Big-dick Bottom Pt. 09

He grunted softly in agreement and took my hand to lead me out of the kitchen to the stairwell. On the way out of the kitchen, I grabbed the bottle of whiskey.

In the bedroom, Mario reached for me and I let him put his hands on me, pull my shirt off, over my head--touch my skin, my arms. He kissed me and I kissed him back, tasting the whiskey from just now and the vodka from before, what I knew he nipped at all afternoon and evening at the restaurant. The lights were off--there was only the cool, blue light coming in from the window from a quarter moon, high in the sky. I had worried that he would see the marks on my body, the bruises and the residual redness, but the light was dim and he was tanked.

"Paulie, where were you?" he kept repeating, mumbling in his drunkenness, as I let him paw at my body.

I didn't answer, just rolled with him onto the bed, feeling his half-hard cock poke at me through his work pants. The smell of his skin, the restaurant, his bed, and the liquor invaded my senses and I felt my body respond to him, my cock thickening against him. I knew his body by now and I felt it wash over me like a drug, the feel of him, of his chest, pressed against mine, the scrape of his beard, how it was scratchy, now, this late in the day as he mouthed my face and neck.

I pulled away from him and pretended to drink deeply from the bottle of whiskey, then handed it to him. He took the bottle from me and I watched him drain the entirety of it--several inches of brown liquid disappearing into him. He put the bottle down and stripped his shirt off, then unbuckled his belt and kicked off his pants. His cock tented up his boxers and he grabbed me and pulled me to him, pressing his face into my chest.

"Paulie, Paulie," he said as he kissed me and rubbed his hands along my back. I pushed his chest so that he was lying on his back, and I knelt on the floor between his legs, which were hanging over the edge of the bed.

"Paulie, I think I'm drunk," he said, bringing his hands to his face.

"It's OK," I said, and I pulled his dick out of the slit in the front of his boxers, stroking it slowly.

Mario's chest and belly expanded with a great breath and he shuddered as I took his cock in my mouth. I sucked him slowly and rhythmically, timing my movements with the rise and fall of his breath. He reached for my hands with his and I grasped his wrists and pushed his hands down onto the bed at his sides, then ran my hands through the fur on his belly and chest.

My senses filled with the smell of him, of his crotch and his sweat, mixed, as ever, with the sweet tang of whiskey. His pelvic muscles were contracting as I sucked his cock. With my tongue I felt the thick veins of his hard shaft and the flare of his cock head pulsing under the soft pliability of his foreskin.

His orgasm was slow and it seemed to roll across him like a wave crashing onto a beach. His belly seized up and his hips and thighs flexed, and then I felt his cock jerk inside my mouth. He grabbed my hand with his and his balls contracted, pumping more cum into my mouth. I swallowed his load and kept my mouth clamped on his cock until I felt his muscles start to relax and his breath return to normal.

Then, moving slowly, I pulled my mouth off of his cock and patted his legs so that he would roll over on the bed. I got in next to him, spooning him from behind. He pulled my arm around him and hugged it tight against his chest. My face pressed into the thick mass of hair on the back of his head and I inhaled the scent of him and closed my eyes.

~

A few minutes later, he was out cold, snoring faintly. I unwound my arm from him and rolled to the edge of the bed, jiggling the mattress a little to make sure that he was really out. He was out. If my experience was correct, he'd be in a deep sleep until the early morning.

//

When the morning light streamed in through the frilly lace curtains in Mario's room, he stirred and moaned and rolled toward me. He opened his eyes and looked at me and smiled.

"Hungover?" I said, smiling back at him.

"Nah," he said, and he tracked a finger down from my chin, across my T-shirt, hooking under my belt and khaki shorts. "I thought maybe I dreamed it, P," he said.

"Dreamed what?" I said, suddenly nervous.

"That you came over," he said. "I thought maybe..." he looked at me and his big, blue eyes flickered with concern. "But you did come." He reached for my cheek and ran his thumb across it, tenderly. "I missed you, P," he said.

"I missed you, too," I said, but I looked away as I said it.

He reached for my crotch. He wrapped his hand around the shaft of my cock, through my pants, and stroked me slowly. I thought for a moment that he would want to get me naked, and I'd have to stop him, since he'd see my bruises. As it was, I was nervous that my poor makeup skills would betray my black eye. But then he let go of my dick.

He sat up in the bed, yawned and scratched his head. "Let's make breakfast, are you hungry, P? Pancakes? Shit, P! I'm gonna make my grandma's lemon ricotta pancakes. You guys are gonna love 'em!"

Downstairs, Stacy was already up, making a pot of coffee. She poured mugs for all of us and she and I sat around while Mario clattered about in the kitchen, running his usual constant banter. Stacy looked exhausted, like she hadn't slept at all. When Mario wasn't looking, I reached for her hand and squeezed it, reassuringly. She gave me a worried, anxious look, but she squeezed my hand back.

A short while later, Mario brought over a stack of pancakes and forked one onto a plate for both Stacy and me.

"Oh my god," I said, taking a bite, "these are fucking incredible."

"The trick is you gotta beat the shit out of the eggs," Mario said, "that's what makes 'em so light and fluffy."

"Is that in your grandma's recipe, 'beat the shit out of three eggs'," I said, in an exaggerated old person's voice.

Mario laughed and ruffled my hair. "The mouth on this kid, huh?" he said, shaking his head at Stacy.

Stacy glanced between Mario and me and raised her eyebrows. She picked at her pancake. Mario was forking pancake into his mouth hurriedly.

"It's late, kids, I gotta get to the restaurant," he said, standing up. He reached down and pulled up his shirt to sniff it. "Oof, I better take a shower." He got up and took his plate to the sink.

"Hang out as long as you want," he said, then looked at Stacy. "Hey, Stace..." he said, tentatively.

Stacy cut him off. "Don't worry, Mario, I'll work today."

"Are you sure?" he asked. "I can always ask Amanda to cover your shift if you're not up to it."

"I know how much you enjoy the twins, but no," Stacy said, "I need to work."

"OK," Mario said. "What about you, P? You workin' today?"

My throat had closed up at the mention of Amanda, but I swallowed through it and said, "Yeah, boss."

"Groovy," Mario said. He started to walk down the hall to the stairs.

"Hey, Mario" Stacy said, with a serious tone in her voice all of a sudden. Mario turned to look at her. My stomach twisted into a knot.

"Thanks... for letting me--for letting us crash here last night," Stacy said.

Mario came and put a hand on her shoulder and a hand on mine. "No sweat," he said. "Anything for my fam, right? We gotta stick together."

As Mario bounded up the stairs to go shower, I saw that Stacy was staring at me with hard eyes.

"What the fuck, Paulie?" she said, her voice hushed.

I wiped a bit of syrup from my mouth and looked at her.

"What?" I said.

"Where did you sleep last night?"

"The spare room upstairs," I said, avoiding her eyes.

"The spare room? Are you sure?"

I nodded at her and tried to eat another bite of pancake as casually as I could.

"What's going on with you and Mario?" Stacy said, folding her arms.

I sighed, and put down my fork. I tried to muster a confused face. "Mario?" I said.

Stacy slapped at her head comedically. "Yes, Mario. Your boss? Now that I think about it, it's so fucking obvious. How long has it been going on?"

I slumped back into my chair. It was a lost cause, trying to keep it from her. "I dunno, a couple weeks," I said, meekly.

"Jesus, Paulie."

I got up and went to the sink and ran the water to clean up the dishes. But Stacy kept at me.

"He's a mess, you know that, right?"

"You mean the drinking?"

"Yes the drinking. He's drunk every every day, Paulie. Every night."

"Including last night, just like we needed him..."

She cut me off. "And more than that. He's thirty fucking years old. He doesn't have his shit together. Doesn't have anything going for him, except, you know, Pizza Hut and the goddamned bar."

"What's wrong with working at Pizza Hut?" I said, unnerved at how upset she seemed.

"You want to be working at Pizza Hut when you're thirty?"

I frowned, she had a point. "But, c'monnn," I said, miming Mario, trying to lighten the mood. "It's Mario. He's..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Everybody loves Mario," Stacy said, "except Mario."

"What does that mean?"

Stacy gave me a long, hard look. "Is this what you want, Paulie? Is this the life you want? Look around you. Drinking, smoking weed, fucking some closet case alcoholic? In his goddamn grandmother's house? I mean look at this shit!"

She waved her hand at a large hutch in the corner of the kitchen, filled with ceramic angels.

I sighed. "Well, I mean, it's not like I'm going to be here forever. I'm leaving, remember? At the end of the summer," I said.

"So that makes it OK?" Stacy said.

"Makes what OK?" I shot back at her, suddenly annoyed. "We're adults, Stace--Mario is an adult, last time I checked. It's not like I forced him. He came on to me."

"And you thought, what? Great! Have a summer fling! Fuck around, deliver pizzas and hang out with a bunch of low-lifes, smoke cigarettes and drink at the bar! Fuck your boss for kicks before going off to your fancy school? Is that what you thought, Paulie?"

"No, that's not what I..."

"I think that's exactly what you thought."

I opened my mouth to respond, but then stayed quiet. Her words had cut deep. I was surprised by the hurt and anger in her voice--the accusation that I was somehow... using them. Using Mario, using her, using my job like some sort of trashy fling before heading off to school.

"Hey, Stace," I said after a moment, "I'm sorry. Let's not fight, OK?"

Stacy rubbed her temple. "Yeah," she said. "I'm sorry too. I just... this whole thing is really fucking me up."

"I know."

"Are you sure it's gonna be OK?" she said, and there was a waver in her voice.

"Yeah," I said, sounding more confident than I felt.

~

After I dropped Stacy off back at her grandma's, I took my truck through the car wash and then went home. I was sweating as I approached my street, and when I drove past the neighbors' house and saw their truck in the driveway, I felt the ricotta pancakes start to come back up out of my stomach. I suppressed the nausea, though, and pulled into my driveway. I was shaking as I got out of my car, but I didn't hear or see any movement next door. Inside, I stood over the kitchen sink, still feeling that the pancakes might come up. Out the window, I saw the neighbors' back yard--how much it had taken shape over the last week that I hadn't been around so much.

Past the sloping, elegant lines of the landscaping, bright green, now, with new sod and peppered with large, decorative boulders, my eyes tracked to the shed. Through the open door of it, in the morning light, I saw the frayed end of the rope dangling from the ceiling. The sight of it pushed me over the edge and I lost my battle to keep down my breakfast.

~

Later that day, as I pulled in to the Pizza Hut parking lot after a round of deliveries in the early afternoon, a chill shot down my spine. There was a police cruiser parked haphazardly across several parking stalls near the back door of the restaurant. I swallowed hard and forced myself into an artificial calm before I walked inside carrying two empty hotbags.

In the kitchen, I saw Mario, Stacy, and two cops standing by the door to the office. They all turned to look at me and I got another chill.

Fuck.

One of the cops was Kevin Johansson, who had spoken to Stacy at the hospital and who'd fucked me in the quarry back in May--the first guy who'd ever fucked me. His hands were on his belt, his right hand rubbing against a shiny, worn patch on his leather gun holster. Between his legs I saw a massive bulge at his crotch. With a jolt, I remembered his gargantuan cock--the cock that had left my ass gaped and raw for days after he'd fucked me in the woods.

When Kevin saw me, his face twisted into an angry scowl. Stacy looked at me with fear in her eyes, and Mario was waving his hands, talking loudly.

"Like I said, officers, they were at my house all night," Mario said. "Paulie... um, Paul, here," he waved at me, "Paul brought Stacy over to my house and I got off work, what, 10:30? I went home and we..."

"Are you Paul Andersen?" The other cop said, cutting Mario off as I approached. He was an older, heavyset man with silver hair and a silver beard,

"Yes," I said.

Kevin folded his arms in front of his chest and glared at me.

"Paul, we'd like you and Miss Stevens to come with us down to the station," the older cop said, nodding at Stacy.

"Really, officers?" Mario said. "These kids didn't do anything, and besides, I gotta restaurant to run here." He gestured around at the kitchen--at Derek and Jason who were watching, wide-eyed, from the pizza-making counter.

"Don't worry, this won't take long," the silver-haired officer said. He smiled at me. He had kind-looking, soft brown eyes. He pointed an open hand at the door leading out to the parking lot.

Stacy and I exchanged a look and then walked toward the door. I felt a hand on my bicep--Kevin's--leading me toward the police cruiser. He squeezed my arm hard and jerked me roughly into the back seat of the cruiser. I suppressed a shudder at his touch--at the barely repressed rage I sensed behind it.

In the car, the older cop chatted amiably about the weather, while Kevin stared, stone-faced, straight ahead, not saying anything. Stacy and I were also silent, not daring to look at each other. I tried to cultivate a sense of calm inside me, but my mind was swirling with fear. I took deep breaths and reminded myself that as long as we stuck to the story, we'd be fine. No, not the story, I told myself. The truth.

~

At the station, the older officer led Stacy and me to an office lined with windows obscured by closed mini blinds. He asked me to wait on a chair outside the office, and then escorted Stacy inside. As she passed me she gave me a quick, scared look. Then Kevin followed the two of them into the room and shut the door firmly. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

They spoke in the room for most of an hour. I couldn't hear the words, but I heard the older cop's voice, and then Stacy's voice, alternating back and forth. I didn't hear Kevin's voice. I fidgeted in the chair, and noticed that every once in a while, other cops in the station would walk by, looking at me with hard, unfriendly eyes. My sense of unease grew and grew until I started to sweat, in spite of myself, even though the station was chilly with air conditioning.

Suddenly, the door to the office opened, and Stacy walked out. Her eye makeup was streaked with tears. I stood up and walked toward her, but then Kevin's hand was on my arm and he pulled me into the room. He pushed me down on a hard plastic chair. He stood behind me while the silver-haired cop took a seat across the table. Again, the older cop smiled at me with his kind eyes.

"Paul," he said. "We have some questions we'd like to ask you."

"OK," I said, quietly, knitting my eyebrows together. "What about?"

He glanced over my shoulder at Kevin and then back to me.

"Let's start with what you did yesterday," he said. "Walk me through your day."

I cleared my throat and folded my hands in my lap. "Well, I, um, got a call in the morning from my boss, Mario," I said, "and he told me that Stacy was, you know, in the hospital. That she'd... been beaten up by her ex."

I looked up at the cop, who nodded at me, encouraging me to go on.

"So I went to the hospital and I stayed there with her while they did tests and stuff. Mario... he said that I could have the day off, you know, to help her out."

"And then you drove her home?" the cop said.

"Yeah, I took her back to her grandma's place, maybe about three o'clock."

"Where did you go, after that?"

"I went home."

"And then?"

"I mean, I took a shower... I took a nap," I said. "Oh, and Mario called me. He was checking in about Stacy. And he said that we should come over to his house to hang out--Stacy and me."

"OK, and then?" the cop said.

"So at like nine thirty, ten-ish, I picked Stacy up and we went over to Mario's."

"What did you do at Mario's?"

"I mean, we just talked and stuff. Stacy was really shaken up, you know? We were trying to keep her from getting scared, so, like, we were just joking around."

"Did any of you leave the house again at any point?" the cop asked, narrowing his eyes slightly.

"No," I said. "We had some drinks, and talked, like I said... and then we went to sleep."

The older cop leaned back in his chair. "Drinks? How old are you, Paul?" he asked.

I felt blood rush to my face. "Eighteen sir," I said.

"And how often do you drink?"

I swallowed and tried to look sheepish. "Not very much, sir. I just had part of a beer. Really."

"Sure, sure," the cop said, nodding. "So after your part of a beer, Paul, what time did you go to sleep?"

"Maybe eleven? Midnight? I'm not really sure. Stacy was pretty tired, so it wasn't that late."

"Where did each of you sleep, in the house?" the cop asked.

I swallowed, involuntarily, and felt my palms start to sweat. Shit. Get a grip, Paulie, I thought.

"Um, Stacy crashed on the couch and Mario was in his room. I slept in the spare room," I said.

"Mmm," the cop said, nodding slowly at me.

I heard Kevin move behind me, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up.

"And you're sure that nobody, including you, left at any point after that," the cop said.

"Well, in the morning," I said. "After Mario made us pancakes."

"Pancakes," the cop repeated, softly.

He jotted down something on a notepad in front of him. Then he looked up at me. The soft friendliness of his eyes had dissipated.

"Is it normal..." he said, "for you to spend time at your employer's house, after hours, Paul?"

I took a breath and felt my left eyelid flicker a little bit. "I dunno," I said, shakily. "I've been there, um, maybe, a few times."

"A few times," the cop repeated. "How many is 'a few'? Five? Ten? Twenty?"

"Maybe five," I said.

"Five," he said, writing on the pad. Still looking at the pad, he said, "Paul, are you and Miss Stevens engaged in a sexual relationship?"

"W-what?" I said, my voice cracking.

The cop looked up at me and cocked his head. After I didn't answer, he raised his eyebrows.

"No," I said. "No way. We're just friends."

"What about your boss, Mario? Are you and he engaged in a sexual relationship?"

A ringing started in my ears, and I clenched my hands together in my lap to keep them from shaking.

"No," I said, pulling my head back in mock surprise. Then, digging deep for as much confidence as I could, I said, "Why are you asking me all this? What's going on?"

The cop frowned at me. He looked up at Kevin, who moved from behind me to my side, where he pulled up a chair and sat facing me. His knees were inches from my leg and his eyes burned holes in the side of my face. For the first time, it was Kevin who spoke.