Marsh Assault

And I danced for him as he touched me, giving me an electric shock, with the tip of the zapper. On the buttocks, the thighs, lifting my feet, zapping the tender insoles. My upper inner thighs, giving me notice of where he was working toward. But then painfully jerking the nipple clips off, and while they still stung, zapping me on the nipples. On my cheek. Back to the upper inner thighs. My balls, causing me to writhe in agony. Again and again. Up under the ball sac on the taint. On the bulb of my cock, causing me to bite down on the rubber of the ball gag and almost slicing through it with my teeth.

As I hung there, sagging on the restraints, moaning deeply, the zapper entering my channel. Zap once, twice, three times.

Hanging and moaning.

Pulling the ball gag out and putting his mouth close to an ear.

"Tell me you want more."

"I want more."

"Tell me you want me to fuck you."

"I want you to fuck me, Daddy."

A laugh and the ball gag was reinserted.

Then and only then, he knelt in front of me, taking my cock in his mouth, a hand pulling down on the stretcher weights. Sucking me, sucking me, sucking me. When I was about to come, pulling out, slapping my cock, laughing. Then taking me in his mouth and, eventually, letting me cum.

I was released from the wrist restraints and just sank to the carpet, moaning.

"Liked that, didn't you?" he growled in my ear in the false voice he was using.

I mumbled something through the ball gag. But, dammit, it had sent me to a higher heaven. Like Jesse, but still not quite to the edges Jesse reached. Enough, though.

He'd released my wrists, but had immediately imprisoned them again. The yoke rod again. He didn't release the ankle extender.

I was manhandled to the bed and slammed on my back, the yoke hanging over the end of the bed—thus my head and hands there too. The nipple clips came back on and he'd shimmied his way under the ankle extender and on top of me. He worked a thick cock inside my channel and plowed me hard, one hand rhythmically pulling on the chain of the nipple clamps. I bucked with him, wanting him to come inside me. I came again, but he didn't. I thought he was ready to come, but he wasn't.

He pulled out of my ass, my cum dripping down my inner thighs; climbed off the bed; and came around to my head, where it was thrown over the end of the bed. The ball gag came out, but I had no time to say anything before a mouth cage was inserted, holding my mouth wide open. Holding it open for him to slide his thick cock inside my mouth and face fuck me. He came in big globs down my throat, making me sputter and gag.

I sensed the vial coming to my face that time, smelling hints of that odor before it reaching my face. I held my breath and pretended that I had inhaled whatever it was and that it had put me out. But it didn't. I got enough to be woozy, but I wasn't unconscious.

He puttered around the room, releasing my restraints—all but the blindfold—and gathering up his equipment.

I played unconscious.

Not more than two minutes after I was sure he'd left the room, though, I jerked the blindfold off and painfully rose from the bed. I went immediately to the spare bedroom, where the sliding glass door had been jimmied. He fooled me, though. He'd gone out the front door. I saw the taillights of his vehicle as he raced up my driveway, though—and some sense of the curve of the vehicle's back end.

After checking the refrigerator—sure enough the six pack I'd put in there earlier was gone—I went back to my bedroom and flopped down on the bed. I was panting shallowly, growling deep down in my throat, and going over what had happened that night. And I was smiling and hardening up again. I . . . just . . . couldn't help myself. I reached for the Fleshjack.

Whooie, I daydreamed as I lay on my back, working the Fleshjack up and down on my hard cock and moving my pelvis with the motion, I hadn't had a taking like those of the last couple of days since Jesse. I might not be lonely for him after all. But this being taken by surprise—and at night, when I should be sleeping—was wearing me out. Besides, if all the nighttime assaults were designed to scare me into selling my land, they could escalate into something else altogether, something beyond the kinky sex. Something potentially lethal.

* * * *

I slept then, exhausted. When I woke up, close to noon, I went straight for the telephone and called, first, the hospital, and then Avery.

"Avery, it's Ron. Are you Jack Dorsey's lawyer in these land deals? You're not? Can you tell me who is?"

He could and did. I whistled. With Dorsey out of the picture now as my midnight assaulter—he was in the hospital last night and, besides, he'd turned down the offer of a beer, saying he didn't drink beer—I'd thought who was attacking me, fucking me totally, was evident. Now I wasn't at all sure.

I checked the freezer and then dressed and drove into town, stopping at the firehouse.

"Is Chet here?" I asked as I entered the cavernous truck hall.

"Naw. He's off today's roster," the fireman who had come to see what I wanted answered. "Could be anywhere. Probably home."

"Can you tell me where he lives?"

"Sure," he answered. "You that artist guy out on the bay Chet's been telling us about?"

"Probably," I answered. Then with a sneery grin, the fireman told me how to find Chet's place.

"You looking for him for any particular reason?" the fireman, who was a Hispanic hunk and a half and who was stripped down to fireman's slick pants and shiny boots, held up by suspenders, was giving me the once over. I recognized that look. Were my wants that easy to see? Yes, I guess so for those who knew how to look for them. Would I lie under him if he told me he wanted to fuck me? Yes, if he made dominator demands. It's what subs did for dominators.

"Sure. I'm looking for him for a very special reason."

"I know some of Chet's special ways," he answered, with a grin on his face. "I can do Chet's specialties too. If he don't satisfy you, you just come on back, you hear? We got rooms upstairs—soundproof rooms. I got some nice toys. As good as Chet's got. And I got plenty of time on my hands if no fire flares up."

"Sure, maybe," I said, backing out of the hall. I wasn't kidding. The bruiser looked like a definitely rather than a maybe.

"Sure maybe or sure sure?"

"Sure sure." God, he was a hunk and a half.

I almost made it out of the firehouse.

"Wait," the firefighter hunk called out. The sound echoed in the hall. "On second thought, I think Chet said he'd be out of town until later this afternoon. We got time now. Come upstairs with me." He approached me. He was unzipped, had his cock out, and was cupping his balls and cock with a hand. His equipment was adequate to the task and went well with his muscular torso, the slick pants, the boots—the suspenders even.

"I don't think . . . ," I started to say.

"On your knees and suck it," he commanded.

I went down on my knees in front of him and took his cock in my mouth.

We didn't make it upstairs. He did me on the front seat of one of the hook and ladder trucks.

An hour later I went on to Larry Heger's office. He was in and welcomed me into his office. I sat across from him and gave him a level stare. He smiled back at me, all friendliness and "we've been pals since high school."

"What can I do for you, Ron?"

"Well, first of all, you can stop stealing my beer and steaks from my freezer, Larry. You didn't tell me that the beer I was drinking at your house and the steak I ate were from my kitchen."

He gave me a confused, dumb look and then it dawned on him what I was saying behind that and a cagier expression set in.

"You also didn't tell me that you weren't just my lawyer—that you were Jack Dorsey's lawyer on these land deals too."

"He offered you a fair price," Larry said, defensively—and, like any lawyer, he went straight to the money part of the conversation rather than to the more explosive, kinky sex assault part. I guess he was still scrambling for some lifeline of denial on that.

"Well, I've got a counteroffer deal for Mr. Dorsey, Larry. Seeing as how you represent him, you can go over to the hospital and push it down his throat. After his house burned to the foundations and everyone has seen what a bad idea it is for him to build houses there, his development deal isn't worth a plug nickel. You can tell him that, regardless, I'll give him $2 million for the land parcel to the south—the one with the ruins of his dream house on it—if he'll also put the parcel on the north in the land bank. It's worthless for building now. The marsh there has been destroyed, but if they stop dozing now, it might come back in time."

"You got that kind of money, Ron?"

"Check me out. I'll give you numbers to call, people to talk to. You bet I've got that and more. But I'm not offering Dorsey a penny more. This is a good deal, and if you two put your heads together, you'll see that it is. Hell, I've got land over toward Elizabeth City. I'll give him $1 mil for this land and throw in the other land over there, which is ready for development, in the deal. I have my reasons not to wish Dorsey gone altogether. It's just the land on the bay—the marshland that we all should be protecting—that I want out of his hands."

"I'll see what I can do."

"If you don't want me to talk to Sally and your kids about your . . . extracurricular activities, Larry, I suggest you make Dorsey jump at the deal. And a personal tip to you, Larry: When you drive to a sexual assault, you really shouldn't do it in that distinctive sports car of yours."

I was getting out of my chair while I said that, and I could see that I'd gotten through to him on that point at last. He looked frightened. But I didn't want him to be frightened. I wanted him to dominate. And I didn't want him to stop torture fucking me.

"Ron. Look. You must know I've always wanted you. And when I learned through the mill at Andy's that you'd take what I liked. I just didn't want you to know that—"

"Well, we both know now. Don't worry, Larry. I want what you have to give—what you've given me the last two nights. I don't have any reason to talk to anyone as long as you give me what I need. I just want you to make an appointment for it. I need my regular sleep. And I want you to stop rewarding yourself with my beer. Oh, and when you talk to Dorsey, tell him it isn't because I want him to leave the area—that I'm perfectly happy about playing . . . tennis . . . with him. I just don't want him fucking up the marshlands any more than he has already."

I left him with his mouth gaping open. I didn't have the slightest doubt he'd sell the deal to Dorsey—especially in light of the fringe benefits on offer.

One more stop, setting the third leg of the three-legged stool down.

I found Chet at home, dressed just in athletic shorts. His muscles were bulging and he had an enticing sheen of sweat on his chest.

"You found me," he said with a grin. "I was working out. Anything I can help you with."

"Were you talking straight when you said you had a chamber of your own? Hang bar and sling and what not?"

"You bet I did. Want to see it?"

"Yes, now please . . . if you're not too busy."

He grabbed one of my butt cheeks and squeezed hard as I preceded him down the basement steps. I wiggled my butt and sighed.

"Do you happen to have a set of sounding rods too?"

"Absolutely."

"And know how to use them?"

"You bet."