The Good Neighbors Ch. 18

Mrs. Greene's balcony overlooked a small strip of park that separated the shopping district from the highways and the apartments beyond. Tommy had his feet up on the metal railing as he watched the sun sink lower. His eyes were shut as he savored the moment.

He found that he very much enjoyed living alone.

When the streetlights bloomed on below, he rocked to his feet and slipped back inside. Mrs. Greene hadn't appeared in days, but he showered anyway, just in case. He let himself dry in the open air of the apartment with the blinds opened wide.

After everything that had happened this summer, what did he have left to hide?

His phone was in the charger, and he read through the day's messages, deleting most of them without reading. But one from his neighbor, Mrs. Hastings, made him stop and take a look.

"Call me. I think we found you a car you might like."

In the fridge, he sifted through a pile of sandwiches he had picked up earlier. He grabbed two and went to sit in the dining room as he dialed out her number.

"Well, hello there, dear!"

Tommy grinned. "Good evening, Mrs. Hastings."

"We haven't seen you in ages. Marty!" she called out suddenly. "Tommy's on the phone!"

After more shouting in the background, her voice settled back down again. "Are you still staying with Doris, dear?"

"I'm at her place now, yeah," Tommy said, shouldering the phone to unwrap his dinner. "I haven't seen her around, though."

"Are you taking care of yourself? Have you found enough to eat?"

Tommy nodded as he chewed. "Yeah, yeah. Eating now."

She had a dozen more questions before he could get to what he'd called about. "You think you found a car for me?"

"Marty did, dear. It's ten years old, but he said it's in good shape. Adam's pretty good about taking care of things like that. It sounded like they only wanted a few thousand for it, I don't know. Marty says it's a good deal. He knows about that kind of thing."

Tommy paused in his chewing for a moment. That was a lot better of a deal than he expected. It was a lot better of a deal than he'd get by himself, at least.

"Hey, I'm sold. Thank you guys for doing this for me. Do you have Adam's number? I can give him a call now."

"I thought you had their number," she replied. "Adam Miller? Didn't you two meet before?"

"The Millers?" Tommy coughed. "Adam Miller? The guy with the weird..." he dropped to a whisper despite the empty apartment, "the incest thing?"

"Oh, he doesn't have anything of the sort," she said. "He's a very nice man. They both are. I thought you all got along." Tommy scoffed. "Well, they really like you, at least."

"Well, they creep me out. Or he does, at least. God, I don't have to do this in person, do I?"

Mrs. Hastings clucked her tongue at him. "Well, we can let them know you're not interested. Marty thought it was a good deal, though. I don't know."

It was a good deal. That was the problem. He groaned into the phone.

"I can text him," he sighed.

They talked for a while more. She and Mr. Hastings had been spending a lot of time with some new young friend they had found apparently. He had spent the weekend with them, she said.

"He's on loan from Debbie. Do you know Debbie?"

"No. What do you mean on loan?" Tommy asked.

Mr. Hastings' voice cut in as he took over the phone. "Hey, Tommy! How ya been, son?"

The conversation started all over again. Ten minutes later, he was able to hang up. He typed out a careful and polite message to the Millers:

"Good evening. This is Tommy Richards. It's nice to talk to you again. I heard you have a car that you're looking to sell?"

The reply came back as quickly as expected.

"My son is already driving. I'm so proud!"

"Fuck me," Tommy grumbled. He shook his head and wrote out, "Was it $7k?"

"Oh, you can negotiate better than that. You can negotiate a LOT better than that. I'm counting on it :)"

Tommy bared his teeth at the screen as another text came in. It was from Mrs. Hastings this time.

"Marty says you could probably talk Adam down quite a bit."

Tommy tossed away his phone and went to find the bottle of vodka Mrs. Greene kept in the freezer. He filled half a glass and gagged as he downed it in one.

There wasn't enough liquor in the world to burn his insides clean, he thought.

It wasn't hard to picture the Hastings and the Millers plotting this together behind his back, pimping him out, preying on his desperation. Without a doubt, Mr. Miller planned to tape whatever he had planned, and would trade it around to their little circle of friends. Tommy was just another toy to be used and tossed aside. Another victory for them.

He took a swig from the bottle and coughed until his lungs hurt, knowing that he'd rather hurt his pride than his small pile of savings.

"By the time I'm done," Tommy wrote out, "you'll be paying me to take it, Daddy ;)"

He was going to leave. And this car was the first step in that plan. The more money he could save now, the farther away he could get from these people, and the longer he could stay away.

He'd put up with worse for less, for sure.

Mr. Miller agreed to meet him the next day, swinging by Mrs. Greene's apartment to pick him up. "My boy!" he cried out as a way of greeting.

"Hey, Dad." Tommy grinned sheepishly at him, trying his best to play the part well.

"Have time to grab lunch with the old man?"

'Lunch,' it turned out, actually meant lunch, much to Tommy's surprise. And it was actually a welcome one after days of takeout. Mr. Miller kept his hands to himself and ordered for the both of them.

"Want to take it for a test drive?" he asked as they re-emerged back onto the street a couple of hours later.

"Absolutely."

Mr. Miller led him further down the road to the car.

"Fuck me," Tommy muttered under his breath again. It wasn't just nice, it was practically new. It was better than either of his real parents' rides.

"Will it do?" Mr. Miller asked, tossing over the keys.

"Let's find out, Dad," Tommy grinned.

Twenty minutes later, Mr. Miller guided him down neighborhoods Tommy vaguely recognized. He realized why as they pulled up in front of the Miller's home.

"Want to come inside for a spell?"

"Is Mom home?"

Mr. Miller shook his head and grinned like it was good news.

Tommy took one last glance around at the car and breathed in the smell of new leather. Then he turned the engine off and stepped outside.

As they slipped inside, Mr. Miller made a beeline for the bar. He poured himself a heavy hand of Scotch and took a long sip of it. Tommy kicked off his shoes and went to join him.

"Can I have one?" he ventured.

"You're still years and years away from getting to drink, son," Mr. Miller laughed.

Tommy tried not to look revolted. He didn't want to know how old the man pictured him as.

Instead, Tommy smiled and walked away to look over the room. The photos along the walls only showed the Millers and a few other swingers Tommy recognized. Thankfully, no real children seemed to exist for them.

"Are you tired? From football practice?" the man asked.

"Uh... Not too tired," Tommy replied.

"Well, you need to go shower. You're filthy. I could smell you from the field."

The boy forced a smile on his face as he turned back around. "Yes, sir."

The car flashed back through his mind. Hell, he thought, I could just sell it for cash, walk away with a junker, and still have made more from this job than any of the others combined.

That put a bit of bounce in his step as he made his way down the hall.

He reached the bathroom and nearly stumbled right into a tripod waiting inside. The camera attached was already running. He recognized the setup. They were already airing live.

"It's five thousand now," Tommy shouted down the hall, not slowing as he stepped inside.

He stripped with his back to the camera. He slipped into the shower and had time to soap himself down before Mr. Miller appeared in the doorway.

The man was naked, save for the dense fur that covered him from his chin to his toes. Mr. Miller checked the camera lens for a minute, then slipped around it.

"Son, didn't I ever teach you to clean yourself properly?" the man asked, stepping inside the shower.

There needs to be a script, Tommy thought. They kept expecting him to make up all this porn dialogue himself.

"I guess I forgot," he said.

"Don't worry. It's easy," Mr. Miller cooed.

He turned the boy away and cradled him against his chest. His hands reached down slowly, feeling the muscles of the boy's abs and hips as he trailed downward. One warm hand cupped beneath the boy's sack, and the other peeled his foreskin back beneath the spray of water.

"Just like this," he breathed into the boy's ear.

Tommy's eyes fluttered. Mr. Miller was a creep, but his hands knew what they were doing. It had been days since anyone else had touched him. Tommy wriggled himself against the man's hairy body, the limp meat of the man's cock glided between the cheeks of his ass.

"Did you wash everywhere?" Mr. Miller asked.

Tommy shook his head.

"Then get against the wall."

The boy obeyed, setting his hands against the cool tile beneath the shower head. Mr. Miller stroked a soapy hand between Tommy's cheeks, one finger brushing past the hole with every pass, making the boy tremble.

Tommy's cock bobbed through the air, swollen and angry red.

"Inside and out," Mr. Miller said in a bored voice as his finger burrowed inside the boy's asshole.

Tommy gave a sharp grunt as the man dug deeper in, down to the knuckle.

"Play with yourself," the man commanded. "And aim for the drain. Mommy and Daddy are sick of cleaning up after you. I'll make you get down there and lick it up with your tongue, boy."

Tommy needed no prompting. He gripped his cock tight and started to pump as quickly as he could.

As he tugged, Mr. Miller cupped his balls again in one hand, gripping them tighter than before. The other hand kept boring a thick finger further into the boy's body, stroking the muscles inside of him.

He was nearly there when Mr. Miller ushered him backward. "On the ground," he panted, gesturing urgently.

Tommy obeyed, dropping to the ground and beating his fist faster. The spray of water against his lap splattered into his eyes. He shut them tight and beat harder.

"You're a dirty little whore, son," Mr. Miller grunted. Then he spoke faster, practically raving. "Filthy little piece of shit. I find you jerking off again in Daddy's shower? Playing with your asshole as you think of Daddy? You dirty fucking whore. Little piece of shit, jerking off to your daddy pissing on you. Fucking... dirty..."

Tommy eased open an eye. Sure enough, Mr. Miller had his half-erect cock aimed over him as he emptied a golden stream into the boy's hair. Tommy squeezed his eyes shut and waited for it to stop. It was hard to tell, with the warm water pouring down.

When he opened them again, the man was done, and he was tugging himself back to full size. When he was hard, Mr. Miller stepped forward and reached above the towel rack. He came back with a bottle of lube and a black toy the size of the boy's forearm.

"You're playing with your mother's dildo in the shower again, aren't you?" Mr. Miller went on, wetting the massive thing down with lube. "You're putting Mommy's dildo in your ass. We can always tell when you do. You're thinking about Daddy, aren't you? Wishing he was here to fuck you in the ass? Are you jerking off to Daddy's cock, son? I've watched you do it. Don't you fucking lie to me."

He tossed Tommy the toy. The boy turned and crawled onto all fours. He took a breath and angled it into position. The head of it was as wide as a softball. There was no way it was getting inside.

But it felt good to try. And Mr. Miller let him try for a long time.

Tommy's knees went numb. Mr. Miller only stopped him to add more lube. He didn't seem to be in any rush at all. At least, not at first.

Without warning the man leaned, down, pressed one hand on Tommy's back, and pushed the toy against him gently, but firmly, never easing back. Tommy squealed as the head of it finally sank in.

The man let him stay like that for a few minutes more before digging the thing in deeper.

Finally, with a few inches inside and a foot left to go, Mr. Miller turned him around again. He whipped his cock against the boy's lips.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" the man asked. "Take it then. My son. My fucking whore son. Eat it," he said, pushing it past the boy's lips.

Tommy gagged it down, letting it tap against the back of his throat.

Mr. Miller leaned forward and gripped the toy again with his fist. He pushed firmly again, driving the boy forward, sinking his cock deeper into Tommy's throat, making him choke.

Mr. Miller pumped his hips, driving the boy back against the toy, sinking it in deeper. With the click of a button, the vibration began.

Back and forth, the man worked him, driving deeper into his throat, then deeper into his ass.

It didn't take long before the boy doubled over, gasping for air. His muscles clenched hard, all down the length of his body, blowing the toy out from him all at once.

"No you fucking don't," Mr. Miller growled, tossing the vibrator aside and pinning the boy down on his back. Tommy floundered, but the man wrestled him still and straddled his face.

For a moment, Tommy expected to be gagged again.

"Lick up Daddy's ass. Stick your tongue up Daddy's asshole. Eat it. Eat it you fucking faggot."

The man ground his ass against Tommy's lips.

The boy didn't need to be prompted, though. His tongue dug its way inside.

Mr. Miller rode him hard, squeezing his head tighter still, letting Tommy breathe only now and again.

When the toy slipped back inside him, Tommy buckled. He didn't feel the orgasm, but his body trembled and cum poured down onto his belly. With a stroke, he was certain he could cum again for real.

Mr. Miller grabbed a handful of the mess and rubbed it over Tommy's mouth and chin before riding him again.

"Fucking eat it, boy."

The toy sank in deeper, and another wave rolled through the boy's body. Tommy's tongue flickered wildly in response.

And the camera loved every moment of it.