Chapter 4

He did not see Jimby, either on horseback or tinkering with the mess of mutilated autos in the Maes yard, for a week, tried to forget the scene in the grassy meadow with work on his land, the barn, the trailer mending rusty barbed-wire fences in the arroyo; rebuilding the corral split-rails. He found the nail Tazel had torn his leg on, mashed it savagely with a hammer cursing Spanish-American inefficiency. He repainted the trailer walls pale blue and navy trim in the kitchen section; ripping out the offensive rose-patterned vinyl, he replaced it with black and white congoleum tiles. Satisfied with his effort and the clean, masculine look of his house on wheels, he sat naked at the table, a mug of coffee in his hand.

Muscles ached with this unfamiliar labor but he felt more relaxed, more at peace with himself. At least, he'd been able to void the boy from his mind. Momentarily, anyway. Now, as he sipped the coffee, he remembered smooth skin the color of pale chocolate, large black orbs which had seemed to warm when they met his eyes, that dusky length of boyish dick, the feel and taste of it in his mouth.

Sighing, he fingered the head of his cock on the plastic chair pad. So, dumbbell, all the kid wanted was to get his rocks off! At nineteen, what else did you want, for chrissakes?

He rose, washed the mug under the tap, stuck it in a dish rack following his new resolve to be neat strode to the bath deciding he'd shower, then drive to town for more supplies, thought about the stash of peyote on the cupboard top shelf. Shit, don't mess up! Keep your damn head straight for the kid! For the kid? and he laughed. Forget the flute bastard! He gulped back saliva, licked dry lips. But, if not Jimby, what is there for you?

Stepping into the narrow cubicle, he turned on the shower, whistling loudly as he laved his body with soap. The lubricous feel of the soap on his exposed cockhead caused its shaft to expand. Fisting it and sliding fingers over glazed skin, he considered if an orgasm would bring him down, cool him off and ease tension. A tingle in his balls was almost unbearable as he continued to soap the squirming cock, and, jerking his face back to permit water to pour down on him, he slid a hand under to stroke slippery balls. Jimby, damn you, Jimby!

Feet placed wide apart, body arched, cock throbbing in his fist, he furiously pummeled it, then, grabbing the hot knob switched to cold, let icy water pound him, and shivering, cock still rigid, turned the cold off completely, hopped from the stall. As he toweled, he thought he heard the screen door slam, went on drying himself, tossed the towel into a plastic hamper, patted a dripping length of less-hard flesh muttered, "Down, boy." I strode on bare feet to the front section and kitchen.

"Hello, Evan."

He stared at Jimby, seated at the table with a perforated can of beer before him. "Hi, kid," I glanced at the hanging softer flesh between his thighs. "Uh... have a beer," and he walked to the frig, took out a can, punched the tin top with an opener. "What's new? How's old Hilario and the rest of the family? Mean as ever?"

Evan was conscious of the way Jimby's eyes fastened to his cock, now beginning to harden once more. "I want to talk to you. It's very important," the boy said.

What the hell is this talk? "Well, okay, you're here, let's talk." He sat on the chair across the table from the boy to hide that enlarging cock muscle, raised the frothy can to his lips. "Okay kid, talk."

"We made a deal. You said you wouldn't call me kid."

"Excuse me... Jimby."

"Right."

They stared at each other. The boy was silent, shifted his eyes to the beer can on the table. "Will you take me back to California with you, Evan?"

"Back? I didn't realize I was going there."

The black eyes raised to his. "My brothers said you're leaving soon."

"Okay, but how the hell do they know that if I don't?"

"What they mean is, you're not happy here in New Mexico, want to go back to California. I thought, since we're friends, you'd take me with you."

"Rosabel and old Nemecio? Talked this over with them?"

The boy stared directly at him. "You liked sucking my dick, didn't you, Evan?"

He laughed. "One thing I can say for you, Jimby, you can be brutally frank. Sure, I liked blowing you, had a ball, why not?"

"If I blow you, too, will you take me to California?"

"Kid, kid, that don't have nothing to do with it."

Jimby blurted angrily, "Damn you, I said don't call me kid!"

He tried to level his voice, speak as emotionlessly as he could. "Look, I like you, but, hell, that doesn't mean you and me are... doesn't mean you and me are, uh... lovers, does it?" Noticing the way the boy's black wing-shaped eyebrows frowned in a heavy scowl, Evan went on hurriedly, "Shit, just because I sucked you off doesn't mean..."

"I ain't dumb," Jimby interrupted. "Somebody told you I was a retarded kid, didn't they?" and he scowled again. "Somebody did! I can see it in your eyes! I ain't retarded, I'm a man, and I know what I want."

"Seems to me I recall someone mentioning the fact, but that doesn't have nothing to do with anything either. I can't take you to California without your parents' consent, Jimby." Ignoring him, Jimby went on, "Know why Mama and Daddy sent me to that school for retarded kids? It's a better school than most Spanish-Americans go to, that's why!" The black eyes staring at Evan were once again dull, lifeless. "Anglos like you think us Spanish-Americans got it good, don't you? That's a lie! We take the shit from you and, like Mama says, you been fucking us too long!" With his anger, the boy rose from his chair. "You're not better than the other finks, the rest of the Anglos! I thought you were my friend!"

Evan grabbed Jimby's arms, spun him around, shook him roughly. "Shut up! Goddamnit, I love you, kid! Why the fuck say stuff like that?" He felt the warmth of the body in his arms, saw the full red lips pout slightly, kissed them. "Kid, kid, I said I love you!"

In heat of the bedroom section, they lay naked on the bed, arms and legs entwined. Evan ran palms over that smooth skin into damp pubes, touched the small, spasming cock, gripped it in his fingers. The boy whispered in his ear, "Let me suck you," and Evan embraced that youthful body, the small cock hardening on his belly, cupped a sac and balls in his hand, moved his other hand to prod an ass opening gently. "If I let you fuck me, can I go to California?" the voice whispered.

Raising to stare down at that beautiful face, his eyes went over a mop of black curls, the wet head of the cock in his fist, and, bending over, he took the cock in his mouth. Jimby arched up high on the bed, then, curving in to press his face to Evan's crotch, he opened his lips over the straining dick. Hard flesh in Evan's mouth jerked on its roof as Jimby's hips spasmed. Stretching the cock out full length, Evan caressed its hot head with his tongue, and Jimby did the same as if he'd learned by imitation. They rolled in the bed, fell, still clasped in a sixty-nine, to the floor. Passion increased by the erotic position, Evan swallowed the hard prick as his own cook seemed to burst with the wiggling of his hips on the cool vinyl.

The smell of the boy's body was sweet, a feathery touch of pubic hair on his nose exciting. He sucked the cock in his lips, stroking it with his saliva-drenched tongue as the boy whimpered and quivered under him. With a ferocious gulp, Jimby sank deeper on Evan's cock as a gurgling, choked noise came from his lips, and, jerking his pelvis back to relieve, pressure. Evan thought how unnecessary it was for him to have another suck him, his only desire to make love to the object of his passions; but at the same time, the mouth licking his cock, seeming to have learned skill, caused pent-up gism in his balls to rise and the skin of his cockhead to vibrate hotly.

The muffled, gurgling noises between his legs grew louder as Jimby writhed, heels pounding the floor. Evan's cock was now enormously swollen in the boy's mouth, his balls snugly tight against his underbelly. Jimby raised up high, legs trembling, shoved his cock further into Evan's mouth, deeper in his gullet, and, with his own muffled shouting and gurgling over the boy's cock, he orgasmed. Jimby's cock erupted, a thick stream of come shooting from it. Panting and salivating over the come-drenched member, as had happened before in the meadow, a second surge of sperm welded the cock hotly to his mouth. Evan's cock slipping from his lips, Jimby shouted, "Suck me again, oh, Jesus, suck me again!"

Mouth still gluey with come, he forced the boy's legs back over his head, leaned to plunge his tongue into a hot asshole, licked it. As he tasted shit, he ground his tongue to the pucker, inhaled its scent, sucked the quivering ring of muscle. Spreading his asscheeks wide to meet that punishing tongue, the boy yelled, "Evan, oh, Jesus, Evan!" The rigid flesh pressed hard to Evan's forehead erupted a third time, splattering his hair, and, panting, he shifted to lick the last drops from the boy's belly, slumped over that warm, smooth body, and they lay, face to crotch, for a long time on the black and white tile.

Sitting up, Evan kissed red lips, tasting his own come, wound muscular arms around the boy, held him tightly. "Jimby, Jimby, Jimby." The young body remained limp in his arms as outside the trailer he heard Tazel neigh, the distant sound of a car motor. A bee hummed against the window screen. The boy finally unwound the arms, sat on haunches staring down at him, his cock trailing on the black and white tiles. "You gonna take me to California?"

He stared at that beautiful face. "Sure, sure." Soon as the trial's over, why not? he wondered. Then, what about Rosabel and Hilario? (It was odd the way; as the last name entered his mind, his cock began to harden again -- that brutal, macho face!) "We'll talk about that another time, okay?" Frowning, the boy got into his clothes rather sullenly. Evan tried to persuade him to stay, have something for lunch, but Jimby insisted he had to go home, slipped from the screen door.

As he sat alone at the table with another lousy peanut-butter sandwich, a can of warm beer, his hand reached toward the typewriter; crumpled sheets of yellow paper were still on the trailer floor where he'd tossed them angrily the day before.

Might just as well admit, idiot, you're never going to write the Great American Novel. No chance! You're on a one-track line with no return!

Reaching down, he retrieved several of the crumpled sheets, spread them flat on the table, began to read.

"Is the purpose for oral copulation a primitive urge to engorge another's sex symbol, the symbol of fertility and super-maleness, to glut oneself on another's seed?"

"In any discussion of this form of intercourse, the fact that semen contains all necessary vitamins and minerals for life (it is life!) is carefully side-stepped. Biologists would be the logical defenders of the theory but, being prudish and basically square, they remain silent."

"Homosexuals, themselves, have their own theories, cults, fetishes, about sexual differences among them. Then, is it right to assume men of other persuasions would be more literate?"

"Item: Some gay people claim anal intercourse is 'more manly', consider sucking a cock beneath contempt. Yet in flicks and novels if the author wants to describe a scene 'unmanning' a character, anal rape is always used. The classic example comes to mind: the brutish 'buggering' of a character in the movie version of Joyn Dickey's Deliverance. And, how many times is the derisive remark heard."

He takes it up the ass.

"The Creator, whichever name is used for this mystery, meant human beings to be loving, the manner in which they love unimportant, as long as they do not seek to destroy each other. Expressions of love take all forms, even the agony of pain. As the Marquis de Sade says, 'Up to the present time, no one has in fact dared to say what is sexually normal or not or whether it is even possible to speak of either a sexual or moral norm.'"

The Marquis may have been a cynic but always spoke, with devastating honesty. However, it is to be wondered if present-day practitioners of his debauched form of sex truly understand his meaning. Nature is the devourer.

He tossed the sheets to the floor again, stared at the window over the table and a sky so blue it hurt his eyes. Face it, dummy, you can't take the kid to California! Was there a hidden meaning in Jimby's insistence; had the brothers put the boy up to it, another way to scare me off? and he thought of the lone rider on the hill near the meadow.

Footsteps crunched on the sandy sail outside the trailer. Evan turned his head to see three faces looking in at him through the screen door, said, calmly, "Come in, gentlemen."

Hilario and Valentine pushed the screen open, walked into the room; Scott Michaels, behind them, seemed reluctant to enter, and Hilario said over a shoulder, "Come on in, you fucking sissy, we need you as witness."

Standing over Evan, Hilario placed large hands palms down on the table, shoved his face in close. "Now..." and hard black eyes stared at him, "we know what you and Jimby done." He laughed. "We don't give a shit, the kid's a horny little bastard, but that don't give you the right to cop his joint. He's under age, you follow?" He turned to stare at his brother. "Child molester, right, Val?"

Valentine muttered, "Mister Lambert, you shouldn't have done that to the kid."

Evan glanced at Scott as he came into the room, stood shifting weight from one booted foot to the other as if embarrassed. "You in on this, too, Scott? You three trying to make me cut out?" The red-haired man nodded his head.

A hand gripped his shoulder roughly. "We don't have time to argue this seduction bit. Jimby told us details, see?" Hilario leaned closer, grinned broadly. "You're gonna call that fink lawyer and tell him to call off the trial."

"Fuck you!"

The blow rocked him and his eyeballs seemed to spin; his head snapped back against the chair as he stared up at swarthy, grinning features. Reaching down, Hilario gripped Evan's flaccid cock on the plastic chair pad, wrenched it. "If you don't pal, you won't have no filthy cock left for nobody to suck, you Anglo pervert!" He struck Evan again, stepped back from the table, said contemptuously, "My brother and me oughta make you swing on our dicks like them graders done, but damn if I want any sloppy Anglo mouth sucking me!" Grinning at Valentine, he added, "Hey you want a blow job?" When the older brother shook his head, Hilario yelled at Scott, "How about you, sissy?"

Scott stood staring down at Evan's naked body as if transfixed, pale-blue eyes wide. Striding to him, Hilario jerked his pants open, pulled them to knees, tore his Jockeys to expose curly red pubes, a large sausage of white skin, and, laughing, swiveled to Evan, shouted, "How about this meat, Anglo?" Dragging Scott, he shoved forward. The man stumbled into Evan's perspiring face; a naked midsection pressed to his nose. Hilario snarled, "Go on, you fucking fairy, suck it!"

Valentine muttered, "He'll call the lawyer. Lay off!"

Dangling, warm skin at his nose moved, enlarging, stiffened; the small opening at the tip of its head oozed milky fluid. The red-haired man said in a low voice, "Don't let them make you do it." Staring dizzily at the huge length of cock, Evan shifted his eyes to Hilario, who leaned to stare at him. Scott was pushed roughly and the cock, hot and pungent-smelling, slid against his lips. Hilario strode behind the chair, gripped his jaw, forced his lips open, shouted to Valentine, "Ram the Goddamn cock in!" Grabbing Scott's waist, the older brother shoved and the cock spread Evan's lips, sank deep in his throat.

Fingers, gripping the back of his neck, impaled him onto the rigid pole of cockflesh; a hot taste of raunchy skin filled him and he gagged; hands jerked him further onto the cock as Hilario grunted, "I said eat it, you fucking pervert!" He heard a loud gasp as the body rammed to his face squirmed, convulsed, and hairy balls bounded on his chin. Now, as he struggled, tried to shove the body back, a second hot dick touched the skin of his face. Hilario had quickly dropped his pants, and held an enormous cockshaft in his thick fingers, masturbating. Evan saw Valentine's flushed face lean down, peer at him, an excited exclamation: "Jesus Christ!" Light-brown eyes came in closer and the voice breathed, "My God!"

"Shut up, sissy." Hilario snarled, shoved his brother aside, the cock in his hand hot on Evan's cheek. "Give it to him!" he yelled at Scott, who pulled back, his cock flopping from Evan's lips. As Hilario shouted again, thick, mucous gism creamed Evan's face, ran down over his cheek, pooled at the base of his throat.

"That's enough!" Valentine's voice echoed in his head as he slumped onto the table. Zipping his fly, Hilario strode to Scott, jerked him around. "You stay here; you prick. Can't have nothing happen to this fucking Anglo, not yet, anyways." Evan was dimly conscious of the screen door slamming. Shit, why try to fight it anymore? Yet, he was surprised by the pleasant sensations warming him.

Scott's trembling voice said, "I'm sorry, Mister Lambert. I couldn't stop them sooner. I think it would be wise for you to do as they ask." Evan was barely conscious of someone moving around the trailer room, of a cupboard door squeaking on its hinges, of liquid being poured into a glass. "Here," Scott's voice instructed.

He found the glass blindly, gulped all the liquor down, tried to avoid looking at Scott. What do you say to a guy who's just had his dick shoved unwillingly in your face? Helluva whang you got there, pal? Holding the jelly glass out for a refill, he heard liquid poured into it sucked at the Scotch eagerly. The liquor, firing his belly, spread through his nervous system; relaxing and calming his trembling muscles. You liked what those two brutes did to you! Oh, Jesus! As he wiped at dribbles of come on his cheek, Evan raised his eyes.

The red-haired man sat across the table. "You figured me, didn't you?" Scott said, then added with a smile, "What I mean is, you were on to me, weren't you?" Evan nodded. "And what you're likely wondering is why am I married to Antonia, right?" He turned to stare out the window at an orange and scarlet sunset. "I took advantage of a good thing, Evan. You see, she will inherit this land, not Hilario or Valentine." His pale-blue eyes switched back to Evan. "It's a Spanish tradition. Inheritance goes to the matriarchal line. If you want the truth, it wasn't easy for me to decide to marry Antonia. I have a reputation around this town with Spanish-American kids. What do you do if you are turned on by young cock?" and he smiled again. "Jimby... well, you must know what I mean... oh, not that I ever made a pass at the boy. At least, I have that much respect for his sister. She and I... have sex occasionally, but it does nothing for me, not as much as sex with a man does, if you understand what I mean. One of life's mysteries."

"Right," he muttered numbly, sipped the Scotch. "Yeah, I know what you mean." Why is he telling me this?

Rising, Scott moved to the cupboard, took out a jelly glass, filled it with Scotch, reseated himself at the table. As he raised the glass, he muttered, "To you, Mister Lambert." Then he said, "No matter what the Maes tell me, I think you're an all right guy. But I have to confess, when those two stripped me and shoved my cock in your face, I wanted you to suck it desperately," and he grinned. "I dug you the first time we saw each other but I'd never force anyone to do that to me! Thank God, Valentine, who is not as evil as his brother, stopped it." Draining the glass of Scotch, he glanced across the table. "Was the prospect that unpleasant?"

"No." The smell and size of that enormous cock came to mind and he smiled back at the pale-blue eyes. "No, it wasn't."

"If I told you, Lambert, I am very fond of you, even knowing I prefer young cock, would you believe me?"

"Okay, I believe you."

"I'd like to make love to you sometime, does that shock you?"

"No."

Scott fumbled in his shirt pocket, took out cigarettes, fired one with a gold lighter, placed it on the table; then, turning around to the counter behind him, he switched on a small radio. "Don't want to upset you. I do that because someone might be listening outside this trailer." He swiveled around on the plastic chair pad, stared at Evan. "I think there is something you should know." Volume surging, the radio sang.

"Young bird flying, Soft winds blowing, Walking barefoot by a stream..."

In Evan's mind he sees the meadow, Jimby's dusky face, the warm red mouth, as the Glen Yarborough song continues.

"And the grass won't pay no mind..." and he lies on scratchy grass under his naked back, Jimby smiling, and in another part of his brain he murmured, "Jimby, Jimby, Jimby," on a black and white tile floor.

He is kneeling to place ups to the boy's ass as Jimby crawls on hands and knees over the floor to retrieve discarded jeans and shirt, tastes again the sweet but raunchy flavor of his skin, encloses a small hanging sac with his mouth, sucks it.

Turning around to stare, Jimby smiles, lifts a leg to permit him to swallow the hardening cock, and he feels it jerk in his mouth, the touch of delicate downy pubes on his nose. The boy, easing back onto the tiles, raises his legs, shoves the mouth sucking him, forces it to asscheeks spread wide apart, rams the mouth to a brown pucker.

He penetrates the pucker deeply, plunges his tongue in until lips, sucking the crinkled surface, feel the cheeks of that beautiful ass contract spasmodically as he licks and a heavy sac and jerking balls bound on his chin.

It seems impossible the boy can orgasm again after so many ejaculations but as the young body under him begins to squirm and toss on the black-and-white tiles, came rises from those bounding balls on his chin, expands a tensed seminal cord; then, with a loud shout, the boy spurts thick juice in his mouth, moans, writhing and legs pawing the air. He swallows the orgasm lovingly, kisses a delicately haired boy, raises to state down at Jimby.

Scott was saying in a low voice, "... the boy has always been a retarded child. Of course, Rosabel and Nemecio deny it, will not talk about it to anyone, but I discussed Jimby with his school teachers, the school for retarded children where he went until recently. The teachers said he had the brain of a child ten years old."

"What did you say?" Blood receding from his forehead left it clammy. "WHAT THE HELL DID YOU SAY?"

"That is what I wanted to tell you, Evan. It's dangerous for you to continue seeing the boy. Doctors tell his parents that his poor tortured brain can cause the boy to do something violent. Rosabel and Nemecio prefer to believe he'll grow out of this."

"I don't believe you."

"I understand why. Jimby has a way, like all mentally ill people, of convincing those around him he is quite normal. I think he may even know there is something wrong with him, is, perhaps, frightened. However, chances of his doing something dreadfully irrational are not lessened by his fear, but increased. Do you see?"

Evan muttered dully, "He told me about the school for retarded children, said when he finishes college he wants to go to California."

"Jimby is a beautiful boy but the danger is Rosabel and his father, who permit him to do anything he wants to. Now, his brothers seem to understand this danger, try to protect Jimby -- which may or may not have prompted the scene in this trailer. In my opinion, Hilario and Valentine, brutish as they are, are more interested, sincerely, in stopping the court trial than concerned over the kid brother's sexual antics."

"Then I'll telephone Caruthers." Evan rose from the chair, went to the wall phone. "It's finished. I've had it now." As he reached for the instrument he heard an odd sound outside the window, jerked his face around to stare at the screen door, glanced at Scott Michaels. "What the hell was that?"

Scott punched out the cigarette, walked quickly to the door, said over a shoulder, "Someone was listening to our conversation." Behind the man's tall, silhouetted body in the doorway, Evan could see a dark sky, a faint rim on the horizon of pinkish-orange. Where did Jimby go? Was he outside listening? Had he really kidded himself he loved the boy or was it real? Had he ever really thought he and Jimby would escape?

The voice from the doorway said, "Don't telephone your lawyer, Evan, don't let those brutes scare you away." Scott turned, walked back to the table. "I'm sorry to have been the one to tell you about the boy if there is anything I can do to help you, testify for you at the trial, just let me know." He gripped Evan's shoulders hard, then turned, walked to the door, stepped outside into darkness.

Slumping against the wall phone, he wondered at his reaction to what Scott had told him. If he loved the boy, as he thought he did, why should this change anything? Then was he as much of a fake human being as everyone else? It seemed as though he stood for hours staring down at the tiles on the floor.

He is sitting in the elaborately furnished living room of his father's house, his mother in a large armchair across the room weeping. He suspects the act is a put-on, watches her disgustedly, yet is surprised by the fact he misses his father, as if not seeing that tall, overly masculine body stamp around his room left an emptiness in space.

He wonders why he cannot weep, like his mother, stares at her, revolted by this display of emotion. She opens watery eyes, sits more erect in the armchair, looks at him.

"Did you know, Evan, your father and I never wanted to have any children, and does that baffle you, dear?" The dry eyes stare at him coldly. "With him gone, I thought you should know. I'm certain he would have approved."

"Very well, Mother, what do you want from me? That I run screaming from this room? And why do you tell me this now?"

"Why, because I am just being honest," she says irritably, glares at him. "I submitted to your father's beastly advances only because I knew it was expected of me. Is that not being honest?"

He thinks. Yes, honest and cruel and a fake, that's what you are!

As he runs outside the house and down the steps to the beach, he is thinking furiously. Goddamn, Goddamn! I hate her, the bitch!

Striding along an edge of surf, he kicks at stones, digs hands into his pockets, vows to himself he'll get even with the cold, heartless woman sitting up there in that stupid house! With these feelings of self pity, he does not notice five darker shadows following, until he hears a rough voice mutter, "Get him."

The five overpower him easily -- he does not struggle much -- tear his clothes off, hold him supine on the sand. One, panting from the brief fight, unzips his fly, drops to his knees, grabs Evan's head, dangling a semi-hard cock, mutters, "Boy, you gonna suck us off but this sonovabitch first," and the cock is shoved to his lips.

Unresisting, he sucks, feels the cockshaft become rigid in his mouth. The others raise him up, roll the man he's sucking under him, turn him over, exposing cheeks of his ass. A finger rams his asshole and he hears the men laugh as he moans around the cock spreading his lips, then a large dick plugs him. The three others squat down in the sand for a better look, and he hears words muttered like, "Hurry, you guys, our turn next!"

Hips, as they pummel him, quivering, beat the rigid cock into him faster as a hairy sac flops against his ass. The man fucking him shouts, grips him by the waist, yells, "Christ!" and he's inundated with a hot flood of thick come; the man slides off onto the sand. At the same moment, his mouth is filled with an orgasm which chokes him.

The men roll him on his back again. One forces his legs up high over his head, lifting his ass, as another, squatting on his face, rams a large length of cock to his nose. The man holding his legs roughly says in a laughing voice, "Old man Lambert's kid sure's got sweet buns." A finger prods him, and a hard pole of cockflesh, wet with saliva, penetrates. The size of the cock rammed into him is so big that he moans, but his mouth is shut immediately by the cock on his nose, muffling his cries. He thinks, behind tightly closed eyelids, God, don't let it stop, ever, ever!!

Swallowing gooey gism that spurts in his throat, the cock jerking and pulsating on the roof of his mouth, he gulps down its viscous mass, feeling the other cock plunged in his ass ram further, and, with a loud yell, the man fucking him orgasms.

He lies on warm sand for a long time, the gentle touch of tiny waves lapping at his naked body, after the rapists leave and the sound of their taunting voices mingles with shadows of the beach. He feels a slight pain in his rectum, tastes the gluey come in his mouth but, also, feels a more satisfying sensation of pleasure as he seems to pulsate, to glow, with an inner fire.

The phone dropped from his hand, its cord coiling like a snake in mid-air. Evan thought, is it punishment I crave?