Billy and the Goon - 27. Chapter 27

Billy was in his basement again, this time crouched to change the oil burner filter, when something landed on his neck. He thought it was a spider and went to brush it away but came up with the goon’s hand.

“Oh, no,” Billy thought. “We’ve done this.” And he could feel the vise grips on his chest.

Instead, the goon said, “Finish what you’re doing.” So Billy did.

“Stand.”

He did.

“About face.”

Billy did that sharply.

“Main room.”

Soon, Billy and the goon were there.

“Turn around.”

They faced each other. No ropes. No post. No tools. No “Fifty.”

“Be me,” the goon said.

Billy didn’t need to think.

“I don’t wanna.”

“You have no choice.”

Billy grinned. “Yeah, I do. And don’t try that junk about never seeing me again. It only works once.”

The goon looked at him.

“Be me.”

And they faced off.

But Billy was weaker. “Okay – fifty.”

The goon whipped them off.

“Another.”

The good did them.

“Another.”

The goon wasn’t even slowing. Billy was bored. Still:

“Another.”

The goon finished two-hundred and laughed.

“Okay, strip,” Billy tried.

The goon took off his clothes and was starting for his mask.

Billy was inspired. “No. Not your mask. Who said you’re allowed to show me your face?”

The goon rested at ease.

“Make yourself hard. One hand. Your left.”

The goon’s weaker.

“Take yourself to the edge. In exactly ten minutes. Using the clock above the weights.”

At ten minutes, the goon nodded.

“If I touch you, you’ll shoot?” Billy asked. He honestly didn’t know.

The goon nodded again.

“Then walk up the stairs. Hands behind your back.”

Billy followed.

“Out the back door, into the yard. In the middle.”

The goon obeyed. Billy pulled up a chair.

“On sixty, you’re on edge.”

Billy counted. The goon was there.

They waited till the goon was down.

“Again. Two minutes. I’ll count.”

The goon was there, and they waited again.

“Three minutes, counting in fives.”

This continued until Billy was up to ten minutes again, measured in thirties. They would have gone on but were beginning to lose the light.

“Upstairs,” Billy instructed.

They went inside.

“Bedroom.”

“The goon knew where that was.

“On the bed. Face up. Arms out. Legs wide.”

Billy fastened him that way, using his ties. He clamped the goon’s nipples.

“Count to a hundred. Out loud. One-one-thousand...”

On a hundred, Billy rotated the clamps ninety degrees.

“Again.”

The goon finished his count, and Billy ditched the clamps. He lubed the goon. Eased his fingers in. Forced his thumb. Then he propped the goon’s butt on pillows.

He rubbered himself and fucked the devil out of the boy.

Who never flinched or made a sound.

Billy expected that but was still disappointed. Though he’d already heard the goon scream and didn’t need to again.

But he was done and tried not to care about the goon. “Be me.”

So he left the goon in the dark, took a shower, shaved, and slowly dressed. When he came to the bed, he curled back the bottom of the ski mask, kissed the goon, then untied him.

“Drive home,” he said. “As you are.”

“My car’s on the street.”

Billy shrugged. “It’s dark. Go. I don’t need to see you again tonight.”

And the goon left.

Billy watched from the window, smiled when the car drove off, and lay comfortably on his bed. Then he wiggled out of his clothes and nearly shot to the ceiling.