Too defiant to Abuse

Reader discretion is adviced, this story contain graphic content depicting violence and rape which may not be suitable to all readers. This is a fictional story and do not portray real events or real persons.

Introduction:

Longer-read: After college, the 23-year-old Michael J Cox moved clear across the country. Finding a new house, job, and a heap of trouble. Getting to know the friends and enemies he encountered. And the great sex he had with both. However much he liked the thuggish type, the defiant Mikey Mike hates to be dominated, bound, or abused. This is a 9-part dramatic depiction of what Mike had to endure setting up shop.

Disclaimer:
This story is strictly fictional and contains male-on-male (gay) sexual content, both implied and explicit. 

• If this offends you, please do not continue. 
• If you are under 16 years of age, please exit this story now. 

All character names, implied situations, parties, or locations are strictly fictional. Any similarities with real people are unintentional and purely coincidental. This fictional story is the author's imagination and is not based on real-life events or people. The author does not endorse any products or parties named in this story.

Copyright:
Any and all copyrights to this story remain strictly that of the author. No other publication, use, or reproduction of this story or parts of this story is allowed without the author's written consent. 

Too defiant to Abuse - Part 3.

It was 6 AM when Tomas's alarm clock went off. He tried to shut it off quickly, but Michael was bright awake already. Saying: "Morning sweet... Fuck did we have fun or what?... I can still feel your big rod pounding my ass, Tommy..."
"Yeah..." Kissing Mike on one of his nipples and stroking the morning wood that Mikey was sporting. "That was quite something... I've been such a fool to give in to those bastards... Thanks, Mikey... But go back to sleep, honey... I'll bring you some breakfast around 8:30..." said Tomas Johnson.

"Hell, no!... I am here now... Put me to work... I am used to working in restaurants and bars... I managed a small chain during my college days... And those college frats can't be worse than truckers like Brandon Hardon... Ha... I mean Hardman..." said Michael.
"Really?... Want a job?... I could do with someone to serve me night and day..." laughed Tomas.
"Actually... I'd love to... But I might be a bit over qualified for simple bar work... But start me out as a bottom... Ha... I mean, at the bottom... I can help clear tables or clean the sperm of the partition walls in the trucker's toilets... Although... better not... Or you'll never see me again..." joked Michael.

All jokes aside, the men wore clean black clothes after they washed and shaved. Tomas had handed Mike a T-bone polo and an apron. A few truckers were already having breakfast when the twinks came giggling into the restaurant. Both had broad grins on their faces. Something that got noticed by the nightshift staff. They knew enough. Their boss had emerged from a very dark place. Happier than he had ever been. Mike got a quick tour of the kitchens and got introduced to the staff. 

Mike washed his hands and put on the apron. He fitted right in with the team. He took an empty toat into the restaurant and started clearing tables. Cleaning them and setting them for the next lot of truckers that had already entered the diner. Somehow the entire experience took Tommy by surprise. The breakfast rush hour had never run this smoothly before. 

Mike even put on a plastic apron and rubber boots. Taking a hot soapy bucket of water into the showers to give them the once over. This task was typically done after 9 AM. When most of the truckers had already showered. But this efficiency pleased the truckers. And Tomas hotly muttered when Mike returned: "Angling for a pay rise already?... How many dicks did you clean?..."
"Well, for that kind of service, I would certainly need a pay rise..." sniggered Mikey. He rewashed his hands and started to help out at the bar. Serving fresh coffee and buns. Handing out newspapers and a listening ear. To say that Tomas was impressed would be an understatement.

In horror, Tomas grabbed Mike's arm when he spotted a battered old station wagon stopping outside the restaurant. It was the same one the skinheads had used yesterday evening. Mike took out his phone and had already called 9-1-1 before a weird-looking fellow walked into the restaurant. While Mike stepped into the kitchen, he whispered to Tomas. Keep him talking. The cavalry is on its way.

The guy was dressed like a preacher. All in white. A thin silver necklace with the toppled-over H-symbol was hanging off it. The same symbol one of Michael's former frat mates used to wear. And preach this idiot did. He went straight for Tomas. Who smiled warmly and offered him a mug of steaming hot coffee. The man said it was the devil's beverage. When Tomas offered him a beer instead, the preacher got really mad. So he offered him a glass of milk. The café and restaurant exploded in laughter.

But then the preacher started spouting that all extramarital sex was evil. That gays were the cause of all hate and diseases. That they came from hell and should be sent back there in flames. That Tomas was the devil's harbinger, and the T-Bone was the pit of all despair. Saying that only God's mercy could show mankind what true love was.

This got the truckers rolling on the floor. Pissing their pants. The guy was a joke. But Tomas raised his arms. Tomas Johnson stepped onto a couple of empty beer crates behind the bar to make the effect even more profound. An immediate and absolute silence fell over the crowd. Tomas looked threateningly at the preacher. In a clear voice, the barmen gave a thundering speech:

"...You speak as if you know true love... 
    You, sir... You have never felt true love.

    You speak of God's mercy...
    But you, sir... Have never preached out of mercy.

    You say gay men and women are the devil's sons and daughters. 
    But you, sir... You never understood your own God...

    He created Adam and Eve. They produced the sons and daughters of this world.
    It's Adam's sons and Eve's daughters that made us what we are now... Lovers!...
    The sons of Adam's sons and the daughters of Eve's daughters knew love.
    They understood that love transcends all boundaries. 
    Even those of love between two men or two women.

    Love is not good or bad...
    God loves all...
AMEN..."

And the entire truck stop followed Tomas. Calling: "Amen... Praise the lord..."

"And you, sir... You only sow hatred and despair..." said Tomas to the preacher.

Tomas Johnson's monologue had taken all the wind out of the preacher's sails. Even though it was complete and utter bullshit. Tomas Johnson had never been to church or followed any form of religion. But he sounded plausible enough. While he gave his thunderous speech, a dozen marked and unmarked police cars rushed into the parking lot. The preacher did not notice a thing. And the bullshit Tomas was spouting gave the police forces ample time to take this fool down. 

Three FBI agents and half the town's police forces had jumped the stunned guy. Forcing him to the ground. This asshole had half a dozen outstanding warrants against him. He was wanted for extortion, fraud, kidnapping, murder, human sex trafficking, and rape. All in the name of his religion.

Tomas and Micheal talked to the police and the FBI. Tomas handed the agents a dossier with all his encounters with this group. All the money he had paid them. Michael saw his friend getting weak in the knees despite his brave face. Mike thanked the officers for their prompt help but told them Tomas needed to be left alone for now. Mike took the shaken stud into the kitchen. They sat at a table there for half an hour. Not saying anything. Just looking at each other.

Finally, Michael said: "Look... They got the ringleader now... You have heard the FBI... The trouble ain't over yet... But this is a good start... They'll have him singing like a canary in no time... Then all of this will be over soon... No guarantees, but now they are making progress..."
He looked at Tomas Johnson and saw a little smile reappear on his face. "I hate to have to leave you right now, Tomas... But I have an appointment with the realtor Roderick Steel about a home... I got to go... But I'll be back soon... I promise, Tommy..."

However, at the very mention of Steel's name Tomas cringed. "Do be fucking careful with that idiot... He eats twinks like you for breakfast..."
"Thanks for the warning, buddy... But I am a big boy now... Later, man..." said Michael. A little shaken but determined to get his new life back on track. Michael Cox left to check out the neighborhood. But somehow, the words of the sweet bartender had done their job. 

Mikey was much too early for his appointment with the realtor. So he took a loop around the Bush street neighborhood by himself. It was clearly a slightly rundown community. Situated on the side of a reasonably steep hill. A little way outside of town, but still within walking distance of the city center. It had a diverse mix of houses on both sides of a balloon-like road. Five or six on the inside and about 2 dozen on the outside of the large loop. With one way in and one way out. "Heck, put a fence around the place, and you would have a closed estate," thought Michael. 

Positively beaming, he greeted mister Steel as Michael parked his car on the drive of number 12. Steel, a businessman if ever there was one, dressed to the nines and in his mid to early forties, looked the part of an estate agent. To say that Mikey was a little taken aback was an understatement. The look of this ruggedly-built realtor was something else. But fully aware that Mike needed to keep his wits about him in negotiating the probably biggest deal of his young life. Stunned and a little intimidated by the DILF-look of mister Steel. Michael adjusted his stiffening package before he got out of his car.

The bearded mister Steel was dressed in a bright blue-gray three-piece suit, flamboyant purple shoes, and necktie. This body-builder had filled out the office attire to its max. Not an inch below six feet six and a haircut that held the middle between punk-rock, hipster, and biker. With shaved-up sides and a stripe of long wavy hair combed over the top and tied into a man-bun. Steel's arms, neck, and upper torso were out of this world. At least if Mike compared them to his own.
Michael was no weakling, but he felt like Steel was twice the man he was. And the boy started to salivate at the sight of the heavily tattooed pecs. They were clearly visible through the light pink shirt under Steel's business suit waistcoat.

Mike usually didn't go for older men. Or women, for that matter. But he would make a damned exception for this guy. Steel pulled the boy right out of his comfort zone, though. Barking at the young Michael Cox: "Who the fuck are you?... I was expecting an older gentleman to show around the house... Stop wasting my time, boy!..." 

There it was again. That booming, barking, and commanding voice. Infuriated shivers ran up and down Michael's spine for a moment. The boy took a step back. But instantly regained his self-composure. Michael pulled out a business card and handed it to mister Steel. Slightly squinting his eyes, their gazes locked.
After a short pause, Mike said: "Hello, ... Uhmmm... sir... My name is Michael J Cox... We have an appointment to view this house..."
"Oh... Right... I'm Rick Steel..." replied the realtor curtly, "Can you even afford a house like this, boy?..." Steel snapped at Michael. It was clear the reverence Mike had for mister Steel wasn't mutual.

"Yes... if it's worth the list price, I can pay it in cash!..." answered the boy promptly. He added: "Is there something wrong with it?... Why is it so cheap?..."
"Never you mind that!..." barked Rick Steel, "Do you want it or not?... I need to get rid of it quick, and no one seems to want to take it off my hands..." As soon as the realtor had said it, Steel's demeanor changed. As if Steel had said a little too much already. It was clear to Michael that he could have a chance if he played hardball. And Mike was good at that.
"As you can see, boy, it needs a little work on the outside... But it comes as is... So don't go making any demand or haggle the price down..." snapped the realtor.

"Okay... First of... I am not your boy... My friends call me Mike, but you, sir... can call me, mister Cox... Shall we get started then?... I'll take a quick tour around the outside and meet up with you in the hallway..." said Michael in a much more butch and demanding voice than he usually dared to use in front of strangers. Michael had never enjoyed being called 'boy' in this way. It made his skin crawl. Having associated the term boy with the whole queer master and slave scene. And that was just not his thing.

Indeed the yard needed a total make-over. It was heavily overgrown. The grass was two feet tall in places. Indicating that the home had not been cared for. At least not the past summer, or maybe even longer. The paint was peeling, and at least some window panes needed replacing. That didn't worry Mikey much. He liked yard work. And Mikey saw nothing on the outside that a few buckets of paint couldn't fix. The house had a walk-out basement and a two-and-half-bay garage. Impressed so far, Michael met back up with Rick Steel in the main hallway.

Steel had put his game face back on and steamrolled Michael through the downstairs. Always keeping just a little too close for comfort to Mike. With a hand on the boy's shoulder or in the small of his back, he pushed and shoved Michael from room to room. Steel was a hands-on kind of guy. With all the warnings he had heard about Steel, this freaked Mikey out a little. The realtor pointed out the house's amenities. Leaving just too little time for Mike to properly take it all in. 

The inside of the house was dusty and unkempt. Again nothing that a good clean-up and some paint couldn't fix, thought Michael. The decor and the furnishings left by the previous tenants were right up Mikey's alley, though. The black leather furniture in light oak with chrome accents made Michael feel right at home. The frat house at college had the same manly look and feel. And the furnishings came with the house, at no extra cost. Making this house a dream that Mikey had already fallen for. If only Steel would stop pushing him around.

Once upstairs, Michael had enough of this behavior. He stepped away from mister Steel and angrily turned back to him. "I have a part-time job lined up a Grunnings... So I do need a home asap!... But if you don't want to give me the time to look around-..." started Michael to say, but Rick Steel cut across him.
"Don't you dare take that tone of voice with me, boy!..." barked the tall, buff body-builder at Michael. Waggling his finger aggressively at him.
"As I told you before... sir..." sneered Mike back, "I AM NOT YOUR BOY!..."

And then it happened. Rick Steel took a quick step forward. He aggressively twisted Michael around. Pinning the boy's arm high between his shoulder blades. Using his considerable body weight to pin Michael over the railing of the upstairs landing. He grabbed the back of Mikey's black slacks with the other. Ripping the pants open at the ass seam. Since Michael was wearing a jockstrap underneath, Steel instantly gained access to the plumb boy bubble butt. 

And next, Mikey heard Rick unzip. Feeling the heat emanating from the hefty cock against his clenched boy-cunt. The man nastily shouted at Michael: "This is what you came for... Isn't it?... BOY!... I am going to make you my bitch... You filthy college slut... I know you and your skinhead hooligan mates have been trying to dig up dirt on my friends and me... Well, I am going to turn you gay!... And do a little digging of myself... I am going to fuck'n rape you!... That will teach you, bastards... You'll never run off one of my gay tenants again... Or burn down one of my houses... Your ass is mine now... And you are going to regret messing with me!... Take this!... You filthy little manslut..." 

Michael Cox got properly and ruthlessly abused. Steel brutally penetrated poor little Mikey. Making the boy scream and curse in agony. There was no way out. Steel had expertly pinned Michael down. Mike had been manhandled before, but nothing like this. No amount of begging or pleading for mercy would stop mister Steel now. The body-builder was going to sodomize Mikey's ass. And Michael was just going to have to deal with it.

"That's what you want... Isn't it?... I'll rape your fuck'n holes... And then call my friends over to turn you all the way... I'll teach you not to mess with real men... You little fuck toy!... Take it!... Shout all you like, bitch... No one will come to your rescue... This is what you came here for, isn't it?... You, dirty closet gay!... I'll wreck this boy-cunt!..." shouted Steel at the top of his lungs.

His rock-hard manhood was extremely painfully pumping Mike's clenched pucker. Slowly pulling back, then gruffly ramming it back in again. Rick Steel stuffed his thick hairy monster unceremoniously to the balls into the tormented boy-cunt. Grasping Michael Cox by the throat. Squeezing all the air out of the boy.
With only Rick's precum for lube, the boy took it well. A little too well to Steel's liking. As if the boy really was gay and used to get his ass slammed like the bodybuilding realtor was doing. And indeed, Mikey just hung on for dear life to the banisters as the rude, rough, nasty older man started wrecking his boy-cunt to oblivion. The only thing the boy could have done without was the hostile unnecessary dominating tone the idiot was barking down at him. 

What started out as a full-blown assault had petered out to a relatively rough and heavy bit of action. Nothing different from the last few days, thought Mikey in horror to himself. He resigned to the fact that he had to play the victim again. There was a difference, though. Realizing that this man brutalizing him had a completely wrong impression of Michael. He had nothing to do with those skinheads terrorizing this town. This made Mikey angry as piss.
"What the fuck?..." stammered Rick after realizing the boy was actually sort of enjoying himself. "Why is your dick hard?... Huh?... Are you... Are you?... You're gay, aren't you?... You little dirty Ginger fuck slut... You misled me!..."

That took the straw for Michael. Everything that had happened between them he could deal with. But getting called, Ginger took the straw. He wasn't Ginger! Sure, his brown hair may glow slightly red in the wrong light. But Michael Cox was NO GINGER. He had his fist around Brandon's brass knuckle knife in his pocket. This would be a situation where the use would surely be okay. Michael had convinced himself. Pulled his fist free and swiftly straightened back up. The back of his head slammed into Steel's chin and nose. Making the aggressive realtor pull out with a plop. Swinging around, he gave Steel a gut punch with the brass knuckles. Making Rick jack-knife. And with a jerk of his knee, Michael kicked the estate agent harshly in the face.

"Asshole!... No one calls me a Ginger!... Not even a dominating rapist like yourself, Steel... You got me figured all wrong!... I moved across the country to get myself a job here, a house, and some new friends... I've got nothing to do with the people that seem to hate you and your homosexual little buddies..." shouted Michael Cox down at the beleaguered Rick Steel. Steel was bleeding a little from his nose. "Now then... I'll take the house as is... When can I sign?..."
Stunned, Rick took Michael's outstretched arm to help him up. Asking the boy: "Huh?... Do... Do you still want to... Wait? ... You still want to buy this place?... After all this, boy?..."

Michael let go of Rick's hand, making him tumble back to the floor. "JESUS!... What the fuck did you just call me?... You can call me sir or mister Cox... And don't you forget it!... Just for that failure, we will take twenty-five hundred off the list price!... sir... Two can play this game!... And you owe me a new pair of dress pants before noon... I got a job interview at one!... I'll take a 32/28... Got that?..." snarled Michael as he started to walk back downstairs. Adding as an afterthought: "When can I sign?..."

"Uhmmm... Well, I can have the paperwork ready around two on Friday... sir," replied the adequately flabbergasted Roderick Steel. For once in his life, he had been out dominated by a guy half his age.
"Not good enough... Rapist Steel!... Where the fuck do you expect me to sleep this week?..." called Mikey back up to his assailant.

As Michael proceeded out the front door, he barely heard Rick Steel call back: "You can stay here, rent-free... Uhmmm... mister Cox... wait up..." Michael, however, had no intention of waiting for Steel. Clamping what was left of his ripped slacks over his ass, the boy made it -unseen- to his car. Where he swiftly pulled a tracksuit bottom over his torn pants. He sat in the driver's seat, his mind going a million miles an hour.

Roderick Steel had cleaned himself up and shuffled out of the home with some paperwork pinned to the clipboard he was holding. Grinning as if nothing terrible had happened in there.
A neighbor across the street from number 12 called over: "Hey, Rod... Everything alright?... I thought I heard a little piggy squealing!..." The neighbor laughed meanly.
In the rearview mirror, Michael saw a hunk of an unshaved buff body-builder, in his late thirties, wearing nothing but tight leather jeans, a wristband, bandana, and heavy biker boots, waving at mister Steel. He had been washing his Harley on his driveway.

Rick Steel just grinned, sort of embarrassedly at the butch guy from across the street, and answered: "Everything is fine, mister Simons... Only showed this young man the house... I guess you'll have some fresh blood in the neighborhood soon..." Rick grinned, grabbed his crotch, and turned back to Michael's closed driver-side window. Politely knocking on the window to grab Mike's attention away from the stunning sight in the rearview mirror. "That must be one of Steel's biker gangbangers..." thought Michael.

"What do you want now?... Uhmmm?... sir Steel, was it?... Why did the stud cross the street call you Rod?... I thought you introduced yourself as Rick!..." said Michael Cox fairly aggressively through the still-closed car door. Secretly pressing the locks on the car doors closed.
"Oh... That's Hardy Simons... He's the owner of a gym downtown... And he is one of my men... If you must know... But he is way out of your-..."

Mike cut across Steel again. Saying: "Dude, stop talking smack!... Didn't I just prove there is more to Master Cox than meets the eye?... Steely... Now, was there something more you wanted of me?..." growled Michael. Not once meeting Roderick's gaze.

"I have got your rental agreement here... Master Cox... Ha... That's silly... you could be my son... Anyway... Michael Cox, here is the paperwork... and the keys to the house... I'll pick the signed contract up at noon when I bring your new pants... There is some equipment in the garage if you want to get started on the lawn... Enjoy your stay... and... Uhmmm... Sorry about earlier, sir... See you Friday then?..." he asked very timidly. 

As Michael inched down the car window to take the keys and paperwork, he answered: "I guess so... as long as you remember to take the twenty-five hundred off the list price, then you've got a deal... and we'll forget what happened upstairs..."
"Yeah... Sorry about that... We had some haters running these streets... Intend on giving us gay's a bad name..." said Steel without thinking.

"Excuse me?... Rapist Steel!... Who the fuck are you calling gay?... I have half a mind to run you over now, you stupid asshole!... Did I tell you I am gay?... First, you call me Ginger, and now you call me gay?... Odd salesman tactics, buster!... Quit while you're ahead... Or the deal is off!..."
"Sorry... Man... Sorry... Your right... 32/28 pants?... I'll bring some by at noon, sir..." stammered a completely emasculated mister Steel.
"Ha..." thought Michael to himself, "Domination... Check... Been there... Done that!... Wuss!..." 

Sore and a little overwhelmed by everything that had happened to him, poor little Michael J Cox sat down at the breakfast bar in the kitchen to read the rental contract he was about to sign. He would rent the place for four days until Friday for a grand total of four dollars. Mikey grinned as he read the fine print and signed the agreement. After a second whirlwind tour of the house, Michael could see himself living here for quite a while. It was as if he had lived here all his life. Now he could take his time inspecting the place before deciding to buy it or not. And that was just what he needed. A little time to think things over.

While he sat in the kitchen, someone knocked on the kitchen door. When Michael had finally found the right key, he opened the door to two gorgeous tall Nigerian guys. They had heard the commotion and saw Roderick Steel handing Michael some paperwork. Asking the boy, "Dude... We heard the commotion but didn't want to interrupt anything private... Are you okay?..." one of them asked.

"Uhmmm... Yes, thanks... But not to be rude or anything... Who are you?... And why are you knocking on my backdoor..." Michael heard himself say: "Knocking on my back door," and began giggling. So did the handsome black twins. Their horny chuckles told Mike they would love to knock on Michael's back door too.

"Right... Hi... I am Vinney, and this is Con-man Kumsukba..." grinned Vinney dirty. "We live next door from you... Is it true you're living here?... Are you sure you're okay... It sounded like Steel was-..."
But Michael forstalled Vinney Kumsukba. Saying: "Oh hi,... Yeah... Signing the paperwork this Friday... Renting it until then... And as for Steel... Yeah... We had a bit of a run-in... hahaha... Anyway... I've had worse... Are you guys twins?... How do I tell you apart?..." The last question was a bit stupid. In their mid-twenties, the sexy smooth black dudes were clearly identical twins. Vincent's too-long cock had poked its head out of the too-short cut-off jeans. 

His brother had noticed this and said: "Well, that rude bastard is Vincent... I am Conner... Nice to meet you... Michael..."
"Well, show him, Conner... The man needs to know how to tell us apart!... It's best to get it out right now..."
Conner considered his rude brother for a moment. But when he looked at the lustfully glinting eyes of Michael, he pulled his Nigerian fuck-toy out of his joggers. Vincent followed suit. But Mikey's jaw dropped to the floor. There stood the 26-year-old Conner Kumsukba, using two hands to wave his fat thirteen-inch black mamba like a helicopter. The fact that this was the longest man-tool Mikey had ever seen wasn't worrying the boy. That the monster was girthier than the average man's lower arm did.

Mike stepped forward and put his hands on the twin's exposed baseball bats. Weighing them and lifting them to look at them better. The brothers just let him enjoy them. Vincent put a kiss on the boy's left cheek. And Conner followed. Planting a smooch on his right cheek. They welcomed Michael warmly to the neighborhood. Well, hotly would be a better word.

"Geez... Nice to meet your meats guys... Fuck, you're so big, Conner... I doubt I can even take something as long as Vincent's... But I am sorry... I could not deal with yours, Conner..." laughed Michael as he grasped Vincent's beautiful eleven-inch long and slender black trouser snake with a firm grip. It made Vincent Kumsukba laugh, and he gave the five-foot-seven Mikey a bro-hug that didn't seem to want to end.
"How the hell do you... pfff... now then, that thing is scary!..." gasped Michael in awe of Conner's thirteen-inch battering ram.

"Yeah... Not everyone can..." said Conner, with a hint of disappointment in his voice.
"Well, I sure can't... but I am convinced a lot of women would like to get skewered by it..." replied an overexcited Mikey by the sight of the big cocks pointing at him.
"Ha... I bet... but I prefer men... Up for giving it a try, bro?... I am getting a little tired of having to bug Vinney every day..." asked Conner.
"Shit, you're brothers?... and you do it... Oh well... To each their own... But stop looking at me, Conner... There is not enough lube in the world..." gasped Mikey at the sight of the stiffening thirteen inches horse cock. 

"Well, that's not an outright no then!..." laughed Vincent excitedly.
"Want to go upstairs and try it on for size, bro?..." Conner asked hopefully.
"Ha... I would... but I don't even have a clean mattress to sleep on yet... At some point, I'd love to give Vincent a go, perhaps..." said Michael looking naughtily at the swinging pendulum. 
"Who needs a bed... I can bend you over right here and nail that bubble butt of yours... While Conner can give you a facial..." smirked Vincent forcefully.

"Wait a fucking moment, guys... I am expecting that Rick Steel back before noon with new pants... He tore mine open with force... Doing me without permission... Don't follow in his footsteps, guys..." said Michael with some apprehension.
"Shit... So it was true?... You're sure you're okay, Michael?... We used to ride with his gang... But no more... Careful of that guy... He's more slippery than Conner's dick in a bucket of electric eels..." said Vincent, genuinely worried.

"Ah... Good to know... But let me get settled in first... I'd love to fool around with you guys sometime... Maybe you can show me around..." said Michael.
The doorbell rang. It was Rick Steel with Michael's new pants. Conner and Vincent followed Michael to the door, standing a little behind Mikey like bodyguards. Apparently, the Kumsukba brothers did not like Steel much. And that feeling was obviously mutual.
"Hi Michael, I've brought your pants... Oh, it's you..." Steel snarled to Mike's neighbors. Michael stuck out a hand and took the pants from Roderick Steel. Not one, but three pairs. A pair of thick leather pants, black office slacks, and black denim jeans. In return, Michael handed Steel the signed rental agreement and four dollars.

Asking Steel Bruskly: "Friday, at two?... Anything else?..." Michael had to snap his fingers in Rick Steel's face to grab the attention away from the brothers behind him. "Thanks for the pants, Steel... Was there anything else?..." said Michael tersely.
"No... sir... Uhmmm... I just wanted to say sorry... I've heard that you helped capture the ringleader of the BIH gang... Thanks... I owe you an apology, I guess... Sor-..." started Steel to say, but Michael had already slammed the door in his face.
God, did he hate that dude: "... 'I owe you an apology,... I GUESS'... Well, he guessed right..." thought Michael angrily.

Michael and the welcoming committee went back into the living room. Where Conner asked: "Did I catch that correctly?... Did you say you needed a new mattress, Michael?... We bought a new one that didn't fit, and it was way too hard... What size bed do you need it for anyway..."
"Kingsize, for the main bedroom... I think... Let's go up and check... I can pay you for it if you want..." answered Michael. Thinking he would at least have somewhere clean to sleep tonight.

The muscular hunks helped Michael move into the house. Together they heaved the heavy kingsize mattress from their garage into Mike's master bedroom. The men even helped to unload Michael's pimped-out hot hatchback. The boxes of stuff got put in the hallway, and the clothes, towels, and bed linens went straight upstairs. 

The brothers were a little impressed with their new neighbor for dominating Roderick Steel. Even more so when Mike told them he had forced Steel to take twenty-five hundred off the house's list price. And that Steel had promptly bought and delivered a new pair of pants actually stunned them more. Telling Michael that master Steel wasn't the apologetic type. 

They gave an account of what's Steels biker gang was all about. They also told the horrified Michael Cox to watch out for the neighbor living across the street from him. Hardy Simons wasn't much better than Steel, it seemed. The gym owner's claim to fame was his desire to choke young men before brutalizing their unconscious asses. But both like to have sex with bound men. Tying them up and gagging them when they did not want to be used as the playthings of the leather masters. 

Vincent had sat himself down in the swiveling leather lounge chair behind Michael. Watching the boy try on the new pants Rick Steel had bought for him. The fact that Michael wore jockstraps gave Vincent thrills. As Michael bent over, he could look the 23-year-old straight into the winking butt hole. Vinny sat back in the chair, playing shamelessly with his fully erect cock. Grunting dirty: "Shit, that's a nice fuckable ass, Mikey... Man... I'd love to stuff my big black dick in there sometime!..."

Michael grinned, looked behind him, and saw the hot black poker wiggle freely. Vincent's cock got framed rather hotly by the light blue denim shorts he wore. Rather than stepping into the next pair of pants, Michael took a few steps back. Gliding Vincent's cock hornily through his butt crack. Guiding the spit-lubed eleven-inch schlong into his hole. Working it slowly but surely inside. "Fuck... What are you doing, Mikey?... I like this... but I did not mean for you to sit on it right now... Ha... Oh... Shit bro... Ride that thing, cowboy!... Take it down... Fuck yeah!... Do me, Mikey..." Bobbing up and down over it while Michael's tongue began to service Con-man's battering ram. 

Michael's jaw could hardly open wide enough to take the black glans inside. Even though that was the narrowest part of the giant monster cock. Once Michael had figured out how to handle the entire thirteen-inch thing using his lips and tongue, Conner became much more active. Even ordering Mikey to suck his enormous black nuts. "Oh hell yeah... That's it... Wet the entire shaft... Spit on it!... Suck my balls too, Mikey... Fuck... This is nice... I do like a neighbor who knows what he's doing... Welcome to the fucking neighborhood Michael!..." groaned Conner Kumsukba hornily. Bending over Michael's back to stretch his cheeks wide to allow Vincent to push all eleven inches up.

Conner got a bit too excited watching Vincent penetrate Mike all the way. Con-man decided it was his turn to fuck Mikey. He grabbed Michael under his knees, lifted him off Vinney, and laid Mike on his back on the plastic-covered mattress. Placed his huge glistening glans between Mikey's butt cheeks. Michael stuck out a warning arm. Pressing his hand to Conner's glistening six-pec. But that was hardly necessary. Conner knew what he was doing. Ever so carefully pushing forward. 

Letting the glans disappear with relative ease. Then a quarter of an inch at a time, Conner slid in deeper. Making tiny gyrating movements with his hips. As humongous as the schlong was, it was actually quite pleasurable, thought Michael. Applying some lube as Michael's asshole eventually started to protest. But by that time, Mike's sphincter was taking half of the thirteen pounding inches. More was simply impossible. But even Vinney was impressed.

Conner was not perturbed by this. It was a hand full of inches more than most would take from him. Enough for Con-man to get off. He showered Michael with thick white sperm. Letting the 7 gun salute blast over Mikey's stomach while Vincent unloaded his magazine on Michael's face.
"Fuck... Yeah... At least the mattress wore protection..." laughed Michael to the brothers. "We definitely need to do that again... sometimes... But I need a shower now and run... I have a job interview at one..." Sighed Michael as he had a little issue getting up. His ass hurt so nicely.

"Okay, kiddo... We'll let you get cleaned up and dressed... This was great fun... Stay safe... If you need any more help, do ask... We'd love to have you come over to our place as well... It's always nice to meet new gay friends..." said Vincent warmly.
"Yeah... Especially one as cute as you, Mikey... Don't be a stranger, bro... We got to do this again when you have more time... I'd love to see your ass take all of me..." added Conner Kumsukba hotly. Kissing Michael full on the lips.

"Well, maybe... But don't hold your breath, Con-man... Vinny is more my size... Sorry... Anyway... thanks for the help, guys... And the good times... I need to run... Or I'll be late for my job interview at Grunnings..." said Michael, a little flustered. The Nigerian twins let themselves out as Michael jumped into the shower.
In a flash, he was out the door. Dressed to the nines in the new office pants, an ironed shirt, a short, sporty office jacket, and his polished black Oxford dress shoes. 

< Continued in chapter 4 >

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And if your hands are not too dirty from all the spunk! ;-)

(C) StrykerJ - 09-2022