Marc Jesmond - 16. Chapter 16 'The Check Out'

Glen’s jeans, lying on the floor, burst into life as his mobile rang in the back pocket.

‘Christ, who the fuck’s that? Nice timing!’

Springing from the bed, the escort ran round and retrieved the phone from his pants. Checking the caller, he disappeared into the bathroom to chat.

Dominic, his libido literally draining back into the depths of his body, slumped back on the bed, and gazed at the jeans Glen had just thrown down. How the boy longed to wrap himself in the pants, revelling in their nearness to the man he now adored. But he’d settle for arranging them carefully on the sofa. As he did so a small book fell from the back pocket. The boy reached down and replaced it. How strange the item looked, leather bound, exotic, yet bearing no mark on the spine other than ‘A Team’

Dominic jumped back onto the bed, Glen was returning, and still in great, good humour,

‘Come on sexy, that’s my position’

And, as Dominic obediently moved, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Glen drew alongside, brandishing his fading erection in the boy’s face,

‘Get this fucker hard, first’

Glen’s penis was neither large, nor beautiful. But it was formidable. Proportionate in all regards but one, it had an immensely developed base and prominent urethra. It appeared like some ancient monument that sits upon deep foundations, powerful, proud.

Dominic grasped the member and sucked on it. To his delight the penis hardened rapidly to an iron erection. Glen grinned, his black eyes sparkling like jet,

‘Now for something special’

Glen lay down, arms and legs outspread. Holding aloft his powerful phallus, he sheathed himself, applied generous amounts of lube, and patted the mattress. Dominic’s nervousness showed, but he needn’t have worried. As he knelt astride his idol Glen drew him close, for more ecstatic kissing. The escort took his own penis and located its happy destination in Dominic,

‘Just take things easy. It hurts a bit until I’m in, then you’re gonna love every fuckin’ inch, promise’

Dominic was an eager pupil, his fears about penetration fading fast.

A brief painful spasm accompanied the progress of Glen’s hardon as it entered the boy, but as Dominic eased down, a delicious, itchy warmth began to flood through his anus, and into the very core of his being. Glen lifted the boy up slightly,

‘Don’t go right down. Save the last bit for later. It’s thick at the base’

Dominic rode steadily up and down upon his lover, adapting marvellously to a rôle he thought he was never destined to play. Only a matter of weeks earlier, he’d have confidently promised anyone that this couldn’t happen. Taking cock was Selby’s job. But Dominic’s boyfriend didn’t actually like sex that much. Their unfulfilling sex life – parameters set by Selby - had not really progressed past kissing and mutual wanking. Yet here he was, Dominic, the butch, the beautiful, with his floppy dark hair and serious face, riding cock like the world was about to end.

Of course it felt great, a warmth spreading throughout his abdomen and making his whole being thrill. But he’d learned more. As he sat astride, face to face with his lover, it clicked; it’s not what’s inside me right now; that could be anything. It’s him! That’s the buzz. I have him inside me.

Dominic gloried in the union of their eyes. He wanted to scream with joy. I can look right into his eyes and tell him I love him, the very joy denied to prehistoric man, and all his straight sons down to this day. Both men writhed and rode till they were bathed in sweat, then Glen reached out and placed his hands on Dominic’s arms,

‘Now cum over me’

Dominic had maintained his erection throughout. Now he took hold of his penis, and, forcing himself down onto the thick root of Glen’s powerful penis, he felt a shudder pass through him. Drawing back his foreskin, he held steady the shaft, and gripped it tightly. Releasing a deep sigh he smiled broadly at his lover, as a comet of the purest, male joy, streaking from his cock, bathed the object of its lust in shimmering, sticky delight.

Glen laughed lustily, wiping semen from his eyes, and cheeks,

‘You horny little fucker’

And, instantly scooping some of the boy’s essence, he drank and drew Dominic close, to kiss, to taste, and to seal together their man love in a bond of strength, sweat and spunk: to worship each other in a way Dominic had never imagined.

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The backyard was black as Hell. Despite the aid of a flashlight, Parnaby had not gone far before he stumbled into some of the rubbish that was lying everywhere,

‘Christ almighty!’ he muttered, in exasperation.

The barrister stopped, and shone his torch around the yard; nothing but outbuildings, a door giving onto the back street, and piles of rubbish, fittings and furniture ejected from the old ice cream parlour. He turned, preparing to return indoors.

Suddenly he became aware of activity above him; wasn’t this building derelict? A shaft of light strafed the yard’s impenetrable dark. The barrister looked up, confused. He saw a bony hand holding open the door, he heard the urgent scuffling on wooden stairs, he saw the flaring nostrils, but too late.....

Ninety pounds of dog let out a mournful peal of savagery, and launched at him. Parnaby was thrown backwards, into a bed of filth, the jaws attached firmly to his arm. In less time that the barrister could raise the flashlight to defend himself, the dog’s powerful teeth had torn through the sleeve and given the animal his first taste of blood.

The victim screamed in agony as Daisy flung him from side to side like a cat worrying a mouse. Alma Robson had now taken up position at the top of the steps, confident Daisy had discovered an intruder.

Below stairs a confused Marc was becoming conscious enough to realise this was his opportunity. Staggering to his feet, he dragged the chair over to one of the interior doors, and slammed it into the glass. Grovelling frantically amongst the shards he grabbed a piece, and began to saw the ropes that bound his wrist.

Marc undid his bonds, removed the gag, and with remarkable presence gathered the vestiges of his captivity into one place. He went to the door and stood outside. Somewhere from within the yard came shrieks from the man who moments earlier had such power over him. Looking up, he saw at once the odious figure of Alma Robson. The old hag glared at Marc, but said nothing. Marc called to her,

‘For Christ’s sake, call the dog off’

Keeping her eyes on Marc, she carefully descended the steps, leash in hand. When she’d found her footing in the darkness she called to the dog,

‘Daisy, come here, heel!’

The dog growling deeply, his maw bloodied, slunk back and was secured. Marc felt his head explode with pain as he shouted,

‘Get the dog upstairs and locked up. Lock the door, and call the emergency services. Can you do that? Eh? Can you just DO THAT?

The pathetic old woman dragged the beast up the stairs and back to its lair, locking the door. Once again the yard was plunged into total darkness. Marc stumbled in the direction of Parnaby’s moaning. As he approached the grievously wounded man Marc’s eyes began to adjust to the poor light. Kneeling over the barrister, he realised at once how bad the wounds were. The dog had made repeated attacks on the barrister’s throat; there was little that could be done.

‘Help me, get help’

Parnaby’s voice was sapped of power, and, with defensive hands that had been savaged to the bone, the dying man held a blood soaked cushion to his neck.

Marc looked deep into his eyes,

‘Why should anyone help you?’

The barrister’s windpipe gargled blood, his face ashen. Marc drew closer, his knee only inches away from the filthy, rain and blood soaked cushion,

‘Just tell me why. Why did you throw Leon’s life away? How can a sick sex game like that be worth a life?’

The light of life was fading in the barrister’s eyes,

‘He ... was .. nothing’

Marc’s soul raged. Kneeling heavily on the cushion, he took a plastic carrier bag to cover his hand, and held closed the barrister’s nostrils,

‘You can tell him that yourself’

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When the ghastly sound of choking blood had subsided, Marc grabbed the bag and got to his feet. A deadly urgency of action had driven him, mind and body into an adrenalin rush that was at odds with the desperate way he felt.

Navigating the feebly lit yard, he stole over to the back gate, undoing the bolt. The police would need to believe that the intruder had made his way into yard by that means alone. Of course Alma Robson would argue she kept it locked, but that would be her word.

Marc returned indoors. Even in a rundown shithole like Deadlock he’d have only minutes before the ambulance arrived. And the police would not be far behind. He needed to act fast, there was a kidnap scene to clean up, and he had to remove all the evidence of what had happened this day.

But at least he had that book, the thing that would bring Gerald Campfire to justice, and prevent all the other cowardly A Teamsters from ever harming him again. Marc tapped reassuringly at his cargoes;

then, an urgent fumbling as he realised he must have used another pocket,

then the horrible truth: he didn’t have the book!

Consternation once more; and now, the back yard bathed in light, as the emergency services arrived to take charge. The knock to his door came sooner than he expected. Marc was only too aware how odd things must look to the police officer, who opted not to enter the cold, dark hovel,

‘And you are?’

‘I’m Marc Jesmond. My parents owned these premises for many years, and I was here this evening sizing up the place for some renovation work’

‘What do you know about what’s just happened?’

Marc looked dazed and credulous, and it came easily to him,

‘Not a lot. I heard a noise in the yard; next thing, the dog from upstairs was going wild, attacking a man. I assumed he’d broken in, and the woman upstairs had set her guard dog on him’

‘And this guy, did you know him?’

‘No’

‘Had you ever seen him before?’

‘No, absolutely not’

The police officer studied Marc carefully. Law enforcers are often asked to look out for the ‘ring of truth’ in testimony; Marc had it in spades, for he was, of course telling the truth. But someone, not too far away was coping far less well. Alma Robson sat hunched on the steps, watching, as the police muzzled and carted away Daisy, destination the pound, future, unknown. The miserable, old hag was bent double, choking back the tears. A policewoman, with scarcely more charm than the departing dog was doing her best to comfort Miss Robson,

‘So, have you any idea why this man was in your back yard?’

Alma’s heaving body language said ‘no’

‘And had you seen him before?’

‘Yes’

Marc’s ears pricked up, he drew closer to listen,

‘So you knew him?’

‘Yes’

‘Can you tell me who it is?’

‘I’ll wait till we get to the police station, that’s where you’ll be taking me, isn’t it?

The police officer, her caring facade spent, reverted to type,

‘I asked you a simple question. Who is he? We can use that information right now’

It was a stand-off between the police woman and Alma; equals in poison and spite,

‘And I’ve told you I’ll do all that stuff when I get down the station. I’m not leaving my dog alone with you people. Where he goes, I do.

‘Then get yourself ready, lock up, and sit in that van over there!’

Alma stood, turned and trudged up the steps. Marc moved closer, into the pale light and she saw him. Giving him a look of inexpressible hatred the wizened creature held his eyes till she reached the top and passed the door. Marc was dazed. In the name of God how could she know Parnaby?

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Dominic finished taking the call, and returned to the bedroom, and Glen,

‘So who was that, your boy?’

Dominic smiled sheepishly,

‘Yeah, there’s some girl he knows from Pilates. He wanted to know if I was OK with him going for a drink with Carmel?’

Glen pulled him close, kissing him on the neck,

‘And are you?’

‘Yes, but it’ll mean I have to spend another couple of hours here alone with you’

Glen feigned a weary shrug,

‘Really, you mean I come before your night class in conversational Lithuanian?’

Dominic pushed him away, laughing,

‘You come before everything, and during, and after...’

Then he got serious,

‘We’d better square round the bedroom though, before he gets back’

Glen didn’t count housekeeping as any part of his life’s work,

‘Knock yourself out, Sweetie. I’ll fix us some drinks. How’s cider? I’ll sling in a couple of voddies to get it on its feet. I’ve pissed better than that last one you made’

The honeymoon over, old Glen was back.

As Dominic tidied incriminating sheets, and buried tell tale foil Glen joined him in the bedroom. He handed him a drink so strong it could have felled an ox, as did his next comment,

‘This could be us. You and Selby aren’t working. We need to figure out how to get rid’

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