Devil's Deals Pt. 04

"Right here, right now?"

"If that's what you want. Are you going to let me put it in you?"

"Yes, I'm going to let you put it in me," Rich answered, with a low moan. "Wherever you want to do it."

* * * *

Sonny lived in the same block as the bar, at Laconia Lofts. In less than ten minutes they were inside his apartment and Sonny was growling, "Strip and I want you on your knees right here on the floor."

When Rich hesitated, Sonny barked, "Now! I've seen you with Butler. You want to be controlled and manhandled when a man fucks you."

A minute later he was hovering over Rich, who was on all fours, nuzzling and kissing Rich on the neck while he opened Rich's ass up with his plump fingers, knowing that Rich would have to be taking a monster cock.

"Now! Now! Fuck me now!" Rich cried out.

"I'm big. I could split you."

"Do it. Do it now!" Rich cried out, knowing that it had only been a little more than an hour since Howard's beer can dick had been inside him.

"OK. You are really open," Sonny said. A minute later, all lubed up, he was mounted on Rich's tail, who was grunting and groaning at having so little preparation to take the shaft Sonny was stuffing inside him. But he was in such high heat for the footballer that he couldn't wait longer. If he hadn't been with Howard, a big-cocked man, just a few hours ago, he couldn't have managed it. But he did manage it.

The big footballer was inside him. He slapped Rich's ass. Surprised and stung, Rich jerked and gave a little cry. Sonny slapped his ass again--hard, which was painful coming from the strong athlete he was.

"What you really want is the whip," Sonny growled.

"Yes," Rich whimpered.

He was gripping Rich's waist hard with the other hand, holding deep inside his channel, his cock pulsating, stretching Rich's channel to the limit. He somehow, though, managed to pull Rich's belt out of his puddled trousers and fold it over. He gave Rich's buttocks a snap of the belt and Rich cried out in pain-pleasure.

"Shit, yes. Again!" Rich exclaimed, surprising himself that the snaps of the leather belt were so arousing. Learning that he responded well to a little cruelty. Another snap and Sonny was about ready to start pumping, when Rich called out in a hoarse voice, "Like you did Susan. Just like you did Susan, please."

Laughing, Sonny went into his three-point stance, wrapping his free hand around Rich's stomach and pulling the smaller man up into his torso. Arching his back, exhibiting admirable flexibility, Rich wrapped his arms around the big man's neck, hooked his knees on Sonny's hips, and rocked back and forth as Sonny stroked him hard, fast, and deep.

They fucked for the remainder of the afternoon and into the night--on the sofa, in the shower, on the bed. Rich didn't even think about his plans to drive to his parents' house in New York that day until he was stretched out on his side, with Sonny's bulk enveloping him from behind, the big man's monster dick still inside him, and darkness was descending through the floor-to-ceiling glass wall beside the bed.

Exhausted, he went to sleep. The sun was coming up again when he woke. What woke him, though, was that Sonny's body was hovering over his. Sonny's mouth was sucking on Rich's cock and his dick was slapping on Rich's face. Rich stopped the beating it was giving his cheeks by taking the cock in his mouth.

"What?" he exclaimed, taking his mouth off the cock momentarily, when Sonny pulled his shaft back and was repositioning himself. Rich was shocked, surprised, and aroused as the footballer straddled his pelvis, held Rich's cock erect, descended his ass on it and started to rise and fall on Rich's shaft.

He hadn't been teasing, Rich thought. He did take as well as give--although when he took Rich's cock he remained in command.

* * * *

Rich didn't get to New York until early Monday afternoon. He was walking gingerly when he entered the Riverside Park brownstone, but he was humming. He'd only be able to spend a couple of hours with his parents, though, before he'd have to start back to Dartmouth. He hoped the Volkswagen would make it. He thought he heard another rattle or two from it between Boston and New York that he hadn't heard going down from Dartmouth to Boston.

He'd accept the gift of Hunter's old Mustang. Between fucks, he and Sonny had had discussions on the way of the world and the use of the assets that the two men had in their bodies. Most of the guilt that had been lingering below the surface was gone. If people wanted their bodies and were willing to pay for them, so be it. Sonny had said that the sex wasn't any more the selling of his body than his football was. He was sure that would be the same. Rich wasn't sure about that. He hadn't told Sonny he was studying to be a composer. He wasn't sure how that compared to using his body for sex--other than enabling him to get the education to be a composer.

The day's mail was on the foyer floor, inside the front door, below the mail slot. He picked it up and glanced at the addresses as his ear tuned into his parents, talking in what seemed to be pleasant tones, in the lounge. Rich heard his mother's voice. It sounded like she was speaking normally, something that was happening less and less these days, which made it more noticeable when it was happening.

His eyes stopped on an official-looking envelope, one with windows in it, addressed to his father's very formal, four-segment name, each that of a famous family from early America. The return address was the city tax office.

Shit, he thought. His father had mentioned this--that he didn't know how he was going to pay the next tax bill on the house. Rich began to sweat. The house had been valued at $8 million even without the upgrades needed to make it sell. What could the tax rate be on a 5,000-square-foot house in an exclusive section of New York? Surely it would be a small fortune, even though his father had said that the house was taxed at far less than its market value because it had never been on the market.

He couldn't help himself. With one ear on the conversation in the adjacent living room, and assuring himself that his father hadn't heard him arrive yet, he slit open the envelope and extracted the bill. Shit. $9,700 just for this quarter year.

They didn't have the money. He didn't want his visit to be ruined by this news. He slipped the bill back into the envelope, folded it over, and put it in his pocket.

"Mom, Dad, I'm home," he called out and went to the door into the living room. His father came and met him there, whispering, "This is one of her good days. A really good day. No tiptoeing needed. And no referring to days that aren't good, please. It will only distress her to think that there are such days."

"Yes, I know the routine," Rich said. He smiled, looked beyond his father, and was greeted with a, "There you are, Richard. How nice that you are visiting us. Your father said you might be here a couple of days ago, but now you're here, and that's wonderful."

They conversed for a while over drinks, with Mrs. VonClief zoning out only periodically and briefly, a dazed look of slight concern and confusion floating across her face before she came back into focus, introducing a new topic, usually somewhere in the middle of a story. Rich didn't care. There just for a while today, he had his mother back.

As it was getting dark, his father stood and said, "I'll go fix us supper. You too continue talking." He gave a look at Rich that conveyed that the young man should do his best to keep his mother with them as long as possible. He did so, trying not to show the strain it caused to carry that burden. His mother began to reminisce about all of the good times they'd had in the house. She rose and went to the ornate Victorian fireplace surround and let her fingers caress the carved figures there.

"Remember the time that..."

"Yes, Mother, I remember it as if it were yesterday."

They used the best china and crystal and silverware. Rich's father had set dinner in the dining room and lit candles. Mrs. VonClief was all aglow. When Rich's father rose to clear the table, he suggested that Rich and his wife go back to the living room, that he'd do the dishes.

"Oh, why don't you join us, Gerald?" she said. "We're having such a good time. Maria can do the cleanup."

They had had to let Maria go more than a year earlier. "It's Maria's day off, Grace," VonClief said.

"Then I'll help you with the dishes," she said. "Richard can go to the piano and serenade us, just like the old days. Can you do that, Richard? I'd love to hear you play. We should give you more lessons on the piano. Playing well could be very useful for you someday."

"Sure, Mom. I'll do that." He went to the piano and started playing Chopin.

He heard a laugh from the kitchen. "It's cheating to put on records, Richard," his mother's lilting voice reached him. "Play 'Moon River' or 'Deep Purple' for me. You always were so good with those."

"Sure, Mom." He played "Moon River." When he'd done that, he took out his cellphone and called Howard Butler. Butler picked up on the third ring.

"I've thought over your bigger deal, Mr. B," he said.

"And?" came down the line.

"If you can advance me ten grand now, I'll sign and do whatever you want."

"Deal," Butler said and disconnected.

Rich put his hands back on the keyboard and started into "Deep Purple." "When the deep purple falls... over sleepy garden walls..."

"Yes, that's so nice. You play it so nice," Grace VonClief called from the kitchen. "We'll have to get you more piano lessons. You'd be playing as well as that record in no time."

"That would be nice, Mom," Rich called back. He took a hand off the keyboard to touch his pocket, to ensure that the tax bill was still hidden there. And there it would stay until he paid it. He resumed playing, "And the stars begin to twinkle in the night..."