Billy and the Goon - 17. Chapter 17

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 the man's dick had 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.