Guiding Light belongs to CBS and Procter & Gamble. The actors belong to themselves, and only their characters are my fantasy pawns. Please don't archive or pass this around without my permission (although, if you want a few friends to see it, that's OK). If you aren't over 18 or the age of majority in your area, don't read this.
Thanks for the feedback, and please, please send more. This chapter is more about Richard, but will eventually tie into the Danny storyline.
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Richard Winslow hated working at the car lot. He hated the way the people would gawk at him or chuckle inwardly to themselves that a former prince was now selling cars to them, that they were superior to royalty. Richard wanted to tell them he fully intended to find better employment, and only slaved in used car hell because of his constantly needy wife, Cassie. Richard wanted to tell them to go stuff it up their arse.
Today, he was living a literal definition of that phrase.
An hour and a half earlier, a coffee-skinned, 6 foot 2 lawyer had strutted in, bursting out of a tee shirt and khaki pants several sizes too small. This Mr. Stevens had run his gleaming brown eyes up and down Richard's toned body, with the contact lingering just a moment too long as they shook hands. The man had behaved horribly, "accidentally" bumping his ample bulge against Richard's buttocks as they each walked around a sports car, blatantly staring at Richard's crotch as Richard explained the features of the auto, running his smooth fingers over Richard's coarsened palm when taking the pen to sign the agreement with, and then pausing the second before he was going to agree to buy the cherry red convertible.
"I want extra incentive. Can we dig deeper into this...in a more private place?" Mr. Stevens said in a purringly masculine light Southern drawl, licking his lips.
Richard's hands gripped the sink as roughly as Stevens' held his hips. Biting into his lower lip, Richard held firm with each savage thrust into his chiseled cheeks. He hadn't been anally serviced in years, and the deep, warm tongue which had flopped around his rectum several moments earlier had reminded him of the pleasures only another man can bring. Women had tongues as well, but never quite as eager. Cassie wouldn't even give him oral sex, as that brought back memories of her sordid past. Richard understood, but he missed the sensations desperately.
Stevens had an annoying, arousing habit of sliding his 10-inch log out to the very tip, tickling Richard's hairy hole, letting Richard catch a breath, then slamming back home. Richard grunted with every new assault, his anus ring stretching after years of dormancy. Stevens raped Richard's ear, gnawing on his lobe, rasping how tight Richard was, how he was the king now and Richard was the whore, how Richard wouldn't be able to sit for weeks. Richard had kept his beige dress shirt on, and the smooth material tickled his cheeks, heightening his pleasure as it wafted back and forth on top of the girth maneuvering inside him.
Their sets of low-hangers crashed together like skin cymbals, rough hands reaching inside Richard's beige dress shirt to maul his juicy nipples. Richard grunted as the final stages of the fuck began, letting the other man maintain dominance as his shaft scraped against the edge of the sink, bumpy veins lining the bottom of his thick sausage set afire by the cold contact. Contrasting the hot slab of skin ravaging his ass, and the slab of porcelain cool and heavy under his penis, Richard could only whimper and wheeze, grunt and pant, jacking himself off.
Slightly ashamed, Richard had kept away from his reflection. But near the moment of orgasm, Stevens snatched a handful of his sandy brown hair, yanking up and forcing Richard to see his gasping, masturbating, rock-hard mirror image, to see the dark hips sweat-glued to his white, gyrating hips. When Stevens turned them to let Richard see the slimy flesh nightstick sliding in and out of his twitching hole, Richard let out a hoarse cry, exploding gallons of seed onto the toilet bowl, his clenching thighs, only saving his shirt by instinct forcing him to lift it up just before the flood began. The sea of semen was prolonged by the feeling of Stevens brutally plunging balls-deep one last time, painting Richard's dark, damp walls a bright, gooey white.
With a pop, Richard's ass was suddenly, painfully empty, and Richard was left to try to ignore the man he had just been ravaged by. A last whimper of pleasure escape his lips as Stevens licked his stomach clean while removing Richard's shoes, pants, and boxers from his body. Richard's confusion was answered when Stevens held the blue silk boxers to his face, making Richard breathe in the musky scent. Stevens then used the silk fabric to mop up the cum trails on Richard's cock and legs. After both men had washed themselves, Stevens put the underwear in his own pocket, handing Richard a $100 bill.
"I want to taste them, jack off in them, wear them, fuck, maybe put 'em in my scrapbook. Go buy yourself something pretty."
Richard wanted to remind the smirking, sparkly-eyed man that he once had the power to execute those with such arrogant tones. He wanted to punch the impudent bastard in the face. Yet, he chose to take the cash and remain silent. What Richard hated more than being a whore was that he had actually enjoyed the rough sex, and if Stevens wanted more, he would be hard-pressed (no pun intended) to turn him down.
The spent men returned to the office area, where Mr. Theodore Stevens bought his new automobile. The final, lewd wink as he left the lot reminded Richard that he had nothing on under his suit pants, and he should try his best to avoid any erections while going, as the Americans would say, "commando". As Richard had difficulty sitting anyway, he would later excuse himself for several self-pleasuring sessions, swearing he could never make himself that vulnerable again. But he had a strong hunch that this would not be his last dalliance with a member of his own sex.
The next morning, Theo Stevens whipped out his cell phone, breeze hitting his bald scalp and tickling his muscular arms.
"Hey, you filthy limey! Yeah yeah, you aren't British, you're San Cristobilian...whatever the fuck that is. Guess who just gave me a test drive of their ass? Richard Winslow, your Richard. No, I ain't shittin' ya. Go feel for yourself! Yeah, at that car lot. I have a date with my second ex-wife, gotta go."
Edmund hung up his phone, careful not to wake the moody Romeo Jones, currently sharing his bed with Edmund, and, several hours ago, his bodily fluids. He was torn between giddiness and concern at Richard debasing himself to such a level. He was also perplexed by the ample girth which had grown between his legs while Theo described the vise-like intensity of Richard's buttocks, the salty taste of his bronzed neck. He hadn't thought of Richard that way in years. He hadn't allowed himself to.
Edmund glance at his hardness. At least he knew how to take care of this problem. Straddling his knees between Romeo's ears, he stroked himself to a state of being able to hammer nails, then slapped Romeo awake.
"Wha..."
As Romeo spoke and tried to open his tired eyes, he was treated to a breakfast facial, drowned in the pedigree cream of Prince Edmund Winslow. Edmund then sat on his protesting, cursing mouth. By the time Romeo made an effort to get Edmund away, the chuckling stud had inhaled his morning hard-on, and Romeo contented himself to whimpers, and eating out the plush cheeks planted against his nostrils.
Thus that was the way the day began, and the way it remained until an hour before noon, when Romeo spewed his last supply of man-milk into his pleading lover's ass. Edmund watched his incredibly dangerous and hunky boytoy shower and slither into his clothes, then he showered as well, wondering whether or not he should pay a visit to poor, long-suffering, cock-slut Richard. His brain said no, but the soaped-up penis currently being fisted in his head said yes, definitely, absolutely. As Edmund blew his load against the shower wall, knees trembling under the battery of chilling water, he pondered which head to think with.