Union Movement
by F.E. Cooper
21 Aug 2023 918 readers Score 9.6 (15 votes) PDF Mobi ePub Txt
Recent news concerning the entertainment industry made no mention of those working as what used to be called ‘horizontals.’ Off went the bells of inspiration, and this began to ring from my computer screen. Part of me resonated with memories of two past stories I set in a special cabin. On behalf of this posting, good friend James Rozo delved into my draft in his good natured way to advocate higher pitches and better tunings. So, for your entertainment, I present:
UNION MOVEMENT
Or, Love’s Labor Gains
by F.E. COOPER
“What are you doing with that old book?”
“Reading it, goofball. It’s history.”
“Listen to this:
The movement to unionize began in industries where employees were paid poorly, overworked sometimes in unsafe conditions, and often unrecognized for achievements. Government interventions between managements and workforces took form in mediators, essentially a new line of endeavor for which diplomacy and its compromises brought signers of pacts to the table.”
“So?”
“Think about us, how we’re stuck here doing everybody’s will for peanuts.”
“They feed us better than elephants. I’m eating pastrami on rye right now and drinking Kool-Aid. Want some?”
“I want justice, fair pay for fair play, the right to bare limbs, torso, and backside when I see fit…”
“…and when some guy’s cock doesn’t fit?”
“Then, too. Don’t you get it? If we unionized and had membership cards and rights, then we could bargain.”
“What I get is whatever the bosses send my way. I can swallow deep and take a tenner up my chute without crying the way you do. I provide and don’t whine about it. As for you – gotta say – there are people here who’d like to thrash you into behaving.”
“Wait just a darned minute, why? I’m really a sweet guy.”
“You’re the cutest thing here, too – omigod, I wanna screw you myself – but, and this is a big but – not that your butt is anything but a honey of a lure to any guy – but you’re a pain in the ass. Why, the way you carried on yesterday when Da had you…”
“Da! Omigod, I needed two towels. Without saying even ‘Hi’ or ‘It’s nice that I’m finally getting you’ or ‘I’m going to show you a good time,’ he just climbed on, made me to lift my arms straight up, jammed my ankles under my shoulders, grinned like a hungry tiger, shoved his monster up to my dainty hole, prised it open, drove himself in, didn’t even pause to take a breath the way Mr. Couper does, and fucked me like an old-fashion steam engine fully stoked (I learned about those from reading history, you know). That’s why I was yelling – in protest.”
“I know, everybody heard you – and we heard him yelling back at you, ‘Hurting, is it? Well, let’s get you fucked way past hurt – through it like a train through a station where there are no passengers!’ It was great entertainment the way you carried on.”
“Yeah, I heard you bitches applauding.”
“We were peeking, too. A great live porn show.”
“Yeah, well, there was no negotiation. I’m a professional. I’m due some respect. Did Da pay for overtime? I know he didn’t, but I kept track. He unloaded himself three times in those three hours.”
“Honey, you came four times yourself.”
“Don’t try to distract me. I want us to unionize, so we get paid time-and-a-half for overtime and hazardous duty pay for special, non-routine services like when Da was drawing my tongue down his throat – his suction’s so great he could have pulled it out by the root – and twisting my nipples to make me cum for the fourth time. Know what I mean?”
“I know that unions charge dues.”
“Of course, but with their collective bargaining, union members receive higher pay and get benefits.”
“So?”
“If we had a proper voice, there’d be, you know, set prices – like on a menu – for, say, vanilla sex such as a blow job but extra if the guy wants to fuck your throat – ’cause that’s not regular sucking. Get it? Or a standard price for taking dick doggy-style or tummy down but extra for being cuffed or on a leash. The way you’re tied up and how comfortable. Plenty extra for being manacled or put in a humbler. Hand spanking’s okay but there ought to be a separate charge for paddlings. And hard fastenings, like to the fuck stool. That dang whipping post…”
“Oh yeah, you really ‘dance’ when getting striped, ’specially on your stomach. The way your muscles contract and relax, you undulate and slither like a snake.”
“Do I really? That’s nice to hear. Only, they ought to pay way more for hanging me on that cross with the dildo anchoring my butt so I can only move to and fro when they pull my balls.”
“You have the best balls – bulgy and sensitive. Guys like Da can pinch ’em together, tug ’em way down, twist ’em till they’re ready to pop, bite ’em, and tie ’em up with rope for hand slaps and crop flogs.”
“Hurts something awful!”
“Yeah, but you get hard from any of it. Da-types don’t need to touch your dick or asshole for you to spring wood – just get hold of your nuts…”
“Okay-okay-okay, but I should get paid extra for those special deployments of talents. If you and the other boys would join with me, we could stick together and make a better living for ourselves. By the way, where were you yesterday and last night?”
“Packing.”
“For?”
“A better life.”
“Explain, oh mysterious one. I’ve never seen you smile like that.”
“It’s Mr. Couper.”
“My Mr. Couper?”
“Well…you’re right: he does like to catch his breath from time to time.”
“He was…?”
“…Fucking me off and on all afternoon. Real nice. And after supper, all evening, and then he stayed for the night – in me, just fucking. So nice. His cock feels perfect to me. Between fucks, he talked – about how you got on his nerves suggesting he do something or other fancy and pointing to your tips jar and spouting off about fair trade practices and commerce.”
“But I’m better looking, have a body men should vie to dominate, know every sex trick in the Western manuals, Near Eastern tomes, and Asian scrolls, can hula sitting on any cock…”
“Mr. Couper just wants to fuck – me. He’s taking me to a cabin in the woods where, he says, ‘There’s only Nature and our natures to deal with.’ Isn’t that sweet?”
“Sweet? You want sweet? Humpf! See me when he discards you back here morose on Monday.”
“Bitch. Let me remind you that you said you were sweet. Oh, never mind. Better put that history book away. I forgot to tell you that, downstairs when I was heading up here, Da was getting out of his car with a brazier and a branding iron. Guess he’s coming to spend time without your precious mediation. You suppose he paid the standard fee? Ta-ta.”
*
Love’s labor had gained for Mr. Couper’s protégé a sense of belonging, of being nurtured, treasured because he was desired. His was a lithe form shaped as though to display his rump. His playmates had poked fingers in it during ‘doctor play,’ so it had a place in his growing awareness of bodily development. Someone’s referral to the ‘seat of pleasure’ awoke the childish memory. A friend, Al, in the seventh grade said something during dress-out time for their Phys Ed class about his bottom being ‘like a girl’s’ then joked about wanting ‘to fuck it.’
At a sleep-over that weekend, the inevitable event had taken place easily – no pain, only surprise at the pleasure of being penetrated then taken into confidence that, if neither told, they could do it a lot more.
They did, the friend using the phrase ‘good boy’ from doggy obedience class – and it clung to their get-togethers. Mere mention of it was the cue for action and quick spill of boy jam.
Always good.
*
One rainy afternoon a while before he qualified for employment at the boy brothel, a stranger driving by had spotted the drenched boy as he walked, smilingly offered a ride, introduced himself as Mr. Couper, listened to his woe – no house key in his pocket and parents on the verge of a break-up – took him willingly home to dry off, encouraged a shower while his clothes dried, and idly happened to say, “I’ll bet you are a good son.”
“I’m a good boy,” was the response, accompanied by the teen’s tush turn toward him and seem on offer. The towel dropped.
Stymied for a silent second, Mr. Couper lit up nervously at, “Just use some spit.” At once, he reached out. His penis, unseen by the other, lengthened and broadened quite beyond the single perpetrator of past goodness, a young teen’s near-five inches.
Couper spat, slicked, spat again, slicked more, drooled with open mouth at teen hands opening the way into a future neither could imagine, propped head to anal button, began to edge, then wedge into fledgling territory – sliding steadily into the rear of the source of looping words, “OhMr.Couper OhMr.Couper Oh...”
Lifting the transfixed boy and, without a word, walking with him man-cock-skewered twenty feet to the bedroom, he lowered the both of them, and commenced to imprint his physicality on and in his guest by slow advances and retreats. The youngster made no protest about being coaxed internally to accept Couper’s pole – apart from initial sounds of inexperience.
Couper marveled at his transit’s smoothness. Without urgency of demand for conclusion, moist secretions facilitated minutes becoming an hour. Rolling them to their sides, he felt the boy’s front. Heartbeat steady. Respiration rate regular. Penis hard but not wet. Testicles relaxed when gathered.
Couper toyed with them while kissing what he could of neck and peach fuzz face. Steadily drawing and thrusting, he asked, “Are you all right with this?”
Nods told him yes.
Their position’s comfort did nothing to suggest a limit of time. Hunger in another hour or so curtailed the slow motions of manly pelvis scoring full depth into receptive teen butt.
*
As results from even the best temporary unions of men and boys, partings occur. Drifts of life separate. Coincidences happen. So do reunions, rekindlings. Such brought man and now pro-boy together again for coitus uninterruptus and deepening acquaintanceship.
* * *
After a grand time, now in Couper’s kitchen, as food was prepared, curiosity finally got the better of the man. “You know who I am but I’ve yet to ask your name. How shall I call you?”
“My name is Kyle.”
“Tell me something more, please. I want know you. The extent of what we did this afternoon was a new experience for me – you being more perfectly compliant than before, if that makes sense.”
Kyle’s shaky response contained a kernel of promise, “I have never been a boy as good as that. I mean, I never did anything like it with a man like you. Was I good?”
“Yes. Did it hurt, my being inside you so long?”
“Hurt me? No, I was, like, on a trip riding…”
“Being ridden?”
Kyle’s slight giggle was melody to Couper, “…being ridden into a haze all rainbow-colored and blurry and, like I didn’t know where my head was.” He brightened, “Only I knew where you were.”
“Guess where I’ll be when we finish eating? Clue: I’ve checked you out from the brothel for the night.”
“You did? Nobody’s paid to take me out like this before. I’m sort of a new worker there…”
“Shhh…let’s have our chicken and rice, our broccoli, and cherry pie, then I’ll take you back to bed – this time with you on your back, legs out of the way, and sweet tail open for business.”
The promise kept, Kyle was introduced to the now-pro to missionary position’s Couperian prolongation and to its proximity for man and boy to kiss. Kissing! – he did not know anything about its enhancement of being rooted. Inclined to learn while being ridden from the front, he shuddered past the distractions of lips, teeth, gums, and tongues to let himself go with the double flows of penetration. That is, until his lip muscles weakened after about forty minutes of Couper’s attentions.
Upon taking what was called ‘a breather,’ Kyle sighed at the pleasure of being laid prone for re-rear-entry and deep plumbing by the wondrous man now in his life. Cock strokes surely directed and unerringly smooth drove the lad’s feelings toward what he had enjoyed before, that multi-tinged haze of undemanding sensuality.
Was it his imagination, or was his man actually speaking in motion as slow as his cock moved? Kyle struggled against the haze to hear.
“Between your thighs is the privileged, soft cleft in which to place my boldly hard manhood for this and other nights if you but submit. Comply with the mystery of concupiscence, of my being inside your body, spreading your anus and extending your rectum until we are in luscious, mutual balance. Feel how placid are my shifts within you. Feel the enchantment working as together our contrasting natures mesh in the perfection of man and boy intimacy.”
Time elapsed unnoticeably by hourly increments until sleep overcame bodily motion and they rested on their sides, Couper embedded in Kyle.
Morning’s light illuminated the bedroom where had reposed the coupled two before a small twitch of recognition by the boy woke his man to a new performance. It, like the others, was restrained. Couper held back from varying his motions in order to think that he really wanted Kyle.
Mind made up, he stroked out and in to say, “I have friend named Ted who has a cabin in a deep forest. He inherited it from his Uncle Tom. Remote. Very private. Said to promote sexual relations. It can be ours for the weekend if you’d like to go there with me.”
Kyle looked back, less sleepy than before. Lifted his eyebrows and smiled, “My friend at our workplace will be so jealous.”
“I know him. Confession: I’ve been a client there before catching sight of you. Had your friend a few times – not remotely the way you take me. Always in a rush. Demanding, ‘When are you going to cum?’ Worse, I heard another customer complaining downstairs that they should advertise him as ‘Mr. Mercenary Affections.’ And that tip jar. Offensive. Here, let me scour you some more and we’ll go to fetch your things.”
“Please.”
* * *
Da, as everyone at the boy brothel knew who had experienced him, possessed or was possessed by a limbic system favoring dominance in sexual pleasure. A mean streak, too, added vivid color – shades of red – to his exploits with hirelings. One he had enjoyed recently interested him in part because the boy was so arrestingly handsome, ideally proportioned, with eyes of deep blue, golden ringlets for hair, fulsome balls, a dynamic dick, and an ass to covet, and in part because no man had conquered him, it was said.
Problems: he talked a lot, was impatient to ignite a client’s desire to unload, and faked a needy puppy dog look when hinting that he deserved a financial treat. Da had seen through all of it.
He walked in without knocking, put down his small bag, studied the look of relief on the naked boy’s face, and began clothing’s removal.
“Whew, I’d heard you were bringing a brazier and a branding iron.”
Da’s deep voice frightened, “They’re just outside.” He smiled, “Just joking. Not really. Management would never have let get away with it.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Everything you’re supposed to provide. What’re all those papers?”
Nothing if not bold, he spouted, “I’m dreaming up a campaign to organize a union of our sex workers, not that a guy like you would care.”
Da grabbed the pretty boy, lifted him up and over, reclined, shoved the defenseless ass down on his totem-pole cock, and ordered, “Ride that and tell me about your idea. If you can get me off by your butt’s action, I’ll help you with the union.” He lied, “I’m a Teamster and a proponent of organized labor.”
On waves of pain behind and from his nipples being kneaded without mercy, the brothel’s star tried to outline his thoughts. Penetration as deep as Da’s prevented any motion except up and down.
“You’re a poor excuse for your cause if you can’t do better. I’ll help.”
Da’s help took the form of a hand grasping the erect shaft and the other dangling balls – then using them to hoist and lower him inches more than without the aid.
Sperm jetted with forceful immediacy over Da’s head.
“Six squirts? Sufficient for a novice at serving a man, but not for someone claiming to be a pro. I’m waiting. Weren’t you going to tell me something?”
Out of breath, frustrated, furious at the taunt, he mistakenly thought for a time he could find his words and get off Da’s massive cock. The way his eyes met the man’s determined ones blocked his vocal chords. Pressure increased and was relaxed on his balls. Steadily.
“You were going to say?”
A flush of anguish reacted to his cheeks as Da reamed up against the teen’s weight.
“If you’re not going to talk, then fuck yourself until you cum again. There, your cock and balls are free to jiggle. Your best moves – now!”
Knees and thighs worked to gain leverage. About halfway up, there was obvious struggle to swivel. Strain held him at it until muscles gave way. He sank, pierced so profoundly he spewed vigorously. Less thrill for the teen than pain, it happened so soon after his initial orgasm.
The sneer on the man’s face alarmed him. What now?
Slaps – to each cheek, sharply – resounded louder than his own outcry.
“Turn yourself around with heels and hands. Do it!”
His tract clung to its hot and hard anchor, yet he managed – only to be forwarded face down and told, “It’s more-fuck time, twink.”
“A little more lube, please,” he begged tremulously, trying to stall. “That water-based stuff’s evaporating.”
“Spit. You can have spit. More than that you should have had inside you, if you’re the pro you wanted men to think.”
Da’s saliva, delivered copiously as he staked internal territory, alleviated some of the tight fit’s drag. The great cock’s connection to Da’s brain opened tiny urethral glands. Pre-seminal secretions eased friction. Willful contractions prevented unwanted outcome – for the moment. Man into boy, boy to be taught a lesson. One of force.
Mere poundings forward with shoulders to brace strong hands – commonplace. No, deep rams secured by man’s hands clasped over boy’s head thrilled core-deep. Now he really was delivering the fuck he intended. He bucked deeply.
Demand outstripped resistance. Da plummeted into orgasm so lasciviously liquid that its sudden lubricity juddered ejaculation from the stressed subject of the fuck.
In reflex, the youth’s mouth opened as his eyes squeezed shut. He hurt – wonderfully. Being coursed into by such masculinity had brought him off again! What did it mean?
Da’s voice growled in one ear, “Your ass may be worth a man’s time yet. Show’s promise. I’ll find out how much.”
Awash in irritation-soothing bodily juices, the teen channel had no choice but to conform. Da’s rapid pistonings incited the area’s sensitivities to unknown riots of reaction.
The boy fucked back. Mindless excitement fueled his lower spine’s muscles. Pelvis powered up to meet pelvis crashing down.
Together, they locked with fierce spasms for both.
The boy was done. Da not. He continued, lost in determination’s blazes, to fuck.
In time, he tired, slowed, stopped, and dozed while retaining his deep insertion.
Underneath, the boy tried to stir. Emotions muddled his thoughts, such as they were. The most stupendous cock of his life had pained and pleased, stuffed him yet, might plow him harder when Da woke. What then? Would it mean anything that for the first time a man mattered to him? Over and over, he had been fucked to climax. How was that possible?
Unanswered questions surrendered to achy fatigue. He, too, dozed, breathing through his mouth, drool dampening the sheet beneath.
He woke to drool being rubbed over his face and this greeting, “Know where you are? Know what’s inside you? Don’t bother to answer. Think how aware this moving cock has made you. Take it again, now that you know what it’s capable of making you feel.”
Perhaps a dozen pile-driving thrusts pressed home the need to say what had to be blurted, “I love it!”
Impassive was Da’s, “I’ll bet.”
He proceeded to pelvic spank the butt under him, causing primitive sounds – sighs and cries, moans and sobs – that told him the time was right to seal their bond. Tidal waves of ecstatic intensity swept through both. And both came.
Post-orgasmic’s violent sensitivities ebbed, breathing soothed, hearts decelerated.
Da lifted off, looked the site over, made the determination to carry the occasion beyond the conquest of man over brazen boy. He turned the young, wrung-out whore to his back. Lifting his legs and zeroing in on the gaping hole, Da slid easily to full extension, looked down before kissing the amazed face and said, “Now tell me about unionization.”
“Unions are brotherhoods of workers with common interests drawn together by the need for collective bargaining, hence equal pay and benefits which otherwise would not be provided.”
“Sounds like something you memorized. Anyway, I know all that and more.” Da moved just enough to remind the speaker of his inmost presence. “Also suggests that members’ exceptional skills aren’t worth more than those with lesser abilities.”
“Ohh…that’s why I have a tip jar.”
“Really? You aren’t doing anything special for me. Who’s doing all the work here? Shouldn’t you be paying me?”
A gentle pitch, a lover’s stroke. Da heard, “I cede. You can have what’s in the tip jar. Now, please, please fuc…”
Endearments aside, Da took his hips high for a steep angle before crashing into the valley. Every dip and swing summoned swivels of the boy’s neck as if an exorcism were in progress. Whizzing movements so swift and smooth that insertions blended with retractions. There was no starting and starting to the cock. It pounded past pandemonium into the hard reality of climax, reducing orifice and possessor to blubberings of froth from mouth and squelchings from ass.
The motivation behind the passionately furious display dwindled. Da, continuing to drive lewdly in and out, became solicitous, “Would you like to consider,” he asked the chest-heaving, wide-eyed teen, “a sensible, workable plan?
“Huh?”
“Profit-sharing, say, along the lines of a partnership where workers collaborate with management. Perhaps a limited partnership. For you guys, it would surpass a union.”
“You care?”
“I do now.”
* * *
The drive of Couper and Kyle to the promised hideaway, Uncle Tom’s cabin, gave them time to get differently personal to each other. Kyle’s trust of the man, total, opened the teen’s door to air a few of his secrets. Without pressing, Couper showed interest that allowed a checkered past to be pieced together.
A runaway at fourteen, Kyle had been on the streets with no asset but his young body. One-night pickups taught him to endure what others called abuse. “I needed to eat and in cold weather to have warm places to sleep,” was how he explained his stoicism. “Some guys weren’t mean about my shallow mouth,” implied that others had been. “I wanted everybody to like me so I let them do what they wanted. Only, they didn’t really want me around. Not even Mack, who made me gag with his cock and said he liked me when I did that. He dropped me back on the same street corner where I’d been to start with. Gave me a little money, though.
“I was about fifteen when a family man named Meacham screwed me to seven inches because his son couldn’t take him all the way. He had the hots for that boy. For a while, I was his incest-stand-in so got used to being dicked and called the kid’s nickname, Meachy.”
“You were acting?”
“That’s what I had to.”
“What about other stuff? I’m not trying to be nosy, but I think you’re really interesting.”
“Me? Well, if you want more, I guess I’ll tell. You’re nice. Tory was the first man to tie me to his bedposts and slap my cock and balls. Harry always had to spank me to get it up before he could screw me. There are a lot like that, some with paddles. Wood and, like leather. Crops and whips are worse but okay if the guys know when to stop. Punishment is their turn-on. They don’t want blow-jobs, they want to fuck, well, either of my holes.
“Clips on my chest and balls were awful at first but an old guy, Kirk, I think his name was – maybe it was Kurt – who’d been a street boy about my age, showed me how to breathe when they were going on and after, when they were coming off. He had dildos. Got me used to the different types, so I could take any man’s cock. Taught me about foreskins, too. He died, I heard.”
“Did you know other street boys?”
“You mean hustlers? Sure, lots. Learned from ’em, too.”
“I marvel at your detachment from emotions. Did they help with that?”
“Maybe, but I went further. Except for now.”
“Look, we’re here. When we’re inside, I hope you can tell me how you meant what you said.”
* * *
The concrete block ‘cabin’ was a marvel of amenities including groceries and a note from someone named Budja, a friend of Ted Firestone who owned the place.
Compliments of the house. Contact me of you need help with anything.
The living room had overstuffed sofa and chairs, matching ottomans, and an improvised desk. More of lure for man and boy was a huge bedroom with appropriate furnishings and, opposite, a wall of what looked like closet doors in the midst of which was mounted an enormous, flat-screen TV. Underneath, on a separate shelf, a player for VHS tapes and DVDs.
They put down their overnight bags, tested the mattress, noticed with big grins a control for three-speed vibration modes, and looked in the bedside chests’ drawers – Couper the left one, Kyle the right.
Dildos, plugs, lubes, and condoms met Kyle’s eyes; cock rings, ball straps, a cock cage, cuffs for wrists and ankles, and a small flogger, Couper’s. Not anything he wanted Kyle to see. His mind whirred.
“What do you think’s behind those doors?” he directed Kyle, who had just found remotes for the television and media player.
Eager to see, the boy rushed to open one. Rows of VHS tapes, labeled with names and dates, some numbered only, a few in cellophane wrappers they were so old. A shelf of commercial DVDs in their plastic cases – gay, obviously. Another shelf of what he guessed were DVDs in white paper envelopes. He pulled out a few and saw handwritten labels with names, dates, and arrays of five-pointed stars or plus signs.
Couper closed his door the instant he saw electrical equipment and machines he did not identify but guessed had intense sexual uses. The next door revealed costumes. “Look here, a policeman’s uniform, a postman’s, a truant officer’s, outfits for a priest and altar boy, scoutmaster and scout, coach and little leaguer, a boy’s sailor suit, a bellhop’s, and robes in pairs of sizes we can wear – of towel material and one that feels like silk.”
Inquiring eyes looked his way, “You want to dress me up?”
“No, I want to undress you.”
“Let’s take a shower. We’ll smell better after that long drive.”
The cabin’s restroom had an exhaust fan and was lavishly plumbed – with a mirrored walk-in shower large enough for three or four, separate tub, bidet, toilet, and two lavatories, mirrored cabinets above. On pegs hung enema bags with hoses and nozzles variously sized. Nozzled bulbs and lubes sat on glass shelves. Wash cloths and towels reposed, neatly folded, nearby. Everything in readiness.
Washings of both, Kyle inside three times, rendered them ready. A movement-sensitive on-off switch under the mattress automatically started recording their coupling – from perspectives of four recessed cameras-with-microphones neither had spotted.
Erotic sensuality unfolding around pristine bodies and their growing emotional interest, Couper’s arms embraced the boy. A hand traced the small bumps of Kyle’s spine. It touched into the valley’s narrowness, fingertips to tucked taut opening, circled it, flexed its center, stroked, and waited for acceptance.
Kyle’s sigh meant the boy was ready in mind and anus.
Couper bit an earlobe and slowly moved in his finger. Its few inches did not reach what, in earlier love-making, had been located further away. He added another and gave a turn to the area.
At Kyle’s grateful groan, Couper began a quicksilver, penetrative push-pull that sent the boy into higher anticipation of what could come. His sheath, thus maneuvered, was roused to life by Couper’s driving intent. It throbbed to the pistoned passion.
The engorged crest of the man’s erection sought Kyle’s cleft, let the fingers there guide it, and entered the sensation-rich depths. The heavy intrusion was gripped and wrung into a stasis of calm before it could commence what both wanted – never-ending, elegantly prolonged intercourse.
Drifting sublimely along the path it had hewn, Couper’s endowment pursued union as if by its own will while his mind cogitated on a subject once far from its forefront – tranquility. The thought slowed him a hair but only retarded his implacable, unceasing motions. Just when it seemed likely he would surrender to the bliss, an unintended thrust drew on reserves of animal directness to grow his arousal. Out of his mind with feelings beyond explaining, Couper became a dervish twisting and turning his lover’s insides with a furious declaration of love.
They came together.
* * *
“It’s this place…” Couper fumbled for words. “There’s something in the air…”
Kyle’s smaller voice said, “There’s something in me.”
“I’ll turn us on our sides. I have to stay in you. There’s no leaving the paradise of your body, not after our first orgasm together.”
He ran fingers over one of the boy’s nipples, not to provoke. Just idly, while thinking. His lips moved almost imperceptibly to kiss flawless skin of Kyle’s nape. He brushed them gently near an ear. Let his nose tease its lobe. Gestures rare and precious.
Like that, they lay joined. The passage of time went unnoticed as each appreciated the other for being there. Cameras continued recording the nuances of motion. Slight musk tinged the man’s nostrils. He swallowed with a shift of throat and shoulders that alerted a response from Kyle. Nerve endings in his rectum stimulated his sphincter to a tiny spasm around the cock’s hilt. Both groaned, and ground in circles before brains flooded with endorphins and drives against each other took on a festivity of jubilation.
The back of Kyle’s neck, as if kissed by an inner sun, turned red in the tumult of sexual excitement. Couper drove into him mightily, madly – such that momentary pain transfused the boy’s thoughts of anguish to inspire endurance for mounting feelings of well-being. A glow of bedazzlement obscured sight and sound. Both were blinded and muted by orgasm’s extended impact.
Vanquished senses gradually returned.
“But for being in this devilishly delightful place, I wouldn’t have imagined that possible,” Couper confided to Kyle’s ear.
Kyle’s rear messaged its occupant that time had come to withdraw. “I’m thirsty and maybe hungry.”
They stretched this way and that. In the kitchen, Budja’s groceries drew still naked Kyle to bend over the paper bag. Widely dilated as it had been, the sphincter had closed. Canned soups of tomato and chicken, a package of power bars, a box of saltines, a bag of potato chips, and a tin of sardines. “What’s in the fridge?”
Seven bottles of a protein-rich, nutritional milk drink. One with a rubberband-secured note: “For Kyle to reduce solids in his lower system.”
Couper, also naked, laughed. Bypassing eggs, butter, and unopened bacon, he went for mayo, bread, sliced turkey, and a packet of muenster cheese slices. Kyle took the jar of Spanish olives, saying, “It’ll be like a picnic.”
Rather than sodas, there were quarts of tea, orange juice, and lemonade. A fifth of vodka suggested combinations, especially with orange juice.
“You bet.”
It was.
Relaxing later for a period of digestion, Couper wondered about Kyle’s friends back at the brothel.
“Like me, they’re ‘good boys.’ Standard sex, which most men want – oral, anal, is fine. A customer such as Da, though, likes to be really rough. My best friend can take it from him – like last week when Da fucked him on his back by holding his balls so they were squeezed beyond his fist and used like a handle to pull him onto his cock. Man, that’s no way to cum fast. Bitching tough for any working boy.”
“Kyle, that sounds awful.”
“Da’s into holding a boy by the neck, one hand or two – to choke but not strangle when he’s getting off. His pretend threat to kill launches him into sex-space.”
“Sex-space? Where’s that?”
“Where we’ll orbit as soon as you want me again.”
Couper’s head spun at the boy’s invitation. Renewed vigor entered his groin. He rushed them to the bedroom where, with a flagrant display of lust, he jumped the boy.
Taking Kyle from the side, he used his cock to scoop its way in. Wanting more, he jockeyed them front to front, thrust a pillow under his mark, hunched forward, rocked back, and bounded in to a cry of distress.
“Hey, too fast! Take-offs from ground zero need to be slow, straight, super careful.”
A kiss smothered the protest. He paced himself more ponderously to find Kyle’s place of comfort. Legs over elbows, legs lifted, legs bent to chest, legs held apart – each position showed in the set of the lean boy’s mouth, the stare or blink of his lustrous eyes. Each time he knee-walked into position to angle into the boy’s breach, Kyle’s accommodation of his sex filled him with wonder.
He’s totally at ease with himself and with me looking at him.
With caution, Couper delved deep. Snugly secure a smile told him, he considered retreat but chose to settle in via sways from side to side.
Kyle hugged, “That’s the way.”
Together, they pulsated, in effect humming like a hive. Wrapped in each other’s arms, they determined equilibrium of vigilance to their pleasure. Lost was time’s demand for an end. Gone, any yearn for climax. Present, the rapture of total engagement.
* * *
Coition’s position eventually aroused from dormancy Couper’s man-driven desire to exercise dominion over his subordinate partner. Idealistic hours earlier disposing man and boy to move only slightly to express their happiness gave way to suppressed lust for compulsion to climax.
Couper ramped into gear for conquest. He buffeted Kyle’s body with ragdoll effect. Effort swelled chest and arm muscles. Heat rose. Pores opened aromatically. Sweat streamed – but in vain. His mind, usually rational, had become unsettled by realizing his infatuation with selfishness. Guilt flushed his face. He slowed. Asked, “Have I hurt you?”
Kyle’s voice answered with constraint, “I thought you were going to.”
“Forgive me. I lost my head. Ego almost got the better of me.”
He sounded on the verge of tears.
“I’ll find our stride,” he said calmly. More confidently, accidentally quoting an old song, “You are my shining star. I want to deserve that glow you have when love is right between us.”
His erection, lubricating itself in recovered loving excitement, pressed and pulled slowly. Both felt the throes of their special bonding rising. Lips nipped necks, breaths became sighs, hands clung skin, pleasure possessed. They coasted along the shores of arrival daring its shallows. Despite desire for climax’s port lingering just underneath the smooth waters of union, they maintained course. In and around for mutual satisfaction, the experience drawn out beyond what others might have thought impossible.
A car door shutting so interrupted the spell that Couper jetted sloppily into Kyle, haste spilling some his ejaculate on the bed. “Yeow!” he yelled – loud enough to be heard by the interloper opening the front door: Budja.
“Hello? If you’re fucking, I can come back later.”
“We are! Wait out there a minute,” Couper insisted.
From the living room came, “It’s this place, isn’t it? Gets everyone’s blood going. Old Indian magic, legend has it.”
In a white robe, Couper emerged from the bedroom, miffed. “I guess I should acknowledge the supplies you left for us.”
“My job when Ted’s not around and guests are here. Don’t worry, I’ve seen everything for years. You and your cute boyfriend haven’t scratched the surface of what this cabin has to offer. Tried the archive yet? Any of the equipment?”
Wearing the smaller white robe, Kyle entered the room, “What equipment?”
Off-guard, Couper failed to stop Budja’s, “Like the padded sawhorse in the bedroom closet,” he answered. “You’d look amazing cuffed over it, tush ready for anything.”
“I would? Show us.”
Budja led the way to the bedroom.
The strange gleam in Kyle’s eyes bypassed Couper but caught Budja’s. Quickly, opening the door concealing ‘equipment,’ he tugged out the sawhorse and showed then nude Kyle how to bend and be fastened by straps to widespread wrists and ankles. “God, you look perfect like that.”
“To get fucked?”
“Much more. Your friend Couper here could spank you, thrash you, play with your hole using dildos – or use some of the machines on you.”
“What are those?” the young voice rose.
“Why, there’s a hand-held, variable-speed electric drill, a hammer drill, too, a fucking machine with interchangeable replica cocks, a…”
“Don’t give him ideas. We were doing fine on our own,” Couper was defensive.
A moment’s silence preceded the positioned boy saying, “Is being spanked like I am now, like, fun?”
Budja quipped to Couper, “Time to step up to the plate, man,” pointing to readied butt and sawhorse. “Pop him some good ones, then plow that furrow again. Bet you’re up to it.”
The look on the man’s face changed from bystander attention to participant intention. This place… he thought briefly…malevolent… before losing himself to the lure of pale pink rounds to be made red. Beauties for fingers and palms to measure, they fit his testing clutches in new ways. What if he struck them? What if he dallied first with testicles to play with, to palpate, to stretch, to lick? Where would that put his nose?
Uncharacteristically, Couper blew some air across his target area, moved his hand up and down, watched as the halves clenched briefly, and flicked each smartly. Whacks followed, gaining in impact. His slapping hand flew to make angled contact across the divide. In a pause to look at the quivering globes’ rising color, a thin, flexible stick was placed in his hand.
Budja sounded particularly devilish, “Brine soaked. Use it to put some stripes there. Just flex your wrist with a snap. It will do its work – and his cries will excite that part of you already plumping for action.”
Budja boldly touched the underside of the man’s rising, veiny organ. Brushed his heavy scrotum. Drew back from the furious look he received.
The stick whistled through the air five times. Kyle screamed with each, his ass recording the number with welts. Couper dropped the stick, worked his cock to maximum hardness, spat on its head, and guided it steadily into the immobile boy.
“Take it, slave,” he barked.
Wielding his hips with rolling motions that accelerated to furious speed, he reamed Kyle until both were ragged from exhausting climaxes. They knew not how they ended up in a pile on the floor, dizzied. No sign of Budja.
“What the hell happened?”
“It’s this place. It’s evil. Get me out, please,” Kyle whimpered.
“We’re supposed to be here for the weekend. I don’t think there’s anything evil about it, just that we succumbed to something dark within us – and it made us both reach great orgasms.”
* * *
Gently as possible upon awakening in a close snuggle with his love, Couper wet a finger and felt beneath the sheet for the resilient rosette he desired to make bloom. More wetness to the spot and to his ready erection, Couper introduced the head – which met no resistance – and an inch more. From the sleeper’s adjustment and hardening perineum, it was clear that another inch could make its way. It and the others went ahead to bring the man’s pubis into full contact with now flattened buttocks.
No movement more disturbed the peace of their repose. Bright sunlight caused them to stir sometime in the midmorning. Kyle’s head turned back for a kiss. “I think we broke the spell,” he said with a push. “You’re so good in me like this.”
Couper swallowed phlegm to speak, “When we wish otherwise, we can do as we like. Linger like this – and eventually starve to death…”
“Or, get up, eat something for breakfast, brush our teeth, do our ‘business,’ and get back to this until…”
“Until sunset?”
“No, until you want us to finish together again.”
* * *
To alleviate periods of plugged-together communication, Kyle proposed that they “take a look at some of those videos.”
“Rascal,” Couper called him. “Are you looking for ideas?”
Coy response, “Well…”
A boy, Ully, on the cusp of his mid-teens had undergone torturous stress positions with a wood rod in the crooks of his arms when his wrists were clipped to a waist-belt of leather, with the rod in the crooks of his legs and his hands secured to its ends, with the rod suspended from the ceiling and Ully’s wrists supporting his body’s swings – all as he was tormented by pinches, nipple twists, ball assault, hard spanks, light whippings, and always fucked by devices, a man’s cock, and occasionally both until orgasm brought forth a smile, if through streaming tears.
An eighteen-year-old boy, Fraser, proved his age with a driver’s license. He was there he thought for a lovers’ tryst. The video began where embraces took the man and the boy, clothed but for their hastily kicked off shoes, to bed-bound tumbles of passionate kissing and groping. Fraser was sucked, pants pulled down, then off. He was face-fucked quite beyond his mouth’s capacity, smacked to make him try harder, gagged with vicious intent, thrown face down, and entered very slowly and hurtfully to “Taking it easy on you so you won’t bleed,” fucked relentlessly with anal-rending plunges that sped as he wailed then, after being seeded with rape-force, handed a towel, and told to “Clean up yourself. You disgust me.”
Jayce, who looked younger than Ully or Fraser, had fright on his face from the instant he saw the articles on the bed. “I don’t know about this,” his voice quavered. “Soon enough, you will. All boys who come here find out what they are meant for – or they wouldn’t be given this chance. Get your clothes off unless you want your mother to see then in shreds.” He was allowed to stand while being fingered behind and coaxed into putting his small cock and balls into the man’s receptive hand. Virgin Jayce’s hair-standing orgasm, opened his mouth, and brought about his first deep kiss. Given no time to recover, he found himself defenseless on his back, legs held up by their ankles, being spanked. “This is to get you ready for me,” he was told by his attacker, then stripping his cock with saliva. Expecting a terrified reaction, the man was astonished when young Jayce opened to him with only the slightest grimace. Equally amazed, Jayce’s eyes bulged at the wonder of being filled by a man’s cock. The words “meant for” came back to him in realization. He relaxed into the fuck, beaming.
Kyle whistled then said huskily, “That’s us, Couper. Spank me like that and fuck me till I smile like that boy.”
“Really?”
“We’re here, aren’t we? It’ll make us hot.”
Man of action that he had become, Couper swept his boy’s ankles away from his curvaceous bottom for a spanking of disciplinary intensity. He assailed each side as if to teach it a lesson the old-fashioned way…on the bare.
“This is to get you ready for me,” he quoted the video’s attacker with humor. On and on he spanked. Hand prints appeared in increasing values of red. Reports resounded like firecrackers.
Kyle was loud, “Hey, that’s enough. I’m hot!”
“Not hot enough for me,” Couper reverted to his earlier, dire voice. Possession’s malice seemed to drive his hand’s power. He assailed the now-blister-red areas until struck by the idea of the hole to be his – and forced in a thumb.
Kyle shook, crying out, “That’s where I want you. All of you! Fuck me!”
With spit, Couper polished his weapon. Wrestled it to full extent. Was aware he was acting out the scene they had viewed, and thrilled to inject himself into Kyle. The act’s plunge reached the loved one’s depth and seemed to ricochet throughout his body. Couper’s hips rolled, rising and falling in a slow pace. With scissoring of his own glutes, he heaved from head to root and drew gasps from Kyle. In concert with his cock’s motion, Kyle’s bowel walls felt the cock’s head pressing and pushing as if to go through to his stomach.
The rhythms of possession propelled the pair to primal passion’s paralytic rictus: blazing orgasm.
Its rigors stifled even moans.
In metaphoric cinders, they cooled down. Drew fresh breaths as they descended from the fiery cloud of incineration. Sweat plastered both.
Couper pulled out, “Was anything ever more magnificent?”
Kyle, able to speak, answered on the edge of audibility, “No. I…I feel…I guess…honored by it…only, I feel a kind of emptiness with you gone.”
“Sweet baby, you are far from empty.” He bragged secretly, “I’ve never cum so much in my life.” He chuckled, “I feel like an empty vending machine.”
Kyle hit him playfully.
* * *
“Well! I said you’d return on Monday morning looking morose, and you do.”
“I know. I am morose because I have something sad to tell you. Wait though. You look a bit the worse for wear. Da responsible?”
“Ignore the bandages. What a fantastic lover! Ginormous, in fact! Ripped me a new one and, with his club, ‘bargained’ management to provide everything I wanted for all of us – benefits, you name it. Big pay boost. We won’t need a union. An ad campaign’s going to bring investors so you’ll have great future, too. So, why that look?”
“Dear friend, Couper’s bought me from the brothel, to be his forever. I’m sad because I’ll miss you, especially, and the other boys. But glad because he can’t get enough of me, of my ass – he’s so sweet. I know, it’s that word – sweet – you razzed me about when I left. We’re going on a trip to the Hayden Planetarium to see the stars in a different way from how I see them when he fucks me into our sex-space.”
“What?”
“Oh, if you and Da need a change of venue for your relations, Couper has access to this cabin in the woods. Man, it’s got everything Da would ever need to use on you – of course after you’ve healed. I can arrange it.”
“What?”
“Or, it might inspire him to excess, even for him. Possibly for you – you’d need medical rescue. Guess it’s not a good idea.” He taunted, “Wicked, wonderful, strange place – but sure powered wild sex between us.”
“What?”
“Think about it. Ta-ta.”
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