Addicted to Dick

The cot in the room behind the guard’s room at Hollins Prison was narrow, but it fit young, below-average-height inmate Ricky and not as young, taller, and more muscular guard Tate. The proof of that was that Tate was managing to lie on top of Ricky without either of them being dumped to the floor. Ricky was panting, tongue flicking out of his mouth and grimacing slightly with each deep thrust of Tate’s dick inside him.

They were doing a missionary, Ricky on his back, naked from the waist down, thrusting his pelvis up a bit by the leverage of his feet dug into the rim of the cot surface on each side and his legs spread and bent. Tate, fully dressed in his guard’s gray uniform except for his fly unzipped and flared and shirt unbuttoned to expose his muscular torso, lay, weight taken on his knees, between Ricky’s spread legs. His muscular arms were laced under Ricky’s armpits and grasping the top rail of the brass headboard behind Ricky’s head.

Both men were concentrating on the throb and slide of the cock inside Ricky’s channel. Tate moaned and came in for a hurried kiss but then dug his knees in and thrust harder and deeper. Ricky’s groan was punctuated with sliding his hands under the waistband of the back of Tate’s uniform trousers and digging his fingers into the guard’s meaty butt cheeks.

“I think I’m gonna--” Tate muttered, starting to withdraw from Ricky’s channel.

“No, don’t pull it out. Inside me. Cream me deep,” Ricky begged, and he clutched Tate’s buttocks hard to him, not letting the guard withdraw.

Both men jerked and exclaimed a “Shit. Fuck,” almost in unison as Tate shot a load, shuddered, and shot another one.

Tate made to pull out again, but again Ricky clutched at his buttocks and muttered, “No, don’t. Last time. I want to feel you go soft inside me. Keep your dick inside me.”

“I don’t think I’ll go soft,” Tate said, with a low growl. “You’re too sexy. I got cum left for you.”

And, indeed, he didn’t really go soft. He quickly recharged, and, young, virile, and in great shape, he fucked Ricky again without having pulled out. That obviously was quite all right with Ricky.

Afterward Tate sprawled out in a wooden swivel desk chair, legs spread, and his hand on his meaty cock and his other hand holding a lighted joint, while he watched Ricky on his back on the cot, slowly jerking himself off.

“Gonna miss you, Bud. And I’m sorry,” Tate said after he’d watched Ricky ejaculate. “You’re a good kid and a great lay.”

“I didn’t do it, you know. I took the rap for a friend. He said he’d die in prison if he had to be locked up here. I didn’t do drugs, let alone sell them.”

“Yeah, I believe you,” Tate answered in a “that’s what they all say” voice and taking another drag on the joint they were passing back and forth. “Don’t matter now, anyway, does it? You served the time and you’re getting out tomorrow.” He could just as well have added, “and if you didn’t do drugs before, you sure as hell do them now.” To accentuate that, he handed the joint to Ricky again, who took a drag on it and handed it back.

“So, you’re sorry we can’t do it anymore,” Ricky said. “That’s why you said you’re sorry?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Tate answered, but it wasn’t why he said it--or why he felt it.

“So, you going back to this boyfriend you took the rap for?” Tate asked.

“I can’t leave the state. And he skipped down to the Caribbean at the first sign of trouble.”

Tate gave Ricky another drag on the joint. “You know you don’t have to be lonely when you get out. We can see each other on the outside if you want it--need it.” He’d added the last because Ricky always left the feeling that he needed the cock, that he needed a dick inside him. Like just now, when he had said he didn’t want Tate to take it out of him. Tate didn’t think Ricky was just shitting him about that.

“I’ll be across state, up near Winchester. Probation officer’s got a job lined up for me there, and my brother’s there. I can live with him until I get back on my feet.”

“On your feet is better than on your back, Ricky.” Tate didn’t know why he cared about this guy--so young and vulnerable--and so good looking. True jail bait. But there was something about him that made Tate feel protective, and he was always willing to be dicked when Tate could arrange it. It had been a chore keeping him out of the hands of seasoned inmates like Butch. He’d had to extend his protection over him. Fat lot of good that would do now, though.

“Yeah, I hear you. It’s just that I like--”

“Addicted to dick. That’s what I think you are. And it’s not going to do you any good. As soon as you get out of here you need to find a sugar daddy young enough to keep it up, keep it in you, and keep you from reaching for the drugs.”

“You’re one to say that. You’re addicted to male pussy.” Ricky laughed, turned on his stomach, gave Tate a provocative look, and raised his bare buttocks a bit off the cot. “And I see that you’re hard again now. Come and get it, guard.”

Tate was hard again, and he did go and get it again, lying stretched out on top of the smaller, younger man and taking him from the rear. Showing his prowess in exercise regimes. Once he was mounted on Ricky’s ass, with his dick buried, Tate showed his strength by taking a pushups stance and doing a hundred on a groaning and moaning Ricky. When Tate at last lowered his body on the young man’s back, Ricky reached back and clutched at the guard’s butt cheeks, holding the dick inside him for as long as possible after Tate had given him another double load.

Eventually, both of them fully dressed again, Tate stood and said, “Gotta take you back to your cell now. So, I guess this is it. You could find me in the Nottoway phone book if you wanted to link up after you get out, but it would be dangerous. We can’t exchange anything on paper now. It would be my job--and probably a breach of your probation for us to connect on the outside. Something for both of us to think about. But I’ll remember you. You’re a great lay, you just should be using this release as an opportunity to turn your life around.”

“Thanks. You’ve been good to me Tate.”

Not that good, no, Tate was thinking. He’d extended the protection to this point because he wanted to fuck Ricky. There was no other honest way of looking at that. And, God, was he sorry about what came next for Ricky. But it couldn’t be helped. He had no control over it. He’d said he was sorry to Ricky, which was the best he could do, even though Ricky had no idea why he was sorry.

* * * *

When Tate walked him back through the minimum security section, Ricky looked around in the cell that had been his for nearly a year. His suitcase was packed, and everything else he’d accumulated--what they’d let him accumulate--was in two small boxes. He could manage to walk out the next day with those, carrying them himself. They’d probably make him carry them himself, he thought, a small smile forming on his lips.

In many ways he’d miss it here. He’d been kicking around in life in Richmond with little motivation and few plans when he’d been arrested for dealing. He hadn’t lied to Tate. It had been Lyle’s stuff, not his. He’d done some underage drinking, but he hadn’t done drugs, let alone dealt them. He had to laugh as Tate had done earlier when he’d handed Ricky the joint. Ricky had learned to do drugs here in the prison to which he’d been sent before for doing drugs before he’d actually done them. Of course liquor was a drug, as the judge had reminded him before he pounded his “I don’t care” gavel on his desk, and Ricky had arrived in the judge’s court drunk.

Ricky only did minor drugs here and not much of that--he’d found early, though, that he had to do some or he’d have been beaten on by the other inmates for thinking he was above them. As it was, he’d taken a few beatings until he’d hooked up with the guard, Tate, for protection. That hadn’t been hard on him. Lyle had been fucking him, and Ricky did have a thing about having a man’s dick inside him. Luckily, Tate had taken him up before the other inmates knew that, or Ricky would have been brutalized as well as fucked. Tate just gave him the cock; he didn’t beat on him. And Ricky couldn’t have gone this year without having a cock inside him regularly.

The others in the prison--the inmates and guards--just didn’t know how regularly Ricky needed to have a cock inside him.

Lyle would have been a three-striker and Ricky believed him when he said he’d die in prison. They hadn’t done so badly by Ricky. It was a minimum security prison and he’d had just a few routines he had to follow. He only rarely was locked in his cell, other than at night. He got to work outside in good weather, helping with the landscaping, and he had plenty of gym time, which had toned his rather small body up nicely. That had increased the cat calls he got from the other open-door cells as he walked the section, but knowledge that he was Tate’s punch had kept the other guys in their cells--and Ricky outside of their cells. He’d let one black bruiser fuck him, early on, and he’d reveled in having a big black cock inside him, but Tate had put a stop to that. He’d let Ricky know in no uncertain terms how rough life would get for him if it became general knowledge that he’d put out casually--and for anyone but Tate--and, especially, for a black bull. There weren’t many young guys in the prison who could take a black bull without damage.

Ricky had also done work at the Warden’s house, painting his upstairs bedrooms. And the warden had done him in an upstairs bedroom too. He’d bent him right over a bed, knelt and eaten him out, and then given him the cock hard and deep. Instinctively, the warden knew exactly what Ricky wanted and needed most, although it surprised him that someone so evidently innocent would be so anxious to have a man’s cock inside him. When he had first driven the cock home to where short and curlies were tickling Ricky’s ass cheeks, he grabbed Ricky’s hips and held hard, steady, and deep, while Ricky fucked himself in his own way on the hard staff, rhythmically pushing his buttocks back onto the cock. When Ricky had come, the warden then pumped himself to an ejaculation in the young man’s well-open channel--and Ricky went with him.

Afterward, the warden told Ricky not to tell anyone about it. He hadn’t told Tate about that. But it was the warden who had arranged for a probation officer who all said was the most lenient of the lot and it was the warden who had gotten Ricky set up with a job up in Winchester, near Ricky’s brother. So bending over the bed for the warden once--well, three times to be honest--had worked out well for Ricky in the end.

Ricky was still thinking about what part of this experience he would miss, when the sound of a policeman’s nightstick running along the bars of his cell caught his attention. One of the other guards--not Tate, but one who was meaner to the inmates--stopped at Ricky’s open door and motioned for him.

“Come with me,” he said. “You’re spending your last night elsewhere. Leave your stuff. You can pick it up tomorrow when you’re released.”

* * * *

“Where are we going?” Ricky asked as he followed the hulking, unsmiling guard through the corridor of the minimum security section. The man let his nightstick run across the bars facing out in the corridor, causing a racket. It was late enough that some of the inmates might have turned in for the night. The guard obviously didn’t care.

“You’re being released tomorrow,” the guard answered.

“Yes, so?”

“You’ve had it pretty cushy here. This is a state prison, so they have standards that coddle the inmates--if you ask me--and check frequently. You’re in for drugs, aren’t you? And it’s your first conviction, isn’t it?”

“Yes to both,” Ricky answered.

“Well, our deputy warden here has a little program of his own. He likes to give guys who have lived a certain way here and are being released a little incentive not to be sent back. And next time you come--for a second conviction--it won’t be to the pansy side of the house. You’ll go to the medium-security wing. Understand?”

“Not really,” Ricky responded.

“As I said, the deputy warden has a little incentive program of his own. We know Tate has been your protector here and what you’ve done for him to get that protection. We’re going to medium security and you’ll spend the night there. Warden wants to get in the minds of the minimum security guys what the difference is between that and being in medium security. You’ve been in for one offense. We want you to think twice before getting yourself sent up again. And here we are.”

The cells here didn’t have open doors. The guys hanging their arms through the bars as the guard guided Ricky down this corridor sang out cat calls and offered rough propositions and suggestions that were much more ominous than anything Ricky heard in minimum security.

Half way down the corridor, the guard turned, pulled out a ring of keys, and opened a cell door. The cell was dark, but Ricky could see a figure in the shadows--a hulking figure, more than a foot taller than Ricky and more than a foot wider too--a regular body builder with a thick, hairy body. The figure came closer. The face was battered, ogreish, and with a sneer planted on it. All the guy was wearing was gym shorts hanging low on his hips, under a beer belly.

“Here he is, Butch, as promised,” the guard said. “He’s yours for the night. Have fun. Just don’t kill him or mark him up too noticeably.”

The guard pushed Ricky into the cell. “Don’t fight him, kid, if you want to be able to walk out of here on your own tomorrow. Like I said, you come back to this prison, it will be to this section, and every day for you will be like the next six hours are going to be for you.”

Ricky turned his head and watched the guard leave the cell and lock the door, but he remained there, hands on the bars, looking in, with a smirk on his face. When Ricky looked back into the cell, he saw stars and dropped to his knees as a fist smashed into his cheek. On his way down, a knee caught him in the stomach. He retched in pain and shock, as he was pulled up by his hair, punched in the face--but with a last-second holding back that, nonetheless, conveyed what a full-force punch would be like--and lowered to his knees again. A monstrous, hard cock was pressing at his cheek and then at his lips and then at his inner cheek. Ricky opened his mouth to the cock, and gagged as bulb went into the back of his throat.

“Well, OK, Butch, have it your way,” the guard said and laughed before he walked away from the cell.

“I kinda would like you to try to struggle against it,” a deep, threatening voice said. Fingers from a hand gripped the hair on the back of Ricky’s head and guided his face to a deep-throated intake of an erect cock. “Suck it good or it won’t go well for you,” the voice said.

The guard hadn’t gone far. He returned and put his hands through the bars and held Ricky’s shoulders in place. One of his hands released the shoulder but only to take hold of his nightstick, run it down Ricky’s back inside the waistband at his back, and into his cracker. The guard ran the club over the rim of Ricky’s hole.

Ricky sucked the cock good--probably better than either the guard or Butch expected. That didn’t keep him from being beaten down again after the cock was hard as a rock, bent over the bed in the room, and his ass eaten out while Butch worried Ricky’s cock and squeezed his balls until Ricky’s eyes watered.

Ricky instinctively struggled against the assault but only until Butch covered his body from behind as he was bent over the bed and forced himself inside Ricky’s ass. Ricky had been opened but not well enough, and the invasion of the monster cock took some time, effort, and screaming. But once Butch was in, Ricky settled down for the plowing. Now he was in his element. He was addicted to dick, and there was a big club inside him. He didn’t have to look at the guy fucking him. All he had to do was concentrate on the cock inside him.

To Butch’s surprise Ricky settled right down, begged for the deep fuck he was given, grabbed at the frame of the other side of the bed to hold himself steady, and moved his pelvis with the fuck. He was beaten badly enough, though, to moan more from Butch continuing to prod and punch his body as from the size of the staff inside him. The staff inside him was just fine. To some extent Butch felt cheated. He and others had watched Ricky in lust, being frustrated that he was protected by Tate and assuming that Ricky only took Tate’s cock for the protection. But now he was discovering that once a guy got his dick in Ricky, the little piece became a firecracker of want for the buried dick.

When Butch had come the first time, he stepped away from Ricky and the guard entered the cell, saddled up behind Ricky’s bent-over body, and pushed the end of his nightstick inside Ricky’s hole a couple of inches and fucked the young man with it. Getting bored with that, the guard mounted Ricky’s ass himself and took his turn for a fuck, muttering in Ricky’s ear, “This is in case you think the guards will come to your rescue if you wind up in prison again.” Once skewered, Ricky enjoyed the guard’s cocking too--the nightstick prodding, not so much.

Butch was ready again when the guard was finished and lifted and slammed Ricky down on his back on the bed and took him again in a missionary fuck, while he choked Ricky into submission with his fists around the young man’s neck.

The ogre slept on top of Ricky, keeping him pinned to the bed, although he rolled over onto his side after an hour or so and a third fuck.

The fourth fuck, to Butch’s surprise, was on Ricky. Butch woke up, on his back, with Ricky straddling his pelvis, impaling his ass on Butch’s erection. Ricky leaned over and whispered, “Just stay hard for me,” which, in amazement, Butch did, and Ricky rode him hard and in frenzied gyrations to another mutual load dump such as Butch had never experienced before.

When Ricky was pulled out of the cell the next morning, it was with a promise from Butch to be his protector if another conviction sent Ricky back to this prison.

When Ricky walked out of the prison gates to be greeted by his brother, Allen, and Allen’s wife, Katie, his eye was blackened, his cheek was puffy, he was hobbling, and his arms, legs, and torso were bruised, but he was smiling, and an impressed medium-security prison guard was carrying his boxes and his suitcase.

* * * *

“That must be him now. He’s wearing a clerical collar.”

“That must be who?” Ricky asked his brother. They were at the barbecue in the Baileys’ backyard. It had been nearly two weeks since Ricky’s brother and his wife had brought Ricky home from the prison in Nottoway. Ricky had started his job with the landscaping company in Winchester, but he didn’t see his probation officer until the next week. He was jittery, but it had nothing to do with drugs. He hadn’t gotten into them enough in prison to be missing not having them now. He wouldn’t have any trouble with that part of his probation at all. No, that wasn’t what he was missing from his prison experience.

“It’s Father Thomas--I think that’s what his name is,” Allen answered. “You have been referred to him for any adjustment counseling you might need. It’s OK, Ricky, I told him that you--that we--aren’t religious. He said that was OK. That he’d just be there to listen to any concern you have, knowing that, as a priest, he wouldn’t be passing anything you had to say to anyone.”

By then Father Thomas had reached them and Katie had brought the two small children out of the house and was setting the table for a picnic.

Father Thomas was a big man--big across the shoulders but thinner at the waist. He was a handsome devil with red hair and a ready smile. He could be a hockey player as much as a priest and he didn’t talk preachy to them over the picnic lunch. He took a beer readily, something Ricky couldn’t have, since he was on probation, but none of them made a big deal over that. Ricky wasn’t quite old enough to be drinking beer anyway, and it was another thing he had no trouble giving up in his probation. There were other, stronger urges, that he was having trouble giving up--and looking at the robust priest, so comfortable in the situation and putting everyone to ease, didn’t help Ricky fight his urges.

“Sure, I’m fine,” Ricky said at the end of the meal. “Just nervous about the new job I’ve started.”

“Are you getting along with the boss of the outfit?” Father Thomas asked. “Ned James is a friend of mine. If there’s any developing trouble there--”

“No, everything’s fine there. Mr. James is nice to me and patient with me learning the business. And he’s fair to all the guys. No, everything there is fine.” Nice was a comparative word for what Ned James was, though, Ricky thought. Ned James was sexy as hell. Muscular and handsome--and deeply tanned from working outdoors. Ricky had developed a crush on him from the beginning, and James was, indeed, respectful and nice to Ricky. That had been fine until Ricky had seen Ned spiking one of the male Hispanic seasonal workers over a wheel barrow behind a shed. Having seen that, and knowing now that Ned James was a power top, nice, in terms of fair and polite and patient in the workplace wasn’t the brand of nice Ricky was looking for.

Tate had fucked Ricky regularly over the last year and Ricky had become addicted to his dick. He’d needed regularly. Ricky hadn’t had a dick for two weeks. He was skittish as hell.

“Well, you are tense about something, Ricky,” Allen said. “We’re trying not to crowd you and watch you too much, but you seem to be having trouble adjusting to life. I know that you’ve just been under lock and key for a year and this is all hard on you, but we worry . . . Kate and I worry--”

“Which is where I come in, Ricky,” Father Thomas said in a soothing voice. “Your brother didn’t call me. I don’t want you to think that. Warden Avery called me. He’s concerned about those who have been in his system who he thinks need special attention when they get out because they are basically good people and he doesn’t want to see them being sucked into the system again. You need someone to talk to. I’d be happy to be that person for you.”

They sat there in silence for a few minutes before Katie spoke up. “We can have dessert later. Maybe the reverend and Ricky would like to take a walk in the park before that--to talk, or not, as they please. I can’t keep the kids from being rowdy here, and we have a very nice park on the lake, with an entrance just down the street from here.”

The two men walked, side by side, but conscious that the other one was silent, down a woodland trail, paralleling a lake bank. The trail kept coming close to the lake and then was hidden from view from the lake. Deep in the woods, Father Thomas put a hand on Ricky’s arm to interrupt the walk and said, “Is there someplace more private from the trail that we can go, Ricky? Bill Avery really is worried about you--but not quite for the reasons I mentioned back at your brother’s house. He told me you likely weren’t getting everything you need, and asked me to come check on you . . . and to provide what you needed if I found you weren’t being taken care of.”

“I don’t think I understand--”

“I think you do, Ricky. Is there someplace more private--where we can’t be seen or heard from the trail?”

“Off toward the lake here, there are benches facing the lake. But I don’t think--”

Ricky struck off into the woods, off the trail, toward the lake. They found a bench that was a good distance from the trail and also was hidden a bit from being seen from the lake, although those sitting on the bench could see the lake.

When they were seated, Ricky said, “Really, Reverend, everything is just--”

“I don’t think so, Ricky. Your brother is concerned about you. He says you’ve been jittery, and I can see it myself. It isn’t from drug withdrawal, is it?”

“No, certainly not. I don’t do drugs--and I didn’t do drugs before. I was in because I was covering for a friend.”

“You didn’t do drugs in prison? I find that hard to believe. And you’re so jittery now. I think you need these, just to help you adjust down. Here, take these. Go ahead. It’s hard to just cut them off altogether.” He was holding two pills in his hand. Ricky looked at them for a minute but then shrugged, took them, and popped them in. Almost immediately he didn’t feel so jittery.

“You say you were covering for a friend,” the priest said then. “It was a boyfriend, wasn’t it?”

“A friend, who was a man, yes,” Ricky said.

“You don’t have to pretend with me, Ricky. It’s OK, I’m not going to judge. I’m gay myself.”

Ricky turned and looked directly at the man sitting beside me.

“In fact, I find you very attractive. Can you say that you don’t find me attractive?” And then, when Ricky didn’t--or couldn’t--answer, Father Thomas said, “No I didn’t think so. I can tell when a man is interested in me.” He put an arm around Ricky’s shoulders and Ricky didn’t move away.

“I’m going to say why I think you were jittery and needed a little help, Ricky, and you only need to interrupt me if I’m wrong.” His face was close to Ricky’s and he was giving Ricky a close look. He moved his face to the side of Ricky’s head and inhaled the scent of him. “You smell nice, Ricky. You’re a beautiful young man,” he said in a low voice. Ricky shuddered but didn’t move away. He felt himself going hard. He almost moaned. He needed it so bad.

“Warden Avery has told me everything, Ricky. He told me he laid you. He told me he found that one of his guards Topped you regularly the whole time you were there. He told me you needed a cock inside you regularly. Tell me if you disagree with any of this. You needn’t be ashamed. It’s a natural condition. Something to be celebrated more than hidden.”

Ricky said nothing. He was trembling. He needed it so bad. Father Thomas was fiddling with Ricky’s belt buckle and his zipper--and then with his own.

“I think you were jittery because you aren’t getting it. I’ve talked with Ned James--he’s a friend of the warden’s and mine too--and he said he isn’t fucking you yet.”

The “yet” got through to Ricky and he moaned. Father Thomas took advantage of this to fish Ricky’s cock out of his fly with a hand. Ricky was hard and throbbing. He moaned again as Father Thomas began to slowly stroke him.

“You aren’t getting it from anyone now, are you? You haven’t gotten it since you got out of prison, have you? But you want it. You want it bad. Disagree with me if you can.”

Ricky couldn’t disagree and so he didn’t. He offered no resistance as Father Thomas moved one of Rick’s hands to Father Thomas’s crotch. The priest as thick and hard.

“Warden Avery is coming to Winchester in a couple of weeks and he wants to see you. Until then and after he’s gone, you have me. Tell me that you don’t want me--that you don’t want my cock.”

Ricky couldn’t tell him he didn’t want his cock and he didn’t tell him he didn’t want it. The priest pulled the young man’s face around for a deep kiss as they both continued stroking each other’s cocks. Father Thomas began pushing Ricky’s shorts and briefs off his hips.

Ricky rode the priest’s hard cock by sitting in Father Thomas’s lap, facing him, with the priest’s hands holding his waist and Ricky leaning back, leveraging off his feet on the bench on either side of the priest’s hips and locking his fists behind Thomas’s neck. Thomas, fully clothed except for being unzipped and his trousers flared, just provided the hard, eternally hard, cock, while Ricky bounced up and down on it and brought himself to a much-needed ejaculation.

The priest’s shoot off came behind the bench, with Ricky on all fours in a carpet of fir tree needles, and Father Thomas mounted on his ass and bringing them to a mutual ejaculation.

Afterward they were back on the bench, watching the sun dip down over the lake, kissing and fondling in a cool down. Ricky was sighing from a much needed release.

“I believe a twice-weekly counseling session at my rectory is in order,” the priest said.

“Yes,” Ricky answered.

“You’ll tell your brother that we had a very nice little chat and you are working through some concerns with me, but that there’s nothing for him to worry about. I’ll tell him the same if he asks me.”

“Yes,” Ricky answered.

“And he won’t see any signs of nervousness or jitters now if you make your sessions with me.”

“Yes,” Ricky answered.

“Any other questions for now?”

“Can you make it hard for me again . . . now? You don’t have to do anything. I’ll do the riding. All you have to do is keep it hard.”

“Yes,” Father Thomas answered, “I think we have enough time.”

* * * *

“Strip and sit back in the chair with your legs over the chair arms, please. Scoot your butt to the front edge of the chair.”

Now Ricky knew why his probation officer had set his first appointment in Harrisonburg for 6:00 p.m., when the office really was closed. The man had had his dick out and had been stroking it all the time he was telling Ricky what was what and what Ricky had to do for his probation officer to be giving him good reports.

Ricky also knew now why the warden had set him up with this probation officer. They must have some sort of club going, Ricky thought. And then he was sure when, after the guy had knelt in front of him and sucked his cock and balls and eaten his ass out, while Ricky leaned back in the wooden chair and grasped the ankles of his spread feet, the guy crouched over him, hands grasping the top of the chair back on either side of Ricky’s head, and buried his cock inside Ricky’s hole.

He did what the rest of the club did, with his own variation. He gave Ricky all of the cock to the hilt and held there, deep, while Ricky squirmed in the seat, jacked himself off, and panted to an ejaculation. The probation officer’s variation was that, although holding deep inside Ricky for Ricky to come first, he moved his cock in shallow, but deep, strokes, kissing Ricky’s walls deep with his cock bulb and making Ricky’s channel wall muscles ripple on the hard shaft.

After Ricky got what he wanted--even though it wasn’t fully expected--and what he undoubtedly needed, the probation officer got what he wanted. He had Ricky turn, with his knees in the chair seat, his chest hanging on the chair back, and his arms dangling down to the side, as the man covered him from behind, mounted him, skewered him, and pounded his ass to the man’s own ejaculation.

He then told Ricky that all of their appointments would be late, if here in Harrisonburg, but that on occasion, he’d come to Winchester and they could meet in the rectory at Father Thomas’s church.

So, yep, Ricky knew, it was a club. But as long as they all knew how he wanted and needed it and satisfied him, he didn’t give a shit that they got pleasure from it too.

Still, he wondered about when his probation was over. It was only for six months.

* * * *

Over the next three weeks Ricky went from satisfied to frustrated to panicked. He was being fucked by Father Thomas twice a week and by his probation officer every other week, which went a long way to satisfy him. Increasingly, though, he was attracted to his boss, Ned James, who didn’t come after him, even though Ricky strongly suspected he was part of Warden Avery’s group of tops. Instead, James fucked a couple of the Hispanic seasonal workers where Ricky could see him doing it. The last time he’d done it, he’d even kept his eye on Ricky, watching him from across the terrace of a house whose yard they were grooming while the family was on vacation. It was almost like he was taunting Ricky--and it made Ricky want him all the more. The man was big cocked and virile and made no bones about letting Ricky see that he was.

This was the nonrelationship that frustrated Ricky. And it increasingly did so as Ricky’s other servicing went by the wayside.

The first sign of trouble was Ricky’s probation officer being arrested for just the sort of favoritism-for-sex behavior that he was going to be conducting with Ricky. Ricky was too new to it with him to become part of the case against the probation officer, but suddenly, without warning, Ricky had a sour old ugly woman as his probation officer.

The fallout from this was probably what made the other changes in Ricky’s sexual life. Warden Bill Avery did come to Winchester, as Father Thomas said he would, and he did fuck Ricky at the church’s rectory. Father Thomas fucked Ricky that day too, the warden taking him first and then the priest taking him. Between the two of them, they exhausted Ricky, who was sprawled out on the bed in the priest’s bedroom, tongue hanging out in satisfaction, and lightly panting, as the two men who had fucked him sat in the next room, chatted, and drank beer together.

“I’ve taken a transfer out to California,” Ricky heard the warden say. “I’m hoping I can get ahead of this and stay ahead of it.”

“Good move,” Father Thomas agreed. “There’s a church up in New York State that is interested in having me. I’ll be gone from here in another week myself.”

And that’s what came to pass. Going from having two dicks inside him in succession, Ricky went to having none.

And it frustrated him. It frustrated him to the point where, when the landscape company was grooming the grounds of another mansion near Middleburg with no residents present two weeks later and Ned James declared it was too hot to work and stripped and dove into the estate’s swimming pool, Ricky did as well.

He swam over to Ned and begging him, “Please, Mr. James, I can’t take it anymore. I know you fuck men, and I’m in a bad state. What’s wrong with me that you won’t fuck me too?”

“Nothing’s wrong with you, Ricky,” Ned answered. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me for it. Warden Avery recommended you for this job because he knew you were what I liked to fuck. But I know that, with the rest of the men in the warden’s circle, you were in the position to have to do what they wanted you to do. I want it to be a longer term relationship with me, if we do it at all. And I want it to be because you freely want it from me.”

“I want it from you,” Ricky sobbed. “I want it bad.”

“Then you’ll get it.” Ned embraced Ricky and moved over to the side of the pool, where he could stand in a crouch. He maneuvered Ricky around to in front of him, facing him, palmed the young man’s buttocks, and began to pull him into his lap.

“Don’t you first need to--”

“I’m already hard for you, Ricky,” Ned said. “I’ve been hard for you since I first saw you. Every time I made sure you saw me fucking someone else, it was you I was hard for.”

“What I need--what I want--”

“I already know what you need and want, Ricky. I’ve known since Bill Avery called me about giving you a job.”

And, indeed, Ned James did know what Ricky wanted and needed. He turned them both so that his back was to the side of the pool. And then, lapping Ricky, he pulled the young man onto his cock--all the way on it until his short hairs were mingling with Ricky’s, and then he whispered, “I’ll hold it hard inside you. You do what you want to do to get off and then I’ll do what I want to do.”

With Ned holding Ricky in his lap, one arm around the young man’s waist and his other hand stroking Ricky’s cock, and Ned keeping himself ramrod hard inside Ricky, Ricky used the leverage of his feet on the side of the pool to fuck himself on Ned’s cock until he shot his load.

Then, moving them both down to the shallow end of the pool, Ned pulled Ricky up out of the water, laid him down on the terrace of the pool, with the small of his back on the pool lip, positioned Ricky’s ankles on his shoulders, entered Ricky again, and fucked the shit out of him to a mutual ejaculation.

Ricky was crying when Ned was finished with him and Ned asked him why.

“It was so good. I’d like to have you inside me forever. But I’m scared. They’re after the warden’s group. They’ve all gone. I’m afraid you’ll go too.”

“Not a chance,” Ned answered. “I own a business here I can’t just walk away from. Besides, they all are in a position to lose big if their fucking of young men becomes public. I don’t hide that I fuck men and I work for myself. I don’t give a shit who knows that I do. I don’t give a shit that everyone knows that I take care of your addiction for dick. And I’ll do that if you let me.”

“You’ll do that? You’ll always do that?”

“Continually. Like now. You’re so sexy and sweet that I’ve got it up for you again already. These folks have a nice pool house, with nice beds in it. Unless you tell me you don’t want to do it, I’m carrying you in there now, lying on my back on one of the beds, and I want you to climb on top of me and do a cowboy ride on my cock.”

Ricky didn’t tell Ned he didn’t want to do that.