Oh, All Right

What I was doing was trying to work my way out from underneath Bradley Williams on the padded bench at the stern of his seventy-two-foot Viking-built, four-berth Annapolis-based cabin cruiser wallowing in Chesapeake Bay on an April 1st Saturday morning. We both had been in Speedos—he looking not so bad for his age—both of which were now entwined, as Bradley and I were entwined, on the deck below the bench. I was stretched out along the bench on my back, one of my ankles on Bradley's shoulder as he lay on top of me, one hand stroking my cock and the other working on getting me rolled over on my back so that he could get his cock inside me. Bradley preferred the doggy position.

I was struggling with him, but he was a much bigger, heavier, and stronger man than I was. I also knew he liked his young men to struggle a bit until he got his cock inside them and then do, as I did with him, surrender totally and beg for it.

I had cried out in a covered tone, "The women. Our wives will see us."

I had not cried out, "No, I don't want you to fuck me. I will not let you put it in me." I had resisted him until now, and mentally I wanted to continue to do so, but he was the client I'd been told to do anything for to keep him with Stanley Morgan, and he was the man who had initiated me into man-man sex six years earlier and that had been just fine with me then.

I had managed to escape him at the post-Christmas neighborhood party at Susan's parents' house, and I had retreated to Pennsylvania and finished up at the Wharton School. I'd even managed to hide from him—or thought I had—that I had returned to Wilmington and entered service—and training—with Stanley Morgan at the end of January. But he must have known I was back. He pressed his interest in clienting with me with Thad Daniels at Stanley Morgan. And there were our wives—Felicia helping Susan decorate our new townhouse and Susan trying to land the home sale for the Williamses in Kennett Square.

Bradley must have learned of my return from graduate school through Felicia, and the first order of business at the end of my training proved to be meeting with Bradley and going over his financial portfolio needs.

"He wants to do this on April 1st, taking us both out on his yacht from Annapolis out onto the bay," I told Susan when I got home from work one evening. "We of course can't—"

"It sounds like fun. I've gone out and bought a new bathing suit for it," she said, dangling two skimpy parts of a bikini from one wrist. She showed the other one, dangling an equally skimpy men's Speedo. "And I got this for you." She turned to a more serious tone then. "We do what we have to do to get ahead, Scott."

She'd already known about the yacht outing on April 1st. She and Felicia had already discussed it. I was trapped into going. I knew where Bradley intended this to go. I couldn't let Susan find out that the man and I had sexual history. But I was getting an inkling that she knew about that too—and wanted me to exploit it. I had to admit that Susan could be a scheming exploiter.

And I wasn't wrong about where it was going. Here I was, on a yacht that was big but it wasn't so big that we could keep from our wives that Bradley and I were entwined on the padded bench at the stern of the yacht, both naked, and the stronger, older man preparing to turn me, mount me, and fuck me.

"What do you mean what do I think our wives are doing right now?" I asked, shoving at him, trying to push him off me, but not in the position to get too violent. "Give him what he wants," the last thing Thad Daniels had said to me before I left for this weekend, kept going through my mind. "We want this client."

Yeah, well, I don't think that was all Thad Daniels wanted. As closely as he'd been zeroing in on me my first couple of months at Stanley Morgan, I was getting the strong hint that sexual lust had more to do with my getting the job at the firm than networking did. I think Daniels was fully aware of what Bradley Williams wanted in this client relationship. I think Daniels wanted a similar relationship with me. Well, if he thought that . . . although he was a arousing man, I had to admit.

I could fend off these men only for so long before the life I was trying to construct started to unravel.

I was also getting the idea now that Susan knew more about the demands being made on me than I had thought she did—and that she was more openminded about it—and maybe grasping—than I'd had any idea she'd be. But the problem of Bradley first.

"Go ahead," I said, in surrender. "Not your cabin, I don't think. Try my cabin." Inexplicably then, he let loose of me and sat up on the bench, letting me roll off it. Giving him a scowl, I reached down, retrieved my Speedo, pulled it on, and padded off to the ladder down to where the sleeping cabins were.

They were there—on the double bed in Susan's and my cabin at the bow of the yacht. I couldn't see any of Susan but her legs. She was on her back on the bed. Her ankles were on Felicia's shoulders. Felicia's shapely, naked torso, her back to me, her luxurious raven-black hair cascading onto his back, was knelt between Susan's legs. I didn't need much imagination to discern what was transpiring. No question why the two had been so chummy these last couple of months, I thought.

It all unraveled there. I went directly back to the stern of yacht. "Oh, all right," I muttered as Bradley gave me a big grin. I pulled off my Speedo, climbed up onto the padded bench beside him, going on all fours. With a laugh, the bid man crouched over my back, grasping my hips between his hands. He mounted and penetrated, and fucked me like a dog—just as he had done for a month of session six years earlier.

I had forgotten how thick and long he was—how good he was at stretching me and getting into my core and killing me there.

"It's so good. It's been so long. I've wanted you again for so long," he murmured.

"Oh, yes, Daddy, yes," I whimpered, surrendering and panting hard, taking him deep, putting my hips in motion to joining the rhythm of the fuck. "Kill me, Daddy. Fuck me good."

He fucked me good.

Oh, all right then. Here I was trying to protect Susan. It was April 1st on Bradley's yacht and I was finding that Susan didn't give a shit. She was having an affair with Felicia. She didn't mind if I gave it to Williams as long as it helped us financially and in standing in Wilmington society. The joke was on me for trying to walk the straight and narrow. I was an April Fool.

* * * *

"So, you'd really believe I'd have sex with Felicia Williams?" Susan asked in a wounded voice.

"I believe what I saw," I answered. We'd made it off the yacht and back to Wilmington on Sunday, the 2nd. It had been quite frosty in the car. As far as I knew, Susan hadn't seen me being fucked by Bradley, but she certainly seemed to know that had happened. She wasn't surprised when I told her what I'd seen going on between her and Felicia.

When we got home, though, she dropped the bombshell. "Sex didn't happen between Felicia and me. That was staged."

"Staged? What do you mean staged? I know what I saw."

"You saw posing, not sex."

"Why? Why would you do that?"

"Do you know what the Realtor commission is on a six-million-dollar estate sale?" she asked.

"No, I don't, and I don't care. What in the hell . . . wait, you staged a sex scene with Felicia so that I would see it and let Bradley Williams fuck me? So that I'd give into him without reservation and believe that it was OK with you?"

"It's a hundred and eighty-thousand dollars. We covered the furnishing and decoration of this townhouse and all you had to do was let Bradley Williams fuck you once. It's not like he didn't do it before. Who do you think Dex told that you were having an affair with his father six years ago? He told practically everyone in our crowd. He wasn't shy about telling everyone he covered you too."

"And you still married me?" I asked.

"So, you're bi? You're one sexy stud. And you're Grade A as a provider. That doesn't mean I'm bi, though. Felicia and I staged what we did because her husband included spiking you again once as a precondition for the estate sale. He had no trouble telling Felicia his conditions for buying the house, knowing she could get to you through me. They have an arrangement about who he fucks that his first wife, Cynthia, didn't put up with. Felicia wanted the house in Kennett Square and I wanted the big commission. He said he was trying to make you but you were resisting. We had to come up with something that would make you change your mind. It's not like Bradley hasn't fucked you before. So, what do you have to say about that? Can we put that behind us? We're a hundred-and-eighty-thousand dollars to the good."

"Well, all right then," I said through clinched teeth.

But I wasn't going to be the only April Fool here. If Susan thought one fuck would be all Bradley demanded, she was more of a fool than I was. And, given her attitude, if she thought I was going to stop there with Bradley now, she was an even bigger fool. And there was Thad Daniels. I wouldn't be playing hard to get there now, either. And the tennis pro at the golf club. And . . .