Billy and the Goon - 9. Chapter 9

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.