Billy and the Goon - 7. Chapter 7

Billy was out at a nice Italian restaurant with friends, and before their meal, he went to the bathroom to wash. As he let the door swing shut and reached behind him to the lock, the door flew open, and Billy was crushed between it and the wall.

“Turn around,” a familiar voice ordered, and Billy complied. There was no point arguing with the goon. He never stayed long anyway, so Billy’s friends would never know. He’d just be a little sore at dinner.

Then the door closed, and the lights went out.

“Strip.”

Billy sighed. This really wasn’t the time for push-ups. But he’d tell his friends there’d been a line.

He stripped in the glow from the skylight. “Fifty,” the goon ordered. “If you want to see your clothes again.”

“You wouldn’t,” Billy bargained.

“They’re just my size.”

The goon had a sense of humor – he was clearly six inches taller.

The tile floor was cold, but the push-ups were easy, and they kept Billy’s chest off the tiles. Still, he kept wondering, “Would the jerk really leave me naked?”

That would be hard to explain.

But Billy didn’t have time to think. Finished, the goon eased two soaped fingers where only his dick had been before. Then he probed like a doctor.

“I see you’ve had no visitors,” he nearly cracked. “Good.”

He flipped Billy over and squeezed both his nipples – soft – hard – soft – hard. But not so hard Billy would scream – another tricky thing to explain. Though Billy was wet.

So the goon jerked him off.

“Another fifty, and we’re through,” he said, scrubbing up.

But before Billy reached ten, the goon was out the door. Calling behind him, “Your clothes’ll be outside the door – I think. Except your shorts. I’m taking them with me.”