(C)Tooluser March 2012

This story is fiction, and any resemblance to real people or places is entirely coincidental.

As always, comments and encouragement welcome, please email me at

tooluser@hushmail.com

This is written as a full story, but those horny souls who are already hard and leaking are welcome to jump straight to the action.

Hope you like it, anyway.

Tooluser.

Story codes below, obscured for those who prefer to let the story develop naturally. If you want to check for squickage, click and drag (i.e. "select") with your mouse to make them visible.

Codes: Mm, Mdom, interr, cons, rom, oral, anal, rough, cumswap

The Maid, part 2

Saturday morning was half over by the time Spike stumbled downstairs. He expected to find Berenice in a sour mood: if not actually standing in the hallway with a “Honey Do” list in her hand, then certainly wasting no time in organizing the remainder of his day.

He was pleasantly surprised to find that he was both wrong and right about that.

“Here, honey,” she said, coming up behind him in the kitchen and taking the coffee can out of his hand. “You let me tend to that.” She put her chin on his shoulder and murmured into his ear. “How ‘bout you go wash up while I fix you breakfast?”

“Sure, thanks Berry.” Spike felt a lift of his spirits at this little peace gesture. After the vase incident, Berenice had gone on rather too much about the lack of maintenance around the house. He’d finally done a couple of things on her list: cleared the gutters and thrown some of his trash out of the garage, even though it had messed with his exercise schedule. Evidently she’d taken note.

His good spirits continued in the bathroom: he sang to himself in the shower, and afterwards found himself grinning at his reflection as he brushed his teeth. He helped himself to another multi-vitamin pill from Berenice’s hoard, swallowed it dry, and was in the process of pulling on a pair of warm-up pants when she called him downstairs again.

Hot coffee, eggs-in-a-nest, grilled tomatoes and Canadian bacon waited for him in the kitchen.

“You remember our weekend debauches, Spike?” she asked, as she sat down opposite him at the small breakfast table.

“Hell yes,” he said. This plateful wasn’t a fourth part of the size of some of their long drawn out, idle feasts. “Happy memories, huh?”

“Happy times. We made each other happy, and not only with food,” she said meaningfully, reaching out and stroking the back of Spike’s hand. “What changed, Spike?”

“You started running my god-damned life for me,” Spike thought, but swallowed the comment down, not wanting to spoil the moment. He shrugged, speared a chunk of bacon, and found a smile from somewhere. “Money,” he said. “Responsibilities. We didn’t have much of either back then.”

“Yeah,” she said, still stroking the back of his hand. Spike braced himself for another comment about growing up, or about Alyssha fucking Johnson and her perfect married family life, but Berry seemed as intent on keeping the peace as he was.

“I know I’ve been interfering with your exercise,” she said, and smiled seductively. “But I recall a time when we used to exercise with each other.”

Spike felt a slow smile stealing over his face. After weeks of nagging about those damn’ chores, arguments about finances, work, and of course, Topic Number One: starting a family, the atmosphere had been too tense for lovemaking. Any attempt at intimacy on his part had been shrugged off with the acid comment that “apparently he still had time and energy for some things.”

But now it seemed Berry was willing to take his small gesture as a climbdown, and retreat in turn from her own, stubbornly held position. Same old Berry.

“Well,” he said, indicating the bedroom with a jerk of his head, “there’s the old exercise mat upstairs.”

She laughed and patted his arm. “That’s my man. I’ll go freshen up, huh? Didn’t like to before, even though you was snoring like a grampus.”

“Knew I was going to need my strength, huh?” Spike said, and Berry laughed her high “hee-hee-hee” and slapped his arm before heading upstairs and leaving him to finish his breakfast.

It felt like a return to the early days of their relationship, when Berry had been as eager as himself to get nasty between the sheets. That hot excitement had seemed to fade for her, despite his attempts to be more romantic, more caring and more sensitive. It seemed the more he tried to be what she said she wanted, the less she wanted it.

Spike made himself another coffee and sat sipping it, trying to fathom the intricacies of their relationship.

Perhaps Kyle had helped. Not only the physical release, but the way the boy had made Spike feel good, and strong and needed. Spike had found himself thinking a good deal about Kyle: concerned for him and the unhappiness he’d sensed. To the point perhaps where he’d paid less attention to Berry and her complaints, and rather than choosing to respond or not — in Berry’s terms “arguing” or “sulking” — he’d simply not heard.

He washed up. Perhaps it was having his hands in the water, or perhaps it was the sound of the shower upstairs, but he felt the coffee beginning to work its way through his system.

Spike dried his hands and hurried to the small downstairs bathroom. He didn’t normally use it. He was a big guy, and while the room didn’t quite fit him as snug as a casket, the way the stairs lowered part of the ceiling on a slant made it feel like it. He was standing half hunched, attending to business and letting his gaze wander in that relaxed way that guys do at this time, when he noticed the little stick in the waste bin. The back of it read “Mother Nature,” in the familiar, folksy typeface, and when he finished pissing and fished it out of the trash, the other side was printed with a thermometer shaped outline. Blue dye had risen from the printed bulb to almost fill the stem.

*

Berenice emerged from the bathroom in a puff of scented steam, wrapped in nothing but a towel and a smile. Spike saw her brow furrow a little, undoubtedly surprised to see him sitting on the newly made bed, still fully dressed.

“What’s up, honey?” she said.

“Maybe I should be asking you that,” Spike said. He flipped the tester stick onto the bed cover. “What’s this?”

Did she hesitate a fraction before she picked it up? He wasn’t sure.

Berenice shrugged. “I guess Alyssha must be trying for another baby. Why, you didn’t think I was sitting here all alone while you hung out in titty bars, did you?”

“Are you sure?” Spike said, quietly.

“Am I sure what?” she said, folding the stick into her fist. “Sure who my friends are, or sure what you doing in them bars?”

“Oh, give it a rest!” Spike snapped. “The instant anything like that shows up on my expenses, I’m out of a job, and you know it. You need to stop letting that Alyssha fill your head with crap.”

“Don’t you tell me what I know and what I need! What I need is a guy who don’t fool around because he’s got a backbone, not because he’s afraid of getting caught!”

“You think I’m afraid of getting caught?” Spike said.

“I think you afraid of responsibility; afraid of growin’ up. Alicia, she no fool. ‘Can’t trust men’ she’s always saying. ‘Thinking with their peckers the whole time,’ and she’s right, too.”

“Yeah,” Spike said. “That’s something you never do, right? In my face every minute about wanting kids, kids, kids. That’s not you thinking with your goddamn’ womb, right?”

She snorted. “That’s different. Wanting kids is natural, and decent. Nothing decent about what you been doing.”

“I’ve not been doing a damn’ thing!” Spike yelled. “And what’s so damn’ decent about having kids we can’t fucking afford? Huh?”

“That’s what it all coming down to, with you, ain’t it? Money! Money and your career. You’ll do any dirty thing to get what you want, but when it’s what I want—”

“It’s always about what you damned well want!” Spike said, heading for the door.

“Where you going?” Berenice demanded.

“Why don’t you ask Alyssha?” he said, and slammed the door hard enough to jump the pictures off the wall.

*

That had been three days ago. Despite being a beautiful summer morning, inside, the house was cold, and not in a way that the thermostat could fix.

Berenice had slammed out of the house some twenty minutes ago, and once Spike was certain that she hadn’t forgotten anything and was headed back, he’d quit pretending to be asleep and got up.

Over the weekend, Berenice had been by turns affectionate, hurt, and sarcastic. He didn’t know where he stood with her. He thought they’d reached some kind of truce, but as the days passed it increasingly felt like armed neutrality if not outright Cold War. In a way, he was glad they hadn’t tried to resume their lovemaking. No way now would he do it now without a Trojan, and that was a sure-fire way to reopen hostilities.

It was bitterly unfair, he thought, that “The Pill” had rendered a woman’s decision to try for kids or not, her own, entirely private business, while guys had no choice about whether their decision was public. They couldn’t even have The Snip since the courts had ruled that the contents of sperm banks was “joint marital property.” The world was in a pretty bad way when a guy didn’t even own his own jizz anymore.

During the deep freeze of the last few days, thoughts of Kyle had constantly intruded themselves. At first it was an impulse to confess, which he swiftly recognized for the B.S. it was: really a way to hit back. Once he’d firmly decided that it was unfair to put the kid in her gunsights he’d found himself increasingly haunted by the memories of Kyle’s shy little smile, and the boy’s eagerness to please — and no, he wasn’t talking about during sex.

So now, here he sat, showered and carefully dressed in another checked shirt and good jeans, with soda in the fridge and Oreos, snacks and other junk food in the cupboard which he never ordinarily bought, pretending that he wasn’t waiting for the doorbell to ring.

When it did, Spike was on his feet while it was still sounding, and as he headed for the front door he tried unsuccessfully to straighten his face from the big grin into which it had naturally folded itself.

“Hey there,” he began as he opened the door. “Oh.”

The guy who stood on the step was good looking in a blond-generic way. Mid-twenties, maybe early thirties, his wide shoulders and narrow waist shown off to advantage by his sports shirt. His skin was tan, and his features regular and pleasant.

“You’re the cleaner?” Spike asked, hoping he was wrong.

The stranger nodded. “Bare Essentials,” he confirmed. “Call me ‘Burt.’ May I come in?”

“You’re, uh, not the cleaner I had last time,” Spike said.

“Quite,” Burt said, dryly. “You made your feelings abundantly clear on that score, I understand. That’s why the costs of this and my next three visits are being borne by the agency.” His pale, blue gaze hardened. “For the record, sir, our office staff as much as our maids are entitled to be treated with courtesy and respect. Any further such outbursts and your account will be terminated.”

Spike felt his mouth hanging open. “I don’t understand,” he said, although he was altogether afraid that he did. Kyle had talked to someone, and despite being over the legal age, their encounter could easily be seen as coercion on Spike’s part.

“I’m talking about the seventeen-minute phonecall made to the office on the subject of breakages. My partner told me you reduced Noel, our receptionist, to tears. That’s why I volunteered.”

“Oh.” Spike felt a rush of relief. “Now I get it,” he said. “That wasn’t me that was my, uh, housemate.” Suddenly he didn’t want to describe Berenice on any more intimate terms than that.

“Oh.” Burt looked a little less hostile. “Well it looks like I’ve been lecturing the wrong guy then, sorry.” He nodded towards the hall chair. “Is it okay to put my clothes on there?”

“Wait a moment,” Spike said. “Do you know the other maid? Did he get in trouble?”

“That’s an internal matter.” Burt looked at him a moment. “I don’t know him well,” he said. “He’s more a friend of a friend.” Burt swallowed and forced a smile.

“I guess it’s as well your housemate’s out, or I’d probably have given him a piece of my mind and we’d have lost the account. Ky- uh, the maid was pretty upset, I heard, and not only because he might miss a payment on his Pontiac.”

Spike raised his brows, and Burt’s smile became a little more genuine. “Though maybe that’s no bad thing: I saw that car once, parked outside the office: a cherry-red ’88 Bonneville. I’m pretty certain he got ripped off. It’s gotta be a death-trap: no car that kid could afford could be anything else.”

“Right. Look, Burt, something’s come up and I’ve got to go out,” Spike said. “I’ll sign something so that your time hasn’t been wasted coming over here.”

It was pointless saying he was going to try and fix things with Kyle: he noticed that Burt had been careful to avoid saying the boy’s name: possibly hadn’t given his own real name, in fact. Probably Kyle hadn’t been supposed to use his real name either, but the boy’s innocence had given Spike a break.

Burt nodded. “Okay, sir.” He reached to his back pocket. “Strangely enough I did bring such a form with me.”

Spike winced. Berenice must have really cut loose on the phone. He suppressed the urge to apologize for her: she was an adult, the same as himself.

*

Spike scrolled carefully through his cell’s call register to be certain, but the calls listed were all work contacts and there were no hang ups.

He felt a curious mixture of emotions as he flipped it to standby and slipped it back into his pocket: relief that he hadn’t accidentally ignored Kyle’s call, but disappointment too. Remembering the way Kyle acted when Spike first gave him his number, he’d hoped he’d have found an excuse to phone, even if there hadn’t been any trouble. That Berenice had stirred up trouble and the kid still hadn’t phoned upset him more than he wanted to admit.

On a more pragmatic note, it meant that Spike didn’t have Kyle’s number. That left land-lines. The online phone book listed four different “Sandys” in the area, annoyingly widely spread. He sighed as he copied down the addresses.

The nearest address proved a bust: the house was empty, with a realtor’s sign on the trimmed green lawn and finches singing unconcerned in the trees shading it. The second was inconclusive: it was a walk-up apartment above a hardware store, and nobody answered the buzzer. That left the two addresses in the poorer area of town.

*

Spike kept telling himself he should feel right at home on Claremount Drive. It was the sort of neighborhood where he’d grown up: the sort of neighborhood he’d worked, studied and kissed ass like hell to get out of. Cheap frame houses with walls you could put a fist through and garages with locks so cheap you might as well park your car on the street and the hell with it.

The matchbox-sized lots were divided from each other by chickenwire fences and more often than not large caramel colored dogs sprawled panting in whatever meager noonday shadow they could find, chained to an iron spike in the center of the scrubby dirt yard. Young kids played on tire swings, or yelled and chased each other, oblivious of traffic. Older kids sat in groups on low fences or the hoods of junky, primer daubed cars in baggy gangsta clothing, passing a joint from hand to hand and watching Spike’s new, shiny Ford pass with flat, expressionless gazes.

Number 1328 Claremount Drive looked no different to the rest: a small, single storey frame house, the walls painted several different, patchy shades of creamy off white through which ghosts of gang graffiti still showed. An ancient, dusty Toyota sagged on the driveway, but the garage door was up, and from the dimness inside Spike caught a gleam of cherry red.

He had to drive a little way to find a parking space and left his car in the care of two young teens who said they’d watch it for twenty dollars. As Spike walked slowly back up the street, feeling the sweat start beneath his shirt in the oppressive midday heat, breathing the sharp, dusty, chlorine and sulphur tainted air, gift of the gray bulk of the chemical works humming on the edge of audibility, he couldn’t help wondering if he was wasting his time as well as his money.

*

There was nobody in the garage, but the bucket of soapy water with a yellow sponge floating in it looked to be a hopeful sign. Spike smiled at the gleaming Pontiac and followed the narrow, poured cement path to the front door, where he pressed the bell and stood listening to its flat buzz, wondering if it could be heard over the muffled TV sounds from inside.

“Kyle! Get the door!”

It was an old woman’s voice, raucous as a crow’s, who managed to squeeze two syllables into the word “Kyle.”

“And if it’s that guy about the insurance, tell him to shove it!”

A moment later the flimsy door rattled as its lower edge stuck on the sill, and then swung open. Loud game show sounds poured out.

Kyle was wearing a long-sleeved black sweatshirt with his black drainpipe jeans. The only touch of color in his outfit was the lettering “ghost.of.beauty” in shocking pink typewriter script across the chest. A moment later his face flushed almost the same color.

“Oh,” he said, giving Spike a brief, hostile look from under his bangs. “It’s you.”

“Yes,” Spike said, raising his voice over the TV noise. “I came to apologize about the business at the office. I didn’t make that call.”

Kyle shrugged. “Okay.” He bent down and picked up a bucket of water that was standing right behind him.

“I hope that’s not for me,” Spike said, with what he hoped was a winning smile. “I’m not selling insurance.”

Kyle shook the wings of his dark hair back from his face. “And I’m not selling anything either,” he said, his mouth tight. “So you can-” his sudden, deep breath caught in his throat: “-you can fuck off, alright? Just— fuck off.”

The boy took a step back, and Spike put his hand out to prevent Kyle closing the door.

“What the hell?” he said, over a burst of whisting and TV applause. “Kyle, I don’t get it, selling what?”

“Forget it,” Kyle said. He was breathing hard, and his voice shook as he said: “You met a stupid, horny kid, you got your rocks off. It didn’t mean anything. I don’t care if you can afford forty dollars for a blow job, I’m not doing that again so you can forget it.” He clutched the handle of the bucket in both hands, like he was trying to hide behind it.

“Oh shit.” Spike shifted uncomfortably. “Kyle, that money was nothing to do with, with what we did.” He took a step closer and lowered his voice as much as the continuing TV noise would allow. “I won’t deny I liked it,” he said. “Hell no! I’ll always treasure that morning, and the cute boy who tried so hard to put things right.”

Spike reached out and put his hand on Kyle’s arm, which felt bone-hard with tension. “That money,” he said, leaning closer, “was because I like you and I was sorry your first day had been so shitty. I never thought you were a hooker.”

“Rent boy,” Kyle murmured, ducking his head. The little of his face that Spike could see seemed about the same color as his Pontiac.

“I’m sorry. I’d really like to make it up to you,” Spike said. He saw Kyle swallow.

“H-how?”

Spike smiled. “Wash your car?” And when Kyle jerked his head up, added: “While you get ready for, oh, lunch and an afternoon movie?” He saw Kyle eyeing his checked shirt, and let his grin widen. “Yeah, don’t be too fabulous, huh? Although I guess I could pick up a shirt and necktie at the mall if you’ve really got your heart set on somewhere.”

“Uh, no,” Kyle said, staring at Spike’s arms. “I like that shirt. You look, uh, hot.”

“Then this cold water’s exactly what I need,” Spike said, gently taking the bucket out of Kyle’s hands. He winked. “I’ll be in the garage.”

*

Spike hung his shirt up out of the way, and then washed the Pontiac Bonneville sedan lovingly and thoroughly, carefully checking it out as he did so.

For a car some twenty years old, the original bodywork wasn’t bad. The trouble was most of it wasn’t original: there was some suspicious welding that made him think it had been in a wreck, and a hell of a lot of filler, too. He wished he could pop the hood and poke around, but Kyle had the car locked up tight, and in this neighborhood Spike didn’t blame him.

He found himself casting thoughtful glances at the old toolbench against the wall, but resisted the temptation: what the hell could he say if he was caught? He’d just finished the rinse and was looking around for the Turtle Wax when he heard a tinkling of ice-cubes behind him.

“Hi,” Kyle said. “I thought you could maybe use a drink.” He held out a glass of cloudy lemonade that Spike suddenly wanted more than salvation.

“Thanks,” Spike said. The cold-beaded glass felt good, but not as good as the first chill gulp.

Kyle stood looking down and off to the side, staring fixedly at the car and fiddling with his bangs in that quick, nervous way he had.

Spike suppressed a sigh. Darn, but the kid sure did love that piece of automotive shit, to the point where anyone else touching it was evidently a worry. He said: “Go ahead and look if you got to.”

“I’m that obvious, huh?” Kyle’s smile was nervous, but it was back again. “I guess I spend too much time thinking about what’s gonna happen if a guy doesn’t like being checked out.”

“Oh.” Spike tried not to smile too much as he realized the problem was his own half-naked black self. “You check me out all you want honey. I’m doing plenty of looking on my own account.”

He was, too. Kyle had squeezed into an even tighter pair of shiny black pants, though these had odd straps which hooked the legs one to the other, and were distressed in teasy ripped areas from his crotch down to his shocking pink canvas hi-tops, which exactly matched the new pink streak in his hair. Well, at least the kid was comfortable with his sexuality.

Spike was somehow unsurprised that Kyle’s tight, striped top came down to his wrists, or that the stripes in his knitted wrist-warmers now matched his hair, but over it he wore a light short-sleeved shirt that looked to be vintage thrift-store, the blue deco pattern faded and the white cotton softened with many washings.

Kyle was watching him. He’d replaced one lip-ring with a stud, and a tiny skull gleamed silver in one ear. He blinked thick, mascara laden lashes and said: “Too much?”

“Well it could maybe do with a siren to let people know you’re coming,” Spike said. “Why waste a good entrance?”

“Yeah,” said Kyle. And blushed. “Uh, Spike, I was wondering, um-, like-”

“Whether this is our first date or our second?” Spike said, when he was unable to watch the torture any more. “Well, I guess I’ll find out, won’t I?” He strolled across to the workbench and put his empty glass down, silently counting. He made it to ‘four’ when Kyle burst out:

“How will you know?”

“Oh, by whether you put out or not, I guess,” Spike said. “It’s not usual, on the first date.”

“D-date?” Kyle stammered.

“Yeah. I’m really hoping you’ll let me park my car in your garage.” Spike was struggling to retain his poker face, but managed to look at Kyle and raise his eyebrows in solemn query.

Kyle laughed. “You’re a beast!” he said, and came over to punch Spike’s dusky, muscled bicep, his pants making him walk with an odd, shortened step that was somehow very sexy.

“Guilty as charged,” Spike said. He lifted Kyle’s chin with a fingertip, and kissed him.

*

Spike had intended the kiss to be light and playful, but no sooner had their lips touched than Kyle plonked his half-full glass on the bench, and then wound his skinny arms around Spike’s neck.

He began kissing Spike hungrily, opening his mouth wide. His tongue stud clicked against Spike’s teeth as Kyle explored his mouth, and then the boy began sucking on Spike’s tongue. His skinny pants did nothing to conceal his excitement. Spike could feel the teenager’s boner pressing against his groin as the boy ground his hips.

“Spike,” Kyle whispered, “I’m really, really sorry about that stupid ‘rent boy’ thing I said. It was only I thought you liked me, so it hurt when you said I was a ‘playmate,’ and then gave me money. I know you joking about a ‘first date’ just now was really saying this isn’t about you getting laid. But will you fuck me?” He looked up at Spike. “What? You don’t want to?”

“Press those cute little hips against me and then you tell me whether I want to or not,” Spike said, stroking Kyle’s back. “It’s only I’m wondering why you want to.”

Kyle hunched a slim shoulder. “Because you’re hot. When you first opened the door, I thought about it, and all the while I was cleaning. Even when I was upset I thought about it, and I had some crazy dream about going back and making you apologize by fucking me.”

“Well, I certainly felt I owed you a big apology after I heard about that phonecall,” Spike said. “Only those pants of yours look so tight I think we’d have to postpone to an evening show, and I’ve got to work.”

“Yeah? You’re not familiar with ‘bondage pants,’ then?” Kyle said. He shifted his hips away from Spike’s and there came the sound of a zipper, a pause, and then again. “There,” he said. “See?”

Kyle’s pants now gaped wide because the fly went down between the boy’s legs and fully up in back: unzipped, they essentially became chaps. Spike felt cotton covering Kyle’s hard dick and his balls, but only a thin cord running up between the teenager’s smooth, firm little asscheeks.

“Damn, that’s hot,” Spike said, massaging the boy’s bumpy, tight-folded pucker with his middle finger. “Okay, let’s work up an appetite. Only unless you want this to be one of the shortest fucks in history, you better swallow the load that’s half way up my pipe.”

“Yes Spike,” Kyle said breathlessly, and Spike leaned back against the bench and watched as the boy made haste to unbutton Spike’s bulging pants. The kid sure did like cock.

*

Spike pushed on Kyle’s head, and the boy sank to his haunches in front of him and began sucking on his hard, black meat, working the tip with his lips and that wicked tongue, moaning softly.

The garage door was still up, and Spike looked out at the noonday street as he enjoyed the moving, wet warmth on his cock. The sunlight was so bright the colors seemed washed out, like another world. He trusted to the comparative dimness and the bulk of the Pontiac to hide what was going on.

“Yeah, that’s good,” he said, putting his hand on the boy’s head and pushing the boy’s mouth down his dark, veiny hardness until about half-way down, Kyle coughed. He let the boy up and then pushed in again, slowly fucking that hot slippery mouth. “Keep your hands off your dick, Kyle,” he said. “You’ll be cumming soon enough.”

“Mnnnh,” Kyle agreed, looking up at him and sucking hard.

“Such a good boy,” Spike said. He could feel his cockhead bumping against the silken back of Kyle’s mouth, and the way the boy emptied his lungs through his nose and then drew a deep breath told Spike all he needed to know.

“Good boy,” he said, set his hands and pushed deeper, into the wet constriction of Kyle’s throat; gagging him and slowly pushing his cock deeper still until the boy’s lips were brushing Spike’s tight-curled pubes. “Oh, yeah. That’s what you like, isn’t it, Kyle?” he murmured as he fucked his cock a half inch or so back and forth before letting the boy up for an explosive gasp. “That’s a hot little throat you have there. You like the danger, huh? The idea that some neighbor could drop by and find you sucking off the help, huh?”

“Mphh!” Kyle agreed, looking up like a puppy with a liquorice bone in his mouth.

“Darn, what would he do, Kyle, with you helpless, huh?” Spike played a hunch. “Don’t get the idea I’d go sharing you around, honey, ’cause you’re all mine.” He leaned down a little and growled that last word.

Mmmm, that was the right answer for Kyle, who sighed ecstatically around the hard meat in his mouth, and then anxiously began to suck on it, like he was afraid Spike would take it away.

“Nghhh,” Spike shuddered as Kyle tickled his fat cockhead right beneath the piss-slit. “O-of course,” he continued, conscious of the building presssure in his balls— “of course I’d let him watch, because I like to show-ooh-ooh! -you off! little puppy.”

“Ur gonn’ cum,” Kyle lisped around his cock, the click of his tongue stud audible against his teeth. His visible eye had the bright twinkle all subs get when they figure they’re in the driving seat “big, wet thploogie—” Spike nearly lost it in the fricative buzz of that loose “th—” and the tickle of the boy’s lip-ring against his glistening cockhead.

“Well you c’n wear what’chu want,” Spike gasped, desperately trying to edge, “but with that maa-aaah!-scara you already got enough on that face I reckon—”

Kyle squeaked and sucked him deep, and Spike pushed in to fill Kyle’s mouth, and then out until the tip brushed Kyle’s glistening pout, letting his little puppy pretend that he was gonna taste Spike’s cum because Spike let him, not because he wanted it.

Then Spike balled his fists in Kyle’s hair and gasped as he shot a hard milky rope dead center onto the boy’s outstretched tongue, and another into his mouth. He shot again as the boy leaned close.

Kyle nursed and sucked on Spike’s glistening dark cock, not swallowing but bathing his oversensitive cockhead with the pearly white cum and sucking it back into his mouth, scooping up occaisional white droplets that escaped down his chin and then sucking sucking sucking until the very moment before Spike was gonna scream he looked up, cheeks bulging like the cat that won’t let go of the cream.

Spike pulled Kyle to his feet and leaned down to kiss the boy’s soft, cummy lips, tasting his salt, slippery juices on them. Kyle whimpered softly as he opened his mouth, sharing Spike’s warm cum. They passed it back and forth, each swallowing a little, laughing and playing tongue-tag and lip-nibble until it was gone.

“So,” Spike said, stroking Kyle’s dye-fucked hair as they stood with their arms around each other, “what now? I’m cruising on green, but you,” he shifted his hips, nudging the boy’s hardon, “-aren’t.” He smiled down at where Kyle rested his sticky cheek against his broad, dark chest. “Is this where I get to taste you?”

Immediately he felt Kyle tense up. “Please, Spike, no,” he said. “Unless you don’t want to.”

There was no doubt about it: his boy wanted to be fucked, and fucked now. He had no idea why the timing was so important to Kyle, but it plainly was.

“You have no idea-” Spike said, and felt Kyle shudder as he ran his hands over the boy’s bare, narrow ass and started rubbing his little pucker, “how long I have been fantasizing about fucking your cute little teenage ass.”

“A hundred seventy-two hours twenty-seven minutes?” Kyle said, leaning comfortably close again and relaxing as Spike continued his fingertip ass massage. “That’s ’bout how long I’ve been picturing you doing it to me.”

Spike smiled as he did the math. “So, about a minute after I first opened the front door?”

“Oh, quicker’n that.” Kyle giggled. “After you went upstairs I snuck into your downstairs bathroom and squeezed one out. Kept the little tissue wad, too; only I threw it out the window on the way home, along with your forty dollars.” He sighed. “Sometimes I can be such a girl.”

Spike chuckled and pressed his groin against Kyle’s hardon. “Don’t feel like no girl to me,” he said.

Kyle pushed his ass back against Spike’s hands. “Please,” he whispered. “Don’t hold me so close, else I’m gonna lose it, and I want to feel you in me, balls deep, when I cum.”

“Okay,” Spike said. He kissed Kyle’s hair, and then growled into his ear: “I’ll do my best not to turn you on too much.” At the boy’s excited squeak, he bent slightly and picked the boy up, one arm around Kyle’s back, the other behind his knees.

“Hey,” Spike said, noticing the boy’s front for the first time. “That’s hot.” The thong the boy was wearing, the pouch currently stretched out of shape and barely containing his leaking teenage hardon, was a bright, sugar pink that exactly matched his sneakers. “That’s a fashion tip I never saw in the magazines, for sure.” He smiled down at Kyle, who immediately looked away, blushing. “What?” Spike said, as he carried Kyle over to the car.

“Oh, nothing.” Kyle’s voice sounded unsteady. “Just call me Scarlett.”

Spike chuckled. “I doubt miss O’Hara had her booty hanging out when she was carried up those stairs. Doubt she ever got ass-fucked over the hood of no cherry-red Pontiac, either.”

Kyle proved to be small enough that, because of the fender, face down and with his hips at the edge of the hood, the tips of his sneakers could barely make contact with the stained cement floor. His zipped open black pants were almost as shiny as the car’s paintwork, and the contrast made the globes of his little ass seem even paler; a melon-wedge of smooth creamy skin bordered by the zipper’s silver teeth.

Spike unhooked the straps which linked the boy’s legs together and kicked Kyle’s feet further apart.

“Yeah, that’s hot,” he said, squeezing one each of the boy’s pale buns with his large hands. He spread the boy’s ass apart, and leaned close to tongue the pale red pucker. It tasted sweet. Not boy-sweet, but sugary. Curious, he pulled the taut skin with his thumbs and spread Kyle’s pucker wider, licking at the slippery, cranberry-colored flesh while the boy writhed on the polished hood. It was definitely lube he could taste. Darn, but the little cum-puppy had been set on this fuck.

“Spike,” Kyle said, his light voice taut with need. “Please!”

“Sure,” Spike said. He wet his middle finger, put it against the boy’s hole, and pushed. It went in as easy as he had expected, slick and tight, and he pushed it in to the knuckle as Kyle moaned.

“You like cock in your pussy, don’t you, boy?” Spike said, as he slid Kyle towards him. He slipped his finger out, and then re-entered the boy with two. Kyle was obviously no stranger to getting fucked, but his little ring was still tight, and Spike was not small by anyone’s standards. He hoped the boy had squirted plenty lube up his ass, because he was going to need it.

He slipped his fingers out of the boy’s slick warmth, and wiped as much on the head and first inch or so of his hard cock as he could, adding a little spit to help it along.

“I hope you’re ready,” he said, “because here I come.” He positioned the dark head of his cock against the winking red eye between Kyle’s little cheeks, and pushed. Not fast, and not far. Not at first.

Kyle gasped and gave a little cry that could have been either lust or pain, but when Spike moved back a little he said: “No, don’t stop, please! I can take it!” his voice high and anxious.

“Easy, kid. Easy,” Spike said. “Think of the neighbors. Maybe you had other guys who just rammed it in there, but I’d spit you like a hog, and maybe mess you up inside. You don’t want that, and I sure as hell don’t either. Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.” He leaned forward again, feeling his cock spreading Kyle’s resisting assring wider and wider as he eased more of his inky, hard dick up inside the kid.

Kyle was tensing up; it was obviously uncomfortable for him, and Spike was on the brink of easing back again when he felt his cockhead pop past the resistance. “There,” he said, carefully not going any deeper for now. “You feel that?”

“Uhuh,” Kyle said, the strain in his voice evident. “You’re not gonna take it out though?”

“Only a little gentle back and forth,” Spike said, suiting the action to the word. He could see how tight-stretched Kyle’s ring was around his thick, dark meat. “You got to quit worrying,” he said. “This is the tightest, hottest pussy I’ve been in for a long time.”

“Half in,” Kyle said, and giggled.

Actually he was a lot less than half inside the boy, but it didn’t seem the time to say so.

“Yeah,” Spike said, easing his cock back and forth and smearing the gel that oozed out of Kyle’s fuckhole further down his glistening jet shaft. “Here’s a little bit more then.”

Slowly he worked his cock deeper and deeper into that pretty, tight little ass, easing back and forth in the boy’s sticky heat, feeling Kyle relax a little more with every repetition. With about two thirds of his dick in, he rubbed over the boy’s joy-spot, which initially slowed things down as Kyle whimpered and clamped down, scrabbling the toes of his sneakers on the cement floor as he tried to tilt his little heiney to the perfect angle as Spike thrust into him in a steady, easy rhythm.

Soon Kyle was moaning steadily and Spike was able to fuck him deeper and harder, feeling the sweat starting across his back, and trickling down his sides. The slippery, hot inside of the boy’s ass was like oiled velvet, his stretched ass-ring a tight-gripping fist that inched further and further down Spike’s hard shaft until finally his low-swinging nuts slapped against smooth, teenage skin.

“You feel that?” Spike said, pausing to grind his pubes against Kyle’s tailbone, “you got all there is to get in you now.”

“God!” Kyle gasped. “Think you just split... liver in half!”

“Yeah,” Spike said, easing his cock back and then thrusting in again, hard, “when I cum, you’re gonna fuckin’ taste it, boy.”

“Unnnnhhh,” Kyle said, his assring squeezing down. “Oh, yeah,” he moaned as Spike began fucking him again.

Spike built the rhythm steadily, grinning as he felt the car’s shocks begin to give, the car’s bounce increasing as he timed his fucking like pushing on a swing.

“Oh,” Kyle gasped. “Oh, Spike—” but Spike didn’t have the breath to answer now, he was long-dicking the boy, his groin slapping against Kyle’s bare butt with a regular spack! spack! spack! like a slow hand-clap; sweat running down his chest and his back and dripping in his eyes as he leaned closer over the boy, his glistening, veiny, inky hardness pistoning up into the curved, pale vee of Kyle’s asscheeks as the boy scrabbled on the car’s smooth hood; Kyle first whimpering then moaning louder and louder until he stiffened, clamping down on Spike’s cock.

“Uhuhh, oh yes, cumming!” Kyle moaned, biting his lower lip.

“Yeah,” Spike growled in breathy satisfaction, thrusting faster through the boy’s spasming, impossibly tight ring into his twitching, blood-hot gut. “Knew you’d like that.”

The ache in his dick and the feeling in his nuts told him he was nearly there, and Kyle’s quivering, whimpering horniness was a huge turn-on.

“Get ready,” Spike gasped, riding the boy spreadeagled on the bouncing, rocking car like a bucking bronco: fucking him hard and deep, holding on tight to the boy’s shoulders. “Gonna breed your ass,” he grunted, thrusting his big cock balls deep, and feeling Kyle’s wide-stretched ring clench around the dusky, wiry root each time. “Oh yeah, take it bitch! Take! My! Cock!— Unnnh!”

He rammed hard into Kyle one last time, and then the dam burst; he grunted as he felt his cum rising; his dick twitched and throbbed, he could feel every millimeter of the cum-bolt’s journey as it blasted along his cock, an explosion of white deep into Kyle’s hot, sticky boy-cunt. He groaned as he came again, grinding his teeth and curling his toes as he felt the long, creamy spurt into the boy’s slick-gripping insides. He pulled back and rammed in again, his cock pulsing, pulsing as he coated Kyle’s guts in creamy jolts of pleasure.

Spike shifted down onto his elbows, breathing like a racehorse that’s just won the Breeder’s Cup, leaning on the boy’s small sticky rump, his cock still buried balls deep.

“Damn, but you’ve got a hot little pussy,” Spike said, and bent his head to kiss the boy’s ear as the car’s suspension slowly damped out the bouncing. “You sure know how to take a guy to heaven and back.”

Spike felt Kyle move a little beneath him, and courteously took his weight back onto his arms. Slowly he eased his softening, but still mostly hard cock out of the boy’s ass. Kyle lay quietly, only giving a soft gasp when Spike’s fat cockhead popped out at the last.

Spike stood up, stretching his back, but still admiring the boy’s lean grace as much as his pale ass and the rosy, glistening, stretched hole that was just starting to leak a little cum.

“Hey Kyle,” he said.

“What?” Kyle turned his head to look back over his shoulder.

Spike grinned. “I think I finally figured out why they call this ‘Cherry Red.’”

*

“No, don’t reckon I’ll ever see my hubcaps again,” Spike said as he popped open the Pontiac’s passenger door and slipped into the seat. But hell, I’m glad it wasn’t up on bricks. It’ll be okay in your mom’s garage now I paid the full squeeze.”

“Yeah, you were totally down with fats,” Kyle said, his eyes shining. “I uh, I think you maybe lost some cred having me standing right next to you though.”

“You think he didn’t know?” Spike said. “Like none of your neighbors heard all the ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ or noticed this baby doing the ol’ stadium bump? This is his ‘hood: it’s his business to know. It would have been an insult to his intelligence and his ability to pretend I didn’t know you. Besides, I didn’t want to.”

“Oh.” Kyle went pink, and made a business of fussing with his seat. “Talking of ‘aahhs,’” he muttered, squirming.

“Smarting some, huh?” Spike said.

“Quit leering!” Kyle said. “It’s not my fault I’ve now got an asshole the size of the Midway tunnel. You would too, if... no: on second thoughts not.”

“What?” Spike said, raising his brows. “Well, it’s true I’ve never bottomed, but according to information recently received it’s a helluva lot of fun.”

Kyle’s face fell. “Oh. Uh, yeah. I guess it’s none of my beeswax.”

Kyle was puzzling him. As their “date” approached, Kyle was getting antsier and antsier, blowing hot and cold on everything and changeable as a weathervane. One minute glowing like a new bride, the next moment wounded as a kicked puppy. Like now.

“What?” Spike said, keeping the tone light. “You can’t see yourself as a bitchy little top? You’re limiting yourself, honey. Darn, I bet there are thousands of guys who’d beat themselves raw over pictures of you in those pants and a little leather whip. Something tasteful of course. You know: art.”

And there it was again: Kyle got this soft glow that made any stupid, corny line sound good.

“Oh,” Kyle said, and wiggled cutely. “Well I guess it would give my butthole some rest, at that. Feels the size of my mom’s pincushion.”

“See?” Spike said. “Sizing down already. A minute ago it was the size of the Midway. Besides, I looked it over really carefully for you in the bathroom. With love and the right attention it’ll last you another ten thousand miles easy.”

Kyle’s butthole had been like a fat, red raspberry, and about the same color, too. Spike had dearly wanted to tongue that juicy boy-fruit, but feared for his self control. Kyle needed some time out before his next butt-fucking. That was gonna put a major strain on Spike’s self-control. Not to mention his tailoring.

He wished Kyle had washed himself out though. Not only for the boy’s health and comfort, but because the thought of his jizz slowly easing out of that tight, aching little ring would have Spike sprouting wood as soon as his dick had recovered. “Down, boy,” he thought to himself.

But Kyle had been quietly adamant. “I’m not doing it. I want your juice in me, Spike.” He’d been bent naked over the side of the bathroom tub at the time, a poster advert for boy-rape, and would hopefully never know how close he’d come to that when he reached back and rubbed his aching little ass.

Spike shook his head and pulled himself back to the present. “Okay,” he said. “Well, if you’re all set, let’s go.”

“Thanks,” Kyle said, as if he hadn’t thanked Spike a couple dozen times already. “I really appreciate you letting me practice driving.”

“De nada,” Spike said, acting casual while getting ready to listen to the engine. He hadn’t found an excuse to pop the hood yet, but he would.

Kyle smiled and twisted the ignition key. At once the car echoed to the whine of guitars over the djuh-djuh-djuh baseline of some heavy metal rock band.

“Sorry,” Kyle shouted, turning the music down to a less ear-bleeding setting. “It’s Garbage.”

“Well, it’s not that bad,” said Spike, and then caught the boy’s pitying look.

“I’ve got a non-punk CD somewhere,” Kyle said, evidently lumping Shostakovitch, Sting and the Steelers into one, “old farts” musical category. “For when I give Mom a lift.”

Bingo.

Kyle reached over and rummaged among the litter on his dashboard while a possible girl in definite pain sang something fast and angry that Spike couldn’t catch.

“Or there’s The Smiths,” Kyle said, then grinned. “No, maybe not: ‘if a ten-ton truck should kill the both of us...’” His light, clear voice nailed the melody exactly.

Spike smiled, stroking the boy with his eyes.

“Ah!” Kyle said. “Got it. Tammy Wynette okay with you?”

They pulled away in the hot, afternoon sunlight with Spike trying to listen to the meaty engine noise beneath the strains of “Stand By Your Man.”

To be concluded in part 3.

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ToolUser