I didn't call Ben the next day, or the next week, or the week after that. I didn't even drive by his home,not even once. I was vaguely aware of the expense I'd be stuck with if I didn't retrieve my equipment from his bedroom, but I wasn't concerned about the money. Whatever the camera in his bedroom was recording, I let it be. 

If he cared about my sudden absence, he didn't let me know about it. After all, I kept reminding myself, he could text me or call me any time he felt like it. He'd never done it before, so how was now any different? After all was said and done, I was still just an intruder in his life, and he was still just a toy in mine. He obviously knew that; now it was time for me to remember it. Remember it, and move on. I told myself it would be easy.

It wasn't, of course. The days were short and gray with the storms of summer's end, and this only plunged my mood further into bitterness and loathing. I was unraveling, but I wouldn't let myself admit it. I barely ate, I drank a lot, and I looked at a lot of porn without having the energy to finish myself off. The perfectly plastic young bodies and the vapid, canned moans simply weren't exciting to me. None of them were living, breathing bodies that pulsed with heat between my fingers. None of them were Ben. 

After another couple long and lonely weeks of this pathetic existence, I decided I'd had enough. And not just of Ben, or Pendrick, or living alone in a van. I was done with that city, and that life, and the person I had let myself become. It wouldn't be hard to leave it all behind. I didn't have a house, or a dog, or any real friends for that matter. My skills would be useful wherever I ended up, so long as it was highly populated. I could be gone in a day, and the thought excited me, jolted me out of my malaise. It felt as if a massive load had been lifted from my mind, now that I'd decided what to do. Wherever I ended up, I wouldn't have to worry about anyone but myself. I'd truly be my own man.

Not so fast, a dark voice whispered. You know how Pendrick works. You know the rules. He's still the big man in the city, and you work for him just like everybody else. You have to get permission to leave, or it's as good as a betrayal – and that's as good as a death sentence.

And didn't I owe him that much? He was the one who'd taken me in off the streets, who'd taught me how to observe, how to steal, how to be a professional. I was only as independent and successful as I was now because of his mentorship. Sure, I'd been his house boy, but it wasn't as if I hadn't enjoyed most of what he'd done to me, or had me do with others. At least he'd always been straightforward about it. At least there had always been a reason. The things he'd recently done to me in that club had been deserved. I knew that now, deep down. I'd stepped out of line, and he'd responded as he always did, with anybody. He was still my mentor. I owed him a proper explanation. 

That's the bullshit I told myself. I was lonely and depressed and I hadn't cum in weeks, or slept much, for that matter. I wasn't in my right mind.

The evening was closing in, an overcast Thursday night thick with humidity at the tail end of summer. I drove out north of the city, and I found I remembered how to get there without much thought. It surprised me; I hadn't been to Pendrick's mansion in many years. After leaving the ominous spires of the city and the sprawl of the suburbs behind, I'd entered a quaint area full of rolling hills, overgrown oaks, and dark historical buildings. 

Pendrick lived in a massive mansion on a huge grassy lot behind a tall stone wall, isolated and gilded with white columns and blank-eyed cherubs made of granite. I parked across the street from the gate, well in the shadow of the oaks, and turned the van off. I'd bought a bottle of good whiskey on the way. It was the last one I'd be able to afford for a while, and I intended to use it wisely. And so I was already quite drunk when I finally worked up the nerve to call Pendrick's personal number for the first time in almost ten years.

He answered immediately. “Jonathan.” His voice shivered through me, deep and confident and only a little surprised. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I...” I cleared my throat, reminded myself who I was. I forced myself to ignore what had happened weeks ago in the club. That was old business, as Pendrick would say. “I have to talk to you in person,” I said firmly. “It's important.”

“Or you wouldn't be calling this number,” he finished. There was a small silence, and then: “You're drunk, aren't you Jonathan? At least a little.”

I blushed, though I knew he couldn't see me. “I may have had a few.” I sat up straight, cleared my throat again. “But his couldn't wait. I'm...I'm thinking of...”

"You don't have to say anything just yet. It seems like you're interested in a face-to-face meeting, yes? Or you wouldn't be parked outside my home."

I blushed again, and would have replied, but an instant later there came a quick knock at the window right next to my head. I jumped in my seat, nearly dropping the phone as my hand searched for a weapon that wasn't there. On the other side of the glass stood one of Pendrick's bodyguards – the quiet, bearded one. He was wearing a fine black suit despite the humidity and the late hour, and he had a small radio headphone in his ear, a black wire trailing from its base down his square jaw before vanishing in his front pocket. He raised his eyebrows in greeting, but his face remained cold. “Why don't you let Mister Guerrero take you inside?” Pendrick suggested from the phone. “If you're already here, we may as well do this now.”

“Sir,” I said absently, reflexively, and he hung up. I opened the door slowly, and the bearded man backed away with his hands crossed politely behind his back, as if he were an escort for a treasured guest. I knew I was nothing of the sort, just as I was excruciatingly aware that this man had been there at the club, watching Ben and I hungrily as if he wanted to eat us both. I didn't want to let my guard down, but it seemed as if the damage had already been done.

I felt a little cold as I followed the bearded man – Guerrero – through the gate of Pendrick's home and up the winding driveway. The mansion was huge, pristine in the golden light that emanated from its many windows. The door was opened for us by a maid who didn't look either of us I the eye. Radio crackling in his ear, Geurrero led me through halls that I knew well, now decorated with rich furnishings I didn't recognize. We went into the back of the house, down a long hallway I knew led to Pendrick's study. The hallway widened into a sort of foyer just before we reached the study. Two chairs flanked the thick door of the study, and in one of them sat Pendrick's other bodyguard, wearing an identical black suit – the bald man with the cold blue eyes. The one who'd held Ben down while Pendrick ran a knife over his naked flesh and threatened to cut off his manhood. I could feel the scowl distorting my face, and this made him smile. It was a chilling thing.

“Welcome home,” he purred sarcastically, leaning back in his creaky chair. “Good to be back? I hear the old man used to have you any way he wanted you in that room. I heard you were a total whore for him." He cocked his head with inquisitive mocking. "Is all that true?”

I was too tipsy to feel insulted by the ape, so I smirked at him instead. “I did what I had to do. Just like anybody would have.”

He leaned forward, his eyes raking over me. “Yeah...sure. You didn't answer my question, though. Is it true the old man used to have parties here, back in the day? Is it true he used to lock you in a room with the highest bidder? Were you his 'prized stallion,' like he says?”

“Why do you want to know?” I put my hands in the pockets of my jacket, trying to keep myself from swaying. “You're jealous, maybe. Of Pendrick, or his friends – or maybe of me?” Christ, I was too drunk to know what I was doing.

The shit-eating grin disappeared from his face. “I'm jealous of anybody who got to stick it to you and make you scream, Johnny-boy. I ain't no bitch, though. Say it again, and...”

“And what? You'll get mad? I know you're on a leash, dog-man, so don't bother.” I shook my head, smirking down at him in his chair. He glowered up at me, but he was still smiling. It was unsettling. “Anyway...I'm here to see Pendrick, not flirt with troglodytes.”  

“Sure thing,” was all he said. He was still smiling in that strange way. I was surprised he hadn't lost his cool, before remembering that he most likely had no idea what a troglodyte was. “Just gotta pat you down first.”

I nearly protested, but knew there was no point. I was going to be alone with their boss, a very powerful man who had just insulted and humiliated me only weeks before. This was procedure. He stood up and grabbed my shoulders, then turned me around and pushed me roughly against the wall. “Hands on the wall, please.” His shiny loafered foot kicked my legs apart, spreading them. His hands were on me a second later, bold and hard and very, very rude. All the normal spots were checked for knives or guns, and plenty more besides. My balls were squeezed, and more than once his fingers ran up my shirt against the skin of my back and belly, savoring it no doubt. I gritted my teeth and stayed silent. I could feel the Guerrero watching him pat me down and feel me up, and I didn't bother to wonder why he wasn't putting a stop to it.

He bald man's hands were on my ass now, squeezing and kneading my ass cheeks through my jeans. “You think you're lucky I'm not allowed to go after you,” he whispered into my ear. His breath stank. I felt his heated crotch on my thigh, my ass. His cock was hard against me. “But you don't even know what you're missing. I'd fuck you till you begged me for it, Johnny-boy. I've got patience. I'd fuck you till you loved me, you little bitch.”

I wasn't intimidated. I was angry, and when I'm angry I get flippant. “Aw, I had no idea you were such a softie,” I cooed. “Why didn't you just say so? I mean, I wouldn't fuck you with someone else's cock, but I'm always up for a good cuddle.”

I heard a muffled snicker from Guerrero behind us. The bald man's hands tightened on my waist until it began to hurt. “If you only knew...” he began, his voice seething with rage.

“That's enough, Redding,” said Guerrero. “You know what the old man said. He wants to talk to this one. It's just business. Keep it in your pants.” 

Redding stepped away from me. “Be right back,” he grunted. “Gonna grab a smoke.”

“You do that,” said Guerrero. I felt his hand on my shoulder, and I shrugged it off and turned away from the wall. I hoped my face wasn't too red. He looked me over calmly, unphased. He was a few years older than me and a couple inches taller than me, and far more thickly wrought with corded muscle. His stunning physic was visible even through his tailored suit. His face was sharply handsome, his brow heavy. Something was soft about him in that moment, subtle and easy to miss. It made him seem…

I blinked and looked away. Tigers are pretty too, I told myself. “He's right inside,” Guerrero said, before opening the heavy door for me.

I walked into the dimly lit study and heard the door thud shut behind me. I let my eyes adjust to the low light for a moment. A pair of wide leather chairs and a couch sat in a semicircle at this end of the large room. More than one stuffed animal head graced the walls, wide-eyed stags and even a snarling bear. The far side of the study was dominated by a curved wall of bookshelves, brimming with leather-bound tomes and old encyclopedias. Beneath that was Pendrick's desk, barren and minimal with only a small lamp (the only source of light in the room) and a clean stack of papers on top of it. Pendrick was sitting behind it, and he rose when I entered. He must have already been winding down for the night when I'd called. He was dressed in a dark red robe that was tied at his waist, barefoot, but still bristling with confidence. Power. 

I felt weak as he rounded the desk and approached me. My knees wobbled slightly, and my limbs felt watery. He grinned through his silver beard, gray eyes flashing and bright even in the brown shadows of the study. He extended his hand, and I shook it numbly. “I'm actually glad to see you, Jonathan,” he said warmly, as if he'd never forced his cock into me, as if that night in the back of the club had never happened. I almost let myself forget, but not quite. Why had I thought this was a good idea?

He stepped over to the small bar beside his desk and filled two glasses with whiskey. It was a much finer variety than what I'd been sipping in the van. “Drink?”

“Sure,” I replied. I sounded only mildly interested, but inside I was craving more alcohol. This entire situation would be unbearable without another drink to smooth things over. He handed me one of the glasses and I drank eagerly, barely feeling the sting of it.

“I've always admired your ability to remain upright no matter how much you've had to drink,” he commented, sitting on the edge of his desk with his arms crossed, his glass dangling from thick, strong fingers. “You're the most articulate drunk I've ever met in my life. Did I ever tell you that?”

I shrugged, took another swig. It was nice having it warm and safe in my stomach. “Not that I remember,” I said. I was feeling dizzy now – not terribly so, but enough to make me nervous. I took a step back, hoping to find something to lean against. “I ah...I have to talk to you, like I said. I've been thinking about...”

“I know why you're here, Jonathan.” He was smiling warmly, knowingly. His face was mildly hazy. I looked at the now-empty glass in my hand, thumbing the rim. I looked at the bar, at the myriad of bottles, and realized that any one of those unmarked flasks or drawers could hold something entirely different than alcohol. 

I finally reached the wall. I leaned against it, grateful for the support. Whatever he'd given me, it was fast – and strong. I should have been afraid. “You...you do?” 

“Yes. And after the way I've treated you, I can't say I'm surprised. You've got the same air about you – the same aura you had the last night you lived in this house.” He waved his hand over in my direction, as if animating it. “You were holding your head higher than you'd ever held it, and your spine was so straight...I could tell you'd grown up, even before you made your case to go off on your own. I could tell you'd become your own man.” He was so calm and proud, like a father much different than my own. “You remember? Your twenty-third birthday. I'm having deja vu." He sighed softly. "You're here to tell me you're leaving, then. Leaving the city, at the very least.” His eyes narrowed. “The country?”

I shook my head. “No. Just the city. Just...I'm gonna go north, I think. Way north. New York, or Baltimore, or...anywhere they might need...people like me...” I shook my head, but everything still felt like it was encased in jelly. “What did you give me?”

“It doesn't matter. It isn't dangerous.” He got up and walked around his desk. His robe clung to his narrow hips bellow the knot of its belt. It frilled open at his chest, exposing the moderate carpet of black-and-gray fur resting atop the duel mounds of muscle that were his pecs. He may have been pushing sixty, but he kept himself in shape. I knew he did. He felt that a man in his position needed to radiate strength, in all ways. That, and he liked to look good. I put my hand to my head, reeling. He did look good. He was close to me now. I could feel his heat on the skin of my neck, could see the shards of blue mixed into his cold gray eyes. “How are you feeling, Jonathan?” he asked.

“Pretty...good.” My skin was buzzing. I felt more positive than I had in weeks. I knew it was artificial, some sort of numbing agent for the brain. I was too drunk to care. I wanted to feel this way, even if it only lasted for a few hours. I'd be back to wallowing in self pity soon enough. It made the hellish dread and embarrassment of this conversation far easier to bare. “Seriously, though - what'd you give me?” I couldn't tell if I was slurring my words, if they were intelligible at all.

He was even closer now, his nostrils flaring as his unblinking eyes ran down my neck, over the flat, low collar of my shirt, and down to the ruffled cloth above my belt buckle. “It doesn't matter.” His hand closed around my hip, gripping it firmly. I could feel it through the thin cloth of my shirt, rough and callused. He guided my hips toward his, and I let him. I didn't have the energy to protest, or resist – truthfully, I wasn't even thinking about it. After months of getting my rocks off every week, and then going through this long dry spell...I was hard. I was horny. I wanted it.

His other hand grasped my throbbing cock through my jeans, thumbing the head of it. I heard a sound – low and desperate, needy and shameless – and realized it was coming from my own throat. He smiled and continued to massage my crotch. “That's a boy...” He seemed less tense now. His shoulders and neck were relaxed, natural, bent toward me. “I've been thinking about you a lot ever since...” His face rippled slightly with a barely-contained grimace, and his smile became sad. “Ever since I was so stern with you a few weeks ago. Too stern, I've been worrying. I'd forgotten...how you felt. Who you really were. Are.” He took my hips into both of his hands and pushed his robed crotch into mine. I could feel his hard cock against my balls, felt his pulse through my wet jeans. I kept my upper back pressed against the wall, watching it happen with hooded eyes. Was he apologizing? Was this...tenderness?

I laughed, and his eyes became sharp again as his hips stopped grinding on mine. “Sorry,” I stuttered, immediately regaining my languid composure. “I just didn't...expect...this. Not after what you...” I shrugged stupidly, lost for words. Some part of me was raging beneath all the layers of drug-induced haze and chemical arousal. I felt it, but I couldn't for the life of me remember why. I just smiled and pushed my cock into him, reminding him that it was still very hard.

He studied me coolly as he pushed his hips into me, pinning my waist against the wall. Again, I didn't resist. Whatever drug he'd given me was in full swing, and I was simply along for whatever ride he had planned. I was simultaneously numb to all of my problems and alive with a vibrating physical desire that had burned in me since...since I'd lived with my father and my uncle, years ago. He was barely Pendrick to me in those moments – or, at least, barely the man I knew him to be. He had fast transformed into the Pendrick I'd known as a young, dumb kid. The stern, stylish, voracious gentleman with more power than I'd ever hope to gain. The man who liked to fuck me. The man I wanted to fuck me.

His robe had fallen away from his cock, revealing half its hardened length. The angry red tip of his cockhead glared up at me hungrily. It was cut, bold and clean. It looked delicious.

I wriggled out of his hands and dropped to my knees in front of him. He looked surprised for a moment, and then he grinned as I undid the belt of his robe and pulled the plush cloth away from his body, exposing his naked torso to the dim light of the office. His body was just as sexy as I remembered it being, though his tanned skin did look quite a bit more weathered. Large pecs flexed above thick hips, all muscle. The big patch of fur on his chest shot down his curving stomach and over his naval, almost disappearing before it became the bold bush of his pubic hair. His balls hung low, larger than mine, and his long, thick cock bobbed inches from my face. I knew it had been inside of me only weeks before (that had been bad...for some reason...), but I hadn't actually seen it in many years. Hadn't tasted it, either.  I leaned in and took half of it into my mouth.

He put his hands on the wall above me and leaned over me as I ran my fingers over the warm, firm flesh of his meaty thighs and slobbered on his cock. He smelled fantastic, all pungent male musk and freshly washed skin. It smelled like home, or at least whatever twisted version of home I'd come to associate with my years in his direct employ. I was right back to my old self, remembering what he liked and how he liked it. He purred deeply as I encircled the head of his cock with my tongue, savoring the salty-smooth taste of it, the pulse of his super-heated shaft between my lips, the insides of my cheeks. “Oh, Jonathan...oh, my boy...”

I looked up at his face. His eyes were half-closed, mouth half-open. He looked serene. I pushed my tongue over the underside of his cock, pushed my hands up his meaty stomach, and played with his purple nipples until they were hard between my fingertips. He growled, slowly pumping his hips into my mouth with a growing urgency that nonetheless remained deliberately rhythmic. I began to pump my throat over his cock, faster and sloppier, saliva dripping down my chin in waves as his cock grew even larger in my mouth –

“Stop,” he growled. His fingers closed in around my hair, pulled my whole head away from his cock. “Slowdown, Jonathan.” I grinned up at him, his cock pushing against my lips, but he only looked down at me and frowned. “Get up.” I did as I was told, not thinking for a second. Why bother? It was too much work to think, to resist any of this. Better to simply let myself feel. “Hold up your arms.”

I knew this drill. I raised my arms above my head, felt the air of the room hit my lower stomach above my belt. His hands slipped under my shirt, and then they were on my skin – tough and strong, prodding boldly as he pushed them up my stomach, feeling as much as he could. It was electric, having hands on me like that – forceful hands doing what they would, no matter what I might have to say about it. He watched my face as I relaxed slightly – though, when his fingers reached my ribs, I jerked at the tickling sensation and giggled stupidly. His face remained hard. “Don't be ridiculous, Jonathan.”

I straightened up, lost the smile, and cleared my throat. “Sir.”

He nodded curtly and took my shirt into his fists, then tore it over my head and tossed it onto his leather couch. It was violent and sudden (I heard the fabric rip), and I nearly fell over. He caught me by my waist and pulled me into him, rubbing his furred chest on my bare skin as I regained my balance. Something was in his hand. “Close your eyes,” he said. “Let me put his on you.”

I looked down at what he held. It was a small pen – black eyeliner. I closed my eyes and let him apply it with smooth, careful strokes. I remembered this. It was just like old times. I knew what was coming, then. 

“There,” he said, and I opened my eyes. His face was very close to mine, and he was smiling. “There's my beautiful boy.”

The moment didn't last long. He undid my belt and ripped it from me, sending me tumbling backwards into his desk. I knew this mood he was in by the redness of his face, the fierceness of his eyes, and the fact that he'd put makeup on me. I'd nearly forgotten it. He was going to be rough with me, and I was going to let it happen. I wanted it to happen. What could I do, say no? I'd only ever done that once, and I wasn't about to do it again. Especially not now, when he was simply saying goodbye to me the only way he knew how.

I went to right myself and step away from the desk, but he put up his hand. “Stay there. Lean on it – hips forward, soldier – yes, just like that. And don't move your hands.” He came to me and hooked his fingers in the waistband of my jeans, then yanked them down to my ankles. My cock erupted from my boxers as they were dragged halfway off my hips, gooey and glistening, hard and long. It bobbed and fell to the side like a giant slug. He smiled crookedly before he reached behind me and moved his neatly stacked papers to one side of his massive desk. Then he put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me onto my back, until I was splayed across his cold desk in nothing but my socks. He ripped my boxers all the way off me and tossed them over his shoulder. “That's better,” he said, pushing my knees apart and gazing at my cock, my balls, my taint. “That's how I like you. This is much nicer, don't you think?” His fingers played over my hips, then dug into my hole as delicately as he knew how. “A much better way to say goodbye to my favorite boy, I think.”

“Yes, Mister Pendrick.” My voice had regressed. I sounded scared and excited. I sounded like a boy.

“That's right.” His finger pushed into me dry, and I hissed, stiffened. “You're hairier down here than you were before,” he commented, watching my stomach tense tightly as he probed the places beneath it. “Not too much, though.” He pulled his finger out of me and took hold of my balls, squeezing them in his palm. I moaned at the growing discomfort, and then the feathery pain. Even that was numbed, though. It was the drug he'd given me. I would watch whatever happened. I would just watch.

Thankfully he left my balls alone after that. He leaned into me, pushing his hot, thick cock against my taint. It almost burned as he rubbed it over my taint and into my ballsack, and my hard cock twitched above my stomach in response. My ass tightened and twitched in anticipation, hotter than any part of me, tingling inside and all over. My body remembered this. 

He smiled down at me, holding my ass against his body as his pelvis worked slowly. His open robe was still hanging off his shoulders, enveloping my nude body in crimson shadow and captured warmth. It made him seem so huge, even broader and stronger than he already was. I realized I was whimpering.

“You haven't changed,” he said as his hands left my hips to roam across my body. “Just as much of a slut as you ever were, even after I was so...” He tweaked my nipples, and the sudden sharp pain made me cry out. “...stern with you.” 

I gripped edge of the desk on either side of my upturned ass, breathing heavily. My skin practically sparked wherever his hands kneaded my body, and I could feel my ass opening up, pleading for something to fill it. His great big balls were pushing into the exposed valley of my ass, surging and warm, snug and soft against the rim of my cunt. His hard shaft was still pumping slowly between my own balls, the head of it dripping wetly onto the underside of my throbbing cock. I was wanted, completely wanted. All of his lust was for me, and I felt myself blush all over with the acceptance of this obvious fact. Why had I ever left this lusty embrace, this safety? I couldn't remember. I didn't want to.

Both of us watched as the pale skin of my heaving chest and belly turned dark pink with wanting, and he grinned. “That's right.” He pulled himself away from my body, leaving me cold despite the warmth of the room. I almost protested, then thought better of it. He wasn't done with me. “Stay there.” 

He rounded the desk and appeared above my head, his hands massaging my shoulders. I could see his cock hovering over my forehead, nearly making me cross-eyed. “Scoot up,” he ordered, and I did, until my head was hanging off the edge of the desk, and the world was upside-down. His cock and balls were level with my chin, and I could smell his musk and feel the heat of his underside on the skin of my face. Beyond the thick trunks of his thighs was nothing but the flowing crimson of his robe.  I knew the entirety of my body was spread out nude across his desk. I knew that his eyes were raking over every exposed inch of it, even as my own vision was confined to the swollen nexus of his power over me. I arched my back for his pleasure and kept my knees up, thighs spread. His hands resumed the intimate massage of my body, and I was again content.

I felt his cock nudge my lips. “Open up,” he ordered. “I'm going to fuck you.” I did as I was told, and he pushed his groin into my face. His hard cock invaded my mouth, bullied its way past my tongue and deep into my defenseless throat. I gagged loudly, spit gushing up my nasal cavity and out of my nose, but there was nothing I could do. I kept my mouth as open and as wide as I could, and he moaned in appreciation. He held my ribcage firmly as he worked his hips into my face, grunting happily. Before long his cock was all the way down my throat, and I was beyond gagging. My jaw already ached. I could feel tears streaming down my cheeks and over my forehead, soaked up by his musty ballsack, which was covering my eyes. All I saw, all I smelled or felt, was him. I was frozen. I was a thing.

His hands pushed down my chest and stomach and grabbed my semi-limp cock. He stroked it slowly, lovingly. “Oh don't fret, Jonathan. I know what you really want, and you're gong to get it. Be sure of that. But first...I'm going to take you like this. Be a hole for me, Jonathan. Be a good little hole...” He stroked my cock until it was hard again, all the while working his own cock in my mouth and throat – just as slowly, just as lovingly. I had my arms spread across the desk at both ends, holding onto either corner with a growing desperation that even pierced through the haze of the drug and the whiskey. I had to keep a substantial portion of my mind devoted to breathing steadily – and loudly – through my nose, assuring myself that I wasn't actually suffocating. Still, if this was all I had to endure to feel his cock in me again, I'd take it. I'd love it. For him.

He took hold of the undersides of my knees and pulled them up toward his midsection, bringing my lower half up off the edge of the desk and further exposing my ass to the open air. His cock slid even further into my throat as he straightened his back. He kept pulling my ass up until I was all but vertical on the desk, until I was nearly bent in half beneath him. My body screamed in protest, aching and cramping – despite the good shape I kept myself in, I wasn't some young kid anymore – but I willed myself to endure it. I was breathing quickly and noisily through my nose, and he must have seen my trembling legs, my white-knuckled hands on either side of my body, my cock that was only barely hard. If he did notice these things, he didn't say so. He just started to fuck my throat. 

“No teeth, soldier. Keep your mouth open wide. There...” The length of his cock slid out of my wet throat and back in, and I gagged and choked all over again. It was a pathetic sound, and he did it again.  I could barely breath. “...that's it.” His voice was harder now, like before. The flesh of my thighs ached where he gripped them beneath my knees, and his pace only quickened. He didn't care how I felt. My cock throbbed.

How long I took his cock like that I can't say for sure. The drug had fully enveloped me by then, and it turned out to be a blessing. The small aches and pains of my folded position melted into a comfortable numbness. I was able to relax my throat throughout most of the ordeal, letting him fuck my face with the same gusto as he would have fucked my ass. The feeling of his shaft ravaging my throat was intense – and, in its own way, extremely erotic. He was getting all the pleasure from this, physically at least. I was nothing but a hole. His hole.

He used my legs like handlebars as he had his way with my face, keeping my most intimate parts spread wide and cheap for him to see. He spat down into my open ass countless times as he fucked my throat, even went so far as to clear his throat and hawk mucus onto me more than once, keeping my ass upright so it sank into me. He held my ankle with one hand and used the other to push that vile natural lubricant into my chute with clumsy fingers that didn't care how much I tightened against them, loosening me by sheer virtue of force and friction. “That's a good hole,” he growled beneath the grunts of his efforts. “You're so tight, Jonathan. Haven't you had anything else in here since I disciplined you? How's this feel?” Two fingers were in me now, pulling me apart. I could only gag meatily below him, and that was fine. He didn't care for an answer.

Eventually my hole was slick and dripping with the fluids of his own mouth and throat. It was slimy, and cold, and may as well have been on the other side of the world. The promise of his cock in my ass, the same cock that I could feel pushing past my throat even then, was the only thing that kept me hard.

His pace finally evened out, and I could tell from his strained grunts he was close. Part of me worried that he wouldn't be able to fuck me after coming, but the rest of me was just relieved that this particular trial was almost over. He roared happily and pushed into my throat as far as he could – and then my throat, my mouth, and my nose were suddenly bursting with hot jism as he seeded my face. It was impossibly intense, a force of nature. I gagged a final time as it burned its way through me, fresh tears pouring out of my eyes. 

He slumped into my face as he finished, suffocating me with his groin for a moment before pulling out of my throat. Long trails of spit and cum stretched between his cock and my mouth as he stepped away from the desk. He left me completely exhausted, draped over his desk like a discarded throw rug. My cock was still hard, though my body was buzzing with the arousal of aftersex. I hadn't cum, hadn't felt any real sense of pleasure or release, but I knew I'd been fucked. Some part of me also knew he was done with me. I swallowed the cum in my mouth. Everything smelled of pungent minerals.

“That was exactly what I needed from you, Jonathan.” He was behind me. I tried to crane my neck to see him, but nothing felt right. My body was responding too slowly, a sack of horny meat that wasn't quite under my control. I let my head drop back to its former position, looking at him upside-down. 

He was sitting in his chair just behind me, his robe tied shut. He'd lit a cigar, filling the room with the sweet smell of burning tobacco. “You did well.” He smiled. “Was it good for you? Be honest, now.”

“It was...hard.” I didn't have the energy to lie. “But I think...it was worth it?” I smiled weakly. I didn't know what to say. I could barely form complete sentences in my head, much less say them out loud.

He nodded knowingly, puffing on the cigar. The smell was making me feel a bit sick. “I promised you a good fucking, though, didn't I. You still up for it, my boy?” I couldn't read his expression. It was still and lifeless, cold – but his silver eyes were on fire. “Speak.” He opened his robe. He was hard again. “You want this? You want a cock in you?”

I felt the core of my stomach tighten and contract, felt my prostate flare to life at the thought of it. “I do,” I breathed, laying back, ready for him to take me again. I held onto the edges of the desk and let my knees drift apart. The room swayed around me, above me, all old brown wood and dim golden lamplight. I was warm despite being naked. “For old time's sake. Like you used to.”

“Well...maybe not exactly like that.” He got up and leaned over me. I heard the click of a button, and then he said: “You boys can come on in. He's ready for it.”

My mind sharpened as much as it would, but my body wouldn't respond. Had I heard that right? “What...”

I saw the heavy door at the far end of the room swing open between my swaying knees, and both of Pendrick's bodyguards sauntered in. Guerrero was expressionless, his dark eyes tunneling into me beneath his hard brow. His white shirt was unbuttoned, exposing a rippling barrel chest alive with dark fur, and I could see a hard cock bouncing around in his black pants.  Next to him was the bald one, Redding, the sadistic bastard – the one I'd insulted more than once, I remembered, as a cold swell of dread shot up my spine.

I tried to push myself up, very aware of my nakedness, but my body wasn't having it. Every move I tried to make was off by a few seconds, and I felt so damned weak. “What...”

They were fast. Redding rounded the desk and took up Pendrick's former position at my head. He hooked his arms under my shoulders and held me fast, all in the space of a second or two. In the same moment Guerrero rushed up between my thighs, grabbed my knees, and pushed them apart. He was cold and mechanical, like a man preparing to clean a deer. I was nothing to him. I could see it in his face. I heard a zipper.

The reality of what was about to happen finally dawned on me, just as the head of Guerrero's cock pushed against my spit-slickened hole with all the gentleness of a rhino. “No!” I shouted – loud and deep, strong and clear – like a man – but no one was listening. I tightened reflexively against the jabbing member as I yelled, the only real resistance I could employ. Guerrero's lip curled, and he punched into me easily with a simple grunt of mild effort. 

The pain was immediate, blinding, and terrible – but my ass gave way and took it. It was all the spit and mucus from Pendrick, or the drug he'd given me, or his fingering, or the liquor, or all of it – I didn't know, wasn't even wondering why. It felt like I was getting ripped in half. 

I screamed hoarsely, desperately, utterly forlorn. The sound filled the room, but the Guerrero didn't flinch. His hands – his arms, his broad shoulders – were bearing down on my naked hips, pinning them to edge of the desk. He'd easily pierced me down to the hilt of his cock, filling me with fire, in the space of a second or two. There had been no deal. There had been no permission given. I wasn't my own man anymore; I was a teenager again. I could see them looming over me in my powerless and terrified state, the broad and stinking specters of my father, my uncle, their friends...

I thrashed against this terrible invasion and the iron arms that held me from behind, but it wasn't nearly enough. My limbs barely moved. “Where you trying to run off to, huh?” Redding's lips were on my ear, hissing into me. “You're going nowhere, Johnny-boy. Nowhere.” Even if I hadn't been drunk, or drugged, I don't think I'd have been able to fight them off. They were mountains of muscle, each of them, and they were taking what they wanted. 

Guerrero's cock was pulling out tightly, nearly completely – then it rammed back into me again with a fresh blossom of pain. I jerked against his hips and screamed, legs kicking meagerly on either side of him. He grabbed hold of my thighs and forced them open, and I groaned at the pain of the stretching muscle. Redding laughed into my ear, hot and sour. “Look at this bitch, with his runny mascara.” He held my jaw tightly in his hand and turned my face to meet his as I thrashed my hips pointlessly against Guerrero's weapon, which was already pushing into me again, again,again. “You look like your prom date left you crying in the rain.” He grinned, ugly and pink. Two of his teeth were capped with platinum. "Don't worry, bitch - we'll take care of you."

“Fuck you!” I cried, a bit too shrilly. He only laughed and spit in my face. I barely heard him, barely felt it. I was wailing throatily now, a hideous sound to me, but most likely pure sex to them. My world had become the rod of tight pain that was relentlessly punching into my gut. The hands digging into my thighs, the arms binding my shoulders – they were immovable, stronger than my entire being. 

I twisted my torso and my hips to get away from the pain, but my bent legs were completely pinned against my stomach, and my arms and shoulders may as well have been fence posts in the grip of the man behind me. My futile attempts to escape them only opened my ass to new angles of plunder, and created more friction on the invading cock. “That's right,” Guerrero growled. “Make me feel it.” All of my impotent thrashing was only serving to excite them, and to further humiliate myself. I had to do something different – his eyes! 

I reached behind me, clawing at the collar of Redding's shirt with hands I couldn't feel. It did nothing. “Stay down!” He reared back and punched me in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me. My voice rushed out of my gut in a great heaving gust, silencing me. The new pain rocked my body, made me spasm in on myself - and then, after than momentary second of searing tightness, everything unraveled inside of me. Guerrero hooted at what I'm sure was an amazing pairing of sensations, and then he pumped even harder. The jabs of pain were white-hot and pure, so intense that I couldn't remember what my body felt like without them. “Fuck, man – that shit loosened him right up. Do it again.” 

I groaned as another blow landed on my side, creating more rocking spasms in my torso that were beyond my control. I barely felt the cock at that point – only the horrid, pervasive pain and the press of their hard bodies on either side of me. I gave up. I went limp. I wasn't desperate anymore, because there was nothing I could do to save myself. What was the point now, anyway? It was over. They had me. They'd won.

Redding went to punch me again, but a voice boomed from somewhere far off. “That's enough of that, Mister Redding. Just hold him down.” 

“Sir,” Redding grunted, and pulled my arms further behind my shoulders, to the point of piercing ache. He had his face in my ruffled hair, smelling deeply, snorting like a bull. I could feel him grinning against my scalp. “Not so cocky now, are you?” he breathed. “God, I wanna use you up...” I was dimly aware that he was biting my ear.

“Behave yourself, Mister Redding.” Pendrick's voice. He was here, watching his thugs do this to me. I could still smell his damned cigar. I could still taste him in my mouth. I felt a rush of pure anger, and hate. And something else...something familiar and pitiful and not at all what I wanted to be feeling in that moment. Not with the bald bastard's face right next to mine, and the other bastard's cock stabbing into my deepest parts.

I could feel Redding's tongue slithering in and out of my ear, his wide hands taking their fill of my tightened chest and quivering naval now that it was obvious I'd given up. I reeled from his lewd touch and loved it in the same instant, skin crackling with sensation, and my body turned an even deeper shade of red for all to see. Guerrero's cock was hitting my sweet spot dead on, and this was impossible to ignore. A soft cloud of pleasure began to bloom underneath the sprawling landscape of dull misery, getting larger with each thrust he took. I pressed my lips against it, but the moan pushed through all the same, followed by another, and another. I was losing control of myself. Everyone in the room heard it.

“Fuuuck yeah, he's really opening up now,” Guerrero swooned. "I am in it." His eyes were bearing down on me, all but unblinking as his big body pumped between my legs and sweated into his disheveled suit. He was watching intently, probably getting some sadistic thrill out of the expressions I was making. His cock was lighting me up inside, grazing countless nerve endings as it rocked in and out of my grudgingly accommodating chute. He knew he'd found my sweet spot, and he was hitting it on purpose. Simply to humiliate me even more, no doubt – to make me somehow admit that I wanted it. I shut my eyes tight and forced my choked moans to become pained grunts again. It was hard to lie.

I felt Redding's fingers close in around my cock, and felt a fresh rush of bottomless humiliation as I realized it was completely hard again. “No shit,” the bald one laughed. “Look at this monster. He loves it. You're losing your touch, Guerrero.”

“Not losing nothing,” the bearded man shot back. “I can't help it if bitches love this cock!” He pulled all the way out of me, and I felt my ass cave in – and then he was thrusting into me again, sharp and fast, forcing me to make way. The pure physical thrill of it certainly wasn't altogether horrible. In any other context, it would have felt amazing. My entire body jolted stiffly as the head of his cock pinned my prostate to the muscles of my stomach, making me his hostage. Fuck off, I tried to scream, but I only groaned deeply, forcefully, angrily. My whole torso was tilting with the sudden rush of pleasure, and my cock was tight and throbbing with the urgent, blatantly painful need to come. I heard my voice whimpering in utter submission – wanting – and I didn't know how to stop myself. 

“Yeah, that's right...you can enjoy it now if you want to. Hard part's over!” Guerrero pulled all the way out of me again, and then shoved himself back in after a pause that was only a hair longer than the first. The swollen, quavering pleasure of his cock fucking me enveloped my body all over again, completely overwhelming my thoughts. There was nothing I could do to deny it; they'd taken that luxury away from me. The sounds I heard myself making… 

“Anyway, this one ain't no virgin,remember?” Guerrero continued. They were carrying on with their conversation over the haze of my miserable ecstasy, as if I were a simple appliance or a lowly beast of burden, beneath notice. “Ten years ago this would have been just another Thursday for this piece of ass.”

“Sure, yeah – you told me. He got fed to all sorts of rich old pervs.” Redding was leaning over me, his hard cock pressing into my face through his pants. I could smell him. His hands were still attacking my naked flesh, pinching my nipples and the head of my cock, making me squirm. Some small, muted part of me wanted to punch him right in the nuts, but I barely heard it.  “Horny old men are old fashioned, though. I bet they never really put him through the ringer, not like we could...” Redding was manhandling my balls now, squeezing harder with each stab Guerrero took, and I bellowed as my gut sank into an ocean of throbbing ache that clouded the pleasure, interweaving with it, making them one. It wasn't long before I was nothing below the waist but a mass of pulsing nerves and gyrating muscle, and he leered down at me as I melted under him. He laughed. “Look at those toes curl! That's a new one for you, isn't it crybaby?”

“Wrap it up, Mister Guerrero.”

“Sir.” Guerrero pulled my waist halfway off the desk, well away from Redding's cruel hands, which were now pinning my shoulders against the sleek wood. Guerrero elbowed my legs even further apart and impaled me one final time, made my aching cock and balls scream silently for a release that refused to come. Five or six explosive thrusts later, and he snarled and came in my swollen, numb chute. I couldn't even feel his load in me through the unbearable assault of sensations. 

He pulled out and immediately zipped up his pants, all business. He took a deep breath and pushed my legs aside, slapped my inflamed ass as my hips twisted. “That was real sweet, bitch.”

The bald one let go of my arms and I pulled them into myself, finally free to do what I wanted with them. I curled up on the desk in a fetal position. I didn't care about finding my clothes. I didn't care about being outraged or vengeful or broken. I wasn't registering much at all; only the awful haze of dull, throbbing pain that had permeated every inch of my bruised body, and the crushing indignity – and my rock hard cock, and my pulsing prostate, and the fact that I almost didn't want it to be over just yet. Almost. I kept my eyes shut and waited to see what would happen.

“– can't do this to me twice in a row, Mister Pendrick,” the bald one was whining. “I'm so fucking hard –”

“Then I suggest you find yourself another plaything after you're done with your obligations tonight,” Pendrick said sternly. “I had Mister Guerrero do this because I wanted it done professionally. Neat and tidy. You are many things, Mister Redding, and you do have your uses – but you are not neat, and you are not tidy. When I require your particular skills, I'll ask them of you. Now get out, please. You can relieve yourself in the hall bathroom, if that will clear your head. But do clean up after yourself, for God's sake.”

“Sir.” Heavy footsteps sounded, and the two men left the room. The door thudded shut behind them, and I was alone with Pendrick again. 

The liquor was wearing off, but the drug still had me swimming in my own head. I finally found the strength to push myself up on my elbows. He was sitting in the armchair across the room. He had his hand on his forehead, the nub of the near-finished cigar between his fingers, trailing smoke into the dim glow of the office. His cock was hidden under his robe, but I could tell it wasn't hard anymore. He looked spent. Old.

“Why?” I managed to ask, hating the raw, choked sound of my own voice.

His eyes flashed open, pinning me to the desk all over again. When he spoke, it was with a voice as cold as steel. “What did you think was going to happen tonight, Jonathan? Did you think I was going to what – make love to you? Like your daddy never did?” He sneered at me, and my soul went numb along with everything else. “I thought you were smart. I thought you'd remember that there is always a price to pay.” 

“I...” My voice was wavering. I swallowed. “I knew that...I thought it would be money, like it is with everybody...else...” God, I really was stupid.

“You're not like everybody else, Jonathan. Well...you weren't, anyway.” He took the last puff of his cigar and buried it in the ashtray on the end table. “You were dear to me once, years ago. Adored. I didn't love you, exactly – but you were certainly a prize. Like a stallion in the stable. When you went off to be a 'handyman' I was proud of you, even. You became a valuable resource, really came into your own...but you've always been a touch too arrogant. You've always assumed I'd let you get away with anything. And why not? For a time I did.” He leaned back in the chair and crossed his hands over his belly. “But then you went one step too far, like everyone eventually does, and I couldn't just look the other way. You aren't that pure, pretty young thing anymore. Pretty, maybe. Handsome, certainly, I'll gladly grant that – but pure?” He shook his head sadly. “You were always damaged goods, and it only became more apparent the older you got. And now...you're tainted goods. Giving you away to my trusted friends in private is one thing, but this…?” 

He shook his head and looked away from me, as if he couldn't stand the sight of me. “This makes you nothing but a used-up whore. A tainted mind with a body to match.Whatever Guerrero has, you have. That's all I'll ever see when I look at you, and so I'll never fuck you again – even if I want to. This made sure of it, you see. This is what breaking ties with me means, Jonathan. This is the price you pay.”

My mind was roiling. I could hear my pulse in my ears, feel it pumping throughout my body. “I'll be going, then,” I said meekly, not sure of what else needed to be said. "If that's all..." He nodded. I slowly dropped off of his desk and stumbled around the room, gathering my strewn clothing. He watched me silently until I was fully dressed again. I could feel Guerrero's sweat drying on my body, locked between my skin and my clothes. I didn't want to think about what he'd planted in my ass. 

I saw myself in the small mirror above the bar. My face was red and puffy, streaked with dried tears and runny black smears of the eyeliner Pendrick had put on me, just so I'd look like even more of an abused whore. I wasn't the man I'd grown up to be. Pendrick had finally taken that from me. He'd finally turned me back into what I really was. I wanted to scream, cry even, but I wouldn't. I wouldn't give him, or any of the others, the satisfaction. I forced the pain to crystallize at the core of me until I didn't feel anything at all. It was an old skill, and it was still useful. Like riding a bike.

“You need to leave town before the end of the month, Jonathan,” Pendrick said absently as I finished collecting myself. “By the first. Out for good. I don't want to find you in my city again, after that. Do you understand?” I nodded. “Good. I don't need to tell you what can happen if you test me on this, my boy. I've kept Redding off of you twice now. I won't do it a third time. Guerrero is a brute, and he knows how to break a man with his cock, but Redding...is a very sick person. Body and mind. He'll kill you if I take him off his leash, Jonathan. One way or another. Be warned.”

“Sir,” I replied bitterly. I didn't look at him as I left that dark office to its smells of sour cigars and sour sweat. It was the last time I ever saw him. To me he'll always be that tired old man sitting slumped in his chair, sucking on the last of his cigars as his face melts around the pits of his glistening eyes, and that's all the vengeance I'll ever have against him.

I had to leave. I had to see a doctor. I had to get away from myself. 

I knew my way out. Thankfully I didn't see any maids, or either of the bodyguards, as I left through the front door and meandered across the wide lawn. The gate was open, and I stumbled out onto the quiet street. It had rained while I'd been in there, and the street had turned into a river of glistening black asphalt. Everything smelled like acid and fresh grass.

My van was waiting under the bent branches of the trees. I rounded the side of it and stopped in my tracks, stiffening. Guerrero was leaning against the side of the van, his thick, muscly arms crossed over his wide chest. He was still wearing the clothes he'd worn when he'd fucked me, shirt half-unbuttoned, but he'd lost the radio. He'd put on a long black jacket to ward off the creeping wet cold, making him all the more menacing in the darkness. He turned his head casually to greet me, his hard eyes lost in shadow.

“What the fuck,” I choked. I looked around for Redding, the bald one, but the street was empty, houses dark behind their high walls. “I'm leaving, man. Pendrick said –”

“I'm not here because of the old man,Johnny-boy,” Guerrero snapped, and I flinched from him despite myself. He saw it, and his shoulders slumped. The hardness seemed to drain out of him. “I'm here to...uh...” He rubbed the back of his head and looked away. This was a far cry from the monstrous hulk who'd attacked me earlier. “I wanted to tell you something, and…I was just doing what Pendrick told me to do. It wasn't nothing personal. I'm uh...I'm sorry I roughed you up so bad.”

What was I hearing? Was I hallucinating? I took a step away from him. This had to be a trick. “You're sorry? You think that means anything to me?” If I'd had a gun, I may have shot him.

“I feel bad about it. Real bad.” He straightened up, but he kept his hands at his sides. “Anyway, look man. I know the old man gave you something heavy. Pain meds, hardcore shit. You've been drinking, too. You shouldn't be driving on a mix like that.”

I almost laughed. The world swam. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I asked shrilly. “What could have possibly made this seem like a good idea to you? Get out of my way, you asshole. I'm leaving. Stop fucking with me. I've had it. I'm done.”

“Give me your keys.”

I tried to push past him. I think I was attempting to shoulder him out of the way, which was ridiculous. He was much stronger, and even much faster than I was in my drugged state. He grabbed the sleeve of my jacket. I knew I should have been scared...but I wasn't naked on a desk anymore, and there were only two of us. I wasn't about to let this happen again.

I brought my knee up and slammed it into his crotch as hard as I could. He grunted heavily, and his grip on my jacket loosened. I thought I had the upper hand. I tried to throw my elbow into his gut, but the drug was still bogging me down. I lost my balance when he evaded the blow, and I wobbled and fell. I watched helplessly as the black asphalt rushed up at me – and then my entire body jerked as he caught my jacket again and yanked me upright. 

He flipped me around and slammed me into the side of the van, knocking the breath out of me. I brought my arms up over my face, sure that he was going to smash me into an unrecognizable pulp with his fists...but nothing came. I opened my eyes.

He was breathing heavily, groaning and doubled over with his hands on his knees. I let my arms fall to my sides. He looked up at me, his face utterly calm despite the agony his balls must have been in. “You deserved that one,” he said, pained and wavering. He was trying to smile, but it was more of a twisted grimace. “I did too, huh?”

“Just let me go, man,” I groaned. I was beyond tired, and it showed in my voice. “You've done enough.”

He sighed, exasperated, and stood up straight. “Didn't you hear me? It was nothing personal, that in there. I held back, even. I knew what I was doing.”

My brain imploded at this. “You're a fucking piece of work! You told that crazy bastard to punch me. You – you raped me, asshole! You...you...”

“I was just doing what I do – I was being Pendrick's man. What he says goes, end of story.” He paused, then took a step back. I couldn't read him. “I had to make it look real, didn't I? You know the old man better than most of us. He'd have made me do worse, if he thought I was going too easy on you. Might have even let Redding have a go.”

I said nothing. He was making sense...but I could still feel his hands yanking me around, his cock stabbing into the throbbing, blissful wound of my ass. He was still very handsome. My own cock stirred in my pants, but I ignored it. I couldn't be that person – not right then, at least.

His face lit up as he remembered something. “Hey – hey look, I'll prove it, okay?” He undid his belt and reached into his pants. A jolt of adrenaline shot through me, and I tensed, ready to run – but he pulled his hand out a second later with a grunt. “I used a condom. See? He told me not to, but I did. I put my ass on the line – er, it was risky, yeah?” He held up a long, shriveled strip of latex, covered in still-wet semen and some streaks of red that stood out even in the streetlight. 

He cleared his throat uneasily at the sight of this and tossed it awkwardly into the bushes. I couldn't let myself feel too relieved...but I could tell he wasn't lying to me. My ass twitched sharply, as if to make a point. It was bruised and abused...but it was still in tact. I hadn't felt his load dripping out of me because it wasn't in me at all. “Again, man...I'm sorry. I know you probably don't believe me, but I really do feel bad about all this. It's not how I would've...”

I sighed. “Look. If you're telling the truth...I guess...I appreciate it. Even still, you can't expect me to accept any of what you're saying right now, apology or not.” My voice was trembling. “I don't want to think about any of it right now. I can't. I have to go...somewhere. I have to get some sleep.”

It wasn't much, but he took it. He held out his hand. “I'm driving you out of here. You'll end up in a ditch if you try to drive like this, and then I'll never feel better about any of this shit. I'll take you home. It's the least I can do, after...all that. Absolute least.”

“You don't deserve to feel better about it,” I snapped at him, but my fingers were already already in my pocket. I fished out my keys, and before I knew it they were in his hand. I was too exhausted, to defeated to resist his "offer," especially since he was making so much sense. Again I let whatever was going to happen...happen. 

I slid into the passenger seat and he got behind the wheel, started up the engine. I couldn't stand it any longer. “What did you give me? Er – almost give me?”

His head jerked in my direction. “Huh?”

I swallowed. “Pendrick said...said you gave me something. I know you wore a condom, but...what did he think you were going to give me?” Why did I have to know? I guess I must have wanted to cement Pendrick in my mind as the monster he truly was. I had to start facing reality again.

“Oh.” He laughed coldly. “Yeah, he thinks I have herpes or something. I don't, but it really scares anybody I've got to...to rough up. So I let him think it. Most of the time the threats all he needs, anyway.” 

I found it difficult to believe. “Isn't that dangerous? Letting him think…?”

“I know how to handle the old man; I've been working for him a long time. He thinks what he wants to think, and it's not like he watches the game on Sunday with anybody he's had me...rough up.” He looked over at me, long and hard. “You don't remember me at all, do you?”

I turned to him. He was studying me closely with his dark eyes, his heavy brow, long nose, square jaw. “I didn't have a beard back then," he went on. "I was smaller, too. Skinnier, I mean. Didn't work out so much.”

I squinted and tried to imagine him without the beard. “I...you do seem familiar, actually.”

He smiled and put the keys in the ignition, started up the van. “I'm Antonio, Johnny. I wasn't one of Pendrick's bodyguards when you were his boy, but I was around. I was just an enforcer. I probably blended in with the furniture to you. I saw you a lot though, when I was going back and forth, but...we never talked. Would have been stupid to do that, anyway.” He sighed. “I was so damned jealous of the old man. You have no idea. I'd have given anything to get into bed you you – but not like that. Not like…tonight.”

Oh, god. I remembered a tall latino with a cold face and deep brown eyes, beautiful in his beardless youth and brimming with dangerous energy. I remembered him.

“...but that's why I went easy on you, Johnny. Pendrick said he'd work you up, but not too much. He still wanted it to hurt. I admit it – I was hard as soon as he told me what he wanted me to do...but I went to the bathroom and rubbed lotion all over my cock before he called us in. I did! I didn't want to hurt you. I wanted to make you feel good – and I did, right? I made you feel good?” His hand was on my thigh. The cocksucker's hand was actually on my thigh. “I could tell. It sucked for you at first – I know, and I'm sorry, I'm sorry...but by the end I know you wanted it. You were clenching up when I went in too deep, but other than that you opened right up for me, and I found your spot. I know I did – your face didn't lie. You wanted to come so bad. I could tell. I can tell.” My cock was hard in my pants. “If you still want to...”

I put my hands over my face and turned away from him. “Just drive,” I groaned. I wanted this night to be over. I wanted to die – and I would have, in that moment, before I let my mindless cock turn me into even more of a whore.

He put his hands back on the wheel and grunted, disappointed. Before long we were leaving that dark row of mansions and feeding onto the desolate midnight highway. The golden bloom of the city grew larger in the darkness ahead. The sky was clearing up nicely above it, black clouds parting for a gorgeous blue moon. “Where do you live?” he finally asked.

Milton Street, in Ridgetown. Those words almost came out of my mouth, but I had at least enough control of my mind to keep from saying them. “Take exit 54. You can leave me in Ridgetown; I know a spot." 

"You don't have a home, though?"

"I have a spot you can leave me," I said harshly. I glanced at him. "I guess you're going to...take a cab from there?”

He cleared his throat, fingers tapping the steering wheel. “Sure.” He was antsy for a cigarette. I could tell. Funny that he was so much more nervous than I was at that point, given everything else.

We ended up parking more than a few blocks from Milton Street, in a newly built neighborhood with no residents and lots of empty houses for sale. This was where I'd once taken Ben earlier in the summer, I remembered. It would be a good place for me to hole up for the night. A long and dreamless sleep was close enough to touch.

It suddenly occurred to me that being alone with Guerrero in a place like this might be a bad idea. We'd already parked, and the van was turned off, and he was turning toward me with a question in his eyes. 

“Thanks for driving me,” I said quickly. “I'm sure a cab could meet you up the road...”

“I need you to believe me,” he said slowly, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the back of my seat. I shrank away from him instinctively. “You're leaving the city, and I'll never see you again after tonight, so I need you to believe me. Now.”

“Look – I believe you.” I glanced around. We were parked in front of a broad house with dark windows, bathed in moonlight and surrounded by mud and beams of timber. If I could get in there, I might find a hammer or something... “I know you're sorry, okay? But I want to be...alone.” Damn it. My voice was still wavering. He was still in control here, and we both knew it.

He leaned closer, looming over me. He smelled pungent and pleasant, like sweat and musk, and I was dimly aware that my cock was still quite hard. Had it ever gone down? His hand crept across my thigh again, and this time my skin began to tingle. “I know you didn't come,” he whispered. His voice was solid and smooth, draping itself over me like a warm bath. “You almost did back in the old man's office, but not quite.” There was an accent in there – Brazilian? Guatemalan? I couldn't tell. It didn't matter. Whatever it was, it was coming out now, along with the first sign of any real emotion I'd seen in him. His hand pushed over my crotch, feeling my swollen dick through the fabric of the jeans. “Do you want to come? I want you to. I want to do that for you. I've wanted to do that for years.” He squeezed lightly, and my body responded. “Tell me you want to come.”

“I want to,” I said, before I could stop myself. How could I say anything else? It was the truth.

His breathing quickened, and he unbuckled my safety belt. He pulled me roughly from the seat, as if I were a rag doll, and I let him. An awkward, tumbling moment later, and I was in his lap. His hard cock was poking at my sore ass through his pants and my jeans, but he wasn't intent on that. He cradled my spine and held the back of my neck with one hand, and undid the button of my jeans with the other. He unzipped me slowly, then pulled my cock out of my pants. It sprang to life, red and throbbing and cold in the night air. Guerrero sighed and gently wrapped his big hand around it, made it warm again. “Ah, yeah, this is all I wanted...” He began to stroke my cock, squeezing softly at odd intervals, fingers gliding over the sensitive skin. I shuttered in his arms, moaned nervously. The cock that was digging into my right ass cheek was the same tool that had so mercilessly pillaged me not an hour before. We both knew it. I was still scared of him...and it was thrilling. I hadn't wanted this to happen, but now that it was... 

He was pushing his bearded face into my neck as he coaxed my cock to full attention. His tongue and his facial hair were more than arousing, and he had me shuddering and twitching and gasping at the unpredictable sensations. He drank it all in like a man who'd been dying of thirst in the desert until that very moment, smelling my neck and my hair and my face. He pushed my shirt up and shoved his face into my armpit, making me quiver, licking the sweat from my exposed skin and tonguing the thick hair he found there. He was alive with lust, real lust, and it was massively apparent that he wanted to touch every inch of me. As close and confined as we were in the driver's seat, he couldn't quite make that work.

“There's more room in the back,” I whispered, not sure if I'd regret it, not caring. My cock was on fire, long past ready to be handled like this. There was no drug in my system anymore, I realized, and no alcohol either. I wanted it as much as he did. I reached down between our hard bodies and unbuckled his safety belt.

He grunted in affirmation and lifted me from his lap. I crouched into the darkness of the van's interior, and he followed eagerly. I turned just in time to see his huge, broad-shouldered form rushing at me, blocking out the moonlight from the front of the van. I nearly shouted in alarm, but his hand closed over my mouth, muffling it. He pushed me down into the ruffled quilts, panting in his lust. His free hand pulled my jeans down my thighs with two rough yanks, and a moment later I was naked from the waist down. “Don't be scared of me,” he growled, releasing my jaw. He pulled my shirt up and covered my face with it. He used one hand to keep my face covered and held my waist against him with the other, and then his lips and teeth were on my nipples. He nibbled them lightly before teasing his way down the lean planes of my exposed chest and belly, a roaming island of hot breath in an ocean of cold night air. Again I was completely supplicant to his desires, but the entire dynamic had changed. I was shivering with lust, arching my spine to meet his mouth, and every point of contact between our bodies was a bonfire of need. No one had ever wanted me this badly. I was sure of it.

He let my shirt fall away from my face and pulled my hips up to his chest. He flung my legs over his shoulders, and a moment later his hot, wet mouth had firmly engulfed my cock. He swallowed me up greedily with a hungry groan, his prickly beard digging into my furry groin, my hanging balls. I moaned loudly at the surprise as much as the pleasure of it, and pushed my hips into his face. He devoured my cock loudly and enthusiastically, filling the van with wet, sloppy grunts and smacking flesh. It was rough, and a tad toothy, but it felt fantastic. I let him have his fill, let his big, strong hands take hold my my stretched belly, my chest, my rapidly beating heart. I could feel his eyes on me as he had his way, but I couldn't see his face. He was still in his black jacket, and fully clothed. I could see my pale, nude body in the dim moonlight beyond the lump of my shirt around my neck – but, facing away from the light with his dark clothes and his brown skin, he was nothing but a shadow himself. It looked like I was being manhandled by a wraith. A ravenous incubus. A demon.

He let my cock flop out of his mouth and started sucking on my sore balls. I felt a finger at my ass, then two –

I jerked away from him with a snarling hiss, and not only because of the physical pain. I didn't want that, I realized. Not tonight, of all nights. 

His fingers immediately left that tenderized area, and he removed his mouth from my crotch. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “Habit. We don't have to do it that way.” He laid my hips back down in the quilts, then leaned back on his knees and took off his jacket. I watched, breathing heavily, not sure what to do. “I want you to touch me,” he said flatly, unbuttoning his shirt. He slipped out of it, and I could see his bold figure silhouetted against the windshield behind him, practically glowing as the moonlight crept around the powerful curves of his body, embracing him like a lover. Thickly muscled shoulders and solid pecs, all of that strength narrowing into a tight waist. “Go on.” 

I sat up, my shirt falling down to my waist, and reached out tentatively. I was half sure that he would erupt into violence at any second, scared out of my mind that this was still all some sort of trick. It was exhilarating, despite everything. I touched his naked chest, felt the simmering heat of his skin and the layer of soft hair that blanketed it. His skin gave way only slightly over the hot firmness of his muscles. It was very nice. I ran my hands over the meaty mounds of his pecs, the low, tight hills of muscle that wove across his ribs, the curves of his hips, the fur that glided softly between his abs...this man must live at the gym, I thought. He was gorgeous. My cock throbbed between my legs.

He undid his belt and let his pants fall open. He pulled them and his underwear down his hips until they bunched at his knees on the floor. His thick cock bobbed above his huge balls as he pushed his pants off of his legs along with his loafers, and then he was completely naked. He straightened himself again while keeping his hands at his sides, an offering of control. “Go on. Don't stop.”

I resumed my patrol of his body hesitantly, and then eagerly. He was strong, and vital, and every muscle was toned beneath my fingers – but I could feel a subtle tremble in his flesh as I enjoyed it. I let my hands snake around his waist to the tight small of his back, and I followed their wanderings until I was crouching behind him. His entire backside was illuminated by the moonlight from this angle. His back was broad and rippling with curved muscle, and his ass… I slowly pushed my fingers over it, these two great mountains of rounded flesh. It was sculpted, almost perfect, and a generous blaze of dark hair radiated from the crack between the cheeks before joining the thicker hair of his meaty thighs. 

I suddenly had the urge to spread those cheeks, to dive into him as he'd done to me. I realized then that I wasn't thinking of him as a beautiful weapon anymore, but rather...something to be desired for what it was. Something to be...

As if he'd read my mind, he bent over and got on all fours in front of me. His muscled ass was perked towards me, inviting. This new position spread his cheeks and opened his ass slightly, a voluptuous slit of flesh and shadow and dark fur that radiated raw heat. “Don't stop,” he said hardly. “Do what you want to me. It's only fair. I owe you big.”

“Are you…”

He turned his head and looked back at me. He was strikingly handsome at this angle, bearded and chiseled and aggressively masculine. “Don't ask me if I'm sure. Don't ask me if I'll like it. Even if I go all crybaby on you – just fucking get even. Make it as right as you can. That's all I know I want.”

I felt a welling of power in me at that moment, and it was as if the entire night had never happened – or any of them before. I grabbed his ass cheeks and pulled them apart like two halves of a sweet roll, then leaned in and spit into his chute. He grunted loudly when I used two fingers to push my spit into him. His ass clenched around my knuckles, tight and fiery-hot. His smell was intoxicating, and I realized that it wasn't just him I was smelling. I was in there as well, the old me that he'd ravaged so harshly a little over an hour before. Something snapped inside of me.

I ripped off my confining shirt and threw it at him, then I held his ass still and pushed the head of my cock into him without preparing him for it at all. His hole puckered at first - why wouldn't it - but it couldn't stop me. There was no stopping me. He'd given permission.

He roared at the sudden pain of it and punched the floor of the van more than once – hard enough to shake the whole frame of the vehicle – but he took it. His hole was tremendously tight, mostly likely virgin, but I didn't care. I pushed in further despite the instinctive and pointless resistance his sphincter put up, squeezing the flesh of his ass as I pulled those great slabs of meat apart and impaled him without remorse. I was halfway into him.

His entire body quaked with pain and effort in my hands, around my cock, and he wasn't shy about giving voice to his discomfort. I grunted and shoved the rest of my cock into him. He wailed deeply, and his upper half collapsed into the quilts. The rest would have followed, but I held his hips against mine, keeping us locked together. “That's what it felt like,” I told him after a moment of holding him there. “That's what you did.”

“I know,” he moaned into the quilts, dangerously close to tears for a man as hard as he was. He really was sorry. I finally, truly believed him. “Just...just do it. Whatever you want.”

I felt under him and grabbed his cock. It was only semi-hard, dangling heavily under his bent hips. I pulled out of him slowly, my cock throbbing with each twitch of his ass around it, until I was free of him. I bent and rubbed my finger over the rim of his hole. It puckered, swollen and inflamed, but I hadn't damaged anything. I licked my finger and slid it into him, grinning at his hissing complaint. He was at least a little looser. I reached under the quilts, felt around, and found my old bottle of lube. I put a large gob of it onto my fingers and squeezed more of it over his open ass. He gasped and tightened at the cold shock of the lube on his hole, and I pushed it into him, coating his chute generously before putting more of it onto my aching cock. I'd never felt so turned on before, not even with Ben. To have such power over this man, this repentant bastard, after everything he'd done tome…

I pushed into his freshly lubed hole at my own pace, which was not even slightly gentle. It was still tight, of course, and he still stiffened and groaned deeply at the pain of the process, but it was much easier for both of us now. I'd made my point, after all. 

His shoulders and back shook as I leaned over him and held him down, pushing his knees apart with my own. Once I'd found a good angle I rammed it in to the hilt, where I let it settle inside of him. He shuttered against me, breathing fast and heavy. “Fuck,” he whimpered. His voice no longer boomed. It was small and meek and choked with awed misery.

“Yeah,” I answered. I sounded like a different person. My own self. “Fuck.”

After that I drilled his ass fast and hard. It was fantastic. I felt like a warlord, a god. His body was thicker and far more powerful than mine, but he let me have my way with it. I felt under his hips again after a time, and found his cock was hard again. Hard, and very large. His pained groans had melted into low, manly sounds of hesitant pleasure, and his hole was finally loosening around me. I'd broken him in. I always did. “That's better, huh?”

“Yeah,” was his only reply, sandwiched between hearty grunts. 

I grabbed his shoulder and turned him over, kept my cock in him as his hairy ass twisted around it. I laid him on his back under me, legs spread clumsily, balls drooping bellow a cock that was all but completely hard. I took it in my hand. It was silky and firm, thick and perfectly curved and not at all like what I'd imagined ripping through me earlier that night. I used my other hand to push his thigh up toward his bearded face, which was no longer hard or cold, but crumpling with new sensation and raw, confused lust. I began to pummel his ass again, stroking his cock as I fucked him. My shaft was squelching into his reluctant maw like a piston, and I watched with flushed pleasure as he jerked and undulated thickly beneath me, pulling on the quilts under his open legs while he gritted his teeth and huffed. Each full thrust I made shuddered and rippled throughout his body like a rock dropped into a still pond, each provoking another heedless moan. I'd found his sweet spot, and he was barely hanging onto himself. “You could come like this, you know,” I told him. “With my cock up your ass. I could make you do it right now, like a bitch in heat.”

His eyes locked onto mine, clear and sharp again for a brief moment, and he bit his lip against his own groans. “You could,” he agreed. He wasn't merely allowing me to get even at that point. He was pleading with me to release him. He wanted to come with me inside of him, and he was too proud to say it out loud. 

I grinned down at him and stroked him faster, fucked him deeper. He arched his back against me and dug his ass into my pounding hips, gripping the quilts on either side of his hips, his head. I watched him and felt him, making sure I hit his sweet spot wit each hard thrust. He was groaning, then wailing loudly, and then his hard meat convulsed in my hand along with his chute around my cock, and spurt after spurt of jism shot from his swollen cockhead to spatter all over the pillows, his hair, his chest, shoulders, face. His groaning, husky voice never broke into unmanly squeals like Ben's would have – it got deeper, even – but he'd completely lost control of it all the same.

I let his twitching cock flop and took hold of his thighs, and I continued fucking him with vigor until I knew it was coming. Finally coming. I felt my stomach and my nethers ripple and implode, felt a stream of bright heat shooting up the length of my shaft inside of him. I pulled out of his heat and roared happily as I shot my load all over his hanging balls, his sloppy cock, his belly and his neck. He groaned at the feeling of this hot mess hitting his skin, muscles bulging under the thick sheen of fresh fluids and matted hair. It wasn't humiliating, no - it wasn't an insult at all. It was a cleansing. It was making things right for both of us.

The world had become a fuzzy tunnel. I was still coming. I shuttered mightily, holding my cock against him and rubbing it across the fur of his groin as the massive orgasm shot out of me in seemingly endless spurts. Before it finished I shoved my cock back into the hot cradle of his ass, where the last oozing pulses of my cum found a home. I collapsed onto his splayed bulk a second later, reveling in the heat of our bodies and the feeling of his skin on mine. The obscene amount of dripping jism that covered him now covered me as well, but I didn't care. The night had finally caught up with me; I could barely move. 

His body rumbled to life underneath me a moment later and took hold of my shoulders, pushing me onto my back and covering me with his heavy strength. His mouth closed around my chin, my neck, and then his lips and tongue were rolling over my spent body, lapping up the cum that covered it. I was barely aware of the fact that, moments later, my cock was hard again and in his mouth. I don't know how long he cradled my hips and sucked my cock, but I know I came again at the end of it, and I know he swallowed every last drop of it. 

He made his way back up my belly and chest and wrapped me in his monstrously strong arms, breath hot on my skin. I lapped up what I could of the cum on him, savoring the rich taste of this hard-earned climax on his neck, his beard, his lips. I'd somehow forgiven him, I realized with stunning clarity. We were even now. Equals. His debt to me had been paid in full. In my delirium I didn't see him at all, but myself. I kissed my own forehead, ran my hands through my hair. It was good to forgive. It was good to be forgiven.

He wrapped one strong arm around me and held my body to his, while the other grasped my thigh where it was draped over his hip. His hand cupped my ass, running his finger absently over my tender hole with affection. I didn't care. I was already drifting off, enveloped in a warm blanket of pleasant, healing ache. When the slow, rhythmic hum of his snores began to ripple through me, my body rising and falling with his, I let myself slip down into sleep against him. I didn't dream at all.

I was woken up by his movement some hours later. It was still very dark outside. He sat up, looking over at me with eyes half open. “I'm glad this happened,” he said airily, not altogether collected yet. He went about pulling on his clothes. I could only lie there and watch, conscious only on the barest level. 

He was fully dressed some moments later, pulling on his jacket. “I'm going to phone a cab...I guess I'll...well, I guess this is it.”

I nodded. “Good luck, Antonio,” I muttered. I was barely awake, but I was serious. “Get...get into another line of work. You...should stop roughing people up for a living.”

“Maybe,” he replied, but I knew he wouldn't, and that was fine. He paused before opening the door. The moonlight poured into the van, illuminating his chiseled features. His eyes  were immeasurably softer now. “Listen...don't ignore the old man. You need to be out of town by the end of the month, if that's what he said. Please, Johnny. You don't want him to send Redding after you. Believe me.”

I remember him saying that now, but I don't think I heard him then, in those cloudy, wax-ridden moments before dawn. “Sure thing,” I said dreamily, waving to him as I sank back into the sweaty quilts. I think I was already asleep by the time the door shut, plunging the van into cold darkness.




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