hurt you. Okay, get up and go back to the bed so I can fasten your arms out.”

Following orders, he did – with submissive Will Font slightly tumescent at the prospect for Tom Naughton to re-deflower him. The new position was on his back, arms anchored to headboard, ankles held apart by their spreader, balls standing out, snug in their strap. The longer he waited, the more his mind played over possibilities for what Tom might do.

Tom took off his clothes, a smoldering look in his eyes. He dropped a piece of rope on the bed and acted as if he were admiring Will’s ballsac. Ran his thumb over its smooth surface, his fingertips next. Took hold and twisted, began patting it, flicked hard enough that the boy contracted.

“They aren’t numb, yet.”

Ignoring what had just happened, Tom tied one end of the rope to the center of the spreader and stood on the bed to loop its other end through a hook over the bed. By pulling on it, Will’s legs were lifted where Tom wanted. There, the rope was tied to itself.

On his knees with lubed cock head shiny, man approached boy, “You can thrash all you want.” Muscle yielded to slow pressure, hurting as it was widened but not penetrated. No movement, only tension. Finally, “I will have carnal knowledge of you now.”

He leaned forward and staked the boy with primal force, ripping away his fresh virginity as if claiming a sacrifice for some pagan divinity – himself. Awful pain’s experience came out of Will as a scream. No stifling the horror of being raped.

Tom had not felt this alive, this volatilely supreme before. He hovered at the optimum location – deep – and shed himself of fluids that had congregated in scrotal eggs during the morning. Discharges sluiced the hapless teen’s passage until Tom mellowed, rasping with surprise at his loss of control. How trapped the boy was filtered through his shock. He began to sway back and forth, fucking with increases of length, boosting his pleasure stroke after stroke until he was barreling smoothly into the wonderful place he created.

Energetic passion and endurance as he coasted in his own liquefaction affected weeping Will. Misery gave way by stages to what had become frictionless prods into that special spot inside. Despite shackled arms, suspended legs, and bound balls, his cock was answering to the powerful call of punishment.

Tom noticed. He bore directly to the prostate to make the slim boy go berserk in his effort to cum. Even reached through the narrow opening between his legs to smack the scrotum. Yet…he could not believe his eyes…Will spasmed wildly, his legs shifting their spreader to one side and got hung there, affording Tom’s fucking a different, sharper angle.

Both screamed in confused joy. Jerry cracked the bedroom door and peeked. Jealousy tore at him as he witnessed them plummet from their incredible high. The experience gnawed at the edge of his limited psyche, forcing him to think of his situation with the man to whom he had dedicated his ass and his future. Will Font was a threat to his security, presumed security.

“That was your right of passage,” Tom was overheard to say. “I have awakened you. You are of more interest now than at any time in your formerly miserable life.”

He unfastened Will’s ball strap, rebalanced his roped spreader, and said, “Don’t think of losing my discharge. To remind you not to, your legs will remain up here, your ass off the bed.”

Again stranded, Will wrestled with himself. He smarted physically and emotionally. Confusion had him by the balls much the way Tom had gripped them. But Tom’s grip had excited him. The thought of it hit home in those very same balls. He looked their way. His cock engorged.

At that oh-no moment, Jerry came to him with a bright red plug. “Tom wants this in you because, he says, you are weak-willed.” Placing it none too gently, he added, “I wouldn’t care if you squished it all out. You’d be in for a walloping then!”

Will asked plaintively, “Has he walloped you?”

“No, he loves me. Spanking’s part of our love-play, though. He does it just right. Warms my butt.”

“Please Jerry, tell me, do you like being plugged?” Erection hardened as he asked.

“You don’t get it, do you, you numbskull? Being plugged keeps me dilated just enough so he can fuck on a moment’s notice. It’s one of the reasons he loves me. I’m always ready for him.”

“What about me?”

“You? Don’t you remember what you did to me? I hate you for that. I hate you for being here and taking Tom’s time away from me. And…I hate you for bringing out the streak of cruelty that Tom has. You’re a bad influence. I only take care of you because Tom wants me to. He won’t be here for lunch, so it’s up to me.”

Anxious not to cause upset, plugged Will acceded to being walked to the table stiff-leggedly, because of the stretcher, and to having his left wrist clipped to his chair. With his right hand, he fed himself a microwaved frozen meal like Jerry’s – turkey, rice with gravy, and green beans. Toilet privilege for urination after. Back to bed, hoisted, to await Tom’s next claim on him.

* * *

That had been the way taken to erase Will’s obstinacy, to force him to accept his lot with Tom. And to revel in it.

The day came when a truth was admitted.

“Here’s how it’s going to be,” Tom had observed as his flat pubic bone impacted kneeling Will’s achy butt and his cock rampaged its rectum (so tender it had no grip left) for more than an hour. “You’re here to satisfy one aspect of me, Jerry another. I’m stuck with both of you.”

 Jerry, who had received two piping hot loads from Tom, was not heard emitting a low wail.

“I never wanted the responsibility for either of you,” he rammed angrily. “You, Jerry, I was planning to dump on somebody else as soon as the weekend was over. You were just a convenient piece of tail. Then, the crap with this fuckhole complicated everything.”

He plowed into Will so hard that the kneeling boy flattened to his face. Tom dug down into him like a post hole digger and kept at it doggedly.

“Now, I’ve concluded my life’s been altered. The three of us – the two of you obeying my directions in everything – are going to stay together. Because. I. Say. We. Are. When I drop you both at school and I will regularly – you will be perfectly motivated to learn everything they throw at you. You’ll prove it to me with every quiz, test, exam. Because. I am…all the reason you need.”

Will twitched madly, spilling watery cum gratefully where he lay.

Jerry choked back his emotions, “Yes, Tom.”

Tugged from the floor to their bed, Tom relaxed to Jerry Dunbar’s hand on his hairy, naked thigh, to its running up to his waist and along the muscled curve of his stomach, to its soft grasp of his sopping wet cock, to his head on resting on a bicep.

“And we’ll be happy, won’t we?”

“Yes, Tom.

* * *