AC-104 HUNG MAN
by Aaron Thomas


FOREWORD

One needs only to tune in his television set during "prime time" on any
night of the week to witness a seemingly endless barrage of violence. That
many people in our society are fascinated by violence -- whether the result
of our increasingly safe and "civilized" world, or the vestiges of
primitive instinct, or some other compulsion scientists have yet: to
discover -- seems a fact of life. While most people are content to
dissipate their desire to hurt or be hurt through the vicarious medium of
TV, some seek a more direct course of action.

Wade Matthews is a young man who is fascinated by violence and possessed
of an overwhelming urge to be dominated. His need to play the part of the
masochist becomes so strong that he leaves the man he loves and sinks into
a twilight world of debauchery and degradation, a world which eventually
erupts into a holocaust of unbridled violence. Fortunately for Wade, the
damage done is not irreversible, and he eventually returns to his lover, a
sadder but wiser man. But how many others are not so lucky?

Wade Matthews' story poses to all of us the question of violence's place
in our society. It is a question we can all afford to ignore.

The Publisher


CHAPTER ONE

Fucking Rick was exciting, if not always comfortable, and it was an
experience different from any other young Wade Matthews had ever known. He
reached down and rubbed the crotch of his Levi's, which bulged with his
excitement, as he hurried home. Just the thought of Rick -- big, handsome,
athletic Rick -- was enough to give Wade a hard-on.

On the other hand, the thought of losing Rick was enough to make that
hard-on subside. He told himself that he wasn't going to think about it
anymore. It only brought depression and sewed to remind him of his
insecurity, it certainly did no good.

It was best, Wade decided, to spend more time concentrating on his
rock-hard cock. Everyone would be better off that way, he told himself as
he reached down and squeezed his prick again.

As the door to the house closed behind him, he could hear Rick's voice.
"That you, Wade?" he called out.

"No, it's the mailman," Wade teased. He pulled off his coat as he bounded
up the stairs, his short, compact body taking each step with a lithe,
animal like grace. "What kept you up so late?" he asked.

"I couldn't sleep," Rick grinned with his customary devilish, mocking
grin. "I'm horny as shit."

"Well, I have the answer to that," Wade laughed, reaching down to rub his
bulging, confined prick once more.

Wade could tell by the look on his lover's face that Rick was really
wanting to fuck bad tonight, wanting it almost as much as Wade himself
wanted it.

Rick moved over near the bed's edge and gripped Wade's leg, pulling him
closer to the mattress. Surrendering, Wade fell on top of him, and for a
few moments the two handsome young men made love to one another with their
mouths and tongues and teeth. Wade opened his mouth wide as Rick's thick,
insistent tongue explored the depths of his throat; Rick's breath was hot
and smelled of beer. They groped and grappled while Rick asserted his
overbearing strength, their bodies rolling all over the mattress.

Rick was naked. His hard, sinewy, hairy flesh rubbed against Wade's
clothing, and Wade's prick strained painfully against its confines,
demanding to be released and relieved.

Wade's hands reached under Rick's steel-plate buttocks; his fingers dug
into the hard asscheeks, squeezing and pressing as their tongues continued
to play together. Rick moved his body to cover Wade's, pressing his thick,
dark-brown cock against Wade's crotch.

Wade broke away from the man's embrace and sprang to his fret. Urgently,
he began to strip off his clothing, trembling in anticipation of being
naked against Rick, the rough, perpetually horny young man he had grown to
love. Within a matter of seconds, his clothes were scattered all over the
room.

And he was making hot, exciting contact with Rick's dark flesh; shivers of
longing and alarm tingled his body all over. It was almost frightening, the
power Rick had over him, the way his body screamed at Rick's every touch,
the way he loved -- blindly, without restraint -- just being in bed with
Rick Murphy. He had been wanting Rick all night, wanting him desperately.

Wade felt the man's strong, rough-knuckled hand gliding over his smooth,
boyishly flat chest, felt that hand down between his legs, the fingers
tangling in his pubic hair. Reaching down, Wade grabbed Rick's big dick and
began to massage the warm, cannon-shaped organ tenderly.

"Oh, baby," Wade groaned. "I could play with that cock all night."

"Well, you got it to play with, baby," Rick growled deep in his throat,
and he tightened his grip on Wade's smaller cock. "Suck it," Rick then
demanded. "Go ahead... suck that cock you love so much."

"I could use a mouth on my dick, too, Rick... please? Will you tonight?"
All he could do was ask. He didn't ask often, and it was seldom that the
big, too-handsome stud that he kept and had grown to love reciprocated his
sexual affections.

But tonight he was lucky. Rick repositioned himself between his legs,
slithering his heavy, powerful body down to get in between. He held Wade's
cock straight up to his mouth and began to kiss it from top to bottom, and
then his lips moved torturously neat the tip of the prick; the lips parted.

With shuddering ecstasy, Wade felt Rick's mouth circle his dick and suck
the flesh in.

"Oh, that's it," Wade moaned. "Suck that cock... suck it, Rick, suck it!"
His cock inside Rick's mouth, he could not help but wonder just what sort
of rough play Rick had lined up for him later tonight; when Rick bestowed
his precious favors -- sexually, anyway -- he always expected a lot in
return. But Wade did not care now, he couldn't think that far ahead. He
could only wallow in the thrilling sensations of having his cock deep
inside the rangy, muscular stud's mouth. "Suck it, Rick... suck me off!" he
kept groaning.

Rick only moaned his agreement and went down further on Wade's cock.
Saliva escaped in tiny drops from the corners of his mouth and ran down
Wade's cock and into the hairs at its base. Rick began to massage the boy's
balls as he went into a slow rhythm with his mouth circular and up and down
at the same time. His thick, sensual lips remained tightly closed upon
Wade's jutting prick; Wade gripped Rick's skull firmly between both hands
and glided his mouth up and down the cock. It was so wonderful that he
wanted to scream aloud his passion and pleasure -- wanted to scream and to
ram his cock so deep into Rick's hot mouth that it would never come out
again.

As if Rick had read his mind, he took a deep breath and dove to the
bottom, sliding the cock all the way down his throat, sputtering and 
choking a little but never relinquishing the hard meat. Wade gave in to his
ecstasy; he began to make deep-throated animal sounds and to writhe his
body all over the bed.

He couldn't stand it any longer. He reached down and pulled at Rick's
body, letting him know that he wanted him to turn around. After all (and
Rick reminded, him frequently and pointedly) Wade was the true,
natural-born cocksucker in their strange, perversely one-sided
relationship, and now Wade, knowing just how true it was, wanted
desperately to feel Rick's uncomfortably wide around prick in his mouth.
Understanding, Rick repositioned his body until his throbbing, hard dick
was only inches away from Wade's face. Rick's lips were around the tip of
Wade's cock, lapping at the head and piss slit, causing Wade to squirm and
moan with delight. Without thinking, without hesitating, Wade closed his
eyes and moved it until he felt the oversensitive head of Rick's cock, a
cockhead that resembled a mammoth mushroom, pressing at his lips.
Willingly, he opened his mouth and allowed the stiff cockflesh to move into
his hungry, searching, quite expert lips.

In the darkness, the only thing which could be heard was a loud sucking
sound. Wade felt relieved and safe in the darkness with his powerful lover.
Rick could be rough, even brutal, but being with him was less threatening
than the dark and foreboding insecurities he felt from the outside world,
the constant and inexplicable fears he felt for himself and his ravenous
sexual hungers -- and hang-ups. At least Rick understood those hungers, and
he accepted the hang-ups.

In the darkness, ht heard Rick searching for something in a drawer next to
the bed; Wade knew what Rick was doing and shivered all over in
anticipation. They maintained a steady rhythm on each other's cocks while
Rick opened the container and put a new popper in. Wade heard it break in
the darkness, heard Rick taking a deep, guttural breath, and then the
little metal holder was being extended to him by Rick's long,
muscle-bulging arm.

Suddenly there was a change in Rick's rhythm. His hands gripped Wade's
cock more firmly and his lips tightened, sucking harder, taking Wade's dick
deeper into his mouth with each thrust.

Wade inhaled deeply, allowing the fumes to obliterate his sense of time
and place and movement. All was now pure sensation, and hard, rugged,
masculine flesh. At first it was like floating upward with no destination;
his body felt weightless, as if it were floating through space. Tiny
fingers reached out and soothed every aching nerve, every inch of flesh.
The world went away, there was only a big, hairy prick in his mouth, and
his cock was in another mouth -- nothing else could penetrate the fortress 
of ecstasy.

Cocks... big hard cocks... it was all he wanted, all he had ever wanted...
the smell and the taste of a man's cock.

Rick reached out into the drawer again and then took the inhaler from
Wade. Taking another deep breath, he handed it back, and Wade did the same.
He felt Rick's hand, wet and slippery, massaging his aching balls, rubbing
them hard and allowing his fingers to move over them while he sucked his
cock. Then he slipped lower between Wade's legs and spread some of the
cream over his asshole, teasingly at first, rubbing his middle finger
around the lips of the puckered anus. Each stroke became harder and deeper.

Wade took another whiff of the popper and let his body go, released all
inhibitions, opened his legs wide. Rick's big, knobby finger moved into
Wade's asshole, massaging the inner walls, pressing deeper and deeper. Then
a second and a third finger entered the hole. Wade dug his heels into the
mattress and lifted himself up in the air a little to give Rick better
access to his asshole.

"Move that ass," Rick grunted. "Move it on my fingers, you little bitch.
I'm gonna fuck it... you know that, don't you? You're gonna pay for gettin'
your dick sucked tonight, baby... and pay good. I want to stick my big dick
up that fucked-out hole of yours."

Wade could not answer. Rick was mean to him in bed, and Wade loved it. He
continued moving his body in such a way as to take Rick's fingers deeply
into his ass. Rick's jabbing fingers moved rapidly inside him, spreading
apart up inside Wade's body. Rick had removed his mouth from Wade's cock,
but Wade continued to suck easily, slobbering around on Rick's dick, making
it throb and swell up to gigantic proportions inside his mouth.

"Oh, Rick," he moaned, strangling. "It's so good, so good... do to me
whatever you want... anything, so long as I can feel your cock. I worship
your fucking cock, you big dumb stud, you know that, don't you?"

"Shut up, bitch," Rick barked, always irritated to be reminded that he
wasn't very bright -- and Wade loved his anger, loved his glowering,
handsome, uncomplicated face when it became violent. "Spread those legs,"
Rick grunted at Wade. "Spread those legs wide and let me in that asshole.
Better get ready for it, baby, because I'm gonna fuck you until you
scream."

"Do it to me, Rick! Fuck me!" Wade begged, needing to feel the man
overpower him, needing it so strongly that he could not resist any of
Rick's cruel whims.

"How'd you like to get fist-fucked, you cocksucker?" Rick asked. He was
kneeling between Wade's outstretched legs now, his unkempt black hair
cascading down over his wide, sun-tanned forehead. The broad, dark
shoulders towered threateningly over the boy; his wide, sensual mouth was
turned down sardonically. "Well," he drawled slowly. "How about it? How
would you like to feel my whole fucking fist up that big asshole of yours?"

"Oh, do it, baby, do it," Wade said, before he had a chance to take
another breath.

And then he waited. It seemed like an eternity had passed since he'd
uttered the words giving Rick permission to fist-fuck him. Instinctively,
he began to feel his legs wanting to close, wanting to protect himself from
the slaughter. But another part of him wanted it with agonizing lust and
intensity.

He brought the little metal inhaler to his nose again. Placing it in one
nostril, holding the other firmly closed, he breathed as deeply as he
could. And then he placed the popper in the other nostril and repeated the
action. His head began to swim, his body tingled madly, he was ready and
willing for anything.

"That's it," he heard Rick's deep voice. "That's it, bitch... just like I
knew you'd do... spread those legs wide and let me show you what it's like
to be in bed with a real man. I'm gonna tear you up, baby..."

All the time Rick was speaking his fingers were manipulating the boy's
tender asshole, constantly massaging and opening and stroking.

"That's it, cocksucker our fingers, now the fifth. Take that hand up your
asshole!"

Wade began to feel the strain, began to feel the pressure of the fingers
moving into his body. Slowly, steadily, never the pace, Rick altering
pressed forward... the hand moved irrevocably up the deep, long tunnel of
Wade's shit-chute.

"Oh, fuck me, baby!" Wade cried. "Fuck me, Rick... fuck me good and hard,
fuck me, you big stupid fucker! Shove that fist up my hole!"

"It's going, bitch," Rick mumbled, his breath coming ominously hard. He
was angry and worked up now. "It's going right up that big juicy ass of
yours... right up there where you've let every two-balled stud you can find
shove their big hairy pricks..."

The ugliness of the man's voice excited Wade all the more. He began to
wiggle and squirm, not caring about the pain, not caring about anything
except pleasing Rick. "More, Rick, more," he moaned.

"Goddamn you, bitch," Rick hissed. "It'd take a fucking telephone pole to
satisfy you." He thrust forward with his hand then. "Take it, baby," he
moaned deep in his throat. "Take it, bitch, take it," he repeated, pushing
in, fast, sharp, hard.

Wade's moans filled the room, echoed inside his own dizzy head.

"Enjoying it, bitch?" Rick chuckled.

"It's so... so big," Wade moaned. "My ass feels full, baby, real full. It
hurts..."

"You love it, you little faggot," Rick laughed mercilessly. "Here, take
this." He broke another capsule between his fingers and put it up to Wade's
nose. "This should take care of it," he said.

Wade inhaled deeply and felt his head floating blissfully towards the
ceiling once again. And his body felt open, vulnerable to anything the stud
who was straddling him wanted to do. Anything the big hairy bastard wanted
to shove inside his ass was all right with Wade now.

"Shit, your ass is big," Rick was mocking him. "Biggest fuckin' asshole
I've ever stuck my hand up in my life. It's like a big pussy... know that?
Like a cunt that's been fucked to hell by too many big dicks..." Rick was
mumbling more to himself than to Wade, getting off on fist-fucking the kid
rather than talking to him. But Wade did not care -- he was in a lost
world.

Wade took another whiff of the popper and then -- recklessly, considering
his present condition -- gave it back to Rick.

His eyes had adjusted to the total darkness; he could see Rick clearly as
he raised the popper to his nose, held it to his nostril. Wade could see
the animal lust in Rick's face.

And then he felt that ultimate surge of power from Rick's strong arm, felt
the fist push into his asshole; Wade opened to accept him.

"That's it, cocksucker!" Rick announced. "I've got it in there now... all
the way."

Wade felt that his ass was about to burst open from the intrusion, but 
then Rick pushed again and Wade felt the wrist in his asshole, and he
gripped at it tightly with his ass muscles.

"Now I'm going to massage that pussy from the inside," Rick said. "I'm
gonna work that asshole until you scream and beg me to stop." And he moved
his fingers inside Wade's body, massaging the sensitive walls of the canal.
His fingers found the boy's prostate gland and he tortured him by rubbing
it, stroking it, making Wade's body shake all over with the intensity of
orgasm. Wade had never known such joy and such pain in his life.

Rick pulled the popper from his nose and held it to Wade's nostrils again.
He inhaled greedily, anxiously.

Rick's hands began to move slowly, pushing in and out of Wade's asshole.
Wade wrapped his legs around the man's broad, muscle-laden torso and began
to beat his meat furiously as Rick fist-fucked him.

"That's it, baby," Rick said. "Shoot it... shoot that come all over
yourself." His own cock was throbbing and stiff; Wade reached down and
grabbed hold of it. Taking the bottle of lotion and pouring some onto his
hands, Wade began to work Rick's thick, sausage like prick up and down,
massaging it and jerking him off while the man worked his asshole over.

Leaning over the boy, Rick pushed harder, and Wade thought he would faint.
The pain was unbearable this time, unreal, and it frightened him. "Rick,"
he moaned, "please..."

"You can take more of it. You can take it up to the elbow if you have to."

"No, please," Wade whimpered, his legs moving in to close together.
"Please... don't do it anymore."

But Rick was like a madman by now -- mad with power.

CHAPTER TWO

He had the young man totally helpless and vulnerable beneath his strong
grip; he was uncannily turned on by it. His fist moved steadily inward
until Wade thought he would scream, until he thought that hand, that fist,
would smash into his guts.

"Go ahead, bitch," Rick growled. "Scream... do what you want, but just
remember I'm gonna fuck you until I'm ready to stop. I'm gonna fuck you
just like you've always wanted to get it!"

Wade fell back in a perverse combination of pleasure, fear, pain. His legs
had closed until his knees were placed together, but it did no good. Rick's
hand was up inside his body and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"Spread those legs, bitch! Let me see that asshole... let me see it spread
wide... wider than it's ever been spread before!"

"Please, Rick, I can't!" Wade implored. "No more, Rick... you're killing
me!"

Wade felt the big hands moving between his legs, spreading them apart once
more. "I said do it, bitch. Spread those legs, I want to see what I'm
fucking. I wanna see my hand up there in that big asshole. I wanna see it
move inside you and I wanna see those little red lips grabbing my arm.
Spread 'em, cocksucker, spread 'em, or I'll spread 'em for you!"

Wade recognized a new tone to Rick's voice. Never had he been so harsh, so
implacable in bed. It seemed that at last Rick felt in a position to
exploit his own power, to use Wade as his guinea pig. Wade had given him
the opportunity; now he was the victim of it.

Wade wanted it -- and yet he didn't. He couldn't stand the physical pain
any longer; yet the emotional need to be possessed and used and overpowered
came screaming out through his body.

Wade lay back and surrendered to the brutal animal on top of him. "All
right, you bastard," he moaned. "Have it your way. Fuck me... go ahead,
fuck my asshole off, fuck me, you hairy animal... fuck the shit out of me!"

The fist slammed furiously in and out. Rick groaned and heaved and made
deep, gurgling sounds deep in his throat. Beads of sweat were thrown from
the man's hairy chest down onto Wade's mottled face and the fist, like some
terrible living instrument of torture, pounded his asshole in a steady,
monstrous rhythm.

Finally it stopped. "Okay, baby," Rick sighed. "You've had enough." He
took the popper and placed it in Wade's nose. "Take it," he ordered.
"You'll need it."

Wade inhaled deeply again and again as he felt Rick pulling back, pulling
ever-so slightly out of him.

Then he heard the sound of another popper and wondered what had happened,
wondered if perhaps Rick had changed his mind and wanted to give him some
more fist.

Rick took a strong whiff and then held it to Wade's free nostril. Wade 
soared heavenward. He felt full inside again, felt the fingers moving
slowly, moving fractions of an inch at a time out toward freedom from their
confinement.

It seemed to take hours. His asshole felt as if it were being stretched
beyond the point of endurance, beyond what could possibly be real, and he
could feel his sphincter muscle fighting, pushing as the hand tried to pull
free.

Rick's hand was fighting steadily, carefully against the boy's straining
asshole.

Wade tried desperately to relax, tried to allow the man to complete the
maneuver, but nothing he could do would allow him total relaxation.

Inch by inch, Rick moved out of his asshole. Each second was a threat, a
terror. He never knew from moment to moment whether the next movement would
be the one to make him scream out in excruciating pain as the huge fist
passed through the straining sphincter muscle.

"Relax, baby," Rick said. "Just relax and let me take care of it." With
his free hand he began to massage the outside of Wade's asshole, rubbing in
a circular, slow motion.

And then it was over. Wade suddenly felt empty, abandoned, ravished.

His body writhed with relief upon the bed, but before he knew what was
happening, he felt Rick's thick muscular legs between his own, opening
them, pushing them apart. He felt the rock-hard column that was Rick's cock
probing between his asscheeks, trying to find that opening which would now
be large enough to swallow his dick -- or any dick -- easily into his body.

Although Wade felt sore all over, he was still excited and he moved in
such a way as to capture the tip of Rick's bulbous cockhead and allow it
easy access.

"That's right, baby," Rick chuckled as he mounted the smaller boy. "That's
it, bitch. Now you're gonna take my cock... take it all the way to the
bottom, right to the balls. If you don't cooperate you may end up taking
the balls too... Ever wondered how it would feel to have a big pair of
hairy balls crammed up your asshole right along with a dick?"

Wade writhed his body into the body above him, locking his legs around the
huge back, digging into the thick biceps with one hand and plucking at the
coarse, curly black hairs of Rick's chest with his other hand. Rick was
leaning over him in a push-up position, smiling knowingly and mockingly 
into his face.

"Now then," Rick grinned. "Let me fuck that big asshole."

In one lithe, swift motion, Rick imbedded his huge, engorged cock all the
way to its root. Moaning deeply, he let his tremendous weight collapse upon
the young man below.

"Spread those legs, bitch," he grunted. "Get 'em up in the air...
higher... stick 'em up to the ceiling... Get that big asshole up where I
can fuck it!"

"Oh, baby, give it to me," Wade heard himself murmuring despite
everything. "Come on, stud, fuck the shit out of me."

In an instant, it seemed to Wade that the pain was gone. He heard Rick
crack another popper and he knew that soon the two of them would be in
ecstasy, knew that they would reach higher levels of pleasure before the
night was over.

Still there was a nagging, uncomfortable feeling. He knew that he was
debasing himself, humiliating himself for Rick, more so tonight than he had
ever done before. And he was loving it like never before too. He didn't
want to think about it. He didn't have room to feel anything except that
thick, blunt, obstinate cock pile driving its way in and out of his
wide-stretched asshole. After the fist, a mere cock was not even painful.
It just felt good and warm and manly inside him, banging against his
prostate gland, pounding triumphantly in and out, in and out.

Time seemed to go on forever. There was nothing in the whole world except
the rocking, steady motion of Rick's flat, hard, taut, hair covered hips
being met by Wade's.

"That's a good bitch," Rick said hotly against his neck. "Keep those legs
spread good and wide so I can fuck that asshole raw!"

The dick moved with a furious speed, pistoning in and out, the man's balls
slapping loudly against the cheeks of Wade's ass with each inward thrust.
The swollen asslips yielded easily for the big thick dick and Wade reveled
in the sensation of being full of Rick, being full of his hardness and his
fury and his lust.

"I love you," Wade groaned.

"I know what you love," Rick returned. "You love what you've got up your
ass, that's what you love. Oh, take that dick, you big cocksucking asshole!
Take that... and that... and that!" He accentuated his words with violent
thrusts which rocked the boy all over the mattress and made him cling
frantically do the man's big chest as it bounced up and down on him.

"It's true," Wade moaned. "I love your dick... I love the way it fits my
asshole." He spread his legs even wider. "Dick me, Rick," he grunted. "Dick
me good and hard just like I deserve. Fuck me like a bitch. That's all I
want, to be... your bitch... the bitch who takes your cock every night...
you could fuck me until I bleed and I'd still get down on my knees and kiss
your balls... do anything you say... just fuck me, Rick, please keep on
fucking me!"

"Take dick, you cocksucker," Rick grunted, pounding furiously.

"Fuck me, Rick. Fuck me till I scream," Wade pleaded. He had forgotten
everything now, everything except that he was beneath a man, a big man,
groveling in that man's warmth and strength and power.

"Listen to that asshole, bitch," Rick snorted contemptuously. "Listen to
it get fucked." Wade's asshole had begun to lubricate itself from the first
moment a cock had entered it; now each time Rick thrust his dick into the
tunnel it made a loud sloshing sound.

In and out the cock went, faster and faster, until Wade felt like an
automatic piston was in constant motion inside his asshole.

"Take that cock." Rick said. "Take it right up that big shitty asshole!"

"Give it to me," was all Wade could moan. Just their tongues met, tangled,
fought, pushed; Rick sank his teeth into the boy's lower lip until he drew
blood. Wade moaned and shoved his tongue deep into Rick's throat, searching
over the tops of his teeth; seeking out Rick's tongue. They seemed on the
verge of totally and literally devouring one another with their mouths.

"How'd you like my dick in your mouth?" Rick shouted at Wade. "How'd you
like my cock down your throat right now, bitch, covered with your shit?"

"Anything," Wade sighed. "I'll suck your cock any way and any time you
want me to. Anything you tell me to do, Rick, I'll do it." And then he
moaned, "Fuck, yes, I'll eat your dick with my ass juice on it. Give it to
me, stud. I want your cock shoved down my throat."

The cock came ripping out of the swollen asshole. Rick moved up over his
body and then off; firmly, he took Wade's arm and made him get down on his
knees at the side of the bed. Rick sat on the edge. He moved up to Wade and
began to rub his big hairy prick all over the boy's face, pulling Wade's 
face into his hot loins and making him lick the huge egg-shaped balls.

Rick's large hands reached out, took Wade's head, ripped the blond hair
tightly. He continued to rub his crotch with Wade's face... the cock, the
balls all over. Wade breathed deeply, taking in the heavy male odor, loving
every minute of it, loving the smell of Rick deep down between the crevice
of his balls and buttocks. He nibbled at the thick, coarse hairs that
sprouted on the nuts, swirled profusely around the crotch, and even ran in
little tufts out onto the turgid trunk of the cock itself.

Rick reached over onto the bed and picked up the popper. He opened the
metal container and shoved it into Wade's nostril. Wade took a deep,
intoxicating whiff of it; Rick did the same. Wade's body was moving as if
in a fantasy.

"Open that mouth now, you bitch," Rick ordered.

As soon as his lips were open, Wade felt the tip of the cock moving in
between them, moving straight on in until the warm heaviness was lodged
deep in his throat. He opened his mouth wider and began to work on the
thick, swollen head of the man's dick. He let his tongue run all over the
head in circular patterns, then ran it underneath, where there were several
blood-gorged veins, and then over to the crack in the cockhead. He was in
heaven. He began to suck madly, furiously, saliva running down the sides of
his mouth. The cock was pressed in a little deeper and Wade had to open his
mouth so wide that his jaws ached.

Rick picked up the rhythm of Wade's mouth and began shoving his prick
further into the young man's mouth. Ever time he moved, he thrust his meat
a little further inside. Wade reached out and took hold of the man's
muscle-bulging thighs, feeling them flex each time he dipped forward and
plunged his mouth down onto the throbbing, pulsating cock. It seemed to go
deeper and deeper until at last Wade felt the cock at the start of his
throat. He gagged, choked, but he did not give up. He wanted too much to
keep it there, to suck that cock totally into his throat, into his body; he
wanted it in his mouth as completely as he had wanted the big dick in his
ass.

Rick kept moving deeper and deeper, pulling out just enough to let Wade
take a breath of air, and then pushing his prick back into him beyond the
limitation of his mouth, deep into the throat.

"Take this, baby," Rick said, handing Wade another popper. "Take this and
eat me good, bitch. I want my whole fuckin' cock down your throat, every
inch of it."

Wade pressed in tightly with his lips, creating pressure, running his
tongue around and around the sides of the cock even while he sucked it.

"Eat it, cocksucker," Rick demanded. "Eat dick!"

He was sucking Rick's cock so deeply that he couldn't breathe, and he was
loving it. When he was allowed to take a breath of air the popper filled
his head until he was spinning, until the only thing he could concentrate
on was taking every inch of Rick's cock. He wanted to take the man's cock
all the way down his throat, to feel the man's pubic hair scratching
against his face; he wanted to be able to open his mouth wide enough to
take the thick, heavy balls, which hung down in their sac and swayed gently
against his chin.

"Oh, baby, suck my cock, suck my dick good," Rick demanded, tightening his
grip on Wade's head and increasing the speed and the power of his movements
until each stroke made the boy gag. A slippery, slimy fluid had lubricated
Rick's cock so that it flowed smoothly into Wade's mouth.

Rick moved forward, trapping Wade's head. The young man's blond head, and
his smooth, boyish body were trapped between the bed and Rick's dark, hairy
legs.

"Eat me!" Rick grunted. "Eat that fucking cock!" He grabbed the blond hair
with one hand and forced Wade's head back until it was lying on the
mattress. Then Rick spread his legs wide and positioned himself over Wade
so that he was fucking him in the mouth.

"Fuck me long and deep," Wade moaned, still choking and gagging on the big
dick. His difficulty in taking the cock all the way seemed to excite Rick
all the more, seemed to turn him on to the point that he was like an animal
fucking the boy's mouth over and over and over; Wade could feel nothing but
the power of Rick's cock.

"Eat me, cocksucker," Rick growled down as he mouth-fucked the boy. "Come
on, take more of it, take that hot dick. You know how... you're the
cocksucking expert, remember? Suck it in there, baby!"

Wade felt the man's body tense, felt every muscle in the large frame
strain and grow ready. He knew that at any minute now Rick was going to
release the gushing evidence of his virility. He was going to let loose
with that which he had been building up to for so long, he was going to
give the cocksucker his pride and manhood -- he was going to shoot a load
of come into Wade Matthews' mouth.

"Come on, bitch, come on," he groaned. "Suck it, suck it good. Suck it 
like you've always wanted to suck cock!"

Wade's head was swirling. With Rick's words and the popper and the cock in
his mouth, he was in ecstasy. It was a terrible, frightening, dreamlike
ecstasy: it was an ecstasy that he hoped would never end.

Rick began to work his hips back and forth, undulating with a fierce
rhythm, shoving his big fat cock all the way down Wade's throat, leaning
the full weight of his body on Wade's face as he did so. He pounded his
dick just as he had when it had been in Wade's asshole, pumping fast and
furious.

"Get ready for it, baby," he said, out of breath. "Get ready for my big
load!"

He was all the way on top of Wade's face now, burying the blond head,
crushing it beneath the massive weight of his dark thighs and hairy groin.
Wade, unable to breathe, pushed against the big legs each time Rick pulled
back, trying to get air into his lungs, trying to take the cock all the way
into his throat with each stroke.

Wade could only moan and caress Rick as he felt the cock stiffen and throb
like a battering ram in his mouth. His jaws ached from being locked in the
open position for so long, but, just as before, the combination was one of
pain intermingled with almost unbearable pleasure.

Rick was murmuring on top of him now. His words were almost inaudible as
Wade sucked harder on his dick, as he took the entire column into his mouth
and gently nibbled at its hairy root. He could feel the crinkled, enormous
balls pressed deep into his chin, could feel Rick driving with all his
power and fury, making hint submit to his way, making him submit to
whatever sexual abuse he might care to toss in Wade's direction.

"Oh, thataway, baby," Rick was murmuring. "Baby, you are one hell of a
cocksucking sonofabitch, take my word for it. Nobody's ever eaten my dick
like you do... you're one super cocksucker, baby."

Rick began to pound harder, driving his dick further and further into the
wide-open mouth, making Wade want to scream with the rasping, scratching
feeling the cock was causing in his throat. Wade knew that he wouldn't even
be able to talk by the time Rick was finished with him, and yet he knew at
the same time that he had to let him do it. He had to let Rick have his
way. He had to feel that Rick had anything and everything he could possibly
want with him, had to give in and submit to him, no matter how painful and
degrading it might be. He couldn't allow himself to even think about it, to
wonder why he was doing this. He simply knew that he had no choice. He had 
to keep Rick. He loved the big crude man, perverse though it often seemed.
It was something that he had accepted, something that he wanted, and lying
back now with the cock plunging down his throat, it all seemed somehow
worth it.

He never did really kid himself about Rick. He had known from the
beginning; he understood what he was doing and did it with his eyes wide
open, accepting his own feelings of self-worthlessness, knowing that he
needed a man like Rick to prove that worthlessness to him and knew at the
same time Rick was not the kind of man to be pinned down easily.

CHAPTER THREE

It was a slow night at the club -- which wasn't unusual -- and the minutes
dragged into hours. Wade played the piano slowly and listlessly and stared
over the mahogany toward the bar, the same bar with the same crowd night
after night, and wished only that midnight would hurry up and arrive so
that he could go home to Rick.

There was a fair-sized crowd -- but still it was the same crowd -- and
Wade watched the men doing their old routines up at the bar or in the
lounge. He was growing tired of his job, and sometimes he wondered why he
even bothered with it. He really didn't need the money. He supposed he just
needed something to do with himself, some kind of work.

One of the advantages of working in a gay bar was being able to observe
the customers. They were so excessive, so extremely ridiculous or extremely
funny or extremely sad.

Wade glanced inadvertently over to his left and saw an old friend walk
into the lounge. At first, out of instinct, he was glad to see the fellow,
a good-looking young man named Greg. But when Greg began crossing towards
the piano, Wade suddenly felt unnerved by the prospect of a conversation.
Rick was on his mind tonight, and he wasn't in the mood for gossip and talk
of old love affairs. Too, none of Wade's friends really liked Rick. Most of
them didn't consider Rick worthy of being his lover, and some of Wade's
friends even found Rick crude and obnoxious and told him so to his face.
Greg was one of those who told him so -- frequently.

Wade grew momentarily defensive as Greg approached. But the man had a wide
smile on his face, a smile with warmth and genuine sincerity in it, and
Wade let himself smile back.

"How are you?" Greg asked, coming to stand beside the piano.

Wade brought the song he was playing to an end, then nodded. "I'm fine. 
And you?" He reached for his drink. "What have you been doing with
yourself?"

Greg shrugged, "Not much. You look bored, Wade."

"Yes, I am bored."

"You should quit this job. God knows you've got plenty of money to live on
without working."

"I've got to be doing something, Greg. Can't just sit around. Besides, I
like music."

"Hell, you should go to New York... go somewhere that could do you some
good. What's a musician doing in Los Angeles to begin with?"

"Guess I haven't had much time to think about that sort of stuff," Wade
said. "A career or anything like that."

"Has Rick been keeping you all that busy?"

"Don't start in on Rick, Greg."

"Ah," Greg shook his head with mock despair. "They call it love. Or do
they call if masochism? Well, if you really enjoy the suffering and feel
that you deserve it, buddy, then I suppose I shouldn't find fault."

"Cut it out, Greg. All right, so Rick is a little bit selfish and
demanding."

"And suppose he doesn't have a job and he cheats with other guys..." Greg
quickly added.

Annoyed, Wade went back to playing. "It's my own business, Greg," he said.
"I like making him happy, so what's wrong with that?"

"I just like you too much to see you get treated like shit by that
bastard," Greg said. "You'd think he at least wouldn't cheat on you. Not
the way you treat him. Hell, anytime he's the least bit horny, he snaps his
fingers and you dive into his crotch or drop your pants to relieve him. And
he even comes in the bars and talks about his tricks. Really, Wade, I wish
you'd start facing some facts about Rick."

"I love him, Greg. And he doesn't cheat all that much. Now I'd rather drop
the subject."

"Okay. What are you doing after work? A bunch of us were thinking about
getting together at my place tonight."

"Thanks, Greg, but I'll probably be busy. You see, tonight is Rick's
birthday and I was going to take off early and..."

"Yeah, yeah, I get the picture. Take him out to a nice midnight dinner,
wine and dine him, then hop in the hay."

"Greg, I..."

"Look, kid, I understand, believe me, I do. We'll make it some other time,
right?"

"Right, Greg."

"See you around."

"See you, Greg."

As he watched his friend walk off, Wade felt even more irritated. He knew
that he should have told Greg to go to hell, but deep inside he knew that
what Greg and his other friends said about Rick was not so far from the
truth.

But he was hooked on the guy, that was what none of them could seem to
understand. They could not see the uncontrollable need he had for Rick,
they could not see how deep that hook was in him. They could not understand
how one seductive look from Rick, even an occasional warm, off-hand remark,
could stir his blood to the boiling point and obliterate all the pain Rick
caused him other times. Even when he knew that he was being used by Rick,
just the fact that he was there and living with him was all the promise and
reward that Wade needed.

It scared him, though, particularly when other people intimated him, as
Greg had done tonight. I scared him that the pain of Rick's hook hat become
not only tolerable, but normal, expected. It scared him that he could no
longer even picture their relationship on any different level, that he no
longer even anticipated a change in Rick or himself.

As always, he put the negative thoughts from his mind. He would think
about it all later, much later. It was Rick's birthday and he had planned a
special evening for the both of them. They would be together tonight, he
would make Rick smile, would make Rick happy tonight.

He couldn't get the conversation with Greg out of his mind, couldn't 
forget about it all night. But as the hours passed and the time grew closer
to the moment when he would be with Rick, Wade decided not to let it bother
him, thought only of Rick, and forced his mood to shift back into a
pleasant frame of mind.

The bar was quieter than usual, so he left even earlier than he had
planned. As he walked out into the warm spring air and over to the parking
lot to his little sports-car, Wade felt the familiar stirring in his groin,
felt his cock hardening in his pants at the simple knowledge that the
minutes were moving faster and faster toward that moment when he would be
with Rick in bed. As he drove down the streets and out on the freeway, he
felt his prick with one hand, outlining its hard impression in his
trousers, and recalled fondly a night when he had jerked Rick off as he
drove down the expressway late one night, the tension and furtive, reckless
excitement of the experience. He was getting hornier, and hornier.

Wade was surprised to see that all the lights in the house were out except
one in the bathroom upstairs. It seemed a little early for Rick to have
gone to bed, even taking into consideration the fact that he probably
didn't remember that it was his own birthday.

Silently, Wade crossed the lawn until he was in front of the door. He
slipped his key in quietly and, opened the lock and went inside.

He had just started up the dark stairs when he heard it. It was like a
knife in the dark. There were voices coming from the upstairs bedroom.

"No, Rick. No, please... it hurts!"

"Go ahead, you little faggot, spread those legs. Shit, baby, this ain't
the first time... you know you love to get fucked by me." It was Rick's
voice.

Wade ran up the stairs, ran frantically, totally beside himself with
feelings of rage and jealousy he didn't think he was capable of harboring.
He knew what he would see and he knew that it was going to hurt him, but he
had to see for himself.

There was a boy he had never seen before on the bed, a very young, very
little boy, surely not over eighteen years old. He was very pretty, long,
shoulder-length brown hair, a face like a fashion model. He was on his
haunches, leaning up on his elbows with his back turned to Rick and his
head turned down to the bed. Rick was on his knees behind the kid, fucking
him dog-style. He was right in the middle of a thrust when Wade walked into
the room and turned on the light -- his big cock was half buried in the
boy's widespread ass.

Rick seemed a little annoyed that Wade had interrupted his ass-fuck. He
scowled a little and said, "What the hell are you doing home so early?"

Wade could not speak, he only stared down at the floor.

"Well," Rick chuckled, "at least you got here in time for some
entertainment. I want you to meet someone." He slapped the kid on his ass
and said, "Hey, Billy, look up for a minute." Billy raised his face, a bit
sheepishly, and held Wade's eyes. "Billy," Rick said, "this is the guy that
gets my dick every night. Wade, this here is Billy. Real little whore,
regular bitch in heat. Just seventeen and fucks like a pussy already. I've
been fucking him off and on for about a month or two now... he picked me up
on a street one night, believe it or not. Yeah, this little kid picked me
up. Really something, isn't he? Took me into an alley and sucked me off
behind a garbage can... right downtown. Ain't that right, bitch?" he
laughed, slapping the kid's ass harder this time.

"That's right, sir," the kid said in a thin, strained voice.

"Hell," Rick said, "if I'd known you were going to be coming in early,
Wade, I'd have fucked him already and gotten his Nellie-ass out of here.
But as it is well, you might as well get in on it too. Come on over here
and play with my balls while I fuck this bitch."

Wade stood against the wall, glowering furiously.

"Ah, shit," Rick grimaced. "Don't tell me you're mad?"

Wade said nothing, only stared.

"All right," Rick said, "have it your way. Give me one minute and we'll
talk it over." And with that he returned his undivided attention to the ass
that was raised up so high for his convenience. He patted the ass a couple
of times and then, as if oblivious to Wade's presence, with singe-minded
absorption, he began to complete what he had started with Billy. He drew
back his flat, taut hips and then lunged forward with all his might,
rocking the squatting figure all over the bed. Billy moaned and whimpered a
little bit. In a hurry now, anxious to get his rocks off and see what Wade
had to say, Rick barked gruffly at the teenage boy, "Don't move you bitch,"
and then proceeded to assault the tender young asshole like a battering
bull, slamming his big cock into the asshole as far as it would go, right
down to his huge, hairy balls, and then withdrawing to the very tip of the
cockhead before whamming it home again. It only took him about five
thrusts; he groaned and began to come. Bored with the teenage trick even
before he had finished coming, Rick ripped his prick out of the butt, 
jerked it out ruthlessly and without concern for the discomfort it caused
young Billy. Globs of his sticky white come spurted in jets down the backs
of the kid's thighs as the head of the cock came tearing out of the
puckered lips.

Rick grabbed a towel and began wiping his cock off. "Get out of here," he
said to Billy, who rose, embarrassed and a little frightened, and hurriedly
began to dress, even though Rick's hot sperm was still dripping from his
asshole and running down his practically hairless legs.

The moment the kid had gone, Wade stared murderously at Rick and said,
"You bastard."

Rick rolled his eyes, genuinely perplexed and angry that Wade could find
fault in his behavior. "What the fuck," he shrugged. "That kid means
nothing to me... just a nice tight asshole is all. Nothing to get upset
about, Wade."

Wade went towards the man. He drew back his arm and, without thinking,
slapped Rick violently across the face. The slap was more of a shock than
anything else; Rick turned livid with fury, raised his naked arm, and
backhanded Wade swiftly and calculatedly across the chin, knocking him
backward, causing him to reel sideways and crash into the wall. He felt the
blood trickling down his chin, tasted it from the gash in his upper lip. It
did not even hurt, though; somehow, it was all just very humiliating.

"Don't you ever hit me again, you fuckin' cocksucker," Rick said to him in
an oddly calm, dark voice.

Wade looked at his feet, almost crying. He was ashamed and miserable, this
was not what he had wanted at all. He reproached himself for having gotten
so upset. After all, he knew, just as everyone did, that Rick was not
faithful to him, had never made any promise to be. It was just that Greg
had disturbed him so by what he had said in the bar and the fact that this
was the first time he had actually caught Rick bringing another boy to the
apartment that he, Wade Matthews, paid the rent on. And, too, it was
supposed to have been such a good night... all his plans.

"I'm sorry, Rick," Wade heard himself apologizing, knowing that he was a
fool to do so, but only wanting the ugliness to be over with, wanting to be
able to pretend that what had just occurred in this room had not happened
at all. He went on, making it even worse, making himself an even bigger
fool in Rick's eyes. "I know it was all my fault," he said. "Please don't
be angry with me, Rick, not tonight... I..." His voice trailed off
dismally.

"Cocksucker," Rick said quietly, in the same dark, ominous voice, "I think
it's about time you and I got down to the nitty-gritty about a few things.
I'm gonna take you somewhere tonight. To a little party I happen to know
about across town. It's about time you learned a few things about me, baby,
and learned to accept me for what I am... I'll guarantee you one thing,
too. It's not one of them namby-pamby, Nellie-ass camp parties that your
kind of friends throw, either. You interested?"

Wade felt a chill rush through his limbs; he felt a little sick and weak
at the knees. He had to go. He knew he had to go. It was for Rick, Rick
demanded it. The plans he had made for the birthday celebration would have
to wait, perhaps tomorrow night.

"Do you really want me to go, Rick?" he asked softly.

"I invited you, didn't I."

"All right, then, Rick. Whatever you say."

"Okay, baby," he said, reaching over and grabbing Wade behind the neck to
pull him close. Wade noticed that his grip was tighter and more forceful
than before, somehow even more insistent. Wade felt a thrill of
anticipation run down his spine.

They pulled up in front of the house where the party was to be held. It
seemed a very average place, a large house on a good piece of property
about fifty yards back from the highway.

"This is it?" Wade asked quizzically as they pulled into the driveway.

"Sure. What did you expect?"

"I don't know. I just thought for some reason that it would be... I don't
know... different."

"It will be different, don't worry about that," Rick told him.

When the doorbell was answered, Wade felt another tingle of excitement go
through him. The man who answered the door was very big and muscular, a man
with a craggy, bellicose face, deep-set eyes, and an exquisitely developed
body shown off in a white T-shirt and a pair of tight, faded Levi's.
Beneath the flimsy T-shirt his chest could be seen. It was covered with
thick mats of dark, curly hair. He looked at Wade for a few moments with
cold, incisive eyes, shifting his lingering gaze over the full length of
the young blond's body, then back up to his face. A vaguely seductive look
flickered across the rugged; hard-set face as the man turned to look at 
Rick and nod his approval. Rick introduced the man as Clint, and they all
moved inside.

The house was very warm inside from the presence of so many bodies.

CHAPTER FOUR

Wade could see beyond the entrance hall into the living room where all the
people were sitting around in chairs or standing in small groups talking.
It looked like a very ordinary and sophisticated party; Wade wondered if
perhaps Rick had been playing a joke of some kind on him.

But as he got closer, Wade noticed that all of the men -- or almost all of
the men in the worn -- were extremely masculine and handsome. Through the
crowd, his eyes fell on one peculiar sight: amongst all the masculinity,
there was a man wearing only a pair of black lace panties and a pair of
high-heeled shoes. His chest was covered with a T-shirt and he was
languidly serving cocktails on a tray.

Clint, the man who had met them at the door, came up behind them and
ushered them on into the living room.

After a few initial introductions, Rick and Wade sat on a sofa and started
up conversations with two other men. The man in the strange costume brought
them drinks, and kept them coming. Wade couldn't tell how much time had
passed, but when he looked around the room again, it had taken on a subtly
different atmosphere, a different appearance. After a second and harder
look, he began to see a difference in the men's dress. Some men had already
taken off their shirts while others had just taken off ties or coats. There
was a tense undercurrent in the room, and the conversations had grown
quieter.

After a few more drinks, he really began to notice the change. There was a
man leaning against the fireplace, wearing only a pair of tight Levi's. He
had taken off his belt and placed it over his shoulders so that either end
of the brown-leather strap fell down over his broad chest. He was
beautifully developed, the muscles hard, the crevice separating his torso
deep and wide; it was difficult for Wade to keep his eyes off the man. He
was standing up by this time and he noticed that a man was sitting behind
him, openly scrutinizing his ass.

Something was coming, Wade knew, it was in the air. He could feel the
tension mounting to a point where it would have to explode, would have to
be let out.

He looked around. Rick was gone from the sofa. He was nowhere in sight and
Wade had no idea where he could have gone. Abruptly, Wade found himself
feeling very vulnerable, before all these men; so now he felt naked and
exposed, although he was still completely dressed.

A tall, husky young man walked up to the stud who was leaning on the
fireplace. He took the bare-chested man's arm and began leading him from
the room; Wade could not help but note the tight grip of the stranger. To
the others in the room, it was as if something very obvious and revealing
had just occurred. Wade was baffled -- but oddly excited.

He took another drink from the tray as the waiter-waitress brought it
around. He felt himself getting a little high. And then he smelt grass in
the room. He looked over his shoulder and saw that the owner of the house,
the big burly man named Clint, was lighting several joints and passing them
out to extended hands. Within a matter of minutes, the entire house reeked
of the sweet, thick substance. Wade's head, after only a few tokes, was
reeling crazily, and it was obvious that his was not the only head present
that was reeling.

Everything seemed to be changing. The lights seemed dimmer. The music grew
louder, stronger: acid rock burst from the speakers, and it seemed to be
coming from every corner in the room.

There was an endless supply of grass, an endless supply of booze. The
music kept coming -- from where it was coming Wade no longer knew.

Then he noticed that there were fewer people in the room. He thought for a
moment that he was only imagining it; his vision was impaired, to say the
least.

Through the sounds of the rock music, he could hear a loud slapping sound.
His skin tingled all over, tingled with an eerie combination of excitement
and revulsion. He was hearing the sound of leather striking bare skin. It
was rhythmic, almost in perfect time with the beat of the record that was
playing. With each progression of the drum music, the striking, ringing,
slapping sound grew louder... stronger... undoubtedly, grew more painful.

There was suddenly, he noticed, no sound of voices talking anywhere in the
house. The only sounds whatever were those coming from the loud stereo and
the slashing sound of leather. Everyone seemed to be hypnotized by one or
the other, or by both. It was as if one sound were interdependent upon the
other. As the music grew to a more frantic and piercing level, so did the
beating in the next room, or upstairs, or wherever it was coming from.

And then a new sound came through. At first, it was like a soft
whimpering. But as the sensual beat of the music continued to grow more 
piercing, so did the cry of the recipient of the leather belt. The cry went
higher and higher until it had set off the needs of the people in the room,
and the party had really begun.

He noticed that across the room there were two good-looking men standing
against the wall. At first it was difficult to make out what they were
doing, because the lighting in the room had grown so dim. But as Wade's
eyes focused through the dark, he recognized that one of them was being
fucked by the other, and he felt quietly desperate shivers go through his
body.

He looked around for Rick, wondering if he dare move from the spot in
which he had been standing for so long, seemingly for hours.

But he had enough liquor and enough dope in him to make him game for
anything. Gazing all around, he walked bravely from the room and into the
foyer again. Stopping for a moment, he looked around to see where the
action was, where Rick might be, and he found that there was action going
on all over.

He went upstairs, checked out the rooms. And in one of those rooms he
found Rick. At first he couldn't believe his eyes. It was incredulous,
especially through the dope and the booze. Rick was the man who was beating
the boy whose screams he had heard!

Standing in the doorway, Wade watched on in disbelief. There were three
other men in the room with Rick, one of them Clint. All were naked and
watching Rick, who moved over to the bed where the pretty boy was fled
spread eagled to the bed. With his thick, brown-leather belt, Rick began to
lash the boy's naked, upturned buttocks again.

Clint looked around at Wade. "Look who just came in, Rick," he grinned.
"Your bitch."

Clint and Rick exchanged knowing, meaningful glances, as if engaged in
some kind of conspiracy. Wade kept staring at Clint. The man's burly,
muscular hair-covered body excited him and his cock was straining hard
against the front of his trousers.

Holding his cock in his hand, still grinning, Clint moved over to the bed.
He moved in between the boy and the headboard until his cock was directly
over the kid's mouth. And then Rick brought the leather belt cracking down
across the boy's ass again. "Go ahead," Rick ordered the boy. "Eat it! Take
that man's cock in your mouth, baby! Now!" He accentuated each gasp of
breath with a fresh blow from the belt.

The boy's head began to bob quickly up and down on Clint's dick. Clint had
a firm hold on the boy's long blond hair; he pulled the head roughly up and
down on his long, curving, saber like cock.

Wade could tell by looking at the boy that he was in agony. Thick red
welts stood out all over the backs of his thighs and buttocks, and yet
there was a resigned, rather contented sound coming from the boy's throat
as he sucked hungrily on Clint's prick.

Wade glanced at the other man in the room. Wade had met the fellow earlier
downstairs -- his name was Dennis. He was simply standing over in one
corner watching the action on the bed. He looked much nicer, Wade realized,
beginning to level his eyes upon the onlooker, with his clothes off. He was
a tall young man with slender, supple limbs, well-formed and
natural-looking. His hair, which hung around his shoulders, was the color
of the sun and his body was a deep-tan color all over. Although his cock
was neither as long nor as thick as Rick's, it was still much better than
average; it stood straight up from his crotch and pressed against his rigid
stomach, the loose balls hanging low on his thighs. Dennis' crotch was
covered with a thick growth of curly blond hair which spread up to his
stomach and down his thighs, covering his balls and spreading into the
crack of his ass.

Dennis caught Wade's eyes on him; he nodded and then moved closer to the
bed to watch the action. As he stroked his jutting cock softly with one
hand, he said to Rick, "Put your belt away and fuck him, Rick. That's what
he wants. I wanna see one cock in his mouth and another one in his asshole.
Fuck him, Rick."

Up at the headboard, Clint straddled the boy's face so that he was, facing
Rick. "Go ahead, buddy," he said. "Fuck him. I want to watch you fuck the
shit out of this little faggot while I pound the meat down his throat."

Wade had taken off his clothes and moved very close to the bed, close
enough to observe every movement. His cock was hard and throbbing with the
visual stimulation; he thought several times he was going to shoot his load
just from watching the two big studs work over the handsome young boy.

Rick was on his knees on the bed, holding the boy's legs up against his
massive chest, the feet locked around his neck. Wade climbed upon the bed
behind his lover and moved his head in the open triangle created by Rick's
wide-apart thighs until his face was right where Rick's balls hung down and
where his mammoth cock was seeking its position at the boy's asshole. Wade
could see everything, and at very close range. A sudden rustling movement
told him that Dennis, too, had moved closer, and then he could hear the
blond stud beating his meat very close to the edge of the bed where the 
four other male bodies were sprawled in their varying positions.

Rick took the time to explore the area before plunging his cock into the
gaping hole which all but begged to be fucked. While Wade toyed with his
big hairy balls from underneath his thighs, Rick probed the bound boy's ass
with his fingers. Wade could see each finger sliding inside the hole,
pushing at the tender folds of warm flesh. The boy's canal seemed to be
tight, but it offered no resistance to Rick's big jabbing fingers.

When Rick pulled his fingers out, they were wet from the boy's ass juices.
Wade watched on, seeing it upside down, as Rick held the lips of the
puckered hole open and placed the wide, mushroom head of his, cock just
inside the crack, teasing the anxious boy with his hot cock. The boy
squirmed with near-delirious joy and continued sucking Clint's prick as he
prepared for the ass-fucking.

Dennis was pounding his cock furiously now, breathing hard. "Fuck him,
Rick," he barked. "Ram that big dick of yours right up that asshole. Fuck
him with it like you fucked me with it that time... fuck the Goddamn shit
out of that asshole. He'll love it."

Wade opened his mouth and swallowed one of Rick's large balls down his
throat. The coarse pubic hair scraped against the walls of his mouth; he
sucked avidly and watched with wide eyes as Rick's cock, up inside the
crack of the ass, began to throb and pulsate with anxiety.

Rick could stand it no longer. He thrust forward with his hips and began
to give the boy his cock, inch by delectable inch. The boy moaned and
twisted his ass around as the huge tool worked its way up the narrow
channel, ripping and tearing and burrowing a path of its own.

When his cock was halfway inside, Rick suddenly stopped. Cruelly,
ruthlessly, tantalizingly, he abruptly jerked his dick out to the very tip,
leaving the boy gasping for breath.

The bound kid took Clint's meat from his mouth just long enough to
implore, "Put it back in. Please, Rick, put it back in. I want to feel that
cock back inside me. Please put that big fat peter back up my asshole,
Rick!"

Rick teased him awhile by rubbing his cock up and down the crack, gliding
it along the sensitive crevice. And when he would allow just the head to
slide back in, the boy would moan and beg to be fucked.

Rick relented. He pulled his hips back, aimed his cock at the gaping
asshole with his fist, and plunged forward with a just-crazed fury, driving
his huge pole straight up inside the hot asshole, causing the boy to lurch
forward and scrape Clint's cock against his teeth. He screamed out from the
sudden, ripping pain.

"That's it," Clint laughed, grabbing the boy's head and forcing his cock
back into the anguished mouth. "That's the way, Rick, ram it in. Fuck the
shit out of this bitch... ram that thing in his ass!"

Wade's cock tingled unbearably as he watched Rick plunging his big dick
into the upturned ass. His tongue flicked out and licked Rick's balls all
over, catching, very briefly, the very base of his dick when it would jerk
outward to prepare for another thrust. Rick was slamming into the asshole
now, his balls slapping against the boy's crotch as he held the kid firmly
by the waist, pulling him back onto the hot, angry, obstinate prick, not
letting him escape even one mighty thrust. The boy seemed to grow
accustomed to the stretched, gorged feeling; he began to wiggle and rotate
his buttocks against Rick's rippling stomach muscles.

Wade lay down flat on his back so that his head was positioned just
beneath the asshole to watch Rick thrust in and out. He reached up and
grasped Rick's cock when he pulled it out and held tightly to it when Rick
pumped it back in again, letting it slide through his fingers as it drove
into the hot, moist, gyrating ass channel. Once he slipped his fingers
inside the boy's ass, forcing the lips to stretch open even wider; inside
the hole, he could feel Rick's cock as it pushed upward and the walls of
the boy's ass clinging around the rigid shaft.

Sweat had soaked Rick's body. It ran down his chest, his stomach, through
the curly dark hairs of his crotch. It dripped from his balls onto Wade's
face. Wade delighted in it. He returned his attention to the big nuts
hanging over him. Reaching up with one hand, he began to fondle Rick's
balls as they flopped above his face, squeezing them lightly and pulling
down on the wrinkled bag. The added pressure and sensation caused Rick's
already rigid cock to swell up to even greater proportions, the head
growing harder and wider as the fresh blood pumped into it.

Rick had gone wild. He was ramming his big cock in and out of the warm,
wet hole as fast as he possibly could. The boy's ass worked with him,
meeting his thrusts and sucking the long hard meat up into the slippery
channel as surely as he sucked Clint's prick down his choking throat.

"Fuck that asshole," Dennis was shouting. "Shoot, Rick. You, too, Clint.
Shoot him full of your hot come... I wanna see it running out his asshole
and dribbling down his fucking chin! Shoot it, men. Shoot that come!"

The boy moaned and gasped for breath as he continued sucking on Clint's 
long prick. His body was quivering as one huge cock pushed his jaws apart
and another slaughtered his sensitive asshole, gorging him to the absolute
limit.

Rick kept crashing into him, slamming his hips forward until his cock hair
brushed the lips of the asshole. He held the boy in place, hard and steady,
as his orgasm began to flood his entire body. His hard thighs quivered a
little against Wade's face as his torso shuddered. "Oh, fuck," he groaned.
"I'm coming... I'm... gonna come... oh, fuck, here comes my load you little
cocksuckin' asshole... get ready for it, baby!"

Thick bolts of hot jism flooded the kid's asshole as Rick poured himself
into him, his thick, throbbing cock convulsing inside the hot asshole, the
long jets of white cream shooting out of his cock and gushing out the
wide-open hole to drip along the boy's thighs.

A moment later and Clint was ready too. He jerked his cock from the boy's
mouth and stroked it furiously with his fist for a second, and his hot
juices came spurting out in sharp jetting streams, spraying the boy all
over the face and chest.

Rick was the first one off the bed. He glanced with a caustic grin at
Wade, still lying on his back and fondling his own cock now. Then Rick
looked at Dennis, who had stopped beating his meat and was watching Wade.

"That's my bitch," Rick said, nodding at Wade, who blushed and could not
help thinking how callous and cruel Rick was to him in public. "You wanna
fuck him?"

"Sure," Dennis said.

"Go ahead," Rick chuckled. "But I warn you... it'll be like falling in a
well, fucking that bitch there. I've already got him just about all fucked
out between my cock and my fist." He then looked at Clint, who was cleaning
his cock off on the other side of the bed. "You're welcome to him too,
buddy," he paid, and then he shrugged and walked nonchalantly from the
room.

The broad, sunny, handsome face was suddenly looming over him. Thick lips
curled up in a mocking smile. "All right, kid," Dennis said. "Get your ass
over here. I got something I want to put in it."

It didn't matter any more. He knew now for sure what Rick thought oil him,
knew that Rick had brought him here to abuse and humiliate him, to punish
him for his love. It just didn't matter any more. They could have him, all
of them, they could do with him as they pleased. Whatever happened, he 
deserved it -- deserved it for having been such a fool about Rick, for
having come here in the first place.

Wade squirmed his body, still on his back, over to the edge of the bed. He
opened his legs wide, resting his ass on the very edge for Dennis'
convenience. Dennis stood between his legs; with his strong tan arms, he
lifted Wade's legs and held them upward over his chest. Wade's ass was
pulled high into the air, stretched open, waiting to be fucked by a strange
new cock.

"Is it true that you've had a fist up this ass, you little sissy?" Dennis
leered down at him.

"Yes," Wade nodded, "it's true. Rick's fist. Rick has stuck his whole
Goddamned arm up me."

"What of it?"

"Then I'd better fuck you good and hard, hadn't I?" Dennis chuckled, his
long hair falling into his face as he leaned downward. "If I don't, you
might not even know you've got a cock up you... that right?"

"Just fuck me," Wade said. "Fuck me and get it over with. That's all you
want from me, all any of you want... just do it, Goddammit... fuck me!"

Dennis wasted no time. He opened the lips of Wade's asshole, preparing the
way for his selfish invasion. He held the lips open and rested the tip of
his cock just at the entrance. And then, with a tremendous thrust from his
pelvis, he sent his big, golden-shrouded prick thundering up Wade's
passageway, tearing at the already widely-stretched flesh. The big rod
furrowed its way up the channel, pushing at the soft folds of flesh, until
Wade felt it all the way inside him, felt Dennis' pubic bones crushing
against his ass, felt their crotch hair intertwining.

Dennis was standing over him, holding the widespread ass up to his belly,
feet planted firmly on the floor. Wade realized rather suddenly the power
and strength the position gave Dennis over him, and he shuddered and gasped
as he felt himself filled to the brim with the young man's column of hard
cock. He backed up against Dennis, nestling his ass against his lower
stomach, his ass muscles working on the hard slab of meat. And then Dennis
began his slow rhythm of long, deliberate, well-calculated thrusts,
followed by a series of rapid, shorter thrusts.

"How's that, queer?" he asked. "Can you feel yourself getting screwed?"

CHAPTER FIVE

"Yes," Wade moaned. "I can feel it. It feels wonderful, Dennis. Keep
fucking me. Fuck my ass, Dennis. Fuck my ass with that hard cock."

Dennis pounded his long, hard prick into the boy then, pounded him swiftly
and deeply, thrusting with his strong lean thighs and his sturdy hips,
withdrawing until the head would pop out of the asslips and then would
force the nice-sized dick back in once again to tear up the overly
sensitive channel. Wade looked straight ahead, his eyes directly level with
the slamming crotch, as the big peter thrust in and out of his hole. He
reached forward with one hand and, grabbing for Dennis' baseball-sized
nuts, unwittingly caused the cock to slip all the way out of him.

Dennis roughly pushed him back onto the bed, grabbed up his legs and
pulled them even closer against his broad chest. "Lay back, bitch," he
growled. "If I want you to play with my balls, then I'll cram them down
your fucking throat when I'm done with your ass. Right now, just lay back
and take cock, you hear me?"

Dennis placed his cock back into position. Wade felt the jabbing entrance
pain all over again as the cock went tearing back up inside him; he winced
with the pain and writhed his head on the mattress. Finally Dennis was
buried inside him all the way again and the pain began to abate, the warmth
and fullness returned. Wade squeezed in on the cock with his asshole until
he caused Dennis to grimace with pain; pleased with himself, he continued
the pressure until Dennis began to slam his cock with furious thrusts in
and out of him once more. The cock battered his asshole savagely and
relentlessly, the strokes lengthening with each thrust.

The pain, however, had completely subsided. Wade knew that Rick really had
done a good job opening up his asshole, just as Rick boasted, and he felt
twinges of pleasure and shame simultaneously as Dennis pounded his cock in
and out of him. It felt great, he was loving it, he was everything Rick
said he was.

"Fuck me, baby," he groaned. "Fuck my ass. Ram the dick to me, Dennis!"

His prostate gland was throbbing wildly as the hard cock stroked and
rubbed against it, bringing on mounting, multiplying fireworks inside his
body. Dennis was screwing him as fast as he could go now, pushing his cock
each time all the way to the hilt and then withdrawing to the tip and
slamming back inside. And the look on Wade's face clearly indicated that
this was how he liked to take cock most. Wade thrashed about on the bed,
his arms and shoulders bouncing forward each time Dennis jammed himself
into him. He sobbed aloud as he felt his prostate gland soaring him toward
orgasm; he began to grind his ass backward to meet the forward advances of 
the heavy weapon attached to Dennis' beautiful, sun-golden crotch.

"Oh, it feels really great now," he moaned. "Come on, Dennis, ride me
hard... let me have every fucking inch of that meat! Give it to me the way
Rick does. Fuck the hell out of me!"

"Oh, you dirty cocksucking bitch," Dennis growled deep in his throat.
"I'll fuck you, all right... I'll fuck you till your ass bleeds, you
fucking pussy!"

"Oh, shit, man," Wade moaned. "I'm gonna come... you're making me come
with that big dick... I can't take much more!" He wiggled his ass back onto
the pounding, steel-driving cock. "Fuck that asshole, man. Shove that meat
in there!"

"Get ready for the load of your life," Dennis grunted as he jabbed himself
deep inside Wade's slimy-hot asshole. "I'm gonna shoot, cocksucker. I'm
coming! Now... here it comes!"

"Shoot it, man," Wade whimpered, feeling the hot juices searing up inside
him. "Oh, that's it... give me your come." He squeezed in on the throbbing
cock with his innermost muscles and milked the cock dry up in his ass.

Dennis stood firmly between his legs, his cock rammed up inside Wade's
ass, as the very last of his come flowed into the warm receptacle. His
heavy breathing subsided, his limbs relaxed, and it was all over. "Pretty
good lay," Dennis winked at Clint across the room as he yanked his cock
from Wade's steaming bowels.

"I'm gonna find out for myself," Clint chuckled.

"Please," Wade said, exhausted and bruised. "No more right now... just
give me time to rest... please, no more."

But there was more -- and there was no time to rest.

Dennis had just pulled himself away when Clint was there to replace him.
He grabbed Wade's legs up and mounted him, guiding his prick with one hand.

They kept giving him poppers, kept giving him grass; Wade kept taking it
all, taking it until nothing in the world seemed more realistic than a
fantasy.

At first he felt two men kissing his body all over, rubbing it gently...
and then, very gradually, so gradually that it was hard to notice, rubbing
him and kissing him harder and harder. Then they began to slowly pat his 
ass, building it up until both were slapping him hard with the palms of
their hands. Even though it felt good.

But then they began to use their belts. And no amount of drugs could
obliterate the pain, nothing could make it seem like a dream-fantasy. It
was real, this pain, and nothing could stop the pain.

He pleaded with Rick, begged for him to stop, but Rick ignored him. He
felt nothing but one stinging slap after another -- leather straps cutting
into his flesh, punishing his ass for all the cocks it had taken.

Wade continued to be; it did no good. At last, mercifully, he surrendered
to the dizziness and the weariness. He blacked out.

When he came to, he was no longer at the house where he had begun. He was
somewhere else -- with different men. Rick had gone oft he was told, with,
some cute blond kid and had dropped him off for his friends to enjoy.

And that was when Wade realized he was going to have to drop Rick. With
pain and disappointment and humiliation -- and with hatred for himself as
well as for Rick -- he made his way back to his own house. Rick was still
out; he thought it just as well.

He only knew that he had to run, had to get away from, Rick and from
himself, or what Rick had made of him. Practicalities were irrelevant. He
packed one suitcase, took all his credit cards and the cash he had on hand,
and took a taxi to the airport.

He awoke in the hotel room and looked around, trying to concentrate,
trying, through his hangover, to recall the events of the night before. The
only thing he could really remember was that he had left Rick two days ago
and, terribly enough, he missed Rick, ached with jealousy to know what he
was doing back in Los Angeles, ached to be with him and to hold him.

Gradually, his memory returned. He knew then that he was in a hotel room
on Miami Beach. He was lying naked in a strange bed. Someone had been with
him, someone had come to this room last night, someone he had met on the
beach... What was his name? He couldn't really even remember what the guy
had looked like, let alone his name.

They had both been drunk, Wade knew that for certain. They had been drunk
and they had collapsed onto the bed... and the man had sucked Wade off
rather sensationally before they had both passed out. And something else
from very early this morning... ah, yes, the kid had dressed and gone. Wade
remembered watching him, half asleep, and on his way out he had promised to
come back later in the afternoon.

Wade wished he could remember what the guy had looked like. But it didn't
really matter. He wouldn't come back, guys like that never came back.

Just trying to trace back the last twenty-four hours was difficult and
painful. He didn't want to face that yet. Before that, there were
twenty-five years to be accounted for. Had everything been building toward
this moment in this strange bed in this tasteless hotel room? It was a
question that frightened him.

The first thing Wade did when he got to Miami was to go out for a drink
and, accidentally, come across a gay bar, one of the smaller downtown
places with an oddly mixed clientele. He sat up at the bar for hours,
stating over the bartender's head into the smoked mirror which reflected
the hundreds of varicolored bottles and the heads of the people at the
tables behind him. He got very drunk and knew that he should stop drinking,
but somehow his glass just kept getting empty and the bartender kept
refilling it. He felt better being drunk, anyway. He didn't have to think
about the details of his situation, he didn't have to remind himself that
he had left Rick and that he was in a strange bar in a strange city and
that he had no idea what he was going to do about everything. Drunk, it was
easy to remember that nothing mattered in the end, or that things would
work themselves out, tomorrow or the next day.

And yet the smoke-filled bar and the sad music on the jukebox was
beginning to depress him. He swirled around on his bar stool and looked out
over the sea of faces. Most of the people were sitting in groups at tables
and he had trouble when he tried to focus on individuals. His eyes shifted
from one table to the next... and finally they rested on a figure standing
against the wall near the doorway. Wade stared, not really aware that he
was staring. The man was too beautiful not to be a little absurd. He was
about twenty-five years old, so suntanned that his skin was almost black, a
man of medium height in a tight-fitting shirt open halfway down his chest,
revealing a mattress of curly black hair, tight corduroy pants which
emphasized the bulge of his crotch and the outline of his thick, stocky
legs. His pants were jammed down inside gold-buckled leather boots which
came almost to his knees, and around his waist there was a very wide,
brown-leather belt. There was a gaudy tattoo on the bicep of one enormous
arm, and his black hair was thick, curly, and unkempt all around his head.
He wore a little gold-circle earring in one ear; now and then when he moved
his head, twisting his thick, bullish neck, the golden band could be seen
underneath the wild curls of his hair. He had a classic Roman nose, dark,
thickly-lashed, extraordinarily sexy eyes, and a full sensual mouth which
curled downward ever so slightly at the corners.

A bleached, flighty queen was sitting beside Wade up at the bar; Wade 
noticed him for the first time when he leaned over and said, "Looking for
company?"

Wade glanced at him, shrugged. "I'm looking at somebody right now who I
wouldn't mind having for company," he said.

The other guy turned on his stool, following Wade's eyes, and then he
laughed and turned back around. "I know what you mean," he sighed. "It's
really a pity about Costas. He's too handsome for his own good."

Wade was captivated by the name. "Do you know him?" he asked. "Is he
American?"

"He's Greek or Spanish or something, I think," the boy said. "And, yes, I
know him, or know about him. He's trouble. Forget him, pure trash... it's
really a shame too, because he is so beautiful. He nearly killed some
queens in here one night because they were carrying on about him, groping
him and all. You have to watch him, he's dangerous. He comes in here and
stands around but if you make a wrong move with him, he goes crazy, starts
slugging."

"You mean he isn't gay?" Wade asked.

"I don't know what he is, except crazy," the queen said. He waved his
hands languidly, and went on, "Sometimes he goes off with men, sometimes he
doesn't. But he gets pissed off very easily and you never know what you
said or did that was wrong. There's no rationality to him, he operates on
instincts and emotions, I think. But just forget about him, honey, he's
trouble all the way."

Wade shrugged away the guy's advice. "I think I need that kind of
distraction tonight," he said.

The queen turned away, somewhat indignant, and his tone and mannerisms
turned bitchy. "Well, just wave ten dollars in front of him and he'll
either drop his pants or put you in the hospital," the queen said, lighting
another cigarette from the butt of his previous one.

Wade continued staring at Costas. The man did not seem to be so
ill-humored, at least not tonight. Once somebody walked by him, an older
man in a business suit, made some passing remark, and Costas tilted his
wild-looking head back and laughed -- a sudden flash of startling white
teeth against his dark face. His eyes were following the man who'd made him
laugh, and, as his gaze swept back toward its former direction, the dark
eyes caught Wade staring. Costas looked for a moment, aloofly, but knowing
that he was being watched, and then turned away again. He was holding a 
long-necked beer bottle on the thigh of one leg which was stuck behind him
on the wall, and the proximity of the bottle to his crotch created an
extremely enticing picture.

Wade ordered another drink and continued to watch the young stud for about
thirty more minutes. Costas appeared oblivious; once he glanced over and
met Wade's eyes again -- then, as before, he looked disinterestedly away.

It was disconcerting and frustrating. Wade shifted his eyes to some of the
others in the bar, wondering if perhaps there was something about himself
which the man didn't like. After a couple of more drinks, he decided to
find out.

Costas had dropped his leg from the wall, placed the beer bottle aside,
and sauntered cockily back towards the bathrooms. Quite blatantly, Wade
followed him.

The toilet was dirty, smelly, the walls covered with graffiti. Huge cocks
were drawn everywhere, scrawled over desperate messages, telephone numbers,
addresses. Costas was standing up at the urinal, his broad, sinuous back
facing Wade. He was standing with his legs spread far apart as he pissed,
so that the clean outline of his ass in the tight corduroy pants was
alluringly prominent.

Wade stepped up to the adjoining urinal. He unzipped the fly of the shorts
he was wearing, tugged out his cock, and stood there trying to piss.
Somehow it didn't work; he was too nervous, too aware of the man beside
him. He glanced over through the corners of his eyes. Costas was finishing,
shaking his big, limp, almost black cock with his hand. Apparently he was
wearing no underwear, for the curly black crotch hair sprouted out from his
open fly along with his dick. While Wade stood there, Costas continued to
shake his cock with his hand, then he flushed the urinal and suddenly
stepped aside to lean against the wall, facing Wade from the side, his
prick still hanging out in his hand. His mouth twisted in an arrogant
grimace as his dark eyes flashed across Wade, and he said, "All right,
queen, cut out the games; I know what you want."

Taken off guard, Wade nervously tucked his cock back into his shorts and
turned to face the man.

"Well, now," Costas grinned. "Just how much bread are you willing to part
with, faggot?"

"I'll give you ten," Wade said.

Costas thought it over for a moment. "Ten bucks, and I do to you what I 
want," he said.

"Fine with me," Wade shrugged, relinquishing all concern.

Costas wheeled around and went to close and lock the door of the john.
Then he leaned against the door, staring at Wade, still fondling his prick
with one hand. "Get your pants down," he ordered.

Wade pulled down the shorts, then his underwear, pulling them over the
sandals on his feet without much difficulty. He placed the clothing across
the sink basin. Then he walked up to the handsome hustler, reached out with
one hand and began to stroke Costas' big cock. Costas stood immobile,
watching rather contemptuously, not even bothering to remove his own hand
from where it was wrapped around his cock. Wade squeezed the man's hand
around, the prick and played with both hand and dick at the same time until
the cockflesh began to swell and expand and stood rock-hard and ready,
sticking straight out of Costas' open fly.

Nothing else was spoken between them. Abruptly, Costas grabbed Wade by the
shoulders and slammed him up against the dirty bathroom wall. His hands
worked quickly, unbuckling the heavy belt, dropping his pants down his
hairy, muscular thighs all the way to the knees. He grabbed Wade's legs out
from under him, raising them into the air and wrapping them around his
waist. He kept Wade suspended from the floor by pressing his back hard into
the wall and moving his own sturdy body up under Wade's. Wade locked his
legs around the man's waist and clung tightly to the thick neck with both
arms.

Costas positioned himself so that his cock was pointing straight upward at
Wade's ass. At the moment he shoved upward, Wade managed to drop his
buttocks down; the cock, by their mutually well-timed movements, was
plunged straight up into Wade's asshole. The head went searing inside,
burning and filling Wade with that familiar, painful shock -- the shock of
having a big cock rammed straight inside his ass without the benefit of
lubrication. Costas waited only a moment, then he ground his entire prick
up into the warm asshole, shoving it until Wade's ass was connected to
Costas' hairy crotch at the balls.

Immediately, he began to plunge his cock up and down and thus in and out
of Wade's ass, thrusting by sinking on his haunches and then lunging back
upward, pile driving the cock to the hilt. Wade groaned and held tightly to
the strong, hairy body, the only thing which prevented him from falling to
the floor. He squeezed in with the muscles of his anal canal, gripping the
long thick cock tightly as it tore its way in and out of his ass.

CHAPTER SIX

Costas was holding to Wade's naked legs with both arms, and once Wade
reached down and ran his fingers over the colorful tattoo; Costas laughed
at him and slammed his cock in extra hard, so hard that Wade winced and
banged his head back against the wall.

He was aching all over by the time the man got done with him. His ass
ached from the brutal fucking, his back and neck felt sore from the awkward
position.

Costas never spoke. He simply slammed his cock in and out of the asshole
until he shot a huge load of come, some of which dripped out and splashed
across Wade's thighs. Then the man jerked his cock out and, placing his
hands on Wade's waist, lifted Wade down until his feet were planted on the
floor. Wade leaned against the wall for a moment trying to catch his
breath. Costas stuffed his big cock back into his pants, zipped up his fly,
and stuck out one dark, callused hand.

Wade crossed to the sink, got out his wallet, extracted a ten-dollar bill,
and handed it to the bored, hustler. Costas turned and left.

After he had dressed, Wade went back into the bar and paid his bill.
Several people glanced at him with knowing, mocking smiles; he refused to
look at them, refused to be embarrassed or ashamed over the degrading
little episode. He had wanted a cock up his ass and he had gotten one -- to
hell with everything else.

Costas was sitting up at the bar, drinking, looking as cocky and aloof as
ever. He did not even glance at Wade.

Out on the street, the night air felt cool and good on his face; it erased
the smoke and the heat and the foul odor of that john. Out on the street,
it was as if nothing had happened, as if that quick; frenzied incident in
that toilet with a stranger had never occurred. Wade was so drunk that he
knew once he made it back to his hotel and went to sleep. None of it would
be remembered in the morning, anyway. At least, he hoped it wouldn't be
remembered.

He was walking down the sidewalk, telling himself that he wouldn't
remember and that nothing mattered. Suddenly somebody was beside him,
walking with him. Somebody handsome. Somebody whom he thought he'd seen
earlier in the bar, but couldn't tell for sure.

The boy was talking to him and he tried to answer, although he really just
wanted to be left alone. He caught the name "Paul", some question about
being new in town, another question as to the destination of his walk.

He couldn't cope with it. "Look," he said finally, the words coming out
sounding slurred, even to himself. "If you want to fuck, then come on... if
not, leave me alone."

The boy stopped speaking. They walked together back to the hotel.

Wade went into the shower. He wanted to wash all traces of Florida off him
before making a start back home, all traces of that sad, pathetic, drunken,
and meaningless little encounter the night before. It was the first time he
had had sex when he could not even recall what the person looked like the
following morning. Things had gone too far. He had to go back to Los
Angeles and settle things. He couldn't stay here and start a new series of
meaningless sexual encounters.

He decided not to even think about facing Rick. Rick wouldn't go anywhere
until he knew where Wade was. After all, Wade was his meal ticket. If Rick
didn't know anything else in relation to Wade -- except how to turn him on
-- he was certainly sure that living with him was preferable to trying to
make it on his own.

Turn the whole business off, Wade told himself, until you are back home.

He had just gotten dressed when a knock came on the door. At first, Wade
just stood there, not certain, and thinking that the last thing he needed
to add to his confusion was to have that silly trick from last night
actually show up again.

"Who is it?" he called sharply.

"It's only me," came the reply. "Paul."

Paul. Yes, that was his name. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he
just be honest with the boy? Open the door and say sorry -- sorry, but I'm
going back to Los Angeles to my sonofabitch lover, and it's been nice
talking with you and even nicer being sucked off by you, but just keep your
pants on, Paul, baby, because I don't have the energy to make it with you
again.

"Wade?" came the voice from outside the door. "Are you going to let me
in?"

As bright as the room was with the midday sun glowing on the curtains, it
brightened a hundred times when he saw Paul's smile of greeting.

"Hey," he said cheerfully. "You're all dressed and ready to face the day."
He glanced around the room a moment and then said, "Let's go get something
to eat."

His actions took Wade off balance. He had been sure the kid was going to
be hot for more sex and disappointed to see him dressed. Wade was staring
at him.

"Is something wrong?" Paul asked. "The way you're looking at me, I thought
there was something wrong with my face."

"No, Paul," Wade said. "There's nothing wrong. And there's certainly
nothing wrong with your face. It is exceptionally nice to look at."

"Thank you," he replied, and it was a combination of acceptance and
appreciation Wade was unused to; it was as though Paul knew he was
good-looking and was sincerely glad to find out someone else thought so
too.

They stood staring at one another. He was very nice, Wade thought, he
wasn't just some silly trick at all.

"I didn't expect to see you again," Wade said. "We were both... well,
awfully drunk last night. It's a little embarrassing, isn't it?"

"Yes," Paul grinned, "it is. I didn't know whether to come back or not. I
didn't know if you'd want to see me again."

"Why did you come back?" Wade asked him.

The boy shrugged, looked down.

"Come on," Wade said. "Let's go get something to eat."

"You know, it's funny," Wade said. "I spend several hours answering a
question, and it ends up that I've asked myself about a hundred new ones."

"Okay," Paul answered, "if you say it's funny, I won't argue."

Wade knew what he meant, but there was no reason to say anything more
about it. They had eaten a long and leisurely lunch, then walked, or rather
wandered through blocks of sunlit, palm lined streets while Wade poured out
much of the story of Rick and himself...

Paul was an excellent listener, only occasionally asking a question which
led into more details, and sometimes he would break in to point out some
place of interest: a new lust-hotel, a famous shop, a gay bar.

"You know," Wade said finally. "I've been talking about myself all this
time, but you haven't told me one thing about you."

"Is that important?" Paul asked with a quizzical look. "You'll be on a
plane before the day is over and back in California tonight. What
difference will it make if you know anything about me or not?"

They were standing at a corner waiting for the light to change. Wade
turned and looked him square in the face. It was like seeing him for the
first time. Still an exceptionally attractive young man, but something much
more. For a brief instant he remembered him kneeling between his legs in
the hotel room, his hand firmly around his throbbing cock, and heard the
echo of his words: "I'm going to blow you." Then it was replaced by the
actuality of his deep, intelligent eyes looking at him in a way Wade was
not accustomed to -- curious, seeking something inside which had nothing to
do with sweating, anxious sensuality, stiff pricks, wide-open assholes,
white come.

"It makes a difference," Wade heard himself saying. "Because I'm not,
going back to Los Angeles today."

"When did you make that decision?"

"Just now."

"Why?"

Wade thought about it for a minute. "I'm not sure I know, Paul," he said.
"It has something to do with what I've been telling you about Rick. And it
has something to do with you, I suppose. I want to know more about you. I
can only do that by staying in Miami."

"What about your job? And your house... and the car you left at the
airport? You can't just walk away from everything."

"Are you trying to convince me to go back home?"

They looked intently at one another and then they both smiled at the same
time. It was the only answer needed.

"I'll have to make a phone call to Greg today," Wade thought aloud. "He
can take care of most things for me. He's the best friend I have."

"Yes," Paul said, "I gathered that from what you told me. It's too bad
Rick isn't."

"Isn't what?"

"Your closest friend."

Wade knew the minute they walked into his apartment that it was all Paul.
He had picked it out. He had decorated it. He had selected the furniture,
the colors. And there was nothing phony, pretentious, or fancy about it. It
was masculine without being defensive -- modern without being
attention-getting.

Paul carded the bag of groceries he had purchased into the kitchen and
then returned to stand in the doorway facing Wade.

"If you like it," he said, "stay awhile."

"I like it," Wade said. "And I know why. The place is simply an extension
of you."

"Thanks," he grinned; he walked over to the windows and pulled up the
rolled bamboo curtains. "Welcome to the Atlantic Ocean."

The view was surprising. The sun was getting low and great piles of clouds
above the blue-green ocean were being tinted with hues of pink and violet.
Between the apartment and the beach there was nothing but a few blocks of
private homes.

They stood together staring out the window. "I could watch it for hours,"
Paul said.

Wade turned, standing very close to him, and Paul faced him. Wade could
feel the warm touch of his breath on his face, and at close range his brown
eyes seemed wider and deeper than ever. Wade was still looking into them
when he felt Paul's lips pressing against his own with just enough pressure
to cause a dry electricity to flash its message into him.

Paul moved back from him, making Wade feel as if he were being deserted.
Wade put a hand against the flat of his chest.

Then he began to unbutton Paul's shirt. Paul stood silent and motionless,
as though he were a slave at Wade's command. When the material had parted,
Wade put his hand inside. He was slimmer, but more muscular, than Wade had
expected. The pectorals flared under his exploring hand; Wade ran his hand
from side to side, caressing his skin and feeling the hardening of his
nipples. A soft sigh escaped him, but he did not move or try to change the
tempo of their contact.

With both hands, Wade pulled the shirt up out of his pants and took it
off. Square-shouldered, a bit boyish. Wade opened the waistband of Paul's
slacks, pulled down the zipper, and, holding the pants on both sides,
lowered them so he could step out of them after slipping off his sandals.
Paul's legs were lean, the skin stretched tautly over the sinew and muscle.
Although his chest was hairless, his legs bore a smooth, dark; downy
covering. When he put his pants aside, Wade drew his hands up along the
outer contours of Paul's legs, trying not to pay direct attention to the
promised prize which was already right in front of his face.

Paul was wearing jockey-style shorts, probably one size larger than he
needed for his slim waist and flat hips. But caged within the pouch was a
mound far beyond the proportions his body or his hands might have
suggested. And it was growing quite rapidly even as Wade slid his fingers
inside the elastic waistband.

Wade pulled the flexible material out toward him, and the fine-sized,
column of Paul's cock, freed from its entrapment, rose up sharply to lie
against the rigid muscles of his stomach. Its great, flaring head gave more
than a hint of what Wade revealed a moment later when he slipped the
undershorts all the way to the floor. Paul stepped out of them; Wade put
the discarded garment with his other clothes while he stood there waiting,
erect and wide-legged and ready for Wade's next move or comment.

Wade studied the splendid body. He could see the full excellence of his
physical condition; a body which was a complete unit, well-kept, thoroughly
used -- the end result of hard work and natural sports development, rather
than concentrated, self-centered efforts. Everything about him was natural,
from the full crown of sun-lightened brown hair to the confidently relaxed
posture to the upthrust of his swollen cock.

"Where is your bedroom?" Wade asked.

He motioned with his head toward the hallway which led beyond the kitchen.
And he stepped past Wade to lead the way.

Walking behind him, Wade had a new perspective on the young man's body.
His backside with all solid muscle, high and round, and incredibly sensual,
inviting to be touched, kissed, even -- no, of course not. That wasn't his
scene, Wade knew that already. Certainly no man had ever put his prick into
the asshole hidden deep between those luscious cheeks.

In the few seconds it took to get to his bedroom, Wade also noticed that
his soft, smooth tan did not stop at his asscheeks. True, that area was
lighter in color, almost had an airbrush effect, toned down at that 
precious zone. Obviously he had someplace where he could sunbathe in the
nude. Wade would have to ask him about it. But that and the rest of the
world could wait.

Paul stood watching him as Wade quickly got out of his clothes. Then Wade
went to sit on the edge of the bed. Paul walked to where he was sitting,
stood with his legs planted wide apart on the floor before him. Wade
reached out and softly stroked the cock. "It's so big," he said. "I
wouldn't think you'd have such a big cock, for some reason."

Paul only laughed, good-naturedly. "Why don't you suck on it a little
while?" he said.

Gently, Wade took the column of hard flesh into his mouth. He sucked on it
until Paul was overcome with excitement; they moved onto the bed together,
Paul stretched out and extended one arm for Wade to join him. A moment
later, Wade was against him full length, chest to chest, belly to belly,
leg to leg, their thrusting cocks sparring with each other almost
independently of their movements.

The first true joining was their mouths, and the contact became wild,
anxious, almost desperate, as they fought to plunge their tongues deeper
and deeper into each other and to taste more fully the special and personal
flavor of initial passion. And the wonderful struggle seemed to continue
for hour after marvelous hour.

As though their joining had resulted in an increased ability to read one
another's minds, their mouths moved apart on mutual command, and each began
to seek out new areas of pleasure, together and individually. There was no
pattern or order to it. They licked and kissed and bit and sucked at ears,
necks, shoulders, nipples, arms, fingers, navels. Their lips and tongues
and fingers pressed and pulled and touched at hips and thighs and buttocks
and backs and calves, multiplying the possibilities of nerve reaction.

Wade had moved into an unworldly state of excessive wonder, unlike any he
had ever known. For the first time he was not only aware of the taste and
feel and erotic odor of every part of a man's body, but was in tune with
the increasing pace of uncontrollable thrill building throughout his whole
being.

When Paul's exploration of his body reached rapidly towards his sex
organs, Wade had to warn him that he was dangerously close to orgasm.

"Take it very easy on me, Paul," he whispered. "I don't want to come
before you do."

Paul's voice came back, thick with excitement. "I'm about to shoot my
load, too..." Then he relaxed, but without taking his hand from Wade's
prick. He was doing something with his fingers to keep Wade at the very
highest pitch of feeling without bringing him over that ultimate crest.

CHAPTER SEVEN

And now, Wade knew, that cock was waiting for him, the super-swollen prick
dripping freely with an excessive flood of lubrication; the prodigious
balls hanging hot and loose between his opened thighs. Wade put one hand
around the big cock and pulled its heavy length up from Paul's stomach to
his lips; he tasted the delicious richness of Paul's juice.

His other hand came up under the balls, lifting them and massaging them,
and feeling the great reservoir of power which they contained. His tongue
licked hungrily at the big cockhead, and slowly he tested his ability to
take its pulsing roundness into his mouth.

He could feel Paul react, his whole body vibrating, and Paul's soft cries
of desire were telling Wade how good he was making him feel. Wade moved
further down on his cockshaft. How much of the massive pole could he
engulf? How many of those exposed nerve endings in that stupendous prick
could he arouse?

The further he went the easier it seemed to be accept the size of Paul's
dick. He felt a combination of the satisfaction it was bringing him and the
obvious exaltation he had produced in Paul.

"Oh, suck it, baby," Paul was moaning. "Suck that cock. Yeah... there. It
feels so good, so good. Suck it... take as much of it as you can. Eat me,
Wade. Eat my dick."

And the proof of Wade's ability came more quickly than he had expected. He
reached the ultimate goal of his sexual odyssey -- the entire length of
Paul's big cock was buried within him, the head of it all the way into the
back of his throat.

"Oh, baby," Paul suddenly called out. "I'm going to shoot! I'm going to
shoot my come down your throat... suck, Wade, suck it, suck that dick!"

And an instant later he had gone down on Wade as far as Wade was on him --
and with a violence so intense Wade thought he heard the accompanying
explosion of thunder, they both began to come. It was impossible for Wade
to tell whether it was Paul's bursting jolts of semen he was more conscious
of, or his own jetting flood. They rocked and quivered with the energy of
the dual release. Wade could feel the pumping of Paul's balls in his hand 
which surrounded the big sac, and urged them to deliver more and more of
the thick cream. Paul's lips and mouth and throat were pulling a matching
portion of churning semen from Wade's cock.

And even after the last traces of orgasm and passion had gone from their
bodies, they still lay plunged full length into each other's mouths,
drifting from fiery passion into an unequaled state of exquisite
enchantment. Wade had always heard the term "afterglow". And now, lying in
a prolonged sixty-nine position with a young man whom he did not
understand, he felt sure he knew what the term meant.

He was a little bit in love with this stranger named Paul.

The remainder of that week passed like a dream to Wade. For the first time
in years, he was sleeping while it was dark and living while the sun was
shining. But more importantly, for the first time in his life, he was
finding out what it was like to share a life with someone.

He was sleeping late every morning, only vaguely aware when Paul left his
arms and the apartment to go to his job. The tension and exhaustion of
years of crazy schedules, noisy clubs, long band practices, an undefinable
loneliness had never been dissipated when he'd started living with Rick.

He had only gone from one sort of pressure at work to another at home.

He believed Paul when he told him after several days how much better he
was looking. It was not only the tan he was building up from their
afternoons together at the beach; he felt better, he was happier, and he
simply looked it.

He would make a big breakfast for himself when he got up, clean the
apartment, and be ready for an equally expansive lunch with Paul when he
came back from his job at the hotels. Often they took the meals as picnics
and spent their time on the sand. They swam hard, walked endless miles
along the ocean, and talked for hours and hours. The odd part was that they
never seemed to talk about anything except Wade.

Then, of course, there was the lovemaking. Every day. And more than once a
day that first week. Open, uninhibited, marvelous sexual exploration and
satisfaction. And with Paul it never had the aura of insatiability which
had made sex with Rick so urgent, desperate, and violent.

Paul came home from work one afternoon exceedingly horny. With a cock the
size of Paul's, it wasn't easy for him to hide the fact that he had a
hard-on.

"Wade, would you do me a favor and get my rocks off?" he asked quite
frankly. "By hand or mouth... or even by slamming a Goddamn window down on
it!"

"Of course," Wade answered, putting down the silverware and dishes he had
been setting the table with. "What's the problem?"

"The problem," he said, already shedding his clothes, "is those two jock
college boys who checked into the hotel day before yesterday. They
apparently came down to Miami Beach to set up a nonstop sex orgy, and they
are doing their damndest to get me to join in."

He was nude now, and Wade could see the heavy ooze of clear juice welling
up from the head of his cock. Paul sat on the sofa, putting one hand firmly
around the cockshaft to milk up more of the lubrication.

"Oh, shit, I can beat it myself," he said, spreading the slick fluid over
his tool.

"No, you don't," Wade told him as he sat on the floor between Paul's legs
and took hold of his cock. "Tell me what happened, and let me enjoy myself.
I like sucking your cock, Paul... among other things." And he went down on
the prick, delighting in the taste of Paul's body and in the feel of the
throbbing hard dick in his mouth.

"Well, these guys are eating all their meals in their rooms, and a lot of
other things besides, judging by who I've seen in there and who I've seen
going in there. I guess athletes specialize in athletes, but the group up
there this morning was enough to bend the mind."

He stopped talking suddenly and took in a sharp breath.

"Oh, that feels good, Wade," he exclaimed, grinning at the man who was
busily sucking his cock.

Wade moved back from the dick to return the smile; Paul took the
opportunity to slide forward on the sofa so that his balls were hanging
over the edge. Wade took hold of them with one hand to increase his
excitement.

"Go on with your story," Wade said, and he engulfed the inviting, purplish
head again.

"This was about eleven o'clock. They had called room service and put in a
big order. They knew I was on duty from the two previous days, and they've
been cruising me pretty openly on each occasion. When I knocked on the 
door, someone called out that it was open, so I pushed it aside and wheeled
the cart into the living room of their suite. There were seven guys in
there, all with drinks, and not one of them had a stitch of clothes on.
They all looked like members of a college football team. Enough muscles
among them for three times as many guys... and plenty of cock too,
believe."

Wade stopped working on his cock long enough to ask, "What were they doing
when you came in?"

"Waiting for me. I don't mean to be conceited about it, but there was no
doubt, that the two who lived there had told the five guests about me. I
felt as though I had walked out onto a stage with seven glowing spotlights
on me. They were all sitting around bare-ass on the couch and chairs, one
was on the floor. None of them had hard-ons exactly... but they weren't
exactly relaxed either. One of the guys who is registered there closed the
door behind me... started talking, introducing me to the others. Of course,
I haven't the damnedest idea of what their names were. All I wanted to do
was get the hell out of there."

"Why?" Wade asked Paul. "What the hell difference would it make to have a
swing with some of them?"

"You really don't understand me, do you, Wade?" he said. "If I had decided
to have sex with any of them, would I have come back home and asked you to
do this?"

"No, I guess not."

"Would you have followed through if you had been there? Would you have let
them talk you into stripping down, and going at it hot and heavy with any
or all of them?"

"I'm not sure," Wade said. "But then, they probably wouldn't go after me
the way they did you. It's different with you."

"How?"

"You are exceptionally handsome... and something about you spells 'Sex' to
everyone."

"And you think this is an advantage?"

Wade couldn't answer the question.

Paul stood up suddenly, grasped Wade by the upper arms, and lifted him 
bodily from the floor. As soon as Wade was on his feet facing him, Paul
covered his mouth with his, parted Wade's lips with his tongue, and plunged
it deep into Wade's mouth. Before Wade could recover from the pleasant
surprise, Paul had already opened his trousers and pushed them down with
his shorts. He began to fondle Wade's cock until it had reached a full
erection.

Paul transferred some of the slick lubrication from his cock to Wade's,
and in a very short time he had Wade extremely aroused as he rode his hand
smoothly up over the cockhead and all the way to the base. Wade matched the
motion on Paul's big prong; each of them kept increasing the pace and
following suit until their, hands were slimy tunnels of eroticism.

Paul stepped back to the sofa, pulling Wade with him by the hand on his
dick as well as the strong suction of his mouth, and sat down again. The
movement forced Wade to kneel facing him, his knees on either side of
Paul's. They were going to shoot off on one another, Wade knew, and from
the increasingly rapid pace of their breathing and the strangling sounds
they were making, Wade knew that the moment of orgasm was not far away.

At the very last instant, just as Wade could feel the first squeeze of the
orgasm deep between his legs, Paul pulled his mouth from his with a loud
wet sound, threw his head forward, and captured his straining cock with his
lips.

There was no stopping at this apex of sensation. Wade began to come, and
at the unceasing stimulation of his hand, so did Paul. Paul's thick,
splashing ejaculations coursed on Wade's hand and arm, onto Paul's stomach
and chest, dripping down Paul's abdomen towards their original source. At
the same time, Wade's balls were sending out their own pulsing jets of
jism, and Paul was receiving them sweetly, almost greedily.

Tuesday was Paul's day off at the hotel, so Monday night the two of them
went out for a good seafood dinner and then went bar-hopping at Paul's
suggestion.

Wade found the bars in Miami much like those he had been to in Los
Angeles. There was the eternal cruising, the continual search for a new bed
partner, a good-looking trick, or even a possible new lover. Even the guys
who were not strictly out looking for sex still were looking. Wade knew
that it was as impossible for a stranger to walk into a gay bar and not be
noticed as it would be for an alligator to slither up to the bar and order
a drink.

And even though he was not as good-looking as Paul, Wade found himself
receiving just as much attention because of his newness as Paul was getting
for his special attractiveness.

Wade really didn't pay much attention to the strong glances and occasional
leading remarks made to him. It was interesting, even somewhat flattering.
But he had no intention of going off with anyone or bringing anyone back to
Paul's apartment, even though Paul had given his permission for Wade to do
so. And the last five days had made it clear that Paul wasn't out to pick
up another guy, either.

Wade knew that it was a convenient arrangement and nothing more. They were
infatuated with one another, but Paul understood quite well how Wade felt
about Rick, and he knew that despite all the problems between them, Rick
was the man Wade would eventually be going home to. At the same time, Wade
was smart enough to realize that his meeting Paul was the luckiest accident
of his life.

About eleven o'clock they arrived at what was apparently Paul's favorite
bar. It was a large circular room with a ceiling dominated by a
magnificently intricate chandelier. There was a continuous wall of seats
along the outer wall with tiny tables which could be put together or left
separate, and in the middle there was a circular bar surrounded by stools,
except where a baby grand cut into the almost-complete wheel.

It was the most crowded of all the bars Paul had taken him to, but Wade
noticed the unused piano while they were waiting for their drinks to be
served.

"Don't they ever have a pianist?" Wade inquired.

"Yes," Paul told him. "A fellow named Sammy. I wonder why he's not here."

"Maybe he's on his break."

Paul shook his head. "I doubt it. If he were working tonight, there would
be at least five cocktail glasses up there. I don't think he can play
unless he's drinking." When the bartender was setting their two glasses
before them, Paul asked, "Henry, where's Sammy tonight?"

"Beats me, Paul. Tonight, or last night... or Saturday night. He hasn't
shown up."

"I'll bet Rodney is sore as hell," Paul laughed.

"Yeah," Henry commented. "But what's he gonna do? It isn't easy to pick up
another pianist."

Paul looked at Wade with a cunning smile. "Want to earn some money?" he
asked.

Wade looked around the club. The crowd was comparatively quiet,
good-looking; neither the screaming queen group nor the heavy-drinking
crowd. They would probably be a good audience for jazz piano music.

"Why not?" Wade answered. "That is, if the hours aren't too long."

"I hear the money is real good," Paul said, then turned to the bartender
and asked, "Is Rod around now?"

"He's upstairs, I think," the bartender said. "Wait a minute. I'll call
and see."

He went to the other side of the bar and picked up a phone there, an
intercom instrument, Wade noted. A minute or so later, he was back.

"He's in his apartment. Says come on up, and the drinks are on the house."

"Thanks, Henry," Paul said, pushing a five-dollar bill across the bar.
"Take, out for the drinks, anyway. This is strictly a business call."

When the change had come back, Paul told Wade to bring his glass and
follow him. They went back toward the front entrance, and just across from
the little checkroom they turned up the stairway which said "Lounges".
Halfway up, Paul stopped and faced him.

"Don't let Rod con you, Wade," Paul warned. "He's famous for that. This
bar is a gold mine and he can afford top money. I heard him arguing with
Sammy once, and he was saying that he made more money here than he could
get in New York. You'd know about what the pay should be, so don't feel you
have to do him any favors. He's just an acquaintance as far as I'm
concerned. I suggested this for your benefit, not his."

"Okay, Paul, thanks. I appreciate the interest." He grinned down at Wade
and they went to the top. There were three doors, one marked "Private".
Paul pressed the buzzer.

Wade wasn't prepared for the man who opened the door to them. He had not
formed any definitive picture of what Rod might look like, but what he
encountered was the farthest thing for any image he could have conjured of
the owner of a gay bar. Rod was about six feet four, weighed over two
hundred pounds, and could have passed for a rancher or a lumberjack.

He had the strong, sculptured face and body of a true outdoorsman, with 
thick black hair, wide, squarish dark-blue eyes, a straight nose, and the
kind of clean-edged mouth Wade had always associated with carved marble. At
the moment he was bare from the waist up, obviously in the midst of getting
dressed. His huge chest, the crevice like a canyon, was covered with a
mattress of curly hairs, some of which had gone gray. Wade judged him to be
about thirty-five.

"How's the Miami Beach virgin?" he called out in a deep baritone voice
which suited his appearance. He clasped Paul by the upper arm until Wade
was introduced, then extended both hands to shake Wade's and to
simultaneously clasp their joined hands in a muscular grip.

"Good to know you, Wade. Come in and sit down. Let me freshen your
drinks."

"They're brand new," Paul said, going toward the built-in bar across the
room, "but if I can, use a taller glass, I'll pour it over some ice."

CHAPTER EIGHT

"The bucket's right there," Rod said, his eyes following Paul. "Make
yourself a big one, get real drunk, and give me an even chance of raping
you."

"You haven't got that much booze, not even downstairs." Paul's tone was
bantering; Rod took everything as a joke, laughed heartily, and turned to
face Wade.

"I've been propositioning Paul since the first night we met," he
announced. "But I haven't made it into that beautiful ass of his yet." Paul
had finished pouring his cocktail onto the rocks, and Rod turned toward
him. "For five hundred bucks, Paul?" It sounded like a private joke -- at
the same time it didn't sound funny at all.

Paul's expression did not alter. He neither frowned nor smiled, only gazed
with a searching stare.

"Wade came up to talk about playing your deserted piano," Paul reminded
Rod. "What happened to Sammy?"

"Who the fuck knows?" Rod snorted, picking up a clean shirt draped over
the back of a chair and beginning to put it on. "He left here at closing
time Friday with a couple of guys from Ohio, I think. I heard them talking
about Key West and the possibility of going there and picking up some
sailors. You know, once in a while Sammy sobers up long enough to remember
what sex is, and then he goes off on a cruising jag. The trouble is, he can
work while he's drinking, but he can't play the piano while he's sucking
cocks, so I'm the one who's left high and dry." Then he swung around toward
Wade. "Except," he said, "you're supposed to be a piano player too."

"That's right," Wade said. "Jazz. Cocktail. Rock, if I have to."

"Do you sing too?"

"That's not too important. I see you drink, though."

"When I'm working," Wade said, "a highball like this will last me maybe
two hours."

Rod nodded. "Is Paul your agent?"

Wade laughed. "No. I'm just sharing his apartment right now."

Rod's eyebrows shot up. "Lovers?"

"Are you publishing a Goddamned newspaper, Rod?" Paul said. "Or are you
just a nosy sonofabitch?"

"A thousand dollars, Paul!" he said. "I mean it, and you have a witness.
I'll give you a grand in cash this minute. All you have to do is open up
that nice little ass of yours and let me in!"

Paul drained his glass and set it down hard on the bar. "I better get out
of here, Wade, or he'll never talk business to you."

"Yeah, why don't you split, Paul," Rod said. "You're distracting me from
important things."

Paul winked at Wade as he passed on the way to the door. "I'll see you
downstairs."

Rod stood staring at the door after Paul had gone out. He still had not
buttoned his shirt after putting it on; Wade could not keep his eyes from
wandering over the splendid chest, and from surreptitiously dropping even
lower to the man's crotch, which revealed an interesting imprint beneath
his trousers.

Rod seemed to be easily distracted from one idea to another. "I've got a
thing about that kid," he said. "And I suppose a lot of guys in this town
who know him are in the same boat with me. He's really different from the
rest. I'm not sure how or why because I only know him from the bar and from
a few reasonably respectable parties. But whatever he is, I'd like to get 
next to it once." He laughed. "But then I'd like to get next to a lot of
guys in the same way, so what the hell. Let's talk about your playing. Have
you ever played in a gay club before?"

Wade nodded.

"There are some problems, you know," Rod said. "You have to play it cool
with the customers. I mean, be friendly, but distant. I don't hire people
to make it easier for them to find sex. A pianist at the bar is in a great
position to cruise and be cruised."

"You don't have to worry about that, Rod. When I'm playing, my mind is
strictly on my music. Besides, I'm not the kind of guy to go looking for
bed company. I live with someone and have for a long time now."

"In Los Angeles?"

"Yes."

"Is he there now?"

"Yes, he is."

"And you're here?" The look accompanying his obvious question already got
his meaning across.

"It's kind of a vacation. You should know that I'll most likely be going
back within a week or so."

He shrugged. "I expect Sammy will be back before that. I can only hire you
on a night-to-night basis, you understand. Despite all his faults, Sammy
has preference on this job."

"That's fine. We understand, each other then. When would you like me to
start?"

"Right now, if you're ready. Or do you need music?"

"It's all up here," Wade answered, tapping the side of his head. "Suppose
I play a couple of sets and see how your customers like it. If I'm not
right, there's no point in wasting my time or yours."

"Fine," Rod said. He walked across the room to shake hands with Wade. "Go
downstairs and start working. I'll be down shortly and we can talk money
then."

"Great," Wade answered, and he turned away to go to the door. As he did,
Rod gave him a kind of friendly pat on the ass, a pat which lingered for
just a second longer than a purely, offhand gesture could account for.
There was absolute silence until Wade had opened the door.

"Think nothing of it, Wade. I've got a thing for asses."

"Well?" Paul asked Wade when he came up to the bar.

"Well, I'm about to go to work for awhile."

"Great."

"You don't mind?"

"Of course not. It was my idea, wasn't it?"

Wade grabbed him by the shoulder. "This was probably exactly what I
needed. I was beginning to feel kind of useless. This may only be for one
night, or a few -- till Sammy comes back -- but at least I'm doing
something."

Paul turned and called to Henry, the bartender. He introduced Wade and
told him he was going to play piano for a while. Wade ducked through the
gate under the bar, opened the piano, and made himself comfortable on the
bench. Henry snapped on a switch and abruptly there was a soft spotlight on
Wade. Then he realized that the conversations had hushed and most of the
eyes were on him, interested and expectant.

That familiar excitement coursed through him and said the words, "Show
Tunes." It was always good to start with them at least. He put a program
through his mind and then started to play; the full room of people seemed
to condense into the single person of Paul sitting on the stool closest to
him.

A vocalist had once told him that her method of putting a song across to
an audience was to find just one person in it and sing directly to him. She
said it made the performance a personal act, and helped her to give the
proper phrasing and meaning to the lyrics. Wade had found that this could
work for him, too, when he was playing solo. In most instances, the singe
person from the audience would not be someone he knew, but just a fact
which seemed more receptive to his performance than the average.

But Paul became that object not simply because he was sitting close enough
for Wade to see him easily against the glare of the spotlight, but as the
one person who would best understand what Wade was trying to say with his 
music. He had spent most of the past week telling about himself in words.
This was another way of transmitting more of what he was on a deeper, more
direct level. It was not too much different from making bye to him, it was
just out in the open.

And even as he was enjoying the wonderful, personal contact, he wondered
why he had never been able to do this with Rick.

The applause was as much a surprise to Henry and Paul as it was to Wade.
It came spontaneously at the end of his first set and built to an exciting
and satisfying volume, including a few whistles of appreciation and some
straightforward complimentary comments. It continued until Wade had gotten
down from the low dais the piano stood on and Henry had turned off the
spotlight.

The bartender rubbed him on the shoulder. "That was solid," he said.
"Right down the middle."

"You're a star!" Paul grinned at him as he came up from the gate under the
bar. "Why didn't you tell me how talented you are?"

"There are thousands of guys who can play as well as that," Wade protested
happily.

"Oh, sure," he came back. "That's why all these guys are giving you the
big hand. Believe me, it takes talent to take their minds off themselves
and their gossip and their cruising. They were really listening to you up
there. I've never heard them really applaud for Sammy."

"They're used to him. I'm something new."

"That's true," Paul grinned affably. "New and talented."

"Thank you very much," Wade told him. "If you liked it, then that's all
that counts."

Henry came over to them and broke in. "You might be interested in knowing
that the boss just called down and wanted to know what all the noise was
about. I told him the boys were applauding your playing. He says he'll be
right down to talk to you."

Paul put his hand on Wade's arm. "Look, Wade, you won't mind if I head
home. You're going to be here late, and I could use the extra sack time.
You have enough audience without me and I can look forward to hearing you
play for me sometime soon... just for me, right?"

Wade felt a little let down; his face must have revealed it.

"Besides," Paul sighed. "I can't take anymore of Rod tonight. You
understand?"

Wade said, "Of course I understand." But when Paul walked out of the place
he seemed to be very much alone. He sensed that there was more to Paul's
relationship with the owner of the bar than he wanted to let on. It was not
his business, though, and he knew he had no right to ask any questions.
Still, it disturbed him.

A few minutes later those thoughts were gone from his mind, as he found
himself the center of conversation with a number of patrons. Within five
minutes, he had been introduced to a dozen or more smiling, sun-tanned guys
and was answering their questions about where he was from, had he made any
recordings, who did he know in the music business, and what was the gay
scene in Los Angeles. It was, impossible to maintain any dialogue with any
one person before another was talking.

Wade had to admit to himself that he liked it. He was a performer at
heart, and he liked attention. It was all very friendly, gay, open, genuine
appreciation for what he could do at the piano, and what seemed to Wade to
be honest interest in himself as an individual. Then Rod showed up and
everything changed.

Without really trying, Rod seemed to dominate the group from the moment he
joined it. It was partly his own appearance and personality, and partly a
kind of deference the men showed him. Rod was different from the rest, just
as he felt Paul was different, but not for the same reasons.

Not one of the young men around Wade was an effeminate or obvious type of
gay man; all were healthy, outgoing, athletic types, well-dressed, in their
early twenties. But there was just something about Rod. Perhaps it was
because he was older. Perhaps it was his size, his well-carried massive
frame which outshone the one basketball player in the circle around Wade.
More likely, it was the slow assurance of his actions, a kind of
self-contained arrogance or nonchalance which said, "I know what I want and
I get it by asking for it."

Wade wasn't quite sure why, but little by little the group began to break
up, drift away to another part of the room, leaving him talking alone with
Rod.

"It sounds as though you've made a good impression on the customers, Wade.
I'm looking forward to hearing your next set."

Suddenly it was very important to Wade to have this man's approval of his
playing added to the response he had already received.

"Is there a schedule of playing I'm supposed to follow, Rod?" he asked,
"or can I get back to the piano now?"

"Be my guest," he answered, and then he said across the bar: "Henry, put
on Wade's spotlight. He's going to give a command performance."

The next set went even better than the first and Rod's reaction was the
reason. Wade wasn't more than a dozen bars into the first piece when he saw
the approving smile, or half-smile, on the man's rugged face; Wade knew
that Rod liked what he was hearing.

With Paul gone, Wade used Rod as his total-audience-of-one, and the
evening began to dissolve into a long, unspoken conversation between Wade
at the piano and Rod at the closest stool. Rod took perfunctory time out to
speak with the bartender or give an order; once he even made a circuit
around the room. But he always came back to watch Wade. Occasionally he
would keep time with the music with his hand on the bar as he stared long
and intently, not smiling, at the new pianist.

Since it was a week night, the bar began to empty not long after midnight.
By one o'clock, after Wade had completed a medley of Judy Garland
favorites, Rod said, "That's enough, Wade. You've earned yourself a good
night's pay." He glanced around the room and added, "The ones who are
staying up later than this are interested in booze or cock rather than in
music. Never outstay your audience."

"I enjoyed it," Wade smiled at the man. "It's good to know that I haven't
lost my touch in a week."

"Not likely," Rod said. "Come on upstairs so I can pay you and make some
arrangements for the rest of the week. Even if Sammy does come back, I'll
tell him to take a vacation. I want to get the full benefits of your talent
while you're in Miami."

After they climbed the stairway and entered his apartment, Rod said,
"Relax, and pour yourself a drink. It must be tiring sitting on that bench
for hours."

"Pianists get used to it," Wade said, flopping down onto the deep sofa. "I
guess we develop good muscles where we sit."

"Yes, I noticed when you were up there earlier," he replied. The words
came out very directly and they stared at each other for a moment. Wade's 
heart was beating very hard all of a sudden and he wouldn't have known how
to answer Rod's statement had the man not burst into a deep-throated
laughter. "Imagine," he went on, "developing the shape of your ass and
getting paid for it."

Wade stood up. "I think I'll have the drink," he said, and he walked past
Rod over to the bar. He was putting ice into a tall glass when he heard the
man's warm breath, and then his voice, right behind him, almost in his ear.

"I'd like to see that ass, Wade."

And now his pulse was pounding so loud in his ears that he felt dizzy. He
couldn't move, he could only stand there with the glass of ice, not
answering, not turning around. He knew what he was waiting for, but he
dared not speak it. The noisy silence went on until the pressure of his own
blood in his own ears was like an excruciating pain.

Then he felt Rod's hand move onto his backside, not hesitantly, not
delicately, but with virile assurance. It was a contact so strong that the
layers of cloth which separated them seemed to disappear. And the strength
of the hand was what made Wade Matthews heart pound, made his knees feel
weak all over, rendered him speechless. Rod's big fingers seemed to mold
themselves to Wade's bunching flesh, and Wade moved back against Rod's palm
with an abrupt and knowing thrust of desire.

"It feels better than it looks," Rod told the boy, and his other hand
moved between Wade and the bar to pull skillfully at Wade's belt buckle,
opening it and the button at the waistband of his trousers more rapidly
than Wade himself could have done it. Just as rapidly, Rod opened Wade's
zipper and undid the snaps of Wade's shorts, then pulled both garments down
to his ankles.

Both of his hands were exploring the curves of Wade's exposed ass,
massaging and kneading the trembling cheeks until Wade felt that any moment
his legs would buckle.

"You little bitch," Rod whispered hoarsely in Wade's ear. "I knew you'd
drop your pants for me... you're just like all the others, aren't you...
all of them except Paul. Tell me, does he fuck this sweet ass of yours?"
His voice sounded mean and full of contempt.

"Yes," Wade whispered, knowing that he was lost now, knowing that he loved
it.

"Does he have a big dick?"

"And I bet you love it, don't you?"

"Yes, yes, I love it... every inch of it." Wade heard the man chuckling
behind him. And then he was aware of a quick movement back there -- and an
instant later, lightning struck him. Hot, wet, lightning. Rod's mouth was
nibbling, animal like, at the aroused nerves of Wade's ass; the tongue was
licking with an accelerating speed. And then both Rod's big clumsy hands
were pushing the cheeks apart and that flicking wet sword went to its
target without parrying.

Wade had to grab onto the bar for support. So Rod had a "thing" about
asses -- hell, it was an unadulterated talent. He had his tongue rotating
Wade's ass with a technique designed to unlock the portal in the delight of
pure surrender.

Farther and farther Rod pressed into his ass with his tongue, wilder and
wilder were the sensations radiating from the lunging tongue-kiss and,
consequently, just as Rod had calculated, greater and greater was Wade's
own need to be entered, penetrated.

Only vaguely was Wade aware that his own stiff prick was jamming
mercilessly against the wood paneling on the front of the bar. At that
moment his entire universe was centered upon the thrilling, vibrating
nerves of his rectum.

And then he could hold it back no longer.

"Fuck me, Rod!" he screamed, his voice rasping, hoarse. "For shit's sake,
use your cock... and fuck me as hard as you can!"

"You asked for it, you little bitch," Rod's deep voice assured him, "and
you're fucking well gonna get it now."

There was a hurried rustling of clothing. And much faster than Wade
thought anyone could have gotten undressed, Rod was against him, his strong
hands on his hips, holding the cheeks spread wide.

Then Wade reached behind him, and down. He gasped. His mind did not
believe what his hand was feeling, it was too terrifying at this point, and
he whirled around so swiftly that Rod did not have time to step back and
they crashed chests first into one another. The monstrosity of a cock was
stabbed into Wade's belly as they came face to face, and he reached down to
grip it again. The weight alone was enormous.

"Oh, my God," Wade breathed quietly. "Oh, Rod... let me see it, let me
look at it..."

Rod laughed. "You'll do more than look at it, you little queen. You're
going to get it shoved up your asshole."

"I can't take it... it's too..."

Rod grabbed him by the shoulders, flung him back around against the bar.
"You'll take it, all right," he snorted. "You asked for it and you're gonna
get it." He held Wade pressed into the wood as he found his mark again.
"Okay, bitch, I'm coming in!" he announced.

CHAPTER NINE

There was not a split second of hesitation before he leaned forward,
bringing his entire body against Wade's in a moment of unbelievable horror.
"Here comes thirteen inches of fat cock, bitch!" he laughed. And the prick
went tearing into Wade like some instrument of torture, big and thick,
battering him like, a rampaging bull, driven by the full power of the man's
powerful body. Nothing could stand in its way.

"Oh, shit, Rod!" Wade shouted in panic. "Take it out! I can't stand it...
please take that fucking cock out of me... it's tearing my ass apart! For
Christ's sake... please!"

The big hairy arms were around him like clamps.

"You're gonna love it," Rod said. "Your ass is built just right for this,
I can tell that already... and you want it more than anything in your life.
Somebody's already made a good start on you. Hell, your ass has had a lot
of cock shoved up it, don't think I can't tell that. But, bitch, before I'm
through with you, you're gonna have the biggest, wasted, fucked-out asshole
in the world. Bend over, faggot, and get fucked by a man!"

Wade knew that there was no point in struggle. He was trapped by the man's
power, by his masculinity, his will -- and most of all by his sexuality. He
knew it, and although part of his mind tried to fight against it, something
in his body over which he seemed to have no control whatever screamed at
him to say that it was true.

This was exactly what he wanted to be fucked like a worthless little bitch
in heat, to be fucked by a man in every sense of the word, to be used for a
man's lust to the point of satiation.

Rod's prick could have been tipped with a lance of steel judging from the
way it felt up inside his body. Each forward thrust seemed to strike a new
area of pain in Wade's bowels, and the movement of the whole shaft was a 
rasping, tearing assault on his sensations. The big, muscular man was
tireless and at least ten minutes of brutal fucking went on before the
level of pain began to decrease.

It continued to decrease, and then a new reaction took hold of Wade.
Slowly, but ever so surely, he was being released from the torture; it was
as though some miraculous medicine was being introduced into his body. The
pain ebbed, dulled, and then turned into a riveting, heart-pounding,
sensational pleasure. And gradually the pleasure built to intense heights.

Rod's ponderous cock was no longer a weapon of determined misery; like a
magician's wand, it had transformed itself into a hard, warm,
life-pulsating organ capable of creating marvels in the deep recesses of
Wade's asshole. Wade found himself rearing back against each of the
strokes, trying to draw even more of the engorged cock into him, trying to
drain even more delight from the contact.

"Liking it, bitch?" Rod laughed, sensing the change.

"Oh, God, yes. Fuck me, you stud-horse... fuck the shit out of me!"

"Baby, you sure are asking for it, aren't you?" Rod groaned as he began to
increase the fury of his thrusts.

"That's it," Wade cried. "Give it to me! Like that! And that! And that!
Fuck me, fuck me, oh, fuck me!"

"I'm fucking you, you bitch. Just like I'm gonna fuck that snotty friend
of yours. Yeah, how'd you like to see that? See your big hero being fucked
in the ass by my big cock? Would you like that, bitch? One of these days
I'm gonna throw Paul down on my bed over there and spread his legs wide.
Yeah. You ought to be here to see it. I'll tear that asshole of his to
shreds -- and I'll make him love it and beg for more like you're doing."

Wade's entire body was thrilling to the unimaginable change, and just as
he was hoping it would never stop, Rod shouted out some wordless, guttural
sounds and started to come. Once, twice, three times. Wade was counting the
separate spurts of the man's semen, racing through Rod and through Wade at
the same time and then out of the huge prick to erupt in Wade's battered
asshole. Four, five, six, seven. Wade hoped they would stay joined like
this forever. Eight, nine, ten. He had done this for Rod and he would show
his appreciation, surely, by doing it again. Tonight, hopefully even
tomorrow. Eleven. A pause. Twelve.

"Keep it in, Rod," Wade moaned. "God, I love the way that fucking dick
feels up my ass. I wish I could keep it there forever. I belong with a dick
in my ass, I love it, and I love being fucked by big-cocked studs like you,
Rod. Keep it in... I want you to cold-cock me again; right now... fuck me
until I can't stand up..."

Rod yanked his cock out of the boy in one brutal movement, a movement that
was as swift and inconsiderate as his entrance had been. The pleasure Wade
had been experiencing was cut off with an exclamation mark of sharp pain.
And he was left clutching the bar, his stiff and untouched cock sticking
against the wood, his pants and shorts down around his shoe tops, his ass
sore and bruised. And his self-esteem at the same vanishing point it had
been the night he'd arrived in town.

"Get out, you bitch," Rod said. "I'll fuck you again tomorrow night,
maybe." And before Wade could, turn around, he had gone into the bathroom.

Wade was grateful that he had exited, anyway. At least he didn't stand
there to watch him pulling at his clothing, looking and feeling so helpless
and defeated. Wade finally got all his clothing on and started for Paul's
place.

He was ashamed and humiliated, and he knew that he deserved nothing better
than what he had just gotten.

"Any particular reason why you slept in the other bedroom?" Paul asked him
when he came into the kitchen.

Wade had fixed lunch for both of them. Paul's tone of voice sounded merely
curious, but Wade was still glad that he had a tan to cover the hot flush
which was creeping up his neck and face.

He had, answers all prepared to deliver, but somehow he was just as shaken
up as he would have been had Paul been awake and waiting for him when he'd
gotten back from the bar last night.

"It was late," Wade finally, managed. "I didn't want to disturb your
sleep. You said yourself you needed a good night's rest."

"I would never be disturbed by you getting into my bed," Paul smiled
quickly. Then he added, "I just hoped you weren't pissed off by my not
staying to hear more of your playing."

Wade had the oddest feeling that Paul was lying to him, or concealing
something from him, for the first time since they had known one another. He
wondered if somehow Paul knew what had happened between him and Rod? No,
that wasn't possible. Not unless Rod was actually rotten enough to have
called him at work. But why? To make Paul jealous? Of whom? Certainly not 
of Rod. It was quite clear that if Paul was interested in having sex with
Rod, then all he had to do was to say so.

Did Rod think Paul would be jealous of Wade? He looked across the table at
the handsome young man starting in on his bowl of salad. No, Paul didn't
think of him that way. An intimate friend, perhaps. A desirable bed
partner, for sure. But it was Paul who was always reminding him that he
would eventually be going back to Rick in Los Angeles.

No, Paul's odd reaction must be a faade for some other emotion, perhaps
some complication in his life which had nothing to do with him. Or maybe he
was just hung-up horny because they had not had sex last night. Well, that
was easily cured. He could be just as direct with Paul as Paul was with
him.

"If that invitation to your bed still holds," Wade said, "I'd like to take
you up on it right after lunch."

But this time it was Paul who looked at a loss for words. He looked away
from Wade and bit at his lip.

"I can't this afternoon," he said, half mumbling. "I've got to go
somewhere. I'll be back for dinner. Can we make it then?"

"I guess so. If you come back early enough. I have to be at the bar by
eight."

"Well, look, Wade, if I don't show up by six, you go ahead and eat without
me, okay?"

No, it wasn't all right. In fact, something was all wrong, and Wade felt a
cold stab of fear run through him. He wanted to ask some questions, demand
answers. But where did he come off thinking he could require Paul to tell
him everything about himself? He had no hold on him, no emotional hold --
and obviously no sexual one either. Maybe they had simply been together for
too long in such a short period of time and boredom was setting in.

Wade tried to think of something to talk about which would fill up the
silence, but he could find nothing in his mind except a series of pictures
of him and Paul making love, abruptly interspersed with a memory of last
night, of Rod driving his ruthless cock in and out of his asshole.

"Are you going to the beach?" Paul finally asked, breaking the spell of
emptiness. "It's a beautiful day."

"I don't know," Wade answered, trying not to look or sound disappointed. 
"I really ought to find a piano and do some practicing. I was stiff last
night during the first couple of sets."

"You sounded top drawer to me. And to the rest of the guys, too." He
paused. "Apparently Rod thought you were doing all right if you're going
back again."

"Yes, he was happy about it. And he certainly pays well."

Paul nodded. "He's known for that. He'll spend as much as he has to when
there is something he wants."

The statement had too many connotations for Wade not to feel embarrassed
and awkward again. "I'll probably work there right through the rest of the
week," Wade told Paul. "He said he'd like for me to stay even if Sammy does
come back."

"I see." There was a moment of agonizing silence. And then Paul said it.
"You went to bed with him, didn't you, Wade?"

"Yes," Wade said. Even the tan could not hide the color in his face this
time.

Paul did not say anything. He simply rose and left the kitchen, left the
house. It really didn't matter anymore, Wade knew.

Nothing really mattered. He and Paul would never have made it together,
anyway.

He was playing the piano, and he was drunk. It was the first time he had
ever gotten smashed while working, but that, too, did not matter. He had
already told Rod that tonight would be his last night, that tomorrow he had
to leave for Los Angeles. He had moved his suitcase into Rod's apartment
upstairs, because, he did not want to face Paul again -- and he was certain
Paul did not want to see him either.

It was just as well. Probably for the better. Hell, a guy like Paul would
only spoil him for Rick when he went home. But a few sessions with Rod
plowing his ass unmercifully would make Rick's actions seem like the
ultimate in a give-and-take, well-balanced relationship.

And soon he would be getting that brutal, unfeeling fucking. The more he
drank, the more he looked forward to it.

It was time he face the truth about himself at last.

It was what he wanted. Drunk, he knew it. Sober, he could only try to run
from it.

About midnight, Rod told Henry to turn up all the lights in the big
ceiling fixture and when he had everyone's attention, he announced that the
place would close at twelve-thirty. He answered the groans and boos by
giving all the patrons a drink on the house.

Wade played a long set and then at a signal from Rod, switched to
"Goodnight Ladies", and had the bar empty and locked within five minutes.

When he got upstairs to Rod's apartment, he was surprised to be handed an
envelope with his night's pay and to be told, "Come on, Wade, I'm taking
you somewhere special." When he asked to know more about it, Rod only said,
"You'll see when you get there," and gave his ass a brief, possessive
feeling up.

His car was in a tiny garage situated behind the bar. It was a black
Cadillac convertible, but he did not put the top down, saying that they
would be at their destination too soon to take advantage of riding in the
open air.

Even though he had known Rod such a short time, Wade could recognize the
look on his face as one of sexual expectancy, and he felt, himself warming
to the possibilities of what lay ahead. Maybe it was going to be a
threesome, perhaps even four. Whatever, Wade was ready for it. He wanted to
emerge himself in warm, hard, male bodies, in flesh, in uninhibited sex; he
wanted to forget that he had ever met Paul.

The first shock came as they drove up to park before the hotel. Wade
recognized it as the hotel where Paul worked.

"Who are we going to see?" Wade asked again, more insistently this time,
giving away his apprehension.

"A couple of swinging tourists," Rod told him. "They came in the club one
night. Believe me, you'll enjoy them."

They stopped in front of a door and Rod knocked. A few moments later a
voice called, "Who is it?" and when Rod identified himself, there was only
a moment's delay before the door opened. The room beyond was in darkness.

They stepped through and then a switch snapped and several lamps came on.
Wade had to keep himself from gasping at the scene in the room.

There were at least a dozen guys there, ranging in age from their late 
teens to maybe thirty, thirty-one. Except for the variations in coloring
and complexion from blonds to golden tans to olive-skinned brunettes, they
all had several things in common: above-average looks, running to several
extraordinarily handsome faces, excellent builds, including one
body-builder who bordered on the incredulous, and a total absence of
clothing. Only in a beach locker room or a YMCA pool had Wade seen so many
males naked at one time. And horny.

They had come into the middle of a very active sex scene. When the lights
had come on, even the most involved lovers had paused long enough for a
look at the newcomers. Many of them went quickly back to the kissing,
jerking, sucking they had been doing before Wade's arrival, and Wade's cock
was as hard as most of those he could see.

Rod introduced him to the handsome, dark haired college jock who had
answered the door, and right away Wade knew that this party was being
thrown by the guys Paul had spoken of that afternoon.

"Wade, this is Tom."

As they shook hands, Rod began to strip his clothes off. Soon he was naked
and Tom was fondling his prick.

"Don't be shy, Wade," Tom said. "Get undressed."

A dark shadow walked by and said, "I'll get you a drink. What'll it be?"

"I don't need a drink," Wade said. "I need..."

"Rod already told me what you need, Wade," Tom said then. "Come in the
bedroom with me... I've been waiting to give it to you."

It was so abrupt, he could do nothing but obey. Tom stood behind him, his
hands on his waist, propelling him through the dimly lit rooms to the
bedroom. Someone handed them a joint on the way, someone else a popper.

His head swam with the dope, with the alcohol from the club. Tom was
undressing him -- and Wade realized how big the boy was, how his pectorals
bulged, noticed the deep ravine in his hairless chest.

"Ever been worked over by a hockey player?" Tom laughed.

Wade was too stoned to really understand what he was talking about.

"We go in for the rough stuff sometimes," Tom was telling him.

"Anything," Wade heard himself muttering. "Anything... Tom..."

Then he was naked and being pushed back onto the bed.

Only vaguely was he aware of the fact that some other people had entered
the room, another of the college jocks with Rod. They stood near the bed
and the stranger-friend of Tom's asked, "Is this the bitch you were talking
about, Rod?"

"Yeah, that's him. Biggest asshole in the USA. I fucked the shit out of
him just last night."

Wade writhed on the bed, aware that Tom was climbing up to straddle him.
He looked groggily up, saw the magnificent body, reached for it with one
weak, listless, uncertain hand.

"Me and my buddy Joe have something a little special planned out for you,
cocksucker," Tom was saying down into Wade's face. "Little something we've
been wanting to try out on some horny bitch like you for a long time. I'm
betting that you'll love it."

The other jock, obviously Joe, joined in. "Give it to him, Tom. Cram it up
his ass till he squeals like a stuck pig. I wanna hear him yell. Go on fuck
the little sissy's ass off."

Wade felt one of Tom's fingers digging into his asshole. He relaxed,
loving the feeling, and spread his legs wide to accommodate him. Wade
closed his eyes and reveled in the sensations of the finger jabbing into
his opening; his head writhed on the pillow and he did not even see when
Tom reached over to a table nearby and picked up a gigantic and thickly
lubricated dildo.

With one hand, eyes still closed, Wade was pulling at Tom's cock, feeling
his hairy balls, anxious to get the meat inside him. The cock was not
particularly long, but it was incredibly big around, and Wade loved thick
pricks the best.

With his hand, Tom parted the flaccid buttocks and held the dildo into
position. And before Wade could utter a word, he suddenly felt a jabbing,
piercing object force the muscles of his asshole to yield. The tapered end
of the dildo moved quickly up the tight channel.

"What is it?" Wade cried in genuine alarm. "What are you doing to me?"

The others in the room laughed. Both Joe and Rod had moved up to stand at
the edge of the bed so that they had level, even sight of the boy's 
upraised legs and the well exposed asshole.

"I'm fucking you, cocksucker, what do you think?" Tom laughed. "I'm
fucking you with a fifteen-inch dildo." Their sadistic laughter filled the
room, drowning out Wade's feeble pleas and moans. "Rod says you've got the
one asshole in town that can for sure take it," Tom said. "And I for one
think he's right."

As he felt his asshole stretching to receive the thick shaft of the dildo,
Wade suddenly dropped his hips down onto the bed, retreating from the
unbearable pain. He yelled loudly as the sharp stinging waves spread
through his bowels and stomach. But Tom was relentless in his effort. His
hand held the dildo tightly as he drove it deeper and deeper into the dark
crevice. And with one long, even stroke, he plunged it all the way to its
base as Wade yelled and gripped his pillow to his face.

Joe laughed and brushed his long brown hair from his forehead as he
climbed upon the bed and knelt on his haunches for a better look. His big
cock was jutting out from between, his almost too-muscular thighs, and as
he looked down at Wade's ravaged asshole, covered with a slimy mixture of
shit, mood, mucus, and lubrication, he began to work his cock with his
hand, jerking it off over Wade's stomach.

"How's it feel, bitch?" Rod asked, stroking his own gigantic cock.

Wade could not reply, could only lie there sighing and hoping there was no
more to come. He was gorged and distended with the huge weapon; the hairy
lips of his asshole gripped the base tightly.

Joe moved upward, across Wade's body, and then scooted himself forward
until he was sitting in the boy's face. His hairy, sweaty, weighty prick
dropped down into Wade's face, flopping against his cheekbones while the
big balls covered his mouth. "How'd you like to eat some dick while you're
getting those fifteen inches?" Joe leered down at him. "I bet you like
getting fucked in the ass and the mouth at the same time, don't you,
cocksucker?"

He took his prick into his hand and began to beat it roughly right in
Wade's face, jerking himself off so that each time his hand moved to the
tip of his cock, his fist struck Wade roughly against the chin.

"Lick my balls," Joe said. "Get those big hairy balls down your fucking
throat before I choke you to death with 'em."

Wade obeyed, taking first one and then the other, licking them all over,
nibbling at the wiry little hairs. The weight of the big bulky cock was 
tremendous and Wade, growing a bit more accustomed to the monstrosity
rammed up his ass was beginning to enjoy the scene a little.

Tom reached for the base of the dildo with both hands. He pulled it out
slightly in order to get a better grip. Then with a twisting motion, he
turned on the vibrator. The only sound in the room was the steady buzz of
the electric dildo and the sobs and moans of Wade's stunned pain.

"Rip the bitch open, Tommy boy!" Rod called loudly.

Wade was like, putty in their hands now, his body racked with a
combination of excruciating pain and exhilarating pleasure. The vibrator
stuck out of his asshole as he lay there before them with his legs stuck up
in the air. Tom gripped the slippery base and began to move it slowly in
and out, pumping the dildo deep into Wade's ass. His thighs quivered as he
felt the ramming pole pushing and pulling and tearing at the tender walls
of his ass.

And then Wade began to like it. The harder he sucked Joe's balls, the more
absorbed he grew in the heavy, masculine body above him -- the smells of
him, the feel of his hard body -- and consequently the more absorbed in the
total experience he became. The vibrator tickled inside as much as it hurt.
It really was, he decided, like a hard gigantic cock slamming in and out of
him. He began to move with it. And it felt good inside him then, very good.
It went so fucking far -- but there was sure room for it, many different
men had seen to that, and now, in a way, in a very perverse and self-hating
way, Wade found himself rather pleased to find that his asshole was big
enough to take the giant-size vibrator prick.

He began to move in a slow, steady rhythm. Going slow, gave him a chance
to savor the experience. "It's fantastic," he moaned, talking against one
of Joe's hairy nuts. "Oh, it feels so good. You can go faster, Tom.
Faster."

"Holy shit, the bitch loves it!" Tom laughed wildly.

"Give him some more of it then," Rod said. "Hell, ram the thing up him
until you lose it in that big asshole!"

Joe began to beat off furiously into his face. And Wade could feel the
deep sensation inside his asshole as the vibrator sent waves of thrilling
pleasure throughout his body. His cock was responding in jerking spasms as
he felt the dildo vibrating against the hard, throbbing gland inside his
asshole. The shaft of the rapidly vibrating dildo lay directly against his
prostate gland and it was sending him into a shuddering sexual ecstasy like
he had never known before.

Tom, too, had begun to beat himself off, still between Wade's legs,
holding the vibrator in with one hand and pounding his meat with the other.
He continued to drive the machine ruthlessly in and out of Wade's ravaged
asshole, and Wade had begun to respond by moving his hips to meet each
thrust. His legs quivered and his toes were wiggling as they pointed toward
the ceiling. His breathing was heavier now and his head was tossing from
side to side as he felt himself being lifted to an unknown level, a height
of passion he had never known existed. It was as if there were nothing else
in the world, no head, no arms, no legs, no mind -- nothing but his
throbbing cock and palpitating asshole and a pair of big hairy balls
smothering his face. It was all that mattered.

"I'm coming!" Wade screamed. "Oh, shit, fuck, oh, I'm shooting... oh, you
fuckers, here comes my load!" And the hot seed came erupting from his
balls, shooting straight up into the air. A moment later his face was
covered and smeared all over with Joe's come. It spurted into his hair, all
over his forehead, some of it dripped into his mouth.

Tom continued fucking him with the vibrator until every drop of his seed
was released. His ass continued to pump up and down, meeting the thrust of
each stroke as the dildo buried itself deep inside his asshole. Then, as
his cock suddenly fell down against his stomach and the last drops of come
squirted out, Wade began to yell in a frantic, panting voice, "Take it out!
Get it out! Oh, shit, get that fucking thing out of my asshole!"

The muscles of his ass constricted and held tightly onto the vibrator,
which felt like a huge turd that wouldn't come out.

He was covered with sticky white cream. Tom released a huge load through
the mushroom head of his thick cock, shooting it all over Wade's crotch.
Rod had stepped up close enough to the bed to spill his load all over
Wade's chest. And when they were all finished with him, Tom reached down
and yanked the vibrator straight out of his ass as violently as Rod had
jerked his cock out of him only the night before.

Joe moved away from his come-splattered face, rose. And with one hand he
reached over, took. Wade's arm, and pulled him off the bed and onto the
floor. Wade lay there between them, his head surrounded by six bare feet.
There was a moment of silence, as if they were trying to decide what to do
with him next.

"Please," Wade moaned. "Please... I've had enough... let me leave, let me
get out of here... I just want to get out of here and never have to see any
of you dirty bastards again as long as I live. Let me go!"

"Sure," Rod said. Then he laughed. "One last good-bye present," he said.

"No!" Wade cried, eyes turned upward, suddenly realizing, with genuine and
total revulsion, what the man was going to do. "No! Please, Rod!"

Then he could only bury his face. The piss splattered down from Rod's
huge, still semi-hard prick at first in a small trickle, and then in a
large, stinging stream. The terrible smells intermingled all over his body
with the piss; the yellow liquid ran over his back, down into his crotch,
down his legs, mixing with the come.

Rod, without another word, walked away. Tom and Joe stood there laughing,
amused to see the object of their contempt so degraded and debased.

Furiously, Wade sat up, grabbed the cover from the bed, and tried to clean
himself with it. If he could just get clean enough to get his clothes on
and get out of here, then everything would be all right. He didn't know
where he would go tonight or what he would do, now or ever, but he had to
get out of this terrible room where he had shamed himself beyond all
justification for these strangers, these handsome, arrogant, masculine
strangers.

"My clothes," he murmured. "Where are my clothes?"

An arm reached out, handed them to him. Wade looked up and was so startled
that the mute, unseeing shock which had resulted from his panic
disappeared; he was back in reality again.

Paul had come into the room. How long had he been there? Had he seen? What
was he doing here?

Wade grabbed his clothes and, holding them against his naked body as if
ashamed of his nudity, he turned away from Paul.

"Go away," he said. "I don't want you to be here."

"It's no great pleasure for me to be here," Paul said softly.

"I don't want you to see this... to know I..."

"To know what Rick has done to you?" Paul said in the same quiet voice. "I
knew that all along, Wade. You told me. Remember?"

Wade turned to look at him, imploringly now. "Can I come back?" he asked.
"Just for tonight?"

"I leave tomorrow... I'll go back to Rick... but just let me stay tonight,
I've got to have somewhere to stay tonight. I... I don't know what else to
do, Paul. I..."

"You don't have to talk if you don't want to," Paul said, helping him into
his clothes. "It's all right. You can stay as long as you want, I told you
that before. You should have believed me, Wade, trusted me... about a lot
of things."

"Paul..."

"No more words, Wade. Not tonight. Come on, let's go home."


THE END
