Under a New Owner

“You got any Trojan Magnum XLs under the bar there?” Daw Boonchon, the late-night Bayside Bar’s small Thai pole dancer, asked.

“Got a big date?” the bar’s nighttime manager, Cory Anderson, asked and then chuckled at the pun he’d managed. It was 8:30, the tamer version of the restaurant bar on Beaufort, South Carolina’s, line of commercial establishments between the town’s main street and the Beaufort River front having closed down and the setup for the 9:30 opening of the late-night gay bar setup in full swing. The cute little dancer and rent-boy was already in just his red silk jockstrap, covered with sequins, costume.

“So he claims,” Daw said.

“You got your pole set up to make the 9:30 opening?” Cory asked, as he pulled a couple of gold-foil Trojan Magnum XL packs from under the bar and handed them over. “You’ll be back and ready at 9:30, right? I don’t see your john anywhere. You’re starting early, aren’t you?”

“Sure, I’ll be back. He’s waiting for me. And the pole’s in,” Daw said, gesturing off to the water side of the club space, where there was a small platform in one far corner for the musicians and another one in the other corner for the dance pole. In the dayside restaurant/bar configuration, there was another table on that platform, without the pole. The timing usually was a good question, as before he’d always had to go off location for his hookups, so there wasn’t really enough time to slip one in during the interval between restaurant bar and gay club. This one was just upstairs, on the second of three floors currently close to a total renovation under new ownership. He didn’t want to tell Cory that, because Cory hadn’t been upstairs yet and wasn’t going to be the first one auditioned by the new owner.

“You met the new owner yet?” Cory asked, not having done so himself, and a little antsy about whether this double use of the building would continue and whether he’d still have a job when the renovations were done.

“Yes, just now.”

“What do you think of him?”

“Big, black. Beyond that I don’t know yet. I’ll let you know when I do,” Daw said with as much evasion as he could manage, walking off with the Trojan packets in his hand. He actually was elated that he was the first one of the club’s two rent-boys to be auditioned by the new owner.

Cory busied himself behind the bar and didn’t see that Daw took the stairs behind the bar to the second floor rather than the door across from the bar to the side of the building, where a dining deck overlooking the Beaufort marina had been added replacing the restaurant’s original parking lot. Now those coming to the Bayside Bar either by day or night had to find their own parking.

The john was in the bathroom when Daw reached the room, one of two at the thirty-five-foot width front façade of the building. The rooms had recently been finished. Each was thirteen feet wide and eighteen feet deep, quite large enough for their purpose. There were two new bathrooms, one for each room, front to back, between the two rooms. Daw dropped the Trojan packets on the nightstand beside the king bed jutting out in the middle of the room; stripped, folding his clothes and putting them on the straight chair near the window looking out over Bay Street; and stood in front of the tall window overlooking Bay Street. A bottle of lube had already been sitting on the nightstand. There were other condom packets there, but the man had snorted and said he needed Trojan Magnums. The light wasn’t on in the room, the room being dimly illuminated by the street lights on Bay Street. There were no curtains on the window.

Daw looked down in the street, where there were few pedestrians this time of night. He didn’t really care if passersby saw his slender little berry-brown body, although he would have withdrawn if he thought someone was looking up at him. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead and the palms of his hands into the cool glass. He was a bit nervous—not just at the suggestion of the size of the man who soon would be fucking him but also because he knew this was an audition and that he very much wanted to pass. There weren’t many opportunities in Beaufort for a rent-boy like him, even though his Thai origin made him an exotic choice in the South Carolina low country, and he wanted this position, which would be an enhancement on what the club had been before.

The bathroom door opened, the light there was switched off, and Jayden Leggett, tall, big, black, and in full, magnificent erection, entered the room, drying himself off with a towel.

“They did a good job on the bathroom,” he said, as he split open a gold-foil Trojan Magnum XL, rolled in on his erection, and lubed up his sheathed cock.

“Yes,” Daw answered, not giving a shit whether the bathroom was done well or not, but wanting to be in the conversation. He didn’t turn though, waiting for the man, much taller and bigger than he was and chocolate brown to his berry brown, to come up behind him and put his hands on him. He didn’t want to do more than glance at the naked black man, being frightened as well as exhilarated by the black mamba-sized snake of a dick the man had on him.

Leggett did come up behind Daw but it was to kneel behind him, to reach around to encase the young Thai’s pert little cock in his hand and cause it to engorge as it was stroked, and to bury his face between the young man’s butt cheeks. Daw moaned for the man. He’d do so for a john anyway, but this guy was good. He also was the new boss. The moans were a genuine response. He’d been a bit worried by the anticipation of a guy needing a Trojan Magnum, but he was being worked real well. He was opening and he wanted the cock.

The black bull stood, his hand still on Daw’s cock, stroking, and, covering the young, smaller figure closely from behind, and let his beefy black hand roam over the young Thai’s torso and thighs, making Daw, palms and forehead still pressed to the window glass, whimper and beg for the cock. Leggett’s lips went to the hollow of Daw’s throat and the Thai rent-boy inclined his head to offer the throat to the man’s lips and teeth. The black bull was enormous in what he had running, initially, up the small of Daw’s back, but then, crouching down, moved his Trojan-sheathed erection to between Daw’s thighs, rubbing on his perineum, dry fucking him. Moaning low, Daw rocked on the hard shaft.

“Fuck me. Put it in. Screw me,” Daw whimpered. He knew that was what the men wanted to hear. And this was the man who controlled his job.

Leggett laughed, grasped the small Thai by the waist, and raised his body. Bringing it back down, he positioned his cock head and slowly lowered Daw’s channel on the shaft, taking the time needed to penetrate and move up into the small-body channel with the massive shaft. Daw opened his mouth in a not-so-silent scream of full-stretch violation.

It took some time for the mammoth cock to be fully saddled. Daw writhed on the assaulting shaft, but he maintained the connection to the window with the palms of his hands. He turned his head for the scream-suppressing kiss while Leggett bottomed. When they came out of the kiss, he arched his head back into the big black’s chest.

“Yes, yes, fuck me good, boss.” Daw groaned, as, lifting the much smaller man’s feet off the floor, Leggett raised and lowered his channel on the cock. Daw panted hard, his eyes rolling up in his head, every fiber of him concentrating on the impossibly thick and long shaft working him deep. The shaft penetrated deeper, faster as the channel yielded to it. Daw’s whimpers and groans subsided into moans and sighs.

After a few minutes of this, Leggett pulled them both away from the window, carried Daw over to the bed without losing purchase of his cock in Daw’s hole, laid the young Thai on his back on the bed, grasped his ankles and wishboned his legs, slid inside, and continued fucking him in the missionary position. Daw was able to take him fully now and rolled with the thrusts. They finished with Daw lapped, facing Leggett, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, and Daw arched back, palms on the floor as Leggett pulled him on and off the cock.

Later, when Daw came out of the bathroom following a shower, Leggett was stretched out on the bed, magnificently naked, smoking a cigarette and playing with his mamba-sized cock.

“That was good. You’ll do fine,” Leggett said.

“Thanks, glad to hear it,” Daw said. And he genuinely was thankful and relieved. It had been quite a workout. He could barely walk, and now he had to go downstairs and dance the pole for a couple of hours—and then probably come back up here—he hoped back up here—with a john and give the guy a good time. But he was glad he was still going to have a job dancing the pole and having a place to hook up with johns.

“And if you’re satisfied with this room, this can be yours for business,” Leggett said. “The house gets 25 percent of your take. I have privileges as the mood hits me. You’ve shown you can manage me. If that’s good with you—”

“That’s fine, Mr. Leggett. That’s great. Thanks.” And it was fine. It was an improvement over his deal with the last owner of this place, who made him take the johns off site and demanded more of the take. This was just great.

Daw dressed, if pulling on his silk jockstrap could be called “dressed,” and checked out his face and hair in the mirror above the bureau, as it was just about time for him to climb the pole downstairs, and left the room. After he did, Jayden Leggett finished smoking his cigarette, contemplated his pleasure of how the small Thai had performed for him, the young guy managing to open up to take the Magnum-sized cock. With a groan of his own from what he’d had to do to test the small Thai, Leggett rolled off the bed and then went upstairs to the third floor, which had been made into his own apartment.

Next would be that current bar manager, Cory Anderson. Jayden would put that guy through his paces, if that’s what Anderson was willing to do to keep his job. If he could take Leggett’s size and give him good sport, he could have the other front room on the second floor to conduct business. Jayden thought two rent-boys as a start for the club should be enough. If he added, there were a few rooms in the basement that could be set up.

If Anderson wanted to keep the job, he’d have to perform—and he’d have to give Leggett privileges. He’d have to be able to withstand the amount of privilege Jayden would want. Oh, and privileges to someone else too. Jayden couldn’t forget how important that was. He’d have to tell the cute little Thai piece, Daw Boonchon, about that requirement, but he didn’t think that would be a problem. Nice little bod, that Thai sweetie. Really arousing that such a small ass could managed such a thick cock, but he swallowed it right up. It remained to be seen if the other rent-boy could do as well—a cute blond. Jayden could wait to let the frosted blond hair of that one down and to get a good grip on it and jerk him around a bit—show him who’s the new boss.

* * * *

Standing behind the bar at the Bayside Bar at 8:30 p.m., preparing for the transition from a traditional seaside restaurant and bar to a late-night gay club, current club manager, bartender, and take-out rent-boy, Cory Anderson, pulled the chest-hugging red net muscle shirt over his head and onto his torso. At midnight that would come off and he’d serve drinks bare-chested, showing off his sculpted chest, one of his best features other than his movie-star handsome face under blond-highlighted curls. By the closing hour, with luck, he’d have a john for the next hour to take to the Scott Street Motel, a barely two-star motel a couple of blocks away that had enough amenities for his purposes and was good with providing him hourly services. There were rumors the new owner of this place was building in rooms here for that purpose. That would be an improvement that would make Cory want to stick around in this job.

Daw, the Thai pole dancer and the club’s other rent-boy, had said he’d had his audition with the new owner and was being provided a room here in the building to take his johns to. Cory hadn’t had his audition yet. When he asked Daw how his testing went, how good the new owner was with the cock, Daw initially just rolled his eyes and smiled. The smile told Cory not to fear the audition himself—much. He hoped he’d get a room assigned here as well. But more, he hoped he could keep his job here. He was a little ticked that Daw had been auditioned first. Cory was the club manager here, and he hadn’t even met the new owner yet.

He had to admit that the improvements to the place had brought in more guys at night. It was a good move to have added the outdoor dining deck to move most of the restaurant tables out there. The club guys didn’t come here to sit at restaurant tables. The bar, staircase, and entry were in the middle of the eighty-foot-deep, thirty-five-foot wide three-story building on a partially raised basement—what they called an English basement—with the entry at the side of a long range of commercial establishments, where the new deck overlooked the Beaufort marina.

The water side of the first floor was where there was a dance floor, and two platforms, one for the small live band and the other for the pole, where the flexible little Thai guy, Daw Boonchon, danced in a sparkly jockstrap and drummed up rent-boy business for himself. During the daytime restaurant version of the Bayside Bar, tables were set here. They were cleared out and the pole set up each evening in the 8:00-to-9:30 transition period. The biggest improvement Cory could see was to the section of the first floor facing Bay Street. In this thirty-five-by-thirty-foot section, which once was all dining tables, four pool tables had been set up. These had proved to be a crowd pleaser for both the early restaurant crowd and the later guy clubbers. They’d brought business in.

More business had its downside, though. Cory was afraid that increased business would heighten the club’s visibility and would lead to greater scrutiny by the authorities. His own rent-boy angle was more endangered by this than the club was, but the club had its threat as well. A lot of the Marines from the nearby Parris Island Marine training base came here to let their true, gay randy nature shine through. Cory had heard that there was a new sheriff in town who might want to flex his peacekeeping muscles. The club’s success might be leading to its downfall. He wondered if the new owner was on top of that.

And speaking of “on top,” when pressed, Daw had said that the new owner was quite the cocksman, was built like a bull, and demanded to have privileges. Cory was a little antsy on how that would work out with him. Daw wouldn’t say more when Cory pressed him about the Thai’s audition beyond saying he was gloriously sore and would be walking bowlegged for days afterward.

Cory was equally impressed with the updating that had been done to the kitchen in the basement, reached by the ornate wrought-iron open-railed staircase backing the bar that rose up the three floors from the basement. There was a warren of other storage and unfinished rooms down there, but now the kitchen was fully able to support the restaurant and the additional party space that was rumored to be on the floor above. Cory had yet to learn what had been done to the two floors above—beyond Daw having told him he’d been assigned a room and a bath at the Bay Street side of the second floor—but by the quiet that had descended on the building, he ascertained that the renovations had come to an end. Maybe they were in to the painting phase.

His time waiting to meet the new owner and finding what lay in the rooms above his head was also about to come to an end.

“You got any Bud beer back there? And Daw says you keep a supply of Trojan Magnum XLs behind the bar.”

Cory looked up, surprised. It wasn’t even 9:00 p.m. yet. The club didn’t open for more than a half hour. They were still putting the transition together. Jack, his backup bartender—there was a backup because Cory sometimes had to go off with a john with no notice—was still hauling in beer from the basement, and Daw was struggling in getting his pole set up.

“Sorry, mister, the club ain’t open yet. Come back in forty-five and I’ll be happy to serve you then.” He took a closer look at the man—big, massive, black. A real bull of a guy. Probably one of the Marines from Parris Island. Good-looking, though. Bet he had a big dick, especially since he’d asked about Magnums. “Would be happy to give you anything you like when we’re open, including a reason to use the rubbers,” he added. What he’d really like was to find out how good a cocksman the black guy was. Cory had a fetish for big, black bulls. He also was a well-used rent-boy. He needed a big man who was a little rough in sex to heat him up to enjoy the fuck.

“Hi, I’m Jayden Leggett,” the big black said. “You must be Cory Anderson, my current club manager.”

Ah, the new owner. “Sorry, Mr. Leggett. No one pointed you out to me yet.” Meaning that Leggett hadn’t bothered to present himself to club management before now.

“So, do you got that beer and a couple of condoms under the bar?”

“Sure, right here, coming up.”

“Get yourself a beer too and come walk with me. I don’t think you’ve seen what I’ve had done to the building yet. You have a backup who can take over the bar and the setup for the club session?”

“Sure. Hey, Jake, take over the bar and opening. I’ll be gone a while.” Fortuitously, the assistant manager had appeared from the basement with a case of beer and saluted his acknowledgment that he was being left in charge.

“So, I should bring the Trojans too?” Cory asked, giving his new boss a level look, both of them knowing he was asking an entirely different question.

“I think you know I’m reviewing the staffing setup, Cory,” Leggett said. “I need to be sure of whoever I keep on. That means I need to vet those in what they do here. So, yes, if you are interested in keeping your job and your usual function here, bring the condoms for our little walk and whatever. That OK with you, or should I start looking for a new club manager and someone to go on his back for the patrons?”

“It’s fine, yes,” Cory said, and from what he could see of his new boss, yes, it most definitely was fine.

“And now is a good time?” Leggett asked, fishing for whether this guy was going to give him a hint of trouble.

“Perfect,” Cory said, coming out from behind the bar, having handed a cold Bud to Leggett and bringing one for himself as well as a handful of gold-foil Trojan Magnum XL packets.

Leggett reached over and fingered the red mesh athletic T, his fingertips going to the hard flesh below. “Nice,” he said. “We will start on the third floor,” he continued, “and you can see the apartment they outfitted for me and then come back and end on the second.” He moved over to the foot of the ornate staircase leading up into the upper reaches of the building.

Ending at the second floor, of course, Cory thought. Hadn’t Daw told him about two rooms built out on the second floor facing Bay Street, each with a bath, and the two meant for the club rent-boys to turn tricks on the premises? Didn’t Daw say one was already assigned to him, the other awaiting assignment to another rent-boy. At the moment Cory was that other rent-boy. If he wanted to keep that position, he’d have to satisfy this black dude.

He moved to the staircase and wasn’t all that surprised when the big black boss, Leggett, palmed his butt as they mounted the stairs. He rubbed the two Trojan Magnum XL packets together in his hand as he climbed. How long would it be before the new owner would be mounting him? Would he provide the heat Cory needed to really get into the fuck?

Not long before he knew. Not long at all.

Leggett’s apartment on the third floor was huge, even though it was ten feet shorter on the waterfront side, as that much had been devoted to a covered outdoor porch. That left over 2,400 square feet that was outfitted as a largely open, luxuriously appointed, in Arabian Nights style, living space. Only two thirteen-by-eighteen feet rooms on the Bay Street façade, each with a bath, were separate rooms. These configured with the two front bedrooms and baths on the floor immediately below them. The middle section of the apartment, where the entrance foyer, bar, and staircase were on the first floor, was master bedroom area, open to the 1,000 square-foot living and kitchen area on the waterfront end. The master bedroom area with a full bath and walk-in closet at the inner-wall end opposite where the staircase came up, was commanded by a huge, four-poster canopy bed, covered with colorful silk pillows. Cory was able to see that restraints were drawn up into the framework of the bed’s canopy, and his imagination went wild on what Leggett could—and might—do with him in this bed.

As if he could read Cory’s thoughts, Leggett came up behind him close and whispered in his ear, “This is saved for partying—mostly very private partying. Come, let’s go down to the second floor and I’ll show you which room can be for your exclusive use if you please me. For the next hour, you’ll be a rent-boy and I’ll be the john you need to impress.”

They only spent a brief time on the second floor, with Leggett showing off the forty-by-thirty-five-foot party room he’d had installed on the waterfront end of the second floor, before Jayden ushered Cory into the front bedroom on the left on the Bay Street end, locking the door behind them, pulling the young frosted blond to him, undoing Cory’s hair to let it fall to his shoulders, and taking the handsome rent-boy into a bear-hug embrace. Cory wasn’t particularly small—certainly not as small as Daw was—but he was dwarfed, overwhelmed, and totally controlled in the big, black bull’s embrace. From that moment until Cory was royally fucked he was open and vulnerable to whatever Leggett wanted to take from him.

And Jayden Leggett wanted it all.

Using every Trojan Magnum packet Cory had brought, Leggett had him in a standing fuck, right there inside the room, transitioning into a cock cruelly stretching a hole as they undressed each other and Cory climbed Leggett’s hips with his knees.

“Oh, shit. Oh, fuck! You’re huge man! Go slow will ya?”

Leggett was hugely endowed. He didn’t go slow. He wanted to know what this rent-boy would take. After making Cory kneel before him and suck him, and as Cory was objecting to his size and what little time he was being given to take it, Leggett had lifted him, put the young man’s knees on his hips, stuffed him, and with Cory writhing under him and crying out “Hot! Hot! Hot!” the black bull fucked him to an initial vigorous and quick completion. He let the young man sink to the floor afterward, but not stay there.

Pulling Cory up by his hair, Leggett said, “Want to see the new bathroom?” Cory mumbled something, a tour of the bathroom not being the first thing that came to mind. “Let’s shower,” Leggett said as he dragged the young man across the floor by his hair.

Leggett had him against the slick tiled wall of the shower, fucking Cory from behind, with the young man’s cheek held to the wall by the palm of one of Leggett’s massive hands and Leggett’s other hand palming the young blond’s belly, jutting the rent-boy’s hips back into the big black’s groin, as Leggett pounded his ass. Later Leggett had Cory on the floor by the bed, with Cory on all fours and Leggett crouched over him, mounted on his ass, and fucking him hard in a brutal doggie. Cory murmured “Sizzling hot.”

And when Leggett was tired, he refused to let Cory be tired as well, and the black bull lay on his back on the bed, with Cory mounted on and riding his cock in a rocking cowboy.

When Leggett left the room, saying that this space was Cory’s to use with his johns if he wanted to continue working at the club and leaving Cory stretched out on the bed, one leg and an arm dangling off the side, and the blond honey blowing bubbles and moaning softly, he left a slight smile on the rent-boy’s face. Cory didn’t have the energy to say anything about how well he’d been done; Leggett didn’t have to be told that he’d done the rent-boy good. When Cory was able, he reached down, extracted his cellphone from his shorts and rang Jake downstairs.

“Count me out for the rest of the night, Jake,” he murmured into the phone. “Handle the club as you can. I’m done in.” There were three split gold-foil Trojan Magnum XL packets on the floor by the bed and two spent condoms, both as thick with cum as sea slugs. He had no idea where the third was, but he knew it was his job to clean it all up.

Oh, how he was done in. The heat of it. The red-hot heat of the black bull’s masterful shaft.

* * * *

Transition time and Cory Anderson was behind the bar and Jayden Leggett was sitting on a stool in front of the bar. The two were discussing final changes at the Bayside Bar as a result of the new ownership and the renovations. Leggett’s forearm was resting on top of the counter, and Cory was touching it worshipfully with the fingers of his hand in an “any time/any place” signal. Leggett had plowed Cory regularly over the past week, and the owner of the bar now owned the rent-boy as well.

Business was picking up significantly. Leggett had called that a good thing. They were talking about bringing in a third or fourth rent-boy, and Leggett was saying that there was space in the basement to put in a couple of more rooms with beds and baths. “For what they want, they don’t need a room with a view,” he said. “We could be establishing a regular male brothel here.”

“It would be hard on the rent-boys,” Cory said. “A lot of the new business is from Marines out at Parris Island and flyboys up at the air station. They can be really big guys and fuck rough.”

“But you like it big and rough, don’t you?” Leggett asked, giving the smaller, perfectly formed blond a searching look.

“That’s something rent-boys develop,” Cory answered. “The more they do it, the more they need to be done hard and big to get enjoyment out of it. So, yes, I like it hard and rough. I need it that way now to get heated up. If you bring more guys in, though, they’d need to be seasoned.”

“And me?” Leggett whispered. “I’m hard and rough enough for you?”

“Yes, you,” Cory responded, wrapping the fingers of one of his hands around Leggett’s thick, black thumb, in a surrender signal of a submissive. Then he grimaced and said, “In many ways, yes, increased business is good,” Cory said, “but that brothel thing. Aren’t you worried that we’ll get too high a profile? And we probably shouldn’t be calling it a brothel. I’ve heard there’s a new sheriff in Beaufort. He may want to earn a reputation by going after us if our profile gets too high.”

“I doubt it . . . but speaking of . . .”

Their attention was arrested by a big, strapping white guy coming down the stairs from the second floor. That, in itself, was attention getting because the bar wasn’t open now and the body-builder muscular guy didn’t work here. What really caught the eye, though, was that he had the club’s small Thai pole dancer and rent-boy, Daw Boonchon, hanging over his shoulder, his arms and head dangling down the muscle guy’s back and his legs swinging free in front. He was moaning. All he wore was a silk jockstrap, which he was only wearing now because it was hooked on one of his ankles.

The man was dressed in jeans, a chambray Western-style shirt, and cowboy boots, but it looked like he’d dressed quickly and in the dark. He gave Cory and Leggett a smile and a nod as he carried Daw into the back dance floor room and laid the young Thai gently at the base of his pole. After that, he came back to the bar and perched at the bar a couple of stools down from Jayden Leggett. “Hi, bro,” he said, nodding to Leggett.

“Hi yourself, Brother Gordy. You been after my rent-boy there hard?”

“I sure was hard when I started on him, yes. He can take it, but a Magnum guy wears the little fucker out.”

“Excuse me. We aren’t really open yet,” Cory interjected.

“Oh, we’ll always be open to this guy, Cory,” Jayden Leggett said, flashing a smile. “You apparently haven’t met my brother, Gordon Leggett.”

“Oh, I didn’t know there would be two of you. But, hey, you aren’t pulling my leg, are you?”

“Because?” Jayden asked, in amusement, but when Cory was too embarrassed to say what he wanted to, Jayden let him off the hook. “Because I’m black and Gordon’s white, right?”

Cory mumbled an assent.

“Different mothers, same father who couldn’t keep it in his pants,” Gordon explained. “He treated us both right, though—acknowledged us both and raised us as brothers.”

“I told both you and Daw there would be another guy with privileges in our new arrangement,” Jayden said. “That would be Gordon. And Gordon’s the reason I’m not worried about us going high profile here.”

“We’ve got a bouncer already,” Cory said. “He’s got lots of mean friends, I don’t think it would be a good idea to fire him.”

“That’s not the point,” Jayden said. “The point is that Gordon here is that new sheriff in town you were talking about. We’ll keep him happy in the sex department and he’ll help keep us in business. He’s got money in the business too.” While Cory absorbed that, Jaden turned to his brother. “That little Thai piece wear your pecker out or would you like to do some partying? I feel like a party.”

“Daw is sweet, but he’s just an appetizer,” Gordon said. “Would love a party.”

Both brothers turned their eyes on Cory. After a pregnant pause, Jayden said, “Is Jake around here someplace where you could turn your duties over to him?”

“Turn my duties over to him?”

“I said we want to party. I think I told you I like to party in my apartment. You want to pull some Trojan Magnum XLs out from the back of the bar there and come upstairs with us?”

They partied in Jayden’s fancy four-poster bed with all those silk pillows and the restraints bundled up in the canopy frame. They used the restraints on Cory, though, spread-eagling him, looking up into the bed’s canopy, arms and legs extended and bound. As Gordon had stood by the bed, pulling off his jeans and briefs, Jayden looked up into the canopy, at the restraints, and said to Cory, “Will you? Us both, with—?”

And Cory had interjected, “Anything you want. You own me.”

Jayden was under him, on his back, his Magnum-sheathed jet-black cock holding steady up Cory’s channel, with Cory rocking on his cock, pulling ineffectually on his extended and bound wrists and ankles, and Gordon was hovering over the blond rent-boy, being the one doing the thrusting up Cory’s passage with his Magnum-sheathed thick, white cock. Cory, captured and spread-eagled, totally open and vulnerable, being doubled by two mammoth cocks, was doing a whole lot of writhing and something approaching screaming—but in a good way. The word “Hot” was reverberating through the cavernous space on the third floor of the Bayside Bar.

“Good thing I had them put in extra-thick insulation in the walls and floor up here,” Jayden said.

“Yep,” Gordon agreed. “Otherwise, we might be bringing the sheriff in the next town over into play here. This blondie here is a mouthy little cunt, isn’t he?”

“What do you say, Cory?” Jayden chimed out. “You heated up good now?”

“Yes, oh, shit yes,” Cory managed through a panting groan.

Hot, hot, hot. Sizzling hot.