The refrigerator door slammed shut with an uncharacteristic crack, and Cliff could hear something falling inside.
"Oh, fuck."
He knew he should open it and survey the damage, but he didn't have the time. And he didn't have the inclination. He was royally pissed.
Zack hadn't come home the previous night.
This wasn't the first time this had happened. Zack was too cocky. He thought too much of that big black cock of his—assuming too much of its control over Cliff. But that wasn't what really pissed Cliff off. What really pissed him off was that he knew he was lying—that he was, in fact, letting Zack lead him around by that big, black cock of his. His was pissed because Zack wasn't inside him right now.
Cliff pushed the stop button on the coffee machine—or at least thought he had. The blue light was still on. He reached over and jerked the plug out of the wall.
"Fixed that," he growled. And indeed he had. No lights were showing now, and he'd tried to stop it too fast. There was no coffee in the slot either.
"Fuck it," he said and sat at the kitchen island and stuffed the dry toast in his mouth.
He was conflicted. Despite wanting Zack to be fucking him now, Cliff was getting to where he didn't want Zack at him so much of the time—or at least that's what he had thought he felt. Now that Zack had been out all night, Cliff had accepted that he'd become addicted to big, black cock. And a lot of it.
Well, he had to pull himself together. He had to go see that Waters boy today and determine whether he was the menace to society that that old bitty, Mrs. Watson, had testified to. But Waters wasn't really a boy. He was a young man. And his employers had declared that he was a good worker and was quiet and decent.
Cliff snorted at that, though. Those two fairies? he thought. With what Mrs. Watson was alluding to, having the guy working and living with them might be just the reason he needed to be bundled off to a school where they helped the slow, as his regulations now said he had to refer to it. Just how slow was he, though? Cliff wondered.
Well, he thought, as he stood up from the island counter and sighed. That's what Cliff was supposed to determine by visiting him today.
As Cliff was getting into his car, he looked up at the entrance to his apartment house and saw Zack entering it. But Zack wasn't alone. There was a young white guy with him—and Zack was guiding him toward the apartment entrance with the palm of a hand cupping the young man's butt cheek.
"Shit!" Cliff exclaimed to the steering wheel and slammed his car door hard. He's going to fuck him in my bed, I'll bet. Waited for me to leave and then couldn't wait to get him upstairs in my bed. Well, we'll see about that when I get back this evening.
As he walked down the driveway between the white Victorian house on Washington Street and Mrs. Watson's house—obviously the complaining bitty's house, because he saw her peeking out of her kitchen window—Cliff was still thinking about both having to throw Zack out, which he knew he'd have to do, and wondering whether he could get along without Zack's big, black cock, which he also knew wasn't likely.
He knocked on the door to the building at the end of the driveway, and nearly dropped his jaw when it was answered by the most beautiful, hunky young man dressed only in a gold sock bathing suit that didn't contain everything it was supposed to. He'd seen the guy briefly at the antique store earlier in the week, but he hadn't registered then as the hunk that he exhibited now. Of course, he was wearing clothes then.
"Hi? You the social worker guy?" Luther asked, with a big smile on his face.
"Yes, yes, Cliff Trent. But let's go inside." He pressed his hand against the chest of the young hunk to move him out of the doorway. A zap of screaming nerves went through his body at the feel of the hard flesh. While he was pushing, he was looking around, trying to see if they could be viewed by Mrs. Watson from her kitchen window. He didn't think so.
Luther had retreated backward. "You OK?" he asked.
"Yes, yes, of course. I just didn't expect . . . What are you're wearing?"
"You don't like it? Pamela and Jonathan bought it for me. To go riding them in their yacht. But if you don't like it, I can . . ."
"No, no . . . oh, sweet crap . . . oh, oh. Is that all yours?"
Luther had gone ahead and stripped off the sock. Cliff feel on his knees in front of him.
"Oh, god, oh, god. I've got . . ." he had taken Luther's cock in his hands—lovingly—and was rubbing it on his cheeks. "Oh god. Big. Black. The biggest I've . . . oh, my."
"Tim and Alfred told me to be nice to you. They said you wanted to be my friend. If you like we can fuck fuck on my table over other. Tim told me to use it."
"Ummm, ummm," was all Cliff could manage. He already was trying to stuff as much of the cock in his mouth as possible.
Luther fucked him from behind, bent over Luther's special table. Luther was holding Cliff in place with a hand palming his belly and the other cupping his throat, pulling his head back onto Luther's shoulder.
"Oh shit, oh fuck, oh, god, yes," Cliff was stroking his own cock with one hand, palming Luther's butt cheek behind him with the other, and whimpering as Luther pumped his cock up into him from behind.
"You like to fuck fuck with me?"
"Oh, god, yes. But do you know what would be the best?"
"No, what?"
"Bound. I like to be bound when I'm fucked."
"Oh, you want to be a special friend, then? That's what Keith says when he wants to be tied up to my bed in my room. Tim said I shouldn't take anyone into my room. But Keith, he said it was OK for special friends. And Tim told me to be nice to you. You want to go into my room and fuck fuck tied up?"
"Oh fuck yes!"
* * * *
Cliff was laying on his back, his wrists tied to the rails of the brass headboard above him. Luther was sitting on his hips and idly playing with holding their cocks together and slapping them on Cliff's belly.
"So, we are friends now?" he looked down into Cliff's face and asked shyly.
"Yes, Luther we are very good friends now."
"And you will come back to work out with me on my fuck fuck table?"
"Yes, I surely will, Luther."
"And I don't have to go away to some dumb-people's school?"
"No, you don't have to go away to school, Luther."
* * * *
Luther's steps became more halting as he approached Keith's lifeguard stand on the Cape May beach that afternoon. He was coming to coordinate with Keith on his appointment the next day to have his cock glans pierced for a cock ring, and, since that would put Luther out of commission for a couple of weeks, he was hoping Keith would go back with him to the Washington Street house for a good cocking.
But Keith wasn't alone. He was standing beside his station, looking out to the ocean, but there was an older man standing there too—very close to Keith.
Luther sauntered up to them, though, and touched Keith's arm.
"Oh, hi there, big guy," Keith said. "So the Pink Poodle twins have let you free for a while?"
"I'm not working today, Keith," Luther said. He was talking to Keith, but he was looking at the man standing next to his special friend. "I wanted to talk about the doctor time tomorrow, and I thought maybe if you could come over to my house, 'cause, you know, after tomorrow . . . for a while . . ."
"This is Hamilton, Luther," Keith said, it being obvious Luther wanted to know. "Isn't he cute? He lives in South Carolina . . ."
"In Charleston," the man who Luther might say was rich looking and handsome, for a man that old, but not cute, interjected in a smooth Kentucky Bourbon voice.
". . . and he's here just for the summer. We've become good friends."
The "good friends" comment hit Luther like a ton of bricks. He knew what "good friends" meant. And as if to accentuate his distress, the man put an arm around Keith's waist and gave Luther a big smile.
"He says I can call him Ham, though. Isn't that cute?"
That disturbing "cute" crap again. "So, about tomorrow . . ."
"Sorry, Luther, I forgot about that. You still have the appointment, but Ham's invited me to go check out an Atlantic City casino with him. Isn't that great? He's got the most flash Jaguar convertible you've ever seen. You went with me to the doctor's office already. I'm sure you can find it and can get a ride home. Have you ever been to a casino? I haven't."
"Umm, well, OK. I gotta go now. I'm late to getting back to work."
Luther turned and walked away, leaving Keith looking a little confused. Hadn't Luther just said he had the day off? Keith thought. The tall, thin, older man of distinguished demeanor and a silky smooth southern accent voice leaned down and whispered in Keith's ear and then kissed him on the earlobe. Keith gave a little laugh and the man moved his hand to Keith's butt cheek and squeezed it.
Luther went straight to the Pink Poodle antique store, where Tim and Alfred quizzed him on how the visit that morning went with the social worker.
"Great," he said. "We're good friends now."
"But did he say anything about—?" Alfred started to ask.
"He said I don't have to go away to any school. He likes me right here. We're special friends."
