Big-dick Bottom Pt. 09

"We think you know exactly why you're here, Paul," Kevin said, icily. "Ben Olsen. Name ring a bell?"

I met Kevin's gaze and nodded. "Yeah, Stacy's ex," I said. "He's the one who beat her up."

Kevin leaned in quickly toward me but the other cop leaned across the table and put his hand on Kevin's arm, stopping him.

"Paul, Mr. Olsen's body was found out at the old Springer quarry this morning," the older cop said. "We believe he may have been killed. Deliberately."

"Murdered?" I said, furrowing my eyebrows.

"Yes, murdered. And we got a tip, Paul, from somebody who says that you spend a lot of time out there. At the quarry."

I sat still for a moment, to let what the cop said sink in.

"A tip?" I said, after the older cop had settled back in his chair. "From who?" I asked, turning to make eye contact with Kevin.

Kevin ground his jaw and narrowed his eyes at me.

"How often do you go to the quarry?" the older cop asked.

I turned back to look at him. I shook my head, slowly. "What quarry?" I said.

At that, Kevin lurched for me, grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the chair. He started to shake me.

"Tell us you killed him, you lying little prick!" he yelled. The older cop got up on his feet and between us, pushing Kevin away from me.

"Take a break, officer," the older cop shouted at Kevin, shoving him back, away from me. Kevin wiped his mouth with his arm and then stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him on the way out.

"I'm sorry about that," the older cop said, clearly disheveled by Kevin's outburst. "Officer Johansson, well... he was friends with the vic... with Mr. Olsen." The cop said, ushering me back to the plastic chair and then sitting down himself.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, putting my hands back in my lap. I hoped that the cop didn't notice how much they were shaking.

We sat for a moment until the air in the room cleared. Then the cop spoke again.

"Paul, I'm going to ask you again, and I want you to be completely honest with me when you answer. If find out that you aren't being honest, you can get into a lot of trouble, do you understand?"

I nodded. The cop continued.

"Have you ever been out to Springer's quarry?"

"Maybe?" I said. "If it's the place I'm thinking of, where those kids drowned a few years ago, I think I was there, when I was little, once or twice. For a picnic."

"Were you there last night?"

"No."

"Did you see Ben Olsen at any time yesterday?"

"No."

"Have you ever met Ben Olsen?"

I hesitated, and swallowed again. "I think... I think I might have delivered a pizza to him, like a week or so ago. But I didn't know it was him, not at the time. I found out later--Stacy told me that he had called the restaurant, trying to find her, and he ordered a pizza."

I thought back to the empty lot, to Ben, his tattoos, how wasted he was, how he'd pissed on my pants. The dead, menacing look in his eyes.

"Is that the only time that you have interacted with Mr. Olsen?" the cop asked.

"Well," I said, hesitating. I fidgeted with my hands in my lap.

"Son, I need you to be completely honest with me," the cop said.

I took a deep breath. "I think... I think I might have seen him some other times."

"Where, Paul?"

"At my house. Well, actually, at my neighbors' house. There's this shed, in their backyard. One of the sons, well, the younger one, he... I think he sells drugs. Out of the shed. I see people back there."

"And you saw Mr. Olsen there, in your neighbors' back yard?"

"I think so. Maybe a couple times over the last few weeks. He went into the shed with my neighbor. The red-headed one. I'm pretty sure it was Ben, or at least the same guy I delivered that pizza to."

I watched the cop write in his book.

"That's quite a coincidence, don't you think, Paul? That the man your girlfriend accuses of assaulting her would show up at your neighbors' house?"

"She's not my girlfriend," I said.

"Excuse me, your friend, Miss Stevens. Quite a coincidence, don't you think?"

I shrugged. The cop frowned and looked down at his notes.

"How well do you know your neighbors, Paul?" he asked.

"I don't really know them," I said. "My parents... they don't really like our neighbors. They always told me to steer clear of them."

"And have you steered clear of them?"

I flashed back to all of the incidents over the spring and summer, replaying everything in a single moment across my mind.

"Yeah," I said.

"Hmm," the officer said, writing again in his book. After a minute, he laid his pen down and knit his hands together. He gave a long, scouring look.

"Paul, just one more thing,' he said. "Officer Johansson and I noticed... at the restaurant, your truck... it looked like it had been washed recently."

"Yeah," I said. "I took it through the car wash this morning."

"Any particular reason?"

"It was dirty?" I said.

The cop bent back down to his notebook, shaking his head. He spent another few minutes making notes on his pad, not talking or looking at me. When he was done, he stood up. The kind look in his eyes was back.

"Paul, I'm going to talk with Miss Stevens again for a few minutes, and then we'll get you both back to work. Will you wait in the hallway again, please?"

"Sure," I said, standing up.

He opened the door and I walked back out into the hallway. Stacy stood up from the chair and came over to me.

"Are you OK?" she whispered.

"Yeah," I said, trying to seem nonchalant. "Everything's fine."

"Miss Stevens, will you please join me again in the office?" the older cop said.

Stacy walked into the room and the cop shut the door. I sat down in the chair and folded my hands in my lap to keep them still. I heard muffled voices again, through the door. Kevin was nowhere to be seen. The minutes ticked by at an insanely slow rate.

After what seemed like an hour but was probably about ten minutes, I realized I had to pee. I got up and walked down the hallway and around the corner, where I spotted a single-use bathroom. I went in and shut the door behind me, feeling a shudder pass through me as I turned the lock. In the mirror, I checked my makeup. It was still intact--hardly noticeable at all.

I pulled my dick out of my pants and peed. As my pee hit the water in the toilet, I started to let myself start to relax. I went over the interview in my head and decided that it had gone well--no glaring inconsistencies. I hoped that Stacy was holding it together. I began to let myself hope that the worst was past, that we'd be able to go back to work, and that would be the end of it. I shook my dick, zipped up, washed and dried my hands, and opened the door.

His fist hit me in the stomach before I could register it was him. I went down onto the blue tile of the bathroom floor, and then he was in the small bathroom with me, closing and locking the door behind him. Writhing and unable to breathe, I looked up.

Kevin.

He loomed over me, huge and scowling. He was unbuttoning his sleeves, rolling them up to expose his huge, meaty forearms.

I convulsed as my diaphragm continued to spasm, preventing me from getting air into my lungs. My vision started to darken, but then he was lifting me up, off the ground to press me against the wall, my feet dangling next to the toilet paper dispenser.

"You lying little faggot," Kevin hissed, spitting into my face. His hand was around my neck, pinning me against the wall. I grabbed at his forearm, trying to escape from his grip. Finally, I got one foot on the rim of the toilet, which allowed me to support some of my weight and draw a clean breath.

"Tell me you killed him," Kevin said, in a harsh whisper, lips inches from my face. "Tell me you killed Ben."

In spite of my fear, I felt a cool confidence descend through me. The cops didn't have shit on on us, on Stacy or me, otherwise he wouldn't be here, kicking my ass. And beyond that, over the last few weeks, I'd faced worse bullies than this muscled idiot. He was at least twice my size, but he didn't scare me. In here, I was the bigger man. I cracked a smile.

"Ben who?" I said.

Kevin yelled in frustration and slammed my head back against the wall. I saw stars and felt spit fly out of my mouth.

"Don't fuck with me, you little bitch," he sneered. He pushed me higher up the wall, pinning me now with his thighs between my legs. I felt a hardness at his crotch grind into me, into my own stiffening erection.

"I think that's exactly what you want, Kevin," I said, through my teeth.

"What?" he grunted.

"You want to fuck me, don't you?"

Kevin swore under his breath and let go of me. I fell to the ground. I got to my knees. My eyes were level with his crotch. I saw his dick bulging between his thighs in the tight brown sheriff's pants he was wearing.

He stood, fists clenched, glaring at me. Then, wordlessly, he unzipped his fly and pulled out his cock. I sucked in my breath. It was the first time I'd seen it. In the woods, when he'd tackled and then fucked me, I hadn't seen his dick, just felt its absurd size in my ass as he'd pounded it into me. Here, in the bright light of the bathroom, it seemed to defy reality.

In one fluid motion, Kevin grabbed me and spun me around, then pulled my pants and underwear down past my thighs. Then his hands were around my neck again and his impossible cock was pressed against my asshole.

"You asked for it, bitch," he spat, and then he ripped into me.

My ass tore open and I felt the rip travel up through me with enough force that I thought maybe he'd literally split me in half, spilling my guts out onto the bathroom floor. But then I hit some sort of pain threshold and my mind blanked, ejecting my consciousness out of my head to float somewhere else while he fucked me with a ferocity that matched the rage he'd been suppressing all day.

As he fucked me, I felt something slide into alignment inside. It was the itch, retreating back into its cave, fucked into quiescence by the savagery of his two-by-four cock in my raw hole. A curl of satisfaction began to swirl in my belly and track down into my groin, causing my dick to swell in tandem with the knowledge that, again, in here, somehow, I had the power. I was in control. Out in the world, he might be Kevin Johansson, state high school wrestling champ, cop, upstanding member of the Lutheran church, and all-around family man, but in here, he was none of that. He was just a puppet. Nothing more than a huge dick on a set of strings in my hands.

When he orgasmed, he pressed my head into the wall, pressing the bruised side of my face painfully against the cold tile. He jerked and thrashed against me and I felt the powerful jetting of cum deep inside my ass. My hole felt like it was on fire as he pumped me full of his semen. When he finally stopped coming, his breath was ragged.

"Tell me you did it," he breathed, into my neck. "Tell me you killed him."

"I didn't," I said, shaking my head.

"You did," he said. "I know you did. I know you did. Tell me."

Despite the pain still raging through me, I gritted my teeth and said, "I don't think you want me to say what I know."

"What the fuck?" he said.

"I'm saying, I don't think you want me to tell your partner everything I know."

"Are you threatening me?" he said, his voice lowered to a growl.

"Small town cop fucks guys on the side? In the woods? At the station?" I said.

"You think anyone will believe you?" he snarled.

"You gonna take that chance?" I said.

He grunted with frustration. His cock was still in my asshole. He shifted his weight and I slid even further down onto him. He was still hard, maybe even stiffening up again, gaping my hole open even more. Jesus. The guy was a beast. No wonder his wife wasn't enough. He pushed his cock up as hard as he could into me. I yelped with the pain of it.

"You better keep your fuckin' mouth shut, faggot," he said, spit spattering into my ear, "or I'm gonna kill you, your fat fuckin' wop boyfriend, and the frail, you hear me?"

I nodded.

"Say it!" he grunted.

"OK," I said.

He ripped his cock out of my ass and let me drop. I tumbled down onto the floor, limbs scattering every which way. My pants and underwear were bunched around my calves. I heard him zip up and then the door swung open, bringing in a whoosh of cool air. Then the door shut and all I could hear was my own rapid breath. My whole lower half felt like it was on fire. My asshole was leaking cum and my neck hurt from how he had pinned me against the wall.

Slowly, I pushed myself up and pulled my pants up over my destroyed ass, tucking my half-hard cock back into my underwear and wiping up the cum that had splattered onto my pants and the floor. I washed up in the sink and then opened the door. A startled janitor reeled back. It looked like he was just about to open the door himself.

"Sorry," I said, quickly, then limped back around the corner toward the office.

Stacy and the older cop were standing in the hallway when I got there. Stacy gave me a cold, inscrutable look, and the older cop waved for both of us to follow him back toward the front door of the station. Kevin was nowhere to be seen.

In the car, the cop said, "Paul, Stacy, thank you for your time today. I trust that both of you will continue to make yourselves available as we continue our investigation."

"Yes, sir," I said. Stacy nodded, looking out the window. We rode the rest of the way back to Pizza Hut in silence.

~

"What the fuck was that?" Mario said, when we walked back into the kitchen.

"Ben's dead," Stacy said, coolly, walking back to the manager's kiosk.

"What?" Mario said. Derek and Jason had come over, too, to stand near us.

"Ben's dead," Stacy repeated, louder. There was a distant, detached look in her eyes.

"They found his body," I said, jumping in. "Out at the quarry."

"Holy shit," Mario said. He put a hand on Stacy's shoulder. "Are you OK, Stace?"

"Me? Yeah. Fine. Great," she said. "What's going on, here? Where are we? Derek, Jason? Thumbs in your asses? I assume we have pizzas to make."

Derek and Jason shuffled back to the pizza-making station. Mario looked at Stacy and then at me. He opened and shut his mouth, uncharacteristically speechless. Stacy raised her arms in a what the fuck? motion. Mario turned to me and shrugged, then handed me a list of addresses.

~

That evening I had a bunch of late deliveries and didn't get back to the restaurant until after 10:30. When I got back, Derek told me that Mario had taken Stacy home early--apparently she'd gotten really dizzy right before close. I stayed and helped the guys and the waitresses clean up, then headed home. When I pulled into my driveway I felt a jolt of surprise when I opened the garage door. My parents' car was there. I'd forgotten they were coming home today.

I walked inside quietly, hoping they'd be asleep, but when I got into the kitchen I saw both of them sitting at the table in their pajamas.

"Paul," my dad said, standing up.

"Hey," I said, going to the refrigerator. "How was your trip? How's Suze? Ready to pop?"

"Your sister is fine," my mom said.

Both of them had odd, concerned looks on their faces. Sonofabitch, what now? I poured myself a glass of orange juice and stood in the kitchen, looking at them, trying to act like someone who hadn't been through a series of absolutely insane experiences during the week they'd been gone.

"Your mother and I have been talking," my dad said, still standing awkwardly, "on the drive home."

"OK..." I said.

"And we think that it would be beneficial for you to go talk with someone."

"Talk with someone? About what?" I said.

"About, well, about your life... and your choices," my dad said.

"My choices? What are you talking about?"

"We're taking you to see Reverend Bjornsson tomorrow, sweetie," my mom cut in.

"The pastor?" I said, getting flustered. "Why?"

My dad shot my mom an annoyed look and then turned back to me with his hands held out in a calming motion.

"Look, Paul, you're going off to college soon, and we think that it would be helpful... constructive, for you to talk with Reverend Bjornsson about the direction you want to go in life. About your plans for the future, that's all. Just a friendly chat."

I looked at the two of them and sighed. My parents had been dragging me to church my whole life. I wanted nothing less than to talk with some dumb pastor about my life plans, but, if it would mollify them and keep them off my back...

"Fine," I said, rubbing my eyes. "I'm tired. Can I go to bed?"

My dad lowered his hands, satisfied.

"Sure, son. We'll go over to the church in the morning, before you start work."

"Whatever," I said, setting my empty cup in the sink.

I went upstairs and took a long, hot shower and let my mind turn off and the water wash away the thoughts and anxieties that had accumulated in my head. For the first night in a long time, I climbed into my own bed. Within seconds I was dead asleep.