Pull of the Grove Ch. 02: Sailor

It was heaven. Not a rent boy servicing his john, but two young, hung studs making love—repeatedly.

The protective walls and doors started to move back into place almost immediately, however. This wasn't my world. This wasn't the groove I was in. I turned to the side, off his lap and off his cock, and sat next to him, not daring to let our bodies touch, as we both cooled down.

Virile stud that he was, he was still in hard erection. The urge swept through me to lean over and clean his cock with my tongue, to drink in the honey of him, but I fought it down. Enough of a fantasy life I could not lead for one day.

Afterward I told him he could shower first.

"Maybe you'll come in and shower with me . . . I'd like to try—"

"Maybe," I said, shoving him out of the bed. "It's better if it's a surprise. But aren't you close to being drained dry? This is your first time; that dick will fall off. You can't do this forever."

"Try me" he answered with a big grin. And then he added, fisting his cock, "This dick? Fat chance. I've been dreaming about this forever."

And at the moment, with him standing in front of me still in full, magnificent erection, I believed that he probably could fuck forever—and that I'd love it more and more each time. It was a spiral into selfish pleasure that I just couldn't fall into. He was a novice sailor, just learning to fuck. I was just his first experience. He'd have opportunity at every turning. He'd ship out, leaving me here—leaving me to more fully understand how dreary and on the edge of destruction my life was than I had before he'd given me this melting pleasure.

There were more sailors out there to lie under. He wasn't the only one. But, god, he was the hunkiest one I'd had. I had to stop entertaining the thought that he was the only one who could move and fulfill me as he just had. And I couldn't afford to pull out of the groove anyway. He'd put one hundred dollars on the dresser before we'd started. He was under no illusion about what we were doing here and how much it meant to either of us.

I waited until I heard the shower running and the sailor humming and gurgling loudly under the stream of water. I tumbled out of bed, pulled on my clothes, grabbed seventy of the hundred dollars he'd put on the dresser—needing twenty for taxi fare back to South Philly—and hurriedly left the motel. I'd never felt more like I was escaping temptation in my life.

I didn't believe in fairytale endings.

I noticed that the sky was growing lighter as I walked two blocks down and one up to find a taxi. Not wanting him to come for me, as I knew I probably would have gone with him. Dawn was approaching. He had, in fact, fucked me through most of the night, just as I had told him he could.

* * * *

The strong hand gripped my forearm at the shadowed table in Merry's. The ghoul was sitting across from me.

"You know you want me again," he said, his cold, steel-blue eyes boring into mine.

His other hand came out of the folds of his overcoat and I heard the metallic sound of the box of sounding wands slamming down on the table top.

The maddening thing was that he wasn't wrong. When I wasn't thinking about the naïve sailor, Austin, I was thinking about the ghoul. And I was thinking of those sounding wands—the one he had last used, that felt like it had penetrated down to my nuts. The glorious release arcing ejaculation that had produced.

And he'd paid me the negotiated hundred and twenty-five dollars the first time. I was behind in making Demont's cut again this week. This time the ghoul fanned out bills to show there was a hundred and fifty in banknotes and stuffed them down the front of my shorts. I wondered momentarily how much death was worth—and whether I really cared.

This time he used an extender bar rather than the handcuffs—and he had me hogtied from behind, the extender spreading my legs and my wrists tied to the extender bar, so that I was jackknifed backward. He had me rolled up on my pecs, my cheek pressed into the surface of the creaking bed, the ball gag in place. My face still stung from where he had slapped me hard and then come right back with a backhand that sent me sprawling against the brass footboard of the bed, hitting the brass rod hard across my stinging nipples.

He was on the bed, his knees on either side of my biceps, my legs running up his chest, the back of his neck between my spread ankles and pressed against the extender bar. His dick was churning inside my channel, and his hands were busy holding my cock and inserting sounding wands. The first time he'd stopped with the fourth smallest of the wands. This time he started with number five and worked his way up from there.

"We've done deep. Time to work on thick."

Oh, shit, oh fuck. Oh holy shit!

In the groove.