Snitches Ch. 01: Day 01

"You're tight. I don't want you tight," Hardesty said. "Relax."

The massage went on at length, and Raul did relax. In fact he was so relaxed and loose that he had nearly dozed off when the first snap of the belt awakened him in surprise and pain. Hardesty was up on his knees above Raul, still holding the young man's thighs between his knees. His thick leather belt was folded over and, whack, whack, whack, he was snapping it on the Hispanic's tender flesh—on his back and his arms. On his buttocks and his thighs. Again and again. Whack, whack, whack. Raul sobbed and writhed under the beating, but there was no competition between them. Hardesty had him by fifty pounds.

"Oh shit, oh fuck," Raul cried out as Hardesty let off with the flogging as fast as he had started it up. He was using the belt to tie Raul's wrists together over his head.

"Up on your knees," Hardesty commanded, not waiting for Raul to comply as he ran an arm under the young man's belly and jerked him up. Grabbing Raul's cock and balls in one hand and squeezing the balls while Raul squirmed and cried out for mercy, Hardesty buried his face in Raul's butt crack and ate his ass out, running his tongue deep into the young man's hole. No mercy was given.

In short order Hardesty had rolled a condom on his cock, mounted Raul's hips, worked his thick cock inside, grasped Raul's waist between his hands, and, as Raul groaned and moaned and asked for patience and time to accommodate the dick that wasn't provided, slap, slap, slapping his balls against the tender flesh of Raul's inner thighs, Hardesty fucked the shit out of him. Raul was hanging onto the brass rungs of the headboard for dear life as Hardesty rode his ass hard to an ejaculation. The bed groaned and shuddered at the intensity of the bouncing, the springs squealed, and Raul had to let loose of the brass rungs to keep his knuckles from being bruised by the headboard beating against the back wall.

When Hardesty had come, he went up on his knees, letting Raul collapse, sobbing, to the bedspread. But he didn't leave him. He jerked off the spent condom, three-pointed it into a wastebasket beside the desk, and went back to massaging Raul's heaving back, running his fingers over the welts he'd raised with the belt.

When he was ready to go again, which was quicker than Raul was ready, he rolled on another of the condoms; thrust his cock inside Raul's channel again, to the sound of Raul howling; leaned down and put Raul into a full Nelson hold; and, arching Raul's torso up to his beefy chest, rocked back and forth vigorously, letting the rocking motion do the cock pumping for him.

Afterward Hardesty sat in the boudoir chair he'd pulled up to face the side of the bed, while Raul lay stretched out on his belly on the bed, panting and moaning low, exhausted, with his now-unbound arms radiating, uselessly, from his torso, the one on Hardesty's side of the bed dangling down to the threadbare carpet. His eyes were big as saucers. His expression was one of surprise, shock, and incredible weariness. He was warily eyeing the service pistol Hardesty was holding in his lap.

"It's going to be like that here in D.C. if you choose this life. Every night, sometimes twice and three times a day if you want to make a living at it and don't have a sugar daddy. And you won't last long," Hardesty said. "Is that what you want?"

Raul said nothing. He obviously was scared stiff and hurting from the flogging and rough fuck.

"I'm a cop, see. A vice cop. I could take you in for this. I should take you in for this. That's why I'm out on the beat tonight." He was flashing his "yes, I really am a D.C. cop badge" at Raul. Raul was impressed, but there wasn't much he could do about it.

"Oh, Christ," he did say. "Please, man."

"You have two choices from this point," Hardesty said. "I'm putting another hundred on the nightstand here. That's two hundred, plus the twenty you got in the car. I don't know where you came from, but that should be enough to put you on a bus to go back there and forget you ever came to D.C. to get killed doing this."

He slapped two more fifties on the nightstand. "The other choice is to stay at it. If you do, though, I have some words of advice that should keep you alive a little longer than the way you're going about it. First, don't approach a car by yourself like you did tonight. Get a buddy and cover each other's back. Have him stand there while you make the deal. Make sure the john in the car knows the other guy saw and memorized his license plate and can describe him. It could be a stolen car, but it, plus the ID, would be a start for the cops—and the john would know that. He's less likely to do more than fuck you as agreed. Also, if you want to get serious about it, get a cop for a boyfriend and protector. A vice cop boyfriend will keep you from being constantly pulled off the street. I'm not angling for that pleasure, though. I already have my male whore.

"Also, you charged too little. It's a dead giveaway that you aren't in full control and could be taken for a ride. Ask fifty for a blow job and be prepared to settle for forty. But have change for a hundred so he can't work you on not having the right money. Give the blow job through the window of the car, if you can. You're always in danger if you go someplace else with the john. I could have easily shivved you at the gas station or in the hotel room. Ask a hundred for an anal fuck but settle for seventy-five. Any cheaper and he'll know you're a newbie.

"Don't give your real name. You did, I think. I've looked through your wallet, and unless these are good forgeries, your name really is Raul. My name isn't Frank. A john won't give you a real name unless he's as much a rube as you've been tonight. Don't believe the bit about a cop can't carry through on the deal and still take you in. I could. I have you recorded making the deal—but nothing beyond that. It would be your word against mine that I fucked you, and they'd believe me for court purposes, even if they knew I'd done it. Vice cops like me took it up for a reason. Most of us are randy for it ourselves. I've got regular snitches and I've got snitches I fuck. I got more of the latter than the former. Most vice cops will be the same. You stay in the business and I run across you again, I'll fuck you and not pay you. I won't protect you, though. No offense, but I'm partial to blonds.

"And don't let a guy bring you into a hotel like I did. Go through the front door. Don't let them get you into an alley and don't believe them when they say there's a back entrance that would be better. He'll do you right there in the alley and, more than likely not, off you there. Make sure the doorman or someone else in reception sees you and the john real good. They don't give a fuck why you've come into a hotel like this. I could have fucked and offed you in the alley, or I could have brought you up here through the back, fucked you, and then offed you and walked away without anyone ever knowing I'd done you. I'd have all night to erase the evidence if I wanted to. Got that?"

"I said, got that?" Hardesty repeated when Raul didn't answer.

"Yes, sir," Raul said, his voice low and wavering.

"Last thing."

Hardesty paused, and Raul finally said, "What?"

"You do have a sweet ass, even though you're not blond. I wanted to fuck you. I want to fuck you again. But there's someone waiting for you wherever you came from who can love you properly. And you are a sweet fuck. Find love, not a john. I've got another condom on the nightstand and I've more than paid you for another round, so I'm going to do you the right way now. It isn't just the lesson. I want your ass again. And I have the power to take you whenever, and as many times, as I want. Remember that. I see you out on the street again, I'm bring you here and do you hard again. I won't pay for it, and you can't complain about it."

Hardesty moved to the bed and sat down next to Raul, coaxing Raul's face over into his lap. "You're going to suck me again now."

With a low moan, Raul opened his mouth over Hardesty's cock head. Hardesty twisted to where he could do the same with Raul's cock. After a few minutes, as they were both panting more heavily and were hard, Hardesty gently pushed Raul down on the bed on his back and moved his knees between Raul's bent and spread legs. He pushed his knees under Raul's buttocks, raising the young man's pelvis to him, and slowly entered the young man's channel again with his cock. The cock went in easier, as it had already reamed the channel twice that evening.

This time he took Raul slowly at first, in long, languid strokes, as he embraced the young man and covered him with kisses from his forehead down to his nipples. Raul lay in Hardesty's muscular embrace, open and in total, acknowledged surrender, and sighed at this version of the taking. As he heated up, he began to move his pelvis too, working with Hardesty, until the intensity of the fuck overtook both of them and they were pounding at each other and growling for the fuck, Raul taking the cock deep and hard and thrusting against it to take it deeper and harder. He was crying out, "Yes, yes, fuck me! Fuck me hard!"

And Hardesty did fuck him hard, the two of them moving in consort, not just a rent-boy and his john, but two well-tuned and toned lovers, getting as much as they could from each other—clawing at each other and thrusting their pelvises forward to get that last inch of depth. Once again, the headboard pounded against the wall and the bedsprings squealed, but now they both were so much into establishing and maintaining a coordinated rhythm that they were making music, not noise.

At the end, Hardesty rose and withdrew. He ripped the spent condom off, scored another three-pointer on the wastebasket with it, and creamed Raul's chest, while Raul, waiting for the multiple spoutings to finish, stroked his own cock with a hand, and arced his cum up onto his chest to mingle with Hardesty's. Hardesty lowered his face to tongue up the cum and then shared it with Raul in a kiss.

"Find someone at home who will do that with you," Hardesty said, as he jumped off the bed and headed for the bathroom.

At the door out to the corridor, showered and dressed, Hardesty turned and said, "If you can only remember one of the options I gave you, remember the first. It's what will keep you alive longer. I don't really want to see you on the street again. Remember, if I do, I can fuck you rough and not pay." And then he was gone.

Raul lay there for much longer, spread-eagled and one leg and arm dangling off the side of the bed. He was exhausted, but he had a small smile on his face. If this cop wanted to fuck him again that would be fine with him. And, no, he wouldn't have to pay for it. If anyone every asked him what a total fuck was, it was this.

* * * *

Raul gingerly climbed the seven stories of stairs to the one-bedroom apartment he shared with three other street rent-boys on 14th Street just a few blocks from the corner he regularly stood to conduct his business. He was mulling in his mind what this "Frank" had said about pulling out and going home. Except the guy wasn't named Frank. He'd left a card, whether purposely or not, Raul didn't know, on top of the money on the hotel nightstand. It identified him as Hardesty, a D.C. vice cop, and gave a telephone number. Raul couldn't be sure this was any more real than the "Frank" name or even if the guy was a cop. He easily could be just a john jerking him around.

He was going up to the apartment more to get the card out of his possession while keeping it in case he wanted to use it than for any other reason. If not that, he could have gone back to his corner. He'd heard the cop, if that's what he really was, about the dangers of this work but he'd have to think about it. But even with the money Hardesty had given him, he'd still be tapped out. His share of the rent for the previous month was due. If he was going to cut and run home, he'd still need to turn tricks for a while to get relocation money.

He couldn't bring himself to toss this card, but he sure as hell couldn't let someone find it on him, and Raul couldn't predict who would be undressing him.

"What's happening?" he asked when he opened the door to the apartment. All three of them were there. That almost never happened. There were two sets of bunk beds crammed into the small bedroom, but they rarely were all occupied at the same time—nor was the rest of the apartment. But there they were, Jason stuffing crap into a suitcase and Drew prancing around just in his briefs mouthing off to Jason—and Lyle—tall, thin, black Lyle standing off to the side and taking it all in.

"Jason thinks he's throwing it over and leaving town. Going back to Allenton is Jason. Just like that. When we need to come up with the rent. He says he won't be here so he won't contribute."

So much for me leaving now too, Raul thought, as he sat on the side of his lower bunk and slipped Hardesty's card into a pocket calendar in the nightstand drawer. "Why? What's happened?"

"You read the news—the national news?" Drew, a short blond who easily could be Jason's brother in looks, said.

"Drew," Jason exclaimed, stopping his packing and looking up. "Don't."

"News?" Raul asked.

"Yeah, a dude who's just been tapped to be vice president of us all is a client of Jason's, and Jason, for some reason, thinks that makes life difficult for him in New York."

"Drew, shut your fuckin' yap," Jason yelled. "You had to be there, dude. His goons were gonna off me. But I wouldn't have told you anything if I thought you were gonna broadcast it from the roof."

"Vice president?" Raul said.

"Yeah, vice president of the fucking United States. This big important politician gets it on with Jason. Whips him and beats him for his jollies. Gives him welts. You've seen them, haven't you, Raul? Well it's this possible fuckin' vice president of the United States that gives him those."

"Just fuckin' get out of the room—all of you," Jason said. "And keep your yaps shut. This is bigger than all of us."

Raul moved out into the living/dining space with Drew and Lyle.

"What're we gonna do?" Lyle said in a shaky voice.

"We're gonna let him go, if he wants," Drew answered. "He's been nothing but trouble anyway."

"No, I mean what're we gonna do about a big time politician beatin' up on call boys."

"I have my ideas," Drew answered. "Where the fuck you goin', Raul?" he growled, turning toward Raul, who had his hand on the door to the outer corridor.

"You said the rent's due," Raul said. "I don't know nothin' about this political crap, but I can see I have to get down on the street and rustle up some more rent money. Maybe you two better start thinking how you're going to throw more into the till until we get another roommate too." He'd put most of the money he'd gotten from Hardesty in the envelope taped to the underside of the nightstand drawer when Jason was getting all of the attention in the bedroom. But he'd kept some back. He needed a drink—he needed a drink even before cadging a drink off a john.

When he entered the gay bar near Logan Circle, the Purple Pig, he didn't make it all the way up to the bar before a big guy, who was bent low over the bar, nursing a drink, had seen him, swiveled toward him, given him a boozy smile, and opened his right arm out, waving with his hand for Raul to come into the space beside him.

"Want a drink?" the big guy, maybe six six and well over two hundred pounds asked, as Raul bellied up to the bar.

"Sure, but In exchange for what?" Raul said, although that didn't keep him from bellying up to the bar, standing nearly a foot shorter than the big guy, and signaling to the bartender for a Corona.

"A bit of company, maybe leading to something more chummy. I've seen you standing the corner." The man put his hand on Raul's buttocks and Raul didn't flinch. He let his own left hand come down to rest on the thigh of the man's bent leg, with his foot raised to the bar rail. The man reached down, took Raul's hand, and slid it between the man's thighs, to his basket. Raul kept his hand there. The guy had a beauty of a bulge. The negotiations had begun.

"My name is Chaz. From out of town. And this is a lonely city."

"I'm . . . Julio"—Raul had remembered at least this of what Hardesty had said about survival in the business—"and no one with money need be lonely in New York."

The dude—the guy who said his name was Chaz, but it probably wasn't—dug his hand under the hem of Raul's T-shirt and was feeling up the young man's back, skin on skin. He stopped moving up abruptly and his fingers traced the edges of the welts Hardesty had raised there with his leather belt. The man gave a low whistled and looked directly into Raul's eyes.

"You do sessions?"

"Sessions? What do you mean?" Raul asked.

"You know, sessions. Bondage, whips, straps."

"Not usually," Raul said, shuddering.

"But you've done them. You did one very recently."

"Well—"

"$500 for a session. Now."

So much for negotiations. Raul very much needed money right now. Five bills was a mother lode.

"Money up front."

The money was produced and Raul flagged the bartender to come over and hold it for him. This was a regular service provided at this bar. The bartender would know what to do with the money if Raul didn't come back for it—he'd pocket it. But if Raul did come back, he'd return it less 5 percent.

The black SUV was parked in the alley behind the club. There was a driver. Chaz pushed Raul into the backseat, pulled a black hood over his head, and pushed him down to the floor. "Just security and your safety," Chaz said.

Raul already felt way the hell out of his element, but there wasn't anything he was going to do about it.

They drove for about fifteen minutes in city traffic. The hood was pulled off Raul's head as he was being pulled out of the back of the SUV. They were in another alley between two brownstones of four or five stories. Raul was hustled through a door and up three flights of the back, service area of whatever building they were in.

The bedroom was decked out in red satin, silk, and velvet—all very garish. It appealed to the Hispanic in Raul, though. The room was dominated by a four-poster bed, and Raul quickly learned that restraints dropped from the top corners of the canopy and restraint leads came out from the four bottom corners. Human cries of pain could be heard faintly from other parts of the building—both men and women.

He was stripped naked and hooked up at the foot of the bed, facing the bed, his arms raised, spread, and restrained and his legs spread and restrained.

Chaz fondled and felt Raul up intimately in that position—but not for long. Only long enough for Raul to hyperventilate and wonder why the hell he'd agreed to this.

The door opened and in walked a tall, slender man in black leather. His body was well-muscled but with the caveat that he probably was in his fifties. His body was well muscled for a guy in his fifties. He had a black leather cap mask that came down below his eyes and over the bridge of his nose. There was a matting of mostly gray hair on his chest and forearms. A black leather harness with a brass ring at his sternum caged his chest. He was wearing black leather leggings with the crotch and buttocks exposed. His pubic hair was salt and pepper. His cock was erect. His balls hung low in their sacs. He was carrying a hand whip.

It wasn't Chaz.

The whipping didn't last long, but it was hard enough to make Raul writhe and scream, adding to the cries elsewhere in the building that Raul could still hear. The tormentor seemed to enjoy this. It certainly enhanced his erection. The initial fuck, from behind, with the man cupping Raul's buttocks, releasing his ankle bonds, raising his feet off the carpet, and setting his channel down on the man's cock, lasted longer and was relentless, the stroke strong and deep, with Raul, again, writhing and crying out.