Date: Tue, 16 Aug 2005 15:53:14 +0000
From: Desmond <desmond (dot) speaks (at) gmail (dot) com>
Subject: Of All Nights, part 1 (M/m auth, humil, cbt, reluc)

If you're offended by stories involving sexual acts between consenting
adults of any gender, don't read the following.

  
  Maybe online personals aren't that bad; our first date was fine, as first
dates go. We had so much in common - laughed at the absurd quantity of
blood in the horror movie we chose to watch, gasped in surprise as we
ordered the exact same pizza without consulting one another, then bounced
and shimmied in our car seats as an old tune came on. I felt ready to
return to dating women, or at least this particular woman if she'd have me.
  
  Here's some math: My boyfriend of five years dumped me two weeks before
our sixth anniversary, 10 months ago; I moved across six states to get away
from the ruins of our life together, salvaging two favorite pairs of jeans,
one laptop computer and one-and-a-half car - as I left, the back seat of my
temperamental hoopty was loaded with enough spare parts to last me a year
of repairs. Doesn't exactly add to 69 or any other fun Freudian number.
  
  Mandy, my date, expressed a desire to see my place. It was already dark
and I offered a silent prayer to the gods of dating for allowing me to hide
the shameful state of my yard. Anticipating the lack of parking spaces near
my house - my driveway was permanently blocked with Hoopty #2, not yet
roadworthy - I pulled into my usual spot two blocks away and explained we'd
have to walk. Mandy seemed delighted; the dial of my Laid-O-Meter moved
even closer to "Score!".
  
  The night was warm, the streetlights half dead and our fingers entwined
like two teams of playful snakes. I did a mental checklist of smelly socks
and sweaty undershirts, mildly relieved that I remembered to gather them
all into the hamper - though who knows, maybe Mandy wasn't the type to mind
the unique ambience of a bachelor pad - and planned what coffee and liquor
I'd offer her.
  
  Halfway there, we started swapping horrible puns, the older the better. I
was well into the setup to a particularly filthy yarn about immortal
porpoises when something rustled in the bushes ahead; Mandy squeezed my
hand in alarm and I tensed. I didn't want to overreact until I'd found out
who - or what - was there, but it was still reassuring to have my knife
handy.
  
  We heard someone trying to shout in a strained whisper: "Leroy? Is that
you?". I recognized that whisper; my neighbor Gino. For fuck's sake,
tonight of all nights...
  
  "Yeah, it's me. What happened, Gino?," I said, trying to mask my
annoyance. It's not that I disliked him; quite the other way around. He was
adorable, everything that my ex wasn't: short, slight, with huge
almond-shaped dark eyes and so outrageously swishy his footprints burst
into flames during dry season. And he didn't want to mess around with
bisexuals, which came up early enough for me to dismiss all thoughts of
hooking up with him. He disentangled himself from the bush. His fashionable
hairdo was a mess, his face and hands were scratched and tears shone in his
eyes.
  
  "It's Thomas. I didn't want to let him in, but he must've kicked in the
basement window... and the cops... you know..."
  
  I did. Thomas split after an impressive shouting and shoving match; the
cops watched amusedly from a distance and drove away before it was over. I
was at work when it happened, but the outraged neighbors told me
everything. Of course they weren't outraged by the police, but by the
inconsiderate homos; I politely thanked them for the news and on the next
day told Gino to just come over if he needed any help.
  
  Mr Abuser was back and Gino probably ran to my place, but found it
locked; now he lurked in the bushes, praying I'd come back in time. Of all
nights.
  
  "He hit you?"
  
  "No, he was too drunk to do anything really... he came up from the
basement and I was scared, and he started shouting at me, and I made him
dinner, then he said he needed some sleep, and I sneaked out..."
  
  I took his small, pointy chin in my hand. "Gino, look at me. Did he or
did he not hit you tonight?" I kept my gaze level, not letting it stray to
his trembling lips. Juicy, kissable trembling lips. I saw a small vein
pulse rapidly in his temple and felt Gino's stubble grind against my
skin. Business, Leroy...
  
  Gino drew himself up with as much dignity as he could muster. "I'm
through with lying for him. He didn't."
  
  I nodded, satisfied; I was going to make Tommy Dearest's life a living
hell anyway, but at least Gino wasn't hurt. I turned to Mandy.
  
  "Some introductions are in order, and I'm afraid I'm going to have to put
our date on hold for a while... Mandy, this is my neighbor Gino. Gino, this
is Mandy. Let's get to my place, guys, I'll make some coffee and take care
of what needs fixing."
  
  We got home fast. I handed out coffees with a splash of whisky and busied
myself assembling the necessary tools. I heard Mandy try to engage Gino in
a conversation; great, I thought. She volunteered at a battered women's
shelter, so she might actually help him. I left through the back door and
headed to Gino's place.
  
  
  The door was open, all lights were on and no sound could be heard. I
entered cautiously; Tommy Dearest was supposed to be drunk and asleep, but
I didn't want to bet on it. I made my way to the living room without making
a noise and peered in. The room was a mess - table overturned, a chair
broken in pieces, some knickknacks knocked over, a broken cup... Amidst the
rubble stood Gino's comfy couch, now poorly decorated with a snoring drunk
man with a wet stain on the crotch of his tight jeans.
  
  Thomas was drop-dead gorgeous. Built, light brown hair, grey eyes, real
outdoorsy tan, jeans and leathers... When he and Gino still were together,
I used to spy on them from time to time. With neighbors like this, who
needs porn? But now I had in mind something radically different than good
sex. I picked my way through the rubble, stood by the couch and raised the
bucket I brought over my head.
  
  SPLASH! A few gallons of icewater made an impressive noise. I tried to
avoid covering the stain on his crotch, so most of the bucket's contents
ended up on Thomas' head. The drunk man shot up, dazed and shocked. By the
time he regained his bearings the sole of my boot rested firmly on his
chest, pushing him back. I hopped on the couch, leaped behind it (Gino will
have to toss it; piss, water, mud... ah, fuck it, if it keeps Tommy Dearest
away, I don't give a damn, I thought) and took a handful of Thomas' soft
brown hair in my left hand, giving it a pull and a twist. His head bent
back, neck exposed and vulnerable. I was beginning to have fun. His
shocked, uncomprehending grey eyes locked onto mine.
  
  "Fuck, man, the fuck you doing?!"
  
  "Having fun," I growled. "Teaching an abusive fuck a lesson."
  
  Tommy Dearest twisted, reaching for my face. I gave his forearms a whack
with one of my favorite tools: bass guitar string, thick and cruel. Fat red
welts started rising immediately and Thomas screamed in pain. I
administered another strike, still holding him by the hair. I didn't want
him to sober up too fast; half-dazed with drink, pain and surprise he'll be
easier to manage for now, and later I'd attempt to make him retain the
teachings I was so kindly providing him. I bent closer to his face.
  
  "Why'd you come here, you miserable lump of half-aborted lard?"
  
  Tommy sputtered indignantly, so I twisted his hair again.
  
  "Ow! I wanted to see my boyfriend!"
  
  "Gino's not your boyfriend anymore. He doesn't want you here."
  
  "He made me dinner!"
  
  "You threatened him. You broke into his house."
  
  "I just wanted to see him!"
  
  "You did. Then you fell asleep drunk and made a disgrace of
yourself. Look!"
  
  I bent his head forward, pushing his back hard. I hoped he had spinal
problems; if he didn't, I hoped I'd've given him some. His face ended up
not far from his wet crotch.
  
  "You pissed yourself, you filthy scumwad. If you can't hold your liquor,
don't drink it."
  
  Again the indignant sputtering. "I didn't piss myself! It's the water!"
  
  My knife slipped under the waistband of his jeans and made quick work of
the taut fabric. Tommy's junk was now visible in all its piss-soaked glory.
  
  "I didn't have to pour icewater over this disgrace, it can't even get any
smaller." I was lying through my teeth; Thomas had a fat cock and a set of
large balls in a tight, shaved sack. But desperate times require desperate
measures. "You little fuckin' baby, why don't you wear a diaper?"
  
  I let go of his hair and leaped over the ruined couch as he scrambled to
his feet and stood unsteadily. I moved close, getting in his face; we were
pretty evenly matched in height and weight, but he didn't look very
threatening with his limp dick hanging out of the cut in his jeans. I was
bristling with rage and horniness, bullying the bullies always gave me a
hard-on.
  
  "Do you understand what I'm saying, dickhead?"
  
  I took his silence as an affirmative. "Good boy. You will stay the fuck
out of Gino's life and won't set foot in this neighborhood. Got it?"
  
  One of Tommy's hands ventured uncertainly behind his back. I shifted my
grip on the knife and wondered what would he pull on me.
  
  It was a gun. He fumbled with the safety, hands shaking, as he brought it
between us, too shaken to even aim the damn thing. My fist slammed into his
solar plexus as I stepped to his side; dropping the knife I wrenched the
gun from his hands and jammed it under his lower ribs. Surreptitiously I
engaged the safety. I didn't need a corpse on top of everything that
happened tonight.
  
  "You dare come here packing heat." My voice was cold and flat. "You know
Gino hates guns and yet you have the nerve to come armed, you sorry piece
of shit." Now I was growling. "I should turn you in for breaking and
entering, vandalism and armed robbery, but I think it ain't worth it."
  
  I paused and looked down, finally identifying the source of the strange
sound I noticed when Tommy Dearest pulled that piece on me. His exposed
softy was dribbling a rivulet of piss on Gino's hardwood floor; a puddle
was growing between the fuck's sneakers. I wrinkled my nose in distaste and
kicked his legs from under him. Thomas dropped to his knees with a crash,
dick still leaking piteously. Once again I bent his head back; his grey
eyes were full of mute fear. However drunk he was a moment ago, now he was
sober and afraid.
  
  "Hands behind your head. Back straight."
  
  He complied, closing his eyes. He was trembling. Holding the gun to his
temple I squatted down by his side and pulled out a vicious little leather
flogger. I checked out Tommy's dick; no longer leaking, it shriveled
pathetically resting on top of his generous balls pushed out of the cut in
his jeans. I took aim and brought the flogger down on the shaft. Tommy
jumped, eyes flying open and mouth forming a wordless O of surprise; I fed
him the gun in one swift move.
  
  "I won't even bring my dick close to your filthy lips, but you can suck
this gun like a good baby," I said. He moaned thickly and I saw his adam's
apple bob as he swallowed nervously. He went to work on the pistol. After a
minute of that his dick stirred and stretched; several small welts were
visible where the flogger fell. I moved the gun back and forth and flogged
him again. This time he moaned with arousal. I shifted uncomfortably, my
own dick growing rock hard in the confines of my black trousers, as I
whipped his circumcised head and shaft varying the intensity. I gave his
tight balls a few stinging blows as he licked the gun barrel, panting and
pumping his hips. His dick was drooling and his balls pulled up close. I
jammed the gun deep in his mouth and slapped his straining, welted boner
from above with stiff fingers.
  
  Tommy's dick bounced back and fired the first shot of thick white cum
straight up. It landed right below his gorgeously chiseled
cheekbone. Further two shots splattered into the puddle of piss while the
rest dribbled down his reddened shaft, dripping onto his shaved balls like
candle wax. He was gasping ecstatically around the gun barrel. I
straightened up, pulled the gun from his mouth and firmly smacked the back
of his head with my hand.
  
  "Can't even hold your cum like a man, you pitiful overgrown baby. You
will clean this mess."
  
  Obediently he bent down, still twitching from his orgasm, and tried to
mop up the puddle of piss and cum with his T-shirt. The reinforced toe of
my boot nudged his chin.
  
  "With your tongue."
  
  He complied wordlessly. Soon the puddle was gone and the fearful grey
eyes sought mine again.
  
  "Get up. You're leaving this place alive for the last time."
  
  Thomas stood up. I prodded him in the small of the back and he walked
towards the door, head low and hands holding his ruined jeans together. I
adjusted my hopeful hard-on and hid a small, satisfied grin as I followed
him out to his car and stopped him on the sidewalk.
  
  "Do you remember what I told you?"
  
  "Yes, sir. I left this place alive for the last time," he whispered.
  
  I nodded, narrowing my eyes. "Go. I don't want to look at you a minute
longer. Filthy little punk-ass abusers make me sick."
  
  He got in the car, cum still adorning his cheek, and drove off so fast it
looked like a movie on fast forward. Gasping slightly as my fingers made
contact once again I adjusted my cock, which was threatening to bust the
buttons off my fly, and checked the time. Our little showdown took a little
over half an hour. Hiding the gun, I checked other rooms in Gino's place -
no signs of damage or Tommy Dearest's friends - and headed home. With luck
Gino will be calmed down and Mandy won't be put off by the interruption; I
prepared an explanation how things like this don't happen to me often,
really.
  
  I was right. My neighbor and my date were chatting and laughing
companionably. Mandy's eyes twinkled as she looked up at me.
  
  "Well, well, the things you learn when you talk with someone's
neighbors!"
  
  I eyed Gino suspiciously. "What did you tell her?"
  
  "Oh, that you're a good man and an excellent friend," interjected
Mandy. Gino nodded, grinning.
  
  "How was he, Leroy?", he asked.
  
  "Not too much work. Won't bother you again if I'm any judge. Your couch's
ruined, but the house's livable otherwise. You can sleep there no problem
and I'll fix the basement window tomorrow."
  
  Gino's smile slowly disappeared and his eyes widened in fright
again. "Actually, uh... I was hoping I could stay over... just for tonight
really."
  
  Mandy nodded her assent. "It's a good idea. However unlikely that abusive
asshole is to come back, Gino shouldn't stay alone tonight." I felt my
teeth grind dangerously behind my amicable smile.
  
  "Well, okay. You can sleep in my workroom." He looked relieved. Mandy
stood up and stretched, vertebrae popping.
  
  "Leroy, could you give me a lift to my car? I'm starting early at the
shelter tomorrow... oops, it's today already. Damn."
  
  "You can stay over too," I offered. "Gino could sleep here on the couch
and I'll fix you that bed in the workroom."
  
  "No, thanks. I left my stuff home, so if you could just take me to my
car..."
  
  I nodded stiffly. "Let's go."
  
  
  We drove in silence. Finally Mandy patted my hand. "Thanks for the
wonderful date," she said.
  
  "Shame about the ending, though."
  
  "Oh, I think you did the right thing. Poor Gino. He deserves better."
  
  "Sure does," I agreed.
  
  "What did you do with that guy?"
  
  "Oh, this and that." I gave her a lazy smile. People always ask about
this shit, then blanch halfway through the story and say they didn't need
to know. She didn't insist and silence fell once again. At last I pulled
over by her car. Mandy leaned over and kissed me softly on the lips, which
didn't help my aching stiffy.
  
  "Thanks again, knight errant. I'll call you."
  
  She wouldn't, I thought as I watched her lights vanish in the distance. I
brought my car around and headed back home, occasionally giving my hard rod
a rub. I decided to have a quick jerkoff session before I turn in; playing
with Tommy Dearest, watching him wet himself and smelling his fear turned
me on more than I cared to admit.
  

End of part 1 of who knows how many.
(C) Desmond Speaks Freely, 2005