This is a follow on to a story I wrote quite some while back. Effectively this takes up as another case is brought before his Honor. Again, I lacked the balls to trust my readers so it got truncated. I thought about rejoining it, as I had with "The Assignment" but was uncertain as it would make for a very long story, this part runs close to eleven thousand words.....and there's the last part of the trilogy yet to come.
My hope is you'll find this interesting, arousing in places, sympathetic in others. At base it's about two men, one no longer young and the protégé he selects on the spur of the moment.
And, of course, Barrel, the cat.
Saying I preferred to try this matter in chambers, the subject matter being a bit too sensitive for the general public, the accused, his court appointed attorney, Duff and the court reporter plus a bailiff recessed to my chambers. In this matter I had thoroughly read all the submitted material and realized that what he was doing was about what God knows how many fraternity boys were doing to each other, piercing their ears with kits you could buy in almost any Walmart or, alternately, letting their girl friends do it. However, he'd gone a bit further and done the nipples of a girl whose mother was outraged and called the cops. The young lady was 18 but there was the slight matter of his not having a license so the battery charge was trumped up and it was now in my interested hands. The trick here was to get the court appointed attorney placated and made to feel he'd done a good job, then get rid of all the other occupants and have a chat with the hole making gentleman.
It was almost too simple. The attorney must have been very, very new for he presented a defense with innumerable citations, case documentations etc. Just as he was picking up yet another file I stopped him. Standing up, I reached out to shake his hand complimenting him on a spirited, well researched defense that had made certain facts available to me to reach a decision in the matter. We sat and he practically glowed under the kind words. Turning to his client-this was the icing on the cake-I explained to him how lucky he was to get this counselor, Further, I said that I'd given it some thought (I hadn't, but what the hell) I was going to dismiss entirely the battery case but....there was almost a shocked silence, was I going to reverse myself? Bring new charges…?...there is a lapse here and I have no choice but to address it in some modest way.
“Mr. Paynton, you have been practicing your 'art' as your counsel has explained it without a license. A fine is indicated and I think......” Eyes got wider, what would it be?...”Five dollars seems about right which you can donate to the Salvation Army..” Smiles every where. Mr. Paynton shook his attorney's hand, I shook his attorney's hand, Mr. Paynton's hand and then shooed them out. However, just as the room was about to be cleared...I asked if Mr. Paynton had an extra moment as I had a question should similar cases come before me. He did an about face that would have made a Marine on parade proud.
Seated again I paused, seemed to consider what I would say next and then introduced the fly to the fly paper. “Mr. Paynton, what you do is, I know, a very popular thing just now. Whether I might call it a fad or a genuine lifestyle change we'll have to wait about fifty years to find out; When undertakers are careful to make sure the attached jewelry to their clients is all in place we'll know it wasn't a fad.” He chuckled and almost said something but, I suspected, too many years of dealing with the law had made him mindful that silence was always a good idea. “For example, my law clerk surprized me by having his nipples pierced and, from what I can gather, has some other work in mind.” I enjoyed a pause while the fly wound himself in the glue.
“Judge, just tell me when and where and I'll....”
“I think I know where you're going and A. I could not legally let you do that and B. I assume this is how you make some of your living. If you do some work on Duff, then it's for pay, full price, no judicial discount. Clear?”
“Yes, sir, but the offer still stands, I'll do him whenever he likes...” he fumbled in his pants. “Feel kinda odd giving one of these to a judge...” It was his business card, not a well made one, but what Mr. Paynton was doing was running close to the law for fun and profit. I played a trump card. “Mr. Paynton, mind if I call you....what's your street handle?”
“Uh, Needles, Sir...I guess you can figure that one out from my card, needles for piercing, needles for tattooing. If you can do it with a needle, I can do it.”
I idly wondered if his skill with needles extended to closing in an operating theatre after surgery? Based on some of the skill-less work I’d see, wouldn’t surprize me if he could...
“Needles, I'm Eric, when did you finish your last stretch?”
He looked down, trapped, and in the judges office, too.
“Bout five months ago. I was real scared today...”
“Still on paper?”
“Yeah, got another two years.”
“You know, as a judge I could find out everything about you. But what the fuck?Why would I do that to what I’m thinking may be my new associate. At least off the record.”
He looked puzzled.
“You see, I'm always on the lookout for someone who's on the street, can find out or hear or see things. Nothing much, no one's going to ask you to snitch but there is, I think, a different between a friendly conversation, say in a bar, in which one person tells another what's new and being hauled in and questioned. True?”
“Yeah, Eric, true. Never thought of it that way but...you're right. It's kinda like , you said, being at a bar and telling the guy. prob’ly a buddy, what's going on, what’s shakin’, you know, just the shit….Sorry, you’re honor.”
I smiled. “It’s off the record and if you think you know a word, a phrase I don’t, ….”
“Exactly. And it just happens that I'm looking for a man, like yourself, who respects authority but knows a good thing when he hears it. For example, your P.O. Let s say something happens, nothing serious, but a friendly word from a judge would solve the problem. Couldn't hurt, might help.”
He got a sly look on his face. “What you lookin' for judge? You've got something in mind.”
“What I have in mind just now is dinner. Meet me a couple of blocks over by the bus station, Navy Blue Mercedes....say, half an hour?” and smiled.
“You want me to bring any equipment?”
“Just an interested ear and a healthy appetite.” Needles and food were, clearly not friends on a regular basis.
I let forty five minutes go by. First, I had to change my clothes or, more accurately, put some on as under my robe I was naked save for my shoes, socks and collar. Then I wanted to see if I had the hook in the fish and the way to do that was to see if he'd wait around. And there was one other thing...I needed to let Duff know that he was about to get some new body decoration; I hadn't decided just what but it would be my treat.
He didn't take it particularly well.
Mercedes is a comfortable car, not really ostentatious-unless you do what some of our ethnic brethren do and soup it with gold rims and grills and enough tinting to keep secrets from anyone. I'd intentionally parked a block away, got out and looked around the corner down the block and there was my guy, looking a little anxious but there. Two minutes later he was in the passenger seat and we were on our way to a restaurant where I was not known, on the opposite side of town from where I lived and then I had an idea...”Needles, where's a good place to eat? I don't go out much and you get around...”
“Fat Charlies, but Eric, it's kind of a dive, safe but the foods good even if the place looks a little shady.”
“Tell me how to get there, better, you drive.”
He looked nonplussed. “ I don't have a license....”
“Well you do if you look at it one way and that's if we get pulled over, I'll hand in my credentials tell them you're my driver and they'll damn near escort us to where we want to go. By the way, you do know how to drive..?”
If he hadn't driven for some gangsters, or similar, I would be surprised. I made a note to check his rap sheet about half expecting to find evidences of very minor gang activity. He was white which meant he was more toward the gangsters than gangsta. So much the better. He was also a natural driver. The sort who puts one finger on the wheel one toe on the gas and you know he's done it for a long time.
He was right, “Fat Chahlies” had all the basic elements of a dive save that it was reasonably clean and, as he'd said, the food was good. Located in the wrong part of town, they had a two clientele day, families until about eight and after that, the bar took over, the click of pool balls was heard and it became the dive that Needles said it was. However, before then, I had the best meat loaf I'd had in a long time, real mashed potatoes, corn, green beans and freshly made apple pie. No short helpings either. I paid in cash and suggested we move to the lounge and possibly have a beer-whether he was old enough to drink wasn’t a question about which I’d worry.
On top of their too generous servings, adding anything wasn't a great idea but now that he was used to being around me, or at least didn't jump or shut up every time I said something he didn't understand, it was time to play a couple of hours of just being one of the guys. I didn't precisely blend in with the local crowd but I planned to be out before the place got raucous.
I made a double bank shot and sank a stripe, looked at him and grinned. “You're up, sport, and it's now two to none and I can see the eight ball sitting where I want it.” He laughed but I'd made him nervous and he missed, just, putting not enough English on his ball. “Your game...another?” And I did want another but one more conversational than competitive. Since I'd won the last one I broke. A good hard shove with my stick and the balls were everywhere but nothing dropped-I’d played this game before. Not to mention the one I was playing on Needles.
He looked at a messy table and tried to find an easy opening shot but...there really wasn't one. “Tell me something, you get around, professionally, what is the thing you're most often asked to do? Ears?”
“Nah, most guys, if they want them done, let their chick do it or have it done in a mall. Not worth my time. I don't sell the jewelry except what I put in them the first time, so there's no profit in sticking a little stud in some guy's ear I got a mainly dude clientele but they get what their old lady's want unless it's a gang thing or just somebody who wants to get pierced. I have to work by word of mouth and fly real low, no license and I'm a felon. It doesn't add up good if I get stopped.
“Yeah, get a lot of those, particularly if they're part of a tat, guys go for them, special muscled up dudes, but that's the one that most women hate on men. I'll do a woman but...she has to bring her old man with her to hold her down. It hurts.” I remembered Duff mentioning that.
He was launched on his work. “Get a lot of facial stuff, lips, tongues, eyebrows. Some guys want weird shit like a bar going across the ear, I try and tell them it's kinda dangerous they're but their paying so...navel rings, mostly chicks, some guys then we get to.....” He looked at me.
“....we get to the genitals? I'm a big boy, Needles, you don't know what comes through my court, just now I've a case in progress where the wife is trying to keep the husband from cutting off his nuts.” He looked me.
“No shit! And that's in court?”
“I told you, I get a lot of weird stuff.”
“What are you gonna do, let her stop him?”
“Legally I can enter an injunction stopping him but...he gets clumsy, gets his sac caught in a closing car door, they get slammed hard, he goes to the hospital, they're whacked off in surgery. He hasn't violated the injunction, just had an accident that happened to let him have what he wanted.”
“Cool. I know two guys who had their bags trimmed, said it was sexy but...I don't know how. The guy who did it says he gets all the business he wants...”
From a five dollar fine to information I thought might take weeks to get.-and that last about a man who castrated without a license in the privacy of wherever, not even the cops probably had that. Needles was already more useful than he knew and I could think of other things for which he could be used. Brought one up. I wanted to get back to some of it but I also didn't wish to seem as if I was too interested. Time for a change of subject.
“When you were doing time, were you someone's bitch?”
He flushed, tried to aim his cue but finally looked at me.....
“My celly was a big nigger who said there was two ways, let him fuck me and whatever he wanted he saw to it that nothing happened to me or, he fucked me anyway and then handed me ‘round. Wasn't much of a choice...'course when they found out I could do tats, and do 'em good, that helped. A good ink man can do pretty well in there.”
“I'll tell you something and every judge, cop, law enforcement person I know will agree; I can spot jail house tattoos the moment they're in front of me. Some are really excellent work but some...they've just been hamburgered. Single needle is hard to really execute unless your fucking near a pro. I guess you understand that...”
“Shit, man, where'd you learn all that?”
I just leaned over my cue stick and smiled. “As I said, a lot goes through my court room, Bailiffs tell me about odd tats they get in receiving, I listen, word gets around. Nothing too hard to find out if you want to know it. Such as...I'll bet if you took off that shirt you'd be covered but it's more like carrying your own flash. Right?”
“Well kinda, some of this was when I was a kid” he suddenly relaxed with a memory… “ my brother got a tat kit so practiced on both of us. Ma coulda killed him but Dad just laughed and, when he got out, took us to a real tattoo guy and had most of them fixed up, covered up. Illegal as shit, I must have been...12? He was 14. When I was eighteen, I was fresh out of Juvie and when I got out, Dad met me and took me to the guy who did his ink and gave me my back piece, fucking took three days and covers most of my back, double shaded skull. Great work...wanta see it?”
“Yeah, just not here. Maybe when you're working on me you can show me...”
He got a strange look as if he hadn't heard what he'd heard. There was a silence which I'd expected. “I never thought about a judge with ink....”
“Judges are human, they have ink, I work with a couple of guys who have Marine tattoos, mainly service stuff but some school crests, initials. Nothing weird, nothing that you couldn't show in public except that it's on a Judge and that would creep some people out. Judges are people, just like me here now, playing pool with a good guy, had a good meal, we're just shootin' shit about nothing in particular. You think judges don't drink, don't smoke don't fuck...well, son, they do. But they do it carefully. Lets say you put DILLIGAF on the top of my cock...who's to know 'cept you and me and if word gets around that it's there then....who do I think snitched about it” I didn't look directly at him but he knew he'd been told what I said was shit he should shut up about. “You know, someone, anyone, puts grief on me or my guys, I can get a bench warrant, fuck, I can write it, for them in two minutes and they can be cuffed and stuffed an hour later. And, there's an oops, their paper work gets shifted, and they’re transferred to the farm...ever heard of the farm?” I paused, looked at him and then rifled a shot into the side pocket. Needles was silent for a few moments. “Yeah, I heard about the farm, a coupla a guys I know spent time there...they said it was fucked.”
“They're right.” That's all I needed to say. We pretty much finished the game in silence while Needles thought. I was pretty sure I knew what he was thinking but I let him tell me. And he did.
“Ya know, all evening....I don't feel right calling you Eric...'n Judge in a place like this might not be healthy so...”
“How would “Sir” sound?”
“Yeah, Sir, that sounds about right.” He went quiet on me.
“Needles....what do you want to do now?” An open ended question that left him with lots options. I'd planted all sorts of seeds and was relying on his instincts to play into my hands.
“Uh, whaddya want me to do? I mean, if you've got something for me to do, I'm your guy. Just...I don't wanna do anything that sends me back...”
“Never happen. Let me think about this. Is the number on your card good or...”
“Nah, I make sure my numbers work, that's business for me.”
“Okay, I'll give you a ring in a few days.” We'd finished and were leaving the bar area just as, you could tell, the regulars were drifting in. “Need a ride home?”
“Don't have a place to live do you?” He just shook his head. “I've been crashing with a dude I was in with. And....you know how it is...Not much work, I ain't got no license so I work for cash but I have to take less. So...”
He told me an address that I would not have taken the car or me or a tank near.
“Not good. How do you get around? There isn't much bus service over there.”
He finished the thought, “There's fuck nothing over there. I sleep in the attic so if there's a drive by, I'm gonna be as safe as I can. When I'm gone, Barrel stays up there” he smiled, “my attack cat...”
I know that story because it's quite common. Two strays running the street and he finds this cat, or the cat finds him and sticks with him. Cat gets fed, cat keeps sticking with him. In a strange way they bond. So they're living in the attic because it's safe and they're right, for where they are, it is safe. Unless someone decides to burn the place down which happens quite often.
“Barrel? That's quite a name.”
“He was sitting on an old oil barrel in an alley when I found him. Some guys tried to grab my equipment and I had to run like shit. When I ducked behind the barrel, the guy tried to follow me but Barrel sprang his claws and jumped him. I was fucking afraid he'd hurt him but Barrel's a tough motherfucker. He must have belonged to some one cause you can see how the fur around his neck had a collar and whoever had him cut off his nuts.”
I looked at him, tried to imagine how he'd clean up, how the cat would clean up, and if I took them home...I knew I'd have to put up with a shower of shit from Duff in that he'd sulk and sigh and get pouty faced and sigh some more. Of course he didn't live there, not officially, but when he wasn't at work, he was pretty much always at my house. And Needles might be a good thing for Duff to study, to learn not to be some baby, great little cocksucker and he could organize files perfectly, but...I'd enjoyed my evening with Needles more than most I'd ever spent with Duff. He never said much and could hardly wait to get home, get my pants unzipped and start to work. In fact, I could see Needles being a good/bad influence on Duff. He would clearly be able to dominate him and, if I gave him the word, could turn him into almost a man....well, at least get him to be more aggressive or able to stand up for himself. Idly I wondered how often Needles would have to fuck him and beat him up to get his dander up and make him fight back. If he had dander.
“I've got a spare room with a private bath, comfortable bed, eat any time you want and....” I held the deal sealer....”...on the way we can get a litter box, a bed if he doesn't already sleep with you, some treats and some food for Barrel.” Needles looked into his lap and I thought in the dark he was crying. Probably, he would think because he could bring his best friend, his cat. And it was okay for him to think that. At least for them.
“You mean it, Sir”.
“Actually I do. Every home should have an attack cat and their own private tat artist, don't you think?” And stuck out my hand.
“Yeah they should...shouldn't they.” We both half laughed, half snickered. In the dark I watched him relax and wondered how long until his sense of gratitude would manifest itself in a more...direct way? We shook again on...whatever.
The only problem was getting in-and out-of his place without attracting attention, getting shot at or just being shot was not too good an idea-and in the Benz….might as well have been a black and white with all the lights and sirens going.
I went back to the local police station looked up a couple of undercover officers, infrequent ‘visitors’ to my court but so needful of privacy, they testified behind a screen, their voices altered. These guys already looked like they were from the neighborhood and handed Needles over to them. Their instructions were to gather everything up, including the cat-apparently this sort of thing had happened before as an animal carrier was produced and off they went. Needles, looking at the guys, was almost more afraid of them than his neighborhood; Best compliment he could have paid them.
Two hours later, I checked in with my new boarder and found him sitting, wrapped in a towel, holding the cat on his bed; I had the feeling he was afraid to turn down the sheets. I'd told him to wander around the house, find what he'd need, check out the kitchen, the laundry, wherever he wanted to go. I don't have locked doors and I wasn't going to start because a bush league felon was sleeping in a guest room. Barrel was also wrapped in a towel-clearly he, too, had been bathed and now was being vigorously dried; Needles was right, he had been a pet before he hit the streets and got lucky something few abandoned pets have the luck to find.
“Everything alright, find every thing you need?” They both looked tired, if a cat can look tired. “Well, get a good nights sleep. I leave for court pretty early so don't look for me. Just for tomorrow, stay in, watch television, whatever you'd like to do.
“Sir, Some how I gotta get some clothes to wear. Gotta get to a salvation Army or a good will....”
“.... your clothes? Don't you have any?”
“Well yeah, I had the clothes in court and a pair of jeans and a shirt, the shoes, been free ballin' but...that's it. I've got some money so I can pay...” I almost said that, for tomorrow, he could wear something of mine but we were hardly the same size.
“Tell you what, tomorrow's Friday, stay in, there should have been a bathrobe in your bathroom, you can wear that around the house; Duff sometimes sleeps over so look around, he may have left somethings... then Saturday we'll do something about the clothing situation. Okay?”
He smiled, the first time, “Okay, Sir” I reached over, palm up, which is less threatening to animals, and gave Barrel a pat. He didn't flinch so I was reassured we weren't going to have a traumatized cat running through the house. Just in doing the sort of inventory a host does for a guest I noticed that there was a litter box in the bathroom plus a bowl of partially eaten food. I knew the kid and the cat had eaten. I closed the door and went back to my study.
It was going to be a short night made shorter by thinking about the previous day. I'd put Duff off-who wasn't happy to be made to stay away-so I had the pleasure of sleeping alone. With my thoughts. I had the edges and some of the interior of an idea but....I needed one piece or thought I did. Just as sleep was about to overtake me, I remembered a name and almost laughed. Duff had some research to do in the morning.
The docket was uninteresting, Judge Judy stuff with one or two that verged on felonies but weren't... quite. This was the part of the civil trials that I did not like. I would have preferred to be in traffic court where at least you could hear truly bizarre reasons to explain why they'd been speeding or illegally parked or...the list was tediously endless. It was the sort of day for which I had pockets in my robes only there were no pockets, just openings to allow me a friendly game of pocket pool with myself and, sometimes, I'd get Duff under the bench and let him do what he did best; The old suckerooney. Litigants had been known to mistake my sudden shift in mood when I shot for interest in their case, even perhaps hope I was swayed to their side but...sad for them, I really am a fair judge. Usually. And that day, before court, Duff was petulant, non-smiling, too efficient, saying “Your Honor” as if it were a pejorative term...didn't bother me a bit. However, when Jesse knocked and said there had been a fuck up and we'd start late I decided that I'd had it that morning with “attitude” and, smiling, asked Duff to my side. He was hangdog, still annoyed, his face slightly contorted, trying to look mad. I took his hand, looked up at him, said, “Daddy doesn't like it when his boi is unhappy.”
And then I snapped him down across my lap, got my forearm across his neck pining him and depantsed him with my other hand. There was a book on my desk which, though not as good as a paddle, would do. Later, when Jesse started the parade to the court room, Duff's eyes were red, there were tear stains and I wouldn't have wanted to sit on his ass that day; I'd traded in the book for a metal straight edge, now bent, and whaled the shit out of his butt. Court was in session.
“Call the first case.” I looked at the file and inwardly groaned; Two neighbors were fighting about whose dog shit on the other’s lawn the most.
Mercifully after we settled up the dog poop matter, cases zipped in and out; I had two words that, after I’d heard both sides, I found useful: “Case Dismissed”. Court ended with the lunch break from which nobody returned.
Hours earlier than usual I got home and was surprised to find that the kitchen had been cleaned, various and sundry bits of domestic work had been done. It wasn't the day I had maid service so I assumed Needles was to thank for the clean up. Barrel, who was amazingly at home, giving credence to Needle's thought that he'd been a pet, came to me, purred and gave every indication of wanting to be rubbed so I picked him up, knowing he'd been bathed recently which made the shedding possibility remote, stroked him and he almost collapsed with pleasure in my arms. I went to the spare room and found it clean, neat and...empty. I looked at Barrel who was in terminal pleasure mode so was of no help. My bedroom held a surprise; Needles, asleep in my bed. Whether this was to be an invitation or there was another reason I couldn't fathom but, whatever it was, I was glad Duff was at home soaking his ass in Epsom salts; He was a problem I could do without then and, I wondered, maybe for longer….
I had a way to wake him that he wouldn't soon forget. Quietly I walked to the bed, knelt down where he could not see me and in a soft grab covered his mouth and nose. He was immediately awake and tried to jerk away. I pinched his nose closed and said...”Quiet or else. Just lay there, cooperate and you'll be okay.” I released his nose...I could feel him quiver and almost immediately sweat shot from his whole body. Time to assert my right of domain and make him understand that sleeping in my bed, at least without an invitation, wasn't smart. Barrel, not concerned about what he knew to be a non-situation hopped up on the bed, stood on his chest and purred as well as licked the back of my hand. I raised up and rolled his head toward mine.
“Comfortable? Should I ask whose been sleeping in my bed or, is the more important question, why has someone been sleeping in my bed?” In situations like this whores are either bold as brass, sheepish at being caught or happy to see you; Needles took column two, sheepish. “A.. Sir I just..well, I was making your bed and I wondered.....”
He looked at me. “I wondered how you smelled. No place like a man's bed to find that out...”
“Unless you're chained and being made to lick their ass or their arm pits. That's another way you can smell, they say it's the smell that make us hungry, tells us how good food will taste.”
I slowly unzipped my pants and let them slide to the floor. “How good do you think I'm going to taste, salty? Sweet? Bad? Just how and you'll have a comparison, bed...or me.” Just stared at him. My shirt and coat hung open, my socks came over my calves, my tie hung to the almost last button but my pants and jock were on the floor with my shoes. And there was silence.
He put his hand out from under the covers reaching for my dick and found his forearm almost broken when I knocked it away.
“I don't even know if you're clean other than from the shower. Doc's gonna have to look you over, do some blood work, get some results and then maybe you can play hide the sausage. He was almost all skin and bones, was easy to pull out of the bed and dragged to my walk in closet and through another door to what some might call a dungeon but I just thought of as my play room. He was thrown on the floor as I reached behind me to close the door. It was the sort that worked on fingerprint recognition so although he could turn the knob all day, nothing would happen.
“Get up.” And to encourage him I removed my revolver from my shoulder holster. That's another perk of being a judge, you can get a permit to carry a concealed weapon just by asking. Maybe you could get a permit to drive a loaded tank but I'd never asked.
He automatically put his hands up. Reaching in a drawer that rolled out on very quiet bearings I selected a pair of Martin Ridgid Cuff, each one cast aluminum and joined to it's opposite by nine chains. “Put them on.” He did but knowing he not only didn't have the key but where it was or what it might look like. “Sit down.”
and pushed a chair made from steel at him. Significantly, if a man sat in it, his genitals came through a hole in the seat, an idea I'd got from an old James Bond novel. Out came another, heavier set of Rigids, made for ankles. I put them on the floor and slid them to him. No need to tell him what to do, he put them on. Conveniently he wasn't wearing any clothes-I wondered if he always slept in the nude-so no need to cut anything off. Just one more point of attachment. I had him push the chair to a point in the wall from which extended a round, wide metal collar. Once his neck was in, it hydraulically locked. For my purposes he was taken care of and I could go find something for dinner or, better, go out.
“I'll take care of Barrel for you. Every one does need an attack cat and as to the tattoo artist...?”
I ran my finger over the plate by the door and it swung open. No point in wasting the light so, apart from one blue night light, the room was dark as I closed the door. That had been almost too easy.
It was a temptation to call Duff and, sadistically, ask how he felt but I didn't want the cringing whine that would accompany it so I continued as if this was just like any other day. Back to my closet, out of the suit, shirt, tie, socks and into sweats pants, a T shirt pushing the police baseball team, some athletic socks and a pair of New Balance sneakers so light that, when they'd first been delivered I'd thought there was nothing in the box.
As usual, when I'm not working-and sometimes when I am- I go commando. After a day that had started with dog shit on lawns and ended with a woman complaining that her friend had got blood on her new sofa when she should have been wearing a menstrual pad, dinner wasn't all that tempting but a drink was. Maybe, just maybe then I could get the sight of the part bloodied sofa that had been brought to court as evidence would go away.
For whatever reason, I'd overindulged myself when designing the bar. If it was for sale and vaguely was associated with drinking or hospitality, I'd bought it. The final touch had been an old fashioned walk up bar with no seats but a brass rail. The display behind it was of, what else?, bottles of liquor surmounted by shelves of very fine crystal drinking ware and all of it in front of a heavily beveled mirror. I knew hotels in New York that would have been jealous. None of that sort of thing where you press down and liquor is dispensed, I picked up a decanter of fine Bourbon, got a glass from the shelf, put two or three ice cubes in it and filled it about to the top of the ice with liquor. From another ice box I snagged a beer-grabbed a mug from the top of the counter and, carefully balancing all that, slumped into my favourite recliner, took a big swig and reclined. It's about then that I regretted not having brought the bottle and some ice but, what the hell, getting up for refills was good exercise and let me keep track of how much I'd had. The next day was Saturday and so it would have been a shame to waste a full day without litigants by having a hangover. I thought I had a golf date for early afternoon but knew when I clicked on my laptop there would be a confirmation so didn't worry. Just leaned back, sipped and thought about the day, a man shackled up in my play room and wondered what might happen next?
After the news, nothing special, no reason to expect I'd awake to the sound of planes strafing the local Kroger, no floods, no lava flows, just the usual shit about a dysfunctional government dysfunctioning so I whirled the remote-somewhat missing the old days when we had a dial on phones, remotes....hoping to maybe find some Warner Brother Cartoons or a sitcom from the Seventies when they actually had some vestige of wit. No such luck. Taking my drink I ambled through the house headed for my “storage” room to see how my guest was doing.
From the outside I could make all the lights come on which could be disconcerting if one had spent a couple of hours cuffed, wrist and ankle, and your neck collared to the wall. He jerked-which must have hurt his chin as it bumped into the collar. Another button and the collar released him.
“Come on, time for dinner but you keep on the hardware for now, wouldn't want you falling into any beds you don't belong in.” I walked to him and I'm sure he expected to have me grab him by the hair and snap his head back. “Stand up.” He did. “Look down”. Ditto. We're going to the kitchen where you will eat and drink wearing the cuffs. You are now my prisoner which is different from being one of the states, you have no rights, Miranda or otherwise. I will make you what I want you to be and then we will break Duff. I'm sick of his whining and it's time to lower his opinion of himself. How do you answer me?”
“Sir Yes Sir?”
“Drop the first Sir, you can tell it to the Marines just not me. Okay, start hobbling. I guess you know the layout I'm grateful for your cleaning it so your destination is the kitchen.”
By the time we got there I was bored it had taken so long but, maybe he'd learned a lesson. He could have been given a choice of what he wanted-the refrigerator was full-but like a horse you're breaking, you make sure only you feed him and only what you want to feed him. It wasn't my intent to be cruel, not after tonight, but firm and making sure he knew his boundaries. But for just now, all the cuffs stayed on.
Knowing the weight of the steel chains would break any plate he was served roast beef, medium, a baked potato with most of the fixin's, green beans and corn. All of this was put on a triple ply of paper plates and he was given fork and a spoon. He tried to cut the slab of beef, couldn't, and I gestured indicating he'd have to pick it up. I found a couple of plastic glasses and filled one with water, the other with milk. I knew he'd be a wolfer so, to teach him a better time frame in which to take mouthfuls I used an egg timer and he was allowed a bite every 50 seconds. If the trip here was boring, watching him eat was equally so. However I did notice that, as on the previous evening, he ate it all. His skeletal frame could use some decent, nutritious food and that was what he would be fed. I thought to amplify that idea for his confusion.
“Like to see a man eat, particularly when he's being prepared...”
Eating almost stopped, you could almost hear him expanding the phrase, “when he's being prepped for what?” The answer was to have him in better health but why bother him with that? After he finished it all, I allowed him a slice of Dutch apple pie with crumb coating-there was an old fashioned bakery near the court house; Many days civilians would have had a hard time getting in unless you knew a cop who would order for you. When he was finished he sat there, clanking slightly ever time he moved.
“Wondering, what now?”
He nodded his head, almost afraid to speak. He had a temper and I'd see it but just now, in this place at this time he'd conceded to me and in a sense I was his lord and master. I stood there looking at him in about 50 pounds of cast aluminum. steel chain and nothing else. Fattened up, or, more accurately, thickened up, he would be a nice looking man.
“How old are you...Really? Not what you tell everyone, not even what's on the papers in my file but the truth and, let me tell you something, lies have punishments. You know what's behind the door and that I would have no hesitation using any of it. But the truth will set you, if not exactly free, then freer. Think very carefully, you cannot have it better than you do right now, right here even cuffed. You've been fed and watered, you haven't been fucked which you probably expected, things could be and have been a lot worse. As recently as yesterday.”
“Uh, sir, I honestly don't know how old I am. Mom kept changing it so that whenever she needed money from the social worker....ain't got no birth certificate....”
“Didn't they get you a social security card in prison?”
“Yeah, but it was kind of a temporary deal, they took it back when I got out.”
In other words he was exactly equal to a displaced person following a war. No family, no papers, just a cat and, for now, a place to sleep. I wasn't kidding him when I said it had been worse and recently. In thinking about it, other than the name I'd seen on his charge sheet, I didn't even know who he was....”What's your real name?”
“They always just called me Deuce....once in a while...” he suddenly smiled...”Eric, Eric, just like you Sir. I don't know my real last name, wasn't born in no hospital. Mom used to laugh about it, I came real quick and they didn't make it by the time they found a car so I was born in a Dodge on Holden St they took me by it a couple of times and pointed it out.”
This discussion of his past was softening him, saddening him. I remembered what he’d said about at 12 his brother had tattooed him. When his father ‘got out’ I’m assuming jail or prison, he’d taken him to a professional tat artist who tidied earlier attempts up. But, I guessed, added something from dear old dad. Someday he’d show me or at least point out which of his many it was.
He was sitting there, fed, head down, tears dripping onto his chest. Destroyed, afraid he’d be, once again, tossed out, wondering if I’d take away his only thing, the cat. I stood behind him, rubbing his back letting him know it was some form of ‘okay’. To verify that, I took almost all the restraints off. Suddenly he turned, threw his arms around me and bawled. The little boy came out.
“Doc will be here tomorrow, he’ll check you over, I’ll get you some clothes and we’ll start back on your new life….if you want a new life. Do you?
“Sir? Here? With you?”
He bent his head down, needed to tell me something but it was the last bit between then and now….I stroked his head, waiting, waiting…..
“Sir….I need, I mean, there’s something you gotta know about me.”
I could almost hear his sigh. “Uh huh.”
“Well, guess you know I am as well…..no straight guy has that kind of room in their home, at least none that I know. You?”
“No Sir, even when one of ‘em took me home, I damn….sorry Sir…”
“Fuck, say what you want the way you want to say it. I save proper English for when I’m on the bench. You were going to tell me about going home…?”
“Jeez, I damn near had to tell some of them what they thought they wanted to do. Buncha times, I ended up screwing them….maybe what they really wanted. Only ones that scared me was when what they wanted was to paddle me until I was hot and red then fuck me….One time a guy took a paddle with knobs on it...Jesus, that hurt like shit and he knew how to give a spanking.”
In the back of my mind I thought, yeah, Duff needed to learn how to take a spanking. I’d whacked him lots of times but in Needles….I suspected I was looking at a pro….in lots of things. Once Doc gave me his all clear, he was going to show his gratitude without my even asking…..
Pushed the subject just a little. “You like spankings?”
He looked up at me, gulped, “Sir, I like to be spanked by the right man….”
“I deserve it, Sir. A good hard beating; Ever bad man does.”
Interesting he said ‘man’ not boy.
“Over my lap or….against the wall?”
“Lap, please, Sir.”
“Naked, then lean over, touch the floor.”
He did so.
Probably sensed my right hand go up but…..I was waiting, taunting, tempting.”
“Please Sir….please, punish me, I’ve been a bad man.” Again, the man not a boy.
The first smack sounded more like glass shattering, sudden, almost from nowhere. Dead on, right ass cheek. Then the pounding of more, full hand, evenly timed. I stopped, his right was bright red, for a beginning, and before my hand needed anesthetic, I stopped.”
“Up, face me. What do you say?”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“I saved your left for another time but it will get more than my hand, that, I promise you.”
“Sir, I know.”
I spread my legs. “Come here, put your head on my shoulder.” He did while I cupped his ass, one side hot. “Your Sir enjoyed that. He wants you to beat someone else. Have you ever done that?”
“Yes. With what?”
“You are the master of the man hanging you will chose.”
He put his arms around me, tight. It was almost a whisper…. “Does sir like to be spanked?”
But there was no answer, not then, he would learn some things are earned, the answer to that was one of them.
Doctor Chelmsford wasn’t just a personal friend-who else would make house calls on a Friday?-but one of the many experts I could call in court to give testimony on an amazing variety of topics; Medicine, although one of the most frequent, was far, far from the only issue that required professional commentary. Veterinarians were frequent visitors, experts in lawns, cars, paint, furniture, clothing….on to, why not? Zoology. Harry Chelmsford was just one but not only was he my doctor but a neighbor. Beyond that, his clinic was near the court so….even though he was paid (not much) it was relatively easy for him to leave a patient, toss on a suit coat, hurry up the stairs, let Duff swear him in, answer a very few questions then reverse the order.
He made night calls as well, less hurried, often involving dinner, sex, liquor, sex, sleeping in on both Saturday and Sunday and….sex. Unless he was on call. We’d found this mutual interest in each other by quite the most appropriate way, he had his finger up my ass checking my prostate when I moaned. Momentarily, and with some moving both of us about, he replaced his finger with a fine cock saying, “I don’t think we need to worry about a condom, do we, your Honor?”
I just shook my head no, leaned against the wall, first, on the examining table second and, not as part of his fee, I returned the favor. We were just at the verge of committing a 69 when someone knocked on his door saying something dumb like there was a patient waiting. What did he expect there would be? A three toed Sloth?
You can see why I had him in to examine Needles. Actually, I may have suggested a very thorough examination based on what may lay ahead in his future. Later that Friday he called from his office just before, as he put it, some schmuck who thinks their stuffed nose is bulbar pneumonia. (For them he had a plan that would not only cure them of the idea but make them dread even hearing the word ‘pneumonia’ again.) Apart from that, Needles was in great shape. His thinness was only from neglect and slight malnutrition, he was actually very physically strong regardless of his slight build, and from their confidential conversation, very experienced in a number of fields. (He was careful to give him an extensive prostate examination during which he observed how nicely widened his ass was.) Only thing he could recommend was that whoever circumcised him did it with a bread knife, he’d have a fine looking cock if it was redone, good girth, good length with which to fuck….some night he’d drop by, we could tie him down and see that it was done properly.
I told him of my plan to let him have Duff to be first, broken, then trained then I’d figure out exactly what I wanted him to be to me. He said if I came across anything that involved two people in what promised to be an interesting progress, he was right around the corner. I told him his name was on the list, thanked him and rang off.
Next to be done, and really was a priority, my new partner needed clothes. On my way home I swung by a sporting goods store, got some sweats, couple of hoodies, one zip front, socks….jock, taking a chance on the size-you can’t return them, some gym shorts, couple of T shirts with a team logo….until the next day, he could at least leave the robe in the bathroom, have something to pad around the house. Also, as it was next to a super pet store, I got a collar for Barrel, leash, what looked, to me like the sort of toys a cat might like to play with….but how they would look to a real cat….I remembered Steve Martin’s line about cat toys covered with cat spit….and put two of them back.
He must have heard the car in garage as he was standing, almost looking like he wanted me to come home, in the laundry room which was just off the garage. He was waiting wearing something….too big that I suspected belonged to Duff. No matter, I told him to strip while I laid bags and a box on the island then stepped back.
“Sorry I wasn’t sure about your sizes, this is just for tonight and around the house so...”
I don’t think he meant to say it…almost under his breath. “New Clothes...”
“Uh, you seem to be naked, put something on.”
He smiled, “Oh, yeah.” First thing was the jock, trifle too small but that was an easy fix, the rest of it? Sweats, Ts, socks don’t really need a precision of sizing. When he was finished he turned as if to show off to me. “Yeah? Sir? Approve?”
“Yep, for now, you look like every man who came home from work, changed into something comfortable, is going to have a drink, worry about dinner later then plunk down to not really watch the news. Oh, the box...”
There was the collar and leash for barrel as well as the cat toys. His smile said something, I’d done the right thing in remembering what was really the thing closest to him then looked up at me. “Sir?”
I didn’t even have to open my arms, he just came to me, Barrel following, fell into me while the cat jumped up on my shoulder. “Tomorrow, we’ll get something more appropriate, suits, ties, good shoes….and also I’ll let you find a place that sells stuff for when you don’t want to be noticed. Matter of fact, may just have to pick up some things for both of us. Whattya think?”
He couldn’t say anything but somehow, I felt I’d have a wet tie. “Go on, put the collar on Barrel, he may have been missing one. Got him a real silver one, he’s a quality cat.”
He didn’t want to let go, just held me. I ruffled his hair, said he was in line to get a hair cut. Still just stood there…. “Sir...Thank You.”
“Least I could do for my partner….oh, and we’re going to get you a tat license, don’t know what it takes but...can’t have you showing up in my court cuz you stuck some bitch’s clit and she thought it was a punk job.”
Finally unstuck him so that we could move into my library. He had his arm around my waist as we walked-Barrel chose to ride rather than stride; I must say, he looked like a quality cat in that silver collar….
“What would you like? Scotch? Bourbon?….got ‘em all ….hey, what am I doing, playing bartender in my own home to my own partner, you’re a man, you know what you like.” It was a full wet bar, complete with an ice maker. I scooped up some ice, dumped some really good single malt in it then stepped aside; I wanted to see what he’d pour for himself.
I could tell he was nervous, just holding the crystal glass, very little ice, swirled it around, emptied it, put in about two shots of Bourbon. Looked me straight in the eye, raised his glass to mine…. “Thanks, Sir, you know what you got now.”
“Yes, but no need to say..” I drew him to me, kissed his forehead then led him to the leather love seat. “One more thing, little piece of jewelry. Put out your left wrist.”
He was shocked when I first put a hand cuff around, clicked it shut, paused, smiled at him, then put the other cuff beside it, looked just like a bracelet for a real badass gentleman. “One more thing.” The key which was on a key chain which hung from an emblem shaped like a set of cock and balls. “Sometimes we need to keep people from wandering off.”
Next I produced a small but very efficient gun-my set of cuffs locked through the trigger. He looked at me. And now I was going to really cross the line. From another pocket I took a fire arm, showed him it was locked but loaded, then put it in the Kangaroo pouch on the front of his zip front hoodie. I leaned back and just looked at him feeling the bulge in his jacket, running his finger along the outside, making sure he could quickly pull it out. He looked at me in both shock and devotion.
“Not going to call you Needles, need a better name, ‘member when you said once you were called ‘Deuce’? Like that?”
In a sudden bit of honesty he acknowledged that, “ I liked the man that called me that….Liked him a lot.”
“Then maybe it would be good to remember him, carry the name he gave you
“Yeah...that’d be good.” Didn’t look at me but straight ahead. “That’d be real good”. Almost suggested he ink it on himself but remembered that one of the dumbest things you could tattoo on yourself was a name, your name, any name and for the love of God, not a heart with his and her names; Guys I’ve seen with that piece of shit were already down to one name and referred to the ‘hers with the his’ as ‘that whore’ or ‘that fucking cunt’. Whichever.
I knew not to ask. Just clinked glasses with him… “To Deuce”. He smiled a bit, almost tempted to say...wistfully. After that he leaned against me, almost went back to being a youngster, in his way, cuddled up to me, leaned his head on my chest….I wish I’d had the fire going…..Of course youngsters wouldn’t have made their hand comfortable in Daddy’s crotch.
Some people have gift of rotten timing; One of those was Duff. I could hear him coming in through the garage, had just enough time to send Deuce to the bar, told him to put his hand in his pocket and be ready. Duff would come in through a door that was parallel so he would only see me on the seat. Which is how it played out.
“Sir, his boi misses his Sir….I had to come and see if you were alright.” He whined. That’s when he felt the barrel of the gun in his neck and another voice commented. “Toad, I think you can assume your Sir is just fine. But you’re not.”
Good as any cop he got one of his arms up behind his back, rotated him, slammed his face against the wall, held him there while he used the hand with the gun to find the key to the cuffs, loosened them then applied them to Duff. I could see the hysteria about Duff, it was all wrong, I was there, who was behind him? “Before you get what’s coming, you got a new “Sir” turn around and see your future.
His gasp could have extinguished candles if they’re been any lit. He tried to look for me, “Sir, please Sir, please…..”
At least he could hear my voice. “Wrong word, he’s your master, he’s going to train you, break you, make you….something you’re not. I’m tired of your whining, Duff, if I give the word, he’ll cut out your tongue. If I give the word, he’ll cut off your balls. If I give the word, well, I guess I’d just have to look for a new assistant in court cuz they’d never find your body hanging where it would be. Now, say the new word to him, what you’ll call him.”
There was silence.
He mustered one feeble childish challenge: “No”.
“Fine, take him out, you know where, get a fresh drink when you get through.,..might want to shower, there’s one in there…..and Duff, learn to say the word.”
Chelmsford had been right; Forget his size, he was strong and very quick on his feet. What he needed more than a gun was a knife...I would bet he knew the kind suited him best and where to get one, legally or not. Actually, by calling a buddy at the police station I could probably find out where they could be had but...that would raise a question: “Why would a respected jurist want to know where to buy illegal knives?” While there was an answer, it wasn’t one I had any intention of ‘sharing’ with the police. One thing in a street fight or a dirty fight or any fight, Deuce on your side improved your odds. A Lot.
The unhappy couple disappeared in to my ‘special’ room where, no doubt, having been effectively told what to do, and thoughtfully left the door open, I could hear clothes ripped off, chains rattle, the ratchet that drew them up be turned, a protest until….probably a gag inserted and then silence. I wondered how high Duff was hanging? Did Deuce put in a spreader bar? But there was conversation, if a bit one sided.
“Sir told you, mumble the word.”
“I don’t give second chances cuz nobody ever gave me one ‘cept my Sir in there...you can snivel and whine but until you say the word….”
I heard the tip of the bull whip break the sound barrier as it was lashed. What it hadn’t done was hit Duff but….this was the warning shot over the bow. The next would curl around something, probably his neck but the one after that would raise welts, cause blood. Good thing he was gagged, Duff had no tolerance for pain, his screaming, in other places-just not in my special room-would have been heard next door.
Deuce knew how to build tension and fear; Hell, I was rigid, dripping precum fast and still there was no sound.
The first strike that hit flesh jumped me almost as I’m sure it did Duff. One thing, Deuce had backed off the bull whip which was just as well. However, what he’d selected was easily used to making naked flesh scream with pain as, I assumed, Duff was going through.
Remarkably short time the sounds of lashing stopped, lot of metallic clanking, some wooden noises, couldn’t identify them and finally Deuce appeared wearing nothing carrying his clothes which he’d obviously removed to spare his new things; The blood spatter was on him. It was nice to see him naked and to note that whatever he’d done had aroused him. Good sized cock-just as Harry had described-on my new partner and, pleasant surprise, low hangers.
At the bar he took a towel, wetted it then wiped himself. Wasn’t much blood, just enough to assure me…..what had gone on did not consist of paper burns. While there, and more or less dry, he looked at me, smiled, fixed two drinks then joined me on the couch.
“Got the washing done for the night?”
“Yep it’s...clamped down to dry, may have to get up during the night to change directions….when I bring him in to court here tomorrow for a hearing….” He had a look that wasn’t quit nasty but definitely conspiratorial. “Gotta have him cleaned up for my Judge.”
“Good idea, always appreciate the accused being clean.”
“I ain’t hungry least ways not for a full meal…..”
I knew what he wanted but decided to make him ask for it…
“Sir? I kinda thought we might lay down before supper….we both gotta be tired. What say?”
I picked him up, brought his face to mine, kissed him and then strolled off toward the bedroom.
“You know what I want?”
“I know what you’re going to get….after your spanking….”
He half smiled then pulled his head to mine, I got kissed… “Yeah, that’s what I want….”
“ I meant….after you spank me. Older bad men need to be spanked just as young bad men do. Agree?”
He looked at me with….respect. What he wondered was….if I could take it as well as I’d given it out. The answer was yes, given years of being paddled, spanked, whipped, beaten, so yeah, I could take it and then it would be his turn….get his bottom hot just the right temperature to fuck.
I got naked so we walked with our arms over each others shoulders.
“How do you like it? Over a knee?”
“I like it however you want to give it….cuz that’s how I’ll do you. Fair?”
“Like always, with you, sir, Fair.” He looked down to make sure I was hard, waiting for what he’d do….of course, he was poled up too.
“Don’t have everything I’d want so….over my knees.” He sat on the edge of the bed making a flat space on top of his thighs. I lay there, waiting. His cock was almost fucking my navel, leaving precum in it.
The first blow was the way it should be, taking the feel of the flesh, the depth, the size, deciding where. The next was the first and he came down hard right on the top of my ass, oh Jesus, he did know how to do this….when we got toys to play with….it could only get better. He alternated between sides varying the intensity but never missing the perfect striking spot. He had no time limit, and neither would I so, with only a pause to pull me back as I’d slipped away, he continued until….suddenly it was over.
“Now, Sir, fast, I want to be fucked deep and hard stick me.”
He was on the bed, ready for doggie style which was fine for his Sir. Got in him, boom, my weight caused him to sag slightly but he was smooth, grasping on the inside. Whoever had instructed him in how to be fucked had done a first class job. For every thrust, he’d push back. I was almost at his prostate but was avoiding it...for now. My right hand was under him and instead of jacking him, was grasping his nut sac, just enough pressure to hurt, just enough to start the flow of man milk….I had something in mind.
I laid my body over his, biting into his neck, pulling his head back with my other hand, my God, while he wasn’t the perfect fuck for our first time...I had no complaints, the whole thing just made my throbbing ass push harder, I wanted to stay in him, finally hit his prostate just as I grabbed his cock and gave it some good, hard jerks knowing he was so close…..I felt his warmth in me as he shot out his dick in my hand, a hand that then moved up and wiped his face in his own cum...leaving it there so he could lick my hand.
It was over but….neither of us wanted to stop so we just stayed there, no sound, just panting like two dogs, my hands going for his nipples, pinching them, getting his manhood back up then slapped it. He groaned. That was the end. We collapsed on the bad mixed up in each other, kissing whatever was near each of us going for the other cock, swiveled into a 69 knowing it was too soon, nothing in there but it was like a cruel, blissful edging….nothing to come out to swallow just the feeling of a warm cavern where your cock could live…..
“Make that kinda a habit?”
“Well, but…...I may know some other ways….I’d guess you do too….right?”
I could almost feel him grin. “Right.”
“I think it’s time for Deuce to get warmed up….”
It took thirty seconds for me to have a lap while I sat on the edge of the bed while he took the position, his tail pointed at me, his cock stuck between my legs. I leaned down and kissed it followed by a whale of a slap. He knew he was going to get spanked by a man who’d spanked before. I could feel his dick expand in excitement, trying to use my legs as an ass, someplace to fuck.
He was exciting to spank; Many are not, they just lay there, take it but he was all movement, moans, using his hands to grasp at the fabric and the sure sign he was getting the pain I wanted for him, I could see his toes curl….suddenly I quit, licked his ass then kissed it finally pulling him up and holding him to me. Slowly his eyes rolled up to mine, a hand went over my shoulder, he pulled himself up so we were just about to kiss…..
“You know what’s next?”
“My Sir fucks me.”
“Umhum….roll over, legs over my shoulders, I want to be able to see you, play with you, kiss you while…...”
His hot ass felt great on my cock as it wandered around the hole waiting, waiting, then sliding in like a snake chasing a rabbit, clear down, hard, I could feel him wrench but clutched the fleshy probe. He’d been fucked and fucked and fucked before but this time….maybe one of the few, he wanted it. I leaned forward, kissed him, pulled on his nipples, got him even harder so while I got a good rhythm on the bottom I had one top side, that one eyed snake, staring out me, waiting, wanting, withholding….
The pleasure was splattered all over him. While it may not have been long since he’d taken in in the ass, it had been some little while since he’d wanted it, was a participant, like the man who was sunk into him. I rubbed his face, his chin, drifted down to his chest; I could just get a thumb and a little finger on each of his nipples while my other hand continued stroking his cock. Good thing we were positioned as we were, if he’d been under me, I’d have been bucked off. He’d lost the ability to coherent speech, just roiled and made animal noises….I started strong hard stroke on his cock and into his ass, hitting his prostate with uppercuts. He wasn’t far and rather than wait and let him spew, I kept on forcing more and more from him then, swiftly, rolled him and while he was still shuddering from his climax, ate him out. Good partner that I would be, I made my tongue into a spoon which I used to slowly feed him. His eyes were closed, his lips smacked, he grabbed my torso…..we both went down to lay on the bed.
“Wanta sleep messy or shower?”
“Sir, just like we are. That man sex smell, makes me harder than leather in a new car.” He looked at me in a way….we’d bonded. Only thing left to do was crawl under the covers, get comfortable with each other then I could reach over and switch out the light. He was even better in the slight blue light, the sweat on his shoulders his unwillingness to turn me entirely loose… “You want front or back? If it’s back...I can maybe quietly slide into you if I happened to dream and get hard.”
“Yes, Sir…..I’d like that, but...”
Whatever it was must be important based on what was following
“Sir, please, I need to be….hurt...but only by you, know that, whatever you want to do to me….I want you to do.”
There was only one thing to do, I leaned in and with my teeth started my brand on his neck. He sighed and worked to present that part more to me….I stopped.
“More another, now come on, wiggle in, I want my arms around you just in case you might wander away….” I heard him sigh as he relaxed into me….
...and felt something, a cat, jump up on the foot of the bed and do that cat thing of walking in circles until some sort of nest was made.
I drifted off thinking of pain and him and what I’d like to do….and wondered if he knew….I liked to be hurt….pain……