Rick curled up in the corner of his bed and watched in mixed concern and envy as Rick tied Billy Dan's wrists together over his head and at the slats of the headboard; scooted his knees under Billy Dan's buttocks, raising the young man's pelvis to him; and, holding Billy Dan's legs out wide, spiked his ass with that thick, long, black cock of his and pumped in slow, deep strokes, as Billy Dan writhed under him and breathily repeated over and over again how much he was enjoying the cocking by the big, black stud.
When Rick couldn't take anymore of watching Billy Dan getting what he ached for, he tumbled off the bed and raced down the hall to the bath at the end of the hall. He turned on the shower and stood under the stream of water, trying to drown out the memory of the sounds of Billy Dan begging for more of Spike's cocking.
"You really want to shower alone, pretty boy?"
Rick turned and saw that the shower door was fully blocked out by a leering Hispanic of gigantic proportions.
The young man went down on his knees on the wet tile floor in front the Hispanic monster and took the bulb of his cock his mouth and cupped the man's heavy-hanging balls in his hand.
The Hispanic fucked Rick against the tile wall of the shower, the water streaming over their steaming bodies, with Rick's legs hooked on the man's hips and the power of the man's cock pushing Rick's back up and down on the slick, soap-encrusted tiles of the shower wall. Another Hispanic man entered the bath and Rick opened his legs for him as well.
All of the time, Rick's mind was flipping back and forth between wishing it was him bound on the bed with Spike's cock working inside him and cursing Phil for not being there and helping him to stifle those thoughts, desires, and instincts.
* * * *
When Rick returned to the rooming house chamber, Spike was still fucking Billy Dan—or was doing it again, or for the third time. And he was splitting him so totally that Billy Dan's eyes were cloudy with cum and he was almost unconscious with exhaustion and was moaning lowly.
Spike left before Groton returned, but when Groton did return and entered the room, Billy Dan was still lying on the back, legs spread, and moaning. It was obvious to Groton that someone had been at the young man. He looked at Rick, huddled back on his own bed, reading magazines, and Rick just shrugged and said, "It wasn't me. I'm sure you can figure it out."
Groton left the room again and Rick waited for a half hour before dressing in jeans and a T and venturing forth. Only Roger was downstairs, in the dining room, when Rick entered.
"Where's everyone?" Rick asked.
"Phil's up in his room, I think," Roger answered. "Doug and Spike have gone back out. Doug said he had more to do in town."
Rick stood around for a few minutes, shuffling his feet and deciding whether he wanted to eat or go back to his room, but it didn't take long for him to decide to go back upstairs. The two Hispanics from the shower were there in the dining room, sitting at a table with three other guys. They all were taking furtive glances at Rick and exchanging words punctuated with low-toned laughs. Rick felt like he was being undressed with their eyes, and, Groton having made him fantasy prone, he was beginning to have a vision of them coming for him and slamming him down on a table top and taking turns with him. Somehow he didn't think that Roger would do anything to prevent that. Most likely, judging by his performance in the sauna the previous day, he would be the second one slamming his cock up into Rick's channel and then would stand back and film the rest of it.
Rick turned and went up the stairs again. But he didn't go to Groton's room. He walked right on beyond that and stood in front of Phil's door for almost a minute before knocking on it.
"Come in," Phil's voice rang out from the other side.
Rick was filled with relief. Phil was here. He'd be safe now.
He entered the room. Phil, just in shorts, was sitting at a small desk and writing a letter or a note.
"Rick," he said, as the young man entered the room.
"I couldn't think of anywhere else to go," Rick said. "I wanted to be safe. So I came here."
Phil rose. He had a pained expression on his face.
"You won't be safe here, I'm afraid, Rick. I can't take it anymore. I won't be able to keep my hands off you unless you leave now. Right now."
"Then don't even try," Rick whispered, his heart leaping in his chest. "I want to stay."
They came together like two freight trains mistakenly shunted off onto the same track. As they hungrily kissed, Phil's fingers went to Rick's T and then to his jeans zipper as Rick's hands went to the snaps on Phil's shorts.
Phil encased both of their cocks together, and the two stood there, trying to meld into the other, still in a deep kiss, as Rick's hands palmed Phil's buttocks and his fingernails dug into yielding flesh there.
Phil pushed Rick down onto his back on the bed and then he knelt between Rick's thighs and made love to Rick's cock and balls with his mouth until, with a cry, Rick exploded in a gush of cum. Then, turning Rick on his side and lifting his leg to his shoulder, Phil fucked Rick's hole in a side split while they conveyed the totality of the fuck with their eyes locked on each other.
"I'm sorry, I couldn't leave without this," Phil murmured, as they lay on the bed, their bodies stretched along each other's as closely entwined as they could manage, Rick's buttocks cuddled into Phil's crotch.
"Leave?" Rick moaned. "You can't."
"I have to. I can't watch this happening to you anymore. I wouldn't be here with you, like this, now, if I wasn't going to leave. I can't be any part of this. I'll leave you my cell phone number. Anytime you want to pull away from this, call. And I'll come get you."
"I can—"
"No, I don't think you can . . . yet. But I hope that someday you will."
"Please, don't leave. I'll—"
"I promise I won't leave in the next twenty minutes. In fact, my cock's going to be so far up in your channel and making such complete love to you that you'll forget all about my leaving."
"Oh, god. Yesssss! Oh, shitttt! Mooaaan. I've . . . it's never been like this . . . before." Rick turned his face to Phil, and they went into a deep kiss, every other point in their bodies trying to merge, become one . . . forever, but Phil resolved that it would only be for the next twenty minutes.
* * * *
The next morning was like a whirlwind. Groton hadn't come back to the room that night, but when Rick went downstairs the next morning—walking on air, because the hour he'd spent with Phil the previous day was the closest he'd ever come to a love-based merging—Groton was there, in the dining room, looking both disheveled and livid.
He was holding a letter—which Rick recognized as what Phil had been writing when Rick went to his room. Groton waved it in Roger's face and was babbling almost incoherently. Or at least it seemed incoherent to Rick at first, because, as he saw the letter, he remembered what Phil had said about leaving, the blood rushed to his ears, and he had to sit down in the nearest chair to keep from fainting.
"The worst possible time," Groton was growling. "And he really gives no reason. Now we'll be delayed. I need another cameraman and I need to think whether Spike needs to be replaced or not."
He calmed down a bit then, though. "Perhaps it's all for the best. I need to review what we have already, to do a first cut on that—and it's time to pick up someone to help me with that, someone who can hold a camera as well and keep his pants zipped. Here's as good a place as any, I guess, to do a first cut of what we have. Go up and roust out Billy Dan, though, and get these two packing up. One thing I know is that there's too much going on here and now I'll have to move them and find someone to watch over them—no, don't even suggest it, Roger—I've seen what little restraint you have."
"Replace Spike?" Rick asked in a faraway voice, having caught at least that much of Groton's rant. "What is this about replacing Spike?"
"I put him on a train back to Baltimore last night. I don't want to lose his talents forever, but he was paid to perform for the camera, not to mess up the goods off camera. Now go on upstairs and get your things together. You're moving someplace else. There're too many randy guys around here, and I know you've been putting out for them for free too."
Somewhere else turned out to be a rundown motel several miles out of Asheville to the west. While Roger was checking Rick and Billy Dan in, Groton went off and returned with a fat middle-aged black guy who looked like bad business. He looked every inch a seedy club bouncer, which, undoubtedly was what he was at night.
Billy Dan and Rick were locked in the motel room and the fat black guy sat down on a chair in front of the door and under the overhang between the motel building and the parking lot.
Rick settled down, turning on the TV and flipping channels until something half interesting showed up, but Billy Dan started fidgeting and pacing back and forth almost immediately. He obviously didn't like being cooped up and just as obviously was in need for something else.
Rick watched Billy Dan pace and mutter under his breath with both concern and disgust. Was this what he too had been reduced to—being used so often in so many different ways in fantasies he himself had voiced that it had become an addiction, that he couldn't get enough of it often enough?
Surely not. Rick reasoned that he didn't need it now, wasn't in some sort of sweating frustration like Billy Dan was for the lack of it. But then, he'd been with Phil just the previous day. And it had been very different with Phil. Rick felt completely satisfied with Phil's fucking—like he didn't need anything but that, and from Phil only. He thought that there could be so much more to it with Phil than just the physical scratching of an itch, a temporary fix of a need.
Billy Dan was at Rick to do something with him, but Rick still felt like doing it with Billy Dan—even letting the guy suck him off—would be like a masturbation of himself that brought no satisfaction. They were too much alike. Maybe if Rick wasn't still in an afterglow of his afternoon with Phil . . .
The times the fat black guy came in to use the can were also opportunities for Billy Dan to offer himself, to beg. But the guy wasn't having any of that. He probably didn't even like men, which was evident from the disdainful look he gave Billy Dan.
At last Billy Dan's itch was scratched, though, when Groton came to the motel, all smiles and walking on air because of what he considered a success both in someone who could help him edit the films and would stand in as a cameraman but also because of how well the film he had reviewed and begun to edit was falling into place.
"Got a winner here," he said to Rick, as Billy Dan sank to his knees in front of Groton and began scrabbling as the man's trouser zipper.
Groton took him missionary style on one of the double beds, Billy Dan clutching Groton's waist tightly with his legs and giving little yipping sounds at the depth at which Groton was stroking him, while Rick watched a European soccer game on the TV. He knew nothing about the teams and little about the sport, but he gave the TV set all of the attention he could to try to wipe out the sounds from the other bed.
Rick was fidgeting now himself and felt like pacing the room, but he forced himself to concentrate on the TV and didn't even identify the source of his frustration until after Groton was finished with Billy Dan, who laid there on one of two double beds in the motel room, bedspread and sheets tussled, legs akimbo, moaning in satisfaction and at least temporary satiation of need. Groton left without even touching Rick, and the disappointment Rick felt as Groton closed the door behind him caused him to tremble with fear at the realization that deep down—and maybe not so deep down—he was no different at all from Billy Dan. Only the thought of Phil had stood in the way of that. But Phil was gone now, and the memory of their afternoon was beginning to recede.
If only Phil had stayed—or, better yet, had taken Rick with him.
Late in the night, when Rick, still awake and fretting, heard the door to the motel room quietly open and felt the bulk of the fat black man, somehow having become naked between the door and the bed, come down heavily on top of him; the man's hand going over his mouth to keep him silent, his hot, sour breath and his musky in-heat man scent mingling to both repel and entice Rick's senses, Rick felt no compulsion to scream or reject whatsoever. To the man's surprise and heightening lust, Rick reached down and took the man's thick, hard cock and balls in his hands, knowing it would be black and as strong as Spike's—and Pete's—spread his legs and hooked his heels over the base of the man's bulging buttocks, rolled his hips up, and guided the hot cock into his channel. As his channel awakened and undulated over the cock as it drew the member slowly in and the man groaned and grunted and panted his unexpected good fortune, his hand still over Rick's mouth, but a thumb having been sucked in between Rick's lips, images of Spike and then of Pete raced through Rick's mind. Rick tried to think of Phil as well, but what was happening now was no part of Phil's world.
