Bennett House Rules

A disclaimer from the author: This story is a work of erotic fiction featuring men having sex with other men. It is intended for a mature audience only and was not made to comment on, condone, or inform real life behavior. It is designed for entertainment purposes only. It contains themes that some readers might find uncomfortable to read about, including: incest, intergenerational sex, interracial sex, dubious consentuality, and themes involving dominance and submission. Please consider your tastes and comfort levels and show discretion before reading or commenting on this work.

Positive and/or constructive comments are always appreciated at: [email protected]

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I.

Roger made it to church just in time to sneak into the nave while the congregation were occupied with the opening hymn. Moving as stealthily as he could, he hastily scanned the rows of seated parishioners, all busy vocalizing with varying degrees of success, until he found who he was looking for at the usual pew in the back. Giving a silent prayer of thanks that she hadn’t chose to sit up front this particular Sunday, Roger squeezed into the row, sliding down the plush cushions until he settled down next to his wife.

Mary gave him a glance and the tiniest of smirks, before turning her attention back to the hymnal she clutched in her manicured hands. Taking the hint, Roger dug for his own book of song in the back of the wooden bench in front of him, craned his neck to see what page Mary was currently on, and snappily turned the pages, the crinkle of thin paper sounding deafening to his mortified ears.

When the song finally ended, Mary turned to address him. “You took your sweet time getting here,” she whispered, a hint of amusement in her voice. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to make it.” Roger gave her his best apologetic smile he could managed under the circumstances.

“Sorry, hon. Those boys kept me occupied longer than I expected,” he said, turning his head so he wasn’t directly facing her. His hands gripped the hymnal hard enough to go white.

“I swear, Roger,” Mary said, gently chiding now, “You spend as much time over at that silly house than you do at home sometimes.” Roger turned to her now, his apologetic smile more genuine this time, and was relieved to see a familiar teasing sparkle in his wife’s eyes. Ahead of them, the first reading began.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he whispered, hoping he would be able to put his money where his mouth was. He genuinely felt guilty about the time he was spending away from their shared home, but with just about every person at Bennett House knowing his secret, he wasn’t in much of a position to complain.

Roger had thought his days were busy before, but the attention Bennett House demanded of him had grown exponentially since Pete discovered the truth of his relationship with Jordan and Beef. His phone, formerly a seldom used device reserved for emergencies and status updates, was now constantly blowing up with the demands of those horny young men. They seemed to be egging each other on, and not a day went by when he wasn’t bombarded with a barrage of eggplants or grinning devil faces in the messaging app.

A part of him hated them for flipping his life upside down and stuffing him full of their forbidden fruit, but that part got smaller and smaller each day, squashed like grapes under  stern feet, almost to the point where the old Roger Baxter, the version of him who carried himself about town with a quiet, masculine dignity, was being erased, and only a ghostly image of the old man remained.

Who he was now, what was sitting next to his beloved wife right at this moment, feebly praying his breath didn’t smell like cock and cum, was something new and wanton. He was as far from heaven as a man could fall.

Somehow, mere months ago, Jordan had taken a hold of the wheel and was now steering the ship of the grandfather’s life, and Roger felt like he might never regain control. The idea terrified and excited him in equal measure. Despite himself, even though not an hour had passed since he was at Bennett House, he found his thoughts drifting back to the events that had just occurred.

Normally, Roger would have balked at being called out right before church. Sunday was the day of rest after all, but Beef was the one doing the calling, and Roger had learned it was easier just to give the demanding youth what he wanted and be done with it. That was how he ended up naked in Beef’s, frankly disgusting, bedroom. The bulky wrestler was naked from the waste down, stroking his thick, uncut inches, as he lounged on his unmade bed which smelled not dissimilar to a boy’s locker room.

“Happy Sunday, Grandpa,” he said, cheekily, and Roger didn’t even bother glaring at him. It was easier just to get down to business.

“What do you want this time?” he asked, warily, hoping he wouldn’t have to rim the boy again. Something about eating ass on the Lord’s Day just rubbed him the wrong way. He was in luck then, because Beef’s was hungry for a different kind of stimulation.

“I want what Jordan’s been getting,” Beef said, and when Roger raised an eyebrow, he huffed and clarified. “I want you to milk me with those titties.” Roger’s face reddened at the crudity of the words, but he didn’t vocalize any discontent.

He would never admit it, but when it came to Beef, he secretly enjoyed being given an order and getting to his work. He liked the small, fractional feeling of control he still had and knowing he was giving the boy pleasure. This would be a first for them too.

After taking his shirt off, he dropped down to his knees, and with a little finessing, managed to find an angle and height that worked for them both. His pecs, with their hint of plumpness and bounce due to his age and body type, were easy enough to squeeze together. He wrapped them around the thick length of Beef’s cock, watching with fascination and a rising lust as Beef’s cockhead poked out through the gap in his tit meat.

It was a little awkward at first, but with a little practice, he was easily rubbing his tits up and down Beef’s dick, dragging the wrestler’s foreskin to and fro as he did so. The smell was strong as always, the old pre and piss buried beneath Beef’s foreskin punching into his nostrils. The scent, wholly unique to this infuriating young man, always made him lightheaded and weak in the knees.

Not being able to contain himself anymore, he bent his head down and took the head of the cock into his mouth, moaning as a fresh pulse of precum hit his tastebuds. He let his mind turn off, allowing the twin sensations to guide him, up, down, slip, slide, over and over again, until he felt Beef’s hand grip the back of his head and his mouth was flooding with the young man’s semen. He dutifully swallowed every drop, his eyes lidded in self-absorbed pleasure, suckling on the head for more, and not noticing the minutes flying by until Beef pulled him off, a look of post-orgasmic amusement on his rugged mug.

He had dashed out the door as fast as he could, breaking speed limits the entire drive there. It wasn’t until he pulled into the packed parking lot Good Shepard Lutheran that he even considered how he might smell like sex…

He was jolted out of his ruminations back to reality by the sight of an usher perched at his row, gesturing them forward for communion. He walked behind his wife, zombie-like, taking his designated place on his knees. It was a position he had become all too familiar with these last few months. While the minister said the rites and lay the wafer in his mouth, he had to resist the urge to wrap his lips around the older man’s thumb, and when the cup of wine was brought to his lips, the red liquid did little to wash away the stale taste of semen from the back of his throat.

The rest of the service passed in a blur of mismatched song and preachy lecturing, the words a distant drone. Roger mouthed along, knowing the prayers by heart, but his mind wasn’t in that room, not one bit. When he felt the vibration in his pocket, it was he could do to contain himself and not jump to his feet and run out the door. Somehow, he mustered up a deep reserve of patience, his body practically shivering in excitement, and after service, while Mary was socializing with some of the other church ladies, Roger excused himself to a side corridor to check his phone, his heart beating in his chest.

Hey Mr. Baxter. Roger’s breath caught when he realized it was Jordan.

Got time to swing by tonight? We got something to show you. Roger’s eyebrows raised at that, only imagining what wicked trap they would spring on him this time, but his mind was only too happy to jump to attention.

God Yes! He thought, his cock hard in his pants, but instead typed out a more dignified, Sure thing. I’ll come by after dinner. He smiled to himself when he saw the thumbs up response.

He should have hated himself for running to Jordan like a lovesick schoolgirl, but there was no use denying it anymore. He would move Heaven and Earth to make that kid happy, and then some. Just like his grandson. He frowned at the connection, shaking his head, and tucking the phone back into his pocket, he wandered back into the atrium, eager to find Mary and get some brunch. All of a sudden he was awful hungry for some breakfast sausage.

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II.

The evening drive over to Bennett House was blissfully uneventful. For a Sunday, Roger’s supposed day of rest, the day had turned out to be full of incident, and here he was walking right back into the lion’s den for more punishment. He let himself into the house, no longer bothering to knock, his only announcement being the sound of the old door frame groaning and the dry scrap on his feet on the welcome mat. He could hear the drone of the TV nearby, and the muffled sounds of voices coming from a room further down the hall, a now familiar occurrence for the older man.

Stepping out into the open room, he addressed the lanky form watching the police procedural.

“Well, I’m here,” he said, putting on his best annoyed grandfather voice. “What’s so urgent that you felt the need to drag me out here at this time of night?” Despite his words, Roger was already unconsciously licking his lips, his hands dug into chino’s. Turning off the TV, Jordan rose to his feet, his loose fitting gym shorts riding low on his hips, giving Roger a tantalizing glimpse of hip flesh.

“Wait right here,” Jordan said, enigmatically. He stepped down the hallway, knocking on the door where the voices were coming from. There was a slight pause, and then the door opened a crack, flashing a line of bright light across Jordan’s face, giving a stripe of his dark skin a pleasing glow. Out stepped not one, but two individuals, both looking disheveled and a bit sweaty. When they saw who was standing at the entrance of the living room, they both froze, one staring wide-eyed, the other grinning knowingly.

“Grandpa!” Danny said, almost shouting, “What are you doing here!?” Roger frowned at that and crossed his arms.

“Is that how you say hello to me now?” he asked, giving his grandson a disapproving stare. He watched, with some satisfaction, as Danny’s expression turned bashful under his damp bangs.

“Sorry, Grandpa,” he said, smiling shyly, properly chastised. “I was just surprised.” Behind him, Pete was all grinning tooth, his hand absentmindedly adjusting his crotch.

“What brings you out our way, Mr. Baxter?” he asked, already knowing full well why Roger Baxter was back at Bennett House. Roger just shrugged, pointing at Jordan.

“You should ask him. He’s the one who said he needed my help,” Roger said, all too eager to pass the buck of an excuse to the man who so easily lead him astray. Jordan, nonplussed as always, just returned Pete’s grin with a small upturn of a lightly furred lip.

“I asked Mr. Baxter here to help us out for the party,” he said, drawing confused stares from all involved. “The door.” he said, as if that was an explanation.

From the look of surprise and delight on Pete’s face, he clearly understood what Jordan was referring to, which did little to reassure the grandfather. Pete leaned forward to whisper something into Danny’s ear, the words impossible for Roger to make out from his spot across the room. A peculiar look crossed Danny’s face, something that looked awful close to alarm. He gave Pete a doubtful expression and looked ready to say something back to his friend, but then nodded and stepped back into Pete’s bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Pete walked up to Roger and Jordan, eyes shining and at attention.

“Sorry about that,” he muttered to Roger, “Had to get the kid out of the way before we got down to business.” Roger cocked an eyebrow at the tidbit, not liking the wolfish expression on Pete’s face. He turned his attention back to Jordan, face tighter than it had been since his arrival.

“Are you going to explain exactly what is going on here, or am I going to get sent to my room too?” he muttered, rapidly becoming annoyed with the games the boys were playing. Jordan shook his head, and gestured for Roger and Pete to follow him down the stairs to the basement. By this point, Roger was so well-acquainted with the journey that he knew exactly where to place his feet on each step to avoid even the weakest of creaks. He could be in an out of the house without so much as a peep if he really want it.

Once they reached the bottom, Roger stepped into the open space, not seeing anything out of the ordinary at first. Just a few empty beer bottles ready recycling, a half-eaten bag of chips, some photo equipment stacked in the corner, that sort of thing. It was the usual, cluttered order that Jordan Powell called home. Then, glancing past the staircase, his eyes caught sight of a cheap looking wood door propped up against one of the walls. He couldn’t be certain, but it looked like it was made from some kind of construction-grade wood. Pine, maybe?

“What is that…?” He started to ask, recalling how Jordan referred to a door upstairs for some reason.

“We’re having a party next weekend, sir,” Jordan said, providing the necessary exposition. “We need some help installing this new door on the closet upstairs.” Roger gave the younger man a skeptical look, completely baffled. Why the heck would they need to put a new door on a closet for a party, especially when there was a perfect good one, a better one actually, already in place? Roger’s confusion was palpable, and Jordan stepped in with another quick answer.

“We want you to come to the party, sir” he said, confusing Roger even more. “To help provide some entertainment.” Roger looked at Jordan, as if the young man had suddenly grown an extra head, and then saw the way Pete was stifling a laugh. Something was up, something that smelled thoroughly unpleasant, and Roger felt like he was the butt of an ugly joke.

“Why on Earth would you or anyone like you want an old man like me hanging around?” he muttered, not liking the way this all felt. Pete and Jordan exchanged a look, hidden language passing between them in the gaze, and their eyes turned back to the door propped on the wall.

“Like I was saying, sir,” he heard Jordan say behind him as he focused his attention back on the cheap pine. “You would be real popular if you showed up.” Then, not being able to hide his laughter any longer, Pete added,

“Yeah, Mr. B. No one knows how to give a party favor like you.”

That was when Roger saw it. A hole, not much bigger than a fist. At first Roger thought that was the hole for the knob, but quickly realized it couldn’t be, the position was all wrong. There was already a knob hole in the usual place too. This hole was smack dab in the middle of the door, and it was bigger too. Why would the door have…?

The truth hit him like freight truck, and his eyes widened like a deer caught in the headlights. He froze for a long torturous moment, fight or flight both failing him, and when he could move his lungs again, he felt himself starting to hyperventilate.

“No! No, no, no!” he shouted, his voice irate in a way he had never experienced before. He turned away from that obscene piece of wood, a look of profound betrayal on his face. Pete seemed pissed, but also amused, like Roger was putting on a good show for him, while Jordan had a slightly more complicated expression on his face, something disappointed but mixed with more genuine concern.

“I don’t know why you bother to complain, Mr. B.” Pete said, a nasty hint of authority in his voice. “We all know you’ll do whatever we tell you.” Roger wanted to grab that kid and throttle him right on the spot. These little brats had been running him ragged for weeks now, and this was how they repaid him? Jordan could tell Roger was hitting his breaking point, because he gave Pete a sharp look and snapped at him,

“Go upstairs. I want to talk to Mr. Baxter alone.” Pete looked like he was going to backtalk for a moment, then thought better of it, and with a nasty smirk, turned around and walked up the stairs. When the echo of shoes on wood died down, Roger let Jordan have it.

“How dare you!? I’m not some kind of bicycle for you to wheel out and give the neighbors a ride on!” he shouted through clenched teeth, his eyes stinging with tears of humiliation.

Jordan frowned, not liking the anger in Roger’s words and tone, but not particularly surprised either. From Day One, Roger had been a tough nut to crack, so wrapped up in his manufactured gravitas that he completely ignored the less convenient desires that lurked beneath the surface. There was something there, a man like an animal, thirsty for a kind of life that the surface-level, forward-facing version of Roger could barely comprehend.

Then Jordan, in all of his affable skills, pierced through the veil and dragged his repressed self kicking and screaming to the surface. After several months, the worst of the protestations had died down and a new Roger Baxter, one who had tasted sexual hedonism and liked the flavor, had emerged victorious. He had thought that Roger had accepted himself by this point, but perhaps there was more road to travel together.

“Sit down, sir,” he said softly. Roger frowned, an old, familiar look of stubbornness on his face.

“Now listen here, Jor-” Roger began, chest puffed.

“Sit down.” Jordan said, more firmly this time. Roger froze, a dog worried that it had displeased its master and slowly slunk over to the couch, tail between his legs, where he gingerly sat down near the edge. Ignoring the older man’s obvious discomfort, Jordan walked across the room and fished around inside his desk drawer. Fingers touching the scraps of paper, he grabbed a hold of the items and set them down on the desk surface, one next to another in a horizontal row.

“Come here, Mr. Baxter,” he said, quiet and in control once more. Roger rose to his feet and hesitantly walked across the room until the objects came into view. They were photographs. Not just any old photos either. They were new, fresh, recently developed. They were a portfolio of a single, very important subject: Roger Baxter himself.

He glanced down at each piece of chemical-coated paper, his brow furrowing at what he saw. The first was innocent enough. It was a picture of two men: Roger and his grandson Danny. Both were facing toward the camera, dressed in summer fun-time clothes, smiling widely.

Roger remembered the day well. It was bright and sunny, a typical summer in their pleasant college city. He had come over to Bennett House to hook up with Jordan on the down low as usual, but fate had other plans, and the pair had to put the sex off since Danny unexpectedly had the day off and not going anywhere anytime soon.

Ultimately, the trio had spent the day together, grabbing lunch, hanging on the campus quad, and eventually going to the arboretum tucked way off the beaten path. It was one of Roger’s favorite spots, a secret little getaway he shared with few others, but that day he had felt compelled to invite these two boys along.

Jordan had brought his old second-hand Nikon-D700 out, and begging for a picture, the Baxter men had humored him, both secretly thrilled at the idea. Grandfather and Grandson had stood side-to-side, Roger’s arm pulling his favorite person close to him, while Jordan, the young man rapidly filling in the hole for second place, spanned picture after picture. Despite the sketchy subtext to the day, Roger couldn’t help but weakly smile at the happy memory.

He didn’t remember the day of the next photo at all, though he recognized the shape of its content well enough. It was a photo of Roger mowing the Bennett House lawn in the height of the August heat. Under the baking onslaught, Roger, for one of the few times in his storied life, had set aside social mowing niceties and stripped down to nothing but a pair of loose-fitting sports shorts he borrowed from Jordan.

The photo was startling not in its subject, but in the sharp contrast of Roger’s entire look and demeanor. It was completely at odds with his typical personality, but more than fitting for the situation at hand, with a look of profound concentration burned onto his face that came across like a pained grimace. In the photo, he seemed unaware that a camera was on him, so Jordan must have snuck the picture in while Roger was distracted with his duties. He frowned a bit at that, never liking the feeling of being spied on, but he couldn’t deny the photo gave him a certain rugged allure.

The last one was the real shocker. It was another picture of Roger like the previous, but completely different from the other two in theme and content. In fact, unless you knew Roger’s body intimately you would likely never know it was actually him. That didn’t stop Roger from recognizing his own sexual deprivation though.

He realized this must been one of the photos Jordan had snapped during that dreadful night when he had been found out by Pete and the three Bennett Boys had bullied him into an entire new level sexual submission. The later parts of the evening were a shameful blur, more emotional muscle memory than clear thoughts, but he still recognized this moment to his eternal shame.

It was a picture of him, or more specifically a picture of his rear end. He was bent over the lounge chair, his ass facing directly to the viewer. That would have been embarrassing enough, but the reality was even worse. At Jordan’s command, he had spread his own asscheeks, giving the camera an unobscured snapshot of his wrecked anus, pink and puffy after being used by multiple men. A thin trickle of white was dripping from the hole, making its way down to his low-hanging ballsack.

To make matters even worse, in the photo, Roger was still wearing his wedding ring, which had caught the light and glinted like an obscene joke in the edge of the frame. He imagined himself back in that room, Jordan’s confident silence mixed with Beef and Pete’s domineering words egging him on and demanding even more from the poor man. Roger felt his face flush and his breathing hitch just for a moment, and with a gargantuan effort he managed to keep himself together.

“Why are you showing me this?” he asked, trying his best to keep the agitation out of his voice. Jordan said little at first, just looking closely at Roger’s face, as if searching for some particular sign of life he found lacking in the older man. He gestured back to the photos.

“Tell me what you see,” he said, and Roger rolled his eyes, but played along anyways. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice.

“It’s me,” he said, and Jordan gave him a scathing look.

“Yes, but who is that man?” he demanded. “Tell me what you see.” Roger closed his eyes, giving himself one brief blissful moment of peace before giving in to Jordan’s demands. He looked again, trying to find the answers the younger man was looking for. The answers that would pacify him. Who is that man?

He pointed to the picture of him and his grandson smiling like they didn’t have a care in the world. “I see a loving grandfather.”

He turned his attention next to the sweaty lawncare picture, feeling bolder now. “I see a dedicated provider.”

Then, the last. He visibly winced when he looked at the picture of his own sexual degradation. “I see...a whore.”

He stepped back, waiting for Jordan’s response, already feeling like he had failed some kind of test. The look Jordan gave him seemed to confirm his suspicions, which only made Roger angrier.

“Alright, wise guy. If I got it wrong, then tell me the answer.” He smiled, a look that was not at all happy or cheerful. “Tell me what you see.”

Jordan paused, giving Roger’s demand a moment of consideration. He turned his attention to the desk and pointed at the first picture.

“This is Roger Baxter.” His finger moved to the next.

“This is Roger Baxter.” And finally, the last and worst of all.

“This is Roger Baxter.” Roger didn’t respond for a moment, feeling rage bubbling beneath his skin. He didn’t like being toyed with. At least not this way.

“What the heck is that supposed to mean!?” he snapped, losing his patience. “That’s what I said from the beginning.” Jordan shook his head, his eyes and mind clear.

“No, sir. You didn’t,” he replied, not broaching argument. “You said something very different.” He pointed again to each. “Grandfather. Provider. Whore.” He turned back to Roger, as if he had just proved some profound point.

“Stop playing games and just get to the point, Jordan,” he said, gritting his teeth. “Please.” Jordan sighed and took Roger’s hand, pulling him back to the desk. As Roger lined up next to him, he flinched when the young man’s hand came around the back of his neck. But the touch wasn’t cruel or painful, just firm and steady, holding him in place like an anchor. With his free hand, Jordan pushed the three photos together, so they overlapped, one bleeding into the next.

“You look at these pictures. Pictures of you.” He began, soft and instructional. “You see different things in each one. A different man in each one. As if the content alone defined the character.” He shook his head and pointed again.

“These are all the same man, no matter what that man is doing. This is Roger Baxter, Grandfather. This is Roger Baxter, Provider. This is Roger Baxter, Whore.” He looked at Roger again, imploring for understanding, but saw the conflict swimming behind the older man’s eyes. Roger shook his head, not wanting to respond.

“I understand what you are trying to say, but…” Roger stopped himself, not wanting to put his thoughts into words, but Jordan wasn’t having it. He gave Roger’s neck a tight squeeze. Continue.

“I-I’m not-” Roger stammered, closed his eyes, took a deep breath. “I can’t be all of those things. I just can’t.” Jordan’s hand began to rub now, gently, compassionately, and the sympathy in that grip made his eyes water. He closed them tightly, afraid of revealing too much, but knowing all the while that Jordan already saw. It seemed that nothing ever escaped the young man’s watchful gaze.

“Roger,” he heard him say in his dulcet tone, “That’s what I’ve been trying to teach you all this time. You act is if you are different people, being turned on and off, like a light switch…”

“But, that’s what it feels like,” Roger admitted, eyes wide. “You do things to me I can’t understand. I become someone else...” That actually made Jordan smile.

“I just let you be yourself...even when you don’t want to admit it.” Roger frowned at that, but had no witty retort. Deep down, he suspected that what Jordan was saying was true.

“I just...I can’t do that.” he hissed, chancing a glance at the door. Jordan said nothing for a moment and then nodded.

“Okay.” He released his hand from Roger’s neck, the sense of solidarity shattered. Roger’s eyes widened and he realized he was beginning to feel something akin to panic at the idea of disappointing Jordan so.

“I’m sorry!” he said, before he could stop himself. “I just-” but Jordan cut him off.

“What are you afraid of, Mr. Baxter?” Roger quieted down again. He stopped and thought about the answer, not dismissing it as he would have not so long ago. When he responded, it with the first fully honest word he had said in quite a while.

“Everything.”

The brown hand came back and with it a feeling approaching euphoria. He leaned forward, feeling like he was going to topple over for a moment, but Jordan caught him, bringing their heads together, forehead to forehead.

“I won’t let anything hurt you.” Roger looked at Jordan hard, wondering how the young man could say that with such confidence in his voice, as if nothing in the world could stand in his way. He envied the young man more than he had at any point so far.

“I need to know something, Roger,” Jordan continued. “When you imagine yourself doing it,” he tilted his head toward the hole on the door, his meaning clear. “What do you feel?” Roger laughed, the sound coming out bitter.

“What do I feel?” he said slowly, voice devoid of emotion. “Anger. Humiliation. Fear...and arousal.” His eyes narrowed. “Intense arousal.” Jordan nodded, as if he had known the answer all along.

“Roger,” he said, sweetly, “Do you want to do it? To experience what it feels like?” Roger turned away. “Tell me the truth, Roger.”

“...Yes.” Jordan grabbed the grandfather then, pulled his back, the thin chest butted against Roger’s thicker shoulders. Yet, he felt like the small one.

“Let’s go upstairs, sir,” he said, fingers running slowly across Roger’s torso. “We’ll put the door up together.” Roger gasped, feeling himself drowning in the sensation.

“I-I don’t want anyone to see me,” he said weakly. Jordan’s lips found a shoulder blade, kissing along the striped fabric.

“We’ll put a lock on the inside,” Jordan said simply. “You would have control. You would get to decide who, how, and when to provide.” A shudder ran through Roger’s body. Provide. He could provide, and before he could stop himself, he nodded. Jordan smiled behind him, pleased as punch.

“You carry the door and I’ll grab the drill.”

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III.

For Roger Baxter, it was like the week passed in slow motion, a far cry from what he had been expecting. He did what he could to busy himself, burying his head in home life and the myriad campus lawns that needed constant attendance, but the one thing he truly wished to bury his head in, the lap of a young man with a hard cock, was cruelly denied to him.

He didn’t understand at first. Barely a day would pass without at least one of the lusty boys of Bennett House aiming for the pleasures he could bring them, but nothing for an entire week. He hated to admit it, but it was driving him crazy. Roger Baxter’s body, all 61 years of it, had gotten a taste for the testosterone-soaked usage that had been heaped upon it the last 6, almost 7 months. Now he had a craving that couldn’t be sated. It felt disturbingly like withdrawal and that comparison frightened the hell out of him.

When Saturday evening finally arrived, he bid his farewells to Mary, a lie slipping from his lips as easy as pie now, and drove as fast as he could to Bennett House without drawing attention to himself. He had wanted to arrive early for a number of reasons. He didn’t want anyone to see him there for one, but he also wanted to give himself the time to run and escape if the urge struck him. Deep down, he knew what he was about to do was crazy, even self-destructive, but it was as if a fire had been lit inside him that couldn’t be snuffed out how hard he tried. He was terrified that was true, but the tiny shakes that wracked his body as he parked the car had little to do with fear.

Jordan was waiting for him when he arrived, the door to Bennett House opening with an ominous creak, like the entrance of a cheap, gimmicky haunted house. Roger shuffled inside, hands buried in his sports jacket pockets, eyes looking anywhere but at the boy standing right in front of him. Jordan said nothing to him, simply began to walk down the hall toward the closet where Roger’s destiny awaited him.

The hall closet was an old, cramped thing, designed for little more than boots and coats, but it would suffice for the pleasures awaiting. The old, heavier oak had been hastily replaced with the cheaper knockoff, which stood out in the hall like a sore thumb, advertising Roger Baxter position better than a neon light in a dark alley.

Roger had been there when they made the switch, holding the new door steady while Jordan added the screws, watching each dig its way into the wood, feeling like Jordan was drilling screws into his casket. Jordan had been true to his word though. On the inside, a cheap looking lock had been installed. No key, just a bar, so only a person situated inside could control it. It was a small comfort.

“You might want to get naked now, Mr. Baxter,” Jordan said, practical as always. He was right, of course. It would have been difficult stripping out his civvies in the cramped quarters. Jordan watched wordlessly as Roger removed each article of clothing, leaving only his boxers, a modest attempt at comfort, but also left his socks and shoes on. Despite the inanity of wearing shoes and little else, they provided a meager level of comfort, as if he had a more steady footing on the ground. He stepped into the closet, not unlike a prisoner stepping into his cell, and dropped to his knees on the bundles of blankets that Jordan had placed on the floor.

Jordan gave him one last look, a final chance to run for the hills, and when no protest came, he slowly closed the door, a ghost of a smile on his face, as the light from the hallway dimmed and was eventually extinguished except for a small circle coming from the gloryhole, pointed at Roger’s naked chest like a laser sight from a rifle. For a moment, Roger stood hunched in the dark, pulse hammering through his veins, before common sense kicked in and he turned on the flashlight app on his cellphone and begun searching through the nest of blankets on the floor. With a little bit of digging around, he found what he was looking for under the blankets: a small, electric lantern.

As Roger turned the device on, lighting the tight space in its electric glow, he couldn’t help but feel ridiculous. I’m 61 years old. A married man. Yet, here I am. In a closet. About to become a party favor for a house full of horny jocks. The thought didn’t fill him with the expected revulsion, and when to his surprise, a thick, brown cock slid into the hole into the closet with Roger, all of his hesitations evaporated completely.

He brought his lips to the head, a now familiar pattern, and the taste of Jordan exploded across his tastebuds in a flash of comforting flavor. He peppered the massive head with small kisses, smearing precum across his lips as he did so, until the temptation became too much for Roger to deny, and he opened his mouth wide, letting the cockhead slip past his lips to tickle the back of his throat.

Sucking Jordan’s cock was old hat for Roger at this point, but the novelty of sucking the young man off through a hole in a door completely changed the experience. The act had always felt dirty to Roger. Something about putting a penis in one’s mouth carried a certain kind of unhygienic gut reaction that he could never fully dismiss. He had dealt with it the way he dealt with any of the sex that happened at Bennett House, transforming the depravity into its own kind of sinful pleasure.

This gloryhole changed things. The feelings of being used, being nothing more than an orifice for a man’s sexual pleasure went from an underlying assumption to a more outspoken reality, and with it the rise of that particular type of heat that was almost masochistic in nature. He was pleasing himself by pleasing Jordan, reducing himself to an outlet for this young man’s masculine sexual satisfaction, and his cock sprung to life in his boxers.

When Jordan’s semen spilled into his mouth, he knew, without a doubt, that once this party started he wasn’t going to set a single foot out of this closet until any comers were serviced to his liking. It turned out that here in this dark room, already smelling of sweat and pheromones, he could swallows his fears just as easily as he swallowed the young black man’s seed.

The door to the closet opened then, spilling light into the shallow box, exposing Roger as the literal closet cocksucker he now was. He looked up at Jordan from his position on his knees, saw the spent prong hanging happy and limp over the waist of Jordan’s sweat pants. Not bothering to tuck himself in, Jordan leaned forward, his lips meeting Roger’s in a momentary, but deep and searing kiss. When he pulled away, Roger swayed, lightheaded and hard in his boxer shorts, the box of the closet feeling even smaller than before.

Jordan stroked Roger’s cheek, almost affectionately.

“You might want to use the bathroom before anyone gets here, Mr. Baxter,” he straightened himself out, lithe body flexing as he did so. “It might be a busy night for you.”

---
The first party-goers arrived about an hour later. By that point, Roger had already fully situated himself in the closet, door locked, intent on manning his post, a guard on service duty. He listened with rapt attention at the sounds of youthful voices, mostly male, gossiping and cracking jokes. It was hard to make out what they were saying with the distance and the wooden barriers separating them, but that almost didn’t matter to Roger. He was less interested in their words than the cadence of their voices, searching for hints of any building lust or arousal in each of the deep tenor or baritone notes he could hear.

Every time he heard footsteps come down the hallway, his heart would begin to beat in his chest, the bump-ba-bump matching pitch to the sounds of shoes creaking on old wood flooring. Usually they would stop about ¾ of the way down the hall and veer away into the small bathroom the Bennett Boys shared. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment each time it happened, even if his mind was telling him to count his blessings. After all, if every man used his services this evening, his jaw would be aching long before the night was over.

He was prepared as much as he was ever going to be. The spring bar, cheap as it was, seemed sturdy enough, and if Roger had his way it wouldn’t be moving an inch until every last house guest was back out that door. More important for the older man was the plan he had set up with Jordan. Jordan had given him his word that if Roger ever felt overwhelmed by what was happening inside the closet, all he had to do was shoot him a text and he would get him out of there.

Roger, never fully trusting any of the Bennett Boys to their own devices, had already tested the efficacy of the idea.

You there? He had typed, the light of his phone shining bright and eerie on his face. The response was near instantaneous.

Yeah. You ok? Roger let out a breath he hadn’t know he had been holding. When he typed his own response, his thumbs were far more sure in their movements.

Yeah. Just checking. Jordan responded with a thumbs up emoji, and Roger had set the phone to the side, hoping he wouldn’t need it. His pondering was interrupted when he heard a set of footsteps coming in his direction.

The footsteps stopped right outside the door, a long shadow sliding beneath the wood frame of the door. There was no movement from the other side for a moment, both Roger and the mystery individual holding their breath in anticipation. Then the shadow moved, and Roger could faintly hear the sound of a belt being unbuckled. His breath hitched as he watched a cock, a thick, cut piece, already half-hard and getting harder by the second, slide into the hole near Roger’s head. The light was dim, but there was enough for Roger to know that this was a stranger’s cock. I’m about to make a total stranger come…

The thought galvanized something dark and hungry lurking deep inside Roger. He leaned forward, lips wrapping around the spongy head. The person on the other end jumped, seemingly startled by the contact which shot a spark of energy down Roger’s spine. He went deeper, taking more of that cock into his mouth, feeling it tickle his tonsils. The man on the other end, whoever he was, was nearly motionless, a far cry from Roger’s usual oral experiences.

Most of the time the Bennett Boys liked to take control, often starting with slow thrusts and building toward a face pounding that would leave Roger red-faced and breathless. This was different. Roger felt a queer sense of power in this situation, despite his position on his knees. This man had come to him and he was the one calling the shots, one lick at a time.

Roger felt rather than saw the rise tide of the cock-owner’s passion. A certain telltale twitch between his lips. When the semen spilled into his waiting mouth he wasn’t shocked and he swallowed dutifully, drinking the man up like slurping water from a favorite thermos.

The man pulled himself away, tapping on the wood with his palm in a sign that Roger decided to interpret as a “thanks”, and he could hear the jingle of the belt buckle once more as the man turned away, footsteps moving down the hall and disappearing over the horizon. Roger sat back on his blanket, licking his lips for any excess flavor, and congratulated himself on sucking off his first visitor. He expected to feel something negative, guilt maybe, but there was only a lingering satisfaction. Like a predator having caught the scent of prey, his ears perked up, listening for more prospective visitors to feast upon.

Now that he has gotten a taste for his new role, the wait felt excruciating. He was reduced, like a common peeping tom, to peering a hungry eye through the hole, hoping to catch a glimpse of a horny frat boy needing to get his rocks off. Each minute passed like an hour and only distant shadows greeted his roaming eye. But finally, his wish was granted, and another young man, bulkier by the look of him, began to walk toward Roger’s closet hideaway.

Roger sat back, cock throbbing anew in his underwear, as the footsteps stopped outside the door. He was surprised to hear a voice call out to him.

“Uh, someone in there?” a hesitant voice asked. Roger smiled, feeling more at ease now, but not wanting to accidentally identify himself, he poked two fingers out through the hole, giving a tiny wave of acknowledgment before retreating. The response of a hungry, “oh fuck,” made him chuckle under his breath, and when the cock presented itself, a fine looking caramel pillar, Roger knew exactly what to do.

He wasted no time, burying his lips as far to the root as he could. His face pushed against the rim of the hole, lips stretching as wide and as flush with hole’s rounded edges as he was able. Getting the signal loud and clear, the young man began to plunge into Roger’s waiting maw, finding now resistance, only the silky smooth slide of an eager throat.

It wasn’t long before fresh semen was coating his tongue once more, maybe a minute at most. The young man, perhaps embarrassed by his quick ejaculation or just not giving a damn since he got his rocks off, made a hasty retreat. Roger was unbothered either way. I got what I wanted, he thought, licking his lips, and slumped back against the wall.

After the last guy, it was like a damn broke in Bennett House, and suddenly a small crowd began to form around the doorway. Roger swallowed hard, feeling a little overwhelmed, but when a new cock appeared, nature took over and his nervous energy shifted to his tongue.

He can hear them from the other side of the divide as he worked, young, excited male voices goading each other on. The newest cock spills in his mouth and he actually whimpers as it is taken away, like a little boy who just dropped his lollipop. Then comes another cock, and another. He stopped counting and instead wished the Bennett Boys had been imaginative enough to cut a second hole so he could jerk another of them off while he sucked. Or better yet, bouncing between the two, tastes and mixing their unique flavors in his willing mouth. The fantasy of a line waiting for his services both arouses and frustrates him.

When the newest cock disembarked, there was a brief pause, like a calm before an oncoming storm. There was still a group outside the door. He could hear them breathing, some heavier than others. He heard a new voice from the other side of the door.

“Go ahead, bro, he’s all yours. He’s got a mouth like a fucking Dyson.” The thought should have pissed him off but all he could think was, Give me that dick and find out, son.

After a moment of bated breath, a new penis, hesitantly slid inside. It was limp. The boy it is attached to was likely nervous and the thought filled Roger with a sense of hungry empathy that inflamed his passions. He gripped the penis in his right hand, drawing a sharp gasp from the other side of the wood. He took a moment to appreciate the heft of it, admiring its pretty pale pink tones, before administering gentle kisses along the length of the shaft,  and he set his mind to service. He was going to give this nervous nelly the full Roger Baxter treatment.

When he opened his mouth to take the full flaccid length into his maw, he heard a high-pitched moan of surprise, almost like a squeak. It made Roger smile around the cock in his mouth. Now, as the warm, wet heat of his mouth and the snaking movements of his tongue did their work, the appendage began to harden at will. There we go, he thought to himself, humming at a job well done. When the prick felt like it had reached its full length, he pulled off, drawing a pitiful groan of disappointment from the boy that sounded adorable to Roger’s ears. He was eager to get back to work, but he wanted to get a good look at his meal before he ate it.

Roger, to his eternal shame, was rapidly becoming quite knowledgeable about a wide range of cocks, tonight more so than any other time, but this one felt special even to his formerly virgin eyes. The length was large, but not exactly mighty, perhaps 6 and a half inches, maybe 7 if you squinted, but there was more than size when it came to cock. The color was a graceful cream flushed with pink, especially around the head, and there was a barely perceptible upward curve that had tickled the top of Roger’s throat as the prick hardened. It was easily his favorite cock of the night so far, discounting Jordan’s, of course.

His explorations done, he grabbed the prick in a firm grip and dived back into his work. He sucked with gusto, holding nothing back now. He wanted this boy, who he imagined as sweet and shy in his mind, to feel nothing but the best pleasure, and by the sounds he was hearing from the other side of the door, he was succeeding. The steady sound of panting was a sweet sound to Roger’s ears, and with the additional sounds of the boy’s body pushing up against the door, desperately trying to get more of his cock in Roger’s mouth, it was the most potent of aphrodisiacs.

When a fresh splurt of precum hit his tastebuds, Roger couldn’t help himself any longer. He lowered his boxers down to his ankles, where the straining cotton tangled around his trusty loafers. He stroked himself in time to his bobbing head, the urge to push himself over the edge strong, but he held back. He wanted to do it as he tasted this sweet boy spill into his mouth.

When it happened, it was like a tiny miracle, sweet nectar flowing into his hungry mouth. The boy on the other side moaned loudly, the pleasure of his orgasm loud enough for all to hear. It was music to Roger’s ears.

Then the voice spoke and shattered it all.

“Fuck yeah, Danny,” he heard a familiar sounding voice say. “Get your nut!”

Roger’s eyes widened in shock, then horror. He recoiled, his head snapping back, even as the young man’s seed continued to shoot. As the dick exited his mouth, his lips, chin, and neck were splattered by the ongoing storm of semen, but Roger hardly noticed. His sweat slicked back slammed into the wall as he collided with the plaster, knocking the air out of lungs. Not that he was doing much breathing. The words echoed in his head. Get your nut, Danny!

In front of him, the penis that he had just serviced, his grandson’s penis, retreated, limp and spent. He watched a final drop of semen drip from the head and drop, sliding its way down the cheap lumber of the door. There was a short pause, a mumble of words he didn’t care to hear, and a new cock, this one hard and eager appeared.

Roger didn’t move, couldn’t move. He stared ahead, brain numb, cock still hard and twitching even now. He was jolted back to reality by a harsh banging on the door.

“C’mon man, it’s not going to suck itself,” he heard a voice say, followed by muffled snickers. Roger scrambled, hands reaching around aimlessly in the tight space before eventually landing on the one thing he needed now more than ever. He hands shook violently as he opened the messaging app, the screen vibrating so much he could barely see what he was typing.

Help md hekp me helpme

The answer came not in text, but in a phone call and in his shock, Roger nearly dropped the buzzing phone. With some effort, he brought the device to his ear.

“...hello?” he said, weakly. Jordan’s answer was strong and immediate.

“Sir, what’s wrong?” he asked. Roger could hear him moving over the phone, trying to find some quieter place, maybe. He took a deep breath and responded.

“Jordan, g-get me out of here,” he managed over the rising tide of panic and disgust. “Now.”

“One my way.” The line went dead, and a moment later he could hear Jordan’s voice from down the hall telling the men harassing him to get out. There were some token protests, but they quickly died, no doubt under the harsh glare of the young man. The sounds of heavy, disappointed footsteps moved away from his prison, until only one shadow remained. There was a gentle tap on the door and Jordan’s mouth appeared near the hole.

“Mr. Baxter, are you ok?” the lips said, and Roger was moved by the genuine empathy he could feel in them. The warmth helped anchor him and gave him the strength to follow through.

“No, just-” he broke off, wanting to cry. “I need to get out of here. I...I need to talk to you.” There was a pause as Jordan absorbed his words, then three fingers reached into the hole. Roger grasped them, actually sighing at the feeling of warmth that spread through him when he did so.

“I’ll kick everyone out and we can go down to the basement, ok?” Jordan asked, as if he was talking to a skittish animal. Roger nodded, and realizing Jordan probably couldn’t see him, he mumbled out an affirmative.

Jordan rose then, moving back down the hall, leaving Roger by himself. He was only alone for a short period of time, maybe 5 minutes or so, but it felt like a small eternity. He could hear the annoyed voices of party-goers protesting as they were kicked out, but he knew Jordan well enough to know that their complaints were futile.

Roger peered into the hole, watching down the hallway with avid attention. He saw Jordan start to make his way back towards him when he was intercepted by the muscular form of Beef.

“Bro, what the fuck’s going on?” Jordan waved him away, irritated.

“Later,” he muttered, then stopped and turned back to Beef. “Where’s Danny?” he asked in a lower voice that Roger had to strain to here. Beef actually chuckled.

“Dude, I just saw Pete drag him into his bedroom.” He said laughing, though Roger couldn’t figure out why that would be funny. “They’re probably going at it like rabbits.” Roger’s eye widened.

What…!? He saw Jordan glance down his way, a newly concerned expression on his face. He turned back to Beef, face serious.

“I’m taking Roger downstairs. Don’t let anyone come inside. I mean it.”

“Aye-aye, boss!” Beef said, mock saluting. They turned away from each other and as Jordan approached the door, Roger pulled on the lock, turning the handle just enough to imply that Jordan could come in.

Jordan peeked inside, a worried expression on his face that only got more worried when he got a good look at Roger. He bent down, his voice low and soothing again.

“Everyone’s gone now, sir,” he said, quietly. “Let’s get you downstairs.” He gingerly helped Roger to his feet, but stopped as he did so when he saw the dried cum on Roger’s body and the underwear hanging at his ankles. He said nothing, instead dropping to his knees and briskly pulling the boxer shorts up Roger’s legs until they covered his genitals and buttocks. Roger saw him glance at the rest of his clothes folded in the corner, saw the young man making his calculations, and instead ignoring the items. They could be retrieved later. The retreat was paramount.

Jordan lead Roger down the narrow hallway, which seemed almost impossibly long at first, but with each step, Roger began to regain his equilibrium, and by the time they reached the door to the basement, he was beginning to feel more like himself. An extremely frazzled version of himself, but himself all the same. The descent down the stairs was eerily familiar, the sound of the wood creaking under his shoes perversely satisfying. He didn’t need to be lead anymore when they reached the bottom. He found his place on the couch and sat down, huddling in on himself. Jordan took his own seat next to Roger, their knees touching.

“What happened, Mr. Baxter,” he asked softly. “It seemed like everything was going fine for a while.” Roger laughed, the sound bitter to his aged ears. It had been fine at first, more than fine even. Glorious. But that was before Danny…

“I...I ran into someone I knew,” he managed to say, not wanting to reveal just what had occurred with his grandson. Jordan could tell that Roger was hiding something from him, could feel the lie in his bones.

“Who, sir?” Roger shook his head. Don’t make me say it. When no answer came, Jordan asked him directly.

“Was it...Danny?” Jordan knew he had hit gold when he saw the way Roger Baxter winced at his grandson’s name, the older man’s body tensing like a spring ready to launch into the air.

“Yes...yes, it was him,” Roger said, his voice lost in a fog of shame. Jordan’s hand, the one that he used to soothe and control in equal measure, came around the back of Roger’s neck, an old familiar friend.

“What happened, sir?” he asked, rubbing harder. He leaned forward. “You can trust me, Roger.”

Roger looked at Jordan, searching into those eyes, wary now after his recent encounter. He saw only truth in the glance. Jordan was telling the truth, or at least the closest he was able to under the circumstances.

“I...I pleasured him,” Roger choked out. “To completion.” He looked at Jordan, only from the side, the quickest of glances, far too worried about being judged to look him head on, but there was no judge, jury, or executioner sitting next to him.

“I didn’t mean to! I didn’t know until-!” he stammered, feeling the need to justify and defend his indefensible actions. Jordan’s grip tightened.

“Calm down, sir,” he said. “It’s ok.” Roger looked at the young man as if he was crazy.

“No, it’s not!” he barked. “I molested him!” Jordan stopped then, his fingers tightening even more, a look of intense concentration on his face.

“No, you didn’t, sir,” he said, but Roger wasn’t having it. Jordan couldn’t rationalize away this brand of depravity.

“He’s a boy. He’s innocent,” Roger began. “I took-” but Jordan was done and cut him off.

“Innocent boys don’t stick their dicks in gloryholes, Roger,” he snapped, and then seemed to control himself, especially when he saw the appalled expression he was getting from Roger. He started again. “It’s not so simple. This isn’t so black and white.” Roger could feel it then, the scent of a scheme in the air. He knows something and he’s hiding it from me. His eyes narrowed.

“What does that mean, Jordan?” he said, his voice deadly serious. “What’s going on here? What have you all done to my grandson!?” he shouted, each word getting louder than the last. The comfort that had existed between himself and Jordan evaporated in an instant, replaced with the rising fury of a wolf trying to protect his pup. He leaned forward, cornering Jordan on the couch…

“Granddad, stop!”

Roger froze, his head snapping toward the sound of the voice. There are the bottom of the stairs was Danny, clad only in a pair of white briefs. Somehow in the commotion of his argument with Jordan, the young boy had snuck down the stairs completely undetected. Just a moment later, Beef came tumbling after, looking very put out.

“I tried to stop him, but he wasn’t having any of it!” Roger could practically hear Jordan rolling his eyes next to him on the couch, and he swerved his head, turning back to his perceived attacker.

“I’m warning you, Jordan, if you did anything to my boy…” Roger’s voice dripped with menace, and he was surprised to not to see a look of fear or defiance on the young man’s face, but something completely unexpected: hurt.

Danny crossed the room, almost at a dash, placing himself between the older white man and the younger black one as much as he could. “Please, just stop!”

Danny looked at his grandfather and then to Jordan, his eyes pleading for peace.

“Can I have a few minutes alone with him, Jord?” he asked, voice soft. Beside him, Jordan nodded, and rose to his feet, ignoring Roger’s glare. He glided gracefully across the room, giving Danny an affirming clap on the shoulder as he passed the pale-skinned boy and dragged Beef up the stairs with him. It was just the two of them now. Baxter the Elder and Baxter the Younger.

“Grandpa…” Danny began, hesitating. Roger turned toward his grandson, the apology already on his lips.

“I’m sorr-” “I’m sorr-” The words tumbled out of both of their mouths, fully in sync.

They each froze, looking at each other with a sense of confusion and bewilderment, before both men awkwardly smiled at each other. Roger gestured, you first. Danny cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry, grandpa,” he said, shifting uncomfortably on his flattened cushion. “I should have never done that.” He was beginning to tremble. “I’m so ashamed of myself.” Roger frowned.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Danny, I-” he cut off, swallowing like he had a piece of glass in his throat. “I’m the one to blame.” Now it was Danny’s turn to look at him with confusion.

“Wha-? Grandpa, what are you even talking about?” Roger raised a hand, cutting his grandson off.

“I took advantage of you,” Roger said, fully confident in his view. “I got carried away in this place and-” he trailed off when he saw the look on Danny’s face. It wasn’t a look of happiness or sadness like he expected. It was anger.

“Why do you always do that?” Danny said, through gritted teeth, and Roger stared at him stunned.

“Danny?” he asked, totally confused.

“You always act like I’m some stupid little kid who could never get into any real trouble or do something stupid on my own,” the words came out painful, like a deep wound that he been poked and prodded at one time too many. Roger continued to stare, unsure of even what to say. Danny huffed, looked away, his bangs shadowing his eyes.

“You didn’t molest me, grandpa,” he said the words with a hiss. “You gave me exactly what I wanted. I took advantage of you.” Roger was genuinely speechless.

“I’ve know what you’ve been up to with the others for a while,” Danny admitted. “I wanted in on it, but we all knew there was no way you would ever willingly do it out in the open so...that,” he said gesturing with a hand at the area where the closet upstairs would have been.

“Danny…” Roger said, slowly as if talking to a raving lunatic. “You’re just confused. This place is making you feel things that aren’t natural…” Danny scoffed at him.

“Grandpa...Pete and I have been fucking since I was 14,” he said, dropping the knowledge like an anvil on Roger’s head. “Yeah! That’s right! Your perfect, sweet, little boy has been sucking cock and getting fucked in the ass since before he got out of middle school.” Roger shook his head, trying to banish the images.

“No! You’re lying! You’re-” But Danny cut him off.

“No! I’m the one telling the truth! The only one in this room doing it!” He sighed, and his frame shook with the emotion he was trying to manage. “I’m so tired of trying to be perfect for you.” He smiled then, weak. “That’s why I had to come here. To get away. To be free.”

“I did this to you?” Roger asked, weakly, and Danny shook his head, stopped, considered.

“Yes, actually. You did.” he said, his voice going dark. “You came around. Kept coming around. Made yourself useful,” he said, the word coming out like a barb. “I thought I was free of your watchful gaze, but you followed me all the way here.”

“Danny...I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Danny shook his head, his hair falling over his eyes.

“It doesn’t matter. I fucked everything up. Nothing will be the same now.” He sighed, looked tired, but somehow more mature and handsome at the same time. “I’m just tired of pretending. I don’t need to pretend any more at least.”

He and Roger said nothing then, the weight of the revelations sitting heavy in the room. Finally, Roger turned reluctantly to his grandson.

“Danny, please listen to me.” With an effort that looked gargantuan to his grandfather, Danny turned to face him, face stony. “You haven’t ruined anything. I did, by putting you in this situation.” Danny sighed.

“Grandpa,” he said, as if trying to explain something to a child. “Not everything is about you.” He smiled weakly now. “Not even this.” Roger reached out for Danny’s hand.

“You’re right, this is about us.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a parade of feet coming down the stairs. The two Baxters sat stock still, as the rest of the Bennett household marched down the stairs.

“You ok, Danny?” Pete asked, looking a very specific kind of concerned. The kind that said, I want to go back upstairs and fuck. If the mild tent in his sweats was any indication. Jordan gave him a look and took over.

“Do you want me to-?” he gestured with a thumb to the stairs. Roger and Danny exchanged a look, and both men turned to Jordan, shaking their heads. Actually, he had some questions of his own he needed answering.

“My grandson has been telling me some interesting stories,” he said ominously. “I think you boys have some explaining to do…”

----
IV.

Once he waded through the excuses and overtalk, the explanation was actually quite straightforward. Danny was not nearly the clueless waif he pretended to be. He hadn’t known precisely why Roger had been coming over to Bennett House so often. At first, he had assumed it was simple over-protectiveness, a fairly reasonable conclusion given Roger’s history, but after a while a new, sneaky suspicion began to take a hold in his mind. He had noticed a few times how his grandfather had slunk in and out of the basement, like a thief in the night, or how sometimes Beef would go down too, spending long hours in the musty space. At first he wrote it off as typical Bennett House shenanigans, but when Peter, his Peter, began doing the same thing, he knew something was up.

It took very little to milk the truth out of his sorta boyfriend, sorta fuckbuddy. With a little of his well-trained Baxter lips, Danny had Peter spilling the goods quick enough. When Danny discovered the truth, he was understandably shocked, then angry and frustrated, because the other Bennett Boys were getting something he could never have. He was the only boy in Bennett House who had never been on top, and the thought rankled more than he cared to admit.

“Grandpa, if I had tried to make a move on you, it would have never worked,” he said, sadly. “Just imagine…” Roger did, and he realized that his grandson was absolutely correct. It would have likely destroyed their relationship.

“It really sucked, Grandpa,” Danny said, “Knowing everyone else got to have fun and I was the only one left out.”

So the boys came up with a plan, one they assumed would be harmless and foolproof. The Gloryhole Maneuver. They would create a situation where the sex would be anonymous, where both Danny and Roger would get what they wanted and Roger never needed to know the truth about it. That was the plan anyways. They hadn’t accounted for the obvious flaw: dumb, drunk jocks with big mouths. Even then, Roger was still angry about it all.

“You boys really crossed the line this time,” he said, sourly, but his heart was already beginning to melt under the depth of his grandson’s passion for him. To his credit, Jordan nodded.

“In retrospect, maybe it wasn’t the best idea,” he admitted. Roger gave him a look. You think?

“It doesn’t matter now,” Roger said, ready to put this all behind him and chalk it up to another twisted life lesson. “What’s done is done. Danny and I still got some things to work through, that’s for sure, but now that he got that out of his system we can hopefully move past it.” Beside him, they all heard Pete mutter darkly,

“I don’t know about that…” Jordan and the others turned toward him, sharp looks on their faces.

“Peter,” he heard Danny hiss next to him, making Roger’s eyebrows raise.

“It’s true, isn’t it? He didn’t get everything,” Pete said, only stopping when Jordan elbowed him in the ribs. Roger wasn’t sure what Pete was referring to at first, until the light bulb went off in his head.

“Noooo…” he started to say, feeling the panic trying to claw inside him again. Jordan, still leery from the previous mistake, sprang into action, and was by Roger’s side comforting him in a second.

“No one’s asking you to do anything, Roger,” he said, soothingly, then turned his attention to Pete and Beef. “Right?” Both of the boys, nodded, a little too reluctantly for Roger’s taste. That wasn’t what bothered him though. It was the look of hurt that passed over his grandson’s face. It was there only a moment, blink and you missed it, but it had been there all the same.

“Danny…” he began, even as his grandson tried to avoid his gaze. “Is it true?” There was no answer from his grandson for a while, and he was about to press again, when Danny turned on his wheels and looked him straight in the eye.

“Yeah, it’s true. I’m jealous the other guys got to fuck you and I didn’t.” he snapped. “Happy?” Roger frowned.

“Young man...Is that any way to ask for something from your grandfather?” Danny turned to face him again, eyes wide. “Didn’t I raise you better than that?”

“What? You don-” Roger cut him off.

“Use your words properly, son.” Roger said, and with years of conditioning, Danny straightened himself out and said the absurd words.

“Grandfather...can I please fuck you?” Roger gave him an unimpressed look, and Danny quickly corrected himself. “Can I please fuck you, sir?” Roger looked around the room, made a show of considering the request, before finally turned back to his grandson and saying softly,

“Well, since you asked so nicely...I suppose so.”

For once in his life, Roger got something he always wanted since this madcap adventure had started: all of the Bennett House Boys stunned into silence. He savored the brief moment before the inevitable chaos resumed.

“Whoa! You serious, Gramps?” Beef said, something close to awe in his voice. Roger nodded slowly, not trusting himself to use words at the moment. Besides, he liked this short moment of control. He suspected its wasn’t going to last, not by a long shot. Jordan addressed him next, a serious expression on his face.

“You sure, sir?” he asked, and when Roger nodded the affirmative Jordan’s expression shifted from serious to seriously aroused in a heartbeat. Danny was practically a livewire next to him. A small child finding out his biggest dream was about to come true. For a second, Roger saw a hint of that boy he thought long gone, but soon enough the haze of an undeniably adult lust filled Danny’s eyes. It was a new expression for Roger, an adult mature expression that coaxed strange feelings from Roger’s gut.

The only one who didn’t seem to have anything to say was Pete. The chestnut haired youth simply leaned against the wall, a self-satisfied smile on his face. Its the look of a man who knows he has won, and Roger is now certain Pete was the one who blew the gloryhole cover. You little shit.

His thoughts were interrupted when Danny stepped forward, his hand fondling Roger’s waist. Danny’s fingers spark something in the grandfather, like electricity hums beneath the pads of his fignertips. He had been touched by his grandson numerous times over the year, of course, but this was something different. The intentionality is completely, devastatingly new. Danny’s eyes peered down between his grandfather’s legs and widened, his expression turning fiery now. Roger peeked down and quickly understood why: He’s hard as a rock and hadn’t even realized it.

Instinctively, he brought his hands out to cover himself, but the Bennett House Boys were having none of that. Jordan and Beef stepped forward and began to forcibly shove his boxers off, even against Roger’s protests. As they went about their work, Jordan said over his shoulder to Danny and Pete “Get the bed out.”

In the ensuing scuffle, Roger finally lost his drawers. It was inevitable, really. Truthfully, he was only going through the motions of putting up a fight, and everyone in the house knew it too. Near the middle of the room Danny and Pete finally manage to get the sofa open and the bed on the ground. Now that it was out and available, they all looked at the cheap mattress pad and rusting metal it sat upon, knowing full well it wasn’t built for the punishment ahead. Jordan frowned.

“Rip that thing off,” he said, gesturing to the mattress. “We’ll do it on the floor.” Roger started to complain, more seriously this time as they teared at straps, damaging the furniture in the process. He gave Jordan a disapproving look, who returned it with an amused smirk of his own.

“You always wanted me to get a real bed, right?” he said, grinning. “Now I got a good reason.”

With the three boys manhandling the mattress, they finally managed to drag it to a spot clear enough to drop it to the floor, which it did with a solid Thump. Roger looked at the sad rectangle of latex and cotton, a tortured device before and even worse off now. Well, your days of service are numbered now.

He dropped down to his knees, turned around and sat naked on the near bare mattress. He expected Danny to come forward, to surge toward him like water tumbling off a waterfall, but he seemed to have gotten a sudden case of the jitters. He remembered back in the closet, seeing that perfect, beautiful flaccid cock for the first time. Such a simple thing of pleasure that could grow into so much more.

He wondered, briefly, if Jordan and the others would leave, would give him and his grandson their deserved privacy during this most sacred and obscene act. He wasn’t surprised, or disappointed, to find that they weren’t interested in playing along to that tune at all.

Jordan tumbled onto the mattress beside him, sliding behind the older man, his thinner arms wrapping around Roger’s thicker build. “Lean into me,” he commanded, and Roger fell back, knowing those brown arms would always catch him. With his head resting against Jordan’s sternum, he observed the rest of the room’s occupants.

“Danny…” he said, weakly, but weak from a nervous kind of passion. The kind that robs you of your voice in the worst possible moment. But when it came to sex, as always, the Bennett Boys were ready to jump into action at a moment’s notice. Roger found himself flanked on each side, Beef on the left, Pete on the right. Two pairs of arms grabbed a hold of his ankles, one left, one right, and lifted. Roger slid further down Jordan’s form, but the boys’ grip was solid and he didn’t go far.

“H-hey, boys,” he stammered, unprepared for this assault, “What about…” he grasped for an excuse and saw it right in front of him. “My shoes! My loafers are still on.”

“Leave them,” Roger heard a hot voice say from across the room. It took him a moment to realize that the voice belonged to his beloved grandson. He gave Danny a questioning look, but didn’t complain any further when he saw the heat in his grandson’s eyes. Heat that was directed straight at him, like a missile ready to launch.

It burned away some final layer of resistance in Roger’s aged form, and when Pete and Beef’s arms began to move his legs once more, there was no resistance, not even a token one. He lay there, eyes beginning to glaze over, exposed for all the boys to see, but most importantly, for Danny to see. It’s going to happen, he realized. He’s actually going to fuck me. My own grandson. The thought should fill him with revulsion but his hole, denied any stimulation for over a week, only throbbed in anticipation at the thought.

Danny stepped forward, eyes wide as he stared at his grandfather’s most hidden part for the first time. He began to reach out, fingers tentative and ready to cross the forbidden threshold, but paused. Jordan, always the most astute, was the first to realize.

“Lubrication is in the drawer,” he said, gesturing with his head to the battered looking desk hunched against the wall. He couldn’t point, his hands were too busy fondling Roger’s chest meat. Danny walked across the room, sneakered feet on the cement booming around the sexual tension hanging in the air. He opened one drawer, then another, eyes lighting up as he found what he was looking for. When he came back to the pile of man on the mattress, he was carrying what looked like a container of off-brand Country Crock. Beef caught a glimpse of the label, and snickered, his grip on Roger wavering.

“Is that for real, bro? Boy Butter?” Danny, grinning himself, held it between his palms, like a twink model advertising a bargain product for an old TV ad. Jordan chuckled, his chest rumbling on Roger’s back.

“It’s real enough to get the job done.” Danny popped the lid, and the scent of industrial lubrication joined the thick pheromones in the room. He dipped a fingertip in, and pulled it out, spreading the clear substance between two digits, watching the way they slid in glistened with an almost hypnotic fascination.

“Fuck Danny, stop wasting time,” Pete hissed, his grip tightening. “You’re killing us over here.” Hearing the whining voice of his best friend of so many years seemed to jolt him awake, and Danny quickly dropped to his knees, his fingers angling for his grandfather’s hole. He hesitated, slick digit hanging in the air.

“What’s wrong?” Jordan asked, his movements stilling. Danny had a look of intense concentration and thoughtfulness on his face, which eventually broke out into a shy smile.

“Uh, grandpa,” he asked bashfully, “Can you do it for me?” Roger gawked, not sure he was hearing correctly at first, while Pete hissed in annoyance.

“Really?” Beef swatted him with his spare hand, liking where this was going more by the minute.

“Shut up man, let him do it,” Beef said, licking his lips in excitement. “I’ve never seen Gramps finger bang himself before.” Roger gave Beef a scowering look, but his traitorous hole seemed only too eager to follow the instruction. Sighing in defeat, Roger reached a hand out, and once his grandson got the container within grasping distance, he dropped his fingers into the sticky mess, all 5 of them, down to the last knuckle. His fingers glistened with the oily goop as he, with not nearly as much embarrassment as he thought he should have, began to rub those same fingers across the outside of his pucker.

The boys watched with bated breath, all of them practically drooling at the sight. Furrowing his brow, Roger pushed a finger inside, just a bit, just to test the waters, and he opened as easy as he ever had. Encouraged more by the lusty looks he was getting than his own elasticity, he pushed harder, deeper, sliding until his palm rested on his perineum. The fullness was comfortable already, delicious like his hole was made for it.

Retreating, the finger exited his body until only the tip remained, dangling on the rim, and with a soft grunt, a second fingertip joined its brother, pushing in together, tunneling away the last of Roger’s meager defenses. By the time finger number 3 was inside, Roger was beginning to drool, a lazy smile on his face as his fingers played his nerve endings like keys on a piano.

His body began to shake, not hard, just tiny, almost imperceptible tremors, but Jordan noticed. He never missed a beat. He leaned forward, whispered into Roger’s ear, quiet enough only the older man could hear the words.

“That’s good, sir,” he said. “Show him how much you want it.” A tiny, gasp, part shame, part delight burst from Roger’s lips, and he pulled all three digits out completely, and then, in a move that would have shocked and appalled him only hours ago, he positioned two fingers on each side of his asslips and pulled in opposite directions, spreading his hole wide for the entire room. It was a total porno move.

“Fuuuuck,” Beef hissed in amazement. “Gramps has gone full slut.” Even Pete, usually the sour one of the group, was speechless, his face flushed with excitement. Roger wasn’t looking or paying attention to them one bit though. His eyes were fixed straight ahead on the face of his bewildered grandson. Danny’s eyes were wide and shocked, but underneath the surprise was a look Roger recognized all too well. It was like looking into a mirror of his own desire. Danny wasn’t just looking at Roger exposing himself, he was watching his father figure open the gates to paradise.

Danny inched forward. Playtime was over. He grabbed a hold of his grandfather’s wrist and yanked the older man’s hand toward the container of lube. Roger smeared his hand once more, fingers to palm in the sticky fluid, and hissed in excitement when Danny tossed the container aside and it crashed across the floor, spreading clear gel along the way.

His eyes never leaving his grandfather’s, Danny brought Roger’s hand onto his aching length and Roger acted on instinct, stroking the prick slowly, smearing it with what was needed. Danny’s eyes widened a fraction at the sensation. Roger had already touched him there earlier tonight, more than touched actually, but seeing it happen for the first time and looking into his grandfather’s eyes while he did it was almost enough to push him over the edge.

He reluctantly pulled himself away, his prick slipping from the glide of Roger’s palm. He stilled himself as much as possible, noting the way his grandfather’s cheeks were flushed. Roger was staring at his cock, naked hunger in his eyes. He licked his lips, unconsciously advertising his desire.

At their posts holding Roger open, Pete and Beef exchanged a bewildered look, like they couldn’t believe this was actually going to happen.

The first touch of Danny’s cockhead on his wavering anus sent a shock of pure hedonistic desire up Roger’s spine. A part of Roger, small and feeble by this point, was still protesting what was about to happen. Incest with his own grandson. It was a form of degeneracy he would never come back from. Then the contact, his grandson’s maleness on Roger’s most secret area, was like a key sliding into a matching tumbler.

Danny didn’t so much push into his grandfather as spread the man’s hole apart through the sheer force of his being. There was no sharp pain, no tender burning, no tightened protests. Roger’s hole opened like it was made to take Danny’s cock. Behind him, as each inch disappeared from view, Jordan’s fists on his tits tightened, almost hard enough to bruise. Beef was actually shaking with excitement.

“Holy shit,” he hissed in wonder, “He’s actually doing it. Losing his V card in his own grandpa’s puss.” Roger heard the words, or at least a part of him did, in a dim sense, but the other boys didn’t matter now, not even Jordan, his not so secret favorite. There was only one man in the world for Roger Baxter.

“Danny…” he sighed, voice pitched higher than he could ever remember hearing. He had wanted to praise his boy, to welcome him into his hole the way Danny deserved it, but words failed him. He would have to communicate the only way his body was currently capable of. He squeezed the muscles in his rectum, and Danny gasped, eyes widening in delighted surprise.

“Fuck him, Danny” Pete hissed, something bordering on mania in his voice. “Wreck Mr. B’s cunt.” Their words had the desired effect, and Danny took off like a horse at the racetracks. Roger’s mouth opened in awe-filled shock and he felt his grandson’s cock begin to piston in and out of his body for the first time. Yes! Please! Fuck me, Danny!

“Fuck, Grandpaaa!” Danny whined, suddenly sounding so much like the teenager he always imagined in his mind. This was no boy though, Roger realized. He had always thought of Danny as something delicate and fragile that needed to be protected. Less a bountiful angel and more a chubby little cherub hiding behind a cloud with his toy bow-and-arrow. This was no cherub, Roger realized, his cock throbbing between his legs. This was Eros in his prime, spreading his wings and taking flight.

Roger’s body jolted as he took his grandson’s cock, his aged frame shifting with each thrust. From the corner of his eye, he could make out a rigid ebony pillar, Jordan’s hard cock rubbing against his face as he was taken, the young man’s precum dripping onto his cheek. Roger barely noticed, nor did he pay attention to the bounce of his tits with each pound into his channel.

Roger whimpered, biting his bottom lip, his brows furrowed at the pleasure spreading out from inside him. This was good, more than good, even better than Jordan, because it was Danny. He gasped, eyes rolling back in his head, body quaking as he had his first anal orgasm of the night.

Danny’s own eyes widened in pleasure at the spasming hole seeking to suck him dry. He leaned forward, face hovering over his grandfather’s, dripping sweat onto the man who raised him as he took what he wanted. “You feel so good, sir,” he hissed, voice beginning to sound strained, “It’s even better than I thought it would be.” Roger could only stare up above him, as his world narrowed to the set of eyes piercing him to the core. With the way the new angle was hitting his abused prostate, he could barely manage more than a low drone of pleasure.

Beef was nearly beside himself, eyes glowing at the way Roger was reacting to this act of incest. Pete was little better, eyes fixated on the point of entry, a look of conflicted concentration on his troubled, aroused brow. Danny’s thrusts began to become erratic, the pace faltering, slowing, quickening, a well-tuned engine burning out of control.

“Grandpa!” he whined, his tone so much like Roger’s now. “You’re going to make me cum!” Roger’s eyes, fucked glazed for many minutes, suddenly became crystal clear. His relaxed hole came alive, a hungry vassal working for its first meal of the night.

“Do it, son!” he shouted, no hesitation in his voice. “Breed your grandpa!” He might as well have pulled the pin from a grenade.

Pete abandoned any pretense at stoicism and began to rapidly jack his enraged looking cock. Beef was only a second behind, sweat beginning to drip down his face. Without waiting to be told, Roger held his own legs open, widening his stance and the target, the loafers tucked behind the backs of the two Bennett Boys, his own grandson piled on top of him, the circuit complete.

When Danny came, he wasn’t quiet. It was a harsh, choked cry, as if the act of orgasm inside a man for the first time was physically painful. Maybe it was the way his torso shook and jittered as his seed pumped into Roger’s waiting body. Pete made no noise, not even a peep as his spilled trails of white across Roger’s abs and chest, the tiny droplets bouncing along with the rhythm of his tits. Beef grunted, long and torturous, like a bull being castrated. He didn’t spill his seed so much as pour it from his body like a broken jug, coating Roger’s crotch in a frosting of wrestler semen.

With Danny nearly covering him now, both Baxters were quickly covered in the spooge, smearing it across each other’s torso’s with each desperate thrust. Like grandfather, like grandson, they were cut from the same obscene cloth. When Danny pulled out, Roger’s hole gaped for a moment, as if confused by the sudden departure of his brood, before sealing back up, seed intact to the last drop.

The only one who hadn’t come was Jordan, who slid back and then spun Roger 180 degrees, burning the man’s back on the cheap fabric. He waited no longer, sheathing himself inside Roger’s body the way a gun slides right into a perfectly designed holster. He didn’t thrust, or grunt, or make any sound other than a tiny, “ah”, but Roger felt it. Torrents of powerful cum filling his guts and Roger’s began to orgasm, body shaking, still trembling in fact as three boys descended upon his face, eager cocks, wet and dripping, vying for his oral attention.

The rest of the night was a hazy blur. He was fucked many more times, that he knew for sure. All of the Bennett House Boys had a piece of Roger Baxter, some more than once. Eventually, the festivities spread. Roger couldn’t see much, Beef’s hulking mass was blocking much of his view, but he didn’t need a front row seat to know what was happening across the room.

Danny, his darling grandson, was bent over the desk being pummeled in the ass by his long-time friend/fuckbuddy. The desk banged rhythmically against the wall, protesting the rough treatment far more than Danny was. His cries of pleasure, a higher pitched twin to Roger’s current deep ones, rose to the ceiling, echoing off the concrete walls. Pete was fucking him hard, using him like a bitch, just the way he liked to fuck Roger too, and Danny was taking it like a pro.

Roger was more concerned for himself at the moment, his vision blurring as Beef’s mass settled on his back, pushing him flat on the mattress, trapping him in place as Beef punched his guts with his uncut tool. Their heads were touching the entire time, Beef’s sweaty chin on his neck while Roger struggled to take Jordan’s tool at the same time. The thing that kept him going and grounded was the hand of the young man, almost gentle, stroking his cheeks that hollowed themselves with each push and pull of Jordan’s length.

When Jordan pulled out, rubbing himself on Roger’s face and giving the older man a merciful breath, he surprised them both by bring his cock not back to Roger’s mouth, but up to Beef’s plumper lips. The wrestler said nothing at first, keeping his mouth shut for perhaps the first and last time in his life. Then something cracked, a hairline fracture in his resolve from the heat of their experiences, and his lips gently parted, still wet with saliva when the head of Jordan’s cock slid into his mouth for the first time.

His eyes teared up, feelings he didn’t know were possible overwhelming his senses, but he made no move to stop, his tongue rolling tentatively around the head, sucking on it like an infant while he continued to smash into Roger’s prone body. When Jordan pulled away, he actually groaned before he could stop himself, his tongue lolling out for more of Jordan’s flavor. He wasn’t alone in his interest now as Jordan lifted Roger’s head, mashing him and Beef, cheek-to-cheek, as he thrust and rubbed between two pairs of lips and dueling tongues.
 
When Jordan finally orgasmed, he smushed their faces together, thick pearlescent streams of white smearing on cheeks and lips and chins and noses. Their tongues connected, licking and tasting anywhere they could reach, both consumed by the hunger between them and when they finally began to make out, their mouths full of the taste of saliva and cum and ass, Beef spilled his last load inside Roger’s quivering asshole. Buried beneath over 200 lbs of muscle as he was, Roger couldn’t even touch himself, and wouldn’t have bothered if he could. His cock was long past spent and with the last task done, Roger allowed himself to drift off to unconsciousness, all under the massive weight of both boys.

---
V.

When Roger came to he was still on the mattress, but he felt lighter than he had in weeks. At some point the other boys must have gone back upstairs, to do god only knew what, and he had been left alone with Jordan. They were still on the floor, still naked except for the loafers left on Roger’s feet. He was starting to regret that given how clammy his socked feet now felt.

What he hadn’t expected was to be cuddled up with Jordan, all the bedsheets cocooned around the pair making a sweaty nest for them to sleep in. Roger shifted his weight and in the process accidentally shook Jordan from his sleep. As Jordan’s eyes opened and he caught a glimpse of his brown orbs in the dim morning light, he was struck by how beautiful this young man was. Not faux angelic the way he thought of his grandson, but something deeper and more earthy. The urge to kiss him was maddening.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, as if he might awaken the others. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” Jordan answered him the exact right way, with a tiny peck on the lips. He smiled at Roger, unguarded.

“I’m surprised you are up already after last night,” Roger could feel himself blush at that.

“Well, I’ve always been an early riser,” he managed, and Jordan hummed, breathing in Roger’s scent. He pulled back to look at Roger intently.

“This is the first time we’ve done this,” he said, and Roger gave him a puzzled look.

“Done what?” Jordan’s exhale felt like steam from a kettle on his neck.

“You staying the night. Us waking up. Together,” he said, and when the words hit, so did Roger’s panic.

“Oh my god! Mary!” he tried to jostle his way out of the sheets, but Jordan’s grip on him was too tight.

“Shh. It’s ok,” he said, calming a frightened dog. “Danny called her last night.” Roger settled a little after hear that, but he felt far from safe. He could only imagine the earful he was going to get when he got home. He had better come up with a damn good excuse this time.

His thoughts were interrupted by Jordan’s tongue snaking its way along the pulse of Roger’s carotid artery. Trying, and failing to rein in his desire, he mumbled some nonsense about being tired to Jordan, and the younger man adjusted not by stopping or quickening his pace, but by altering the target, drawing Roger into another one of his passionate kisses that always made Roger weak in the knees and numb in the head. It was a good thing he was already lying down then, as he allowed himself to be guided by Jordan.

After several minutes, Jordan pulled away, both of them panting into each other’s faces, mouths plump and wet. Roger sniffed and frowned.

“You stink, Jordan,” he said, disapprovingly, then sniffed again, eyes closing. “Ohhh god, it’s not you, is it? It’s me.” Jordan began to chuckle which rapidly morphed into an eruption of laughter at the look of indignation the older man gave him. He gave Roger a quick kiss on the lips, a tiny apology, before the grandfather could complain anymore.

“Better get upstairs and shower then,” he murmured, stretching himself like a cat. “While there’s still hot water left.”

---
By the time Roger exited the, admittedly grimy bathroom, he felt like a new man. This wasn’t like other post-Bennett House Event showers though. This was no washing away of dirt and sin. He had been baptized in Bennett seed last night and his body still hummed with new energy. He felt as if those boys could throw anything his way and he would take it all and ask for more. Service was his new religion and he was committed to the cause.

He didn’t bother dressing, simply walked naked into the living room. They had seen all there was of Roger Baxter on the basement floor last night, there was nothing left to hide. He found Jordan, naked himself, sitting on a chair. Roger’s clothes, fetched from the closet and neatly folded, sat on his lap. Across from him, slouched over the couch was the hulking mass of Beef. He had made only the most modest attempt at decency, a faded, stretched pair of briefs that left little to the imagination. One hefty ball had already slid out of the fabric, alone and ignored, waiting for rescue.

Beef glanced up, face weary. He had been drinking a lot the night before and was reliably hungover. The alcohol was sure to become a ready made excuse for all manner of shocking behaviors he committed the night before. For now though, Beef seemed more interested in shielding his eyes from the daylight than in complaining.

“You look like hell,” Roger murmured, and Jordan laughed from the other end of the room. He could imagine the grimace on Beef’s face, especially as he gently ruffled the boy’s head, earning him an irritated swat in return.

Down the hall, the same one that lead to the closet that had set last night in motion, a door opened, exploding outward to ram into the nearby wall. Two sets of legs bolted out of the room, one chasing after the other. Danny, nude except for his own pair of tiny blue briefs, nearly collided with his grandfather, who steadied the young man as he slid on his socked feet across the wood floor. Pete followed a second latter, clad in his birthday suit, already half-hard, as if expecting a repeat of last night. Roger wanted to chuckle, but instead rolled his eyes. These boys were nothing if not predictable sometimes.

“Sorry, Grandpa…” Danny said, a hint of his old shyness seeping through, but Roger wasn’t having that. He pulled his grandson close, gave him a sloppy kiss on the cheek, which drew a surprised giggle from the young man. “Grandpa, stop!” Danny said, brushing it off. Roger smirked.

“I seem to recall you had a very different tune last night, isn’t that right, young man?” he said, and the other boys stared at him for a moment, assessing this new open and teasing version of Roger Baxter who had manifested into existence. The flush that swam over his grandson’s face was worth every bit of scrutiny.

“Huh...I figured you would be sulking about that…” Pete said, something hinting at disappointment in his tone. Roger shook his head. No, he was right as rain. He couldn’t guarantee this new lease on contentment would last, but for the moment he felt about as good as he could ever remember feeling. He turned his attention toward Jordan, hands outstretched. “If you would, please…”

Jordan rose, a small smile on his face as he handed Roger Baxter his garments, one at a time. He was want to admit it, but Roger could get used to this kind of service. That thought only crystallized in his mind as he reached for his button-up shirt, and Jordan shook his head, insisting on putting it on Roger’s frame himself, one button a time. As Jordan straightened the collar and Roger looped his belt, Roger asked,

“Well, am I presentable?” Jordan looked him over, and nodded, satisfied. “Good.” He pulled Jordan into a kiss, soft and intimate, then walked over and repeated the same with his grandson, and ducked his head to do the same on the crown of Beef’s skull. He looked at Pete, he and the young man exchanged a look, but with a small shake of Peter’s head he knew there would be no affection coming his way from the young man. Fine, he thought. It’s not like I don’t have enough coming from everyone else.

He turned his attention back to more important matters. “I better head back now…”

They followed in a pack behind him, Jordan, Danny, even Beef dragged himself from the couch. As he reached for the door knob, a soft brown hand rested upon his own, halting him.

“Wait, I’ve got something to show you.” Not giving a further explanation, Jordan walked toward the open door leading to the basement, his heavy footsteps echoing quieter and quieter. Sighing and wondering what mischief was waiting for him now, Roger contented himself by looking outside through the window and onto the lawn.

Spring had sprung, and with it the first burst of perennial foliage and flora. The seeds had done well, the chaos of Bennett land proving to be a potent fertilizer, and the first blooms of wildflowers were sprouting in mismatched, haphazard patterns with no discernible rhyme or reason to their growth pattern. They simply existed how they wanted with no concern for the rest of the world. For the first time in his long life, Roger Baxter saw the beauty is such plants. He wasn’t completely bewitched, they were still only a step above weeds, indignant upstarts in the horticultural world, but they had an undeniable charm that was all their own.

He turned away from the view when he heard Jordan reenter the room. The thin boy was carrying what looked to be a pile of black t-shirts. Roger tempered a smirk, as Jordan dutifully handed one out to each person, including Roger. Amusement on his face, Roger let the rolled object swing open and he got a look at the design on the front. It was a somewhat sloppy copy of a very familiar photo of a drunk young man dressed in stripes of black and white. Jimmy Bennett, Founder. Roger resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Beneath the photo, written in crude white text, were the words: Bennett House Boys

“What’s this for, Jordan?” he asked, holding the shirt out gingerly as if he was holding a stranger’s baby without permission. Jordan shrugged, and gave the best thing he had to an answer.

“Just felt like making us something,” Roger nodded at that, well trained to take Jordan’s whims at face value. There was no point in overthinking a surface level action. Then he paused, considered.

“Why do I have one?” he asked, genuinely confused. “I’m no Bennett House Boy.”

The others stopped and looked at him, almost as if he was crazy.

“What are you talking about, Grandpa?” Beef managed to say, even smiling around his splitting headache. “If anyone here deserves the title, it’s you.” Danny nodded and joined in.

“That’s right! You’re always here, helping us out, even when we don’t know we need it.” Jordan nodded at that, a teacher proud of his favorite pupil.

“Yeah, Mr. B.,” Pete said, a grin on his face, one part mischief, one part sleaze. “You’ve gotten real good at taking care of our needs.” He licked his lips then, giving Roger a meaningful look, but Roger only shook his head, more amused than annoyed at the antics. There would be plenty of time for those kind of shenanigans later, he was sure of it.

“You boys,” he started, finding himself feeling unexpectedly emotional. “I don’t know what to say…” Jordan stepped forward, used his hands to fold the shirt into a tight square, and handed the bundle back to Roger.

“Just take it and get back home, sir” he said, quietly, a happy sheen in his eyes. “I think you’ve left your wife waiting long enough.” Roger nodded, resisting the sudden urge to kiss Jordan again, but stopped himself. They all knew where that path would lead and he really did need to get back to Mary.

He opened the front door, cool, morning air hitting his face, carrying the scent of life and a new day. He turned and gave the 4 young men one last look.

“Goodbye boys,” he said, and then grinning, added, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

The door slammed close behind him, and as he descended down the porch stairs, a new bounce in his step that hadn’t ever been there before, he retrieved his cellphone and called his wife. She answered after a few rings, the sound of mock shock in her voice.

“Roger Baxter, you actually have the nerve to call me after leaving me at home all by my lonesome last night,” she said, in her best scolding voice, and Roger had to bite his lips not to laugh.

“Sorry, hon, I, uh...might have gotten a little carried away,” he said, feeling himself blush. Mary laughed, youthful and fancy-free over the line.

“Oh, I bet! I can see it now. Roger Baxter’s First Kegger!” she exclaimed, and now he did laugh. “I swear Rog, I think you have a little devil in you I never knew about. Good thing those boys were around to take care of you.” Roger coughed, and adjusted himself in his pants.

“Uh, yeah, good thing,” he said quietly, then in a softer voice. “I’m real sorry about this Mary. I don’t like the thought of hurting you.”

“Oh you forget about that, Rog,” she said, and he could practically see her waving his concerns away. “Sometimes boys will be boys. That’s just the way of the world. Besides,” her voice dropped an octave. “I know plenty of ways you can make it up to me.” and then she burst into a new fit of laughter, no doubt imagining the aghast look on her husband’s face. When she managed to calm down, she gave him his marching orders.

“That’s enough Bennett House for one weekend, Roger Baxter. Get your old butt back home and I’ll give you a taste of my grandmother’s old hangover cure. She swore by it, and believe me, that poor woman needed it!”

“Yes, ma’am!” Roger said, and hung up the phone, a broad smile on his face as he started the engine of his reliable car and drove back home to his very sensible life.

THE END

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Author’s note:

That’s all folks! Bennett House Rules is officially completed (at least for now). Perhaps I’ll come back to these characters in some fashion one day, but for now, I’ve got new work that requires my attention.

A big thanks to all the readers who stuck around for this sometimes overly lengthy bit of smut. I enjoyed the opportunity to share a piece of my erotic mind with you all. I hope all enjoyed the ride and that I get to see you on the next one!

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