Subsequent Days

Barely into the new day, 2:30 in the morning, and Paul is taking Raul again in his bedroom. Raul is suspended in air, his belly supported by the plow belt, his arms extended and spread, his hands clutching the front edge of a dresser, his legs hooked on Paul's hips, and his ankles pressed into Paul's upper calves below his knees, while Paul grips the strap hand holds, crouches between Raul's thighs, and pulls the small Hispanic on and off his cock. Raul is making the usual "Yes, yes, fuck me; fuck me deep, daddy," murmurs and panting that can be expected of a rent-boy, but he, in fact, is amazed that the old boy can keep going on with this—and, indeed, Raul is feeling stuffed and well worked.

This was the third taking with the plow belt, and by 3:00 a.m. the two were stretched out on Paul's bed, Raul still panting and Paul sighing, astonished at the present Hardesty had brought him. He rarely got sex these days and even more rarely as a top with a bottom as luscious and sweet as Raul was. He would do what he could to pace himself, but he had no idea how long his good fortune would last, how long Hardesty would leave Raul with him. Subsequently, through tonight at least, each time he woke and felt strong enough, he rolled over on top of Raul. And each time Raul, also marking his good fortune of being hidden and protected by Hardesty, opened and spread his legs, rose off the leverage of his feet to put his pelvis in ideal position, and took the long, thick slide inside him with an intake of breath and a "Yes, yes, again" whisper, putting his own pelvis into motion as the pump began, going with the rhythm of the fuck.

At 2:30 a.m., 200 miles away, in Allentown, Pennsylvania, Raul's erstwhile roommate, Jason, was hanging around—literally.

A porn film was being shot, the view now zooming in to Jason's left nipple and the sound of his groan resonating through the room as a tit clamp at one end of a metal chain the other end of which was already clamped on Jason's right nipple was attached. "Shit, yes, punish me," the camera made sure to record from Jason's reaction to establish that Jason was good with the action. The camera pulled out as an electric zapper was raised to the clamp and touched, and with a scream, Jason writhed, his feet barely touching the floor, as he hung from a ceiling beam by his wrists.

"You came back to me," Benton Clark murmured, giving the young man he was tormenting an affectionate smile.

"Yes, yes, I came back to you," Jason answered through gritted teeth. "I couldn't stay away. Give it to me; give it to me good." He cried out again as the tip of the electric zapper in Benton's hand, its motion followed by the camera being held by Benton's houseboy, the black, muscular Tre, zapped Jason's exposed ball sack. The zap pulled Jason's legs up into his stomach before they dropped again. "Shit, shit. Do me!" Jason cried.

"Because you want what I have to give you."

"Yes, daddy, because I want what you give me. Fuck me, daddy, please, fuck me now. Split me with that nasty dick of yours."

"You went away from me. You need to be punished."

"Yes, I was bad. Punish me, daddy." He screamed as Benton zapped him on the balls again. Benton was already growing tired of the game, however, and had more intimate needs of his own. When the pain in the balls caused Jason to pull his knees up into his stomach again, Benton dropped the zapper, ran his arms under Jason's knees, spread the young man's thighs, and moved in between them. His cock was hard and erect and easily found Jason's hole. The hole was gaping; this wasn't the first time this evening Benton's cock had been in there.

Benton slid his cock up into the hole, deep. "Yes, daddy, yes. Fuck me. Fuck me hard, rip me apart," Jason murmured in an exhausted voice. Benton proceeded to do so, with Tre moving around him, getting it all on video. Suspending his thrusts, holding still other than little twitches in his body, letting it build up inside him, with a jerk and a final deep thrust inside Jason's channel to the tune of Jason crying out, "Yes, yes, YES!" Benton exploded in an ejaculation.

Nobody had been able to pull it out of Benton as Jason had. That's why when Jason appeared at the front door of his stucco and wood-sided house on S. Glenwood Street in a quiet, upscale residential area of Allentown, babbling nonsense about being on the run and needing a place to hide, Benton let him in.

"You know what you'll get here," he'd said before he stepped aside for Jason to enter.

"Yes, I know. I want it. I want you again," Jason said. He was in a panic. He had no idea where else he could turn. He had no other choice that he could see.

Benton pulled out of Jason and let the young man just collapse, hanging there, spent, his head hanging down, the tops of his feet dragging on the floor, his arms completely numb from supporting the dead weight of his body. He jerked and groaned as Benton picked up the zapper and gave him another charge on his nipple. But Jason just hung there and took it without flinching. This told Benton that the session was over.

"You can use him and then put him to bed," Benton said to the muscular black houseboy operating the camera as he wiped his dick off with a moist washcloth and headed for the stairs to the first floor. No one other than young men in training like Jason in Benton's acquaintance had had any idea he had a secret sex torture chamber in his basement. Jason had been like the rest, trainees for a service Benton ran for a club of men who liked to punish and fuck young men. Jason was different, though. He'd acquired a patron and left Allentown. Benton hadn't continued to make money off Jason, and for that Jason would continue to need to be punished. Not too badly, though, because Jason also was the best fuck Benton had ever enjoyed. There was always a good chance that Jason could be reintroduced to the club as well.

He stopped at his library on the first floor before going to his bedroom, taking a shower, and getting some shut eye to be able to appear all chipper and wholesome smiles at his flagship store in downtown Allentown later in the morning. Did he have anything unusual on for today, he wondered, as he looked at his calendar.

Ah, yes, his friend Senator Hal Etheridge was in town today and they were set up for lunch. He had a word or two to say to his old friend too, Benton thought, as he headed for the stairs to the bedroom level. It had been Hal Etheridge who had enticed Jason to leave him, to leave Allentown, to go to Washington, D.C.

In the torture chamber, Tre released Jason's body, and the young man just collapsed into his arms with a sigh. Tre carried him over to a sling hanging from the ceiling in the corner of the room, dropped Jason into the sling, bound his wrists and ankles to the four chains hanging from the corner chains, unzipped himself, penetrated Jason's hole with his hard, thick cock, and began to pump.

Between the manhandled Raul in Arlington, Virginia, and the tortured Jason in Allentown, Pennsylvania, at 2:30 a.m. Hardesty had cleared the Capital Beltway on I-95 and was headed north, approaching Baltimore. He was keyed up, not just on a pressing quest to get to Allentown, coordinate with the police there, and try to find a key witness, Jason, to possibly the biggest vice crime story to hit the country in a decade, but he also was sexually charged. All of this charged him sexually.

He was thinking of Raul—not just about his luscious, fuckable body but also about what drew young men like him to the danger of doing what they did. Look what it did to Drew and Lyle—what it may even now be doing to Jason. Why couldn't Raul see that and back away? Hardesty had tried to shock him into leaving the life, and that hadn't been working. It hadn't worked with Hardesty either, he had to admit. It hadn't kept him away from Raul.

He pulled into the rest stop off I-95 near Columbia, Maryland. It was going to be a long drive to Allentown—a long way to the next piss stop. He had a motel room booked in Allentown, but he was only going to get a few hours of sleep and a gobbled meal before meeting with the Vice unit in Allentown. It had taken a lot of effort from Crane to get Allentown Vice involved in this at all—to take up an investigation of one of their own U.S. senators. This understandably was a hot, hot political potato. Pennsylvania stood to have a vice presidency in its future. Hardesty had to be firing on all cylinders at 9:00 a.m.

If he just wasn't so keyed up one thing might not have led to another at the rest stop. It was pretty much deserted and when he entered the men's room and bellied up to a urinal. There was only one other guy in there—a young blond. The guy looked nervous. He was standing with his dick in hand down the line of urinals, already set up to take a piss when Hardesty unzipped. He was a small, young guy—of "the" type, Hardesty's type.

He was still there when Hardesty finished pissing. Hardesty just held there, holding his breathing in check, and sure enough, the guy moved up to the urinal beside him and gave him a meaningful look. Hardesty turned his body three quarters toward the guy to give him a good look. Take a good look, he though, if that's what you want. That was obviously what the guy wanted, and Hardesty heard the guy's intake of breath and uttered "Holy fuck" when he saw what Hardesty was packing. The guy hesitatingly reached over with a hand, and Hardesty didn't stop him from touching his cock, and then, as it responded by engorging, from grasping it and giving it strokes.

Hardesty was keyed up. He had his needs. He was angry that this is just another guy getting hooked on the life. Hardesty had his own way of trying to get these guys to back away from it. And the young blond was his type anyway, his weakness.

"In one of the stalls," he growled. The guy followed him down the line to the last stall in the double row.

Hardesty sat on the toilet, his trousers and briefs folded up and sitting on the tank top behind him, as the young man knelt between his open thighs and gave him head.

What Hardesty did then was half this, half that. He had his need and he got that itched, but he also was on campaign to get these guys to stop it, to back away from the life. His way of doing it was to show them how rough it would be for them. He got the young blond, sans pants and briefs, bent over the toilet, hands on the back wall, legs spread. Hardesty was crouched over his back, palming the young guy's belly with one hand and yanking his head back, arching his torso back, cruelly, with his hand buried in the guy's blond curls. He humped the guy to beat the band, thrusting hard and deep, ignoring the guy's pleas for mercy, for him to go slow. He fucked the shit out of him and left him, sinking to his knees and hugging the toilet tank with his arms, moaning and groaning, close to sobbing.

"It's going to be a rough life of that, son, if you don't just back away from it and turn your life around," Hardesty said, as he reached into the back pocket of his trousers and pulled out his badge. He flashed it the guy enough for him to see it was a fancy badge but not enough for him to see it was from D.C. and didn't mean all that much in Maryland, where they now were crowded into a rest stop toilet stall.

"You know I could run you in," he said menacingly.

"Please, sir," the guy said, voice quaking, not all from fear of his position, crumpled on the floor with a cop standing over him with a dick out he'd just blown and sheathed; some because of the pain of the fuck.

Hardesty rummaged around in the pockets of the young guy's pants, came up with a wallet, took out a driver's license, showily looked from it to the cowering young man to show that the face in the photo on the man matched, and pocketed the license.

"I may or may not turn this in for action," he said. "Maybe if I don't hear in the wind that you're out here anywhere doing this again, I won't. Like I said, walk away from this life, son. Now."

He pulled his trousers on, zipped up, and returned to the Impala from the bathroom, dumping the license in the garbage bin outside the restroom door when he passed by it.

He didn't really think his rough fuck was going to cure the guy, but the guy asked for it and getting his rocks off had settled Hardesty, so it wasn't a complete waste of his time from his perspective. The guy had also been smiling until the badge came out.

* * * *

Benton Clark was arriving late to work, but since he was the boss and wasn't the one who opened the store, that didn't bother him too much. If he hadn't dallied with Jason, though, he would have been on time. Luckily, he saw a parking space just a few doors down from the store. The car coming from the other side did a U-turn, though, and obviously was headed for the same space. As the car, an Impala, zeroed in on the space, Clark said "Shit" out loud. He'd had his turning signal on, signaling his intention to park there. The space was on his side of the street. The fucker knew he intended to park there. He drove up next to the car and stopped, turning an evil eye on the driver of the Impala.

He might have done more, but the guy looked mean and was muscled up. A real thug—or maybe a cop. He thought the latter, because, not paying a bit of attention to Clark's glare, the guy got out of the Impala and jaywalked across the street right along the front of Clark's car. Clark resisted the urge to run him down just to see the surprised look in the fucker's face but, instead, sat there and watched him walk up the stairs of the police station across the street.

That's when Clark noticed he'd left home in such a hurry that he hadn't brought his briefcase. There was stuff in there he needed. With a sigh, he put the car in gear to drive back home to pick up the stuff he needed.

* * * *

Phil, the arrant vice cop, was mounted on Jason's ass, fucking him hard when he heard the buzzer down at the door. Ignoring it, he kept on thrusting. Jason, moaning and grunting, was spread-eagled on his belly on the bed, his wrists and ankles tied off at the four corners of the bed. Pillows were stuffed under his belly, lifting his ass to a deep approach angle, first for Benton Clark an hour earlier, Tre after Clark left for work, then for another guy, and now for Phil. Jason's ass was taking a progression of men, which in itself didn't upset him all that much. It was what was interrupting the fucks.

The buzzer had gone off earlier while Tre was fucking Jason. He had seen Clark's briefcase in the foyer after the man had left and before Tre came up here to take over the plowing of Jason's ass. Maybe he'd left his keys too. Maybe, Tre thought, it was Clark trying to get it. He pulled out of Jason's ass, rolled off the bed, pulled on his jeans, and headed downstairs.

It wasn't Clark at the door, a glass fronted door. It was one of the bodyguards for one of Clark's friends. Clark opened the door to him.

A few minutes later, Chaz, the cleanup thug for Senator Etheridge, entered the bedroom, walked over and stood over Jason's bound body, smiled, leaned down and wiped off his knife blade on the edge of the bedspread, and unzipped his trousers.

"Hello, Jason, long time no see."

Jason turned his head. His eyes went large. "Oh, fuck," he exclaimed. The last time he'd seen Chaz was when he escaped him at the Downtowner hotel in D.C., with Chaz' sidekick Fred being wiped out in the process.

"Fuck, indeed," Chaz said, with a laugh. He mounted Jason's ass and began bringing reality to the word "fuck." He plowed Jason's spread-eagled and bound body to an ejaculation and then pulled out of the rent-boy' ass. The tip of his knife went to the opening his dick had just vacated.

"Too bad," he murmured. "You're a great lay, but orders are orders."

The roar of a gunshot caused Chaz' eyes to go big in total surprise and he toppled over on his side on the bed.

Phil was standing in the doorway, holding a smoking gun. "Who the fuck are you?" Jason asked, with a trembling voice. That's all he had time to be asking, though. Phil had pushed Chaz' body off onto the floor and was on top of Jason, choking and fucking him. He made quick work of his taking, rammed the barrel of his gun up Jason's well-worked ass, and muttered, "Bye, bye, fucker."

The resultant gunshot blew Phil away and he, in his turn, rolled off the bed on top of Chaz' body. Benton Clark was standing in the doorway, holding a shotgun. "Who the hell is he?" he asked no one in particular. "He left Tre a mess downstairs in the foyer." Then it was, "Oh, shit, who the hell is that?" as he saw Chaz' body under Phil's. And the room was suddenly full of cops, among them the bruiser who had stolen Clark's parking spot downtown not much more than a half hour earlier.

* * * *

Hardesty was helping, but Jason was doing most of the work. He'd been so grateful for being saved—not just from Chaz but then from Benton too—that he'd been all over Hardesty since the vice cop had brought him back to D.C., and, ultimately into his own bed at the Crystal City apartment. Raul was still off having a demanding but also grateful time under Paul down the hall. In fact, those two were hitting it off so well that Paul had talked to Hardesty and there was a good chance that Raul was going to get off the street after all—and move into Paul's apartment as his perpetual guest.

Hardesty was using his feet as leverage to fuck up into Jason's channel as the young blond straddled his pelvis and leaned over him, his hands pressing Hardesty's arms down on the mattress above his head while Jason dipped in from time to time for a kiss or a bite on Hardesty's nipples.

The vice cop could take this only for so long, though. He rolled over to the side, taking Jason with him, turned Jason facing away from him, and pulled Jason into his body. Turning the young man's buttocks away from him, he reached over for the strap he'd been using before, that Jason had begged for, saying that it was what increased his pleasure. Jason's buttocks were already rosy red from the attention of the strap. Hardesty gave the tender skin three more lashes, and Jason groaned, his cock lurching and going harder. "Fuck me hard, daddy," he cried out. Hardesty fucked him in a side split, punctuated by lashes at his buttocks and Jason's cries of passion. "Yes, yes. You're so nasty and so huge. Rip me apart!"

God, it was a miracle the guy was still alive, Hardesty thought, considering what he egged pm a man to do to him. This must be from that Clark guy's training.

"Split me with that big dick! Strap me, punish me, punch me! You're a stud; you're a brute!" Angry and consumed by lust Hardesty gave him the lash again and then shoved a thumb in his mouth and grabbed his throat with the other hand. Jason settled down, sucked on the thumb, and they finished the fuck in a calmer, more deliberate thrust and counterthrust pumping rhythm to a mutual coming.

Coming out of the shower, Hardesty found Jason still lying on the bed, on his back, his legs spread and bent, and masturbating himself.

"Come back to bed," he mewed. "Do me nasty again. You're a thug. I want you again."

"Not now. You're too wild even for me. Gotta go to work. Gotta wrap up the paperwork on this and get you and Raul into witness protection."

"You have it in you to give me all I want. I can tell. And I thought you had a heart-to-heart talk with the senator last night," Jason said.

Hardesty shuddered at the thought of Jason seeing in him the capability to tear a guy a new one. His fear was that Jason might be right. He had been sorely tempted to do Jason harder, nastier when he was begging for it. Hardesty was afraid of himself and his own desires and impulses.

"I did, but I don't know if he's going to take the deal or not. He may have someone else to throw at you and Raul. Maybe even at me. The stakes are big here and he's a big-time player. You didn't tell any of this to Benton Clark, I hope. The cops in Allentown haven't come up with anything to charge him with. He had a license for the shotgun and he saved your life from an intruder. They're just trying to hush it all up. They weren't much help to me with the senator either. Said they couldn't link whatever one of his employees did to him directly. He's too important."