THE PUPPY AND THE CORVETTE
By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSROGUEMOON.COM
That was a fucking Corvette in there. Brad looked at it through the dirty glass window in an attitude approaching awe. Un-fucking-believable! How did the Armstrong brothers get hold of a Corvette! They must have stolen it, everyone knew the Armstrongs were a bunch of no-goods.
Liberating that Corvette for a brief ride around town would be nothing more than charitable on his part. And if he got caught by the police with it, he'd just tell them where he'd gotten it and let the Armstrongs catch the heat. They'd be rolling him to testify against them and he'd sing like a chicken about to get its head cut off!
The Armstrongs' pickup wasn't home, so they weren't home. Coast was clear. Only problem now was how to get inside. The window was locked. Brad peered at it, it wasn't one of the really tough locks, just an aluminum latch with a bent-over top part to hold the window shut. Less an order to keep out than a suggestion! Apply a little pressure and it ought to bend up and out of the way...say by a judicially applied tire iron.
Brad found the latch much tougher than he'd figured but by jiggling the window he got the lower part to spin slowly around, and after nearly a half-hour of making a racket that he would have worried about if the Armstrongs had had neighbors anywhere within a half-mile, he got the window open. Now to work his way on in and get to that sweet, sweet ride! He could take it up to Carver and tool around main street. He could get a chick in that other seat in no time. And like they said, you can't get laid in a Corvette, but you can get laid the minute you step out of one!
He sidled through the window on his belly and did a sort-of tuck-and-roll on the garage floor. Damn, it was dirty! Brad got to his feet and, dusting at his jeans with the back of one hand, he semi-stumbled over toward the Corvette, toward his prize. As he got closer, though, he froze. The Corvette wasn't the only car in here. There was the fucking pickup!
Brad spun around, but it was too late.
"What the fuck we got here?" Harley Armstrong said with a scowl on his face.
"Looks like we got us an unannounced visitor here." Mark Armstrong said, right behind him.
A meaner pair of men would have been hard to come by. Mark, six foot two, was the elder by a handful of year, he had been in prison, only getting out recently, and had spent his hours there working out as much as allowed. He had shaved his hair while in prison (or maybe had all the hair yanked out by the roots, for he was totally bald, but it didn't make him look old, feeble, or wimpy in any way. The missing hair on his head was countered by an abundant moustache, a soup-strainer that stuck out a good half-inch or so from his lip, the hairs were so thick and piled atop each other. Brad's sole attempt at a moustache previously had given him a dusting of white hairs that his grandpa had opined that he needn't shave off, the cat could lick them off for him any time he got tired of them.
Harley was slightly shorter and smaller than his older brother, but not by a hell of a lot. Harley drove a truck when he was working, which was seldom. He wore the same battered pair of dungarees, pale blue work shirt and Caterpillar hat every time Brad had seen him. Maybe it was the only clothes he owned! Six feet of wrathful trucker stood beside the angry ex-con and Brad couldn't decide which one looked meaner!
"I'm sorry!" he blurted out. "I didn't mean anything!"
"What the fuck you doing in here?" Mark demanded.
"I just saw the car." Brad admitted.
"What about our car?" Harley asked in a hard tone.
"I just...just wanted to see it." Brad prevaricated. He felt like a puppy that had just piddled on the living room floor.
"See it." scoffed Mark. "Shithead thinks we're going to believe that!"
"He came in here to steal it!" Harley judged. "He's been known to lift cars here and there."
"I was just going to take it out for a ride." Brad yammered. "I would have brought it back to you when I was done! Really!"
"Really, hell!" Mark said. "We got ourselves a car thief here."
"Better call the law on him." Harley said.
Brad remembered his own thoughts on that, and set his jaw. Play this hand for all its worth! "Sure, call the police." he said. "I'll tell them everything, including about the car you got here."
The looks on their faces told him all he wanted to know.
"You guys stole this 'Vette yourselves, didn't you?" Brad went on. "Anything happens to me, I'll just tell them to come looking in here."
"Shithead thinks he's got us." Harley chuckled.
"Thinks we'd actually bother the cops with this piece of cow turd." Mark agreed.
Brad's confidence evaporated like so much spit on a stovetop. "Hey, guys, I was just fooling." He said quickly. "I wouldn't tell on you guys. I just wanted to try out the car. You know how it is, you see something and you want to try it out."
"You know how that is, Mark?" Harley asked his brother.
"Yeah, I know how that is." Mark agreed. "I'd feel that way in the pen, when some fresh fish would come in. I liked being the one who got to break him in. One guy, I paid five cartons of cigarettes to get him, but that virgin butt of his was worth it."
"Hey, now, guys." Brad looked at the window. Damn it, he'd never get out of there before these two could grab him, he'd had to squirm up to get to it from outside, and the garage inside was a good foot lower inside. And the way out was blocked by the Armstrong Brothers.
"Seems only right that we teach this young punk a lesson about breaking into our garage." Harley went on. "And it needs to be something he ain't going to go bragging about to anyone."
"I wouldn't mind breaking in one more, just for old times' sake." Mark said. "I got me a girl who's putting out for me, but still, hell, I got an extra fuck in me I could give to this guy."
"Sounds about right to me." Harley agreed.
"Hey, man, don't do that." Brad begged. "Just let me go and I won't ever breathe a word about this stolen 'Vette. Honest!"
"Well...I wouldn't want to take a guy against his will." Mark said. "I'll give you the choice we give the fish in prison."
"What's that?"
"You can either be our bitch...." Mark paused.
"Or?" Brad wanted to know.
"You can get the shit beat out of you." Mark continued.
"Take your pick." Harley said. "Think it over slowly. We'll wait. But not too long." And Harley balled his hand into a fist, which told Brad his time to think was measured in seconds, not minutes.
He watched that fist as it uncurled, flexed up again, tightened, began to raise up. "All right, all right!" Brad said hastily. "But...you gotta promise to go easy on me. No rough stuff." That didn't sound strong enough. Or weak enough. "Please?" He added.
"We'll think about it." Mark said.
"I'd say that depends on how good you do without it." Harley put in.
"Okay." Brad gulped. "What do I do first?"
"First is to take off those pants." Mark said. "Hard to fuck a guy when he's got them on, you know."
"Okay." Brad swallowed hard again and reached for his fly, unzipped his jeans and began to worm them down his body. His leg-grasping jeans didn't want to let go, but he managed with a couple of hops to get them down. Shit, he forgot about his shoes. With his jeans at half-mast, he reached down and un-Velcroed the sneakers and then took them off by using his toes on the other's heels, and now clad only in his socks, he could take his jeans off. His shirt was next, he undid it, and now wore only a purple t-shirt with a faded logo from a lake resort he'd been to three years ago when he'd been sixteen.
"That's good enough." Mark said roughly. "I like to leave a little bit of clothing on them, they feel so much more naked that way."
"That t-shirt ain't going to cover up anything important." Mark agreed.
"Got the family jewels on full display."
"And look at that tiny little dickie he's got, too."
Brad couldn't argue with that, he had a comfortable size when erect, but now, his cock was scared into being a wilted dimple in his scrotum, the way a dog's draws up into its body when not in use. "Now what?" he asked these men, these hard, hard men.
"Down on your knees, puppy." Harley said. "I got a bone for you." And Harley was working at the buttons on his dungarees. "Just think of it as your new chew toy."
"Meanwhile, I'll take that cherry you got hanging behind you." Mark put in.
"No rough stuff, please!" Brad said quickly.
"Ah, hell." Mark grunted. "I'll squirt a chunk of axle grease up there, that ought to do you."
"Okay, sure, yeah." Brad panted. "Anything, please."
While Mark got the grease gun, Harley had his cock out and walked over with a forward-thrusting strut, his cock foremost, and when he got that nine-inch tool over close to Brad, Brad obligingly opened his mouth, but Harley just slapped Brad's cheeks with the prong as he chuckled meanly. "You want this boner, little puppy? Let me hear you whimper for it, then."
Brad didn't want to argue, he began to make hungry-puppy sounds, hnh-hnh-hnh-hnh-hnh!
"Yeah, come on, puppy, beg for it, beg me for it."
Brad put his hands up in begging-puppy position and made his hnh-hnh-hnh sound again.
And that's when he felt the cold steel of the grease gun at his ass. "Oh, God!" he whined.
"Now that's a whipped puppy sound." Harley said approvingly. "Good puppies get the treat." And now he shoved his cockhead at Brad's mouth and Brad let the hard, sticky, nasty glans slip into his mouth. God, Harley was fucking filthy! He nearly gagged on how strong the cock tasted, it was thick and raunchy and sweaty and greasy. He could literally taste the oils on the skin, and the extra-nasty sour taste of a lump of smegma lurking in the fold. He nearly barfed at that, but Harley's hand grabbed his head when he began to jerk away and forced him back down again.
At his buttocks, Mark was working the grease gun and Brad felt the thick white greasy oil as it was squirted up into his bowels. The grease gun wasn't designed to grease asses, and a lot of it squelched out onto his buttocks instead, but he got some.
Mark's hand slapped Brad's butt and then Brad felt him fish off a glob of the grease. "I'll lube up the old tool for you." He grunted. "That'll get you slicked up faster'n anything."
Brad whimpered and kept sucking the cock in front of him. If Mark had fucked other guys, he ought to know what he was doing, maybe he wouldn't get totally torn up here.
He could hope.
He felt the hard prod pressing and he yelped. That thing was huge! What was it, the size of a baseball bat?
"Hey, I haven't even pushed it in yet!" Mark objected. "Wait until I push it in before you yell."
"If he can yell around my clamdigger, that is." Harley argued. "I plan to shove mine in deep when you do."
Oh, God! Brad squirmed, started to jerk away, big hands on his head and his hips held him tight, and then he got double-crammed! Harley was slightly ahead, he stuck that rod as far down Brad's throat as he could get it, and as Brad was reeling from that, he felt the broad man-bat shove up his butt. Oh, God, it hurt, it hurt! His ass was giving way, he wasn't tearing but he was stretching, stretching, oh, God, it hurt, it hurt!
Mark wasn't being overly rough, but you can't push a baseball bat up a soda straw without doing some damage! Brad was being split like a rail, it felt like, he could feel the bones in his pelvis being distorted from the pressure, a woman giving birth in reverse must feel like this, and he had another boring rod in his throat, he was choking, unable to breathe, unable to think, he was stuffed completely full of male dongs, and he was going to burst!
And with one accord, the two brothers pulled back from Brad's ass and mouth, Brad felt an undeniable suction-effect from this, his gullet threatened to follow Harley's cock up and out of his mouth, his bowels threatened to turn inside out as Mark withdrew,
"Ah-huh, uhhhhhh!" Mark moaned as he pulled back out. "Damn, a tight, hot, virgin cunt-hole! God, I love the young'un's cherries. Love to pluck 'em, love to fuck 'em, hot damn, they feel good every fucking time!"
"Mmmm, yeah, this kid's got a nice warm mouth on him, too." Harley grunted. "I say let's get to doing some serious banging here, big brother."
That ended the coordinated attack on Brad, now it was every brother for himself. Brad could only brace himself as hard man-meat dove into both ends and withdrew as roughly, he was being force-fed one stiff prick while another played pogo-stick inside his butthole. He was no longer his own man, he was a "puppy," a "kid," a "cunt-hole!"
Hard, male meat ramming into him...it was doing something to his brain! God, was he getting into this? He couldn't be getting a hard-on here, could he? Would he?
He was! Not only that, he felt the undeniable rising of passion's percolation as it rose through his body. He was feeling stimulation from somewhere in his butt from that pounding it was getting, a sort of tingling but it was positively the same basic sexual impulses that would race from his cock. He was receiving sensation from his dong as well, but the source of all delights was his butt.
As it built, Brad began to hunch back against Mark's thrusting hips, feeding upon the growing passion.
"I think our little puppy's getting into it." Harley hooted. "Look at him rutting against you."
Brad shook himself and began to give Harley the sort of blowjob he'd always dreamed of getting from the girls he'd dated, and yet never, never got. Harley gave a gurgle and then with little warning, Harley was creaming in Brad's mouth. Just a loud grunt, a tension in the hand holding Brad's head, and then hot squibs of jizz were spraying down Brad's throat.
"Yeah, aw, fuck, yeah, give him a good hot load, little bro." Mark grunted. "Damn, he's a hot little cunt, isn't he, damn, yeah, oh, yeah, oh, ah, ah!"
At least this time Brad had some warning, he thought as he swallowed and gulped at the hot load jetting into his gullet. He could tell Mark was about to come, and he had made the big stud do it, he had milked both these huge men and milked them dry.
Just like a good little puppy!
And when Mark's groans grew higher and higher, Brad found climax clawing at his brain, he sped up his own body's thrusts backward at Mark's dong and he beat Mark to orgasm by a spare handful of seconds, his wads splatted out and got Harley on those filthy dungarees, Harley still panting, his rod spent and lying wet and limp on his open fly. Brad sprayed a half dozen hard wads before he damped down into dribbling, as fireworks ignited inside his mind, and he felt the hot salty sting as Mark unloaded into his ass.
"Oh, man, oh, man, oh, oh, oh!" Mark wound down, the last of the three to give volume to his joy, and then there was silence.
"Hot damn, that was good." Harley broke the brief quiet. "Hoo, yeah, we got us a hot little property here."
Property. He was property. "That wasn't as bad as I thought it would be." Brad settled for saying, though his heart cried out to vow unending loyalty instead.
"I reckon we get a fuck like that out of a guy, we can let him look at our toy car." Mark said.
The Corvette. "Yeah, the 'Vette." Brad stood up, feeling the grease and the sperm making his thighs slippery as the goo and spunk ran down both of them. "Mind if I just sit in it for a while?" And once inside, he could think about asking to turn it on, to back it out of the garage, to take it just down the road....
"Go ahead." Mark said. "All she's good for."
"Huh?"
"I got that body at a wreck shop." Harley said. "The engine blew up. Inside the hood is just a shell."
"Oh." Brad said as he drew on his clothes again. "What are you going to do with it?"
"Get the parts, fix it up, little at a time." Mark said. "We figure, a couple of years, we'll have a mostly-new Corvette all our own."
"Going to fix it up." Brad said wistfully. "That sounds like fun." He pulled up his jeans and fastened them, zipped them up. Just his shoes left now.
"Going to be a lot of work." Harley allowed.
Brad took the plunge. "Could you use an extra pair of hands, help you put it together."
"I reckon we could." Mark agreed.
"Could I maybe come by and help?" Brad offered. Zip, zip, his sneakers were Velcroed back onto his feet.
"I reckon so." Mark said. "Of course, that is, if you don't mind doing whatever we say."
And the smiles on their faces said that the duties wouldn't all be mechanical.
Brad matched it with his own. "Absolutely. Anything you want me to do is fine with me."
"Then come back tomorrow this same time. We're going to be making a list of what we'll need for this car and work out how to get it."
"I sure will." And Brad went out the door and back down the road to his own home.
And if he'd been a puppy, his tail would have been wagging like mad.
THE END
Comments, complaints or suggestions?
E-mail the Author at Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSROGUEMOON.COM