I woke to a nudge at my side and a hand snaking over my waist and down my belly.
"I wanna. OK?"
Oh, Lord, I thought. This was why I didn't normally let them spend the night - even for an extra $25. They'd want it again. And they'd want it without paying for it. I guess letting them stay the night signaled to them that I wanted them to marry me.
"Frank," I murmured. "You used up what you paid for. You know the rules."
"I know you want it again. You know you want it again. Your dick don't lie."
My dick was trained to go full staff at a touch. This was how I made most of my money. But Frank wasn't all wrong. He was well built, not much into his forties, and kept fit in construction work. His cock wasn't phenomenal, but he knew what to do with it. And he was one of my regulars. Still, give it away for free once, and that's the end of getting paid for it.
"You're married, Frank. You gonna move in and pay my bills?"
"It's just a morning fuck, Danny. Just to get the day off right for both of us." He had his hands on my waist and turned me on my side, him wedged close in behind me. His cock was between my thighs, and he was already dry fucking me, with his cock head pushing against the base of my balls.
I was weakening. Maybe if I just let him get off this way, it would be OK. It felt good having his strong arms wrapped around me.
"I'll be good to you. You know I will. You can't get it any better than me."
That snapped me back. When they started getting possessive like this, we'd gone too far over the edge. I pulled away from him and, with effort, got back onto my back. His mouth went to my cock and his fingers snaked under me and went to my hole.
"No freebies," I said, trying to make my voice stern and dominating. I knew if I was going to hold the line, I needed to keep the upper hand. He could take me if he wanted to. I'm sure we both knew that. "You want another fuck, it will be another $50."
"How about $25? We're already here; it's not something completely new. It's just an extension?"
"Thirty," I said with a sigh. The one thing I knew for sure was that I wasn't going to let him spend the night again. He'd said his wife was visiting her mother and he'd told her he'd work the night shift then at the construction site. He had whined that he couldn't sleep alone. He'd been such a big teddy bear about it.
I didn't know for sure until later, after he was gone, that he'd even heard my counteroffer. In the end it was just a game, though, because when he left, he left $125 on the dresser. Regardless, before we could haggle more, he'd rolled onto his back and, in the same motion, had lifted me, facing away from him, with strong hands at both sides of my waist and had my channel wedged on the glans of his hard cock.
It was unfair; he knew I liked it this way.
"Frank. Oh, Frank!" I cried out, as my channel slid down on his cock. He encased my chest with one arm, latching onto one of my nipples with a thumb and finger; reached for my cock with his other fist; and bent his knees, digging his heels into the mattress to leverage off of while he got deep penetration with my butt wedged into his lap.
"Oh, god, Frank, oh, god!" I wrapped my legs around his bent ones and hooked the tops of my feet under his ankles - trying for all of the penetration of his cock that I could get. I locked my wrists around the back of his neck and we kissed until he nudged my torso to one side so that, with my arms still raised, he could bury his nose and mouth into one of my pits.
I groaned, knowing why I'd let him stay the night. He had some of the most arousing ways of fucking a man. And he was all man. Hard, solid, muscle - the experience of an older guy and the stamina of a much younger man.
* * * *
Frank was gone and it was still dark outside my apartment window. I had to do my run. I groaned and turned over, fully fucked and wanting to do nothing more than go back to sleep. But I had to be at the advertising agency at 9:00 a.m., and if I passed on the run this morning, the next thing I knew was that I'd be passing on it occasionally - and then often.
I rolled out of bed, smiled at seeing how much Frank had left on the dresser, opened the dresser drawer, and took out a jock strap and a pair of running shorts.
I stopped in the kitchen only long enough to eat an energy bar and drink several swallows of milk from a carton from the refrigerator and then I was off down the stairs, across the parking lot, and plunging into the trees on the path that led to the nature trail that wound itself through town.
It was still dark, but dawn was less than an hour away and I wanted to get the run in and be back in the shower before the sun came up.
I didn't stay on the main trail. There was a place where a small path veered off and over a wooden footbridge over a creek and then the railroad tracks and into a wooded subdivision, where the houses were pretty snazzy and set on large lots. By going down one street here, I could hook up to another trail running through this subdivision that was more private. These well-heeled folks didn't get up with the rest of us.
I was surprised, though, when I passed one French Provincial rambler, where there was a light on inside and a vehicle, an old Ford pickup, in the driveway. I hadn't ever remembered having seen a light on it this house this early, and the Ford pickup was completely out of character with the neighborhood. Thinking about it, I couldn't remember seeing any car parked there for weeks.
These were just observations that skidded across my mind as I loped down the street, my eyes concentrating on where there'd be a small break in the trees between two lots that would mark the woodland trail I sought.
Not long after passing the driveway of the French Provincial house, I sensed - and could hear - that I wasn't alone. I turned my head to see that there was another runner in my wake now. This was unusual; I'd never picked up a runner on the mornings I'd used this trail.
He looked all right, though. A big, blond crew cut, well-muscled guy. A good six inches taller than I was, and he had me by a good fifty pounds. A strongly chiseled face, with a prize fighter's bent nose. Maybe a soldier returned from Iraq. He looked too much like a gym guy and too young to live in this neighborhood. But he was running easy, obviously enjoying not having to do it alone.
I thought maybe he'd keep on down the street when I veered off on the woodland trail, but he didn't. He turned with me. He stayed behind me, but I could feel him close.
I didn't even think of the possibility of any personal danger, regardless of how strange it was to have someone running with me. If I had, I must assume I wouldn't have taken the woodland trail. In hindsight I wondered what I was thinking - or not thinking.
Thus, I was completely taken by surprise when, as we reached a small clearing with a picnic table in it, I felt my arm being gripped, and my body was snapped around and slammed down on my back on the picnic table.
The wind was knocked out of me, and what was happening was such a surprise, that before I could do or say anything - or react in any way - he was crouched close over me, breathing heavily, and had a hand stuffed down the front of my running shorts and wrapped around my balls.
"Get off me!" I then mustered enough energy to cry out. "What? Oh, God!" I melted into pain and my eyes began to water as he crushed my balls in his fist.
"Shut up!" he commanded. "I've seen you go into Chester's, haven't I?"
The pressure was released long enough for me to whimper a "Yes." Chester's was a gay bar not far from my apartment. It was where I hooked up with most of the men who paid me for sex.
"Fuckin' queer," the guy muttered. Then I lost interest in anything other than the pressure on my balls and what he now was doing with his other hand, which was grabbing my throat and squeezing so that he had me seeing stars and blacking out.
When I came to, I was on my belly on the table, with my hands tied over my head, attached to something underneath the table I couldn't figure out. I could see my running shoes on the ground, without their laces, so I could figure out easily enough what he'd used to tie my wrists. I figured I could get out of those restraints fast enough if the big guy wasn't there, but he <i>was</i> there, with his mouth on my dick, which he'd pulled back through my legs.
His mouth went to my channel, and then I heard him curse. "Somebody's already been up here today, hasn't he?"
I didn't answer, upon which he put a fist in my hair and arched my back toward him. He put his lips next to my ear and whispered, menacingly, "Hasn't he?"
"Yes," I moaned.
"Fuckin' queer. Tell me, did he have one this big?"
I yelped as he thrust his cock inside my channel. He was as big and thick as I'd ever had.
"No. Oh, god no."
The next several minutes were taken up with his grunts and groans in taking me in a deep pistoning action and my moans and cries at being taken so brutally and fully. He had his hands around my throat again - and again I blacked out.
When I recovered, I was no long tied and he was dragging me into the underbrush beyond the rim of the clearing. He found a mossy area under a tree and dropped me onto my back and knelt down between my spread legs and thrust his cock inside me again.
This time - I don't know if it was the instinct to survive or the want for what he was giving me - I wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his hips and gave him nipple play with my mouth as I counterthrust against him, taking him deep, and using my channel muscles to give him a ride he wouldn't soon forget. I moaned for him and whispered to him how good he was being to me - using everything I'd learned to please a man and make him want me. Wanting him to believe that I'd given in to him willingly; trying to calm him down and to be satisfied enough not to hurt me any more than was necessary.
He seemed to enjoy it immensely - and I wasn't exactly unhappy with it either once I'd decided to stop resisting him.
When he came - which was after me - he knelt up, away from me, and looked down and smiled at me through his heavy breathing.
"That was good for you, wasn't it?" he said - almost with a sense of wonder in his voice.
"The best," I murmured. "Fuck me again." I tried to keep my voice from showing how badly I was trembling - not just out of fear but also because it had been one of the best fucks I'd ever had. But there was also the fear that he wouldn't let me leave here alive. I certainly was trying to work his vanity and calm his anger by telling him I wanted it again. But if he'd knelt back down into the moss, I would have gladly opened my legs to him again. If he'd laid on his back, I would have happily mounted him and ridden his cock again under my own power.
He gave me the strangest look then, and stood and muttered. "I'll be back."
And then he was gone.
* * * *
I was out running the next day before dawn too. I had already decided that I would stick to the main nature trail, but when I came to the small path leading off across the brook and railroad tracks, my feet turned in that direction under their own power.
I didn't even think about why I was doing it - what I wanted to happen. I just ran my own route, like an automaton.
This day was as unusual as the previous one, though - in a different way. As I came up level with the French Provincial house that had had the light on the previous day, I saw today that it was lit up like a Christmas tree and that there was an ambulance and a police car in the drive.
I put my head down and ran right on by, although my mind was going lickety-split on possibilities of what was happening at that house in the predawn hours.
So engrossed with that was I that, although I heard the engine start up, I only half realized that I was passing a dark sedan parked across the street from the house.
It didn't take me long, though, to realize that the car was riding beside me, keeping pace with me. I turned, and a lone man driving the car rolled down his window and said, "Hold on for a few minutes. I'd like to talk to you."
This had happened to me before - even when I was out running. It's one reason I ran at this time of the morning now and took this route. If I ran on the other side of the apartment complex and during the day, I'd be stopped every few minutes by men who wanted a blow job or a quickie fuck.
I walked over to the side of the car.
"Can I help you with something."
"Maybe. Just a few questions. Come on around and sit in the car with me for a few minutes."
"Won't get in the car without some up-front money," I said. "BJ's go for $25, me do you, or $20, you do me. Anything beyond that is $50, assuming I want to do what you want me to do."
The man gave me a hard look. He wasn't all that hard to look at. Maybe a bit on the chunky side, but it looked like it was mostly muscle. Pushing forty hard, or maybe a bit older. Craggy-looking face, but not bad looking. A crew cut, but dark, not blond like the guy yesterday. Remembering the guy yesterday made me shudder, and I almost just pulled away from the car and went back to running. I never really was comfortable getting into a guy's car.
He must have seen that I was about ready to brush him off, because he suddenly had his wallet out and was producing a $50 bill. "Here. OK? Come around and sit with me for a couple of minutes. Just some information."
"Sure," I said, but I couldn't help myself from making it sound a bit sarcastic. He didn't pull the bill away when I reached for it, though, so I walked around to the passenger side of the car and got in. He pulled right over to the curb, which surprised me. I thought we'd be driving to someplace more private.
"Here? We're gonna do it here?" I asked.
"Just talk. That's what I said," he answered. And then he launched right into talk. "Do you run here at this time every morning."
"Most mornings, when the weather permits, yes."
"Did you run here yesterday?"
"Yes," I said. I suddenly was thinking vice cop. I realized I'd half thought "cop" the moment I'd seen him.
"Notice anything back around that one-story house yesterday?"
"No, not really."
"Nothing at all unusual?"
"Well, now that I think about it, there was a light on inside, which I found surprising for this time of day. I don't remember that happening before. And there was a truck in the driveway that seemed out of place."
"Yeah, an old beat-up Ford pickup. That's not the kind of car the folks in this neighborhood drive."
"I know it was dark, but could you tell the color?"
"Yeah, that was part of it being out of place. It was red. Fire-engine red. Again, a little flashy for this neighborhood."
"Well, could you look at these photos and tell me if you saw any of these guys around here yesterday."
The guy who had furious-fucked me was in the middle photo. I pretended I didn't know any of them. I had no wish to be caught up in a vice sting if I could afford it.
"Nope, sorry, I don't recognize any of these guys."
"You sure? You hesitated over one of them. I could tell."
"Yeah, I'm sure. They do something wrong?"
"That's helpful. The truck. Thanks, that's all the information I need. Have a good run."
I wasn't sure what to do next; just open the door and walk away? Would he let me get three yards before busting me for solicitation?"
"That's it? That's all?"
"Yes, thanks, you've been very helpful."
"So, I guess you want the fifty back . . . ?"
"Keep it. Keep it on tab, if you want. It's not that I'm not interested. But we're pretty busy. As I said, have a good run." Then, as I was getting out of the car, he said. "Warren Copely."
"His name's Warren Copely. The guy in the center picture. The one you did a double take over. If I'm right, you'll want to stay very clear of him. Just a friendly piece of advice."
I stood on the pavement, dazed, holding the fifty, while he did a U-turn and headed back to the house with the ambulance and police car in the driveway.
* * * *
It was a week to the day that the guy - Warren Copely, I'd been told - had assaulted me in the park. And I was out, running again, in the same park. I still hadn't resolved what I wanted. But above all else, I didn't want my life limited by where I could and could not go.
And then there was the fucking Copely had given me. Yes, it was rough. But it brought me to heights I'd never gone to before. That was what was wrong with this selling of my body. With each paid fuck, I was becoming less sensitive to arousal, more needing to control myself, to pretend. With Copely it had been pure animal. He'd surprised me, and he'd handled me - took all control out of my hands. For some reason I found that arousing - and liberating. And the size of him. Overuse was making me slack. He filled me to where I knew I was being fucked. Even the choking was exhilarating. The lack of oxygen gave me a rush, hardened and lengthened me, made me gush.
All of these thoughts were going through my brain as my feet took me on the path across the brook and railroad tracks even though each and every morning for the last week, I had resolved that I would stay to the main nature trail.
He popped out from behind a tree as I entered the narrow woodland trail. I saw him in my peripheral vision. He was wild eyed, grinning. He reached out for me as I passed him, but I struggled away and began to run in earnest.
Another dozen yards and I veered off the path and started crashing through the underbrush.
I was panting, and so was he. His panting was getting nearer and nearer. It was like we were in a jungle and he was a lion bringing me to ground. He leaped onto my back as he caught up with me, sending us both crashing into a bed of ferns.
He flipped me and backhanded me twice, once in each direction across the cheeks. Still I tried to struggle up from him, tried to break away. He made a fist and reared back and socked me in the cheek, under my eye. My head snapped back and I sprawled back on the ground, surprised and in pain. Dazed. This couldn't be happening. I'd made the sex good for him. I'd give him good sex. he didn't have to do this.
I lay there whimpering, totally cowed. He was straddling me, knees on either side of my waist, me putting up zero resistance. He pulled my head up with a fist in my hair and backhanded me again with his hand. Then, as I just fell back into the ferns, he went up in a crouch beside me and jerked off my running shorts and jock strap.
He stood over me and removed his own shorts and jock. He was hung like a horse. Even in half erection he had the biggest equipment I can remember ever seeing.
He came down again with knees straddling my chest and grabbed my head by the hair and pounded in up and down on the ground a couple of times.
Why was he doing this? I wasn't putting up any resistance. I could show him a good time - I had already shown him a good time.
I gagged as he forced his cock beyond my lips and face fucked me. He was saying something, but, with the ringing in my ears from the beating, I could barely . . . just barely make it out.
"I said I'd be back for you. The second man."
His knees pushed up under my buttocks and his cock pushed inside me. He bottomed and then started fucking me hard and deep. I was too far gone to go with the fuck - to do any of those things I'd done before to give him pleasure and to want have me going with him. I just lay there, moaning and whimpering at his full, cruel possession of my channel. His hand went to my throat, and I was fighting for breath and consciousness.
When he came, he let out a victory yodel.
That, undoubtedly, was what saved me.
The next thing I knew, we were surrounded by blue uniforms, and Copely was being pulled away from me and being dragged off.
The guy who had been in the dark sedan the other day was there, and he was pulling me up, and helping me put my running shorts back on. The waistband of the jock strap had been snapped in Copely's run to get it off me, so it was of no use.
The guy helped me over to the picnic table and had his handkerchief out, dabbing at the blood at the corners of my nose and mouth.
"I'm Detective Madison. Henry Madison. Sorry we didn't get to you sooner. If he hadn't pulled you off the trail - "
"Sorry. That was me," I said. "I left the trail. You from Vice?"
I moaned at the recognition of what that meant.
"We had planned to take him before he did this to you. Sorry about that. If you'd ID'd him the other day . . . but your description of the truck helped us narrow it to Warren Copely."
"You've been watching for him?"
"Every day. Every day you were running. You were the second man. We figured he'd come back for you."
"The second man? That's what he said too . . . while . . . while he was taking me."
"That's was what linked the crimes. This guy had it out for homosexuals and targeted them. But, go figure, his way of punishing them was through sexual assault. So, you can figure what that said about him. Well, he had a pattern. He'd murder one man and then find a second man to have sex with."
"So, that first day, when the light was on in that house and the red truck was outside."
"Yes, we found the body of a young man inside. Copely killed him there. Those folks are on an around-the-world trip. The young guy was house sitting for them. Their neighbors called in the light being on and the truck in the driveway. It was gone by the time anyone responded, though.
"So, I was - "
"The second man that day, yes. I can understand you not telling me when I asked you about him. But if I'd known he'd attacked you that day, we would have been faster in pulling him off you today."
"And this second man?"
"On a subsequent day, the second man became the first man. That's what was happening today."
"Let's get you home now, if you live nearby."
"In the apartment complex across the railroad tracks beyond this development."
"Good. We'll get you cleaned up and when you feel like it, I can take your statement. We can see what we can put together that will keep you as much out of this as possible."
"You'd . . . you'd do that . . . for me?"
He went on, as if I hadn't spoken. "Then, when you felt well enough for it, we could see about working off that $50-tab I'm running with you."