Appalachian Trail

"I saw a bike out by the garage. I can use it, can't I? I'll be right back."

"Sure, knock yourself out," Ken said and he rolled over on his back on my bed—and I could see that he, indeed, could get it right back up for me.

I rode across the top of the mountain, back toward Front Royal, climbing a bit to the peak at the communications towers, where I would turn and come back—being sincere that I wanted him again, could hardly wait to get his dick back inside me, playing me like a violin.

When I hit the rise at the communications towers, I saw them—Hans and Alain getting into a sedan that had been parked in the parking lot there. They hadn't been walking the trail up from Georgia. They'd entered the trail at the communications towers—exactly where we had come across them in the first place.

And then what I had fleetingly seen back at the house when they were dressing hit me. Ken had let off fucking me briefly and he turned to them and I'd seen a flash of green.

He'd paid them.

I'd been stupid. It had all been a setup to help Ken get his cock inside me.

I turned and started peddling furiously back to the house. But my pleasure was more important to me than my pride. I didn't fool myself. I was peddling back to get more of Ken's cocking, not to dredge up any scheming that was in the past.