Snowstorm

[Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any similarities between actual events and the events in this story or the characters in this story are purely coincidental. This story involves descriptions of unsafe sexual acts between men for the purpose of erotic fantasy and is not intended to condone such acts. If you are underage or homoerotic material is otherwise illegal in your area, please do not continue. Author retains copyright; do not duplicate this story without express written consent by the author. Comments and suggestions are welcomed at lopezbos@yahoo.com]

Snowstorm -- Part 2

I was incredulous. Was this guy asking for a blow job? What the fuck was going on? There was no way I was giving off any kind of signal that I was even remotely interested in this guy. I looked at him, surprise changing to anger.

"Yeah, I got another idea. I can go inside and get the fucking card and call the auto club and report your ass. How's that for an idea?"

He furrowed his brow and looked me over again. "Hey, sorry pal, just thought you might want to share the love, you know?" He reached over to my pants and wiped the cum off with his greasy finger to emphasize his intent. He sniffed his finger and snorted. I felt my face flush.

"What the fuck gave you the idea..."

"You got some more on the back of your head, so unless you can shoot boomerangs bro, this ain't yours." he chuckled. "It's just been a really long night, you know? Thought maybe, well, never mind." He reached up on the dash and gave me a business card. "Here's my card, just give the club a call and tell them you didn't have your card and that I serviced your car." He shot me another quick look, taking a moment to check my crotch. "That way I don't get shit from them. OK?"

I nodded, feeling a little guilty. "I'll call them as soon as I get inside. And thanks for fixing the flat."

He smiled and bobbed his head a little. "No problem, that's what I get paid for. But your flat ain't fixed, that crappy spare you got ain't meant for driving in these conditions. I'd wait until the roads are good and clear before heading out, if you can."

"Shit, I can't stay here" I said, more to myself than to him.

"Well" he said, again, adjusting his crotch, "I could give you a lift, but I have a few more calls to make before that."

"I have to go get my wallet inside anyway. I'll figure it out, but thanks anyway."

"Anytime buddy. And I mean anytime." He gave me a wink and I got out of the cab fast. I couldn't believe that asshole, and I couldn't believe that I'd been sitting there with cum in my hair and pants and feeling like a total slut. What the hell was going on? I slammed the truck door as I jumped down, managing to slip in the snow and take a nosedive. It was powdery, so I brushed off and headed for the door. The wind was fierce and the cold seemed more intense after being in the warm cab. For a split second, my mind flashed on what it would have been like to be with the driver. I shook it off and headed for the foyer.

Once inside, I shook off the snow and looked for the apartment number. I pressed the button, painfully aware of the time. Paulo's voice crackled over the speaker, "Yes? Who is it?"

"It's Ben, Paulo, I left my wallet."

The door buzzed and I marched down the hall, not sure how to ask if I could spend the night. Paulo was waiting at the door, freshly showered and wearing a t-shirt and boxers. The sight of him made my insides grumble.

"I'm so sorry" I started to say, but he pulled me into the apartment.

"The neighbors are very fussy" he said in a whisper as he closed the door.

"I was saying" I resumed, a little softer, even though we were inside, "that I dropped my wallet. Did you happen to see it?"

Paulo ducked into his room and hit the lights. The room looked more Spartan than in darkness. My wallet was nowhere on the floor where my pants had been. Paulo looked under the bed, and I looked around the sparsely furnished room. I hadn't taken my coat off, and the snow was melting into my collar unpleasantly. The wallet was nowhere to be found. I noticed the bed was changed.

"Paulo, might it have been in the sheets?" I asked. He slipped into the closet and rummaged around a bit.

"It's not here. I don't know what to do!" he was much more upset about it than I was. I knew I had it when I got into the apartment, I'd fished the damned auto club card out from it. Paulo was nearly frantic.

"It must be around here somewhere" I said calmly, trying to convey my lack of urgency in the matter. "Maybe the kitchen, I took it out there."

I walked to the kitchen and Paulo raced around me, looking on the floor all over.

"Are you OK?" I asked.

He stopped looking for a moment and stared at me, fear on his face. "My uncle is on his way down" he said quietly.

"OK," I replied.

"No, you don't understand Mr., er, Ben. Please do not make me explain, it is -- complicated."

I nodded, yielding to the look of terror in the boy's eyes. I guessed that his uncle was a hell of a task master, and Paulo probably reported my departure to him already. I shrugged it off. Whatever was freaking Paulo out was real. I happened to look at the edge of the counter and spied my wallet tucked under the bodybuilding program.

"Found it" I said casually. With my hopes of an encore with Paulo dashed, I just wanted to head home, no matter how slowly I'd have to drive.

Paulo was the face of relief. "I do not want to be rude Ben, but my uncle cannot find you here, ok?" I nodded. A second later, Paulo's eyes went extraordinarily wide. "Oh no" he whispered. "He is in the corridor. I heard the fire door. Ben, please, will you listen to me please?"

I nodded again, "But Paulo, I can explain to him that..."

He cut me off, "No, no, no. You do not understand. Please, Ben, I am begging you, just do what I say, OK? Please?"

"OK, look, Paulo, if you're in some kind of trouble with him, I'm sure that..."

Again he cut me off, this time pushing me gently into the living room area. "No, please, you really do not understand. If you want to help me out, just hide here, OK? He will be gone in a short time, then you can leave. OK? Please Ben." He showed me a space behind the long ratty couch. I pointed to it, he nodded, and I slipped off my overcoat and tossed it on the floor before stretching out on it. Paulo leapt off the floor and snapped off the lights, then dove for his bed.

I hadn't seen this much nervous energy since sleep-away camp. The door opened, but from my vantage point I could only see the light from the corridor illuminating the kitchen.

"Paulo?"

I wasn't sure what to expect, but the nasal voice wasn't it. Anyone that Paulo would cower under should possess a deep rumbling growl. Paulo emerged from the bedroom, padding into the living room. I only saw his feet as he walked quickly past. The kitchen light went on, and for a split second I thought I'd been discovered. Infected as I was now with Paulo's panic, I slunk away from the edge of the couch and tried to hide myself deeper in the shadows. As I silently turned, I realized that I could see the mirror, and if I leaned a little bit to my right, I could just make out the dreaded uncle.

I almost burst out laughing. He stood about two inches shorter than Paulo, dressed in black sweatpants and a black t-shirt. On someone else, it may have been intimidating. On Paulo, it would have been truly scary, but hung on this late middle-aged, doughy guy, he looked like a caricature. Balding and with a nasty comb-over, he scowled at Paulo. This was the terrifying uncle?

Rapid fire Portuguese from Uncle Doughboy, with lots of gesticulation and posing. Paulo was clearly getting dressed down. He hung his head, occasionally muttering what sounded like an apology in any language. The uncle circled him, changing his tone to a mocking sing-song. He paced away from my field of view, leaving me to stare at Paulo's hunched back. I saw hands grab Paulo's shoulders and spin him sideways. For a moment I thought he glanced at me then resumed looking at the floor. From nowhere a hand reached out and slapped Paulo's face hard.

My body reacted quickly, gathering myself to stop this insanity, but the force of the impact had turned Paulo's face to me in the mirror, and his eyes pleaded with me, a look of total terror on his face. I settled back down, and his face relaxed. Whatever sick shit was going down, Paulo knew better than I, and I suspected that my appearance would have more dire consequences. I watched helplessly as that prick threw another slap. Paulo didn't even attempt to block the blow, he just took it. Streams of what sounded like profanity were hurled at the boy. My blood seethed.

The uncle reappeared in the mirror, standing behind Paulo. I realized that if he looked at the mirror, he'd see me. I froze in place, counting on the shadow to hide me and keep Paulo from more of this abuse. Sure, I could take the guy with one hand tied behind my back, but I had to go home eventually, and Paulo could not. Maybe I'd win this round, but Paulo would lose in the long term. I couldn't grasp how he could allow himself to be slapped around like that. Paulo could break this guy with one finger.

The uncle barked an order, and Paulo bent and the waist, looking directly into the mirror, and directly at me. He shut his eyes tightly and locked his face. From my vantage point, I couldn't see what was going on exactly, and as it unfolded, I was glad of that fact. Uncle Doughboy pulled Paulo's boxers down roughly, and I saw his hand going for the boy's ass, but not to slap it. It looked like he was digging for something, and in a moment, as I realized what he was doing, my stomach churned.

The uncle kept up a running diatribe, punctuated by Paulo's shaking his head and saying no' a lot. I surmised that the perverted bastard was checking to see if I'd fucked Paulo. What sort of hold did this guy have over him? Paulo didn't flinch, or make any sound except no' to the questions. After a minute or two of this the uncle seemed satisfied that Paulo's ass had not been used. He stood him back up, and roughly spun him around. Paulo's boxers were stuck mid-thigh, so he sort of hopped around. From the position of the bodies, it seemed the uncle had him by the balls.

The tone of the questions changed again. The end of each question was emphasized with a little lilt to the voice, and judging from the way Paulo was clenching and unclenching his ass muscles, a tug to the nuts. There was no way this guy could tell if Paulo had emptied his bag, of that I was sure. Paulo shook his head repeatedly, saying `no' after every interrogation. I was beginning to think that consequences be damned, I was going to stop this, when things changed again.

Paulo was roughly turned and pushed to his knees. This time, mercifully, he was in profile, so I didn't have to look at his face for whatever fresh hell the uncle unleashed. I wasn't going to lay here while the kid was beaten anymore, of that I was sure. I may have only met him a few hours ago, but I wouldn't let a stranger take this crap. Enough was enough.

Paulo's position made it impossible to make eye contact with him unless he turned his head pretty obviously towards the mirror. I doubted he would do that. I could see he was on his hands and knees, his ass bare and his balls hanging low. His cock, which I had never actually seen flaccid, was nearly invisible under him, retracted into his body. The uncle stepped out of view, then back. With some disgust, I saw him taking off the black sweatpants, revealing pudgy, almost hairless legs.

As he turned to put the pants on the counter, I almost gasped. Hanging between his legs was the biggest dick I'd ever seen on anyone. It was at least nine inches long, but that paled in comparison to the width. In it's turgid state, it had to be three inches in diameter at least. It was clear what the dirty uncle was up to now. He stroked the massive cock a few times, but it barely lifted up. I didn't think it was possible for it to stand upright or even perpendicular, it was just too big. Attached as it was to those doughy pale legs and stocky trunk, it looked just wrong.

I didn't want to see what was about to happen, but I couldn't tear my eyes away. Paulo's smooth, hard ass that I'd so wanted was jutting out, exposed, and that grotesque phallus was taking aim. I shut my eyes. I heard Paulo grunt, then the uncle moan. When I looked again, Paulo was impaled on the monster. The uncle slapped his ass cheeks and barked out another order. Paulo pushed back, arching his back with another grunt. More of that cock slid in, aided by the uncles hands pushing the base into a stiffer position. He yelled again, sending another slap home.

I was glad I couldn't see Paulo's face. I wanted to avert my eyes, but couldn't. Paulo let out a sharp cry as the uncle drove home the rest of his cock and grabbed Paulo's hips. He spoke to him in a softer voice now, urging him. Paulo moved his hips up and down, gasping little as he did so. The uncle indicated that he liked that, and more whispered orders were issued. Paulo began to push back and forth, fucking himself on the uncle's pole. I noted that Paulo's member was still quite retracted; he was enduring this, not enjoying it. I closed my eyes again, for Paulo's sake. I wished I could close my ears to the ongoing squish-slap of the uncle's assault.

The monotonous interaction lasted what seemed like forever. It was like the ticking of a clock. Bad enough that he was using the kid, but he was also a shitty fuck. Finally, the uncle issued another command, and I heard a different kind of wet sound. I opened my eyes, hoping that it was over. His dick hung out, free of Paulo's ass. I was glad to see it was done. Good thing he didn't have the stamina. But I was wrong. He ordered Paulo to turn around and start sucking on the wet, slick member. Paulo didn't look my way, and again, I closed my eyes. The uncle moaned and grunted, and I heard another slap or two. I kept my eyes shut. Finally, the uncle cried out and threw a stream of Portuguese out, as I suspect, he came. I heard a slurping sound and decided to look.

Paulo had his head on the floor, forehead on his hands. The uncle had moved away, probably putting the track outfit back on. Paulo just lay motionless; he looked as eager to get this done with as I was. The uncle ordered him to stand, and then issued more instructions. I could tell they were instructions because Paulo answered si' and no' at the appropriate pauses. Having witnessed what I just had, I had a pretty good idea that this controlling bastard was saying.

They moved out of my sight, and I heard the door open and close. This time, Paulo latched and chained the door. I took that as a sign that Uncle Doughboy wouldn't be making another appearance tonight. I stayed planted, not really wanting to emerge. It all fit into place now, the apartment, the job, everything. Everything except why Paulo allowed it. I saw him pad into the bathroom and close the door, then run water.

I decided that staying put wasn't necessary anymore. I heard a couple of joints pop as I moved from my position for the first time in a half an hour. I hung my coat up and straightened up my clothes, then went into the bedroom and sat on the corner of the bed to wait. I wasn't sure what I was going to say, if anything, but I sure didn't want to wait out in the living room like some sort of inquisitor. What the hell would I say to the kid? Hey, how's it going? So, how `bout those Sox?

Paulo emerged from the bathroom, flooding the dim bedroom with light. He was wrapped in a threadbare terry robe. He saw me sitting there and just stared at me. I don't know what instinct made me do it, but I opened my arms. Paulo took two steps, fell to his knees in front of me, and nearly knocked me over with a bear hug. I squeezed him tightly, his face buried in my chest.

"I am so sorry" he said, muffled. "I am so sorry..." I just held him. I didn't know what to say anyway. He kept saying he was sorry, over and over, and I just sat there. This was way out of my field of expertise. I wasn't sure what I was feeling. In a very weird way, this was so much more intimate than what we'd done earlier in the evening.

After a few moments of silence, Paulo took a deep breath and looked up at me. His eyes showed resolve. "You should have not had to see that." I remained silent, and he gathered strength. "Thank you for hiding, I am so sorry that..."

I held my hand up. "You have nothing to be sorry for. You didn't do anything. I'm sorry for barging back in here, I made you uncomfortable. And I'm sorry you had to go through that with him, it's not right."

Paulo shook his head. "You do not understand, and it is very complicated."

"I understand more than you think, Paulo."

"No" he said, shaking his head, "You can't understand."

I was getting a little irritated. "Are you telling me that you enjoyed what he did?"

Paulo's reaction was instantaneous and powerful. He jerked away from me, anger flashing across his dark eyes with a virulence that made me a little frightened. "No!" he said. Then his features crashed, deflated, and he sat back on his haunches.

"Then why do you let him? You are a very strong man!" I blurted out without really thinking. Probably not the most sensitive thing to say, but it was the only unanswered question in my mind.

"You don't understand" he repeated.

"So explain it to me Paulo, explain it. Help me understand what just happened here."

He took a deep breath, shook his head a little as if to decide what to say. "He pays for everything" Paulo said, "My clothes, my food, this apartment. If I refuse him, I am out on the street with nothing."

Again, instead of thinking, I just spoke: "That's bullshit. There are tons of support agencies that would keep you off the streets. You must have friends, they can take you in until you get a paying job. Your uncle can't control you that much."

"He isn't my uncle" Paulo said feebly.

"I guessed that already" I replied, easing my tone. My business mind was in full gear. See a problem, find a solution. Consequences to be dealt with later. "Tell me why you let him" I insisted.

Paulo shook his head. "In my country" he started, looking up at me, "things are different than here. There, you are who you are, and you understand your place in things, you know?"

"No, I don't know" I replied. "You're not in your country, you're here, and your place is wherever you damned well want it to be." Now my patriotism was up. "Let me ask you a simple question: If you didn't need to rely on your uncle, this guy, whatever, for food, clothes, work, your bed, then what would you do? Would you stay with him?"

Paulo chuckled, almost to himself. "It is not that simple, but no, I would not stay with him. It wouldn't change who I am though."

Now I was thoroughly confused. "Who you are? Do you mean to say that this was the first time that he..."

Paulo's glance stopped me cold. There was contempt, disgust, and something else in his eyes. "No, that is by far not the first time. The first time he took me, I screamed for an hour. What you do not understand is that, well, he is a real man, and I am not."

I looked at him quizzically, and he understood my confusion. He continued, "Yes, I was born male, and I am shaped like a man. But I am not a real man." My eyebrows shot up. I didn't like the direction this was taking, and I was beginning to seriously regret not beating the crap out of the uncle.

He hesitated, as if the next words were almost painful: "A real man only penetrates, he is never penetrated. It does not matter whether the person you penetrate is male or female. Men like me who have been, I don't know the word, taken? We are not considered real men."

I shook my head. "Surely you know better than that Paulo."

He laughed again, "Yes, I have been here almost a year, I know it is different here, but in my heart, well, it is hard, you know? I was raised to respect my elders, respect real men."

I was beginning to understand the control the `uncle' had here. "How did you come to be associated with that guy?"

"I was caught playing with a boy at school, we were not doing anything really, we were dressed even. We were caught by the headmaster, who is very strict about those things. We were just wrestling around, playing. But he caught us when I was in the passive position." He hung his head for a minute, probably replaying that unfortunate moment.

"They threw me out of the school, and then my family sent me away from the house. I was a shame on them. They paid for me to be sent here, far away from them. The headmaster knew `uncle' told my family that he would look after me, set me up with a job, a place to live."

"Have you told your family what he's been doing?" I asked, not really sure I wanted to pursue this conversation any further. I was in over my head.

"My sister and I write letters, but I don't tell her anything bad, just the good things that happen. I don't want her to worry. My brothers and my parents do not want to talk to me at all. To them, I am a `passivo' and not their son anymore." His shoulders sagged a little, telegraphing the deep sadness inside.

"If you told your sister, wouldn't your parents at least give you money to get out from here?"

Paulo shook his head. "Even if I burdened my sister with this, and even if my parents wanted to help, my uncle reads the letters I send. He checks my phone every day with his computer to make sure I call only him."

I wondered if even Paulo knew just how thoroughly this uncle controlled his life. On the surface, the kid seemed like any other immigrant, working hard and living thrifty to make his way in a strange place.

"But you must have friends at work, or in the building. I mean your uncle is not with you every hour of the day."

"I am not allowed anywhere except work. The people I work with all work for him too, they watch me. Not so much now, they know I come home, do my exercises, and work. Just like them. They are scared too. My uncle takes me out to buy clothes, and even to movies and restaurants, but I don't go out by myself."

"You're never alone" I said. He shook his head. "Does he visit you every night?" I asked, regretting it instantly.

"No, not every night, but tonight was different. He knew you had been here, he had to remind me what my place was." Paulo stared at the floor. "He wanted to be sure another man did not use me."

My guts twisted. This guy was one sick fuck. I took his chin in my hand and stared down at him. "Paulo do you think I'm not a man? Not fully a man I mean."

Shock and horror flashed on his features, "Oh no sir! You are rich, powerful, you command many people, and you are strong and virile!"

"And yet I let you penetrate me" I decided to tackle the definition of `let' later, I needed to make a stronger point.

"It is complicated" he said at last. "I'm ashamed of what I did, but it had been so long, I could not control myself."

I had to know. "Was that the first time you topped, er, penetrated a guy?" I asked incredulous. Nobody is that good their first time out of the box.

"Oh no!" he said quickly, "My uncle has brought over, I don't know the word, but he is very feminine, he makes me call him Miss Sheila. He is very nice and patient with me. At first, it was very awkward, but Miss Sheila was very good at helping me release. And sometimes my uncle brings over friends of Miss Sheila to provide me with release when he is not available."

Great, dear uncle was a pimp too. No doubt a stud like Paulo fetched a high price as a power top. And he wouldn't risk someone turning the kid, so he'd kept the clientele that would be least likely to decide to try to flip. The bastard had even been courteous enough to provide a trainer. All he had to do to keep the kid in line was to make sure that the bottom johns were all feminine so the kid wouldn't get the idea he was a real man.

A thought occurred to me: "Paulo, do you like having sex with women?"

He grimaced a little and shook his head slowly, "I have done it with women, back in my country. It is tradition when you turn sixteen to have a woman. It is OK, but, I don't know, I can't explain it. It just is not satisfying for me. I like women, yes, but to have babies, not to have sex."

That one was going to take a bit of time to unravel, and it was definitely a side track I wasn't going to tackle. "So why did you tell me it had been so long since you, um, released?"

He went on, "When I am in training, I cannot, how do you say it?"

"Cum" I said simply. "You don't cum when you're training."

"Yes, I mean no, I can not cum when I'm in training. Uncle says it diminishes the ability to make muscle. I have been in training a long time, Mr. Lewis. So long that I couldn't help myself..." I nodded, he was going exactly where I wanted; to prove to him he was a real man, regardless of what Uncle Pervert said.

"You must know that I didn't come here for that, right?" I asked, rather sternly. "As a matter of fact," I threw in, "I don't usually bottom, that means to get penetrated."

Paulo looked wounded, "I did not mean to force myself on you..."

"But you did" I said, not unkindly. I knew that if I stressed the fact that position doesn't make the man, we'd be back where we started. If I could retain my full man' status after taking it up the ass, then he would retain his demi-man' status even if he gave a great fuck. So I took another tack. There would be time later to unravel this psycho-mess.

"You proved that you are fully a man tonight Paulo."

He nodded slowly. "Yes I did" he whispered, then more softly, "But not enough of one. I should have stood up to my uncle, told him. But I could not, even if I had been alone with him. I am sorry you had to see me taken like that, but it gave me strength to stop him from doing more."

More? What the fuck could he have done? I remembered the little ball-tugging session. There were probably more acts in that little drama, but Paulo didn't play tonight.

"Tell me, what would happen if you walked out of here?" I asked.

Another wave of terror, "I would be out on the street, alone. Hungry. If I came back, he would punish me. A lot. I have seen what he has done to others. They tried to leave, but they come back, hungry, beaten up sometimes. It is worse for them then. And the ones that do not come back, my uncle has deported. He is our sponsor, so he can report us to the authorities."

I nodded, understanding a bit more clearly the events of the night, and realizing that I'd inadvertently stepped into a drama far beyond my experience. I was pretty sure that what dear uncle was doing was illegal at best. I wondered how many others were holed up in this building cowering in fear of Uncle Pervert. I'd have to deal with that later.

I lifted his chin to look into his dark, troubled eyes. "Paulo" I started quietly, "I want you to think very hard before you answer what I'm going to ask you, OK?" He nodded, and I continued: "If you could, would you walk out of here? Start over with a new job, find an apartment, and do whatever you wanted to? Forget about your uncle for a moment."

His eyes got a faraway look for a moment as he seemed to contemplate that life. "I sometimes stay awake at night and think about that. I think about what it would have been like if I had not been so stupid in school and gotten thrown out, or if I had run away the first time my uncle took me. But then in the morning, well, in the morning life is what it is."

Had I not been looking at sincerity in the face, my chest wouldn't have hurt so much. I sat up and heaved a sigh. My next battle with this kid would be tough.

"Paulo, think hard, and tell me the truth. If you could, would you walk away from here, from your uncle, from you job to start all over?"

Paulo furrowed his brow, contemplating the scene I had just painted for him. He closed his eyes and nodded meekly.

I let his chin go, and he looked at me, a little confused. I looked him squarely in the eyes: "I want you to pack your things, anything you want to take with you. In the morning, you're leaving with me.

"I can't do that Mr. Lewis" he replied flatly.

"Yes you can. You can come stay with me until you get on your feet." He stared at me, and I realized that in his mind, he was trading one owner for another. "Paulo, I would do this for anybody in your circumstances. I don't want anything from you." I stressed the word `anything.' "You're a smart young man, and you are your own man." When I stressed the last word, I saw a spark in his eyes. I went for the close: "Everyone needs a hand once in a while. I've needed people before, and it's tough; accepting help is always harder than giving it. Someday you will be in a position to help someone else, and you will, but right now, it's my turn to offer the help."

Paulo looked conflicted. I went on: "I want to be perfectly clear. I do not expect anything from you, except the promise that someday you will help someone else. Do you understand?"

Paulo nodded, a bit more resolve showing. "My uncle" he started. I raised my hand and smiled.

"I have a couple of ideas about that, but you don't need to worry about him."

To be concluded...