Winter Hideout

“That was a great meal. Thanks for inviting me. See you on slopes at 11:00 on Wednesday for your next ski lesson? You’re coming along nicely.” Doug Walker, six-foot-four and 210 pounds of chocolate brown muscle sat the island of the Wintergreen Resort mountain chalet, drinking coffee after a steak dinner.

His host, mixed Asian and white in the best possible combination for looks, Ricky Chang, as much a contrast to his ski instructor as he could be at a lithe five-foot-eight and 145 pounds, was loading the dishwasher.

“You don’t have to leave yet, I hope. We were talking about classical guitarists we both like. I was surprised you’d even heard of Wes Montgomery and Charlie Byrd. I’ve got Charlie Byrd’s ‘Brazilian Byrd’ on the turntable now.”

“So, you’re a musician?” Doug asked.

“Among other things. I most recently worked on Capitol Hill. I did study voice and dancing in college.”

“But you don’t work on the hill now?”

“No. You could say I’m between jobs,” Ricky said.

“Well, you’ve got a sweet house here.”

“It’s not mine. I’ve just been salted away here.”

“Salted away.”

“You don’t really have to go, do you? I have some great Claret from the Veritas Winery. I thought we could light a fire and listen to Charlie Byrd.”

“It’s snowing. I really should go.”

“You have four-wheel-drive, don’t you? And you know how to drive in the snow up here. You’re up here all winter, aren’t you? What do you do when you’re not ski instructing?” Ricky wanted to say Doug could spend the night, but he hoped that Doug could figure out what was on offer himself. It was the dominant one who should be making the moves. Ricky was a submissive.

“I play spring football in the Carolina league,” Doug answered. “Everyone who wants to move around up here in the winter has four-wheel-drive. You can’t go out much in that small Miata convertible I saw in your garage.”

“I’m not supposed to go out much here. I can walk—or trudge in the snow—easily enough to the club house and The Market resort store from here. And I would have guessed you were a football player. You’re quite a hunk.”

“Thanks.” They exchanged looks. This wasn’t the first time in the three weeks they’d known each other that they had exchanged looks. Ricky wished that Doug would get around to taking it further. Why did the big lug think he’d been invited to dinner? If Ricky told him why he was salted away up here on top of the Blue Ridge Mountains would the ski instructor get the clue that Ricky could be had?

“Go on into the living room and light the fire,” Ricky said. “Flip the switch on the record player. It takes six records. I’ve got some Wes Montgomery and Chet Atkins on too. I’ll finish up getting this stuff in the dishwasher and bring us a couple of glasses of Port.”

Doug didn’t argue further. He went into the living room and started the fire and the record player. He was standing in front of the fireplace when Ricky appeared with two glasses of wine and set them down on a coffee table between the sofa and the fireplace.

Doug turned, sucked in breath, and said, “Wow.”

“I hope I haven’t read you wrong,” Ricky said, standing up straight from the coffee table and giving the black giant a full-frontal view. Ricky had stripped down to a red satin jock strap. “I think we’ve been dancing around this long enough,” he added.

The black ski instructor was speechless, as Ricky came to him, rose on his toes and pressed his lips against Doug’s. He hadn’t read Doug wrong. Doug was just antsy about getting it on with a client. He couldn’t resist this offer, though. They went into a deep kiss and Doug’s hands came around and palmed the smaller man’s exposed butt cheeks.

“No, it doesn’t seem you’ve guessed wrong. I’ve been hard for you since you plopped the steak down in front of me.”

“Good,” Ricky said. “We don’t need this.” He pulled Doug’s sweater over his head. He had a body-builder’s hard-bodied, muscular chest to die for. They stood there, rocking against each other, kissing, as the black man squeezed and separated Ricky’s butt cheeks, moving fingers to and inside his hole, pulling the other man up on his tiptoes. Once Doug got turned on, he moved it right into a high gear.

The mixed Chinese-white, willowy Ricky panted and moaned, moving his hands to Doug’s belt buckle and then his fly. Doug flinched and grunted as Ricky pulled his massive erection out and stroked it. Doug shrugged Ricky’s jock strop off his waist and in slid down to the floor. Ricky, completely naked now, stepped out if it. He let out a little yelp, as Doug’s beefy thumbs stretched his hole open and penetrated.

“Fuck me. Screw me,” Ricky murmured.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Doug’s eyes darted around the room. “Sofa? Not sure we can make it to the bedroom. I don’t even know where they are.”

“No. Here. In front of the fireplace. On the proverbial bearskin rug. Although I don’t think that’s a bearskin.”

Doug laughed.

He went onto his back, stretched out in front of the fireplace, staring into the fire and groaning. His hands encased Ricky’s head, with its silky black waves of hair, and helped lift and pull it into his groin, as Ricky lay between his legs, giving him head.

At length, he reached down, grasped the much smaller man in the armpits and lifted him up to saddle on his pelvis. Reaching under, Ricky held the huge, jet-black erection in place, and cried out in pain-passion as he sank down on the cock.

“Shit. Fuck, you’re huge!”

“Yes, yes, I am,” Doug agreed.

Spreading, stretching, and sinking on the cock, Ricky leaned over, palming Doug’s pecs, and stared down into the black man’s face, his own showing the pain mixed with ecstasy. Ricky arched his back and his head and howled at the oak beams overhead as Doug grasped his hips and started to raise and lower the smaller man’s fully possessed passage on the shaft. For a couple of minutes he was able to match the beat of the rise and fall to that of Charlie Byrd’s guitar, but that was soon lost and he was frenetically jacking the smaller body up and down on his shaft—lifting and slamming down, lifting and slamming down. Ricky was flopping around and writhing, crying out, “Yes, yes, YES!”

Doug uttered his own ultimate exclamation, “Oh, FUCK!” as he shot his load.

Ricky had brought out a couple of packets of condoms and a tube of lube with the wine and they were laying there, on the coffee table, unused. In the heat of the moment they had been forgotten. They had barebacked.

In the middle of the night, Ricky woke in the bedroom feeling Doug’s cock stirring at the small of his back. They were lying on their sides, both naked, Ricky’s butt nestled into Doug’s groin. They had fucked again, athletically, on the bed and dozed off, both exhausted. Ricky moved a hand back to grasp Doug’s cock, and Doug woke up enough to snake a hand around, take Ricky’s shaft, and stroke him off. They came more awake as they relentlessly beat each other off.

Ricky came first, with a little cry. Doug took that as a signal to roll the smaller man over onto his belly and to mount him from above. He penetrated and moved up, up, up inside Ricky’s passage, spreading, stretching, punishing.

Panting hard and groaning, Ricky reached up and grasped the brass grilling running up to the headboard. Well saddled now, Doug leaned over the smaller, slim body stretched out under him, pressed the palms of his hands into Ricky’s shoulder blades, and moved into rocking his hips in long, powerful thrusting.

“Oh, Fuck, you’re killing me!”

“You can take it, whore. I read the papers.”

The headboard beat a rat-tat-tat against the bedroom wall, as Doug’s thrusts increased in speed, intensity, and depth.

“Oh, holy F-U-C-K!” Ricky cried out.

* * * *

He woke up to the sound of metal scraping on gravel. Turning, he found that he was alone in bed. He could see the master bedroom bathroom door from here. It was open. No one was inside. Still the sound of the scraping. He rolled out of bed and padded over to the closet. He’d been naked in bed—so had Doug, the black bull hunk from the night before, his ski instructor. Shit, that was a monster cock, Ricky thought. And jet black. How in the hell did he manage that? Would he ever again be fucked that well—and by a cock that big and black? He certainly hoped there would be more rounds with Doug.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Ricky thought that something disturbing had been said, here in the bed, while Doug was riding his ass and fucking him. The kamikaze attack in the middle of the night. He could quite grasp what that was. And Doug wasn’t here to ask about it. Ricky concentrated on whether he could hear any sounds from downstairs, but he couldn’t. Apparently, Doug hadn’t stuck around.

There was that metallic scraping sound on gravel again, though. At the closet, he pulled a silk robe off a hanger and then went to the bureau for sleeping shorts. The scraping sound was coming from the front of the house. The bedrooms were in back, the master bedroom and a second one above, over a bedroom and the kitchen, with two-stories of living and dining area at the front. He padded down the stairs, turning to look into the kitchen and the downstairs bedroom. No Doug. His red satin jock strap was on the floor in front of the fireplace, but Doug’s clothes were gone.

Ricky laughed when he saw that the two glasses of Veritas Claret were still on the coffee table, as were the condom packets and the tube of lube. It was just as well that they hadn’t tried to use the condoms. They were regulars and Doug quite clearly needed an XXL Magnum.

Good thing Ricky was well used or Doug would have killed him. That made Ricky almost remember what had been said last night that was “off,” but it didn’t come to him.

He looked out of one of the front windows. It had snowed. They knew it was snowing last night. That had come up when Doug was talking about leaving before fucking Ricky. But the short driveway to the garage under the elevated house had been cleared. The sound he heard now was more like the stomping of boots to get the snow off. It was coming from the front porch.

Rick went to the front door and opened it. A man, bundled up, was standing on the steep front steps going down into the yard and, indeed, was stomping snow off his boots. He had a snow shovel in his hands.

He looked up. “Oh, you’re here. Your Jeep is gone. I was shoveling my drive out—I live next door, just over there—and overshot the shoveling. Before I knew it, I’d shoveled your drive too. Hi, I’m your next-door neighbor, Jay. You don’t look like one of the Bradley’s though.”

“I’m not. I’m a friend of Senator Bradley’s. He’s letting me use his Wintergreen house.”

“Well, you’ll freeze just in that, with the door open. I’m freezing and I’m all wrapped up. You need to go back into the house.”

“But you’re freezing because you’ve been doing work I should have done,” Ricky said. “There should be something I can do to repay you.”

“I wouldn’t say no to a hot cup of coffee so I can warm up enough to get back into my house over there.”

“Sorry, of course. Come in and I’ll put the coffee on.”

Jay came into the foyer area and started unraveling himself, while Ricky went through the living area to the kitchen alcove and put the coffee on.

“The Jeep that was out there until this morning, that’s not yours, is it?” Jay said, having peeled down to a heavy sweater and canvas trousers, which looked wet. His gaze extended to the living room. He saw the red satin jock strap on the floor and the two untouched glasses of wine. He saw the condom packets and lube as well.

“Uh, no, it isn’t mine.”

“No, I didn’t think so. That was Doug Walker’s Jeep, the ski instructor.”

“I’m taking ski instructions from him,” Ricky called back.

“And cock too, apparently. The jeep was there overnight. Does he fuck well? I hear he’s got the biggest dick on the mountain.”

A clatter of china could be heard coming from the kitchen area and Ricky appeared in the foyer. “What was that you said?” he asked, in shock.

Jay, not as big as Doug was, and older, but bigger than Ricky was and all muscle, pulled an arm back and snapped it forward, catching Ricky on the cheek and sending him to the floor. The bigger man reached down, grabbed Ricky by his hair, pulled him up, slapped him again and sent him sprawling on the stairs up to the master bedroom.

“I know who you are,” Jay growled. “I read the papers.”

Even in his shock, Ricky now remembered what Doug had said while he was fucking him the previous night. He’d called Ricky a whore and had also said he read the papers.

“I know the feds are looking for you. Apparently, they don’t know yet that Senator Bradley owns this house. Maybe no one’s told them yet that he has this house or that you are here. I read all about you and senators and congressmen and the pimping operation lobbyist are running and about you and other guys whoring for them. I’ve read about how your name came up and that the Department of Justice wants to interview you.”

“What do you want from me? Are you going to call the police?” Ricky turned to being seated on the stairs. He was rubbing his chin. There wasn’t much use in denying any of what he was being accused of other than he was wanted as a witness and a victim of it all. He wasn’t pimping. He had been pimped.

“What do I want from you? I want the same thing those senators and congressmen get from you. I want the same thing that Doug Walker got from you last night. I’m getting bored up here and I’ve got this house over here rented for another week. What I want from you is for you to be my bitch for a week up here at Wintergreen. What I want is some companionship and some ass—maybe more ass than companionship. Just for the week. Then I’ll go back to Richmond and pretend I never saw you up here. What I want is for you to open your legs for me, like you do for all of those senators and congressmen and lobbyists and to do it as often as I tell you to. I’m a randy kind of guy.”

They held place there for several seconds, Ricky still in shock.

“Well, do it. Open your legs for me,” Jay demanded. “Strip off that robe and those shorts and spread your legs. Show me a hole that entertains senators and congressman and that can take a cock the size of Doug Walker’s. Now!”

Whimpering and sprawled back against the staircase, Ricky complied, stripping off his robe and shorts. While he did so, Jay made a fast trip into the living room, quickly downing one of the glasses of wine, scooping up a condom packet and the lube, and returned to the foyer. Ricky lay there on the steps, panting and whimpering, naked and so, so enticing.

Jay pulled the heavy sweater over his head, unbuckled his belt, unzipped his fly and flared his trousers down onto his thighs, hooking his briefs under his balls. He was in erection and a mighty fine erection it was.

“Grab your ankles and raise and spread those legs. Show me that hole. Well, shit, you are a whore, aren’t you. That looks big enough even to have taken that big, black cock of Doug’s.”

With no further preliminaries other than the snap of the condom and lathering with the lube, using what was on the coffee table but hadn’t been used the previous night, Jay was covering Ricky on the stair treads, hovering between the smaller man’s spread thighs, while Ricky continuing to hold his legs up and out with grips on his ankles. Nuzzling his face into Ricky’s throat, he put himself into position, forced his cock up into Ricky’s hole, and embraced Ricky’s torso as he established the rhythm of the fuck.

“This is a position you well know, right? Whores like you live to have a guy’s cock up their ass.”

Ricky didn’t bother to respond. Settling down into panting and moaning, he released the grip on his ankles, moving his hands to holding Jay’s biceps and his knees to hugging Jay’s hips and he involuntarily—or increasingly willingly—set his hips into a rocking motion, taking the thrusting cock hard and deep—crying out when he came and whimpering with Jay did so.

“Did you good, didn’t I?”

Again, Ricky said nothing. What was the use? They all seemed to know Ricky was a male whore and Ricky couldn’t deny that he liked being cocked.

An hour later, Jay came out of the master bedroom bathroom with just a towel around his waist. He padded down the stairs and into the living room. Ricky, having pulled the sleeping shorts back on, was sitting in a tub chair, staring vacantly at the wall.

“I’d rather see you in this,” Jay said, picking the red satin jock strap off the floor. “Did Doug like you in this?”

“Yes. He said he did,” Ricky said listlessly.

“Did he like stripping it off you?”

“I liked having him strip it off me.”

“Put it on.” Jay tossed it to Ricky, who came out of the chair, exchanged the jock for the shorts, and sat down again.

Jay walked over to the record player. “What sort of shit is this?”

“Guitar music,” Ricky answered. “Classical guitar from the sixties and seventies.”

“You got a radio broadcasting FM?” Jay asked. Ricky waved to the radio and Jay turned it on, finding Country and Western music. Ricky grimaced but bore it.

Jay walked over to the coffee table and downed the second glass of wine. He picked up a condom packet.

“Doug did you here in the living room or up in the bedroom? Your sheets are all screwed up. I’m sure he fucked you up there.”

“Yes,” Ricky answered.

“Both? Up there and down here? Up, down; up, down. Sounds sort of sexy, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. Both down here and up there.”

“Here first?”

“Yes.”

“On the sofa?”

“No, the floor, in front of the fireplace.”

“With a fire going?”

“Yes.”

“How romantic. Get up and lay and light a fire.”

Ricky did so.

“He did you here, right in front of the fireplace?”

“Yes.” Ricky didn’t clarify that it was he who rode Doug here. Doug didn’t take command until they went upstairs.

“Is it true that he’s got a huge black cock? Blacker than the rest of him?”

“Yes.”

“Go down in exactly the same spot. On your back, open our legs. Spread and bend them. Push your tail up. Show me that hole. Be my bitch.”

Ricky didn’t bother to say this wasn’t how Doug and he had done it here. He wanted to keep that just between the two of them. He didn’t want Jay intruding on that. So, without correcting the scene, he went down on his back.

Jay stood between Ricky’s spread thighs, unknotted his towel, and tossed it aside. Of course he was in erection. He was a strikingly good-looking man—Ricky had that much going for him in this blackmail case. Jay was nearly forty, but he was solidly built and lightly muscular, nothing overdone, every reason to be cocky about his physique and equipment, and, of course, no end to self-confidence. He crowned himself with a condom and lathered himself up. “He did you right here and he did you good?”

“Yes,” Ricky said.

“You begged him to fuck you, to screw you?”

“Yes.”

“Do it.”

“Fuck me, Jay. Screw me.”

Jay laughed. “You mean it, don’t you? You’re a slut for cock, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Ricky answered and here, now, he meant it.

“Like with Doug. Here first and then on the bed. Or maybe here first, over there on the sofa next, in the bathtub after that, and then on the bed. It’s been a very boring week so far.”

Jay came down on his knees between Ricky’s thighs and reached under him to lift Ricky’s pelvis higher.

And then he did it and he did it good. Ricky writhed under him, digging his nails into Jay’s shoulder blades, rocking with the fuck, and arching his head back, and crying out to the beams over head, “Yes, yes, screw me hard! Take it all!” And he wasn’t acting; he meant it.

“Tell me I’m your man.”

“Yes, yes. You’re my man. Just like that. Do it just like that. Oh, FUCK!”

* * * *

Ricky’s legs were stretched out straight for his body along the back of the sofa in the chalet, with his torso cantilevered over the sofa seat and his hands palming the sofa cushions. Jay stood behind him, clutching his hips, and fucking his ass. Jay liked using athletic fuck positions.

“Shower and dress,” Jay directed afterward. “We’re going down into Nellysford for lunch and a Christmas tree. I’m having a Christmas party Saturday night, and you and I are going to trim a tree this afternoon.”

Ricky had no problem with that. It wasn’t like he had any other plans today and his hiding out was getting boring—plus, until he got his ski instructor pinned down the previous night, he hadn’t had a fuck for over a week. This easily got on the nerves of a rent-boy who was used to giving out multiple times nearly every day.

They got into that while eating lunch and drinking wine at the Veritas Winery, where Jay was amused to learn the two glasses of wine had come from that he had downed earlier in the day.

“So, you’re a high-end Washington, D.C., hooker who is on the lam from the police,” he said as they chewed on sandwiches and drank wine at the winery.

“Basically, yes,” Ricky said.

“And you’re a dancer. You dance the pole.”

“I majored in performance arts in college and I worked in clubs, dancing, to get myself through college.”

“Which you did, and got a job with a senator on the hill then—according to the papers. What came first, getting the job or being screwed by the senator?”

“Do we have to talk about this?” Ricky asked.

“Senator Bentley owns the house you’re in—the one next door to me. I should know about the people in my neighborhood. He employs you in his mailroom and he screws you, right?”

“Yes. You said you’re renting the house, so it’s not really your neighborhood. I think we’re finished here. You said something about buying a Christmas tree?”

“Yes, we can get that in Nellysford on the way back up the mountain.”

“And you have the decorations for a tree?”

“Enough. I brought some with me. You ever trim a tree before?”

“Yes. Back when life was simpler and people didn’t want to know about senators screwing me.”

The times of tree decoration must have been good ones for Ricky, because they had both had great fun decorating the one in Jay’s house. The only tension came near the end of that when Ricky mentioned the party Jay was going to have and Jay revealed that he expected Ricky to come and be the entertainment.

“The party’s just for guys—guys like you and me. Actively gay. You are going to be there. You see the pole columns over there between the living area and the kitchen that we decorated like candy canes? You’re going to dance one of those poles like you say you did in the clubs and we’ll set you up in a bedroom to do it for the guys.”

“I don’t think—”

“I’m not asking you to think about it. I’m telling you you’re going to do it or I’m calling the cops and telling them where they can find you. The investigation of the congressional male prostitution ring is still getting play in the papers.”

Jay had played the blackmail card again. Ricky had been warming up to him. He dominated Ricky, which was what Ricky was used to and he fucked him good, which Ricky appreciated. He’d thought they were getting it on good now, but Jay had played the blackmail card again. It was all sort of circular though. Playing the blackmail card was dominating, and Ricky wanted to be dominated. That’s what had frustrated him with Doug. Ricky had had to make the first moves with Doug. What Ricky melted to was a man just taking him. Jay had done that.

The rest of the evening wasn’t quite as convivial as the trip down the mountain the trimming of Jay’s tree had been.

Jay had Ricky fix a dinner for them from the ingredients he could find in Jay’s kitchen. That wasn’t over until pretty late in the evening. Then Jay took Ricky upstairs, had him strip and stretch out on curvy Italian chaise lounge in Jay’s bedroom, and Jay stretched out on top of him and slow fucked him for nearly an hour.

Ricky found that rather nice. They both were exhausted when they moved to the bed and slept there rather than fucked. Ricky woke up before Jay did, quietly dressed, and trudged through more fallen snow to his house next door.

There were tracks from a car in the snow on his driveway. Someone had tried to find him home the previous evening. He hoped it had been Doug Walker, but he was half afraid that it was the authorities having tracked him down. With Senator Bentley being involved in the prostitution ring investigation, hiding out at one of the senator’s houses probably wasn’t the best idea. Ricky needed to think of making a next move. He wished he could do it before Jay’s party on Saturday, but that was unlikely. It already was Friday morning.

* * * *

“I came by your house last evening and you weren’t there?”

“No, I was next door, helping the neighbor put up a tree,” Ricky answered Doug Walker. “He’s having a party on Saturday and needed help decorating.”

“I was aching for you. I am aching for you.”

“That’s good to hear, but this isn’t the best place to take care of that,” Ricky said, with a laugh. They’d met on the Wintergreen slopes for a ski lesson and hadn’t said much of anything then. They’d been bundled up, it was snowing, and it was too cold to do more than get the lesson over and get back into The Edge, the resort’s restaurant and coffee shop, to thaw out.

“But we really should clear the air on something before we do anything else,” Ricky said.

“What?”

“When we were in bed the other night, you said I was a whore and that you’d read about me in the papers. So, you know about me and you didn’t say anything.”

“Sorry about calling you a whore. In the context I said it, it was a good thing. Responding like a whore during sex is a good thing. But, yes, I know you are taken up with a high-profile prostitution ring case and that the feds are looking for you. I don’t see that that is my business, though.”

“You’re not going to be turning me in?” Ricky asked.

“No. I’ll help you stay out of their clutches, if I can. I don’t give a shit if guys choose to sell their bodies to other men. You’ve got the body to be doing that to the men’s satisfaction.”

“And you’ve got the cock to ruin little guys like me for other men,” Ricky said. But he was smiling when he said it.

“Thanks. You did that a lot? Taking men’s cocks? That doesn’t turn me off. Just the opposite.”

“Yes. Sometimes three and four times a day. I got used to it. It was no big deal. I couldn’t take a cock like yours that often in a day, though.”

“Thanks again. How did you get into that business. I thought you told me you went to college.”

“At the beginning it was what paid for college and then it paid so well that I continued to do it. It isn’t so bad in Washington, D.C. The police there try to control and protect it. They don’t try to wipe it out. Some of the cops protect us. It was one of them, a Vice detective, who told me it was time for me to get out of town before the feds rolled me up in this. I guess I saw too much of the operation. The feds think I can help prove the case they’re building. I don’t think they intend to prosecute me. But the men running this operation are powerful. I think they’d do anything to keep me quiet.”

“A police detective helped you? I thought the cops took their support for rent-boys in services.”

“A lot of them do. This detective does, certainly. He reminds me of you. He’s a big bruiser, with a fetish for rough sex. He’s built as big as you. He does a guy totally and he likes bondage and some nasty stuff—but only to make the rent-boy go to heaven too. Sex gets vanilla for the male whores. They need more, rougher, and nastier to get off. Hardesty provides that.”

“Hardesty is his name?”

“Yes. No first name.”

“And he does you good.”

“Better than good.”

“Ties you up?”

“Yes.”

“Beats you?”

“Just to arousal and for me to know he’s the master. Some flogging and whipping.”

“And you like that?”

“When he does it, yes. When I can trust that it won’t go too far.”

There was a pause. “I’d like to tie you up and do you. What are you doing this afternoon?”

“I guess I’m being tied up and fucked silly,” Ricky answered. “You going to whip me too?”

“Maybe.”

Ricky shuddered in anticipation.

When they got to Doug’s Jeep, Ricky asked, “Do you live far from here? We’re not going back to my house, are we?—not with that guy watching out for me next door.”

“No, we’ll go to my place, but will go to the clinic first.”

“The clinic? Are you hurt?”

“It’s a gay men’s clinic. On demand blood checks. We’ll go down our mountain and up the next one to Afton. The clinics there. We barebacked last time. Should have checked then. I want to bareback again.”

“Oh,” was all Ricky could think of saying.

They both came out of the clinic smiling and waving clearance papers.

“Now my place,” Doug said. “Gonna fuck you silly.”

“And whip me?”

“Maybe.”

Doug was the kind of guy who kept his promises. He had a contraption in the bedroom of the cottage that went with his job on a street not far from the clubhouse that was enough to melt Ricky and send him to heaven. Something clicked with Doug when Ricky said he liked to be bound and controlled, and Doug spent the rest of the day finding new ways to bind the male whore, control him, and fuck the stuffing out of him.

And whip him a bit.

The contraption in the bedroom was used for bench-pressing exercises, but it was great for how they used it. It had a bench with two cross-bar booms behind it, one at shoulder height for arm weight lifting and one lower from leg lifts when reversed on the bench.

Doug was sitting on the bench. Ricky was put on his lap, on his cock, with his arms raised, and restrained at the opposite ends of the upper boom. His ankles were restrained to the opposite ends of the lower boom. Doug grasped his waist, and, with both his arms and legs restrained, Ricky was pulled on and off Doug’s cock just as long as he wanted to do that.

With his wrists restrained and lodged in back of Doug’s neck, Ricky was draped on the front of Doug’s body, his knees hooked on Doug’s hips, and Doug bounced him on his cock as he strutted around the room.

And, for closers, Ricky, who was admirably flexible was made to do the splits at the bottom foot of the bed, his ankles tied off at the bottom corners of the bed, and his torso pitched forward toward the floor, supporting himself by palming the floor at the foot of the bed, while Doug, after snapping Ricky’s thigs and buttocks a few times with a hand whip, knelt behind him on the bed, clutched his waist, and pulled him on and off the massive cock.

Ricky was exhausted when Doug delivered him back to his house in the dark that evening, but both of them were well satisfied.

All of the lights were off in the house next door. There was a voice mail on the phone from Jay. “Don’t forget the party tomorrow night. Be there by 8:00, or we’ll come get you. Wear that red satin jock strap I saw in your living room and come limbered up to dance and to ride cocks.”

Ricky sighed. There was no pretense in what Jay was demanding of him. It would have been easier to meet this call if it hadn’t been couched in blackmail. In any event, he needed to figure out someplace to go from here. The kicker was that it would mean leaving Doug, and Doug was driving him wild with that big black cock of his. He was thinking too that Doug could lay it on a little heavier with the whip to Ricky’s tastes.

* * * *

At 9:00 pm on Saturday night, Ricky, wearing the red satin jockstrap, the more-bundling clothes he’d worn from next door having been dropped in the back bedroom of Jay’s house, was dancing one of the poles holding up the second-floor balcony of Jay’s chalet. He was dancing to Country and Western music, his connection to that was that he was wearing fancy cowboy boots and a cowboy hat. He’d had enough to drink that he didn’t particularly care. He’d done parties like this for the money. Being blackmailed to do this one didn’t seem a big deal. From where he was dancing he could see the Christmas tree he’d helped buy and trim and that gave a little of the holiday spirit.

There was another pole, with another young, gay stripper dancing that one. There were something fewer than a dozen guests at the party, all men, all gay tops, all randy. Doub Walker was one of them.

At 9:30 pm, Ricky was on his back on the bed in the bedroom where his other clothes were neatly folded on a luggage rack. He was still wearing the red satin jockstrap and the cowboy boots, but the jockstrap didn’t impede the first of the party guests who had him bent over the bed on his stomach and was covering him in a doggy fuck. His hole was accessible. The door to a walk-in closet across the room was open, revealing a black leather sling hunk from the ceiling in there. The other stripper was in the sling, his arms and legs restrained on the suspension chains, and a man between his legs, fucking him.

The third man to fuck Ricky stripped off the jock strap, turned him on his back, and did him in a missionary position.

The fourth man was Doug Walker. When he came in, there was somewhat of a lull in the traffic. Most of the others were playing drinking games on the dining room table or taking a sex break to watch those. Doug first freed the stripper.

“There’s a back entrance down the hall to the right if you want to get out of here,” he told the stripper. “I don’t know where your clothes are.” The stripper darted out of the room.

Doug turned to Ricky, lying on his back on the bed, panting lightly. “I made sure your clothes were in here. Dress quickly and let’s scram.”

It was a command. Doug was commanding Ricky more than he had before. Ricky did what he demanded.

When they got into the hallway outside the bedroom, they could see into the dining room, where the other stripper was on the table, dancing, with guys grabbing his legs. He was about to be down, back on the table, and gangbanged.

“Where are we going?” Ricky asked. “Will Jay know where you live?”

“We’re going off the mountain, to the west. I’ve got a friend in Stuart’s Draft. We’ll go there first and you—we—can decide where to go from there. I’ll come back to the place you’ve been staying for the rest of your things tomorrow.”

The friend in Stuart’s Draft had a farm, which he worked alone. He was a friend of Doug’s because he was another black bull who played football in the Carolina spring league.

He also was gay and randy and, with Ricky’s permission, he got his reward for harboring Ricky by fucking Ricky from the back while Doug was fucking him from the front in a double penetration.

Ricky didn’t even think of suggesting they not do this. He was the male whore everyone was saying he was. His ass was his principal asset. It’s about all he had to negotiate with. Doug’s friend had put up a nice Christmas tree, and Ricky enjoyed watching that as the two black bulls shared him.