Текст книги "Rough Trade "

Автор книги: Todd Gregory

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Ted raises his eyebrows. His heart races in his chest. “No.”

“That’s one part of Egg on His Face. My favorite part.” Larry smiles. “Except for what comes after.” He gets up from the table and walks to the chest of drawers. It takes only a second to find what he’s after. He holds up a long slender rod attached to a handle and battery pack. “A little souvenir. Yeah, this is the cattle prod that cracked Stevie boy’s ass wide open. Still works.” He gives Ted a sidelong glance, then laughs as Ted quickly turns his face away. Ted’s eyes land on the table, on the photo of Steve with his face turned up, his throat plugged with Larry’s cock.

“Rules of the game: You keep the egg yolk in your mouth. You don’t swallow it, you don’t spit it out. No matter what happens. No matter what we do to you. And you keep your hands around your ankles at all times. And when it’s over, when we take the egg yolk out of your mouth, it better be in one piece. If it’s not—if that yolk’s been split—all six Gods are gonna fuck you up the ass.”

Larry begins to pace around the room, fondling the cattle prod in his hands. “Lot of those pledges thought we had to be kidding. So we showed ’em right off we meant business. Started out by giving each guy a lube job, greasing up his asshole till it was slick as a wet pussy inside, ready to be dicked. A lot of the pledges got turned on—yeah, old Stevie boy’s peanut stayed hard as a rock the whole time I was pumping his hole with my middle finger. Then we’d throw a bunch of rubbers on the table—wouldn’t want to get the bitch pregnant, would we? Then pull out our dicks. Pump ’em up, get ’em stiff and ready to fuck. Some of the pledges started crying right then and there. But they all kept their mouths shut tight—kept that yolk in there—and held on to their ankles for dear life.

“Then each God would take a turn whipping the guy’s ass. Laying it on with the paddle, seeing who could zing his butt the hardest. There’s nothing like the sound of a wooden paddle connecting with a guy’s naked ass—that loud, sweaty crack, like gunfire. Like a big tree split wide open by a bolt of lightning. Listen to him gurgle and scream with his mouth clamped shut. Watch him tumble over on the floor, keeping his hands around his ankles. Make him scramble back on his feet and raise his ass up for more. Watch him break out in a cold sweat, turn red as a fireplug from head to toe, till his whole body’s as red as his blistered ass. Watch him jump and shake till he can hardly stand, all the time clutching his ankles and praying that yolk doesn’t bust open in his mouth.”

Larry is pacing the room like a jungle cat, his broad thighs and ass flexing inside his skintight jeans, his back and chest glistening with a thin sheen of perspiration. Ted grabs the seat of his chair to keep from shaking. “Then we’d bring out the cattle prod. Yank the guy’s head up by a fistful of hair, make sure he got a good look at it.” Larry laughs. “The look on their faces—the way they’d screw up their eyebrows, pout their lips. Ready to whine and beg—only they couldn’t. Not with a mouthful of yolk.

“We set the charge on the cattle prod real low—administration gets pretty riled if you carry these things too far. But it doesn’t take much to give a guy a heavy zap, especially when he’s already softened up and scared out of his wits, with six hard dicks lined up and ready to screw his ass.

“Run the tip of the prod up the back of his legs. Listen to it crackle. Make him dance. Slide it between his cheeks, nuzzle it up against the back of his balls, listen to him sob. Walk around front and tap it against the head of his dick. Just a tap. That’s usually enough to knock him flat on his back, grabbing his ankles and twitching like a frog. Follow him down with the prod and make him crawl on his back across the floor. And of course all the Gods get a turn. All of us laughing and pulling on our dicks, keeping it stiff, ready to start screwing the minute that yolk pops out of his mouth.”

Larry tilts the cattle prod up like a lance, runs his fingertip down the length. Looks Ted straight in the eye. “Funny thing, though. Not a one of those first nine guys broke. When it was over, when we shoved the cup under their lips and the egg yolk came drooling out, it was as perfect and round as if it had never come out of the shell. Except for Stevie boy.”

Larry walks back to the dresser, replaces the prod. Ted looks at the photos, this time at the picture of Steve in his mortarboard and robe, cheery-eyed and smiling, the happy graduate headed for Omega. “’Course, I cheated with Stevie boy, just a little. He was the last one to come through. We’d already had our fun with the others. They’d all passed the test. The Gods were getting antsy. Pretty worked up. Needed a hole to sink our dicks into. So when it came my turn with the prod, I turned up the juice. Just a little. Had a couple of the guys grab Stevie boy’s butt and pull his cheeks wide open. Laid the tip of the prod smack on his greasy asshole. Slipped it inside an inch or two and hit the buzzer.” Larry takes a deep breath, smiling at the memory. “They must’ve heard that sucker scream all the way to Old Main. Next thing you know he’s sprawled face-down on the floor, spread-eagled and clutching the carpet, twisting around like a snake on hot asphalt. Sobbing like a baby. With egg all over his face.”

“And then—then what—” Ted’s breath is so short he can hardly speak.

“What do you think? Six horny guys with greasy hard-ons poking out of their flies. Stevie boy lying naked on the floor, reaching back to grab his butt, showing off his greasy asshole. A couple of the Gods grabbed him and yanked him up on his feet, twisted his arms behind his back. My buddy Gary—good dude, Gary grabbed him by the hair and clamped Stevie’s head between his legs. And I had my dick up that sucker’s asshole so quick he must have thought I was zapping him with the prod again.”

Larry plops himself down in the chair, spreads his legs wide open, reaches down to casually squeeze the fleshy tube running down his pants leg. “Most of us plowed his ass more than once. Walk around front when we were finished and make him lick the slime off our rubbers while the next man climbed into the saddle. Yeah, I was the first to screw Stevie boy that night. And the first to use his mouth. Made him suck his own cherry juice off my dick. Screwed him a couple more times—seemed like my dick just wouldn’t go soft that night. Saved my last load for his cocksucking mouth. That’s when that picture was taken, about half a minute after I shot my wad down his throat. Gary walked in with his camera just as I was starting to pull out and caught Stevie boy in the act.” Larry laughs. “Damn, I thought Stevie boy was about to piss himself, the way he cried and carried on and begged us to give him that picture. Never saw a cocksucker so camera-shy.”

“So—” Ted struggles to speak through the lump in his throat. “So what happened to him?”

“Word got around pretty fast. Next morning, down at breakfast, all the other pledges were celebrating making it into Omega. Those guys treated Stevie boy like dirt. Like he was some kind of leper. Nobody’d sit next to him. Everybody laughing behind his back. Huevos rancheros for breakfast—guys were smearing egg yolk on their faces and nudging each other, all of ’em having a good laugh at the cocksucker.”

Larry leans back in his chair, cocks his head. Traces his fingertip over the bulge running down his pants leg, from the base to the crown. Across the table, Ted is in a state of constant agitation, his eyes wide open, his tongue flicking against his lips.

“Of course, that’s just the beginning of the story. Just the start of the shit we put little Stevie boy through. You heard enough, Teddy boy, or you wanna hear more? Maybe if you ask me real nice…”

Ted knows the formula. He recites it without hesitation. “Yes, sir. Please. I want to hear the rest.”

Larry nods and smirks. “Yeah, I figured you would…” He leans forward across the table, bringing his face close to Ted’s.

“After that night—after we found out what a good cocksucker he was and busted his cherry—the Gods put out word that Stevie boy was fair game for all the upperclassmen. Figured it was about time we had a steady cocksucker on the premises. But only the Gods were allowed to use his ass.”

“He let you—”

“Wasn’t exactly like we had to ask his permission. We had that picture to keep him in line. That picture of Stevie boy with my dick down his throat.”

Larry leans back. “Me and Gary and the rest of the Gods made some special rules for Stevie boy. Like a curfew on Saturday nights. Had to be in by ten o’clock. In his room. Naked. Down on his knees. That way all the guys who didn’t score on a date had a guaranteed place to drop a load. Some Saturday nights, around two in the morning, I’d see ’em lined up ten-deep in the hall outside his room, all waiting their turn to plow some fratboy dick down Stevie’s throat. Yeah, Saturday night was suck night. Feeding time for the fraternity fuckhole.”

Ted’s head is spinning. His dick is throbbing in his pants. “Maybe—you think maybe—he liked it? Maybe he wanted it?”

Larry curls his upper lip and gives him a look as if he had crawled out from under a rock. “Liked it? Shit. You wouldn’t ask if you’d been there. If you’d seen him eating alone down in the dining hall every night. If you’d heard him crying himself to sleep in his room at night. You think he liked being the fraternity fuckhole? Stevie boy hated it. Hated every minute of it.

“Hated me most of all. After all, I was the one that slipped the cattle prod up his ass that night. The one that cracked his cherry, split his ass wide open for all the Gods to fuck. Hated me especially, ’cause I had the biggest dick in the house. You should’ve heard him squeal and carry on every time I’d slip my cunt-buster up his tight little chute. Liked it? Shit, you’d have to be queer to ask a question like that.

“No, Stevie boy wanted out. About a month after Hell Week I was nosing around in his room, found a letter on his desk. Addressed to his daddy back home in Beaumont—begging the old man to let him quit Omega. Nothing too specific, of course. Just a bunch of crap about how we all picked on him, how he didn’t fit in. Stuck that letter in my pocket, and the next morning at breakfast I called him up to the front of the hall. Made him read it out loud in front of everybody. The guys laughed their heads off. Stevie boy started stuttering and crying, saying he was sorry, saying he wouldn’t send it.

“But that’s not what I had in mind. I made him send it. Stood over him while he licked the stamp and stuck it in the mailbox. Then took him back to my room and gave him a taste of what happens to squealers in Omega House. Stevie boy could hardly walk for a couple of days after that.”

“So then—his father let him quit the house?”

Larry shakes his head. “You don’t understand a damn thing, do you? Oh, his old man wrote back all right. Like I knew he would. I got my hands on that letter before Stevie boy had a chance. It was just what I expected.

“I called him up that night at dinner and waved it under his nose. Made him do another recitation for us. Know what his daddy called him? A sissy. Said no son of his was gonna drop out of Omega. Told him to brace up—his exact words. ‘Your letter has shamed me to the core, son. Brace up! Try to act like a man, not a sissy. Obey the orders of your upperclassmen, and show respect to the Gods!’

“We had quite a laugh out of that one. Had quite a gang-bang with Stevie boy that night, me and Gary and the other Gods. Even brought out the cattle prod again. ‘Daddy says open wide and suck my big dick…Daddy says bend over and spread those cheeks so this upperclassman can screw you like a two-bit whore—Daddy says grab your ankles and brace yourself, cocksucker, ’cause you’re about to get a shock.’”

Larry laughs out loud.

“Stevie boy didn’t give us much trouble after that, no matter how rough we got with him. No matter how miserable we made him—and we worked damned hard to make made his life a living hell. A couple of times he got desperate, even threatened to go to the dean. But of course all we had to do was wave that picture under his nose. That always kept him in line. Kept him in his place—down on his knees, or bent over grabbing his ankles with his naked butt in the air.”

Larry slides down in his chair. He narrows his eyes and squeezes the bulge running down the leg of his jeans. “I guess he finally did get to where he liked sucking cock. At least you’d think so, the way his eyes glazed over and his jaw went slack when I’d walk in his room in the middle of the night, with my dick already half-hard and hanging out the fly of my underwear. The way his stiff little weenie would spring up from his shaved crotch every time I’d make him choke on my meat. The way he’d get down on his hands and knees and crawl across the floor for it, with his tongue hanging out and his stiff little nub slapping up against his belly.

“But he never did get used to taking my big dick up his ass. Those nights when I’d call him into my room, make him sit and twirl on it till noon the next day. Have to slap his face to make him stop blubbering and begging to get off. Yeah, Stevie boy’s hole was always tight, no matter how many times I cored him out.

“Must’ve hurt like hell. ’Course I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had anything up my ass—well, that’s not quite true. I used to like spending a couple of hours on a Sunday afternoon with Stevie boy’s tongue wiggling around up my chute while I beat off. With his nose pressed into my balls and his mouth clamped onto my hole, eating me out. That boy sucked ass even better than he sucked cock.”

Ted’s eyes travel back and forth. From Steve’s face, smiling and innocent in his graduation photo, to Larry’s smirking at him from across the table. Down the length of Larry’s torso, down his hard, sculpted pecs and washboard stomach to the obscene mound at the crotch of his jeans—and then to the picture of Steve staring in shock at the camera, his throat bulging with Larry’s cock. The face of a pledge who’s been ridden to hell and back. The face of an unwilling cocksucker who’s just swallowed a load from the biggest dick in Omega.

“So—so what finally happened to him?”

Larry knits his eyebrows and gives him a long, dark stare. “Seems to me you haven’t been doing what I told you to, cocksucker. Seems to me you haven’t been calling me sir. ”

Ted doesn’t resist. Saying the words makes his mouth water, makes his cock throb in his pants and his asshole twitch. “Sir. Please. Tell me what finally happened to him. Tell me what happened to the fraternity fuckhole…”

Larry flashes a thin smile and nods. “Well, about midterm we got a letter from the dean. Seems Stevie boy’s grades were dragging the whole house down. His grade point average was shit. Guess he didn’t have much time to concentrate on his courses. Guess it’s not easy taking notes in class when you’re sitting in a hard wooden chair with a big plug stuffed up your ass, and your ass is already blistered from getting whipped that morning, and sore inside from getting dicked by four or five guys the night before. And you know the same thing is gonna happen when you get home that night. And the night after…

“So I made a personal phone call to Steve’s daddy down in Beaumont to explain the situation. Told him I realized that he was one of our biggest sponsors, that all his boys had been Omega—but something just had to be done about Stevie boy. Mr. Big Shot was pretty upset. Pretty damned riled. Gave me his Omega word of honor that he’d see to it himself that the boy was straightened out. Must have given little Stevie a big dose of hell over Christmas vacation; sucker came back for spring term shakier than ever. And from there on it was all downhill. By the end of the year he was pulling straight F’s. Didn’t go out much—no girlfriend, no drinking buddies. Spent all his time in his room. Which was all right. That way we always knew where to find him when we needed a nice tight hole to unload in.

“I’m not sure exactly what happened at the end of term. All I know is that Stevie had some kind of big falling out with his daddy—probably ’cause he refused to come back to Omega in the fall. And how could he ever tell the old man why? His daddy cut him off without a cent.”

“So what happened to him?”

Larry shrugs.

“You mean you never saw him again?”

“Not for a long time. Not until just a couple of months ago. A Saturday night, me and Gary cruising up and down the Drag in Gary’s Jag, about two in the morning—we stopped in at some fast food joint, Taco Hell or Jock in the Crotch, one of those places. And there was Stevie boy, working behind the counter. Only white boy in the place. Dressed up in some silly peon outfit, shirt with big red stripes that didn’t fit him and a little paper hat. Turned white as a fish’s belly when he saw us walk in the door. Started shaking so bad he could hardly take our order. Kept getting flustered and messing it up. Spilled our change all over the counter. Never once looked me in the eye.

“Place was deserted. Just a skeleton crew behind the counter, no customers besides me and Gary. We sat down at a table up front where we could keep an eye on him. You’d have thought we were sticking pins in a voodoo doll, the way he kept tripping around back there, bumping into things and knocking shit over. We could hear the night manager back in the kitchen yelling at him, asking him what the fuck was going on.

“Then Gary and I started talking real loud, dropping words like ‘cocksucker’ and ‘faggot.’ Stevie boy’s face turned as red as those stripes on the stupid shirt he was wearing. Then I called him over. Called him by name. He looked up, then tried to look away, but I kept staring him straight in the eye. Called him again. The night manager told him to get off his ass and see what we wanted. Stevie boy walked out from behind the counter, shaking like a leaf.

“We had him shuffling back and forth for about ten minutes, fetching us stuff—a little extra salt, some ketchup—‘hey Stevie boy, we need some ice water here’—seeing how far we could push him. He always was a real obedient little cocksucker. Then I called him over one last time.” Larry cocks his eyebrow, smiling at the memory. “You wanna know what I made little Stevie boy do?”

Horrified, excited, Ted doesn’t trust himself to speak. He just nods his head.

Larry leans forward, speaking slowly, relishing every word. “I told Stevie boy to go back to the john—get his ass in the men’s room and wait for us there. Told him to take off that stupid peon outfit, strip off all his clothes and get down on his knees stark naked by the urinal. Throw back his head, close his eyes and prop his mouth wide open. ’Cause Gary and I were gonna be in there in about two minutes to feed him our loads, and I expected to see him naked with his mouth ready to suck and his little peanut sticking up to show us how glad he was to see us.”

Larry leans back, shaking his head. “I didn’t think he’d do it. I really didn’t. Not after all the shit we’d put him through. But then I reached down and gave my dick a squeeze and looked him in the eye, and his face blushed darker than ever and got this crazy, helpless, hungry look on it—just the kind of look you’ve got on your face right now, cocksucker. And he turned around and headed straight for the toilet.”

“You fucked him—right there—”

Larry smiles his crooked smile and slowly shakes his head. “Nope. Gary and I waited two minutes, then walked up to the counter. Called the night manager over. Big black motherfucker. Told him he better have a look in the men’s room, ’cause some kind of weirdo pervert was hanging around in there. Motherfucker walked straight to the john and slammed the door behind him. We waited till we heard him start yelling bloody murder—heard a sound like a slap and Stevie squealing—then went out and hopped in the Jag, peeled out of the parking lot, and took a cruise down the Drag at ninety miles an hour. Laughing all the way.”

Larry chuckles and folds his hands behind his head, stretching his arms and shoulders. “And I imagine that’s the last we’ll ever see of Stevie boy in this town.”

Ted shudders and bites his lip, not trusting himself to speak.

Unable to look Larry in the eye, he looks again at the photos on the table. Staring at the two images of Steve, before and after. What he was, and what Larry made him into.

Ted can feel the power of Larry’s presence, like the rush of a drug ensnaring him, the same power Steve must have felt—the breathtaking beauty of his perfect body and his perfect, chiseled face, like a stake in the heart, like a rebuke to all the mediocre bodies and faces that populate an imperfect world. The arrogant glint in his eyes, crushing everything that comes before them, unsoftened by the least hint of pity or remorse. And his cock. Larry’s big cock. The cock of a rapist, the cock of a punisher. A cock made to take pleasure, not to give it. Hidden from sight, but dominating everything that happens in the room.

Ted is repulsed and excited, disgusted and thrilled. Torn between fear and desire. He wants to throw the photos in Larry’s face and run from the room. He wants to get down on his hands and knees and crawl between Larry’s legs and beg to suck his big dick. Ted is paralyzed, unable to move. Larry decides for him.

“Shit. Telling that story’s got me hot. Got my dick all big and stiff in my pants. I bet you’d like to see it, wouldn’t you, cocksucker?”

Ted moves his mouth, trying to answer, but nothing comes out.

Larry doesn’t wait for an answer. “Stand up. Get out of that chair and get your ass over here.” Larry settles back, edging his chair away from the table, leaning back and crossing his hands behind his neck.

Ted moves in slow motion. The air in the room seems thick as molasses. Finally he stands before Larry, fists clenched at his sides, breathing hard, staring down at Larry’s crotch. “Take off your clothes, cocksucker.”

Ted tries to pull his T-shirt out of his shorts, but his fingers are like putty, stiff and awkward.

“Come on, you shy or something? It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked, plenty of times. Yeah, don’t think I didn’t know. You think last night was the first time I caught you watching me, drooling out your window and playing with yourself? You’ve been doing it for months. So now it’s my turn. Turnabout’s fair play, huh, faggot? Show me what you got.”

Ted blushes as he peels the shirt up to his neck and over his shoulders. His naked chest burns as hot as his face. His nipples tingle and tighten, drawing up stiff and erect.

He swallows hard and undoes the clasp of his loose, baggy shorts, feels them slide down his legs and pool around his ankles.

He glances down at his crotch. His cock is hard as a bone inside his underwear, impossible to hide; a peanut compared to the bulge in Larry’s pants. He takes a shallow breath and bends over, slipping the underwear down his thighs, feeling his cock snap up against his belly, feeling the cool, refrigerated air of the room on his naked ass. For a moment he stays like that, bent double with his ass in the air, staring at the tops of Larry’s boots, feeling somehow hidden and safe. Then he slowly straightens up, exposing himself to Larry’s stare.

For a long moment Larry just sits in the chair and looks at him. Watching Ted’s chest rise and fall, unable to catch a breath. Watching his hard cock bobbing and twitching in time with his heartbeat. Ted glances into his eyes for instant, then looks away. Larry’s eyes give back nothing—no approval, no desire, not even curiosity.

Ted suddenly feels ridiculous, ashamed of his nudity. His body is still a boy’s body, shapeless and soft in the places where Larry bulges with muscle, small and stunted in the parts where Larry is so big and hard. He’s embarrassed to have Larry see his cock, such a tiny, useless thing compared to the truncheon of meat between Larry’s legs. What pleasure could Larry have in looking at his naked body, when Larry is so perfect and Ted is so plain?

Of course Ted knows why Larry is interested in him. Because Ted is a cocksucker and a faggot. Because Ted has a tight ass and a cock-hungry mouth, two holes that Larry can use any way he wants to make his big dick feel good.

Larry gets up from the chair and slowly circles him. Ted can hear the click of his boots against the hard tile floor. He imagines he can feel a touch on his ass and flinches, then realizes it’s only his imagination, raising goose bumps on his flesh. Larry’s voice is warm and moist in his ear.

“Seems to me I told you a while back to start calling me sir. Seems to me you haven’t been doing what I told you to. Seems to me you’ve been a bad little faggot. What do you say, Teddy boy—you been a bad little faggot?”

Ted screws up his face and pouts his lips. “Yes. Yes, sir.”

“That’s right. Cocksuckers who wanna see my big dick call me sir. You still wanna see my dick, Teddyboy? Maybe touch it with your tongue, huh? Maybe hold it in your mouth? Find out if your jaw can open wide enough for me to cram the whole fucking thing down your throat?”

The room is spinning. “Yes, sir.”

“Then I’m gonna have to punish you first.” Larry steps in front of him, reaches over, and takes the paddle from the wall. Plants his booted feet far apart. Grabs the zipper at his fly and slowly pulls it down. The zipper reaches bottom, Larry wiggles his hips, and the big cock comes tumbling out.

Ted sucks in his breath. He had thought that Larry’s cock was already fully hard, but that was only an illusion, because of the size. Fully stiff, the tight jeans could never have accommodated it. It hangs from the fly of Larry’s pants, not hard but not soft either; plump and rubbery, drooping slightly, thick as a cucumber.

Larry stands before him. Chest glazed with a thin sheen of perspiration. Arms at his sides, the paddle dangling from his right hand. His fly undone, his cock exposed, his open jeans clinging tight to the big muscles of his ass and thighs.

He catches Ted staring at his dick. “What do you say, cocksucker? You think it’s worth twenty big ones from the paddle?”

Ted shudders. His hands latch on to his thighs, digging in with his fingernails to try to stop the shaking. His voice breaks, starting with a croak and ending in a whine. “Yes, sir.”

Larry nods, slapping the paddle against the palm of his hand. His eyes rake over the nude body before him, as if searching for a suitable target. Then, without warning, the paddle comes down, slamming the tip of Ted’s hard cock.

“Just to show you what I think of your little weenie, cocksucker,” Larry mutters. “Just so you don’t get any ideas.”

Ted gasps and bends forward, clutching his thighs. Tears well up in his eyes and run down his cheeks. His cock bobs and twitches in the air. A glob of semen squirts from the tip and lands on the floor with a splat. Almost coming, but not quite. He tightens every muscle, desperately holding back. Not yet. Not yet—

And then the phone rings. Ted can hear it vaguely through the pounding in his temples, jangling softly in another room.

Larry ignores it for a moment. He looks down at the glob of semen at his feet. “I’ll make you clean that up later, Teddy boy. With your tongue. While I’m fucking your ass.”

Ted quivers. His cock throbs from the pain of the blow, his knees are wobbly from almost coming. Larry steps toward him and he flinches, expecting another blow. Instead, Larry hangs the paddle on his hard cock, using it like a peg; not looping the strap against the base of his cock, but hooking it just behind the ridge of the head. The paddle is heavy, but Ted’s cock is so hard it refuses to bend.

“You stay just like that, cocksucker. I’ll take care of you when I get back. And don’t drop the paddle—unless you want me to get out the cattle prod.”

And Larry leaves him like that—standing nude and erect at attention in the center of the room, with the paddle hanging from the head of his dick. Leaves him to answer the phone in the bedroom. Puts him in his place—not even important enough to let the phone call pass.

The bedroom door is half shut. From the corner of his eye Ted can catch only a glimpse of Larry seated in a chair by the bed, the phone raised to his ear. He strains to listen.

“Gary—hey man, how you doing?…Busy? Maybe. Got a cocksucker waiting in the other room—No, I’m not kidding you. Faggot neighbor of mine, I’ve told you about him—the peeping Tom—

“Naked with a hard-on. I was just about to start paddling his ass—Sure, come on over. Be like old times—we’ll get out the cattle prod…”

Ted catches his breath. Gooseflesh runs up his spine. He leans back and peers into the bedroom, unable to see Larry’s face. Spins his head around and stares at the door to the stairway.

Now or never, while Larry is still on the phone. He could grab his shorts and pull them up, scoop his shirt off the floor, make a run for the door. Leave and never come back.

Then he hears a soft ping. The click of the thermostat. The whole room seems to sigh as the air-conditioning comes on. The sudden change in pressure is just enough to push the bedroom door open another inch or two. Just enough to bring Larry’s face into view, along with Larry’s cock.

Larry looks up. Sees him. And goes about his business, holding the phone to his ear in one hand, slowly stroking his cock with the other. Fully hard now. A club of naked flesh jutting up from his hips, glistening with spit. Larger than life, thicker than his stroking hand can encircle. Larry looks him in the eye and smirks—and the decision is made.

Ted can’t stop himself. He doesn’t try. Keeping his eyes on Larry’s cock, he slowly drops to his knees, careful not to drop the paddle. He falls forward onto his hands and begins to crawl. He has to shuffle, his feet hobbled by his shorts. The paddle pulls against the head of his dick, knocks against his legs. It rattles against the tile floor, then falls silent as he crosses the threshold and crawls across the plush carpet toward Larry’s waiting dick. Larry speaks—“Yeah, see you here in fifteen minutes”—then hangs up the phone.