Blog

3.  Friends in Need

Gene turned up within a half hour of my call. He’s well built and jogs to keep in shape. Now he seemed to fill our small entrance hall. I had everything I really wanted to keep packed in a couple of sports bags and a couple of boxes. I’d managed to do it without disturbing my father who could be heard snoring through the closed bedroom door, the combination of booze and the painkillers the medic had given him had put him out like the proverbial light.

In the process I discovered that several small things of mine were missing. They weren’t things I used, but they were items which I treasured — like some pristine die cast cars and trucks I’d saved up and bought just about the time I started to lose interest in actually playing with toys. Now they were gone.

“You need any help Mrs Munk, give me a ring,” Gene told her at the door as I shoved my stuff into his car. My eye was now swollen and painful. “We’ll look after Alex for you.”

“I’ll be fine,” she replied. “Look after Alex for me. I’ve done my best, but his father … well … well, he was a different man when we …” She shivered. “Tonight was the last straw.”

“As I said, if you need help, give me a call.” Glancing at me, he asked, “Got everything? Then say cheers to your Mum and let’s go.”

Getting into the car he said as he started it, “First we’ll get that eye seen too, then I’ll take you to a mate’s place — he’s got a room you can have until we can find you something better of your own.”

The doctor gave me painkillers and eye ointment, commenting that I’d been lucky and a cold compress had been exactly the right thing. He didn’t ask what had happened or make any comment, just examined the eye carefully, checked I wasn’t getting double vision, and cleaned it and the bruised area thoroughly.

“There you go, Alex. Any problem in the next day or two, get Gene to bring you back. I think it’ll be alright, but that must have been a nasty punch.” He smiled. “You’ll have a real shiner for a couple of days, but no real damage done I think.”

“Thanks, Doctor.” I hesitated. “I’m not registered with your Practice though.”

“Not a problem. Gene can send us your details, and I can contact your usual doctor and arrange to transfer you to ours if you like.” Standing, he looked at Gene. “Alex working for you?”

“Yes.” Gene gripped my shoulder. “Damn good worker as well.”

 Outside we got back into the car and Gene took me round to another friend.

“This is Alex, Tom.” Gene introduced me to the hefty man who answered the door. “He’s got a bit of bother at home. His Dad’s, shall we say, a bit of a bastard. He needs a place to stay until we can sort out something permanent for him.” Gene turned to me. “Tom’s the Bouncer at Latex and Leather Club.” 

“Been in some aggro?” He extended a hand that engulfed mine. 

“My Dad. He went for me over a catalogue he found in my room.” Retrieving my hand, I shrugged. “He drinks, and doesn’t like people like me …”

“One of them, huh.” Stepping back he held the door open. “As it happens I’ve a spare bed — if you don’t mind sharing the room with my gym kit.” Shutting the door behind us he studied me. “How long do you need it for?”

“Till he can find his own place. Going home is off the menu.” Gene interrupted. “There’s a lot more coming down there right now.” Grinning he patted my shoulder. “Tiger here gave as good as he got. His Dad needed a paramedic to reset a dislocated shoulder. It’ll be a while before he punches anyone else — just as well, because … well, tomorrow Mrs Munk is going to give him some news he really won’t like.”

I caught my breath. Was Mum going to do what she’d threatened for quite some time now? Leave the bastard and make her own life? Seemed like it. Gene wouldn’t say anything more, so I humped my bags and boxes up to the back room and stowed them out of the way of the gym equipment. At Tom’s call I went downstairs and accepted a cup of cocoa and his sympathy.

“So, how’s it going, Alex? Gene says you had a problem last night.” Jerry asked passing me a mug of coffee. Nodding at my bruised face, he grinned. “That’s quite a shiner. Maybe you should wear a mask until it heals.”

“Maybe I should always,” I retorted. “My looks aren’t exactly my ticket to fame, and this hasn’t improved them.”

“I didn’t …” Jerry stopped. “Damn, me and my big mouth. It was a joke, Alex. You’re damned good looking you know. When you let yourself be.” Putting an arm round my shoulders he gave me a hug. “And you’re among friends here. One of us. You had a bad time last night. Gene told me, but we’re all here for you …”

I couldn’t help myself. I slumped in his embrace and cried. In between sobs, I managed, “It was bad, and I feel bad — I hit my Dad — he’s a bastard, but — and I don’t know what’s going to happen to my Mum — and there’s nothing — and I can’t stay at Tom’s place — and I don’t know …”

Jerry didn’t move. Tightening his hug as he turned, he held me against his chest and let me cry. I heard someone ask something, and Jerry’s response, but he resisted my attempt to release him. “Stay, kid. Let it out. Let it all out …”

It helped. An hour later I’d calmed down enough to start picking orders, and by lunchtime felt able to cope with the jokes and the teasing. At finishing time Gene gave me the news that my Mum had made arrangements to separate from my father and had the support of social services. As the house was rented, and my father was unable to afford the rent he would be evicted anyway. 

“Cheer up, Alex. It’s for the best, and we’ll sort you out in no time.” Grinning like the Cheshire Cat, he teased, “Even if we have to lock you up in here at night for a while.”

That made me laugh. “With all this kinky stuff? I might be tempted to try it all out.”

“Why not? The best sales people know their product from personal experience.” He grinned. “Maybe we should make you try out the products you’re packing!”

In fact it was a temptation I was already close to succumbing to. For a while now I’d been wondering what it would be like to wear a popular hood our customers seemed to like. And to wear a rubber tanga brief … 

“Go for it,” Jerry said, when I rather shyly asked if there was one I could try. “Here you go.” He pulled a couple of packages off the shelf and handed them to me. “Anything else you want to try?”

“Um,” I stared at the plastic package in my hands. “But I should buy these …”

“Rubbish.” He laughed. “Now try them.” He winked. “Just one thing. You have to wear the hood for the rest of the day.”

“But … I have to go to the post in a couple of hours.”

“So?” Grinning, he teased. “You can go half an hour later and finish work early.”

Shy, I changed in the toilet. The tanga brief felt great, but I first had to give myself some ‘relief’ to fit it. Even so I was semi hard again once I’d got the hood fitted and my jeans back on. I emerged to catcalls and comments from Jerry, Gene, Marco and Colin as I emerged.

“The hood’s a big improvement, kid. We should make you wear it all the time,” Marco called from his workbench. 

“Ignore him,” Jerry said, laughing. “He’s just sore he’s not wearing it.” Putting a hand on my shoulder, he asked, “Feels as good as you hoped?”

“Um, feels different to what I expected …” I grinned. “Ask me at closing time.”

“I will.” Jerry laughed. “To work! And all jokes aside, it does look good on you.” 

The evening unfolded with a quiet intensity, as though the air itself had been waiting for Gav’s return. I stood at the threshold, bare and open, my body humming with anticipation. The moment he stepped through the door, something ancient stirred within me. It was a longing not just for touch, but for the sacred act of worship. I reached for him instinctively, not with haste, but with reverence, as though each movement was part of a ritual older than words.

His work boots, still warm from the day’s labour, held the scent of effort and earth. I knelt before him, fingers trembling slightly as I began to unlace the first boot. The smell rose gently, not harsh, but grounding. It was rich with the story of his day. By the time the boot slipped free, my body had already responded, awakened by the intimacy of the moment.

I brought the boot close and inhaled slowly, letting the aroma settle into me like incense. Then I turned to his foot, still wrapped in a sock damp with exertion. The fabric clung to his skin, a second layer of him, and I pressed my face to it with quiet devotion. The salt of his sweat, the texture of the fibres, the warmth of his sole, it was all sacred. I kissed the sock, then licked it gently, tasting the labour, the life, the essence of him.

Above me, Gav had begun to undress, his own desire rising in tandem with mine. Yet I remained focused, anchored in the act of foot worship. I licked and sucked with slow intention, letting the sock graze my cheeks, my chest, my thighs. The dampness spread across my skin, a baptism of sorts, marking me with his presence. When I finally peeled the socks from his feet, I slipped them onto my own, feeling the residual heat wrap around me like a blessing.

He pulled me upward then, and I moved with deliberate grace, our bodies aligning in a moment of shared hunger. I was still naked, save for the socks that now held his scent against my skin. He remained clothed, a contrast that heightened the intensity. The giver and the receiver, the clothed and the bare, the grounded and the surrendered. As I lowered myself onto him, I reached for his boots once more and pressed them to my face as we moved together.

The rhythm was slow at first, then deepened, each thrust a merging of breath and body. I held the boots close, letting their scent guide me deeper into the experience. The room was filled with the sound of our union, the soft gasps, the creak of floorboards, the whisper of fabric against skin. And then, with a sudden stillness, Gav released within me, his breath catching in my ear. My own climax followed, spilling across his shirt like a final offering.

We remained there for a while, wrapped in the aftermath, the silence thick with meaning. The socks clung to my feet, the boots rested beside me, and Gav’s body was still pressed against mine. It was not just sex. It was ceremony. It was worship. It was the sacred meeting of scent, skin and soul.The silence that followed our union was not empty. It pulsed with breath and heat, a sacred stillness that held the weight of everything we had just shared. Gav remained close, his body still clothed, his shirt damp with the offering I had spilled across it. I lay beneath him, wrapped in the scent of his socks, the echo of his boots, and the lingering rhythm of his presence inside me.

Then something shifted. It was subtle at first, a change in the way his eyes moved across my skin. The softness gave way to hunger, not crude or careless, but primal and focused. He looked at me as though I were the altar and the flame, the offering and the divine. His hands, once steady and restrained, began to roam with purpose. He touched me like a man starved of worship, like a creature who had wandered the wilderness and finally found the sacred spring.

His mouth followed, trailing heat and reverence across my chest, my stomach, the curve of my hips. He kissed with the appetite of a hungry wolverine, each press of his lips a claim, each lick a prayer. There was no rush, only intensity. He devoured me slowly, as though tasting every layer of my being, from the salt of my sweat to the tremble beneath my skin. I felt myself open further, not just physically, but spiritually, as though his hunger was drawing something ancient from within me.

He pulled the socks from my feet, not to discard them, but to press them to his own face, inhaling deeply as though they held the essence of our bond. Then he returned to me, his mouth finding the places that pulsed with life, his tongue tracing the edges of sensation until I could no longer tell where I ended and he began. His worship was not just of body, but of spirit. He murmured words I could not fully hear, but felt in the way his breath caught, in the way his hands trembled slightly as they held me.

I arched into him, offering myself without resistance. He received me with a hunger that honoured, not consumed. His movements were wild yet precise, like a creature who knew the terrain of my body better than I did. He kissed the soles of my feet, the inside of my thighs, the hollow of my neck. He bit gently, suckled softly, and held me as though I were the only truth he had ever known.

Time dissolved. There was only the sound of breath, the scent of sweat and socks, the heat of skin against skin. Gav worshipped me until I could no longer speak, until my body sang with the memory of his mouth, his hands, his hunger. And when he finally rested beside me, his head on my chest, his fingers still tracing the outline of my ribs, I knew we had crossed into something sacred

It was not just desire. It was devotion. It was the wild, reverent love of a man who saw the divine in my nakedness, who tasted the holy in my sweat, who honoured me with the appetite of a creature who had found home

18 Months Later

Noah stood on the porch watching Edgar Birkenshaw come through the door of the wall that surrounded his home. It would be only the third time he had seen his editor and even in the warm climate of San Miguel de Allende, the man was dressed in a dark suit with a conservative tie. It seemed counter to the reputation of Ravenscroft & Lingwood Publishing Ltd., one that published some of the most critically acclaimed contemporary fiction and some of the most controversial. Never judge a book by its cover he mused as he watched Edgar approach carrying his old dark brown leather satchel.

He had sent them the manuscript for his novel over a year ago, wondering if the enticement of paying half his publishing costs would induce them to publish it. He had been surprised to hear back from them a week later asking him to fly to Manchester to discuss arrangements.

“Edgar, how was the flight?”

“Dreadfully long. We had a three-hour layover in…oh for the love of god, where was it; oh, it was Houston, Texas. What a god forsaken place,” he uttered as he came to the three steps up from the courtyard and came to stand before Noah.  “And how are you?”

“I’m great. So, what’s bring you all this way. Clara wouldn’t tell me over the phone.”

Edgar smiled. “She is a tight lipped one, she. Let’s get inside and I’ll show you.”

Noah opened one of the French doors that led into the main living room, allowing Edgar to enter in front of him. They moved to the sofas centered in the two-story space, and Edgar stood at the end of the sofa looking around the room. He gazed admiringly at the art hanging on the walls and the statuary positioned in strategic places around the room. He turned to the large opening leading to the formal dining room, one framed by two old columns and two steps up to the tiled floor. He could see the huge heavy wood table lined with tall, straight back chairs and beyond, the focal point of the room, two large black ink drawings.

“Are those…” Edgar began, turning to Noah, “Wendell A. Jones’ works?”

“Yes.”

“They must be worth a fortune. Ever since his death, his work has tripled in price. Even Clara has bought two of his later works, pieces from the nineteen-eighties. Or was it the nineties.”

“Yes, I remember them hanging in her office, and they were from early 2001.”

“Really? Those two…I don’t recognize them. When were they done? Do you know?”

“Why, yes. They are from his college years while at Troy University.”

“His college years!”

“Yes.”

“How did you acquire them; they would be some of his most valuable works.”

“My uncles left them to me.”

“Uncles?” Edgar replied, then laughed good naturedly. “Have you considered selling them?”

“No.”

Edgar heard the sharp tone of Noah’s reply, and he smiled. “I don’t blame you. They are lovely pieces. Shall we get on with it. I have a flight to catch.”

“Seriously, you’re not staying until at least tomorrow?”

“Afraid not, I must be in Frankfurt the day after tomorrow. There is a writer we’re considering publishing but I’m to check him out, make sure he isn’t like the main character of his book.”

“That bad?”

“Bad isn’t the word I’d use. Twisted is more like it,” said Edgar as he sat on the sofa.

Noah sat opposite him in an armchair. He watched Edgar methodically unbuckle his satchel then reach in, taking out two books, laying them on the coffee table. Noah gasp, shocked and thrilled to see his book in published form. He knew the release date was drawing near but Clara and Edgar had been tightlipped about it. The cover was black along the foredge gradually lightening from dark grey to light grey, then pure white along the spine. Down the spine, the title and his name in a semi-bold Kelson sans font: Darkness Descends by Noah Armstrong. On the front in the dead center, a white square with the title and his name in the same font.

“You’ve released it?”

“No, gosh no. We’re just getting ramped up on printing it. These are some advance copies. We wanted to get you to look it over and we’re sending it out to a few book critics and other authors for some reviews.”

“Is that your book?” said Enrique, coming into the room from the dining room. He was dressed in white linen pants, so sheer his boxers and dark tanned legs were visible, and a white tank top revealing his muscular arms.

“Yes,” said Noah.

“Enrique, so nice to see you again,” said Edgar.

“It’s good to see you, Edgar. Will you be staying for lunch? I’ll make sure Juana prepares enough for three.”

“No, I’m afraid I can’t stay. I must get back for a meeting in Frankfurt.”

“Wow,” said Enrique as he came over to Noah and sat on the arm of the chair, leaning against him.

Noah knew the tendency for showing affection. To touch and kiss publicly, something Skip rarely would do, but Enrique wasn’t Skip and it was natural for him to demonstrate such affection. “What do you think?” said Noah, holding up one of the books.

“It looks good. I was worried it would be too stark.”

“Well, you do prefer vivid colors.”

“It’s part of my passion,” joked Enrique, making Edgar blush and look away.

“Edgar,” said Noah, “when do you anticipate release?”

“We’ve scheduled it for seven months from now.”

“Will Noah need to do one of those book tours? Maybe in Paris and Berlin or maybe Tokyo?”

“Let’s see how it is received first. Have you considered what you’ll write next?” said Edgar.

“OH, Noah is—”

“Working on some outlines,” interrupted Noah, not wanting Enrique to let Edgar know he already had over a thousand pages typed up and wasn’t halfway through the story he had outlined. He hoped to do a series, four, five, maybe even six books, but knew Darkness Descends had to sell and sell well before he dared submit the manuscript.

“Very good. Some authors struggle with their sophomore efforts,” said Edgar as he reached into the satchel again. He took out a folder and laid it on the table. “This is some press releases we’ve created and need you to review them. Just send Eilidh your comments.”

“Eilidh?”

“Oh, she’s Clara’s new executive secretary. She’s a lovely young woman but a bit blunt at times.”

“Just what Clara needs.”

Edgar grinned but didn’t reply to the comment. He began to buckle his satchel.

“Now the reason for this in-person visit. We have to consider a possible movie deal and we need to discuss what you would be wanting.”

“Movie deal? Isn’t it too early for that?”

“No, not at all,” said Edgar taking out three folders. “Clara believes this is exactly the kind of story a studio might want to turn into a movie. Let’s go over the legal issues, then some of the suggestions of what to ask for should a studio approach us.”

For the next hour, Noah and Edgar talked about the options, the legal issues, until documents were signed and Edgar was putting them into his satchel.

“I must get going. By the time I get back to Santiago de Queretaro I’ll have just enough time to grab something to eat before I board the plane.”

“Next time plan to stay a few days,” said Noah coming to his feet with Edgar.

“That would be nice. The city, from what little I saw of it, seems nice.”

“It is and the food is excellent,” said Enrique. “And I know a little boutique hotel that would be perfect for you to stay in.”

Noah smiled at the reference to Enrique’s Uncle’s hotel; one Enrique still worked at despite telling him he could quit. “Or you could stay here; we have plenty of guest rooms.”

 

 

Noah and Enrique stood on the porch watching Edgar slip through the door back to the narrow street. Noah wondered where he parked, for there was very little space for parking until you got to the cross streets at each end of the block.

“Can I have this copy,” said Enrique, holding up one of the books.

Noah nodded, smiling at Enrique’s excitement, which seemed greater than his own.

 

That night, Noah and Enrique were lounging on the porch off their bedroom, one that faced a small private garden at the back of the property. Empty glasses sat on the small table between them, an evening beer to end the day.

“Are you excited your book is about to be released,” said Enrique.

“Immensely,” said Noah. He looked over and smiled.

Enrique saw the look, one now familiar. “You’re horny.”

“Yes.”

“Well, come here.”

Noah stood and moved to Enrique who sat up leaning forward. He felt the hands touch the back of his legs, then slide upward until holding him by the ass. A pull to move forward a little closer and he watched Enrique’s face push into his crotch. He felt the mouth manipulating his cock making him respond. He ran his fingers through the curly black hair then gently held the head feeling its movement.

Fingers worked his pants undone and tugged them down until they lay around his ankles. His boxers followed and Enrique captured his hardening cock in the mouth, and he shivered from the feel of it. He unbuttoned his light linen shirt and let it fall from his shoulders and down the arms until he stood naked. He struggled to hold still as Enrique sucked, manipulating his cock until he wanted more. He stepped back and held out a hand to guide him to stand.

Noah tugged the tank top off, tugged on the drawstring holding up the pants, loosening them until they slipped down to the floor. He grabbed the crotch, feeling the cock respond, then kissed Enrique as he worked the loose boxers over the cock and round ass until they fell on top of the pants.

He took Enrique by the hand and led him through the French doors to their bed. They playfully fell across it and kissed and touched and caressed the other. Enrique pushed him to his back and moved over him. Rocking back and forth, Enrique rubbed his ass over Noah’s cock until both needed their fuck. Enrique rose on his knees and Noah watched how the ass lowered to his cock then stretched open taking inch after inch. He squeezed the ankles as Enrique settled on his cock, the two of them moaning.

Enrique began to move, to rise until the cock was about to slip free, then back down. He kept up his movement, working his ass on the cock. Gradually he increased his pace and soon Noah was pushing upward, unable to just lay still. Enrique leaned back resting on one hand and took his own cock in the other. He worked his ass on Noah while stroking his own. His pace continued to increase until his ass smacked down on Noah’s hips. He stroked with the same rough physical pace, slamming his hand down to the base of his cock. He moaned and shuddered and kept fucking his ass on Noah’s cock.

“Enrique,” Noah uttered.

Enrique raised his head and looked at Noah with lust and desire and slammed his ass down all the way and held still. Noah swelled thicker, stretching the ass even more, and came. Enrique shuddered and cried out then came, shooting a thick rope of cum up his chest.

 

Noah lay on his stomach, feeling Enrique pump cock into his depths. His own cock pressed almost painfully into the bed. He clutched the bed as the cock hammered his insides. He felt Enrique moving over him, undulating with such seduction, provocatively, working the cock all the way into his depths. Lips moved along his right shoulder to the back of his neck as a hand took him by the chin and turned his head up and around so they could kiss.

Enrique then laced their fingers together and held him down as he rose up and fucked harder. The hips repeatedly banged against his ass until the bed rocked and squeaked beneath them. Noah felt his own cock swell thick then ejaculate another load as cock continued to pump into his ass.

“Fuck: Noah!” Enrique cried out, shoved into Noah’s depths, and came.

 

It was four in the morning, and Noah stood on the roof terrace looking across the city, with La Parroquia de San Miguel Arcangel towering over it. He slipped the rectangular comm from his robe pocket and listened to the message from his home world.

Commander Hvela Luka noe, I trust you are still doing well. S tar Phae has a new president, ZuxL stepped down. Apzara has been elected to the office, and he has been pivotable in negotiations with Czerwona, to come to a peaceful treaty between our worlds. We have high hopes of President Apzara being successful. If so, you no doubt realize the threats against the Earth will end.

You should know Apzara also has sent out ten research vessels, going out to areas of the universe we have not explored. One ship, the Sukphaph, will be exploring near the solar system you are living. There is one nearby that they want to study. If you find a need for assistance, the Sukphaph would be the nearest to you.

We have discovered a means of researching different dimensions of space. It holds a lot of promise. Maybe we’ll see results within our lifetimes.

We look forward to your next communication.

General Jezena Dorevic.

 

A swipe in the opposite direction, Noah held the comm to his mouth to record a reply.

“General Jezena,

“It was good to hear from you and peace with Czerwona is finally possible after such a long time. It would be a relief to know Earth is no longer in danger. I don’t think I could endure an assault and take over for I’ve grown close to the humans.

“The research ship Sukphaph being in this segment of the universe is duly noted. Maybe we can meet at some point to see what they have discovered. The shuttle is still hidden away ready for flight. It will take some time to get to it, four or five vrema klic at least.

“I’m still in the Latin culture in a place called Mexico and it is intriguing how they are so affectionate, so physical, and I must confess to being enamored with one of them. I know sooner or later, Enrique will need to be told. It was so rushed last time with Skip, and I fear to have that happen again I would not be so lucky as to maintain our relationship. It is fascinating to have a relationship with a human, so enthralling to the point I find my days a pleasure.

“Forgive me, I’m speaking without end. I’ll close now and wait your next comm, hopefully with good news about Czerwona.”

A circular swipe and Noah knew the message was on its way across the universe. He looked up at the night sky, picturing the planets, then out into the vastness of space, with its galaxies moving outward, each with untold number of stars. And among them his own galaxy, the one his star and solar system move within out on its edge much like this galaxy.

He dropped the comm into his pocket and headed back inside to return to bed.

 

Early Warning

The house was quiet because Juana had taken a few days off to visit her family in Puebla and Enrique was at work. The hotel was only a few blocks away, but he wished Enrique would quit and stay home. It was a selfish desire and knew a bit of time apart was probably good thing.

A glance at his watch and he saw it was time for the news segment he preferred to watch. One that focused on the day’s events and had no opinion pieces or editorializing. Most of it was dull dreary bullshit and he couldn’t be bothered to watch it. He picked up the remote from the coffee table and turned on the television, wondering if they could get rid of it. He knew Enrique liked to watch movies and he did want to see the news, so keeping it hung on the wall was a small concession.

The screen came alive in the middle of a movie and Noah flipped it over to the news channel. A familiar face filled the screen talking about the conflicts in the middle east, the storm in the Pacific Ocean heading toward the Philippines, and an election in Thailand.

The woman looked off camera, took a piece of paper from someone, and turned back to the camera.

“This just in from our correspondents in China. There is a virus infecting people in China, with reports also of Thailand, and South Africa, that doctors believe first appeared two months ago in India, before arriving in China. It has just been diagnosed in Spain, with twenty cases, one of which had been traveling in India less than a week ago. The doctors are struggling to identify the strain of the virus and how it is spreading so quickly. So far, China is reporting between 150,000 to 200,000 infections, and India is reporting slightly less, but doctors in the country think that number is low, for the virus is spreading in the rural areas where data is lacking. At this hour, the fatality rate is twenty percent, but doctors warn that in this early stage, that might be a low ratio. Wait…I’m getting word infections have been reported in the United States and in Mexico along the border with them. There are no details at this hour on the number of infected and if there are any fatalities. We’ll update as further information–“

Noah shut off the television wondering what was spreading through the human population. He worried it could make it to San Miguel de Allende or spread in the United States until in areas he was familiar. He told himself he was worrying for nothing but then thought about the virus that had spread in his people a hundred years ago, one that decimated populations in rural areas before they realized how aggressive the virus was in spreading and how quickly it reached the point of fatality.

Human science was primitive, but their medical research was starting to make strives that if research continued, they could start wiping out many of the diseases that afflicted them. They just needed to focus on the research. A lot of nations were progressing, but some seemed to be going backwards, cutting funding to research and even the medical care necessary to maintain a healthy society. It was as if they wanted to hurt themselves.

He considered leaving for Alabama to get the shuttle. It had some capabilities in analysis the medical doctors did not have. Maybe he could isolate the virus to help find a cure. But he would have to travel through airports or drive through areas with high infections, and what if the virus could latch onto his system. Could the doctors save him or would the differences with humans be enough to leave him vulnerable.

 

It was just after dark, and Noah and Enrigue were sitting across from each other in a small restaurant four blocks from home. It was a slow night, that left the restaurant feeling intimate. Candles lit the table within the dimly light interior and Enrique smiled at Noah playing footsies with him.

“Let’s pay and get home,” said Noah as a foot slid up his leg.

Back home they wasted no time going up to their bedroom. They shed their clothes and fell across the bed. They kissed and touched and whispered in the dark. While they made out, eventually Noah on his back with Enrique pushing into his depths, he didn’t think of some virus spreading through Mexico and the United States to their north. He only thought of Enrique, the physical nature of him, masculine, sexy, physical, and he clutched at the bed as Enrique fucked him.

 

The Tourists

Lucas stood at the base of Palenque Temple of Inscriptions smiling for Julian, who took his picture. They had arrived three days before in Cancun where they enjoyed the beach and the warm waters. Now they were driving toward Mexico City visiting a couple of historical sites on the way.

“Let’s check out the palace then get back on the road,” Julian called out.

They crossed the site to the old palace ruins where they would spend an hour exploring. After a lunch sitting in camp chairs behind their SUV rental, they drove north to 180 then west toward Mexico City. Julian behind the wheel listened to Lucas talk about their plans in city, the places they planned to visit and which restaurant he thought they should try after checking in at the hotel.

They had first traveled in the states, going from Yellowstone National Park down to the Colorado, hiking in some of the parks, then going up Pikes Peaks and down into a basement gay bar in Colorado Springs. They continued, going to the Grand Canyon, Gila Cliff Dwellings and even a ghost town, an abandoned place, turned tourist attraction. Eventually they found themselves in Tucson, wondering if it was time to return home, a place on the outskirts of St. Helena, in the northern end of the Napa Valley.

Six months ago, the lives of Lucas Williams and Julian Garcia changed in a way they had never dreamed possible. Lucas was forty and Julian thirty-four and they were retired from the daily grind of their careers they had developed. Lucas had run a laboratory for medical testing, one he had taken over from his father and enlarged eight years ago, then again four years later. Julian ran a landscape business, one that started out as one just doing installations, but he grew to include greenhouses to grow some of his own plants, then the hiring of a landscape architect to do their own designs. He had worked all up and down the Napa Valley, work that at times kept him busy six or seven days a week.

Lucas had been approached by a medical group wanting to buy Asclepius Laboratories. At first, he balked, for it felt like selling out to a big corporation but over the last few years, ever since he did the last expansion, it felt like the company was no longer in his control. The paper trails required by each hospital or medical group had been maddening. There was another offer, this one increased by over fifty percent and Julian told him he would be a fool to turn it down.

Julian went so far as to seek a buyer for his business, telling Lucas it was an opportunity for them to live free of the daily grind that they had been enduring. The long days, sometimes into the night for Lucas, the expenses and payrolls they had to keep track of and the accountants and attorneys and regulations.

What will we do if we sell? Lucas had asked.

Nothing. Travel. Relax. Julian had added other things they would do, but the initial response had been enough. The laboratory was sold and less than a month later, the landscape business to a large architecture firm out of San Francisco seeing an opportunity to expand up the Napa Valley with a business that would compliment their architectural design and construction services.

There was enough money put away to support them for the rest of their lives if they were not careless. After their initial travels their plan was to find a place to settle down, some place that would be new and more importantly, relaxing. A place they could call home, at least for a decade or two.

 

Julian and Lucas strolled back toward the hotel after dinner at one of the nearby Mexican restaurants. They walked side by side, brushing hands or bumping shoulders playfully. They smiled back and forth while talking about their plans for the next day, but both really thought about what they wanted to do once back at the hotel room.

Julian opened the door and let Lucas enter first. They moved to the end of the king-size bed and kissed. Then they began to remove the other’s clothes. Shirts were dropped on the floor, pants and boxers stepped out of, then Lucas led Julian to the bathroom. Slipping under the warm spray they kissed and touched and caressed each other. Hands took cocks stroking them to full erection. Julian guided Lucas to turn to the wall, and he pressed his body against him. He pumped his cock along the top of the ass and when Lucas stepped back and spread his legs, he put it to the opening and gently pushed through its tightness. He held the waist and slow fucked. Full penetrations and tugs outward, until he couldn’t hold back. He leaned against the back, kissing between the shoulder blades as water cascaded down the back and around his face.

Fucking with an urgency, hips smacking against ass, Julian kept up a steady pace. The familiar feel of his cock inside Lucas was too much. He wanted to bury it inside him and cum. He fucked to do so. He fucked until nothing mattered except Lucas and their fuck. He pushed inward all the way and shuddered with his release. He jammed his cock into Lucas with each ejaculation until finally spent.

 

Water droplets still clung to their bodies as Lucas led Julian to the bed. He moved over him, worked his cock between the ass cheeks, then pushed down to the opening and slowly, gently, entered him. He fucked with a slow pace, feeling every inch of his cock slid through the tightness of Julian’s hole.

Lucas felt his arousal increase, and he increased his pace, fucked harder until his hips smacked against the round ass. Julian moaned and begged him to fuck harder, and he increased his pace, fucking with a brutal pace until covered in sweat and it rained down on Julian. Then he came, shuddering and jerking with release.

 

Five days later, Lucas drove them into the heart of San Miguel de Allende where they wanted to explore the old historical city. They had reservations at a boutique hotel in the Centro district. After struggling to find a place to park, Lucas and Julian made their way back to hotel, looking into shops and restaurants along the way. They found the entrance of the hotel and were surprised to find a courtyard beyond the double front doors. It was lush, the pathways narrowed by the vegetation until they came to a sitting area to one side and up two steps, a peristyle ran the length of it. They walked up the steps and through the open French Doors in front of them into a lobby area. Behind the check-in counter, a young man with black curly hair.

Lucas looked at the name tag then up into the smiling face. “Enrique, we made reservations for a week. Lucas Williams.”

“Yes, we’ve been expecting your arrival. Let’s get you all checked in and up to your room. I think you’ll enjoy it, for it overlooks the courtyard but is at the back where it is quieter.”

“Sounds great,” said Julian stepping up next to Lucas.

 

It Arrives

Ana, one of the women on staff, came rushing into the lobby. “Enrique, there is a problem in room 9.”

“What’s the problem?” said Enrique, assuming it would be a plumbing or electrical issue.

“Mr. Williams asked for a doctor. Mr. Garcia won’t wake up and is burning up with a fever.”

“He won’t wake up?”

“No Enrique. Mr. Williams is very distraught. What should we do?”

Enrique pulled out his cell phone and dialed 9-1-1.

 

“Take them to Hospitals MAC,” said Enrique to the emergency tech climbing into the ambulance with Julian Garcia already loaded up and Lucas Williams sitting to his side. He closed the back doors to the van and stepped back as it pulled away.

“Will he be alright?” said Ana.

“He should be fine once a doctor looks at him,” said Enrigue.

Ana nodded and the two of them went back into the hotel as the crowd that had gathered around out of curiosity moved away.

Enrique entered the lobby to the television still on. “…there have been outbreaks reported in several cities in Mexico, the worst in Tijuana, Mexicali, and Ciudad Juarez. Reports indicate—” Enrique shut the television off so he could concentrate. None of the other guests seemed to have contracted the cold or flu Julian Garcia was suffering, but he felt uneasy for if it spread to others…it was something he didn’t want to think about.

 

At six, Regina came in for the evening shift, and Enrique gathered his things and moved to the side to let her take over.

“Anything I should be aware of,” Regina asked.

“One of the guests in room nine got taken to the hospital.”

“Oh no. Is it serious?”

“I don’t think so. Probably the flu.”

“Have you seen the reports of that virus?”

Enrique looked at Regina, knowing what she was suggesting. He didn’t want to consider it. There was no way a virus outbreak had reached the small city of San Miguel de Allende. “Yes, but those are north of us along the border.”

“There are reports in Mexico City.”

“Really? Well, there are a lot of people traveling to that city and through it, so I’m not surprised.”

“I hope you’re right. We still have room three and two available?”

“Yes; no, room three was booked this morning. They’ll be arriving in the morning.”

“So, no one showing up this evening.”

“No, so it should be quiet around here. I’m leaving, for Noah is cooking dinner.”

“Must be nice,” Regina replied, smiling at Enrique.

 

Enrique came into the kitchen to the smell of dinner cooking, and Noah moving about with his bright yellow apron on.

“Dinner is ready,” said Noah without turning around. “Grab some plates and we’ll prepare our plates from the range and sit at the island.”

For a few minutes they ate in silence, each lost to his own thoughts. Then Enrique turned to Noah. “We had a guest taken to the hospital this morning.”

“Really? Is it serious?”

“I think it might be the flu. But…”

“But?”

“Regina asked if it could that virus that is spreading around.”

“In San Miguel de Allende? No…you think so?”

“No, it couldn’t be…right?”

“I think not.”

When they finished, Enrique cleaned up the kitchen, then went in search of Noah. He found him on the small roof terrace off the second floor sitting room. It was the most isolated roof terrace, not visible to any of their neighbors and seemed lush with the treetops from the courtyard rising above it. Noah was lying on a chaise lounge and Enrique went to him, dropping one article of clothing after the next until he was naked and going to his knees by Noah.

“You want to mess around?” said Enrique playfully.

“I think I could be tempted,” said Noah, sitting up and kissing Enrique. He lay back and raised his ass to let Enrique pull his pants and boxers off. He unbuttoned his shirt as Enrique toyed with his cock. With the shirt open, a hand moved over his chest and stomach as Enrique sucked his cock. He grew aroused, cock thick and hard, and Enrique rose to his feet, took him by the legs and tugged him down until laying flat on his back. Then Enrique pushed his legs over and down, thighs tight to his chest. Cock penetrated him and he moaned as it sank into his depths.

Enrique didn’t tease him, instead he fucked. Fucked with long full strokes, pushing into Noah’s depths until hips pressed against ass. He fucked until not even the cool nighttime air could keep him from sweating. Then he buried his cock in Noah and came.

Enrique slipped out of Noah and stood by the chaise lounge, hand held out to help Noah to his feet. “Shower with me.”

Noah knew it would be more than a shower. Enrique loved to get fucked in the shower, warm water cascading over their bodies as he fucked him. He smiled, took the hand, and let Enrique lead him inside.

 

Noah woke with a start. Something wasn’t right or so he initially thought. He looked over to see Enrique’s side of the bed empty. Probably on a morning jog or downstairs making coffee. He stretched, climbed out of bed, and slipped on his robe. He opened the curtains and looked down in the courtyard, then out over the city. It looked serene. He crossed the room and entered the dressing room, then the bathroom.

“Enrique!” he cried out.

Enrique lay on the floor by the tub. He was sweating with hair matted to his face. Noah rushed to him. “Enrique! Wake up.”

Enrique mumbled something then fell silent. He felt hot, burning up with a high fever. “Fuck,” Noah exclaimed, then he rushed back to the bedroom to get his phone.

Fifteen minutes later the ambulance pulled up in front of their home and loaded Enrigue onto a stretcher.

“Let the doctor know I’ll be there as soon as possible,” said Noah, who then closed the door to the ambulance and watched it pull away.

He rushed inside replaying the night before when Enrique talked about the hotel guest getting sick and having to be taken away by ambulance. It was the virus, he knew it. The sickness was too quick in developing. He rushed to his study knowing he had to get answers, and the only way to get the answers he needed was to retrieve the shuttle craft from Alabama. He knew he should wait until nightfall, but he was worried that it would be too late. He went to the painting over the small side table and swung it out revealing the safe. He pressed his hand to the screen and unlocked it. He pulled out the device given to him when he got the shuttle so many years before. He went to the window and looked out at the blue sky. He was taking a huge chance to engage the homing device during the day, but he saw no other way. He rubbed his finger along the white device, then the motion showed to him for engaging it.

 

A Tributary of the Tombigbee River

Leroy guided his fourteen-foot fishing boat along the slow-moving waters of the tributary. They had passed Round Island and three houses. How people lived in such a remote place he didn’t know. He knew his place over in Little River wasn’t close to Mobile or even Monroeville or Atmore, but to be living between the Alabama River and the Tombigbee in the low-lying floodplain was too much even for him.

“Buster, could you live out here?” Leroy asked.

Buster cast his lure near the edge of the grown-up bank and began to reel it in. “Hell no. You’d have to drive so far for everything, even to get a beer,” he joked.

“Katy says they’re crazy,” said Leroy referring to his oldest daughter.

“She’s probably right. Leroy let’s move on down to that place where the river widens into that large circular area. We’ve had luck there before.”

“Where that stilt house is located,” said Buster, referring to a house built out over the water.

“Yes, that’s it, and speaking of crazy, can you imagine living out over the water.”

“Probably better than under the trees. You know the goddamn mosquitoes would tote you off.”

Leroy pulled up the electric trolling motor and started the 20 HP motor. The old motor idled roughly at first, pumping out blue smoke then settled into a smooth idle. Leroy engaged the propeller and eased forward making their way south.

The river meandered to the right and Leroy followed it until they came to the place where the river widened, and he shut off the motor and let the boat coast. He was lowering the electric trolling motor, when he heard Buster moving around carelessly and looked up to see what the old fool was doing.

“What’s the matter, Buster?”

“Leroy, look out yonder,” said Buster pointing toward the middle of the body of water.

The surface was rippling as if agitated by something below. Fish began to jump out of the water as if trying to get away from some predator. Then there was a slight swell of the surface, then a black object broke through it, slowly rising.

“What the fuck is that?” said Leroy.

“I don’t know, but get us out of here,” said Buster.

Leroy fumbled around for the key in the starter and eventually had the old motor running again. But before he could get them moving back up river, the black object was hovering over the water. It was over a hundred feet long and shaped like one of those alien spaceships he had seen in a movie his daughter had watched a few times.

“Son of a bitch,” uttered Buster as the craft went from black to the colors of the sky beyond it and if they hadn’t seen it rise out of the water they might not have noticed it, but they could see the slight distortion along the edge of the craft. It hovered for only a few seconds, then rotated around until facing southwest and rose higher. It rose until they couldn’t make out its distortion of the sky. Then they heard a sound like rushing air.

Buster sat staring at the sky and Leroy looked around to see if another boater or someone at the stilt house was there that could confirm what they had seen. No one would believe them. Would call them crazy or make fun of them as just two more dumb hicks who were seeing things if they told of the black craft that rose out of the waters.

“Hey Leroy, pass me a beer will ya,” said Buster with a dead tone.

“Sure thing. I think I’ll another one too,” said Leroy opening the cooler to take out two Budweiser cans.

Buster took the can, popped the top, and took a long drink as he faced forward. Without turning around he spoke up again. “Well, I have never…”

“You never what?”

“For a hot minute, I thought I saw a spaceship rise out of the water. Did you see it?”

“No, I didn’t see anything.”

Buster turned and looked at Leroy, then laughed. “You goddamn liar.”

 

The Virus

Noah was on the east side of the city in an empty lot, one prepped for some construction, probably a residential project. He was looking up into the sky for the shuttle. His monitor showed the shuttle drawing near. He looked for the shuttle, looking for some distortion in the sky.

He wanted to be at the hospital to be with Enrique, but if Enrique had the virus, he needed to act quickly to find a cure for it. He was taking chances, doing numerous things that could expose him, but he didn’t care. He had to save Enrique.

He heard the shuttle before he saw it. His monitor showed it was coming in from the northeast and he watched the sky until he could see the distortion of the sky that revealed the outline of the shuttle, and once he saw it, he was able to follow it all the way to the ground, where it landed in front of him. The stealth mode powered down revealing the black shuttle. The rear door lowered, and he ran to it, up the ramp, and inside. He rushed to the lab, stopping in the middle of the room he had not been in for a very long time. He looked at the equipment, slowly turning until he saw what he was looking for. It wasn’t large, not much larger than a shoebox, but he knew its capability was far beyond anything the hospitals or their labs had. He grabbed it up, ran back to the rear of the shuttle and down the ramp. As he crossed the lot heading toward his Land Cruiser, the ramp closed on the rear of the shuttle, the engine came back online, and when he climbed behind the wheel, the shuttle lifted off. He had it programed to go out over the Gulf of Mexico and set down. Someplace close and less likely to be stumbled upon, and at the bottom of the Gulf waters, no one should do so.

Driving recklessly, too fast, Noah rushed back into the city heading to the hospital. When he came into the city, the traffic its usual congestion, he took alternate routes working his way across the lower half of the city until he was pulling into the parking lot and sliding into a parking space.

He rushed past a security guard into the lobby seeing others waiting with terrified or worried expressions. At the front desk, he stopped, finding himself breathing as if out of breath.

“I’m here to see Enrique Garcia. I had him brought in about an hour ago.”

The woman on staff looked at her computer monitor then pointed toward double doors to Noah’s right. “Down the hall to the ICU. Someone there can show you which room he is in.”

“Thanks,” exclaimed Noah rushing toward the doors.

It wasn’t far, and Noah found himself standing at another counter. “Enrique Garcia?”

“You’ll need to put on a gown and mask,” said a nurse coming out of a side room before the one at the counter could reply.

“Yes, whatever it takes.”

“And what is that?” the nurse asked pointing to the box. “No food allowed—”

“It’s not food. It’s…”

“Okay, good,” the nurse replied before Noah could make up a lie.

Wearing a mask and gown, Noah entered one of the ICU wards, finding there were four beds in the room, all occupied. As he passed the first two, he glanced at the names on the clipboards hanging off the foot of the beds. Isabella Alvarez on his left and Julian Garcia on his right. As he neared the next two, Enrigue in the left bed, he noticed an Englishman in the right one, and he glanced at the name out of curiosity: Lucas Williams.

The virus was spreading in the city and Noah felt helpless, afraid, and looking at Enrique, like something was about to be taken from him. Something precious that he loved very much. He rushed to him, seeing how Enrique looked comatose. He set the box on the bed, opened the end of it and slipped the left hand into it. He started its analysis and waited. Would it know how to address human biology he wondered when the screen that became visible on top lit up blue, then red. He read the S tar Phae language as best he could, realizing the machine stated: no known cure.

Noah was holding his breath because if he breathed, he would cry out or simply cry. He turned and looked at the others, deciding to try again with one of them. He went to Lucas Williams and slipped the left hand into the device. A minute later, the same message appeared. “No,” Noah uttered. He picked up the box and stepped back trying to work out what to do. Then he rushed out of the room.

Noah found a stair and hoped it would go up to the roof, where he could be alone. He rushed out the door at the top of stairs onto a white roof where roof top equipment sat scattered around its area. He moved to the parapet that allowed him to look out over the front grounds of the hospital and pulled out the comm device.

It took a minute, but Commander Svshada came on. “Commander Hvela Luka noe, I can tell immediately this is not a social call. Something of an urgent nature?”

“Yes. I used the medical analysis device from the shuttle, but it came back with no known cure. Can it not solve the problem of a virus spreading here on Earth?”

“The device is for medical emergencies that a shuttle may encounter and it’s not programmed for medical analysis of unknown viruses or diseases, especially for a new species.”

“Then I have no hope.”

“We have that capability on the Sukphaph.”

“But how far out are you? We are fast running out of time. This virus is aggressive and fatal in a large number of people.”

Noah heard the commander speak to someone but away from the comm and he couldn’t understand him. Then the voice came back clear, directed into the comm. “We’re plotting a course to Earth, arriving in…eighteen Earth hours.”

“Oh, thank you, Commander. I hope you are in time to save Enrique.”

“We’re accelerating to maximum speed now. Turn the Kar machine back on so we can retrieve the data from it and start analyzing what we’re dealing with.”

“I’m turning it on now,” said Noah. “Let me know when you arrive and I’ll meet you somewhere outside the city.”

“Once in orbit, we’ll assess the situation and notify you.”

Noah stood for a minute wondering if they really could get there in time or if he would lose Enrique. Humans were so fragile and yet…he had come to love them. He thought of Skip and the long life they shared. He thought of Enrique wondering if such a life would be taken from him.

 

Noah left the cafeteria having placed his tray with a barely touched meal on it onto the conveyor belt. He moved down the corridor, until back into the ICU. He saw the worried looks of nurses, a doctor rushing out of one room and into the next one. He came to the room Enrique was in and found two men in white putting Isabella Alvarez on a stretcher, the white sheet pulled over her head. He choked and staggered, catching himself on the wall. He moved to the side as they wheeled her out of the room, their faces concealed by masks, but he could see the terror and fear in their eyes. He looked at the two men across the room seeing both were comatose and sweating profusely. He moved to Enrique sitting by the bed. Enrique was pale, sweating profusely, and shivering.

Noah glanced at his watch. It had been nearly seventeen hours since his communication with the Sukphaph. The ship should arrive in one hour, an hour Enrique may not have. He sat back and stared at him, his mind unfocused, no clear thought about anything happening. He felt a tear trickle down his cheek, and he wiped it away. Was this how it ends for Enrique and him?

A commotion in the corridor and he looked up in time to see through the narrow window in the door two nurses rush by. He looked at his watch again, then back to Enrique. The only sound in the room, the soft beeping of three monitors.

An alarm sounded, and Noah jumped looking at Enrique, then his monitor. But it was normal, the soft beep of the heart rate and for a second, he felt relief it wasn’t Enrique. Then he realized it was Julian Garcia who had stopped breathing. Death had come for him, and Noah didn’t know if he could endure it, sitting in a room where people were waiting to die. Then Enrique’s monitor started alarming.

 

“NO!” Noah cried out, jumping to his feet. He put his hand on Enrique’s chest seeing the look of death coming over him. “No, not like this,” Noah uttered.

“Stand aside Hvela Luka noe, let me get to him.”

Noah turned and saw the white hood and suite, one like humans wore in hazardous conditions. The suite concealed someone who was very different from humans. He saw them place a small cylinder to the neck, then place a blue square on the chest. It glowed blue, then red. Enrique jerked, then lay still. The square glowed blue, then red again. Enrique gasped for air and opened his eyes.

“Enrique!” Noah cried out and leaned down close.

“He’ll be fine. I’m Doctor Chi Zak of the Sukphaph. I cannot remain here, so you much help the others. This is the cure and this is to revive those just deceased,” holding out the cylinder and blue square.

“Help the others,” said Enrique in a barely audible voice.

Noah grabbed the two devices and rushed across the room where a nurse had just arrived for Julian Garcia. He didn’t wait to explain, repeating the sequence Dr. Chi Zak had performed on Enrique. The cylinder to the neck to release the drugs, then the square on the chest. It glowed blue then red.

“What are you doing,” cried the nurse reaching for the comm.

Julian gasped for air, and he opened his eyes. The nurse, her hand hovering in space toward the comm, looked down at him, then back at Noah.

“I don’t have time to explain, but this will stop the virus. Can I go to the others?” said Noah.

The nurse looked down at Julian, then over to Enrique who was sitting up. She turned back to Noah and nodded yes.

Noah went to Lucas Williams and injected the drugs into his neck, then he rushed out of the room to go treat the others in the ICU.

 

Noah treated those at the hospital then rushed up the stairs to the roof top. He came out into the darkness of night and saw Dr. Chi Zak waiting. Behind the doctor the lights of the city glowed but were distorted and Noah knew a shuttle was hovering over the roof in stealth mode.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” said Noah.

“I’m a scientist and doctor and it is my duty and desire to help those in need.”

“What about those in other hospitals; in other countries?”

Dr. Chi Zak held out a small device. “This is the data on the drug the humans will need to make. It is a simple thing, something they should have no trouble duplicating.”

“If it is so simple, why haven’t they found it.”

“It’s a trickly little concoction to get the ratios just right. Too much of certain components, and you’ll kill the hosts and not enough, it’ll make the virus’ spread speed up. For those here in the city, use that,” said Dr. Chi Zak pointing at the cylinder in Noah’s hand. There is enough in it to treat everyone in your city’s hospitals.

Noah smiled, then looked over the city. “I wish you could experience this place as I have. It is a beautiful place.” He turned to the doctor and held his hand out, palm down, and watched the doctor hold his hand over it palm up. Then the doctor moved toward the shuttle as the rear ramp lowered allowing him to step up on it. Within a few seconds the distortion that showed the shuttle’s outline rushed upward into the night sky.

 

Four Days Later

In what Noah considered an overabundance of caution, the hospital still had Enrique in their care. He wasn’t sure if it was to make sure Enrique was truly well, or to get samples from him to determine how the drug worked in his system. All Noah knew, it meant he was home alone another day.

He had gotten stir crazy and was strolling down the street heading to the small taco restaurant on the corner. When he entered the cool dimly lit interior, he saw everyone at the bar watching the latest news report.

“…the United States has reported a decline in cases of over seventy per cent and in Europe and China, similar statistics. It should be noted the CDC has pushed back on the use of this new drug by saying it can’t be safe, but so far doctors across the nation have been ignoring them. There are no reports of any adverse reactions to the drug. The cure is reported to come out of San Miguel de Allende, a small city in Mexico, not known for any research laboratories, so there are many scientists questioning how they could accomplish what they did, or even if the cure came from their city. Scientists from…”

Noah moved to the dining room, tired of the reports on the virus.

“Noah, what can I bring you?” the waiter asked.

“Three tacos al pastor and a beer.”

“Coming right up,” the waiter replied as he turned to head back to the kitchen.

  Noah sat back and reflected on the last few days. The relief of Enrique well again, even the others at the hospital. Enrique had befriended the two men across from him and made plans for everyone to have dinner together once released from the hospital.

When this over, he would take Enrique to Rio or maybe New Zealand for a vacation. The relief he felt gave him such happiness. His cellphone beeped with a message.

We were going to hold off on publication until next year, but with the virus under control, look for a mid-October release date. Edgar.

Noah texted back his thanks as the waiter sat his lunch down in front of him. “Thanks” he said to the waiter who asked if he needed anything else, then excused himself to let Noah enjoy his meal. Noah took a bite savoring the tender meat. He chewed slowly, taking his time, for he had nowhere to be.

A shadow fell over the table and Noah looked up. A young man stood by his table with a grin and Noah was shocked to see someone from his long ago past. “Prvi Kovek? What brings you to…the neighborhood.”

Pri Kovek had been his first officer before his mission to Earth, and to see him in San Miguel de Allende was a shock. Pri Kovek motioned to the empty chair opposite.

“Yes, sit,” said Noah.

“I was in the…neighborhood, as you call it, and wanted to see my old commander.”

“Are you on one of the research missions?”

“Yes. We’re flying out to what the humans call the Andromeda Galaxy to help the Sukphaph with their studies of the planets around one star. It seems there is one is in an early evolutionary stage, but it has a promising atmosphere, much like our own, and it could be an outpost for us for our explorations.”

“That close. The people here would be surprised.”

“They still looking through telescopes watching the stars?”

“They have made some progress, putting them into orbit.”

“So, just two or three generations and they should be ready for space exploration.”

“More like six or seven…or more,” said Noah, thinking of the shorter lifespans.

“Is that eatable?” said Pri Kovek, pointing to Noah’s food.

“It is delicious. You should try it. Waiter!” Noah called out, summoning his waiter to the table. “My friend would like the same and to drink…” Noah looked at Pri Kovek and grinned mischievously, “a beer.”

With the waiter gone to the kitchen, Pri Kovek turned back to Noah. “Commander Sushada said they had to give assistance to you. Something about a virus.”

“Yes. It was a nasty one. Not extremely contagious but it could materialize in one’s system quickly and after a few days, it was fatal for far too many.”

“Your partner was saved?”

“Yes, thankfully.”

“Good.”

They sat in the small restaurant for nearly three hours, enjoying lunch, then a few beers as they caught up then discussed Pri Kovek’s mission. When they finally came out of the restaurant, it was the hottest part of the day with the sun blistering.

“This place is as hot as Vatrena Plana.”

“No, it’s not,” Noah replied playfully.

“Yeah, nowhere is as hot as that place.”

“How long can you hang around?”

“I must be going, but it is good to see you, old friend.”

“Where’s your shuttle?”

“I’ll never tell,” Pri Kovek replied with a smile. “But it’s not far. You take care of yourself, and if you need assistance, call me. I’ll be on the Okrice.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, and when you come back this way, please stop for a visit.”

“I’ll do that. Now I must be on my way.”

Noah watched his former first officer as he walked down the street to the next intersection and turned left. He pictured what was along that street, remembering there were three empty lots on the far end, wondering if Pri Kovel would have dared to set down so close.

 

Good Times

Noah ladled the soup into the large serving bowl as he listened to Enrique tell Julian and Lucas about their plans to go to Brazil in a month. He smiled at the excitement he heard in the voice. He had reconsidered Brazil, wondering about taking Enrique to New Orleans or Key West, but with troubling news about the situation in the United States, he had no desire to go back.

Turning to pick up the lid for the bowl, he saw Lucas coming into the kitchen.

“Can I help with something?”

“Sure, the bread is in the oven. If you can put it in that basket, you can bring it to the table,” said Noah pointing to the basket with a white cloth draped over it. He covered the soup and headed to the dining room as Lucas opened the oven to take out the bread.

Bowl set in the middle of the table, Noah took his seat next to Enrique as Lucas came back, set the basket next to the soup, and took his seat next to Julian.

“Let’s eat,” exclaimed Enrique.

For the next hour they enjoyed dinner and conversation, Julian and Lucas telling of their travels, first in the states then in Mexico, and Enrique and Noah talked about life in San Miguel de Allende and their plans to go to Brazil.

When a pause in the conversation fell over the room, it was Noah who spoke first, turning to Julian. “You mentioned finding a new place to live, somewhere outside the states. Have you considered San Miguel de Allende?”

“Since arriving here then getting sick, we have not discussed it further, and I don’t know what Lucas thinks, but I would love to live here.”

“Me too,” said Lucas as he squeezed Julian’s shoulder.

“I know a real estate agent,” said Noah.

“What about the place over on Arboles?” said Enrique.

“I don’t know what it looks like, but it is in the Centro district.”

“It would be similar to your place?” said Lucas.

“I think it is only a two-bedroom house, but my uncle said the courtyards are lovely.”

“Sounds perfect,” said Julian. “We don’t need a six-bedroom place, like this.”

“Neither do we,” said Noah. “I just fell in love with the courtyards and how the living and dining rooms open up to the main one.”

“And it has room for his art collection,” said Enrique.”

“It is quite a collection, especially those two pieces,” said Lucas pointing to the black ink drawings over the sideboard.

“Those are special to me,” said Noah, then wanting to change the subject, “shall I call Ramon so you can look at that place on Arboles?”

“Yes,” said Julian.

 

The house was quiet, their guests turned in for the night in one of the guest rooms, as Noah and Enrique moved against each other on the bed. They kissed and touched and caressed until both were achingly erect. Enrique rolled Noah to his back and sat over the hard cock. He rocked his hips back and forth, rubbing his ass over it, feeling its girth. His own cock hovered over Noah’s stomach, so erect the foreskin was pulled back revealing the dripping wet head.

“Oh…Noah…” uttered Enrique as he kept moving, the undulation of his body so sensual, so erotic, Noah clutched at the bed to keep from shoving upward against it.

Enrique rose on his knees and held Noah up. He worked his ass over the wet head, back and forth, stroking Noah’s arousal until he felt him push upward. He centered his opening over the cock and let his weight carry him down. Slowly, he stretched open taking the head, then inch after inch of the thick shaft. He eased down until over half of it was inside him and he held still adjusting to the penetration.

Noah held Enrique by the ankles trying to control himself. He slowed his breathing and fought the urge to push upward. He wanted to feel Enrique’s depths around his cock. He wanted to feel the ass against his hips. When Enrique began to move, he shivered with the feel of the ass moving on his cock. He looked at the lean muscular body, how it moved, such a temptation to his desires…to his sex. He watched as Enrique moved up and down taking more of his cock until finally coming down on his hips. Then he threw his head back, closed his eyes, and focused on the feel of their fuck.

Enrique moved up and down the full length of Noah, rose until the head nearly slipped free. He moved with a steady rhythm, feeling his arousal increase. He held his arms up and behind his head, stretching his torso as he worked his ass on the cock. He moved sensually, feeling his sex and the need to please another.

Enrique increased his pace, worked his ass up and down with increased urgency. The bed rocked beneath them, and the room seemed to close in around him, nothing in focus except Noah and the cock he was moving on. He grew hot, sweat trickling down his face, chest, and back. He felt this heat, this loosening of his body, and he moved with it.

“Enrique!” Noah exclaimed.

Enrique knew Noah was close, too close, and he stopped, cock buried in his ass. He leaned forward and they kissed with such desire and passion it left them breathless. He felt Noah’s hands rub over his sweaty back down to his ass holding each cheek.

“I love you,” whispered Noah.

“I love you,” Enrique whispered in reply.

Enrique sat up and worked his ass on Noah’s cock. He moved with an urgency. His own cock drooled on Noah’s stomach and as he increased his pace began to smack down on it. It pushed his arousal until he was gasping for breath. He leaned back until resting on one hand, taking his own cock with the other. He stroked his dripping cock until his cock was wet and slick in his hand as he worked his ass on Noah’s cock. He moved faster as his arousal increased. He moved with such physicality that soon his ass smacked down on Noah’s hips and the bed rocked beneath them.

There was no holding back this time. Enrique fucked to cum and to make Noah cum. He fucked until his body glistened wetly in the dim light and his breathing was ragged. He moved until his muscles ached and his cock became so sensitive he shuddered and jerked. Then he came, cock erupting with a thick wad of cum that hit his chin and roped down his chest. And his cock kept erupting with wad after wad, covering his chest and stomach.

Noah saw Enrique grew close, the telltale signs of a man about to cum. Then he saw the white cum land across the chest up to the chin, stark against the dark skin. He felt Enrique’s release, how the ass spasm around his cock, and he fell back and stiffened as his cock swelled thick locking Enrique in place. Then he came, erupting in Enrique’s depths, pumping out wad after wad until finally spent.

 

Lucas leaned on the small roof terrace parapet off their bedroom feeling the warm night air over his bare skin. He was naked, bent over, taking Julian’s fuck. He felt the hands holding his waist, lips touching the back of his neck then move across his shoulder. He felt the cock pumping into his depths, moving in a steady rhythm.

Since their release from the hospital and getting most of their strength back, they couldn’t get enough of each other. They clung to each other in private moments, kissing with passion and desire and love. When around Noah and Enrique or out in public, they touched and caressed and were playful. And when they had sex, as now, they fucked with such passion it made them breathless.

A hand moved up his side, up his neck, until it was cupping his chin and it turned his head to the side so they could kiss. The other hand moved around his waist and took his cock, stroking it until the hand and it were slick. He shuddered and pushed back on Julian’s cock. He bent forward, hand braced on the parapet and spread his legs, and thus his ass, giving himself to Julian’s fuck. Hips banged against his ass with a steady fast pace.

“Lucas…”

“Yes,” Lucas replied, knowing everything Julian meant with the utterance of his name.

Rocking with every shove into his depths, Lucas moaned. He sucked air through his open mouth. He struggled not to cry out aloud.

“Fuck…fuck me; fuck me,” said Lucas through clinched teeth.

Julian fucked. Fucked with a near brutal pace, hips banging against ass. He fucked until sweating and gasping for breath. He shoved into Lucas’ depths, over and over. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the sweaty back. He licked at the salty skin. Kissed it, gently, in sharp contrast to the pace of their fuck.

“Lucas; I’m going to cum.”

“Do it; pump it in me,” said Lucas.

Julian stood straight, held Lucas by the waist, and fucked. Fucked hard and fast, smacking against the ass. He fucked until his toes curled, his grip tightened, and he shuddered with release. He slammed into Lucas’ depths and jerked and shuddered and tried to jam into him deeper as his cock shot wad after wad.

 

Lucas had not come, and his cock stuck straight out and dripping. He guided Julian to the chaise lounge and down on his back. He took Julian’s offered legs and held them to his chest, pulling him down lower on the chaise lounge with ass pulled up for his cock. He moved to it and penetrated it. Julian was still loose and wet from their first fuck, and he pushed inward all the way. He buried his cock inside him and fucked. He fucked with a steady pace as he watched Julian stroke his own cock. He watched him get fully erect, pleased with how quickly Julian was aroused again. He took the legs behind the knees and pushed forward, then down, folding the lean body in half, and he fucked harder, desperate for release. He fucked until Julian was moaning and pleading with him to fuck even harder. He fucked until the sound of hips smacking ass seemed to echo in the air around them, then he shoved into Julian’s depths and came.

 

Lights were turned out, and the house in the heart of San Miguel de Allende grew quiet. The four within drifted off into an exhausted sleep, each couple snuggled together relishing the other’s warmth as the nighttime grew cooler.

 

Two Years Later

Enrique stood next Noah, looking in the sky for what, he wasn’t sure. The story Noah had told him was outlandish. Crazy talk that made him question Noah’s sanity. There was no way any of it was true. It had to be Noah fucking with him, like he had done about the Pulpo Frito served a few days before, telling him it was chitlins. But he stood in the isolated landscape south of the city, looking up into the sky for something Noah called a shuttle, which sounded like a normal airplane to him.

“There, coming over the ridge,” said Noah.

Enrique looked where Noah was pointing about to tell him it was bullshit. He hadn’t seen anything in the clear blue skies, then he saw it. Some distortion that seemed to have a shape. It grew larger, quickly, until hovering over them and he heard the rush of air off it. It eased down, blowing up dust, then grew quiet. The reflection of the surroundings faded, and a black craft became visible. It was no airplane.

“What the fuck,” uttered Enrique.

“I know everything I told you sounds crazy. Sounded like some sci-fi story I made up, but…there’s the shuttle that brought Skip and I back to Earth.”

“It can fly into space?”

“Yes.”

“Out to the edge of the solar system and back?”

“Yes.”

“You could take me to Saturn and back?”

Noah heard how the questions went from complete disbelief to a questioning tone. He opened the rear ramp. “I can take you there and back before dinner.”

Enrique scoffed, laughed as if he were losing his sanity, then he looked at Noah, the man he loved more than he could put into words. “Okay, take me there. Let me see for myself.”

Noah smiled. It was progress. “Come on, let’s get on board.”

In the flight deck, Noah took the central seat and motioned Enrique to take the seat to his right.

“We don’t need flight suits?”

“No, of course not.”

Enrique sat down as Noah closed the rear ramp, then engaged stealth mode. He checked the status of the fusion drive, cycled it up, then checked to make sure the shuttle was properly sealed.

“Okay, let’s go. It could be a bit bumpy leaving atmosphere.”

“Right,” Enrique replied still not sure he believed it.

Noah turned on the screen showing the landscape in front of the shuttle. He lifted off, and the landscape fell from view leaving only the blue sky. They could feel the angle of ascent as they flew higher.

Enrique was holding his breath as the sky began to darken. Within seconds it became black.

“Okay, we out of Earth’s gravitational field,” said Noah. The moon was to their left and before them deep space. “I’ve plotted a course to Saturn.” The shuttle sped up, noticeably, pinning them in their seats. “We’ll be at half acceleration for about fifteen minutes.”

 

Saturn with its rings was before them. It filled the screen and kept getting larger as they drew near. Moons came into view and the rings cut across the screen, their extents too large for it. Noah maneuvered them closer, swung around Titan, then between the planet and the rings. He swung the shuttle over the rings, and they looked so close Enrique imagined reaching out a window and touching them. Then they flew closer to the swirling gas giant, the colors not as uniform up close.

“What do you think?” said Noah.

“It’s beautiful,” said Enrique, no longer sounding skeptical, but with childlike wonder.

Noah orbited the planet, then swung out to Enceladus, one of the other moons, using it to slingshot back toward Earth.

“You’re really from another world?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve been here since…1957?”

“Yes.”

Enrique grew quiet, staring at the screen as they flew toward home.

“How long…I mean…you don’t have to go back anytime soon, do you?”

Noah heard the tone, one that sounded scared. “What? No, I’m not leaving you.”

Enrique smiled. He sat back and relaxed.

“There’s home,” said Noah, when Earth came into view. “I’ll swing around the moon, then back home.”

Enrique saw the moon come into view then it filled the screen as Noah maneuvered to do an orbit around it. The surface was as Enrique’s science classes had taught him, but then again, it was so much more detailed and interesting. The shuttle pulled away and soon Earth was growing larger in the screen. Enrique saw darkness spread across the Atlantic as the Earth spun around its axis. Mexico would be in the last half of its day, just as Noah had promised.

They entered the atmosphere and Noah engaged stealth mode as they descended to the place they had taken off.

“Can we go back up some day?”

“Yes, we can go whenever we want.”

“And visit all the planets and…” Enrique didn’t know what was out there to ask to see, but he wanted to see it, everything they had time for.

“Yes, of course. Should we invite Lucas and Julian?”

Enrique considered the question as Noah set the shuttle down and shut it down. He considered what Noah had shown him, just him alone, and it seemed important. Some shared thing between them.

“No, let’s keep this to ourselves.”

 

Epilogue

Julian and Lucas sat in a small bar, one Enrique had recommended. They sipped margaritas just killing time. A television behind the bar was showing a football game between Mexico and Brazil giving the place a lively festive feel. Then the broadcast was interrupted, and a news report came on with a reporter standing outside NASA.

“…reports are coming in that an unidentified flying object has entered our atmosphere somewhere over the Gulf of Mexico north of the Yucatan peninsula. NASA has refuted reports it was a secret military mission and have suggested the object may have been a meteor entering our atmosphere and probably crashed into the gulf.

Commercial and government flights over the Gulf at the time reported no sightings of a meteor or a craft. It appears…”

“Julian, we should buy a bottle of wine to take to Noah and Enrique’s tonight.”

“There’s a wine shop a block over. Let’s go after we finish our drinks.”

The game came back on, Mexico leading by one, and everyone in the restaurant cheered.

---

To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

---

 Konstantinos is forty-three and has Dimitri living with him. The nineteen year old moved in on Konstantinos after a clandestine fuck in a ruined store. The temperature is rising in modern Thessaloniki, Greece and Dimitri just loves to jerk Konstantinos’ chain.

---

The August heat was punitive, the kind that frayed tempers and softened reason. It wasn’t something you enjoyed, it was something you endured. In the backstreets of old Thessaloniki, where buildings slouched like exhausted drunks and the air carried the sour tang of scorched garlic and stale olive oil, an aging apartment block stood above a row of shuttered shops and graffiti-scrawled kiosks.

From the cool marble halls of the Municipality on Vasileos Georgiou Avenue, officials issued their seasonal bulletins: Drink more water. Stay indoors. Avoid strenuous activity between noon and five. As if anyone in this part of town had that luxury. As if the heat weren’t already inside everything, inside the walls, the mattresses, the lungs. 

The advice from the Municipality felt like a joke, broadcast from a different Thessaloniki entirely, one with air conditioning and tinted windows.

The façade of the apartment building was cracked, its balconies cluttered with drying laundry and satellite dishes pointed like broken compass needles to  “Go Greek TV”, Satellite services that offer access to Greek channels like “Mega”, “SKAI”, and “ERTWorld”, with their football programming 

It wasn’t the kind of area Konstantinos was used to, too loud, too lived-in, too close to the bone. He hated the neighborhood The nights were filled with stray dogs barking and mopeds whining past at 2 a.m. The corner souvlaki joint never closed, and the smell of meat in the atmosphere clung to the drapes. 

On the fifth floor, behind a warped wooden door and a flickering hallway light, Konstantinos paced the narrow living room of his new apartment. Forty-three years old, recently divorced, and still carrying the kind of muscle that made younger men glance twice, he looked out of place among the peeling paint and mismatched furniture. The ceiling fan clicked with every rotation, and the floor tiles were chipped and faded. Konstantinos hated that this was the best he could do for himself.

Dimitri now lived in the apartment with Konstantinos Dimitri, with his filthy grin and a body made for sin. In all the heat, Konstantinos was stomping around the flat, naked and half-wild, just like Dimitri, wondering how the hell he’d ended up here.

Konstantinos’s ex-wife had gutted him clean, that’s how he ended up there. Eleni, was from the wrong side of the tracks when he met her. After twenty good years, she took the car, the good linens, the framed wedding photo he hadn’t even wanted. What Eleni left behind was a man with a few essentials: a mattress on the floor, a chipped mug, and the kind of silence that made his ears ring. Konstantinos didn’t even get to see his sons and that hurt.

Dimitri wasn’t the reason for the divorce. Not directly. He came along later,  nineteen, unemployed, and built like a street fighter with something to prove. He had a mouth that could start a war and a wiggle  that made it hard to look away. Konstantinos knew better, but knowing better had never stopped him before.

In the intense heat, Dimitri stood naked at the kitchen sink, framed by cracked tiles and the low hum of the city outside. In desperation, they’d both thrown their clothes on the floor when they’d arrived from the City; there was no place for clothing when the temperature hit a humid 39c.

His back was arched slightly as he washed dishes by hand. He reached into the soapy water of the stained and cracked sink, muscles shifting beneath olive-toned skin like coiled rope. His body was lean, hard, sun-dried, meant to be handled, not admired.

Konstantinos hated the way he’d let Dimitri move in just a week after they’d met. 

It had been a one-night thing or it was supposed to be. Konstantinos fucked Dimitri’s ass in a ruined store off Egnatia, the store was half-collapsed and stinking. Konstantinos had been drunk, lonely, really, and Dimitri had been looking for anyone. For a place to sleep. Konstantinos offered both.

Konstantinos was a tour guide, the kind of guy who could find charm in a broken fountain or poetry in a cracked mosaic. He knew how to spin beauty from ruins but this turd of a life was  a story he couldn’t polish. 

Dimitri was still there, still sleeping with Konstantinos still asking for things with that soft, needy voice. Konstantinos, for all his expensive education and practiced optimism, couldn’t quite decide whether he felt guilty, used, or just stupid

Despite all of that, Konstantinos couldn’t stop looking at the little fucker and he still wanted to stick his cock up that fine ass. The heat of the City, frustration and wanting to fuck was driving Konstantinos insane.

Dimitri’s dirty blond hair clung damply to his neck, tousled and careless, and his eyes, icy blue, almost cruel, flicked up from the dishes with a look that could melt you or pin you in place. He didn’t smile. He didn’t need to. The way he stood there, naked and unbothered, made the whole flat feel like it belonged to him.

He moved through the rooms with the slow, deliberate grace of someone who knew he was wanted. Every gesture was a tease: the way his hips shifted as he reached for another plate, the flex of his thighs, the casual exposure of everything. He was seductive without effort, and he knew it.

Their tenuous relationship hung by a thread, lust knotted with resentment, desire sharpened by the thrill of provocation. It wasn’t love, not in the soft sense. It was something harder, more combustible, almost incandescent. Dimitri knew exactly how to get under Konstantinos’ skin, and he did it with a smirk using his naked body, flaunting his sexual bravado like a challenge. 

Konstantinos fucked Dimitri like he had something to prove, like every thrust was a declaration, a challenge, a refusal to be forgotten. He was older now, thick around the middle and the kind of masculinity that didn’t yield easily. When Dimitri offered himself, young, lean, hungry, Konstantinos took the bait without hesitation. Every time.

He hated being divorced. Hated the quiet humiliation of lost affluence, the way Eleni had everything that was once his. So, now,  he carved out triumphs where he could. In the dark, in the heat of the shitty apartment, in the way he made Dimitri grunt when he was fucked. Each time they fucked, it was more than sex, it was Konstantinos making Dimitri feel it. His power. His relevance. His right to be wanted.

Dimitri was maddening. That lean, muscular frame, always moving, always demanding attention, was like trying to tame fire with bare hands. He had the energy of a man raised on late-night bouzouki and cheap contraband cigarettes brought from Turkey through the Kipoi border post. Dimitri was the kind of young guy who’d argue politics in a kafeneio one minute and strip down and get fucked by a stranger without blinking the next. No shame, no filter, no patience. He was Thessaloniki through and through: raw, loud, unapologetic.

Konstantinos hated how much he wanted him. Dimitri was sexual chaos wrapped in immaculate olive skin and streetwise charm, and every time he walked through the flat, naked, cocky, dripping with sweat, Konstantinos felt something ancient stir in him. Rage. Hunger. A need to dominate, to claim, to remind them both who was the boss.

Dimitri never played submissive. He played Greek, proud, defiant, and always ready to fight for the last word or the last thrust.

Dimitri leaned against the doorframe, naked, sweat glistening along his collarbone. The heat pressed in through the open window, thick with the smell of car exhaust and grilled meat. He watched Konstantinos on the threadbare sofa as he fumbled with the remote, the TV flickering between soccer and static and some more old soccer. Dimitri was angling for a fight again.

“You must’ve been wild back at the Millenium,” Dimitri said, voice low, almost amused. “I bet you were a heartbreaker before the euro.”  It was unnecessary, uncalled for and just so Dimitri,

Konstantinos froze. His jaw tightened, thumb hovering over the remote. The comment landed like a slap, casual, cutting, perfectly timed. He didn’t move. 

Dimitri stepped more definitely into the room, slow and deliberate, his bare feet silent on the cracked tiles. “What?” he added, grinning. “You don’t like being reminded you’re vintage?”  He smiled, “You’re lucky I stay here with you. You’re a sad fuck!”

Konstantinos turned, eyes dark, mouth set in a line that didn’t quite hide the sting. “You think you’re clever, you little fucker!” he said.  “You’re one step removed from being a street whore

“I know I am,” Dimitri replied, triumphant. He crossed the room and plucked the remote from Konstantinos’ hand, brushing against his arm as he did. “Besides, you’re still a heartbreaker. It just takes longer to get it up in the first place and then recover, doesn’t it?”

Konstantinos didn’t answer. He just sat there, heat rising in his chest, watching Dimitri walk away, cocky, naked, and utterly in control.

The tension between them was constant, electric. A look, a word, a shift in posture could set it off. They fought like lovers and fucked like enemies, each encounter a collision of ego and need. It wasn’t romance. It was combustion.

A naked Dimitri turned to face an equally naked Konstantinos, his erection bobbing slightly as he spoke, “You know, for an older guy who’s supposed to be so sexually experienced, you can’t even get it up for more than two minutes. Maybe it’s time you admitted you’re as impotent as you are useless. No wonder that fucking wife of yours dumped you!”

Dimitri walked over to the sink and started washing dishes once more.

Konstantinos’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching tightly. The accusation stung more than it should have. He wasn’t impotent; he was just tired of Dimitri’s incessant demands for attention. He wasn’t about to let the little shit get away with that kind of talk.

With swiftness, Konstantinos strode over to the sink and stood behind Dimitri, roughly pinning Dimitri against the porcelain. 

Konstantinos’s cock was hard and heavy as he reached for  the bar of soap on the worksurface. Without a word, he slicked it up in the water and pressed it against Dimitri’s  tight entrance, rubbing it harshly into the hole. The younger man’s eyes went wide, a mix of fear and arousal. Dimitri knew what was coming.

Dimitri’s protests were muffled as Konstantinos pushed him against the sink, the cold porcelain pressing into his balls. Konstantinos  ignored the whimpers and the frantic squirming, his own rage driving him. He positioned his veiny, throbbing cock and in one swift motion, he buried himself inside Dimitri’s soapy hole. The younger man gasped, and  grunted,  his body tensing as Konstantinos  plunged into Dimitri’s guts. 

Konstantinos grinned and started to pound into Dimitri, hard and fast like a vengeful beast. The room was filled with the slap of flesh on flesh and the guttural grunts of Konstantinos’ exertion.

Dimitri’’s eyes watered, but his body betrayed him. He was already leaking pre-cum, his arousal mixing with the soap and water that was now coating the kitchen floor. He tried to push back, to match Marcus’s rhythm, but the older man was relentless, his strength overpowering.  Dimitri remained pinned against the sink, unable to move.

Konstantinos  was angry, towering anger that wouldn’t relax until he’d cum in the little fuck!

In just a matter of moments, Konstantinos  reached his climax. He grunted, his cock pulsing as he squirted himself into Dimitri’s ass. The younger man’s legs trembled, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the sink for support. 

Konstantinos  pulled out abruptly, roughly, leaving Dimitri panting and dripping cum from his ass. Without a backward glance, he walked away, leaving Dimitri  to clean up the mess.

Dimitri slumped against the sink, his breaths rough and labored. The sting of the soap and the roughness of Konstantinos lingered, but so did a strange sense of satisfaction. Dimitri had pushed Konstantinos to his limit, and the raw outburst of sexual power displayed was something Dimitri hadn’t expected. 

Dimitri watched as Konstantinos  grabbed his shirt from the floor  and wiped his cock clean, tossing the stained shirt to the floor  with a disdainful look.

The silence in the apartment was thick, the only sound was the slow dribble of the faucet and the occasional car horn from the street below. Dimitri felt a mix of emotions, anger, lust, and a strange thrill at being taken so aggressively. He reached back and touched his still-throbbing ass, the soap left a trail down his thigh.

Konstantinos grabbed a beer from the fridge. He didn’t bother to hide his cock, his muscular chest heaving as he took a long pull from the bottle. 

Dimitri couldn’t help but feel a twinge of desire, despite the pain and the insults that had just been exchanged. He knew that underneath the anger and the bravado, Konstantinos, the bigger older man,  had a soft spot for him, even if he never showed it.

Dimitri turned the water off and faced Konstantinos, his own cock still rock-hard and begging for attention. “You’re not going to at least help me clean up?” he asked, his voice a softer mix of sass and submission. Konstantinos  took another swig of his beer and leaned against the fridge, eyeing Dimitri up and down.

“You wanted to play games?” Konstantinos  sneered, gesturing to the mess on the floor. “Now you clean yourself  up, you dumb fuck!”

Dimitri rolled his eyes and smiled a little but knew better than to argue. He grabbed his shirt from the floor. The one that Konstantinos  had used earlier and began to wipe himself, feeling the stickiness of the soap and cum on his skin.  Konstantinos watched the provocative fucker, watched him wipe himself with the shirt.  Konstantinos wanted more.

Dimitri couldn’t help but feel a smug sense of victory. He’d gotten under Konstantinos’s skin, made him lose control, made him fuck like a stranger and that was worth the discomfort.

Their eyes met, and for a brief second, there was a flicker of something softer in Konstantinos’s gaze but it was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by a steely resolve. Dimitri knew that this wasn’t the end of their argument, but he also knew that it wasn’t the end of their volatile dance. Dimitri smiled.

As he finished wiping himself, Dimitri’s mind raced with thoughts of what would come next. Would Konstantinos apologize? Perhaps, they would both find themselves  on that mattress on the floor in the August heat, tangled in a mess of passion and spite once again. Either way, Dimitri knew that living with Konstantinos was never going to be dull.

---

To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

---

Thread between them gets deeper 

The rain had stopped by morning, but Callington felt damp with memory. James sat on the stone ledge outside the campus café, knees pulled up, chin tucked against his chest. His fingers traced the curve of his coffee cup as if mapping out a feeling he hadn’t named yet.

Tom arrived late, hood up, earbuds dangling from his collar. He offered no hello, just dropped down beside James and nudged him with a shoulder.

“You’re not sulking over politics again, are you?” Tom teased.

James shook his head and exhaled through a soft smile. “No. Something different.”

Tom leaned back, watching James for a moment. He’d known him long enough to read the silences like pages.

“Talk,” he said.

James hesitated, eyes on his boots. Then, like uncorking a bottle slowly enough not to spill, he began.

“It was Jones. We were in the lounge. I gave him a foot massage.”

Tom’s eyebrows lifted, but he didn’t interrupt.

“It felt… grounding,” James continued. “Like I was holding something sacred. His feet—tired, real, human—told me more than his lectures ever did.”

Tom nodded thoughtfully. “So it wasn’t about crushes or whatever. It was connection.”

James glanced at him, surprised by the clarity.

“Yes,” he said. “Connection with texture. With care. I could feel how long he’d been carrying things, just through the soles of his socks.”

Tom grinned. “You’ve always had a poetic heart. Even when we were shampooing pensioners for pocket money.”

James laughed then, the sound stretching some tension loose inside him.

“I didn’t expect to feel so much from something so small,” he said.

Tom slung an arm around his shoulder. “That’s what you do though, mate. You find the infinite in the details.”

They watched the clouds drift, pale and slow, as if the world had decided to speak softer that day.

Tom let James sit with his thoughts a moment longer, the café hum around them fading into soft background texture—steam hissing, spoons clinking, laughter echoing through rainwashed glass.

James took a breath and began again, this time more freely.

“It wasn’t just the touch, you know,” he said. “It was how he let me. No tension. No hesitation. Just trust. Like he knew it would be offered with care, not taken.”

Tom nodded, sipping his coffee. “Sometimes the body is more honest than words.”

James smiled faintly. “The way his foot settled in my palm… it felt like he handed me something invisible but important.”

“Intimacy,” Tom said. “But not the kind people rush toward. The kind you earn.”

James looked out across the square, students passing with umbrellas and unspoken stories. “I used to think closeness needed drama. That it had to be bold and burning. But that moment? It was quiet. Tender. Intentional.”

Tom leaned in, elbows on knees. “It sounds like you felt seen. And maybe, in seeing him that clearly, he let himself be known.”

“I think he did,” James whispered. “And I don’t want to turn it into something performative. I just want to hold the feeling. Keep it close without needing to explain it.”

Tom grinned. “You just did.”

James laughed softly, the weight on his chest lifted. “You think I’m reading too deeply into socks and silence?”

“I think you’re reading them just right,” Tom said. “You’re noticing love in the details. That’s rare.”

They sat a while longer, the rain now only a memory on the pavement, the air crisp with clarity.

And inside James’s heart, the thread between him and Professor Jones tugged gently. No longer a mystery, just a promise waiting to unfold.

Later that week, the clouds broke open with golden light, casting long streaks across the common room floor. James sat near the bookshelf, flipping absentmindedly through a dog-eared volume of poetry. Tom leaned against the wall beside him, arms crossed and eyes wandering.

It had been days since their conversation outside the café, but something lingered between them. Unspoken, yet growing.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Tom offered.

James looked up. “About Professor Jones?”

Tom nodded slowly. “And about you. About touch. The kind that doesn’t demand anything. That just… listens.”

James closed the book. “It meant something to me.”

Tom walked over, sat beside him on the couch, and exhaled. “I wonder what it would feel like. That kind of moment. Shared. Not just between you and him. But with me too.”

James studied his friend carefully. There was no envy in Tom’s voice. No bitterness. Only longing — gentle and open.

“You’d want to join us?” James asked.

Tom hesitated, then nodded. “Not for spectacle. Not to make it more. Just to feel what you described. To be part of something that careful.”

James leaned forward, hands clasped. “It’s delicate. Jones and I haven’t defined anything. We move with feeling, not labels.”

“I know,” Tom said. “That’s what I love about it.”

A silence passed, stretched like fabric between them.

James smiled softly. “Let me ask him.”

That evening, James met Jones in the lounge again. The lights were low. Shadows spilled across rugs like memories left out to dry.

The room was quiet, bathed in amber lamplight that softened every edge and made even the rain outside feel like a distant hymn. Jones sat back in the upholstered chair, feet tucked beneath him, eyes thoughtful but open.

Tom and James knelt before him, side by side. Neither spoke. The silence carried meaning.

Jones shifted slightly, offering them a quiet glance. “They’re aching today. Worse than usual.”

James reached first, brushing his hand along the worn leather of Jones’s left shoe. Tom followed, resting his palm against the right one. Their movements mirrored each other, careful and considered.

James began unlacing slowly. Each tug of the cord felt like unweaving the weight of long lectures, wandering halls, and the invisible burdens carried between moments.

Tom placed one hand against Jones’s ankle, steadying it as he unlaced the other shoe, his touch warm and measured.

When both shoes were fully loosened, they paused, waiting for some silent cue.

Jones nodded, just once.

Together, James and Tom eased the shoes off, one at a time. The sound was faint, a soft slide of worn soles parting from skin.

Jones exhaled. a gentle moan 

His socks — heather grey with a fine navy stitch around the edge — were slightly stretched and veryb damp with the warmth of the day. His feet flexed gently as if grateful for release.band the intoxicating  scent of  deep manly  leathery aroma with a sweatiness  both james and Tom looked with eagerness at the avatar of dionysius   who  just nodded gently again

Which gentle and synchronised  movement they. Placed  their noses  at the roes of their god  and took  in big inhale 

James cradled the left foot in his palms. Tom took the right. They shared a glance, then lowered their heads in unspoken reverence.

There was no rush. No need to narrate. Just touch. Presence. Shared breath.

Jones relaxed fully into the chair, his arms draped loosely over the sides, head tilted back. His expression was quiet. At peace. A man being tended to not for prestige or necessity, but out of love for the small, human truths written in the arch of a foot, the curve of a heel, the pressure behind each toe.

Tom pressed into the instep with gentle thumbs, working slowly along the lines of tension. James moved to the heel, his hands grounding with care, each motion like poetry translated through skin.

The three of them stayed like that for a long time. No words. Only shared attention and the kind of intimacy that asks for nothing but respect and sincerity.

Jones opened his eyes and looked down at the two of them, his voice quieter than breath.

“Thank you. Both of you. This feels… different. Important………..special……. and like a beginning ”

James didn’t speak. He offered a smile that glowed like candlelight.

Tom simply nodded, hands still steady. “You’re welcome,” he said.

Not just for the relief.

But for the honour of being trusted.

I got up and followed him. My hand was still throbbing with pain, but that wasn’t what was on my mind right now.

I found him at the sink. He was wearing only white boxer shorts, slightly damp from the precum seeping through the fabric. He stood sideways, running his fingers through his hair. When he saw me in the doorway, he raised his eyebrows, slightly confused.

“I can’t let your cock go to waste,” I said bluntly.

His face didn’t change right away. Maybe he thought I was joking. But I just moved closer. I could feel it hardening in my pants from the tension of the moment.

“Let me repay you,” I added. “I can’t use my hands… but my mouth is in great shape.”

He looked at me, seriously. For a second. Then he slipped his fingers under the elastic of his boxers and slowly pulled them down. His cock fell out, heavy, springy, thick, taut, and wet at the tip.

With his chest raised and his shoulders relaxed, he looked like he was waiting for exactly this. Like he wanted it more than he was willing to admit.

I knelt down.

I approached slowly. His cock hung heavy and hard, with a drop of precum on the tip. It smelled clean, of water, sweat, his body. I slid my tongue out and licked the head, gently, as if tasting something new. Jon sighed. Quietly, deeply. I felt his thighs tense slightly.

I took him into my mouth.

Slowly, as slowly as I could. I felt him stretching my lips, my tongue sliding along his shaft, his breathing quickening. I couldn’t touch him with my hand. So I worked only with my mouth, sucking, squeezing, caressing with my tongue. Between one movement and the next, I looked up. I looked at him from below.

Jon looked at me in amazement. As if he couldn’t believe it was happening. But he didn’t say a word. He stood with his legs apart, one hand resting against the wall. And I slowly rhythmed each movement. I could feel his pulse. I felt his cock getting harder and harder in my mouth, his body tensing with every second.

“Oh fuck…” he muttered under his breath, closing his eyes. “Matt…”

Hearing him say my name like that was like a shot of adrenaline straight to the brain. I moistened him again with my saliva and deepened the movement. His head was almost reaching my throat, but I didn’t stop. I wanted him to remember every inch of this pleasure.

Jon moved his hips, uncertainly, as if testing the limit. I didn’t pull back.

I just took him deeper.

I didn’t slow down. His cock was already wet with my saliva, glistening in the bathroom light, and I worked on it like a man possessed. My tongue circled the head, I sucked him hard, then tenderly, alternating, as if I wanted to show him that there was no single version of pleasure. That I could give him everything, from tenderness to total domination.

Jon leaned his other hand against the wall. His hips were trembling. He tried not to move too much, but his body betrayed him. I could see him tensing up, trying to control himself, but his cock kept twitching in my mouth, as if begging for more.

“Matt…” he moaned, quietly, his voice hoarse. “Fuck, what are you doing…”

His eyes were closed. He gave himself completely to the moment. I could feel it. And it turned me on more than anything ever before. The fact that my friend, who just a few days ago was living with his girlfriend, was now standing naked in front of me, moaning as I sucked his cock deep into my mouth.

I moved my head, working my throat. Once slowly, once violently. I felt his glans hitting the back of my palate, my throat reflexively tightening. Jon moaned even louder.

His legs began to buckle slightly. He was breathing heavily, deeply, with a tension that was growing inside him like a bomb. At one point, he grabbed my head, gently but firmly.

“Don’t stop…” he whispered.

I could feel it. He was close.

Very close.

Jon wasn’t fighting anymore. He was breathing heavily, shaking, his hands clenching tighter on my head. I could feel his fingers trembling, his hips barely holding his balance. He started mumbling something incomprehensible, broken “fuck,” “yes,” “almost.” I knew he was coming. I could feel it in the pulse of his cock, in the spasms running through his body.

I didn’t pull away. On the contrary, I took him deeper. I let his head slide all the way in until my nose touched his skin. My throat tightened around him. And then I felt it.

The first shot.

Hot, strong. His cum hit me deep. The second. The third. Jon moaned loudly, almost screaming, leaning his whole body against the wall. He held me still, as if he couldn’t believe it was really happening. That he was really coming in my mouth.

I swallowed everything. Slowly, greedily, with pleasure. I didn’t stop sucking even when his ejaculation stopped. I ran my tongue over his shaft until it was completely clean. I felt his convulsions, his muscles, his breath. He was exhausted.

I only pulled away when I couldn’t catch my breath. My lips were wet, my tongue burned from the intensity of sucking, and my heart was pounding like crazy. I looked up.

Jon looked at me as if he didn’t know what to say. His face was flushed, wet with sweat, his chest rising heavily.

I looked down. His cock was slowly softening, but it was red, swollen, freshly drained.

And me?

I smiled.

Because I just gave my friend a blowjob. And I swallowed all his cum.

---

If you enjoyed this story, consider supporting the author on Patreon.

To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

---

Seduction of a vicious student

The room was small, smelling of stale beer, cheap ramen noodles, and adolescent angst. Dust motes danced in the weak beams from the window as midnight crept across the tiny dorm. Inside, Derek sat slumped on his desk chair, surrounded by textbooks and discarded pizza boxes. His roommate had gone out for a long night with friends, leaving Derek alone with his… thoughts.

Derek was just starting his freshman year in college, already struggling to adapt. But tonight felt different. Worse. Something sat in the back of his throat, waiting to be tasted.

The door creaked open under the pressure of the wind.

“What the hell are you doing?”

The voice wasn’t human. It was gravel dragged across concrete mixed with a wet, threatening gurgle.

Derek peered around his desk as another figure appeared in the doorway – less human, more… presence. Hulking and distorted, it wasn’t like anything Derek had ever seen. It had a humanoid shape, sure enough, but covered in damp scales that reflected the weak overhead light. Horns curled from its temples, dripping condensation into its eyes. The smell hit Derek first. a thick mix of sulfur and wild musk and something vaguely fecal that promised violation.

Derek didn’t dare speak. He just watched, eyes wide as saucers.

The entity let out a harsh laugh at the terrified silence.

“You brought me here?” The demon’s voice was surprisingly sharp between the guttural tones, like a blade in an alleyway. 

“I-I don’t know…” Derek stammered, shifting nervously on his chair.

“Too long talking, too short of thinking, that what I got from you humans?” The demon approached the desk without warning. Each step landed heavily on the cheap carpet padding. It reached out and grabbed one of Derek’s textbooks.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

“Not? Ha.” The demon shook its head, letting loose a stench Derek thought he’d only encountered in horror comics. “You summon and forget? No wonder your pathetic mind latched onto me.”

Derek felt his cock stir despite the fear. It was absurd, but something about this… raw power mixed with deliberate nastiness was turning him on more than anything his friends ever did. He wanted to look away, but his eyes stayed glued to this wet horror unfolding in front of him.

“You don’t like what I latched onto? Well…”

The demon slung the book down and Derek watched, breathless, as it turned towards him with deliberate slowness. “What a fragile little thing you are. Lost your lunch?” The thing seemed to giggle, a harsh bubbling sound that Derek found deeply unsettling and… strangely exciting.

“You’re my fucking roommate.” Derek blurted out this one-liner before thinking. 

“Roommate? Since when do mortals claim kinship with a creature like me?” The demon took a step closer, forcing Derek back until his spine met the edge of the desk. “You little piece of human meat, so afraid you talk nonsense.” The thing reached out with its scaly hand and ran it over Derek’s cheek. “A tasty bit, wouldn’t you say?”

“You’re supposed to be disgusting,” Derek admitted weakly.

“Ah, I love when humans say that about me before I take them apart,” the demon grinned wider than Derek had thought possible, exposing fangs. “Just you, me… perfect.”

“You summoned me,” the thing rasped, voice becoming even more distorted as it leaned closer. “Why? Did you want me?”

“Of course not!” Derek gasped. It was like stepping into a dark alleyway in the rain without a condom. “You’re… you’re dangerous.”

“Right now,” the demon chuckled, its breath fanning Derek’s face, “I feel damn powerful.”

He tensed up immediately, but before he could even register what was happening. the tongue lapping at his skin like a dog with rabies. the demon pushed against him. Derek’s hand was shaking so bad he couldn’t keep a grip on anything.

“Too scared to get fucked, huh?” The voice wasn’t human anymore. more demonic growl now dominating the sound.

“Wha… What did you say?” Derek’s eyes rolled back slightly as that wet sensation intensified, making him dizzy.

The demon chuckled again, a wet, gurgling sound. “Your little human throat can’t handle what I dish out.”

Derek felt another hand grab his cock. He didn’t even have time to register it before the fingers wrapped around it started pumping. Hard, fast pulls that made his head swim. This was wrong on so many levels.

“I see your need now,” the demon said with a nasty purr. “You want the worst part of life to be put into something soft and wet.”

It brought its  face closer to Derek’s groin, making that musk smell stronger than ever.

Derek tried to protest again but couldn’t form any words. His mind was blanking. 

“I can do better than just touching,” the demon growled against his ear. “Let me taste this little meat.”

The hand at his groin tightened, fingers digging slightly. Derek felt a prickle on his skin that sent chills all over despite his arousal. The fear hadn’t left him. it was mixed with something so intense it scared him as much as it excited him.

“You’re going to get fucked if you stay in my head this way,” the demon whispered with contemptuous affection, releasing Derek’s cock. 

Suddenly a deep need, something bestial was clawing inside Derek’s head, making him crave what disgusted him most. He didn’t just want sex. He wanted violation so filthy it would make his insides ache.

The demon was taken off already its top and pants. leaving it with a body covered in glistening scales that seemed to pulse with some unholy energy. 

Its chest was vast and scales. The overpowering musk hung heavy in the air around them. 

You think this is just oral?” It asked with a laugh, lifting him off his chair. Derek tried to protest but found it impossible. “Let me remind you how your filthy human mouth gets used.”

He was thrown back onto the desk as the demon settled its weight across his lap. He squirmed beneath the unexpected touch.

“I didn’t consent,” Derek managed through his fear.

“To this level of excitement? Does your shameful bliss not taste sweet to you?”

“Please…” Derek blurted, voice trembling.

“Don’t please me, tell me what you need.” The demon chuckled again as stood over Derek, wet scales on his dick gleaming under the weak lights. “You’re just my meat puppet.”

“Whoa,” Derek said, staring at the enormous demon-cock. It was even bigger and hung with more authority than he ever imagined. 

Now with that stiff piece of flesh showing in front like ancient horror, Derek felt his throat tighten. This was his demon. something raw and powerful coming out of nowhere and acting on his forbidden desires. It wasn’t about sex. was it? Derek wondered if this was something more. a sign meant for destruction or damnation.

But he couldn’t stop the heat spreading in his belly.

It was just a normal Saturday morning. I had gotten up around 8ish, made my breakfast got my workout in and done my chores so I had the rest of my day to myself. There was some holiday that upcoming Monday so I had a 3 day weekend from work so I planned on drinking this Saturday maybe having some friends over for a drink a cookout whatever may come my way. Earlier in the month a few houses down from me a middle aged hippie couple had moved in, back when weed was illegal in my state they always smoked it outside smelling up the whole neighborhood. I didn’t mind I smoked myself on occasion but I ate edibles more then I smoked. I had walked by their house cause on our street there’s like 5 houses spread out and a few blocks down there’s a convient store and in nice weather like this I’d walk down with my dog to go and get just a drink or something if I was bored. Which I figured why not drop by and get some beer or something alcoholic in nature since it was also a liquor store tired into it. So as I walk by I kinda just glance over cause I feel like my dog is about to maybe poop on their garden and I wanted to pick it up and as I looked over I see the lady completely naked in the window drinking coffee and as if nothing happened waved at me. I waved back and moved along. They weren’t a bad looking couple, she had like dirty bronze hair and was maybe 5’4 if that and had random, small tattoos all over with a great set of boobs and a wonderful ass. Not overly huge but fit her just right. She was 33 at the time. He was about 6’1 same thing random small tattoos all over and had dark brown hair and a mustache which is important to the story so keep that in mind. Just for context I’m about 6’4 Latino athletic build with black hair.

That wasn’t the first time I had seen her naked tho. We have our own individual trash cans but we have one in the alley way we all can use and in order for me to get to that trash can I gotta walk past their house and on this day in particular they had their back gate open and were doing naked yoga and had acknowledged me waving and saying hello. Another time at night I had went for a run and the man was outside drinking something on their porch naked and waved. I didn’t mind like I had said they weren’t a bad looking couple and it did kinda get me going seeing them naked. I moved passed and got to store and back home with my dog and purchases in tow and on the way back the dude, in a robe now stopped me to talk to me about the neighborhood. Just random small talk about this and that. While talking his wife had come over, also in a robe and talked with me too. Conversation went on for a bit and as we were saying our goodbyes I invited them to a cookout today if they’d like or whenever and they sat there and talked amongst themselves and said they would bring some food and drinks and what time should they be over. I told em 6pm and they agreed to it and we went our separate ways.

As the day went on I couldn’t help but think about seeing them naked, seeing his flaccid dick that seemed to be a good size and seeing her boobs out and how perky they were. Or the fact that both of them were more then likely nudists. Just kinda hoping maybe tonight led to more meetings with them and maybe even if I was lucky being asked to have a threesome with them. But my mind was shutting it down cause not every guy is like that to have a bisexual threesome where everyone is getting fucked and fucking. So I put it out of my mind and look at this as just friends coming over for food on a holiday weekend. So 5:50 rolls around and here they come into my backyard. They both give me a hug and bring a plate of this bomb smelling food that smelt amazing. The man had brought a 12 pack of Modelos and she had made up a huge helping of discada. Which for those of you who don’t know discada is like beef, ham, chorizo, hot dogs, bacon, some veggies just a bunch of stuff right. Well hers smelt amazing like my mom and grandma make. So I finish my food and we all start making small talk.

They had told me they just moved here from Utah of all places to live in my state for his work. Told them what I had done for years and the night was going well. We sat outside and talked for hours the 3 of us about any and everything. They had mentioned something about going to a nudist beach. I of course intrigued now asked how it was like and overall curious to that lifestyle. While they talked about that he kinda threw a compliment my way saying I’d be popular at these places. Wanting to know more I said “Why?” Cause all night I’ve thrown them little monkey wrenches about how good they looked. But he elaborated and told me a chore list if things that would make me popular. I will admit it made me blush knowing someone took the moment to notice certain things on me. It was getting late and I was buzzing a bit so I decided to run inside and get on this app called sniffies which is a location based hookup app. I hopped on and low and be fucking hold boom there he is in his naked glory. That was the first picture and the second was of him and his wife but their faces were blurred. I knew it was them cause of the matching tattoos on they’re thighs. I was in my kitchen getting some more ice for everyone as a cover excuse but I was inside messaging him. We started the convo off normal with hellos and all that nut quickly escalated into sexual talk. Then the pic trading came into play. They needed a face pic which I’m cool with, but kinda nervous beings these are my neighbors and they’re right outside my place. Against second thoughts I sent it anyways.

Not even a minute later, which at the moment felt like an eternity but he comes in. Out of the corner of my eye I see his wife walk up the street. He stood beside me with his drink and had told me that if I went through with this that I’d be entering a soul bonding with these 2 and to not take this lightly cause they love long and hard. Sounded good to me, which looking back at this story now really was. But I agreed and he brought me in and gave me a tight hug and I gave it back. I could feel his mustache kissing my neck and I could slowly feel him get harder and harder. I just continued rubbing his upper and middle back while he gave me a few kisses on my neck and told me that he has been wanting this for a long time. After a few minutes of this he let go and grabbed my hand and told me to follow him to his house. He held my hand all the way there tightly squeezing it. We got to his place and right as we step in he brings me in for a huge wet passionate kiss. He pulled me in so close his cock stabbing me. I pulled him in and squeezed his ass tight enough to make him moan while we make out. I could feel him start to unbutton my shirt to take it off. I allowed him too and helped him with his. Both of us shirtless in his loving room making out will be something I never forget. He guided me to his couch and sat me down and went to his back room. When he left his wife came out completely naked and straddled me and pulled me in to make-out with her. While she was straddling me I would smack, grab and squeeze her ass. This night was going on like a dream, little did I know that even though this night was going perfectly. These people would make it a night I’d never forget

---

To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

---

After last night’s brutal fucking, I woke with my hairy asshole throbbing, Hassan’s thick cum leaking onto my sheets, staining my galabeya. I stared at the ceiling, my gut churning. How fucking low had I sunk? A conservative Muslim dad, once the alpha cock of this town, now enjoying sucking my son’s 8-inch dick? Was I a cum-hungry slut? Shame burned my chest, but my limp cock twitched, my balls aching with satisfaction. I was disgusted yet sated, my mind a warzone of haram and lust. I dragged my fat, hairy ass to fajr prayer, begging Allah for forgiveness, my beard still crusty with Hassan’s jizz. “Ya Allah, save this filthy sinner,” I whispered, but my hole clenched, craving his cock again.

At the breakfast table, I forced myself into my alpha dad persona—strict, conservative, the Muhammad my family knew. My three wives—Fatima, Aisha, and Laila, her tits straining her hijab—served ful and taameya, while my five daughters chattered about school. Hassan slouched across from me, his lanky frame in a tight tank top, his dark curls messy, his musky scent hitting me like a punch, a smug smirk on his lips. He was fucking happy, and I knew why—his cock had wrecked my hole, filled me with his load. I couldn’t look at him, my face burning, my ass sore under my galabeya. Laila snapped, “Muhammad, scold Hassan for staying up late!” I swallowed hard, my throat still raw from his cum, and barked, “Hassan, get your shit together! No more late nights!” My voice was deep, commanding, but his evil smirk widened, his bulge huge in his boxers. Flashbacks hit me—his cock stretching my throat, my hole, my cum splattering his chest. My tongue flicked out, drooling, and I prayed no one noticed. I was barely holding it together, my alpha mask cracking.

After breakfast, I bolted to my room, locking the door, huffing like a bitch in heat. I stuck my tongue out, panting, unleashing the slut I’d suppressed. All day, I was obsessed with nightfall, when I’d ride Hassan’s dick again, my hole begging for his load. But his “surprise” nagged me—what the fuck did he mean? I couldn’t focus, so I skipped work at the falafel shop, claiming a headache. When Hassan left for school, I snuck into his room, the air thick with his teenage musk—sweat, cum, and cheap cologne. I climbed onto his bed, lying where we’d fucked, imagining his cock ramming me. I moaned like a whore, my limp dick leaking. Then I spotted his dirty briefs on the floor, crusted with cum stains. My body moved on its own—I grabbed them, sniffing his musky scent, my cock twitching, my hole clenching. Guilt hit hard—this is haram, you sick fuck—but I couldn’t stop, inhaling his essence like a drug. Laila’s voice broke my trance, yelling for me to fix a leaky faucet. I dropped the briefs, ashamed, my face flushed, knowing I’d have sniffed them all day if she hadn’t called.

At dinner, the table was loud with my daughters’ chatter and the clink of molokhia bowls. Hassan, all smiles, leaned back and said, “Some folks learn their place real quick. Tonight, that wild one’s gonna get a shock, maybe regret it. That first taste of sweet cream? Unforgettable.” His voice was casual, like some cryptic Bedouin saying. My daughters nodded, thinking it was wisdom, and Fatima muttered, “Deep thoughts, habibi.” But I froze, my cock leaking precum. He meant me—the bitch he fucked, my cum squirting on his face that first night. No one else caught it, but his smirk screamed he knew it was his dad. Laila nudged me, “Tell Hassan to sleep early, Muhammad. He’s up too late.” I forced my alpha voice, “Hassan, bed on time, or you’re grounded!” He grinned, his bulge taunting me, and I barely held it together, my hole throbbing.

Lights out, everyone to bed. I prepped for the fuck, my heart pounding, shame and lust tearing me apart. I prayed, “Allah, forgive this disgusting slut,” but my hairy ass was slick with oil, my limp cock dripping. I knocked on Hassan’s already-open door, his 8-inch cock waving in the air, rock-hard, precum glistening. I dove in, my job clear. I sucked his dick, gagging as it hit my throat, my beard brushing his balls. He fucked my face brutally for ten minutes, my throat raw, tears streaming. I glanced up—and fucking hell, no blindfold. His eyes locked on mine, a wicked grin spreading. I was shocked, ashamed, ready to bolt, but he grabbed my bearded face, ramming his cock deep. “Surprise, you cock-sucking bitch!” he growled, and his dick erupted, flooding my throat with thick, hot cum. I choked, gulping his endless load two, three times, my beard dripping. I tried to speak, “Hassan, it’s not what you think!” but my voice was hoarse. He laughed, “What the fuck, Dad? You drank my cum, and you’re denying it?”

“Forget that shit,” he said, his eyes burning. “I’m horny as fuck. Bend over, show me that hairy hole I’ve been pounding.” He shoved me onto his bed, my face in his cum-stained sheets. I was his dad—how could he fuck me? But I’d just sucked his cock, so who was I kidding? My conservative alpha ego crumbled as he mounted me, his hard cock slamming into my oiled-up asshole without warning. I screamed like a bitch, pain and pleasure exploding, his shaft stretching me wide, hitting my prostate like a fucking sledgehammer. He fucked me brutally, his balls slapping my hairy ass, his hands gripping my hips. “Take it, you slutty dad,” he growled, pounding relentlessly. My flaccid dick flopped, but I came hands-free, ropes of jizz shooting onto his bed, my body shaking. He fucked harder, his cock tearing me apart, my hole gaping. “You’re my bitch now,” he snarled, and came, his hot load flooding my insides, leaking down my thighs. I came again, my cum splattering his sheets, my legs trembling.

He leaned close, his breath hot. “I knew it was you from the first night, Dad. Those boxers you put on my face? I sniffed your musky scent. Your cum squirting confirmed it.” My ego shattered—I’d been scolding him as an alpha hours ago, and he’d known I was his cum-dump. He laughed at my puppy-like moans, my slutty transformation. “Act like that strict Muslim dad while I fuck you,” he demanded, threatening to expose me. I fucking loved it—being his bitch. I climbed onto him, scolding, “Hassan, you better be a man and fuck me hard! Pound your dad’s hole like a real stud!” He grinned, thrusting up, my hairy ass bouncing on his cock. “Come on, son, fuck your alpha dad harder! Be the man I raised!” I growled, cumming hands-free, my jizz hitting his face. He opened his mouth, drinking my cum, saying, “Can’t waste this tasty dilf milk.” I laughed, “My cum’s that good, huh? Like yours, boy.” He grabbed my head, shoving his tongue in my mouth, pushing my cum back in a sloppy, cum-soaked kiss. Jizz dripped over my beard, his face, and we laughed, our faces a mess.

I tried to stand, his cock sliding out, a river of his cum pouring from my gaping hole, pooling on the floor. “Clean this mess, alpha dad,” he ordered, “and worship my body.” I licked his sweaty abs, his musky balls, scolding, “You better keep this body strong, son!” My alpha act was a joke, my tongue lapping his cum. A knock—Laila, screaming, “Muhammad, is Hassan asleep?” I yelled, “I’m scolding him, don’t worry!” Hassan smirked, whispering, “Always act alpha out there, but under my dick, you are my BITCH!.” I nodded, leaving, my hole dripping, my shame and satisfaction at war.

---

To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

---

Jack’s POV:

His username was simple. Dominus77. His first message was direct but respectful:

“You said you want to surrender. I know how to handle that, if you’re serious. No games, if you’re real, I’m interested.”

We messaged. He described himself as a dungeon master—not the Dungeons & Dragons kind. The real kind. Someone who took ownership seriously. Ritual, obedience, discipline, and care.

It sent something sparking through me. Not fear. Not shame.

Recognition.

We negotiated for hours. What I wanted. What I didn’t know yet. What I feared. What I needed to feel safe. He listened. Asked questions. Laid out expectations with precision and grace. He never pushed.

And then: “I want you waiting. Ten p.m. Third swing at the old park on Richardson Place. Nothing but jeans and a plain black T-shirt. You’ll kneel when I say.”

That park is down the street from me.

The place I learned to ride a bike. Cried under the slide when my dog died. Sat on those swings with my Walkman turned up too loud, trying to drown out the static in my brain.

I told him yes.

Then it was 9:55 p.m.

The park looked smaller at night.

I hadn’t been back there in years, not since before my mom got sick. The mulch path was half-covered in leaves, and the swing set looked like it hadn’t been repainted since the Clinton administration. But it was still there. Still familiar.

I was there, just like he’d said.

Third swing. 10 p.m. Wear a black t-shirt and jeans. Be ready.

He never asked for photos. Never offered one either.
He said voice was too intimate—he preferred the discipline of written negotiation. At the time, it made sense. Felt precise. Controlled. Safe, somehow.

Only now, walking through the park I grew up in, I wondered: Why didn’t I question that more?
Why didn’t I insist on seeing his face?

Maybe part of me liked not knowing.

Because I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend. I had Ethan for care, for laughter, for us.
This was something else. An itch in the shape of obedience. A curiosity I couldn’t ask Ethan to scratch for me—though he was the one who encouraged me to name it in the first place.

So I answered the messages.
Said what I wanted. What I feared. What I fantasized about.
He was clear, calm, confident. And careful.

And tonight, he gave the instructions.

No car. No waiting in the shadows.
“Be visible,” he wrote. “On the third swing. I’ll find you.”

So I was.

It was 9:58 when I stepped into the playground. I passed the merry-go-round, the seesaw, the jungle gym where I once broke a tooth. I sat down on the third swing, the chain creaking a little under my weight. My palms were sweating.

I shifted, took a deep breath, and stilled myself.

It was thrilling. Terrifying. Erotic in the way exposure always is.

And then—at exactly 10:00—I heard footsteps.

Slow. Heavy. Confident.

I didn’t turn. I kept my eyes forward, just like we’d agreed.

And then I heard the voice.

Low. Disbelieving. Edged with a stunned kind of laughter.

“No fucking way.”

It landed like a thunderclap in my chest.

I turned.

The security light over the rec center flickered once, then steadied—casting a soft amber glow over the man behind me.

Jeff.

My neighbor. Two grades ahead of me growing up.
He used to throw tennis balls for his golden retriever shirtless every summer, and I’d watch from my bedroom window with a hard-on and a notebook full of stories I never let anyone read.
He never once gave me the time of day. I don’t think we ever had a real conversation.
He was a myth. A sunbeam. A reminder that desire, back then, meant silence.

And now he was standing here, staring at me on a swing in the middle of the night.

No wonder he didn’t want to talk on the phone, I thought. No wonder he never asked for pictures.

He knew exactly who I was.

And I’d had no fucking clue.

The silence stretched.

I didn’t know if I wanted to bolt… or kneel.

Jeff’s POV:

No fucking way.

The words were out before I could stop them.

He turned—slow, measured, but I could see it in his face. That same flicker of recognition. He knew.

And yeah, for a split-second, it hit me like a shock collar.
That’s Jack.
The kid from down the block. Always lurking on the edge of things. Younger, quieter. Always looking.

And now he was here.

Wider. Older. Powerful in a way that wasn’t polished but earned. Sitting obediently on the third swing like he was born to wait. Wearing what I told him to wear. Showing up exactly how I told him to.

The swing creaked beneath him, but he held his posture. That part hadn’t changed—always watching, always still.
But now the stillness had weight. Intention.

And I…
I had a decision to make.

It took maybe half a breath for the shock to burn off.

Then the Dom in me stepped forward, pulled on the gloves, and took the wheel.

Because here’s what was true:

We’d talked. We’d negotiated.
He wanted this. Asked for this. Over and over.
Submission. Obedience. Power. Ritual.

He’d done everything I asked.
And now—standing here, watching him—the universe had just handed me a twist: it wasn’t just some guy kneeling at my feet.

It was him.
The kid who used to sneak glances when he thought I wasn’t looking.
The one I dismissed as a quiet neighbor, a harmless blur in the background of my adolescence.
Now a man. A solid, beautiful, almost hulking figure of need and curiosity.

And he was mine. If I wanted him.

So the question wasn’t “do I recognize him?”

The question was: Do I follow through?

Do I keep my promise?

Do I reward the boy who waited years to ask for what he needed by giving him exactly what he asked for?

Or do I step away, let fear and familiarity steal something sacred from both of us?

He was looking at me now—not like a deer in headlights, but like a player waiting for the signal. Breath shallow. Back straight. Hands folded in his lap like he wasn’t sure what this meant, but he wasn’t about to run.

I took a step closer. Then another.

And I smiled.

Not cruel. Not warm either. The kind of smile that says: Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea what you’ve just unlocked.

Maybe I’d won the lottery.
Or maybe this was one of those stories people tell after saying be careful what you wish for.

Either way?

I was going to find out.

Jack’s POV:

Jeff.

I hadn’t seen him in years, not up close. Not without the distance of time, of age, of power.

But it was him. Two grades ahead. Neighborhood royalty. Shirtless summers and perfect teeth. He mowed lawns like it was foreplay. I’d watched him from behind curtains, pretended I wasn’t staring.

And now he was standing in front of me—older, sharper around the edges, but unmistakably him.

And he knew me.

The look on his face said it all: the surprise, the flicker of memory, and something else. Something darker. Focused.

I felt the heat rise in my face, my neck. Every cell in my body screamed: Abort.

But another part of me—deeper, quieter, stronger—said: No. You came here for this. Don’t back down now.

Because this wasn’t high school.
This wasn’t the sidewalk or the school bus or the empty seat behind him in homeroom.
This was now.
And I’d put in the work. I’d negotiated, defined limits, dared to want this.

I’d come to the swing. I’d arrived on time. I’d followed every goddamn instruction.

And Jeff—or Dominus77, or whatever he wanted to call himself tonight—was standing here, fully present. Not mocking. Not bailing. Not breaking character.

Waiting.

The air buzzed around me. Not just from memory or humiliation, but from the wild, electric possibility that this might still happen. That this should still happen.

So what else could I do?

I slipped out of the swing. Slow. Deliberate.

The mulch crunched under my boots. I let them fall away behind me. Then I lowered myself to my knees. Right there in the dirt. On the edge of the playground I grew up on.

My palms rested on my thighs, fingers splayed.

I kept my chin up, my eyes lowered—not in shame, but in choice.

And I waited.

I waited for the boy I used to stare at to become the man I hoped he really was.
I waited for his voice. His command. His hands.
I waited for all the blind negotiation to mean something.

And in that waiting…
I wasn’t embarrassed.
I wasn’t small.

I was ready.

Jeff’s POV:

He knelt like he was born for it.

Even with the surprise of recognition—Jack, the quiet neighbor kid who used to trail two steps behind the rest of us—I couldn’t deny it: he was here, willing, prepared. Every inch of him buzzed with readiness.

His posture was perfect. Not performative. Present.

My instincts surged to the surface. The man in me—the one who’d wanted control and reverence in equal measure—took hold again.

I stepped forward. Close enough to let him feel my boots on the mulch. Close enough that my voice would drop into his bones.

“What a surprise, boy,” I said, low and steady. “But that doesn’t change anything.”

He didn’t flinch. His breath hitched once. That was all.

“You are here. You are surrendering to me. Willingly submitting within the parameters we’ve already discussed.”

He nodded, eyes still lowered, chest rising and falling in sharp, excited bursts.

But that wasn’t enough.

“I need to hear you say it, boy,” I said. “Consent is sexy.”

Jack raised his chin, just enough to meet my eyes.

“Yes, Sir. I consent.”

There it was. Clear. Eager. Solid.

I smiled—not soft. Satisfied.

I reached into my coat and pulled out the stainless steel cuffs. Cool, well-worn, clean. He held out his hands in front of him without being told. Beautifully obedient.

The click of the metal around his wrists made my cock twitch.

Then I pulled the leather collar from my other pocket—black, simple, but sturdy. I held it up for him to see, a silent offering, then looped it around his neck and buckled it with practiced ease. He swallowed when I clipped the lead to the front.

“Up, boy,” I said.

He rose without hesitation. Big, solid, shirt stretched tight across his chest. And mine to lead.

I gave the leash a gentle tug and turned toward the edge of the park.

He followed.

Boots crunching over mulch. Swing chains creaking behind us like a memory. The park that once belonged to our childhoods now bearing witness to something far more honest.

I walked us out of the park, across the quiet street, into the deeper shadows toward my house—where the lights were already low, the space already prepared.

Tonight, Jack would not just kneel.

He would belong.

CHUNK 24 – Jack’s POV: Led Home

I could hear the swing creak behind us as we walked away. That small, familiar sound disappearing into the dark.

The leash was short, the rhythm of Jeff’s steps firm. My cuffs clinked with every motion, wrists heavy in front of me, slightly awkward—but more grounding than I’d expected. I couldn’t hold anything. Couldn’t gesture. Couldn’t pretend to be casual.

I wasn’t here to perform.

I was here to obey.

And we were walking past the same cracked sidewalk where I used to ride my bike. Past the faded fence where the neighbor’s dog used to bark until someone yelled through a window. The air smelled like wet leaves and distant fire pits.

I was being led by a man I used to watch from a distance. A man who’d never looked twice at me growing up. And now I was his. For the night. Maybe longer.

Every footstep echoed with a silent what the fuck are you doing?
But underneath that was something truer.

You’re doing what you always wanted. You’re being seen. You’re choosing this.

I thought I’d feel humiliated. Exposed.

But I didn’t.

I felt… alive.

My pulse was thunder in my ears, and my cock was half-hard just from the act of walking. My shirt clung to my back. The collar around my neck wasn’t tight, but I could feel it—an ever-present reminder that I was owned. Even if only temporarily.

I wondered what the houses thought.

The ones I trick-or-treated at. The ones where I delivered paper routes or shoveled snow or watched cartoons through someone’s bay window. What would they see now?

A hulking man in boots and jeans, collared and cuffed, walking quietly behind someone he’d once thought was untouchable.

The neighborhood didn’t know.

But I did.

And every step closer to Jeff’s house—his house, just two houses down—sent another jolt through me.

Because this wasn’t some anonymous hookup at a hotel or behind a bar.

This was home turf.

My own ghosts watching from front porches.

And I wasn’t hiding.

Not anymore.

CHUNK 25 – Jeff’s POV: Into the Dungeon

I didn’t speak as we walked.

Jack followed in silence, his boots crunching softly behind mine. The leash between us stayed taut—just enough to remind him of the balance we’d struck. Of who he was to me now.

It wasn’t far to my place—just across two quiet streets, past dark houses that had no idea what was unfolding on their sidewalks.

But when we reached the backyard, I turned off the main path and guided him toward the bulkhead doors.

The old cellar entrance creaked as I opened it. He hesitated for half a second. I felt it in the slack of the leash.

Then he followed.

Good boy.

The stairs were narrow and steep. I went first, descending into the dim, red-hued light that pulsed softly from sconces on the walls below. When I reached the bottom, I turned and looked up.

Jack stood in the doorway, framed in shadows, breath rising in short, sharp pulls.

“You okay, boy?” I asked.

“Yes, Sir,” he said. Quiet. Steady.

“Then come down.”

And he did.

Step by step, slow and careful. By the time he reached the floor, the door had closed behind him. The walls swallowed the sound.

This place—my place—had taken years to build.
Soundproofed walls. Soft rubber floors beneath heavy rigging. Restraint points anchored into thick oak beams. Everything clean, sorted, oiled, gleaming. A cross. A padded table. A rack of floggers and paddles displayed like fine tools. Shelving lined with toys of all varieties, organized by use and material.

Not gaudy. Not showy.

Just right.

And Jack—Jack—was finally standing in the center of it. Collared. Cuffed. Breathing like he was halfway to coming just from looking.

I led him forward, to the middle of the room. He followed beautifully.

When we reached the padded ring at center, I turned to face him.

I unhooked the leash from his collar, folded it into my hand, and set it aside.

Then I reached for the cuffs. Click. Click. They came free.

He stood there, wrists red and twitching slightly, but still.

Perfect.

Then I gave the first real command of the night. No negotiation. No buildup.

Just my voice, deep and absolute.

“Now strip.”

Jack’s POV:

Two words. Just two.

But they landed in my gut like a punch wrapped in velvet. My skin flushed before I even moved. My heart took off like it was sprinting to escape.

I nodded once, not trusting my voice, and reached for the hem of my t-shirt.

I pulled it up slowly, over my chest, arms raised. My skin prickled in the air, and I could already feel his eyes on me. Watching every inch of me emerge from beneath cotton and nerve.

The shirt hit the floor. My arms trembled.

I unbuckled my belt next. Fingers unsteady.
Then the button.
Then the zipper.
Each sound—click, pop, hiss—made my cock throb harder.

I pushed my jeans down, bending awkwardly, kicking off my boots to get them all the way off. The denim pooled at my ankles. Off. Gone.

Then just my briefs. Black. Fitted. Wet at the front.

I hesitated.

Only for a second.

Then I hooked my thumbs under the waistband and pulled them down, too. I stepped out of them, one foot at a time.

Now I was nude, naked, bare.

Completely.

I stood there, eyes forward, breathing fast, my dick flushed and aching in open air. My arms moved automatically—like I’d rehearsed it in my dreams—and folded behind my head, elbows high, chest open.

Exposed.

I felt everything.

The cold air. The sweat running down my spine. The way my thighs felt too thick, too obvious. The way my stomach didn’t flatten the way I wished it would.
But more than anything—I felt his eyes.

Jeff didn’t say a word.

He didn’t have to.

Because the way he was looking at me—like he’d just been handed something precious and dangerous and perfect—was its own kind of command.

And I was buzzing with it.

Scared? God, yes. What if I did it wrong? What if I wasn’t enough?
But also…

Excited.
Alive.
Aroused to the point I could feel my own pulse in places I didn’t know could throb.

And underneath all that?

Something deeper. Something quieter.

Pride.

Because I hadn’t run.
I’d stripped.
I’d stood.

And I was ready for whatever came next.

Jeff’s POV:

He stood there perfectly—nude, arms raised, hands laced behind his head, his whole body humming with tension.

I let him feel my silence. Let it stretch long enough for his muscles to start buzzing, for his breath to grow shaky but not break. He wanted to be watched, and I gave it to him.

Slowly, I began to circle.

No contact yet. Just my eyes.

I moved around him like he was a sculpture I was considering buying at auction. I took in the definition of his shoulders, the pink flare of arousal down his chest, the slight tremble in his thighs. His cock stood proud and flushed, heavy against his stomach. I could smell his sweat and the residual detergent in his clothes and something animal underneath.

I stopped behind him and brought my hands up.

Just fingertips at first—one slow pass down the ridge of his spine. He shivered.

Then across his shoulders, his lower back, the swell of his ass. I tested the weight of it in my palm, gave it one firm squeeze, then a gentle tap. He flinched, then relaxed. Good.

I brushed his inner thighs with the backs of my knuckles, just enough to make him shift his stance wider without instruction.

“Kneel. Present.”

His body moved instantly, smoothly, a big man folding down into stillness.
Knees spread. Back straight. Arms behind him.

I stepped behind him again and retrieved the cuffs. Click. Click. This time, his hands were locked behind his back—mine now, not his.

Then the blindfold.

I slipped it over his head, settling the padded leather across his eyes. He didn’t speak. Just inhaled, deep and shaky, and gave himself to the dark.

“Stay,” I said.

And I walked away.

Quickly. Quietly. Years of practice in making my movements deliberate.

I stepped to the side of the room where a garment rack waited—half ritual, half readiness.

My boots stayed on. My jeans dropped to the floor. I pulled on the leather chaps—thick black, snug over my thighs, secured at the waist with a wide buckle. My jock underneath was tight, built for display, the codpiece easy to snap away when the time came.

I stripped off my jacket and t-shirt. Beneath them, my leather chest harness crisscrossed my torso, framing the ink on my ribs and the scar under my collarbone. I adjusted the straps—centered, tight, grounded.

Then I paused.

Checklist.
Condoms: prepped.
Lube: at arm’s reach.
Floggers, clamps, wipes: sorted.
Water. Aftercare gear. Clean towels.
Mind: clear. Control: absolute. Consent: confirmed.

I stepped back toward him.

Jack knelt where I left him, blindfolded, cuffed, unmoving. He looked beautiful there—silent, surrendered, charged with potential.

I removed the blindfold.

He blinked up at me once, eyes going wide.

Good.

I said nothing.

I let him see me—fully kitted, fully present, the Dom he’d negotiated with in the dark, now made real.

I watched the awe spread across his face like heat.

Then I reached over, unclipped the leash from the wall, and snapped it back to the ring on his collar.

“Come,” I said.

He rose slowly.

I led him across the room to the padded bench, its straps already open like an invitation.

Tonight, he would be bound.
Not just with leather and buckles.
But with everything he asked me for.

And I intended to give him all of it.

Jack’s POV:

The blindfold came off, and the world was different.

Jeff stood in front of me like something out of a dream—no, not a dream. A fantasy I hadn’t let myself have until recently. Leather chaps over his thick thighs, a jock hugging him tight, a chest harness framing his body like it belonged there. His skin was flushed and alive, his eyes focused, locked on me.

This wasn’t neighborhood Jeff. This was him. My Dom. My handler. My fucking operator.

And I was kneeling.

My breath hitched. My cock twitched. My mind screamed holy fuck.

Then he clipped the leash back onto my collar.

“Come.”

One word. Solid. Commanding. Simple.

I rose, slowly, trying to control the shake in my legs. The cuffs behind my back tugged with the movement, reminding me I couldn’t catch myself if I fell.

But I followed.

He led me across the room to the padded bench. I’d seen benches like this online. In porn. In diagrams. In forums Ethan had nudged me toward. I’d stared at them, curious and skeptical and so fucking hungry.

But now it was real.

Now I was the one being led toward it.

The leather was dark and clean. Wide, with thick straps hanging off each side like waiting hands.

I faltered.

Just for a breath.

Just one second of what the fuck am I doing, right as we reached the edge of it. My heels scuffed against the mat. I hesitated.

Jeff turned his head just enough to see me. He didn’t speak. Didn’t scold. Just waited.

I looked at the bench.

Then at him.

And I stepped forward.

I bent over it, heart thudding in my ears. The padding met my chest, hips settling into place. I exhaled, long and shaky.

Jeff moved without hesitation.

The first strap came around my right wrist—tight, secure. Then the left.
Another across my upper back. One across each thigh.
The cuffs came off so the straps could replace them. This wasn’t decoration. This was real.

I was being bound.

Deliberately. Fully. Thoroughly.

I thought I’d panic. I’d always assumed that moment—the moment when movement became impossible—would terrify me.

Instead, I felt…

Free.

The fight left my muscles.

The tension I’d carried my whole fucking life—about performance, about hiding, about getting it right, about being strong—bled out of me like steam from a cracked pipe.

I couldn’t move.

So I didn’t have to try anymore.

And fuck—fuck—that felt good.

I pressed my face into the padding, inhaled leather and anticipation.

Jeff placed one hand on my lower back. Firm. Warm.

Still silent.

But I knew. I knew he felt it too.

This was what we’d both been waiting for.

Not sex. Not power.

But this moment. This stillness.

And the freedom that came with surrender.

Jeff’s POV:

Jack was strapped down. Secure. Spread wide and breathless.

His body rested perfectly on the bench, muscles loose now, like something deep inside him had finally let go. His back curved in a slow, strong line, arms anchored, thighs strapped down firm, collar snug at the base of his neck.

He looked incredible.

Not just because he was naked and bound—though, yes, that was undeniably part of it—but because he wasn’t pretending anymore. He’d surrendered with everything he had, and that made him shine in a way no gear ever could.

I stood back for a moment, letting myself feel the hum in the room.

My scene. My space. My sub.

Then the mental checklist kicked in.

Negotiated items:

• Mild impact play ✔
• Sensory deprivation ✔
• Praise ✔
• Tease and denial ✔
• Light degradation? Possible, depending on response.
• Penetration? On the table, but end-of-scene, if the energy felt right.

But that was all written for an anonymous submissive. A name on a profile. A body imagined, not known.

This was Jack.

Jack, who I used to see on the periphery.
Jack, whose eyes tracked mine back in the day and who I now realized I may have ignored on purpose. Because somewhere, even then, I knew.
He was too much potential. Too much heat.

And now, laid bare for me?

He was even better than I’d expected.

So I adjusted.

I could push the sensory elements—tease longer, more edges. I’d hold off on certain toys until I saw how he processed pain. And I’d double down on presence. Voice. Proximity. Power.

No gimmicks. Just control.

I stepped forward, my boots thudding softly on the mat.

My hands hovered for a second over the curve of his ass—full, tight, flushed with anticipation. He twitched at the nearness of my skin, already aware I was about to make contact.

I smiled.

Then I brought my hand down.
Crack.

Firm. Measured. Not playful, not cruel. Just claiming.

Jack jerked slightly in the straps and gasped—a sound more shock than protest. Good.

I waited a beat. Let it settle.

Then again.

Crack.

The other cheek.

The warmth in his skin bloomed under my palm. My cock stirred inside the jock, already heavy from the sight of him. From the rightness of this.

He moaned this time—low and open-throated. Nothing performative about it.

I exhaled slowly.

This was no longer just a scene.

It was a beginning.

The bench took Jack’s weight beautifully. He was still panting softly from the firm handstrikes I’d laid on him, the skin of his ass pink and blooming, a faint sheen of sweat on his back.

But he wasn’t struggling.
He wasn’t flinching.

He was soaking it in.

I walked around to the wall rack and chose a medium-weight flogger—deerskin, thuddy but supple. Nothing harsh. Something to warm him up, keep his nervous system alert and his mind open.

When I turned back, Jack was shifting just slightly in the straps. Not to escape. To feel. Every inch of him radiated that rare energy: ready.

“Good boy,” I murmured.

Then I began.

The first pass was light. A caress more than a strike, the falls landing across his shoulders, his back, his thighs.

He groaned softly. A little tension left his legs.

I started a rhythm.
Left shoulder. Right. Mid-back. Thigh.
Pause.
Repeat.

The leather fell with a satisfying thump, louder than painful, a rolling rhythm like percussion. I modulated the strength gradually, letting the pattern deepen, letting the skin catch up. Jack responded like someone born for it—hips rising slightly, mouth open, every muscle tuned to sensation.

Ten minutes in, I changed floggers.
Heavier. More sting. A suede hybrid.

He took it.
Every hit.
A few whimpers, a few growls—real ones. But no safeword. No panic.
His body was dancing with mine, even though he was the only one restrained.

I felt my heart pounding—not just from arousal, but recognition.

This was rare.

A sub who wasn’t flinching through it or enduring it to please me—but meeting me in it.

He was giving as much as he was taking.

We found a rhythm. And within that rhythm, I let myself enjoy.

I wasn’t managing him—I was with him.

And it was fucking beautiful.

Eventually, I slowed.

Let the flogger fall across his back in softer strokes until he sighed into the leather of the bench, his whole body vibrating like a struck bell finally silencing.

I gave him a moment—then unstrapped his thighs, his wrists, gently rolling his big frame up into my arms.

“You’re incredible,” I whispered against his shoulder. “Still with me, boy?”

“Yes, Sir,” he breathed. “So much.”

“Good. We’re not done.”

I walked him slowly to the sling. His knees nearly buckled once, but I caught him with a hand at his waist. He steadied. His eyes were glassy—high, but anchored. Present.

I guided him in, helped him settle.

Leather cradled him under his ass, his back, behind his knees. I clipped the supports, adjusting the angle so he was open, exposed, but held.

His arms lay loose at his sides now, free from bondage—but not from submission.

I stepped back for a moment, just to look.

Jack. In my sling. His skin flushed. Chest rising and falling like waves. His cock still hard, curved toward his belly. Legs spread in leather. Ready.

And all I could think was:
Fuck yes. He’s mine tonight. Mine all the way.

I walked around him, slow and silent, letting the tension stretch just a little longer.

He didn’t speak.

He breathed.

And waited.

I ran a gloved fingertip down the center of his chest, between the line of his pecs, across the swell of his stomach. He twitched under the touch—just a little. His breath caught.

“Good boy,” I murmured, circling behind him.

I reached for the lube and gloves. No need for showmanship now—just presence. Intent.

I warmed the lube in my hand and reached between his legs, teasing a slick finger along the sensitive skin behind his balls, not penetrating yet—just touching. Tracing.

Jack moaned.

The sound wasn’t polished. It wasn’t restrained. It was honest.

And it made my cock throb behind the codpiece.

I worked him open slowly. One finger, then two. Deliberate. Patient. Not just for safety, but for the sake of control. Because this was mine. And he was mine.

Every time I curled my fingers, his hips bucked into the sling. Every time I slowed down, he whined—guttural, aching.

“You want to come, boy?”

“Yes, Sir,” he gasped.

“Too bad.”

I pulled my fingers out slowly. He groaned—frustrated, hungry.

I walked around to the front, unhooked the codpiece with a satisfying snap. My cock sprang free, thick and flushed, the base hugged by the jock strap’s ring. I stroked myself slowly, deliberately, as I looked down at him.

Jack’s eyes widened, his lips parted.

“Please, Sir…”

I leaned in and pressed my palm flat against his chest. He arched into the contact like it was the only thing holding him to earth.

I didn’t answer.

I lowered my hand back to his cock and wrapped it firmly in my grip—slicked it, squeezed just hard enough to make his thighs jump in the stirrups.

He whimpered again.

I started stroking him—slow. Firm. Every downward motion met with a gasp, every pause answered with a desperate little sound that made me smile.

And I edged him.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.

Jack was trembling in the sling, sweat slick across his chest, thighs open and quivering. I had edged him three times already—held him on the cusp until he was whimpering, high on surrender, and begging without words.

He was gorgeous like this.

Ruined and radiant.

But we weren’t done.

I stepped between his legs, pulled a condom from the drawer, rolled it on with practiced ease. He was open already, his body welcoming, hungry. I’d spent long minutes teasing, stretching, preparing him—watching how he responded to every shift of pressure, every push and retreat.

Now it was time.

I pressed in slow. Controlled. Steady.

His eyes flew open, and he gasped—but not from pain. From the truth of it.

The joining.

The claiming.

He wrapped his legs around my waist instinctively, ankles flexing in the stirrups. His hands—still unbound now—gripped the leather straps above him. I braced against the sling and started to move.

Not fast. Not pounding.

Just sure.

Each thrust pulled a sound from him—a moan, a whisper, a broken little “yes” that made my chest ache in the best possible way. I could feel it: we weren’t playing now. We were merging.

His submission wasn’t just posture—it was trust carved into muscle and sweat and the soft whimpers that said, I’m yours.

I leaned in, my forehead against his, my breath ragged.

“Look at me,” I said.

He did.

Eyes locked. Pupils blown. Lips parted.

I reached down and gripped his cock—still hard, still pulsing—and stroked him in rhythm with my thrusts.

It didn’t take long.

His entire body coiled under me, shuddering. His orgasm hit fast, raw, torn from somewhere deep. He came hard, crying out, his body clenching around me in rhythm as I drove in, riding out the wave with him.

I kept going.

Until I couldn’t.

I pulled out just as the edge took me—ripping off the condom, stroking myself fast and rough, and letting go with a growl that felt more like a claim than a climax.

I finished across his chest and neck—then higher, across his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

He didn’t flinch.

He looked exalted.

Marked. Claimed. Glowing.

And mine.

Jack’s POV:

My body was still trembling.

Not from fear. Not from exertion. But from something deeper—like a bell that had just been rung too hard, still humming in its frame.

The sling cradled me. My arms felt loose, my thighs ached, my chest was slick and cooling fast. I blinked up at the ceiling, heart pounding in that quiet, uneven way that only happens when you’ve just given more of yourself than you knew you had.

And then I felt his hand on my cheek. Steady. Warm.

“Relax,” Jeff said, voice softer now. Different. “We’re done. You’re Jack. I’m Jeff. And I need to take care of you now.”

The shift in tone nearly undid me.

I don’t know what I expected after everything—some kind of lingering dominance, a cold untangling, a pat on the head and a door shown—but not this. Not him saying my name like it mattered. Like I mattered.

He wheeled over a cart I hadn’t even noticed before. Stainless steel, smooth-rolling, like something from a massage room.

On it: a basin of water, steam rising gently from it. A neat stack of hand towels. A bucket of ice cradling several bottles of water.

No performance.

Just care.

He unhooked the sling supports one by one, moving with precision. I sagged forward but he caught me instantly, arms steady around my waist.

“Breathe,” he said, close to my ear.

I did.

He guided me upright—slowly, carefully. My legs buckled the moment I put weight on them.

“I’ve got you,” he said.

And he did.

I leaned into him for a beat, letting my feet relearn the ground. Then, despite the ache, the wetness, the dizzy warmth in my limbs—I stood up.

Really stood.

Not perfect. Not polished. But proud.

Jeff looked at me and nodded, like he saw something I hadn’t dared hope was there.

He took a towel from the stack, dipped it in the basin, wrung it out with practiced ease. Then he started to clean me—chest first, then stomach. Each stroke slow and deliberate, the warmth of the cloth almost shocking in its gentleness.

It wasn’t just the cum he was wiping away.

It was the last residue of doubt. Of fear. Of the person I thought I had to be in order to be safe.

“How do you feel, Jack?” he asked.

My throat caught.

I didn’t have a polished answer. No quip. No pre-written script.

Just the truth.

“Like I finally stopped pretending.”

Jeff smiled—just a little.

“Good,” he said. “That’s the whole point.”

And for the first time in my life, I believed it.