White Stripes

Chad saw the big, fancy sedan, a BMW 700 series, sitting all by itself back in a darkened corner of the parking garage as the bus drove around and around, spiraling up to the top, open deck, where it came to a stop. That had been the only car he'd seen in the garage. It was a Sunday, and this was a city workers' garage.

"Strange. No one in the ticket booth," the driver said to the man standing in the well by the door of the bus, a shotgun in his hands, pointed to the ceiling of the bus.

"Maybe the garage is unattended on a Sunday," the shotgun man answered, not showing much interest.

"That would be unusual," the driver muttered under his breath, thinking this guy was less vigilant and more just along for the ride.

"OK, everyone out." The bus had come to a stop on the top deck. The supervisor turned, facing the young men sprawled out across the seats of the bus, and added. "Grab a brush and a bucket of paint on your way out."

"We gonna be told what we're here for at some point?" Jareed, the black guy who usually asked the questions for them, asked.

"This is your lucky day," the supervisor answered. "You get to work indoors—sort of. Did you ever wonder who repainted the white stripes on those parking space dividers in parking garages?"

"Not really," Jareed said. A couple of the other guys snickered, but the supervisor just smiled.

"Loser jackasses like you guys, that's who. That's what you get to do today, men and girls. You get to slap new paint on the parking place dividers . . . all of them. And you'll get demerits for painting outside the lines or wasting any of the white."

"But there must be—" a thin voice piped up.

"Five stories. Yep, it's a five-story parking garage," the supervisor said to Larry, who was the runt of the group and never said anything that didn't come out as a whine. "And so, ladies, you need to get to it."

"Starting where?" Jareed asked.

"Way down on level one, from the ticket booth," the supervisor answered.

"Then why's the bus parked up here?" Another whine, so it was Larry who asked.

"Because you'll be working through your mandatory exercise period, so you're exercise will be in trotting down to the first level."

"And I suppose when we've worked our way up here, the bus will be down on level one," Jareed said.

"Do you have a problem with that, Jackson?" the supervisor asked. "Can your little girlie legs walk that far?"

"No, boss, no problem." Jareed could tell from the supervisor's voice that he'd had enough backtalk.

"Then it's time for you to stop lollygagging around here and get your asses down to the street level."

That was OK with Chad. He wanted to get another look at that sleek sedan on the third level and maybe someplace where stuff could be stashed between there and the street level that no one would see.

The sedan was still there when he reached the third level and there, on level two, was the type of city trash can he loved. He knew that the bottom of the can had space under it—that the side skirts lifted the bottom of the can a good six inches off the ground. He also could see that the can was just about empty. It wasn't likely anyone would be back to empty it for a month or more, and they wouldn't lift the whole unit anyway. The actual trash receptacle was a separate can inside the outer shell. Underneath the whole thing, as he well knew, was the perfect place to stash something for days on end.

He'd be able to come back in two weeks—if he didn't get into any trouble in the meantime.

When they were down on the first level and divvying up who would work on what, Chad volunteered to work at the top of the first-level ramp and paint his way down toward those starting at the bottom. There were enough of them there that day that the supervisor and the bus driver wouldn't be able to watch and account for them all continuously. Like most of the other guys, Chad stripped off his T-shirt and hooked it in the backside of the shorts he was wearing. He didn't want to get paint on the shirt. He'd get shit for doing that. It was a jail-issued black shirt with white stripes. It didn't need any extra white stripes.

He knew he could slip away for the time it would take to check out the sedan and be back without them noticing there was one guy fewer painting for a while.

He told the two guys he was painting with that he had to take a leak and would be gone for a couple of minutes. He knew they wouldn't report him as missing for any time he took and that it was plausible that he'd go on up the ramps to an out-of-the way dark corner to take his whizz. There was no bathroom around. They all had to piss where they could from time to time. Homeless guys no doubt did that in here all the time. It was a city building, not a fancy shopping mall.

As Chad walked up the ramp, he rummaged around in the pocket of his shorts. He always kept some of what he called his "aides" with him, entangled with other metal rings and such that the powers that be thought it was just some sort of puzzle he liked to work during the times when the guys were just sitting around waiting for something to happen—which was most of the time.

One of the pieces he took out of the tangle as he moved up the ramps to the third level was something that enabled him to pop car doors and trunks quickly and silently.

The BMW was a real honey. It would have a nifty tape deck, but he decided to check out the trunk first.

He popped it quickly, raised the trunk, and reared back, with a loud "Yo!"

There was a body of a young man in the trunk. Not a dead body, Chad could see. The guy was trussed up and had thick tape over his mouth, but he was moving. And he was looking at Chad with his eyes wide open. But only at first. His eyes sifted to beyond Chad and got even bigger.

"You lost, buddy?"

Chad whipped around. The guy looked like he'd come right out of a casting call for Mafia types for a movie. Italian dark and swarthy. Muscular build. Bigger than Chad certainly. But looking mean as all hell. That gun he had pointed at Chad looked mean too.

"The trunk was already open, honest," Chad said, raising his arms away from his body in case the thug was trigger happy. "I didn't see nothin'. Just saw the trunk was open and came over. Didn't look in."

"I saw you pop the trunk, and I saw you look in and step back. Who are you trying to shit?" the man said. "So, now, what am I going to do with you? Looks like there's room for you in there too. A double-down day for me."

"Hey, man, you don't need to go—"

"But you were too handy by half with whatever you used to pop the trunk. Over by the side of the car and assume the position. You look like a guy who knows how to assume the position. I don't want you in that trunk with something you can use to open it from the inside."

"Look, man. I've gotta be back down on the street, or there will be—"

"What part of assume the position don't you understand, blondie?"

The "blondie" got to Chad. He looked at the guy for the first time. Really looked at him. He had the same expression on his face that any john did down on the street when Chad was hustling. The thug was interested. The last thing Chad wanted was to be put in that trunk with the other guy. He brought his hands down and slowly moved around to the side of the sedan. While he did so, he pushed the waist of his shorts down low on his hips, low enough to show some butt cleavage.

He assumed the position against the car, but he jutted his buttocks out a good bit. This wasn't just a good position for a body search. This was a good position for one guy to cover another one for a little hanky-panky. As he assumed the position, he saw that there were DVD cases in the backseat. Gay male porn. So he was right about this guy. He had a chance here.

The man started to run his hands over Chad's bare torso—where he couldn't have possibly been hiding anything. And he was taking his time doing it. Chad could hear him breathing heavy.

The one thing Chad didn't want him to do was to feel all the way down to the hem on his shorts. There was some items Chad didn't want to be found sewn in the material there. One of them had always been a nuisance before, but it could be a lifesaver now.

"Here. This is what you'd be looking for. Here in my pocket. That's all I've got."

He started to reach in his right pocket, but the man pushed his hand away with the barrel of his gun and put his own hand in the pocket, bringing out Chad's metal puzzle, with the "aides" entwined. While he had his hand down there, though, he pushed it around to the front and got a feel of Chad's cock.

"Yeah, that's what I used to pop the trunk," Chad said. "It's all I'm carrying. I'm clean otherwise. But you don't have to stop feelin' me up if you want to. I liked that."

He really hated giving up the aides, but it was better than the guy finding out what else he had. He couldn't let the guy do that.

But the thug had his hands on Chad's hips now, over the material of his shorts.

"You're getting me all hot and bothered," Chad whispered.

"Am I now?" The man leaned into Chad's back real close and moved both hands around to his front and palmed his basket. "Got anything in here?"

"For you? Maybe, yes. Maybe something you'd like," Chad whispered. "Or maybe you'd like me to handle yours. Maybe give you a good blow job? If you promise to let me go, I could give you a great blow job, right here in your car."

If Chad could keep him right here for a while, the guards down below would surely be coming looking for him pretty soon. Both the supervisor and the bus driver were armed. It could be messy, but at least he'd have a chance. He was beginning to figure out what the young guy was doing in the trunk. He was young and good looking. A blond. Just like Chad. Just like those guys on the covers of the DVDs in the backseat of the BMW. The guys shown on the DVD covers were bound too.

The man was pulling Chad's wrists behind his back, and he felt the plastic restraints being snapped shut, binding his wrists together.

"Down on your knees by the open passenger door," the man growled.

"I could give you great head," Chad repeated.

"I said down on your knees, sweet cheeks," the man countered. He was palming Chad's butt cheeks underneath the material of the shorts, so Chad knew what cheeks he was talking about.

When Chad went down on his knees there, the man bound his ankles together. Then he sat down in the passenger seat, legs outside the car, unzipped himself and pulled his cock out, grabbed Chad's head between his hands, and lowered Chad's face to the cock. Chad opened his mouth over the cock and started to give the man slow, deep-throated head.

This wasn't a strain for Chad. This—hustling johns on the street—along with petty theft were the vices that had gotten him on a white-stripe-painting chain gang in the first place. Giving head came naturally to him. Being bound while he gave it was something new, though.

"That's nice, very nice," the man murmured. "A nice soft mouth. You do this a lot, I can tell. When you get me hard enough, we change places, but you'll be on your belly on the seat. We'll find out how nice another hole is."

"Chad! Chad Barnes. Where the hell you got to, boy? How long does it take to take a piss? There ain't no place to go here but up, buddy, so let's you not try anything."

The voice was wafting up the ramps from the next level down.

"Shit," the man exclaimed. He pushed Chad off him and rose out of the car. Showing that he was a strong man who Chad didn't want to mess too much with whether or not he was holding a gun, the man picked Chad up in his arms, walked around to the back of the car, and dumped him into the trunk beside the young man already in there.

"You make noise on the way out of this garage and you're a dead man—along with whoever is making that racket down there, you hear?" He gave Chad a mean look and then he slammed the trunk shut.

Chad had banged his head on the lip of the trunk when he'd been stuffed in there and was pretty dazed all the time it took for the car to clear the garage. He was too scared and intimidated to try to yell anyway when the car stopped briefly before exiting the garage. Chad knew that the supervisor had held the BMW up long enough to look inside the passenger compartment, but, not seeing anything, had let it pass.

The car bounced along for a good half hour, with both young men in the trunk gathering bruises and moaning in unison in the tight space.

But eventually the car slowed down, Chad heard a garage door open and the car roll inside and then the garage door roll down again with a hollow-sounding bang.

The trunk opened, with a blinding light invading the interior and a cheery voice said, "Wakey, wakey. We're home. Eeny, meeny, miny, mo. The choices. Maybe last one in, first one fucked."

Hands grabbed Chad and pulled him out of the trunk, not caring much that he banged Chad's head again, which sent his head reeling a second time with a blast of pain and colored lights. The man tossed Chad over his shoulder like he was a sack of mulch and entered a kitchen, leaving the trunk open and the other, trussed young man still in it.

The man carried Chad through a kitchen and a dining room and down a hallway. He kicked a door open and they were in a bedroom. The man dumped Chad on the bed on his belly. He was muttering to himself.

"Now, where were we? Hard all the way home, thinkin' about it. Got me all hot and bothered. Went for one, came home with two. God, I'm horny. Gotta get it off."

"Listen, I didn't see nothin'," Chad said. "I'll give you a good time. Just let me go afterward."

"Shut the fuck up, blondie."

The man jerked a nightstand drawer open. He rummaged around in it, pulling out various sex toys: handcuffs, dildos, bead strings, tit clamps. He came up with a ball gag. Leaning over Chad's body, belly at the foot of the bed, knees almost touching the floor, the man flipped the ball gag over Chad's head, forced the ball into Chad's mouth, and tightened the strap behind his head.

"Scream all you want now, blondie. There aren't any neighbors anywhere close anyway."

He reached around and unbuttoned and unzipped Chad's shorts and jerked them down to his knees. He went down on his own knees behind Chad, grabbed Chad's buttocks and pushed them apart, and pushed his face into Chad's crack. A hand snaked between Chad's thighs and grabbed his cock and he was being stroked and his ass was being eaten out. Chad squirmed. The sounds he was making were as much pleasure as anything, although he was scared as hell.

Then, after Chad watched the man pull packets of condoms and a tube of lube out of the nightstand drawer, Chad's channel was being lathered up. The man crouched over him, penetrated Chad's hole with his cock, and pumped him fast and hard to a long-coming ejaculation.

This part was business as usual for Chad, and he took it like a champ. The man wasn't particularly thick or long, but he was all about what he wanted and he could piston hard and had stamina. He just grunted and prodded and pinched at Chad with his hands, and thrust, thrust, thrust, as Chad moved his pelvis in rhythm with the fuck under him, making moaning sounds and moving with the thrusts, trying to convince the man that he liked the cocking—which he sort of did. He certainly didn't mind having the cock inside him, not that he didn't get enough of it inside the prison. The fucking went on longer than Chad was used to, and various parts of him were cramping up before the man finished.

Chad lay there, where he was left, belly on bed and knees almost touching the floor, as the man pulled out of him and walked out of the room. Chad concentrated on the shorts still down around his knees—wondering if he could get to the wire strung in the hem there, or if what else was there was working. And wondering what he could do with the wire if he could reach it. If he could just convince the man to free his hands while they were fucking. The man hadn't said anything about being finished with Chad. He just said that Chad was a good lay and that he was thirsty and maybe ready for some variety.

"You think the guy in the trunk can take cock as good as you?" the man had whispered in Chad's ear. "Maybe not want it as much as you—put up a little fight? Be tighter than you? Cry for me? Make me mad enough to finish him?"

Chad took that to mean that the guy would be gone for a while—probably grabbing a beer or two and then sampling the other guy who'd been left in the trunk of the BMW. In any event, Chad going with the fuck maybe is what was saving him so far. Maybe the guy's blood-lust fetish was to be made mad—to have to take it hard, giving him an excuse in his own mind to snuff the guy.

How long, he wondered. How long would it be? He still had the shorts. The man hadn't had time to mess with them.

After Chad didn't know how long, the man came back into the room. He was naked—and in erection. And he was drinking a beer out of a bottle, but what Chad was eyeing was that the man had brought a straight razor in a sheath back with him and laid it down on the edge of the bed, well out of Chad's reach even if Chad hadn't been bound. The stood there and looked at Chad for several minutes while Chad tried his best to keep his eye off of the razor. Then, without warning, he was close to Chad again, pulling at him, raising him up to the bed, pulling Chad up to his knees, but pushing his chest down on the surface of the bed.

Chad's ankles were released, his shorts were stripped off him and thrown on a nearby chair, and his legs were being spread, with the man still insisting that he be raised on his knees. The man knelt behind Chad and Chad felt his butt cheeks being manipulated and spread. His cock was pulled through, held firmly at the root in the grip of one of the man's hands, and the man was alternating between sucking Chad's cock and eating his ass out.

So far, Chad could take this—even multiple times. It wasn't anything he didn't do for money. It was the fear of what came afterward that was worrying him. The longer he could keep the man interested in doing this, the better his chances were. Chad turned his head to the side where he could see his shorts. He took courage from them still being there.

The man stood, rolled a condom on his cock, and crouched over Chad's body, encircling the young blond's chest with his arms, entered him with a long slide, and began to pump. Leaving one hand on Chad's belly, he cupped Chad's throat with the other hand, and arched Chad's body back to him.

Chad moaned loudly, trying to convey that he was enjoying the fuck, wanting the man to want him again and again for as long as it was necessary. He moved his pelvis in the rhythm with the fuck and slowly took over the stroking to where the man just held his cock stationary and Chad moved his channel back and forth on it.

The man was moaning now too, enjoying Chad's response.

Chad was lying on his back along the foot of the bed, with one leg extending down to the floor and the other raised on the man's torso, Chad's ankle on the man's shoulder, and the man holding that leg with one hand and with one leg extending down to the floor and plowing Chad's channel when all hell broke loose.

The man had barely made it to the door of the bedroom when the room was swarming with cops. The cops pulled the man out of the doorway and down the hall. A policeman in civilian clothes, apparently the man in charge of the raid, remained in the doorway long enough to admonish Chad to "Stay put until we sort this out."

Before leaving the room, he came over and pulled the ball gag out of Chad's mouth and released his wrists from the plastic cuffs.

"In the trunk. There's a guy in the trunk of the car," Chad said, his voice coming out in a squeak. He rubbed his wrists to get circulation back into them and exercised his jaw, working at getting it to stop aching and to start letting him speak in a normal voice.