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RICK HOWMAN - PART FOUR
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RICK HOWMAN - PART FOUR
Considering his age Tony was definitely fit, though he looked troubled and a little haggard after his exertions, and his somewhat cold-greyish face flushed red with an emotion I wasn't entirely confident I could read: Was it a residual post-coital excitement? or anger at some kind of disappointment? His clothes were all neat as they had been earlier; so, had he not even undressed for his blowie? No reason why he should, but it gave nothing away.
"I don't know what you're playing at," he said, leaning in to address my ear more privately. His silvery-pewter hair looked moist, smoothed down, like he had swept the sweat from his face up into it.
"What I'm playing at?" I answered.
By way of reply he pushed open the door and re-entered the darkened room. I followed him in.
Now one thing I know about my old friend and business partner Tony, is that he's really hung. Really hung. He's complained to me in the past that, though it's popular, he can't get a decent job - the guy can't take it, or won't take it, or complains, or gets sore, bleeds, tears or otherwise damaged. Tony isn't rough - perhaps that's the problem; when it's that big, you need to be forceful or you'll never get anywhere. They'll repay in gratitude. But his size gets in the way of a fulfilling relationship. Or so he says. He might just be boasting. I've never seen it, so I can't say. But if I had his problem, I wouldn't have some other problem, so I guess it all evens out in the end.
Automatically, I switched the light on. My Baby was sitting on the bed, completely naked except for the black decorative harness tight around his chest, and the black nylon panties I'd made him wear; resting his elbows on his knees, he held his head in his hands, his long back sloped down to the mounds of his arse, white and shiny with perspiration.
I stood next to him. Touching his hair as usual made me want to fuck his face. He was looking, as usual, like the problem I loved to fix. There was a strong smell of shit. I recognised my Baby's smell.
"Hey pretty boy," I said, "what you doin' with that pretty ass?" I put my hand on his head, patting him. "It's okay. You'safe now."
He looked up at me with a grin, "What do you mean, safe? I'm fine." He cupped his junk, bunched up inside it's dark, stretchy nylon pouch, and squeezed it, as if that was evidence of how fine he was. It always turned me on to see him touch himself, and I liked to see him stroke the nylon; slinky, sensuous, elastic and clingy, slutty nylon. "Throat's a bit sore, but otherwise ..." he grinned.
"You put him up to this," said Tony suddenly. "Hey, dumbo. Show him. Open your legs," he ordered.
"Hey, Tony, go easy," I protested.
"You really don't understand?" he said.
My Baby rolled back on the bed, lifting his legs and as he did so sliding off his nylon panties, which he dropped on the bed. His genitals flipped up as he opened his thighs - his lively happy dick and his balls tightened up like two pebbles inside a single purply ball. His bitchhole presented for fucking, he grabbed his knees to spread them further, tucking his knees almost flat against his chest. Oh yeah, that's beautiful. I love to see him present himself like this. His calm obedience was daunting, though it was what I'd been training him for. I was pleased and excited to see him perform for Tony exactly as I'd wanted him to.
"See that?" asked Tony.
"Well yeah. What's the problem? What's wrong with it?"
"What's NOT wrong? I think everything's great. I'm very happy. But are you happy?"
"Yeah .. I'm happy, Tony ..."
Tony was doing my head in.
Baby held position whilst we discussed it, head flat on the bed, staring at the ceiling, his stomach white and ridged, his white thighs making a huge V that seemed to direct the eye to his gap, his flaccid up-pointing cock and his scrunched-up bollocks, his hole - open and available. This is what I liked to see. This is what I liked to fuck. He had a decent prick and I enjoyed wanking him off when I fucked him and then fucking him some more long after he'd cum and was spent; seeing him, and knowing him and feeling him respond to my presence inside his body and his presence in my grip.
"Good lad," I thought. He was a credit to me.
Tony sighed. "It's just that, son," (It always worried me when he called me son!) "You, are a man of refinement, cultivation, taste; this ... lover, servant, sex-slave of yours, he's not intellectually capable. He's stupid. He's a fuck hole and nothing else. He can't be fulfilling your needs and you're sure as hell not fulfilling his."
I happen to think he WAS intellectually capable. Perhaps not as curious or creative as he might have been, had he been given the opportunities in life, but not stupid. He had been getting a lot out of the experiences I had been introducing him to, and as my fuck he always knew he was safe enough to make mistakes. I mean, even if I punished him occasionally, he always knew where he was - in the safety of a properly controlled relationship. As I said to Tony at the time: "Why not? What do you mean, fulfilling his needs? All he needs is my semen inside of him. That's it. Did you get what you need? Did you fuck him?"
"No I didn't fuck him."
"So, what's that smell?"
"I farted," said my Baby with an apologetic grin.
What's a turn-on about a guy farting? I don't get it either, but there it is. I found it exciting.
"I thought I was going to get a blow job," continued Tony.
"And did you?"
"Yes I did."
"Did you cum in his throat?"
"I thought was going to cum on his face but I didn't; so, yes, I did cum in his throat. And very good too. Perfect fit. Much to my satisfaction. Terrific. I'm spent. I've cum more down this guy's throat just now than I've cum in the entire last month! Now Ricky, I'm a business man; I make decisions. And I'm thinking about how you and I are in need of this contract - or rather, you want me to come in on the deal ... with my capital and acumen, so forth."
I knodded, wondering where he was going with this and when he would come to the point.
"Now look at this here," continued Tony. "He could be a businessman if he wasn't a cocksucker. He's obviously intelligent but he's a cocksucker and uses everything to get it. He uses his intelligence to get cock. He uses his pretty looks to get cock. He drives his body hard so that hung blokes want to fuck him. He loves it. He's very good. But then we got to talking and I discovered ..."
"Jesus Tony get to the point."
"Well, this ... this ..."
"What?"
"He's a perfect fit!"
I exhaled: Tony was fine.
Tony addressed him. Baby was still on his back, holding his shins gaping wide, staring at either the ceiling or us alternately, harness straining around his flexed shoulders.
"Turn over. Kneel on the floor and lie forward onto the bed. Lay your head on the bed. Present."
Baby obeyed Tony, let go of his legs and rolled forward, slid down onto the floor, turned his arse towards us and folded over the bed, positioning his bitch-arse for screwing.
Tony looked at me as though he was proving something, then said, "Right now stand up, my friend," said Tony. "Present yourself properly."
My baby put his hands behind his head and presented himself in the classic inspection posture; his small daisy nipples separated a bit as his chest expanded; his arms flexed, biceps bulged, and his abs tightened into a flat gridded wall; he raised his chin and looked straight ahead. Christ he was well trained - well, I'd trained him! - and he looked stunning: smooth muscled skin rippled and tight; the breadth of his chest exactly balanced the gentle curve of his spine; his buttocks protruded, spankably round, and his legs straightened, hard and rooted to the spot like pylons. His sex hung like red fruit from a nest of well manicured pubes. It was delicious and inviting in a way I loved everything about!
Tony smiled. "Look at that. What a perfect specimen. Those lines. Perfect. I want him."
"Again? That's ... impressive." (At your age, I thought.)
"No I mean ... you've got to understand, Rick: I'm alone; you know that. Since Jason left me ..."
"He was never suitable. He was a user, and, well ..."
"He was fine. It was good for a while. There's been others, there's always others, but you got to take what you want or you won't (you know this) you won't get, you'll end up with nothing or at least very unhappy. So I'm saying this to you now: I'm taking him off your hands. Sorry. No don't argue because I'm afraid - Rick - that's my price."
I stared at him in laughable disbelief.
"Come off it, Tony! For starters, it's up to him."
Tony sighed, "Is it?"
"Yeah. I mean. It's a consent thing."
Tony sighed again, "Is it?"
"Yeah. Course it is."
Tony sighed a third time and then put his hand in his trousers and adjusted himself. "Are you sure? Have you asked it"
"Him." I corrected. "I already know what he wants. He's happy with the arrangement."
"Is he? You see, I don't think so."
Tony still had his hand on his trousers, stroking his supposedly humongous dick. I could see the rampant oversize bulge of it pointing off to the right.
"I haven't know him for all that long but I can already tell what kind of a boy he is. He's a size queen who wants more, to put it bluntly. Look at him: Know what he's thinking about?"
I didn't.
"My cock. That's it." (Baby smirked.) "Plus there's the servility mindset. Perfect fit."
(A genuinely servile attitude, but also a lying fucking disloyal cunt; it turned me on surprisingly much, me and Tony treating him like a willing commodity.)
"I mean, he needs to be educated," Tony went on.
"Educated? Do you want him to go to university or something?"
Tony sighed, "No, I mean educated into how to satisfy a huge cock like mine consistently and continuously, over time, but I can do that and I think the potential ... like I said. Perfect fit."
"You know, I like you," I said tousling baby's head, "but if this is what you want ..."
"What he wants?" mocked Tony. "You want it so much," he addressed my baby.
"No, you as well. You need to be happy with it," I continued.
I saw in his face, a curious mixture of happy and sad. It was obvious he was in the grip of a kind of mania. A hunger from which discussion would not detach him. His lips were red and moist; "Cocksucker's lips," I thought. I touched his harness again and prised a finger beneath it, giving a little tug in the way I always used to use it to hold him when I came and was forcing it up him as deep as it could go. He pulled away!
"You were right when you said dick is all I'm interested in," he said. "It's true that it's all I can think about. I mean, I'm capable of other things. I do other things. But nothing else means anything. And now that ... I've seen that thing, and felt it, and had it. In my mouth. Do you know how huge it is? It's huge! Truth is, I can't stop thinking about it, being in his trousers. I just. Want it. I want it. That's all I want. I'm sorry. I can't help it."
I was pretty annoyed.
"Eager. Hungry. You want to touch it ..." - I remembered the way he was with my cock - "... yeah I really do think you do need it," I said. "I really think you do. Cocksucker," I said.
He smiled, "But you're the one selling me on, Rick. So, let's be honest."
"Hey, enough of that!" I corrected him.
"And to the highest bidder. Except; is he the highest bidder? I bet you're wondering if the price of his investment in your contract is the most you can make out of the deal."
"What about you, wanting more, after all I did for you, gifts, presents, watches, clothes, membership to my club. Food. Restaurants. Theatre. ... Hey? You're better off with mister big cock," I said. I was getting so hard talking like this. It's something about the commoditisation of a fellow human being in terms of cost-benefit calculations and supply-demand valuation that turns me on super-hard and excites the desire to possess someone only to swap them like a prize bull for that greatest and most tangible aphrodisiac: Money. Or the promise of money in the form of a profitable agreement with a fellow Alpha. And knowing that big-cock Tony would owe me, big time, that would feel so-oo good, having that well-hung Alpha owing me all the way through the duration of the deal, and really supporting me through the negotiations and the bargaining and all, helping me own the complete situation and control it the way I wanted to control it without anyone getting in my way ... and still have him putting up half the money and still making use of his contacts and business reputation like they were mine to do with as I saw fit ... It was like I was owning Tony! Ha. Ha.
I looked at Tony with fresh eyes; his face was redder, staring at baby, his massive prick was stiffening up excitedly in his leg, like it was on heat, like an old dog someone had said W.A.L.K.I.E.S. - or F.U.C.K.I.E.S., in his case - and waved a studded leather harness at him! How satisfying it was to think I'd be responsible for so much sexual pleasure for my old business associate; he'd never be able to repay me! I looked at him with fresh eyes.
I stroked my baby's hair and put my fingers in his mouth and let him suck the tips of the nails for a bit. I could have let him do that for some time but Tony was getting impatient.
As I pulled my fingers from his mouth the little baby looked up at me with his beautiful fuck-my-face and his beautiful eyes, like he half expected me to stroke him with the back of my forefinger, but staring at me also like his beauty contained an accusation.
I thought we were done but suddenly he said, "You never ... committed! You have so many secrets! Sex seems private, sharing what's private, but after sex you've still got so many secrets, even more secrets than you had before, it seems.
"I was waiting for you to pop the question," he said, "but you never did."
"You seriously thought?"
"No. I never 'seriously thought', you wanker. I always knew you'd never come through," he looked at my crotch, "despite everything. But ... I thought, you'd make more of a fuss," he said, angrily.
"So did I," I said. "But I ... matured early!"
"Or you thought you did. I like strength. But that isn't strength."
"Right then," said Tony, "that settled, stand up. Dress. Grab your stuff and go to my car. Here's the keys. You're driving."
The little bitch stood up with a grin, but before taking the keys from Tony he paused. "You aren't even grateful," he said. "You think cs you're rich, you're a tough fuck, but you can't be kind. You're a cruel cunt. Selfish. Moody. Emotionally you're like a ... sea, creature; deep, sea. You're cold. You're distant. You use me like a servant fuck pussy but I'm your boyfriend and partner and you can't even ..."
I don't know where that came from, what he said. I don't know why he said that. I just don't understand where it suddenly came from. I loved him. I mean, he who lives by the sword must suffer the consequences, but I fucking loved that selfish ungrateful little size-queen bitch. All he cared about was getting it, the bigger the better, and getting paid for it, and being a paid-per-use fuck hole. But beautiful. A beautiful, selfish, incredibly selfish, incredibly expensive fuck-me-in-exchange-for-presents HOLE. Where did it get off calling me out for emotional distance when I was the cock paying for all its services? Feeding in caviar one end whilst cunting it up the other!
Well ... difficult in retrospect, but it was at this point I think I saw red. I'm not sure. I know I leapt.
I jumped on him, grabbing his beautiful neck, at the same time pushing him back onto the bed so I was lying on top of him, trying to choke him. I'm not sure what I remember. I remember being aware of his naked body and the way it felt to touch his warm bare skin. He was so beautiful - that's what I was mainly conscious of as I was trying to kill him: His beautiful face, the panic in his beautiful face, and his beautiful body, slippery squirming beneath mine like a beautiful shining curving stiff dolphin I could barely subdue.
As I held his neck, throttling him, twisting his skinny throat, I was looking at his lovely red face turn from surprise to disbelief, from shock to terror; the lips blurted something else, but I wanted to kiss him; the eyes stared at me, but I wanted to kiss those lids; the eyebrows raised, and forehead ridged in gathering horror, but I wanted to stroke his skin and touch his cheeks and nuzzle his chin. I could feel his whole body jerking about underneath my weight; my chest bore down on his, my elbows I used against his arms when he was trying to beat my back or throw me off, my legs controlled his legs and my belly pushed down his belly and my pelvis ground into his pelvis and my cock - huge, enormous and fucking rock hard rubbed against his crotch. I honestly think he still didn't know I was trying to kill him. I think he thought I was going to hurt him bad - like I nearly had once before - and then fuck him like as a going away present - I think that's what he thought. I think, as I felt - through my hands, my arms, my chest - my manly strength expressed - my voice, my penis - as I held him, like that, fingers tightening, and tightening their press into his voice box, I thought, No way, no way honey are you getting away with this, not this time, not another time when some guy uses me with his bottom, getting me to fuck him like a princess AND get all the privileges of living in my house and a secure safe environment where he can play at being my little wifey who only wants to cook for me and clean for me and suck my cock - "AND YOU GET ALL THIS!!!" - now I was shouting and my cock was aching but I couldn't let go to let it out and do him - as the life was leaving him - "AND YOU THINK ... YOU CAN ... JUST ... "
I don't know where Tony was in all this. I think after realising I was serious he just ran for help.
I could hear myself shouting. I could see myself holding him down and him struggling. I knew what was happening. It was like an out-of-body - like I was the one dying beneath his arms - and all the time-slowed-down-thing happening and me, walking slowly somewhere, in some park, like it was Sunday morning - before I felt my arms being pulled back, my fingers being pulled off like, strangely, they were individual little things that each had a mind of its own, and then being pulled off him and me being just like crowd-surfed out of there, all these hands, and voices, and being held like. A. Wild.
Wild.
Animal.
Until I calmed.
And sat.
And my legs (still in their evening suit trousers, of course) swinging in the pool outside, and my feet, still in their patent dress shoes, swinging in the water, and ... people were saying "Are you ok mate? Stay there. Just calm. Get your breath. Relax."
People patting my shoulder, trying to sympathise but, at the same time, nobody having a clue what just happened. I think someone said to call the police. But nobody called the police.
"I'm ok," I murmured. "I'm fine. I just need to relax. I'm sorry. I'm fine."
After a bit I realised I needed to cool down completely. I leant forward and slid down, into the pool, and sank.
When I came back up, quite quickly, I waved, and smiled, sort of. My arms hurt and my fingers ached. The group of people who were still around, who had rescued me, I guess, from murdering somebody, were watching me, and smiling, just glad I was fine. I guess. Glad I wasn't trying to kill myself next! Drown - like a swimmer like me could just decide to just drown like that. Idiots.
I don't blame them.
Eventually I got out of the pool, heaving my heavy waterlogged suit and exhausted body onto the edge, water running out of me like I was a jug. I stood up, weighed down, and told everybody to leave when they felt like it, not to hurry, but I was going to bed. And I started to walk back into the house. As I stepped through the patio windows I paused to announce, "And just one final thing," - quite a lot of people were heading for the door - "just to remember," I said with a wry grin, "not to mix business ... with pleasure; my tip." I turned. And left them to it.
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END OF RICK HOWMAN - PART FOUR