I spent more than a week riding around with Ray Ross before Aunt Clair finally called us up to the house to "give her a little sugar." What she meant by that was pretty much what I expected, and despite my excitement, the truth was that I already hated Ray so much I was questioning whether another orgasm inside Clair was worth the trouble.
On the morning when the call came, Ray was sitting in his office inside the grimy Quonset Hut on Commerce Street in Sudbury. Ray called the place "Ross World Headquarters," and it was the public face of the more-or-less legitimate side of his enterprises: small engine repairs, appliances, the occasional pickup or dirt bike.
His staff was a barely functioning 60-year-old alcoholic named Doot (full name: Deuteronomy) who handled most of the little repairs, and two pimply, sulking twentysomethings named Dwayne and Shawn Patterson who appeared to be doing exactly fuck-all.
So while I spent most of my time at the Quonset hanging around with those three losers, Ray entertained a steady stream of surprisingly diverse Sudbury characters, either inside his office, just inside the shade of the always-open double doors, or out in the sun in rusting metal deck chairs amidst the piles of old electrical motor parts, engine blocks and hulking, greasy transmission bodies. In the mornings they dropped by for coffee (it was my job to keep the urn filled). In the afternoon they came by for after-work beers.
Some wore overalls and smelled of chicken shit. Others wore summer-weight suits and high-gloss black shoes. There were younger men in wife-beaters and gimme caps, wannabe bad-asses with packs of Camels rolled up in the sleeves of their T-shirts, skinny country rakes in straw cowboy hats and Molly Hatchet concert shirts, fat old men covered in tattoos that spoke to time in the military or prison.
Even my Uncle Jim stopped by sometimes after shutting down his law office for the day.
Sometimes they just talking about nothing. Sometimes they talked business. Sometimes they'd cut their eyes at me or the Patterson boys and Ray would say something like "Hey, pencil dick. Take a hike," and they'd continue in private.
Pretty regularly someone would show up and reach for his wallet, or an unmarked envelope, and Ray would wave him off and say "Step into my office."
My first day on the "job" consisted of sweeping up, looking for things to do, taking the occasional insult from Doot (who insisted on calling me "Slats") and being ignored entirely by Ray. But on the second day Ray took me with him "to go run some errands." So I climbed in his crappy-ass Ford F-150 and off we went.
The first thing we did was drop by Clyde's Diner for more coffee, but Ray made me wait outside in the truck. Then we followed a man I'd never met before out to the country, and Ray - who barely spoke to me while he drove - dropped me off at a big metal storage building with two padlocks on the sliding doors. The stranger came around, unlocked them and pointed me toward a push broom and a utility closet with a rolling mop bucket. Then the two of them climbed into Ray's truck and disappeared back the way we came.
I was done with the job and sitting outside in the sun when they returned about two hours later - with a young-looking redhead sitting between them. Ray was grinning ear-to-ear.
"Hey boy," he said as he helped the girl step down from his truck. "This is Natalie. Say hello to Will, Natalie."
"Hello," she said, giving me a shy smile. She was probably about my age - maybe a bit older - with a Marilyn Monroe figure and long, straight, red hair. Sexy, for sure, but with a kind of simple innocence.
"Did you get that barn cleaned up, boy?" Ray asked. He poked his head inside as the stranger walked up to look it over ,too.
"That'll do," the stranger drawled. He was short, balding and pot-bellied, dressed in fat-slacks and a tucked-in polo shirt.
"Alright then," Ray said, smacking his palms and rubbing them together. "Let's get down to business, Natalie."
"R-right here?" she stammered, glancing around. "All three of you?"
"Not that boy," Ray said. "He ain't got nothing to do with this. Do you, boy?"
I shrugged.
"She ain't much for a blow job," the fat stranger said. "But that pussy is right tight."
"Is that true?" Ray said, taking the chin of her heart-shaped face between his thumb and curled index finger. "You some kinda retard when it comes to sucking cock, girl?"
"That's what Bill says," Natalie said. She closed her eyes. "I gag on it."
"Well I'll take my own counsel on this matter," Ray said, and put both his burly hands on the girl's shoulders and pushed her down. She knelt on the concrete slab at the doorway to the empty storage building. "Don't just sit there, dammit. Them jeans ain't gonna undo themselves."
If the rough fucking Ray had given Clair that day on her back porch had looked like rape to my virgin eyes, then what transpired with Natalie really put me in a weird place. Because it wasn't enough that this pretty little girl sucked Ray's thick cock - he had to jam it as far down her throat as far as he could, holding her head by the scalp of her red hair as she gagged and coughed, fucking her face, and slapping her cheek when she got free of his dick.
Meanwhile, the stranger - who I would eventually know by the name Bill Ferguson - had dropped his trousers and was stroking his sub-average penis. Which was just about the most unsexy thing I'd ever witnessed.
Eventually Ray released Natalie from his grasp, and she turned almost gratefully from his abusive, raging cock to start slurping on Bill. There was something gentle and erotic about it, even though her pretty face had been distorted by Ray's treatment. Her eyes were watering. Her nose was bright red and moist. Even her lips seemed bruised. But left to her own devices she was almost sweet to this toadish old man.
Ray wasn't exactly a man who appreciated the finer things, though. While Natalie sucked Bill, Ray pulled her into a standing, bent-over position, pulled down her jeans, and with no foreplay whatsoever pushed his cock into her pussy. It was clearly unpleasant for her, but she took it like a trooper and kept up her rhythm on Bill.
"Like I said, not much of a cocksucker," Bills said, using the same tone he might have used in discussing a hunting dog. "But how's that pussy, Ray? Not bad, huh?"
"Damn fine," Ray said. "Tight. And I like those little strawberry pubes, too."
"Now don't you cum in there, boy," Bill said. "I like to finish in that pussy and I don't wanna put my dick in none of your mess."
"Well, since we're business partners, alright. But I'm ready, boy."
"Alright then," Bill said, pulling out of Natalie's mouth and shoving her over toward Ray. "Cum all over that pretty fucking whore face, Ray! Shoot it!"
"Oh hell yes," Ray said, grabbing her hair again and stuffing her mouth. A few thrusts later I watched Natalie cough up a huge mouthful of cum, and when Ray pulled her head hard to his belly to complete his orgasm, she began gagging and gasping, with each pulse of his dick drooling out of her mouth.
"Ragged," Ray said as he released her. "You'll never be a Grade A whore until you improve your cocksucking skills, Miss Natalie."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Ross."
"You'd better be sorry," Bill said, pulling her up and leading over to a makeshift table consisting of some plywood over some 55-gallon drums. She understood what he wanted, pulled her jeans down and off of her left foot, then spread her legs and bent over so that one of the drums supported her weight.
"You're a gift to Mr. Ross today," Bill said as he tried to line up her pussy from behind. "And if you want to get all those good things we talked about, you'll work on your deficiencies." He pushed into her.
"Yes - uh! I mean, yes, Mr. Bill," Natalie said.
"I do like to watch her take that dick," Ray said, walking around and smacking the girl on the side of her ass as Bill plowed her with steady, short strokes.
"One of the best things about Natalie is that she don't mind if you shoot your load in her pussy," Bill said. "Do you mind, Natalie?"
"No Mr. Bill."
"Ain't you worried about her getting knocked up? Or maybe the clap?" Ray asked.
"Not really - damn that's good - I mean, I haven't put her out in the rotation yet. Kinda keeping it for myself at the moment. Share her around for special circumstances. You ready to take your load, Natalie?"
"Yes sir."
"Good! Cause there it it! Damn!"
The little piggie-looking man shuddered, and then pulled out of her. Sperm dribbled out of her labia.
Natalie slowly straightened up, while Bill Ferguson hitched up his pants with all the ceremony of a man in a public restroom.
"So what's next?" Ray asked. Bill looked at his wristwatch.
"Willie's boys should be down with the bales any minute now," Bill said. "We'll handle things from there. You just stick to the schedule and follow instructions and you'll be right as rain."
"Alright then," Ray said. "Come on, boy, let's go."
Natalie and I caught each other's eyes as I turned to leave, but she cut her gaze away from me.
"What was all that about?" I asked once we were underway.
"That ain't none of your concern," Ray said.
"The hell it ain't," I replied. "If you're putting me in the middle of something illegal, it's absolutely my business."
Ray laughed, a great big smile splashing across his black-bearded, beefy face.
"Well, ain't you just Billy Bad-Ass today? Hey, I got a question for you, Will. At them fancy Washington schools you went too, did they teach you how to fight country?"
"Say what?"
"They didn't teach you shit," Ray said, and he stopped the truck abruptly in the middle of the gravel road and swung up his door. Clouds of gravel dust billowed over us. "Come and get your first lesson, you Lurch-looking mortherfucker."
I'm not going to lie. My shit felt very weak at that moment.
"Why... what..." I said as I hesitantly leaned out the open passenger window.
"Come on, boy," Ray said. "You've got the big brass ones to curse at me. Question my instructions. You think you've got room to speak to me? Fine! Get out of that truck and fucking speak to me, you smart-ass little punk."
