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RichEisbrouch

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About RichEisbrouch

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  • Age in Years
    69
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    Male
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    Gay
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    Los Angeles, California
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    writing, research, staying in touch with friends, work and volunteer work, walking our dogs...

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  1. Billy was in the gym, working on his abs, and it was getting late. But he knew the owner, and the guy often let him stay after hours. “Just turn on the alarm and pull the door shut,” he said. “It’ll lock after you.” “I won’t hurt myself,” Billy promised. “Well, don’t sue me if you do.” Billy always laughed at that. It’s not like he was using power tools and might cut off a thumb. Billy was tugging at the cables, facing the training machine, when he felt a pair of hands clamp over his. “Uh-oh,” he thought. “This can’t be good. There are too many toys in here.” Still, he hadn’t seen the goon for almost a week and had been so busy at work, there’d barely been time for a couple of jerks in the shower. “Medicinal masturbation,” he called them. And no matter what he thought of the goon, the sex was always fine. Plus, the fantasies – even if he hurt like the devil for several days afterward. “Keep going,” the goon ordered, and he jerked down Billy’s shorts – Billy was already working without a shirt. As Billy tugged on the cables, the goon slid into him, and – with every squat – pushed harder. And said, “More.” More than Billy usually did? Or more than he thought he could? He was already hard, and though it felt like he was being fucked by part of the machine, he kept going. The goon kept his balance by firmly keeping a grasp on Billy’s pecs. “This is gonna make a great video,” he whispered, and Billy only hoped the camera was behind them. “Don’t worry,” the goon assured him. “No one’ll see your face.” When it seemed the goon was finished, he ordered, “Stay,” then pulled Billy out of his shorts, wiping himself with them. “Fifty,” he followed. “Facing the machine.” Billy was again happy the camera was off his face. When he was done, the goon said, “Turn over,” and he sat on Billy’s abs, facing him, masked. But he had two five pound weights in his hands, and Billy wondered where they would go. It didn’t take long to find out. One weight went on either side of Billy’s left nipple, and the goon squeezed. “Yeeee-oooowww!” Billy yelled. “Don’t think anyone’ll hear you,” the goon said, laughing. The gym was in a small strip mall, and everything around it was closed. The goon next moved the weights to Billy’s right nipple, and Billy gave the same Tarzan yell. Only this time, the goon held the weights longer, so Billy’s scream stretched. “Yeeeeee-oooooo-wwwwww!!” He knew not to beg – that would only bring more pain. And after maybe ten minutes, the goon quit repeatedly switching nipples and let the weights fall carelessly on Billy’s chest. “Keepers,” he explained – because they compressed Billy’s nipples but didn’t really hurt. Then he turned around on Billy’s belly, pushing aside his wayward dick. Billy didn’t know what weights he was using this time, because the goon’s bare back blocked his view. But his balls got crunched between them – hard. “Yeeeeee-oooooowwwwww-oooooowwwwww-oooooowwwwww!” After a minute, the goon let up. Only to come back stronger. “Yeeeeee-oooooowwwwww-oooooowwwwww-oooooowwwwww!” That stopped when Billy squirted in the air – which seemed all the goon was after. He laughed again, let the weights roll crazily across the floor, pulled his mask halfway up, and kissed Billy. “Good, lad.” Then he bound Billy’s hands and feet, pulled on his own clothes, kissed Billy good night, killed the lights, set the alarm, and let the door lock behind him.
  2. Billy was in one of the far corners of the local chain bookstore when his neck was grabbed from behind, the hand easily spanning from side-to-side and propelling him forward. “Where we going?” he asked. But there was no answer. So he figured they were about to explore another unknown storeroom. But when the nearby elevator doors closed behind them, the goon flipped off the switch and the car stayed put. “What if someone needs it?” Billy asked. “They’ll use the escalator.” This was an older, remodeled building, and Billy didn’t even know there was an elevator, so that made sense. He relaxed. At least, he wouldn’t be walked in on naked. But the goon didn’t seem interested in that yet. Instead, he turned Billy by the shoulders, so they were facing each other – though Billy was staring into the goon’s neck, just below his ski mask. Then he said, “Brace.” Billy looked around. “Against what?” “Your abs.” He was more confused. “Brace them against what?” “You’ve got a lousy trainer.” Actually, Billy didn’t have a trainer. He planned all his exercises alone. The goon explained: “Tighten your abs. Pull them in, then up. We’re gonna test your midriff.” Billy did as told, and suddenly the goon belted him in the abs. That bent him over. “Not so hot,” the goon evaluated. Billy was trying to breathe. “Straighten up.” Billy had to. “Brace.’ He did, and the goon walloped him again. As Billy bent again, a disgusted knee came up into his balls. As he lay on the floor, moaning, his clothes were peeled away, his ankles belted, and his wrists tied behind him. He groaned. “Why are you so mean to me?” The goon laughed. “Stupid question.” Then he bent down and kissed Billy for a very long time. Next, he jerked Billy off – almost – stopping right before the end. “If I touch your chest, you’ll blow,” he said. “If you touch me anywhere, I will.” “Shouldn’t have said that,” the goon warned. And he squeezed Billy’s balls so tightly, the room began to blur. But his tongue kept going deeper into Billy’s mouth. Till Billy shot. “Best orgasm ever?” the goon finally asked. “Damn you,” Billy replied. “Uh-uh-uh,” the goon said, shaking his head. He released Billy’s hands and feet, pulled him standing, and using both fists, barreled him in the abs. Then he watched Billy fall. As Billy tried to breathe, the goon nuzzled his balls with his shoe. “See you in the gym, fella.” Then he opened the elevator doors and left.
  3. Billy was coming out of the men’s room at his local gas station when a voice commanded, “Fifty.” There was no choice. But before he could drop, he was pushed next door into a small black storeroom. When enough light came under the door to see the goon’s bare feet, Billy dropped to the concrete and did his push-ups. “Stand,” the goon ordered next, and Billy did. His shirt was quickly stripped off, though his tie was left neatly taut around his neck. His nipples were bitten, first one then the other. He was kissed – almost gently – then fighting that, his back was pressed against the hard wall, and his bare chest squeezed against the goon’s naked one. Next, his pants were yanked away, along with his shorts, shoes, and socks. His dick was eased between the goon’s legs – landing somewhere mid-thigh – and the goon repeatedly danced against it, until Billy was lifting repeatedly on his toes. His nipples were bitten again, less politely, the goon’s teeth now pinching till Billy moaned. One of Billy’s arms was stretched horizontal and his wrist tied – maybe to a rack. Then his other wrist was bound to something opposite – a water heater? Billy had never seen the room in the light. The goon then slowly kicked Billy’s legs apart, three or four inches at a time – left – right – left – right – till there was at least five feet between them, heading toward a split he knew he could never do. Just short of that, his ankles were tied, and he wondered how the goon could see so easily in the dark. The goon tugged at Billy’s dick and nipped his balls. His wet finger went into Billy, followed by another, then three, then four. And they spread. Whoa! Billy’s pecs were grabbed and twisted, while Billy pumped the air, wanting so badly to shoot. Instead, his chest was spanked – there was no other word for it – with the goon’s broad hand. Slap-slap-slap-slap. Slap-slap-slap-slap. First one side then the other. Slap-slap-slap-slap. Slap-slap-slap-slap. Till his chest grew hot and his dick ran. Slap-slap-slap-slap. Slap-slap-slap-slap. He was permanently on his toes now and on the edge. Till he couldn’t stand it anymore and shot across the room, against some kind of metal sign – there was a definite ping. Then there were noises he couldn’t understand, and the door opened, lights snapped on, and the room was suddenly too bright to see. “‘Evenin’, bud,” the now fully dressed goon said – as the lights went out, door closed, and Billy was left in the dark again. Bound, dripping, but oh so pleased.
  4. Be careful about reading too much of Billy at once.  It's like a cartoon strip -- a little goes a long way.  And after too many, you lose the humor.

    But thanks.

  5. Billy was browsing a car showroom one evening, when the goon said, “Through that door ahead of you, into the parts department.” As usual, he followed Billy, adding instructions. “Right.” “Left at those shelves.” “Into that aisle.” “Keep walking.” The aisles were narrow – a dim maze, the shelves ten-feet high and packed with car parts. The parts department was closed. “Right through that door,” and Billy entered as the goon turned on the lights. They were in a small, windowless office: A industrial desk and chair. A monitor, screen, mouse, and papers. A long bookcase that filled the opposite wall. The goon turned on the desk lamp. “Kill that other.” Billy did. “Fifty.” While Billy did push-ups, the goon stripped off his own T-shirt, dropped his pants, and settled back in the desk chair, dressed mainly in his ski mask and a rubber. Finished, Billy looked to the goon. Who simply pointed. Billy had never sucked the goon before. He thought his dick been in his mouth that first time, the night of the break-in, but he was out cold. For all he knew, it was a lubed finger. The goon never sucked him, either. He’d teased, with his tongue, all the while crushing Billy’s nipples. He’d stroked Billy’s balls, then abruptly jerked down the sack. Billy liked all that, though he liked being sucked, too. But what about the goon? First – unexpectedly – he had to get the goon hard, and the man almost fiercely defied him. Billy tried everything, but the goon resisted. Billy suspected that was discipline, as he’d seen the goon easily get hard before – in fact, he barely remembered the man otherwise. So why was he being perverse? “I’ll leave you here naked,” the goon finally casually threatened, and Billy was sure he would. But overnight? The man took risks, but not real ones. He tried again, this time fingering the goon’s nipples. His hands were wordlessly eased away. “You must be straight,” the goon joked. Then, just as Billy was picturing himself tied naked to the chair, waiting in the dark till morning, the goon’s dick grew – clearly by his own will. But he made Billy work for his release, and when he finally succeeded, his only reward was, “Strip.” What could he do? Run? Overpower the goon? The man was clearly stronger. He could only undress. Maybe the goon would relent. But, no. While Billy stripped, the goon pulled up his jeans and slipped on his T, neatly sealing the spent rubber in an envelope from the desk and folding it into his pocket. “Your clothes will be on the shelves,” he said. “Out there.” He pointed. “In five minutes.” He indicated the digital clock on the desk. “Then you can start your hunt.” And the goon was fast. And tall. And each piece of Billy’s clothes was somewhere different. After an hour, he left with one sock, no shorts or T, and no belt. But he had all the important pieces to let him walk comfortably through the bright showroom. And in those few minutes between Billy being naked and the goon hiding his clothes, he’d popped an unlubed rubber on Billy and sucked him dry. Expertly.
  6. Billy felt that this time the goon had gone too far. He was naked. In the dark. On a farm road he recognized as being some five miles out of town. He’d have to walk his way back, hoping to find something to cover himself along the way. Sweating from the heat and the situation, he was half relieved when he heard a car horn honk behind him and turned to see a pick-up truck not a sheriff’s deputy. He wouldn’t honk, anyway. “Where ya headed, handsome?” the driver asked, ignoring the fact Billy was naked – or maybe stopping because of it. “Just a couple of miles to my house,” Billy replied, embarrassed. “Ten bucks,” the man countered. “Sorry, fella. All you see is what I’ve got – I got mugged.” “Didn’t figure you was a frat boy.” And he guffawed. Billy pictured the guy trolling for university kids and wondered how old the man was. His face and age were lost in the dark. “And too bad about your money,” he went on. “But I still gotta get paid.” Then he rambled further, as if pretending he was just working something out. “Tell you what though. You get in, and we’ll drive around for a bit. You let me mess with you while I drive, and we’ll call it even.” Billy was less worried about the messing than the steering with one hand along unlit country roads. “How about we just park by the river?” he suggested. “Nah. First place the cops look. Gotta keep moving.” Definitely a troll. But Billy had to get home without being arrested. “If I had my way,” the guy went on, “I’d give you a full body rub – hot oil and the works. Me naked, of course, but you never touching – never being allowed to. And I’d give special attention to your chest, and play with your nibs for a bit – maybe even suck on ‘em. You’ve got the kind of body I like – all muscle and fur.” He stared down at Billy’s dick, which – unfortunately – was getting hard. “Looks like your little friend likes my bargain.” And Billy got into the truck. He quickly strapped himself into the passenger seat, adding just a little protection in a possible wreck. Then he tucked his hands behind his neck and stuck out his chest. What the hell? The old guy drove at a crawl, so he could use his free hand. “I love your man tits, boy. You ought to be beat for having tits that nice.” “Yes, Sir,” Billy agreed. He knew how to play, and it was just a few more minutes. The guy continued to cup and squeeze Billy’s pecs then pinch and tweak his nipples. He let the truck drift to a stop and leaned over to suck Billy left pec and then the other. At first, he sucked gently, then nibbled, then bit till Billy moaned. “You like making noise, boy?” “Yes, Sir!” So he leaned down and took Billy’s dick in his teeth, then chomped. When Billy yelped instead of moaned, the guy laughed. “Didn’t like that so much,” Billy knew what would happen no matter what he said. So he went with a compliment. “I liked it a lot, Sir. You’re very good.” “Thank you, boy.” And of course, he bit again. Billy braced against the seat. Next, the guy grabbed a handful of Billy’s balls and crunched. “Yes, Sir! Yes, Sir!” Billy encouraged. Though it hurt like bad nipple clips. Happy, the guy went back to Billy’s nipples and practically ate them. But he really couldn’t hurt too much there, and Billy spasmed against the seat. “You like that, boy.” “Yes, Sir!” Billy panted. That started the guy driving again, too fast, considering he was shifting with Billy’s dick. But he quickly pulled off the road, drove over a cattle grate, and stopped in a dark field. He hopped out the truck, tore open Billy’s door, unbelted him, tugged him around the back, popped the gate, and flattened Billy face down on the ridged bed. Dropping his jeans, he spread Billy’s legs, and fucked him hard. “That should keep you holy till Sunday,” he finally gasped. Billy would have laughed, but he was gasping himself. Finally, the guy climbed out of the bed, giving Billy a final twhack!, threw something far into the field, and zipped up his fly. “Tell me your address, boy.” Billy did, as started to crawl out of the truck bed. “Nah, stay put, boy. No ten bucks. No ride in the cab.” The next thing Billy knew, he was home – and happy for it. Plus – amazingly – his car was parked in his open garage, his clothes, keys, and everything else stacked neatly on the driver’s seat. Still, it was only while he was taking a long, hot shower, trying to forget the weirdest things that had just happened, that Billy realized he’d been fucked twice that night by the goon.
  7. As Billy pulled into his garage one night after work, the goon stepped out of the shadows and opened his car door. “Fifty,” he said, and Billy got out and complied. “Jacket,” the goon said, and Billy gave it to him. “Tie.” Billy handed it over. “Shirt.” Billy took it off. “Fob.” “In my right jacket pocket,” Billy said. “On my key ring. The goon nodded. He wasn’t masked, but in the dark garage, Billy couldn’t clearly see his face. “Flat on the back seat,” the goon ordered next, opening that door. Billy bent his knees to fit. Soon the goon was driving them along the dark streets. Billy trusted the man with his car as completely as he did with his body, and less than ten minutes later, the goon parked. “Out,” he said, opening the rear door. Billy got out. “Shoes.” “Socks.” “Pants.” “Shorts.” Billy was naked. The goon slammed the door, sealing in the pile of his clothes. “Walk,” he ordered, facing Billy towards a dark field, and for maybe a minute, they walked between tall rows of corn. “Fifty,” the goon said at a far fence, and Billy dropped. Done, the goon flattened Billy in the dirt with one shoe planted between his shoulders. “I heard a funny story the other day,” the goon began. “From a friend. He went out to fix a guy’s flat and ended up getting laid. You allowed to do that?” Before Billy could answer, the goon put his other shoe on Billy’s butt. Then he bounced. “Ow!” Billy hollered. The goon bounced again. “You’re gonna break my back!” Billy insisted. The goon bounced in reply. Then he unzipped, and even in the dim light, Billy could see him putting on a rubber. Then he flattened himself, using Billy as a cushion, and took the boy from behind. Just long enough later for them both to be satisfied, standing over Billy, the goon said, “Now you stay there for ten minutes. Not nine. Not eleven. And if you get it right – maybe – I’ll let you ride home in your trunk.” Billy heard the goon walk off and started counting the seconds, timing them from his pulse. When he was sure he had it right, he walked to the road. But the goon and his car were gone.
  8. Billy had a flat tire on the way home from the hospital after a long day at work. He was simply too beat to fix it in the dark on the isolated shortcut he drove, so he called Triple A. As soon as the tow truck pulled up, and he saw the driver, he asked, “How do you keep finding me?” And he dropped to the ground and started his fifty. “Hey, Buddy, I’m just here to fix your car, not work out,” the goon joked. “Sure you are,“ Billy was thinking. And he opened his shirt. His chest was bare underneath, and he popped his belt, dropped his pants and shorts, and was bare there, too. Then he turned around, braced himself on the side of the truck as he had on the dumpster, and bent over. “Wow! Bonanza!” the goon said. “You’re just lucky I’m into this, or I’d beat the shit out of you.” “You’ll beat it out of me anyway,” Billy thought, half looking forward to that but also really tired. “And you’re lucky it’s a slow night,” the goon went on. “So we have time.” If they did, he didn’t take it and just battered at Billy as completely as usual. Except this time, he especially tortured him by purposely staying away from his nipples – he just ignored them. Billy wanted to twist them himself. Or squeeze them. Even just touch them. But his hands were as well as tied by being braced against the truck. Still, he was amazed by how much he missed the pain. Not that it kept him from shooting. And when finally, the goon caught up, he almost politely pulled up Billy’s shorts and pants. “To keep it all in,” he kidded, and Billy realized he hadn’t been wearing a rubber. This was new, and he didn’t like it at all – it took way too many chances. But it wasn’t the night to be discussed. Instead, Billy turned back to the goon and asked, “Do you want me to stand by my car while you change the tire, or is it safer if I sit in the truck?” The goon laughed and said, “After the riding I just gave you, the little boy gets to sit in the truck. And if it wasn’t all worn out, I’d give you a lollipop to suck.” Billy got into the truck while the goon jacked up his car. And it was only after he was sitting in the cab, waiting for the goon to finish, that he noticed the laminated ID on the dashboard. Damn. Hell. Fuck. This wasn’t the goon at all.
  9. Billy was so busy loading his basement washing machine that he didn’t even hear the goon come down the stairs. Till the man grabbed his ass. “May as well wash what you’re wearing,” he ordered, and Billy stripped. The goon stayed dressed, of course, in his jeans, T, work boots, and usual ski mask. Then, instead of requiring additional push-ups, he walked Billy into the main room, to his weights. “Press,” he said, and Billy ran through a rep of twenty. “Again.” And Billy did a second rep, expecting it to go on. Reps weren’t fun, but they were easy. This time, the goon walked Billy across the room, turned him around, leaned him against a supporting post, and tied his hands behind it. By the overhead lights, Billy watched the goon disappear into his work room – he seemed to know the house well. When he returned, he was carrying a handful of tools Billy couldn’t see but heard him drop on the ping pong table behind him. The next surprise was duct tape – across Billy’s mouth, around his head, across his mouth again, and back around his head. Billy could breath until the goon tightly held his nose between his fingers and started to count. At 60, Billy’s lungs were starting to strain. At 80, he was trying to yell, “Stop! Stop!” but couldn’t be heard. “Mfwmt!” He figured he’d just pass out. Meanwhile, he’d practically torn himself loose from the post, slightly roughening his wrists against the smooth cord. Finally, the goon let him twist his nose free. Then he let him breathe for a minute, before covering his eyes with another strip of duct tape. Just one, and only across his eyes, but neatly sealing off his vision. Soon, Billy felt pliers – no, vise grips – on his right nipple. Which abruptly snapped. “Yee – eee – eee – ow!” Billy tried to yell. Again, almost nothing came through the tape. The goon carefully turned back the screw until Billy’s near hyperventilating stopped but the grips still hung on his chest like a deadweight. Then Billy felt another grips on his left nipple and prayed it would start off loose. It didn’t. Snap! “Yeow! Yeow! Yeow!” At least, that’s what he wanted to scream. Instead, his chest heaved up and down, his stomach in and out. The goon turned back that screw till those grips almost painlessly hung, just tugging downward. Then his right ball. “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhh!” The pressure dialed back. Then his left. “Aawwwhhh! Aawwwhhh! Aawwwhhh! Aawwwhhh!” Again, the pressure eased. The grips on his balls almost sent Billy to the floor, but the goon brought him back to full height, then edged Billy so gently that the writhing and twisting suddenly weren’t in pain. Billy didn’t understand the man at all. He could be tender. He could be tough. He could be careless or polite. And sometimes, he was just a pain – like when he carefully peeled the tape off Billy’s eyes but then flipped off the lights, so that Billy had to work the rest of himself free in the dark.
  10. Billy had ducked into the hardware store, needing to buy a battery. He was still dressed from work. Leaning over the rack, he was suddenly humped. “Hey!” “Don’t turn,” the goon ordered. “I can’t strip here,” Billy protested. “Why not?” Billy started to turn, but the goon held his head forward. “Relax,” he said. “I’m a master, not a moron.” Billy calmed. “Now walk to the cash register. Left into the plumbing aisle. And go through the door on your right.” Billy did, and the goon soon locked the door behind them. “How do you know about all these rooms?” Billy asked. The now-masked goon simply answered, “Left to the worktable. Face down on it. Fifty.” As Billy pumped, he remembered that this room was where they repaired screens. He’d had one done a year before. After he’d finished the fifty, the goon pulled off Billy’s tie from behind, wrapping it around his head as a blindfold. “Flip, spread eagle,” the goon said, and he clipped Billy’s cuffs – shirt and pants – to the table, trapping him. A row of spring clamps had lined the edge. Next, Billy’s shirt was opened and – simultaneously – his nipples were clamped with those same spring clips. “Aaaahhh! Uh-aaahhh! Uh-aaahhh! Uh-aaahhh!” Billy wailed like a banshee – whatever that was. He’d have to look it up. “Aaaahhh! Uh-aaahhh! Uh-aaahhh! Uh-aaahhh!” He couldn’t stop himself. “Thought you might like that,” the goon said, unclipping. He rubbed Billy’s pecs, but to help or increase the pain? “We’ve got to go,” Billy insisted. “Someone heard that.” “There’s a back door,” the goon admitted. “Stay in the alley.” He unclipped Billy’s cuffs, pulled him to his feet, and yanking down the blindfold, pushed him out the door. Billy heard the other door open as the one behind him slammed. “Hey,” the goon was saying. “You guys should be more careful about putting away your brooms. I tripped over one – but, don’t worry, I won’t sue.” Billy found the alley just beyond a chain-link gate and waited. Just as he was getting less sure the goon would come, the man was behind him. “Fifty,” he said, and Billy dropped, though pebbles worked into his hands. “Flat,” the goon ordered, and Billy was glad he’d rebuttoned his shirt. Still, the goon Leaned down, pulled down Billy’s pants, and forced his dick into the stones. Then he rolled Billy from side to side. Finally, he yanked Billy to his feet, letting his pants and shorts slide down his legs. “Lean,” the goon ordered, pointing to a dumpster, and Billy braced himself against it. “At least, he didn’t say ‘Climb in,’ Billy thought, wondering what it was like to fuck in a dumpster. Then, deliberate as ever, the goon mounted Billy, as if they had all the time and privacy in the world. Finally finished, he tossed his rubber into the trash, zipped, and suggested, “Better buy your batteries somewhere else.”
  11. RichEisbrouch

    Chapter 11

    There's the right one. Thanks.
  12. RichEisbrouch

    Chapter 10

    Whoops, posted the wrong chapter. Thanks. Fix that shortly.
  13. Billy was trying on a pair of jeans when the locked changing room door popped open, and a voice ordered, “Turn.” He did, but there wasn’t room to do “Fifty,” so he stayed on his feet. “Cameras?” he asked cautiously, as the door relocked. “Would you care?” came the answer. Then the goon stripped Billy and turned his head to see an overhead pipe. “Chins.” Like crunches, they weren’t Billy’s favorites, but he did twenty-five, with the goon’s licked thumb working deeper into him, each time he bobbed up and down. Then it popped like a cork, and Billy swore the goon made that sound with his mouth. “Over the bench,” he was told. It seemed impossible. The seat was maybe three feet wide, half as deep, and pinned to walls on three sides. But Billy dropped to his knees and squeezed his head and neck, face down, onto the ledge. The goon didn’t care and slowly began to bump Billy from behind, while clamping his nipples tighter every time their bodies came close. “I can’t scream. I can’t scream. I’ll get arrested,” Billy kept telling himself. And he wasn’t in pain from the goon. As usual, he was using a lubed rubber. But his knees hurt from the concrete under the tile, and the kneeling put more pressure on his neck. “Did the goon care?” Billy wondered. “Nah.” And he accidently giggled. “You think this is funny?” the goon asked. “Everything you do is funny, macho man.” It was something he shouldn’t have said because the goon clenched Billy’s nipples in ways that had made him melt down before. Billy didn’t make a sound. “I’m impressed,” the goon soon admitted. “I can’t lose my license,” Billy simply told him. “I’d have to sell my house, and then where would we play?” “Oh, I think I’d find places,” the goon said. Billy could only wonder, “Why does this jerk keep taking risks?” But his dick gave him the answer, and, this time, he shot before the goon. Would he be punished for that? Nah, the goon didn’t to care. But the changing room had a louvered door and was open above eight feet – Billy had seen the other rooms while he chinned – so anyone could walk in and hear. He was never loud, but hated shooting silently. It was like being in high school again and living home. The goon had no problem with discipline, so much that Billy couldn’t even tell that he’d finished till he wiped his hands on Billy’s back and tossed wet rubber in the same place. Billy straightened out, but stayed on his knees till he was told otherwise. His come pooled on the tile before him. “Lick,” the goon ordered, and Billy dove. He might get sick from the dust, but the goon had worse ways to make him scream. Done, Billy looked up. But the goon had vanished – and taken Billy’s clothes with him, leaving only the new jeans Billy had been trying on. Billy had to buy them, plus a T-shirt and cheap shoes. Still, the goon had left his keys, wallet, and phone. He wanted to play another day.
  14. Billy was in the supermarket when a voice behind him said, “Leave the cart and keep walking,” and he was close marched – the goon’s legs nearly against his rear – through the industrial swinging doors just ahead. That took them to a fluorescent lit gray utility hallway, then into a stinky sweet janitor’s closet – this market couldn’t have deserved the high rating on its window. The goon immediately flipped on the light and locked the door behind them. The room was maybe four by ten, with tall shelves of cleaning supplies at left and mops and brooms hanging on the right. A slop sink – the source of the sweet stench – sat at the end of the room, its chromed rim shining at floor level and a rolling bucket standing nearby. Billy didn’t wait to be told. He stripped off his Saturday morning clothes – mainly a ripped T-shirt, shorts, and running shoes – dropped to the cold concrete floor, and started the first fifty. Done, the goon said, “Another,” and then, “One more.” Billy smiled when he was done, feeling that surge of adrenaline. Then the goon’s foot pressed on the small of his back, and Billy was held tight to the clean but still creepy floor. “Crawl.” the goon ordered, and Billy did, until his head hung into the sink like in a guillotine. His pecs pressed onto the sink’s curved rim, nicely crushing his nipples flat, and he wondered if the goon knew that would happen, or if he practiced. There was an idea – the goon trying out all the things he put Billy through. Though he didn’t seem interested in Billy’s nipples just then – at least, not yet. Instead, he leaned over, spun the tap, and cold water soaked Billy’s head. It also melted the remains of the smashed birthday cake under Billy’s nose, and he began to hum “MacArthur Park.” Not that it mattered. The goon always seemed to know Billy’s recipe Whatever, the cold water now dripped and dribbled down Billy’s neck and back, and the sink below his face filled with tiny bits of cake almost floating into his nose. He tipped his head back, straining a little but adding pleasure. As he did, the goon’s foot moved off Billy’s back and nudged between his legs, tap, tap, tapping forward, seemingly seeking his balls. The goon had never bothered with them before, maybe because they were too easy a target and so less interesting that his sensitive nipples. But this time, the toe of the goon’s shoe connected and pressed Billy’s balls just hard enough to make him moan but not enough to make him scream. The goon did this over and over. Press. Moan. Wait. Press. Moan. Wait. Finally, he stopped, and Billy laughed in relief. “You enjoying this?” the goon asked. “Oh, yeah.” “Think we’ve reached your limit?” “Nowhere close.” Billy immediately regretted what he’d just opened himself to, and the goon tapped his balls in agreement. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t drop your clothes in that water?” he went on. In desperation, because he really didn’t want to have to sneak out of his neighborhood market wringing wet, Billy said, “Because you already own me.” That made the goon laugh. “That was exactly the right answer.” And he dropped Billy’s clothes and shoes on the dry floor, flipped Billy over, and jerked him off, using some slimy green industrial detergent as lube. Done, he stepped on Billy’s balls one last time, flipped off the light, unlocked the door, and went on with his Saturday morning. Billy relaxed, happily rubbing his wet, sticky belly. Then he smelled of that green goo for a week.
  15. Billy was swinging in his back porch hammock, focused on work on his laptop, when the goon strolled up – wearing sunglasses, a baseball cap, a T-shirt, shorts, and running shoes. “Fifty,” he ordered, and Billy set aside his laptop and almost automatically rolled out of the hammock, dropped to the floor, and knocked off the first set. He was expecting another when the goon’s now bare foot pushed him flat to the floor. The goon easily slid Billy shorts past his own bare feet – he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Then he yanked Billy’s tank top over his head. “Into the sling,” he said. Billy lay back in the hammock. He’d been in it naked before, when he wanted to relax in his fenced-in yard and play. So he was comfortable. But the goon quickly roped Billy wrists up to where the hammock connected to the porch post, then tied his up-stretched legs to the same place. He produced lube from the pocket that had dispensed the thin black cords, then stripped himself, except for his hat and sunglasses. Next, he straddled the hammock, feet grounded solidly on the floor. The last thing Billy saw clearly, before the goon hooded him using his own tank top, was the goon slipping on what seemed to be the latest in his endless supply of condoms. But instead of being mounted, the goon probed Billy with his thumb, and Billy feared that as much as the goon seemed interested in poking around dark places, he was finally going to be fisted. He’d long fantasized about that, especially semi-publically, in the back room of a bar, and this seemed to be the perfect time. Though he wasn’t sure the goon had the skill – he seemed more into pain – Billy’s pain. And while Billy knew he stupidly liked that drugless high, he also wasn’t sure he could take a hand. But the goon was prepped for other things, and Billy relaxed when he simply felt his nipples being grabbed, and the goon slipping his favorite plaything into its usual spot. “Ride ‘em, cowboy,” the goon yelped. “Yahoo!” And that’s just what he did – rode Billy for maybe twenty minutes – all time vanished when Billy was squirming. And rock he did, in the hammock, occasionally – somehow coherently – wondering what would happen if he fell out. It would leave him hanging from the post by his wrists and ankles, and he could only dream of that humiliation. But the goon’s dick seemed to act as anchor, and Billy stayed in his sling. Up – down – back – forth. The goon’s left hand locked on Billy’s left nipple, and the right grabbed Billy’s dick like a saddle horn. And – maybe for the first time – he and the goon finished together. Were they meant for each other? “That was fun,” the goon soon said. He was in a remarkably good mood. He swung his leg free of the hammock and let down Billy’s feet but not his hands. “Too bad I didn’t bring my six-shooter,” he went on, “but I only grabbed my single-shot. Still, I’m sure you’ll be happy with more target practice.” And he made Billy shoot, but only twice. Then, as if for dessert, he grabbed Billy’s nipples usual with his fingernails, as if daring him to scream. But Billy wouldn’t because of the neighbors. He just squirted. And suddenly, the pain was gone, and his chest was as free as his wrists. The goon dressed Billy again, though his clothes seemed purposely inside-out. And without the tank top hood, Billy was just able to see the naked goon – shorts, shoes, and T-shirt slung over his shoulder, hat and sunglasses still perfectly in place – stroll whistling around the porch corner.
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