Date: Thu, 4 Oct 2012 20:22:53 +0100
From: Davey R <lsgoodb@hotmail.co.uk>
Subject: BlueShark-Video-16

Author's note: This is sheer dumb fantasy, with sex and violence and dark
elements. Not cool in real life, and not to be taken seriously. Just
something you've found on late night TV. Any movies, actors, television
shows, comic books, etc, that feature in this series are totally fictional.

------------------------------------

BlueShark Video 16


A hot, golden day in Roper's Reach. We hear the distant laughter of kids,
the barking of dogs. There's the muted scuttling of insects in lawn after
ripe green lawn, the flash of rainbows in jerkily spinning sprinklers.

It's the middle of a Saturday afternoon, and Sharkey pulls up in yet
another battered, nondescript car on Justin Benchley's street. A clean
street, without litter or dirt.

Yes, it's Sharkey, not the smokescreen Shackley character. We're back on
familiar ground.

The parents' car is not in the drive, and though Sharkey is usually more
careful to cover his tracks, he knows this family's routine fairly well by
now. Feeling horny and pugnacious, he pushes open their gate and strides up
the lawn with impunity. There's a delicious freshly cut grass smell in the
air, along with that of cooling cherry pie, perhaps from some neighboring
windowsill.

He decides to go around and try the back door, and, as expected, he finds
it unlocked. Pushing it open gently, with a creak, Sharkey invades the
family kitchen. It's scattered with the partially tidied remains of
breakfasts and lunches eaten almost simultaneously, depending on how long
the family member in question has slept in. A tub of margarine with a
crooked swirl of toast crumbs remains on the table next to half a cup of
milky coffee gone cold. A housewives' magazine is discarded on a chair, and
that morning's newspaper is rolled up on the freshly scrubbed work
surface. Lemony freshness and burnt toast mingles with the unmistakeable
scent of dog that always hangs around as a background smell in homes that
have them. Sharkey's not keen on dogs, or loved ones come to that, but it
certainly does smell homely in here.

So different from the earthy damp of that old farmhouse, when this first
started.

There's also the thick scent of steam and laundry. Someone doing the
ironing. With no-one else home, it can only be Justin.

Sure enough, as he pushes open the door to the living room, he finds the
young man standing ironing a shirt. His back to Sharkey, he's wearing only
his boxers and a loose-fitting old T-shirt with one of those dime-a-dozen
ironic slogans on it. Sharkey smiles, obscurely touched by the sight of the
boy doing his domestic chore, humming a pop song.

He decides to clear his throat to announce his presence. Not the best idea
to sneak up on someone holding a scorching hot blunt instrument, after all,
even if he does like the idea of taking the kid by surprise.

He coughs.

Justin turns around, beyond startled. So might you be, because this is now
the original Justin you saw at Sharkey's house, what you think of as the
'real' one. "Jesus, man!" he exclaims, " What the fuck...?!" His eyes dart
from side to side like he expects to be caught with the guy who pays him
for sex. Already he's eyeing the drapes like he's itching to draw them.

"Chill, Justin. I know no-one's home."

Justin slams down the iron. "No-one's home? What the... what, so you just
walk in? You can't do that!"

Sharkey shakes his head, reaches into his pocket and pulls out a roll of
bills. "Three hundred bucks says I can."

Justin is startled. Clearly he never expected to find this hidden, sordid,
separate part of his life right here in his own living room. The idea that
it could happen had never once occured to him. "What, you want me to...?
Look, okay. Okay." He's looking at the money, while tugging awkwardly at
the edges of his t-shirt. He's also coloring a little in embarrassment as
he belatedly realises Sharkey heard his tuneless, unabashed humming. "Give
me a moment to get ready and we can go somewhere, yeah? Just get out of
here quick."

Sharkey flutters the cash again. "No. There's no need for us to go anywhere
else, no need for you to get changed. We do it right here."

"What?!" Justin demands in disbelief.

"Right here, cutie. I've got an unstoppable urge to give you a good banging
right here, right now."

"But..." Justin says, and falters. It's less because he's ran out of things
to say than because the 'but' kind of sums up his every objection.

Sharkey's already unbuckling his belt. The buckle clatters against a framed
kindergarten picture of Justin on the sideboard. He rolls it up and leaves
it there.

"Hey... no way. No. Come on man, please, let's just get in your car and go
somewhere else. We can-"

"Shut up, Justin. It's here or not at all. And then you don't get your
money."

Justin runs a hand through his mussy hair. He's not been in the shower
yet. In fact, he probably wears that crumpled old T-shirt to bed. He's
looking over to the drapes again. "But, fuck man, my parents have gone to
the mall. What if they come back?"

Now, that idea absolutely terrifies Justin. It is nightmarish to him,
grotesque.

Sharkey shrugs nonchantly. "You're so worried about that, you better just
fuckin' hurry up."

Justin's shoulders sag a little. He looks around. "What do you wanna -"

"Let's not piss around," Sharkey says.
 "Over the back of that sofa there."

Worn old thing, that sofa. The Benchleys have owned it for close to two
decades. Justin must have watched hours of TV on it, growing up. It was
totally a part of his life, one of those parts you don't even think about,
a constant. Sharkey is dying to pork Justin right on top of a part of his
life. He pulls off his shoes, jeans and socks, motions at Justin to removed
his boxers. In spite of everything, the beautiful young man is sporting a
chubby. Likewise, when Sharkey takes off his black briefs, throwing them
onto the nearby sofa, his big cock is close to fully erect.

"Real quick, son. Come over and get them lips around my dick."

Looking again to the curtains, Justin hesitates and then moves over to
Sharkey. Still wearing his dishevelled tee but nothing else, he sinks down
onto his bare knees and begins tonguing at Sharkey's balls and the hot
underside of his cock.

"Mmmmmmmm..." Sharkey seethes, his lust for the boy just coursing through
him. "Damn, boy, you get better and better. I guess practise does make
perfect!"

He holds tightly onto Justin's head as the sexy little whore slurps and
tongues roughly and efficiently at his cock. He does it almost with
professional skill, with his own practised techniques that he doesn't even
realise he's been taking care to develop. Justin can't quite admit to
himself that he is one awesome little cocksucker, but it's true. Sharkey's
knees almost buckle thanks to the intense working over his eager dick is
getting.

"Fucking suck it, yeah, that's fucking fantastic you dirty little
motherfucker. Oh! Fuck! Yes!"

Standing upright at the end of the board, the iron still hisses away
softly.

Justin's head swivels and gyrates athletically on his great cock. It's
Sharkey who wrenches the succulent mouth away, grips him beneath the
armpits and yanks him up off his knees. Taking him by the shoulders, he
bundles him roughly over to the sofa and slams him down on it.

As Justin lays on his back on the well-worn old couch, Sharkey pulls him by
the slender ankles so that his head lies right in the middle of the three
cushions, his legs dangling over the arm. Sharkey climbs astrides his
chest, arms braced against the opposite side, and starts fucking his face,
oh fuck yeah, furiously pounding his prettyboy face. There are a couple of
choking and gagging sound as he fucks and fucks like a bastard, but Justin
takes it like a man. Like a hot young man getting his face fucked in while
the ironing waits for him anyway. Sharkey's ass thrashes up and down as his
way hard cock pummels the fuck out of Justin's thoat on his family
sofa. Then he climbs off. Turning a little purple in the face, Justin
catches his breath in quick, whooping gulps as Sharkey lifts him up again
by the arms.

Yanking him around like a piece of meat, Sharkey takes the kid round behind
the sofa and slams him over the back of it. He raises one of Justin's sweet
bare legs, hooking it up over the back of the sofa and holding it firmly by
the ankle as he gets into position with his cock over the boy's widened,
prone lusciously pink asshole. Justin clutches as best he can to various
parts of the sofa as Sharkey guides his dick up inside him. A gasp comes
from deep inside Justin's gut. Then another. Then another and another as
Sharkey cocks him relentlessly, like he's trying to nail him to the fucking
sofa.

With his free hand, Sharkey holds onto Justin's neck, pushing his head down
as far as he can, because folded over as far as he can go, each
"uuuuuhhhh!" from Justin's throat gets deeper and more bestial. Sharkey
only lets go to reach out for his own discarded briefs and slam them,
inside out, against Justin's nose and mouth. Justin has no choice but to
inhale the heavy man smell of Sharkey's balls and sweat and remnants of
piss as the big man smothers his face in them. Now Sharkey pulls Justin's
torso up against him, so that the back of his head is squeezed against
Sharkey's upper chest. As he hurtles towards his orgasm, Sharkey lets go of
the fucker's ankle, he's deeply buried in that ass now, and wraps his arm
tight around Justin's chest and arms. Both of them bend at the waist to
collapse forward over the sofa, and Sharkey feels his cum boiling away
inside him ready to erupt. They're moaning in unison, Justin Benchley
trapped in Zac Sharkey's powerful grip as the heat of the oncoming climax
burns and rips through the man's abdomen.

And then he yells out loud, yells at Justin and this living room, with its
ornaments and framed pictures and still-open curtains, yells as he feels
his seed spurting hot and thick from him and taking posession of the
beautiful youngster's insides. Bucking and bucking, he feels five good
volleys blast their way out of him as his hips, with a mind of their own,
try to grind their way impossibly far inside Justin Benchley. Sharkey's
cock pummelling away like it's trying to burst out the front of the
gorgeous boy.

"Arrrrggghh Unnnnhh uunnhhhhgggh .... hhhhhhh.... urrrrrr....hhh...", the
wordless, satiated rattle spills out of him just as easily. The brief
moment when desire is sated, when he feels his lust fulfilled and
consummated. As the last of his jizz leaves him, he feels totally content
in his mastery of the boy and his hot young body. Justin gasps and wheezes,
sweating, face pressed up against the cushion, underpants still lying by
his sweating, cute-as-fuck face.

Sharkey lets out a long satisfied sigh before getting up off his little
whore and slapping him on the ass. Cum oozes from Justin's asshole,
trickles down the back of his thigh. Sharkey takes the shirt off the
ironing board and uses it to mop it away, pushing the scrunched-up shirt
into Justin's butthole and making a rough scrubbing motion.

He drops the cummy, soaked shirt on the floor. "Sorry about that there,
babe. I guess you'll have to iron another one. Heh."

Justin remains awkwardly draped over the back of the sofa as Sharkey pulls
back on his pants, socks and shoes. He leaves behind his underwear, which
Justin is for some reason clutching in one hand.

"Money's right here on the sideboard, kid. That was fucking great," Sharkey
says as he leaves, satisfied, not looking back.

----

Of course, that overwhelming feeling of satisfaction never lasts long. Soon
Sharkey has the itch to have Justin in his home again. And Sharkey is not
the kind of guy who suppresses his impulses, so once he has the idea, it's
inevitable that it will happen.

----------------------------

But how did it get to this point? We last saw Justin heading back to Ropers
Reach from DeMontley in a cab. Saw him trying to ignore the raw, ruptured
soreness in his freshly plundered asshole and deciding to erase the memory
of his grubby fucking from his life.

Well you see, Sharkey had other ideas.

Justin didn't see Laila again in the diner, or hear from her anymore on his
phone. Weeks went by, then a couple of months. He was relieved, he guessed,
that she seemed to have taken the hint. He still had the hots for her a
little, but couldn't face the idea that this woman had watched him getting
fucked by a guy.

Jeez, fucked by a guy. He kept remembering being held in that man's arms,
that cock driving into him. He couldn't believe it had happened.

And yet. Well, wasn't it inevitable that one morning he should find Sharkey
sitting at one of the booths with a shit-eating grin, politely ordering
eggs and bacon from behind a pair of shades.

Justin tried not to react, but felt a lurching in the pit of his stomach,
his bowels doing three things at once, and none of them pleasant. As the
man's bare, brute forearms rested against the familiar everyday formica, he
felt invaded all over again.

Mechanically, he took the order, went about his routine. Silently he willed
nothing about his secret to erupt into the open. Let the man eat, pay up,
and go.

And that's what Sharkey did, without a backward glance.

And that's what he did the next morning, and the next.

By the end of the week, Justin mustered up the gumption to hiss in a
whisper as he served up sausages and hash browns: "Look, just fuckin' stop
coming in here, alright?"

Sharkey barely reacted at all, and Justin knew his little stand had come
off pitiful, that his voice had cracked halfway through. Goddamn
it. Sharkey departed as casually as ever, leaving him the usual generous
tip and giving no sign that he wouldn't return the next morning.

He didn't return the next morning. Instead he returned the next night, when
Justin was on a late shift, and when he'd reluctantly agreed to cover for
his co-worker, Marian, who'd gone out yet again to meet up with her no-good
boyfriend. Justin was left holding the fort, and he'd have been annoyed if
it hadn't meant that that at least he got an hour's break from goddamn
Marian endlessly bending his ear about the imagined good qualities of the
boyfriend. Something about not reoffending was one of them.

"Alone at last," Sharkey smirked when he entered the empty diner. It was as
if he'd been waiting just outside for his entrance cue.

Justin swallowed, perplexed. He tried squaring up to the guy. "Look, what
we did - what I did ... what I let you do - it was a mistake. Okay? I want
you to stop coming in here -"

Disconcertingly, Sharkey brushed all Justin's words aside with a knowing
nod, like the boy was quoting from a script that Sharkey had himself
prepared. Justin almost had the sense Sharkey was mouthing along to them,
they were that predictable.

"Yeah, yeah, that's great," Sharkey then interrupted. The remark was not
sarcastic; it was more like he was casually approving of the line
reading. "Listen, babe, whether you know it or not, you are fucking hard to
just forget about -"

- even now, Sharkey knew this appeal to the kid's vanity would hits its
mark -

"- and I've come to make you an offer. You suck me off, quickly, before
your little friend gets back-"

"She's not my friend," Justin corrected stupidly.

" - and I'll give you a hundred bucks. Plus I'll stop coming by here to
eat. Deal?"

"No! No deal" Justin shot back.

"You're sure? Really?" Sharkey replied, amused. "Think it over, kid. A
hundred dollars for, what, five minutes work, and I stop bugging you each
morning. Look. I'll go for a little walk around the block, come back in
ten. Marian won't be back from her little date with Tanner for at least
another half hour, so we've got time."

He smiled as he left. "Seeya soon, hot stuff."

Justin broke out in a cold sweat only as the bell rattled when the door
closed behind Sharkey. Fuck's sake - Marian? Tanner? Had this guy been
taking notes?

Justin didn't notice how quickly he was pacing the floor, how he was
glancing in panic out of the window like he thought the cops might be
watching or something. He wondered if another customer might come in before
the guy came back, and if that would even put off the limey bastard from
coming in here and making his nasty homo demand again...

Hey. Limey bastard? Yeah... yeah, that was right; his accent hadn't sounded
like that before. He'd taken it for midwestern.

It didn't feel like ten minutes. It was an eternity in a muddled,
adrenalised sense of panic with a vague but clawing dread at the aspects of
it he just couldn't add up. His cock scrunching up to nothing and then
lurching from nowhere into a chubby didn't help clarify anything. A ghostly
twinge came to his his asshole like it remembered being filled up and was
maybe hungry for the same thing to happen again. Or maybe he was just going
to fart in fear. It was like everything below the waist was betraying him.

Finally, he went from pacing about to sitting at one of the tables,
clutching at the opposite edge of it white-knuckled like he was on a boat
lurching violently in a storm. He breathed heavily, trying to compose
himself, trying to calm down and make sense of what was happening to him.

How he didn't hear the tinkle of the bell again, he didn't know. Perhaps
the hated man snuck in through the back entrance this time. But the scent
of a dense, woody sort of cologne came to his nostrils only an instant
before he felt Sharkey's hand rest against his head and run gently through
his hair.

He didn't flinch. He felt this was inevitable. He kept looking ahead at the
half-assedly scrubbed, grubby surface of the table. He stared straight
ahead as the man who had fucked him continued to run a hand through his
pretty curly hair.

Then he lifted his head to face him. His eyes wide, glazed. Sharkey stood
over him, a wide, hulking definite presence in denim and flannel. It was
like he was in disguise as one of the legion of blue collar and trucker
guys who dined in this place. Justin had always felt an abiding sense of
intimidation when those guys were around, which had only partly started to
abate when he took that job on the construction site last year. To them he
was a guy doing the job of a waitress, and because they couldn't flirt with
or harrass him, he seemed to subtly confuse and irritate them. They kept
calling him "boy" resentfully, like they blamed him for not being a
girl. Some of them made sense of him by calling him "son".

Now as Sharkey loomed over him, fondling his hair, as Sharkey's fingers
slid around his earlobe and took a hold of his jaw, he felt a weird sense
of gaining the approval of those men. He wouldn't admit it to himself, but
what he felt was glad.

And scared. Sharkey sensed this and continued to stroke his face gently,
like he wanted to reassure him.

"Come on, kid" he said, gesturing towards the entrance to the kitchen, and
the back door beyond.

Justin felt himself moving before he had an awareness of willing himself to
do so. Sharkey's hands brushed against his waist as he stood up from the
booth, and then prodded him lightly in the small of the back as the older
guy ushered him patiently towards their destination.

In the dark outside, Sharkey leaned back against a dumpster that had stood
there for years now. Sheltered from view even in the small yard by the huge
trash cans, Justin Benchley got down on his knees as he watched Sharkey's
hands unzip his fly. The sound seemed so crisp, so loud.

It was chilly out, and in an unthinking physical way, his mouth welcomed
the warmth of the cock. He'd never sucked on a cock before; now he found
himself doing it like it was what's expected of him. This guy Sharkey was
treating him as if this was something he had done before, and his attitude
made Justin feel like he had. The man's hands fondled gently and
encouragingly at his head, and he learned his way around a big hard dick
with his lips and his tongue and the clenching insides of his cheeks.

"That's it... that's it, you're doing great, kid" Sharkey encouraged. "Good
boy... oh man, good boy, that's it..."

Justin didn't know what would happen when the cum erupted. Wondered if he
would taste it. Or swallow it. Or if it would spill on him messily? No, he
couldn't let that happen, not on his uniform. Perhaps he would feel it on
his face - wondered if that would really be better than its messing up his
collar, and the dumb bow tie he has to wear.

Justin wanted it over as neatly as possible. He thought like a
fugitive. Swallow the evidence. When the thick liquid heat pumped from the
man, he glugged it down, those fingers kneading the back of his skull.

Sucking the last drops from the tip of the man's cock, he watched as a
satisfied Sharkey replaced his big saliva-coated member in his pants and
zipped up. This big guy, kind of threatening now that he was towering over
the kneeling Justin - felt like part of the same masculine world that
created the ugly utility of these refuse containers all around him. As the
jizz warmed his insides, he felt he had been let in on some secret that he
could never have put into words. The sound of a car somewhere nearby seemed
to call to him. It was part of some nameless conspiracy of the man-world,
with its steel and machines. Sharkey would depart here in just such a
vehicle. Back to DeMontley, if that was even where he really lived.

Sharkey patted him appreciatively on the head, shoved the money into his
trembling hand, and simply left.

Right then, as he knelt in the cold with his knees starting to hurt against
the concrete, Justin knew that wasn't the end of it. He rolled his tongue
around his emptied mouth, tasting the remnants of the man's cum. Most of it
had shot straight past his taste buds, right down his throat. He knew he'd
taste it again, more fully, just as he knew his mouth would be filled again
in the same way.

Doing this hadn't ended it at all. Something was beginning.

--------

It gives Sharkey a particular pleasure to be the one to deflower Justin -
and it is most certainly in those terms that he thinks of it; blossoming
young man Justin Benchley is his to take and ravish like some tender,
blushing girl. His sweet, virginal boy asshole is as much there to be
conquered by the right man as any young and ripe girl's cunt. The fact that
not every gorgeous young man goes through this rite of passage just makes
it the more fulfilling an achievement to see to it, to make absolutely and
thoroughly sure, that Justin does.

Look at Justin. Look at all those publicity stills you found earlier. You
know it as well as I do: what a goddamn waste it would be for all that
beauty to never be enjoyed by a man.

But more than that - it needs to be enjoyed in every possible way. There
must not be a single possibility suggested by the young, strong developing
manhood of Justin Benchley that is not seized on and exploited completely,
exhaustively.

Basically. Zac Sharkey aches to fuck, fuck and fuck the living crap outta
him.

And there's a long way to go from that first night in DeMontley. The first
time Sharkey claimed Justin, it was within the context of the scenario he
had constructed involving the character of Laila Bayliss. Using the young
woman was for sure the most effective and convenient way of easing Justin
in to the idea, and then the reality, of being fucked by a guy. Letting him
think it was a one-time thing, 'sophisticated' and illicit. Somehow feeling
he was impressing that wild, free-spirited and unfortunately fictional girl
by doing it. But for Sharkey that night was only ever a starting
point. Sure, there was a cheap, raw thrill to the way they fucked -
ironically perhaps, given the cost and pre-planning that was truly involved
- but there was something missing too. Or, in truth, there was something
too present.

There was "Laila". Justin's straight-boy crutch. Yes, she was a necessity
in the plan, but as far as Sharkey is concerned he has not really taken
Justin until he has taken him on his own terms. And that means just the two
of them. Justin looking him Sharkey in the face and giving himself over to
him.

------


Sharkey had told Justin he wouldn't turn up at the diner again. And while
all such promises were merely expedient, he kept his word. However, only a
couple of week passed before Justin ran into him again, just as he knew he
would.

It was evening, after he'd just got done working a late shift. In a quiet
town like Ropers Reach, any time after about 9pm resembles the absolute
dead of night, so the streets were totally still and deserted. Tired and
ready for a sneaky couple of his dad's beers before going to bed, he was
quickly making his way the short distance home across town when he turned a
corner and --- well: Sharkey. Of course.

The ensuing negotiation was quiet, and quick. Trying to square up to his
full height, Justin felt terribly dwarfed by the imposing Sharkey - felt
himself childishly reduced too, threatened, like a kid talking to a
stranger.

This stranger wasn't offering candy, he was offering cash. He opened a
wallet stuffed with bills, took out a wad and handed it over.

Easy money, kid. That's what he said. Let's face it, it's not even
something you haven't done before. Feels good to stuff that money into your
pocket, huh? Well, that's a downpayment. There's plenty more when we get
through.

And as Justin hesitated, Sharkey told him that if he didn't want to --
well, he could just hand the cash back. Right now.

Justin found himself reluctant to do it. He wanted to hang on to this
money. And he did want more. He was so used to payment at the diner flowing
about as freely as maple syrup from a stone that the idea - the proof, the
physical proof here in the palm of his hand - that he could earn it, in
bulk, just by doing what this guy wanted, and the guy was right, something
that would not even be a new experience to him, something that he could
handle --- well, it was alarming in a way, and unsettling, but also felt
too good to be true. Too easy to be real.

"I make a good living," Sharkey assured him, "Probably better than you
imagine. I'll pay you well. I want you, Justin. You know what I mean. I
want to fuck you. Again. I want to fuck you a bunch of times, man. Our
little secret, of course. Man, I've been craving you ever since that
night. It's your own damn fault for being so hot."

Justin laughed at this nervously, still looking around for witnesses on
this deserted street. He could feel himself maybe blushing again.

He enjoyed the compliment. He knew he did. Even coming from this older dude
- maybe, in some weird way, especially coming from him. Sharkey, well, he
looked like the kind of guy women would go for. All tall and strong and
kind of mean-looking. Not the kind of guy these women would marry, but the
kind they'd get really hot for and cheat on their boyfriends with. He could
probably have his pick of women. But he wanted Justin instead.

He agreed to meet Sharkey a couple of days later, just so long as the guy
went away now. Somehow it made Justin feel better to be agreeing their next
meeting on his own terms, rather than being ambushed out of nowhere like
this. And yet, ultimately, he knew he was doing exactly what Sharkey wanted
anyway,with only a token display of having any choice in the matter.

Their next meeting took place earlier in the evening, a Saturday night,
just as dusk was settling. Justin said he wanted to go somewhere well out
of town if this was going to happen, somewhere they couldn't possibly be
seen or suspected by anyone. An amused Sharkey suggested he take Justin to
his place - after all, it offered total privacy, and more comfort than he
could get in the back of some old car. Justin was wary of this, so said
maybe some other time - already carelessly acknowledging that this was
something that was going to happen more than once.

They spent a long, long time driving around the loneliest country roads in
the extensive woods to the north of the small town. Justin insisted on
Sharkey driving way beyond the farthest gas station, popularly considered
to be the most distant oupost of the town, and out of reach of any remote
motel. Sharkey played along with Justin's paranoid wishes, kind of enjoying
the drive, and the boy's fugitive need to sweep this dirty secret out to
the very limit of his tiny world.

Finally they pulled over in a natural alcove in the foliage at the side of
a twisting dirt track. It was a road that led to what was left of an
ancient, derelict farmhouse. The Halsteads' old place, uninhabited for
decades. Parked here, Sharkey beckoned Justin to climb into the back seat,
and then enjoyed helping the boy remove his clothes - and encouraging the
lad to help him take off his own - in the cramped, confined space. In near
total darkness it was a matter of feeling his way around the young man -
with his hands, with his mouth and tongue. An intense if not ideal
experience - Sharkey promised himself he would enjoy Justin in a far more
comprehensive way at a later date. The boy was to be savored, his beauty to
be appreciated in the full light of day.

A grinding fuck against the old, torn vinyl. The damp smell of Justin's
hair, fuzzy where it was cut shorter as it approached his neck. A warm,
half natural and half synthetic scent from the mixture of perspiration and
whatever hair product he used. Cute, the kid had thought to put some
cologne on tonight too, something he didn't do during the rest of the
week. A young kind of scent with a fizz to it. It was like he was treating
this as a special occasion. Sharkey wondered, nibbling at Justin's earlobe,
if the scent was something his girlfriend had bought him as perhaps a
birthday or Christmas present. He was gratified at this idea.

Sweet. It sweet for Sharkey to have his body awkwardly on top of
Justin's. The cramped space forced them into greater intimacy than might
otherwise have been the case, no room at all for little gasps of
separation, and Justin was content to let out long, pleased-sounding moans
as his erection rubbed against the seat and Sharkey pushed up and down
inside him while kissing at his neck. Justin was ravished, that was the
word for it, like a girl. Like some farmer's daughter from that rotten old
house at the end of this road, out here on some secret date with a bad boy
from the town.

When they got through in the car, Sharkey wasn't sated. He had an itch to
take Justin up to that old wreck of a farmhouse, have him again up there,
right now. Justin agreed readily enough - perhaps surprisingly; not even
demanding further payment for this extension of his services. He'd become a
stricter negotiator later. In some other movie this switch of scenery would
be a terrible idea - the old abandoned farmhouse, the horny couple. Just
the kind of movie, in fact, that a "teen" actor (probably in reality in his
twenties) like Jared Shaden might act in between seasons of Ropers
Reach. But this is not a horror, and no cookie-cutter shorthand exists in
such movies for the odd coupling of Zac Sharkey and Justin Benchley.

The scanty remains of the old family home in the moonlight were not a
hospitable place for sex, less comfortable than the shabby Shelby which
Sharkey had parked inside the barn. But there's something to be said for
determination, and Sharkey really wanted this to happen here. A naked
Justin got one leg up on a grubby window ledge to allow Sharkey entry to
his asshole, hands grasping at either side of the cracked window frame. No
chance of being seen out here in the middle of nowhere, so Justin didn't
object to being fucked by Sharkey at the most visible point in the
building. There was in any case a thick frosting of dust across the
remaining panes. The old house was a melancholy, decaying reminder of lives
gone by, a family home turned ancient ruin, partly collapsed and probably
dangerous to be in. Sharkey clung on to Justin's hot and pounding youth, so
out of place in this mausoleum, the suppleness of his flesh at odds with
the splintered, tombstone-cold harshness all about them.

Justin, even in his beauty, seemed so small and pathetic when they were
done, as he picked up his crumpled pile of clothes from the furred
floorboards to put them back on. Limbs and lean muscles softly stroked by
shards of moonlight. By contrast, the strangely still and carved-looking
Sharkey barely seemed out of place. The dull menace present in his glare
rhymed with that of the deep shadowy ridges all around them. A brooding,
foreboding blankness now that he had spilled his second load clumsily
against Justin's scrotum.

Justin wouldn't again ask that they leave the warmth and light of the town
to do this. Even the roll of bills in the pocket of his jeans seemed more
warm, more clammy and alive, than this place.


------

Justin belongs in sunshine. That is his element. How beautiful he looks
here, strolling through the small town's humble main park with his
fiancee. His easy smile, a shared giggle, heading off to buy them each an
ice cream. His cotton t-shirt cleaving lovingly to his body. The rolled-up
leash of the Benchley family dog in one hand as the terrier bounds about a
few steps behind them.

Sharkey watches. From a car, in the distance. Rubs his hand over his
closely-shaved hair. Hard to see if there's anything different in his
stare, veiled as it is by sunglasses. Look closely enough into them and we
just see a tiny, sunlit Justin reflected back.


---------

The next time Sharkey made an 'appointment' with Justin, a usefully free
Saturday that Beth was spending with her girlfriends, Justin agreed to go
with Sharkey to his home. Far better, he thought, than hiding out way out
of town. Sharkey's house was a short drive in the other direction, and a
revelation to Justin when he saw it. He'd had no inkling Sharkey was such a
wealthy guy; realised instantly the only limit to the flow of cash in his
direction was his his own willingness.

Justin asked about that place in DeMontley. Sharkey muttered something
about it having been a temporary accommodation in the city, for work. He
knew perfectly well Justin didn't believe him, but it didn't really matter
now.

The experience was so much easier for Justin than it had been the last
time. Easier, and maybe even pleasurable. Sharkey plied Justin with liquor
and some intense weed, and they made out on as unimaginably huge and plush
couch. It made the one in Justin's family home seem like a flat old
mattress with springs poking through. It was sumptuous, that was the word -
Justin remember his old English teacher Ms Ides using that one, he'd gone
home and looked it up so he could use it an essay some day. Never expected
to be remembering it in a context like this - him and some older muscled
dude kissing and feeling each other in a kick-ass millionaire house. Never
expected that they'd both be there with their shirts off and this guy would
be kissing adoringly at his own chest, the man enjoying its only slightly
contoured slenderness as eagerly as any other dude would go at a pair of
tits. Justin hadn't expected he'd want to fondle back, but the guy was so
strong and fit, and there was something irresistible about the bulge of his
muscles, wherever they arose. Justin couldn't help feeling his way around,
getting turned on. It was difficult in this rich, fit-bodied guy's home,
not to feel somehow privileged to be chosen by him. Justin didn't feel
grubby any more, safe inside this compound, far from the possibility of the
prying eyes of Ropers Reach. He certainly didn't feel like he was making a
prostitute of himself. Maybe it was the comfort, the weed, the music -
Sharkey had asked him to choose, and Justin went for the familiar,
smooth-edged sex-pop from some recent hit album - but this felt happily
disconnected from his real life. He was able to let go of his
inhibitions. He and Sharkey sucked on each other's cocks for ages, and
Sharkey made out with Justin's ass for longer, saliva first and then
lube...

... yes, here was what Sharkey had not been able to enjoy in their fugitive
out-of-town encounter: the luscious pink of Justin's hole. Surrounded by a
wispy kind of pubic hair - the kid's not rife with body hair but he neither
does he shave or wax like some of the slutty boys Sharkey is accustomed to
- the flesh here is a flush, almost lipstick kind of color, the more so as
Sharkey teases and moistens. Today, with plenty of time to spare, Sharkey
softens it up further, prepares Justin the more with a gorgeous eternity of
dildo play, holding off the entry of his own cock into that hole as long as
he can stand before, at last, sinking deliciously in.

As Sharkey pounds Justin this time, first with the boy pressed beneath him,
then doggy style as Justin clutches the headboard, he lets his hands feel
at length up and down the contours of Justin's body, every single part of
it he can reach, from the crown of his hair to the heels and soles of his
feet, like he wants to be able to know it fully, to recognise it in the
dark. He loves Justin's triceps which, for whatever reason, have become one
of the better developed parts of his arms. Justin reacts with a lazy
acceptance rather than lustful abandon, but he swallows down Sharkey's cum
afterwards, sucking on this dick that tastes of the mucus of his own ass.

-----

That's not the only time they are together at Sharkey's house, though it
doesn't happen there quite enough for him. Justin is tediously overburdened
by the necessitites of his daily life - the constant shifts at that diner,
the spending time with his girlfriend. He seems, at least, to have become
estranged from his old high school buddies, and that at least allows
Sharkey greater purchase on him. Often there just isn't the time to drive
Justin out of town and back, so Sharkey settles again for sneaky, furtive
fucking in the backs of cars. They don't have to drive quite so far as that
first night as, becoming more expert at this, Justin starts accumulating a
list of empty or abandoned parts of town where they can hide out to
hump. Economic decline around these parts has its upside for the pair. The
tumbledowns prove a handy spot.

-----

Sharkey has his eyes on Justin more than the lad realises. Here he is
watching him play softball in the park, pulled into the game by some
friends-of-a-friend, a bunch of Beth's pals, the boyfriends of her
girlfriends. A flirty, appreciative whistle from roundabout as Justin pulls
off his shirt midway. A confidence in his physique he's not had before, it
probably comes from being lusted after by Sharkey, from having the appeal
of his own body so thoroughly confirmed from outside.

Sharkey, as he watches, feels a kind of pride in his boy.

-----

As long as the money flows, it seems Justin is quite happy to indulge
Sharkey's whims. Here we see another scene of the pair, another hot and
sunny day...

In fact Sharkey's entire dalliance with his cute sweet boy next door gives
the impression of having taken place over one long, endless summer. Movie
logic, as ever, does not tally with real life, and no summer could really
have lasted so long.

Still, there's a rich beauty to the cinematography here.You can feel the
heat of this golden day, but there's a sombreness to its pitch black
shadows - colors burning in sunshine but peppered with the deepest
darkness.

Oh, he looks like a figure in some ancient classical painting, Justin
Benchley, as he works at washing Sharkey's car. He looks eternal.

Justin has a long task to perform on this particular afternoon. Sharkey has
brought four of his cars around to the back lawn, and now sits back on a
sun lounger and watches as he has Justin strip down to just his underwear
and clean each of them, one by one.

Sure, there's no need for Sharkey to get Justin to do this. He could have a
far better job done by professionals if he wanted. In fact he's very likely
to have all of the vehicles cleaned and buffed again in the coming days
anyway, to wipe out the effects on the paintwork of Justin's shoddy
scrubbing.

Not the point. The point is to watch it; the point is to have the boy doing
this work for him.

Even in the open, Sharkey watches Justin through a pair of tinted
shades. It is desperately arousing to study this almost naked young man's
body hard at work on these big, shining vehicles that are all glistening
carapaces of Sharkey, all avatars of his wealth and power. Let's skip the
deconstructionist essay and say that these cars, each one of them, are in
essence Sharkey's cock, and that Justin is performing one long, coquettish
blowjob as he wipes and polishes them, draped across the bonnets and
leaning across the roofs. The black Mercedes, the gleaming like new
Mustang, the lipstick red Corvette ... these cars are better than any pole
or podium for displaying a young man's body to its best. The curves and
contours seem moulded to the capacities of his body; the vicious hardness
and bright glitter of cold metal form the perfect contrast to the softness
and warmth of skin and flesh. Justin looks like he is the slave of these
monsters. It like this is a sci-fi movie and he is a serf, tending to the
needs of these metal behemoths.

The truth is not so different, and with every stroke of his leather cloth,
he is serving Sharkey. Sharkey is smoking a Cuban cigar as he enjoys
this. He is himself unclothed. There's no-one around to see in the
compound, nobody for miles around. Reclining, his lean and juttingly brawny
body thoroughly tanned, he pleasures himself with long and leisurely
strokes of his massive erect cock as he watches Justin go about his
work. The radio plays, and occasionally Justin sways his hips to the music,
each time abruptly stopping when he becomes conscious that he's doing
it. Of course. Too unwilling, too mindful of his pride, to dance for
Sharkey in addition to carrying out this... this chore.

Although Justin tells himself he is baffled by this strange homo whim of
Sharkey's, this desire to see him at work like this first, rather than to
simply fuck like normal, the truth is that the boy instinctively
understands the situation here. Despite not being physically penetrated, he
feels overwhelmed, owned even, by Sharkey, whose eyes he can feel on him
the entire time, burning into him more than the sunlight. He feels like
Sharkey is a king watching from this dance from his throne.

Worse for him, Justin struggles the entire time against an involuntary
erection. But even as he battles its treachery, he is vain enough to strike
deliberate poses against the vehicles as he wipes at them with his soapy
cloth. Because he wants to look good, he want this admiration even as he
tries to imagine he resents it.  Beth - man, thoughts of his 'real' life
seem strange here - may treat him as her man, her protector, and that makes
him feel strong and grown up. But no-one, none of the girls he has known,
has ever lusted for him the way Sharkey does. Beth would never savor him
this way, as an object of beauty in itself. This is something totally
other.

Sharkey doesn't miss the way Justin's semi-hard keeps coming and going. The
man is so accustomed to having his way, it almost surprises him that he
cannot simply will it into full life, stare at the outline of that dick
long enough to make it spring up, upright and unavoidable, tenting Justin's
cartoon-print Lunar Surf Guy boxers. That's it, my boy, fucking give in to
it, he thinks as he watches Justin's manful struggle against his own
excitement. Fucking give in to it, and to me.

.... and why not a world like this? When the neighbor boy is old enough,
give him a few dollars to wash the car in your yard. A couple more bucks
for every item of clothing he takes off while he does it. Gee, Jim, turned
into a fine young man,ain't he? you could say to his dad over the
fence. You mind if I...?

Of course not, sure thing... Thanks, Jim .... and then you and a couple of
buddies drink beers and jerk off watching the neighbour's stud son in
action. Damn, he's so fuckin' hot, why be uptight about it? Then afterward,
hand over a roll of bills and have the hot teen suck all these hard-working
older guys off ... He can hand the cash over to his mom and pop ... at
least earning some honest money and contributing if he ain't going to be
moving out yet...

Great deep throating your boy gives, Jim, you call over the fence next day
as you head out to work. Same deal next weekend? ...

There comes a point when Justin turns himself away from the Mercedes' door
and there is an unmistakeable thwack of his boner. Sharkey leans forward a
little more, stroking up and down his cock in delight at this confirmation
of what he knows about Justin Benchley, even if the boy doesn't understand
it about himself.

Oh yes, he'll remember this carefree afternoon long after; the young man at
work for him, servicing Sharkey's desires. His beauty, man. This golden
moment of his beauty that makes Sharkey ache. The only problem he now faces
is choosing which car's hood he will take him on. Bliss.

--------

There are times when he is separated from his young lover, hankering after
him, that Sharkey ponders the root of his craving for this boy. He decides
it is probably his appalling, alluring wholesomeness - the poster-boy good
kid, the cute small town young man. And he is, too, the all-American
boy. That remains something exotic for the London-born Sharkey, something
almost cinematic, fictional. He knows he cannot simply be in the grip of
some desire to recapture his lost youth - the fact is he was never, ever
such a young man as Justin Benchley is. He did not blossom in the sunshine
or the picturesque comforts of pastel-shaded suburbia. He didn't have the
middle-class security, the indulgent, expansive structure around him that
would allow him the extended period of late adolescence that Justin
Benchley enjoys at an age when Sharkey considered himself a grown and
hardened man.

Sharkey, you've seen him at work, is often at pains to teach men a lesson
when he decides they deserve it.

That is not what he wants with Justin. He wants to preserve him at this
floating, fantasy point between impressionable boy and cynical,
work-defeated man. He wants that gilded, car-washing afternoon to truly
last forever.


----------

When Justin had first surrendered himself to Sharkey, it had been in what
he considered another world. The neighboring city of DeMontley was not so
far away from Ropers Reach, but growing up, he had always considered it
'that other place', treated by his mom and dad and the parents of his
friends as the ultimate elsewhere, the place that was the opposite of
home. So when he had that threesome with Laila and Sharkey - a threesome
that had so rapidly diminished to a twosome, to Sharkey pounding him
roughly against a wall - he'd thought: 'what happens in DeMontley stays in
DeMontley'. And when he'd sucked Sharkey off behind the diner, it had been
outside and uncomfortable, away from the familiar.

But Sharkey has slowly, inevitably brought himself closer and closer to his
quarry. When Justin let himself be fucked in DeMontley, he was safely
'elsewhere'. He couldn't have imagined that he would ever end up having sex
with that man in the living room of his family home. Actually being fucked
ferociously on his own sofa.

Now, Sharkey will have him in his own bed.

-----

This time it's the dead of night when Sharkey arrives at the Benchley
home. Late Saturday, early Sunday morning. In a town less square than
Ropers Reach, you might expect to see more people out late - at the very
least, the occasional reveller arriving home in a taxi. Sharkey knows that
nothing of this kind ever happens in Justin's bland, whitebread
neighbourhood. He has his driver drop him off a good few streets away, and
heads slowly, but quietly and directly, for Clover Way. It's like a
nocturnal ghost town, eerily silent, and he moves inconspicuously in a
black hooded top.

When he reaches the Benchley home, dark windows with drawn curtains,
Sharkey quickly slips around to ease open the side gate and take the back
door.

He has a set of keys, recently cut. During one of Justin's visits to
Sharkey's home, the henchman Rob took a set of keys from the pocket of the
hot young man's discarded jeans while Sharkey was cocking happily away at
him in another room, and had them scanned to be copied. It only took a few
minutes.

Sharkey figures, as he slides the key into the lock, that there are only
two real risks. One is that the family dog might be downstairs. But this is
unlikely - Justin already told 'Laila' that the old mutt sleeps in his
bedroom, and grumbles when members of the family try to persuade it to
slumber anywhere else. As with all potentially usefully information about
Justin, Laila reported it to Sharkey, and he stored it away. Just in case,
he has a couple of doggy treats to hand in one of his pockets, both with
fast-acting sleeping pills inside them.  The other, lesser risk is that
someone might by coincidence come downstairs in the middle of the night -

- he enters the house by the kitchen, closing the door and re-locking it
slowly and soundlessly behind him. This takes him back to the old
days. Back in his youth in London, he'd been the commonest of crooks -

- but this is unlikely. Only reason they'd need to get up is to go piss or
get a drink of water, and there's a bathroom upstairs to take care of
either of those things.

If it comes to it, though, Sharkey always has his fists. Also like in the
good old days. Even in a worst case scenario, he'd never give them time to
note or remember his face.

Anyway, there's no-one around. He heads straight for the door under the
staircase that leads to the basement. There to wait patiently.


-----


The Benchleys are up early, planning a tedious Sunday trip to the home of
an elderly aunt a couple of hundred miles down the freeway. Justin is
usually dragged along on these familial chore-trips, but he is - although
his mom and dad can't quite get to grips with the idea - a grown man
now. Engaged to be married and all. Besides, he works so hard these days,
saving up all his money for the wedding and beyond. They figure he deserves
a lie-in when it comes to the weekend.

The family home is all preparation and irritable bickering for a couple of
hours, with numerous pre-emptive gripes about comments certain to be made
by the grumbling old aunt when they finally do arrive. Justin rises from
his bed just in time to say a quick goodbye as his parents head off.

Then he is left alone, or so he thinks.

Sharkey is not about to spend any longer in the basement than he needs
to. He's gone to these measures because the less times he is seen entering
and leaving the Benchley house at a time when it is conspicuous for him to
do so, the better. But it's dull and depressing hidden down there in the
dark. How, he wonders, does that putrid little Pilce put up with it?

Oh yeah, because he has no choice. Sharkey grins.

At least Sharkey has some entertainment as he waits. Before leaving the
house, he had both his current slaves strapped down onto a fucking machine
each. Plugging in his earphones as he waits in a storage closet in the
Benchley basement, he's been playing a kind of game on his phone, using it
as a remote control and administering various levels of fucking for both of
the sluts. For hours, toggling between two windows on his phone - one
showing the hunky, gorgeous Jordon Lunar, looking a little worse for wear,
and the other live footage of the weakling puke Daniel Pilce getting his
little rodent ass torn apart.

It is, unsurprisingly, Pilce who ends up the worse for wear during the
night's entertainment. Sharkey gives the dildo that is porking him by far
the biggest, most brutal and fastest tempo of thrusts, and it delivers at
least twice the number of electrode shocks to the anus as Jordon
receives. Sharkey's just can't keep his eager thumb off the button where
Pilce is concerned. The fitter, more athletic Jordon attempts to adapt each
time to the changing rhythm of the dildo that is relentlessly pounding him,
his hips swaying sexily back and forth to minimise the
penetration. Naturally, this makes the game more of a fun challenge for
Sharkey, who chooses a selection of erratic movements for the huge fake
cock, such as a swivelling side-to-side move, plus constant reconfiguration
of its ribbed, ridged surface. Finally - yes, bonus points! - Jordon
appeared to learn his lesson, that he cannot beat the relentless ramming of
the dildo, or for that matter his master, and stops his efforts to resist.

Pilce, meanwhile, squirms and gurgles without employing any of Jordon's
instinctive strategy, or even a fraction of his strength. The pathetic cunt
thrashes and spasms, a long string of drool running from his mouth to the
floor. There is a desperate, guttural moaning of despair from him that
Sharkey thinks he will never quite hear enough of. Sharkey has been getting
fucking hornier and hornier as he's played this game, watching his boys
suffer, deciding that Jordon is the 'winner' after Pilce finally pukes a
frothed-up, watery load of the semen that had been deposited down his
throat earlier.

As Sharkey clicks off his phone screen, not actually sure if he bothered to
switch the dildos off or not, he's kind of had his fill of such grubby
thrills - never fear, the hankering for them always returns damn quickly -
and is ready for the comparative wholesomeness of making love to the sweet
Justin Benchley in his own comfortable bed.

He realises also that he would never want to put Justin through such a
torment, that the young guy is in some way special to him. Yes, on a whim
he feels benevolent towards Justin Benchley -- if only in comparison to his
usual tyrannical cruelty. Oh, he still wants to claim him, he still
ultimately aims to see Justin Benchley become a cock-craving pussy of a
young man - but he wants to do it fairly.

When he ascends the rickety old staircase and returns to the ground floor
of the house, it takes Sharkey a few moments to adjust back to the
light. He realises also that he was not mistaken a few moments ago - that
he had indeed heard the front door shut again not long after the parents
had left the house, and that this means Justin has also gone out somewhere.

This irks Sharkey, not being part of his planning. Where's that fucking boy
gone, when his employer is so profoundly itching to fuck him, and has gone
to all this effort?

What it does mean is that he has the oppportunity to go empty his bladder,
and then help himself to a cup of coffee and a waffle. He finds he quite
enjoys this opportunity to wander about the deserted family home, pissing
heavily into its toilet and taking crockery out of its cupboards. It feels
like he's wandered onto a film set, this freeze-frame moment of the absent
Benchleys' lives waiting to be resumed, a bunch of props scattered at
random awaiting the return of the players. It feels illicit for him to
touch or disturb them - perhaps because it literally is - like he's risking
causing a continuity error. He does so anyway, filling a cup with hot
coffee from the pot. As he does so, he notices the other filled coffee cup
standing on the counter, still warm. He spots the carton of milk laying
empty on its side and smiles. Yes, that's it. The boy's gone out to buy
some milk. He pictures Justin, probably on his bike, heading for the
grocery store on the corner, and finds the image both endearing and
arousing.

Reassured that his boy will soon be back, that the wait will still be worth
it, Sharkey swigs back his black coffee and plonks down the cup.

There's only one place he can possibly head now, and you should know where
it is. I mean, where would you go from here in Sharkey's position? There is
only Justin's bedroom. He's drawn up the staircase to the place where
beautiful Justin rests. He only wishes the youth was sleeping there right
now, and that he could watch him doing so - that tender young body of his
burgeoning into strong manhood, lying there as if discarded. Just like this
home, beautiful in abandonment, waiting to be reinhabited. Had Justin not
awoken before his parents left the house, before Sharkey emerged from his
hiding place, that's just what Sharkey would have done. He kind of likes
the idea that he might simply have watched Justin sleep and then left the
house before he woke - likes the idea that he could own and enjoy this
secret privilege without even its subject being aware of it. He knows this
is a daydream idea, though. He could never really have left that temptation
behind without claiming it once more. He hungers for the boy far too much
for that.

As he pushes the door open there is instantly the leftover smell of
Justin's sleeping. A sweet, somewhat salt kind of smell. Sharkey inhales it
keenly, finding it warm and homely, tempered only a little by the less
appealing scent of the old dog that now slowly stirs in the corner.

No guard dog, this animal, it wanders over to Sharkey incuriously, like it
doesn't really believe it's going to find some morsels of food here but
thinks it ought to try its luck just in case. Sharkey pets the animal
tentatively and offers it the drugged doggy snacks. This ensures that after
it has munched them down and rediscovered its usual resting place in the
basket at the foot of the bed, it will sleep for a good few hours.

This trifling matter dealt with, Sharkey resumes his connoisseur's
appreciation of the young man's bedroom. He's glad Justin hasn't opened the
window to let that concentrated aroma of... of boyness out of the
room. This way the kid still seems present. Sharkey picks up some of his
underwear left dropped on the floor - Justin's usual outsized boxers shorts
for wearing with slouchy-waisted jeans. Sharkey recognises them, remembers
he's removed them from Justin's sweet body once before. He takes a sniff of
them with a rumbling moan. Fuckin' delicious, he thinks.

In a prominent place on Justin's shelves is a framed photograph of himself
and the red-haired fiancee, laughing in a park. Can a grown man like
Sharkey, a hardened bastard of a man at that, be jealous of a naive-looking
twenty year-old woman? Well, he grimaces. He has an urge to turn the
picture to the wall, but then thinks he'll be able to look at it while he's
having his way with Justin and think: yeah, I'm fucking your cute little
boyfriend like a bitch.

He rifles through a bunch of pop CDs in cracked cases, some of them
empty. The contents perhaps sitting in a car glove box somewhere, or simply
lost. Justin has a very mainstream taste in music, no surprises
here. Scattered about are old plastic action figures from movies and
TV. Sharkey guesses these have been brought down from an attic or something
and replaced on the shelves in the spirit either of irony or premature
nostalgia. There's a Mighty Sun Surfer, a Lunar Surf Guy, what must be a
hand-me-down Thull doll from the 70s, now there's a collectors' piece, a
crummy Romon Decker figure (as the packaging mistakenly had it) from that
short-lived action hero franchise, and more.

Sharkey appraises Justin's recently vacated and unmade bed. Runs his hand
over it appreciatively, even picking up a wispy stray pubic hair and
twirling it between his fingertips before dropping it to the floor.

That's when he hears the front door open and close, Justin arriving back
home.

Sharkey feels a deep, electric thrill that usually only comes when he's
about to spring his trap on another guy. This casual bout of illegal
intrusion is nothing compared to his usual operations, so it's a compliment
to sexy Justin that the villainous swine is so excited. He exits the
bedroom slowly, checking the terrain. Justin has wandered right into the
kitchen/dining room and is out of sight. Adding the milk to his coffee, no
doubt. Like when Sharkey surprised him in the middle of his ironing, Justin
is unabashedly humming a pop song.

Sharkey creeps down the stairs. There's no giveaway creak on any of them
like there usually is in scenes like this.

He enters the room as Justin is taking a tentative slurp of his coffee to
see if it's hot enough. It's to the pretty boy's credit that he doesn't do
a spit take or drop and smash the cup as he undergoes the horrifying thrill
of seeing movement, a person, in his empty home.

"Holy fuck!" he says after a whooping intake of breath, after going rigid
with fear for just a second.

Sometimes, just sometimes, Sharkey sees new aspects of Justin, he'll do
something that expands his range beyond the usual naive, hardworking
boy-next-door thing. Like those couple of times - oh man, just not
e-fucking-nough of them - when he's gone really wild for being fucked by
Sharkey, when he's let loose something usually kept restrained, and
screamed out just how much he fucking loves getting dicked.

Now, Justin surprises Sharkey by breathing in and out a couple of times,
then nodding over to his coffee and smirking "Lucky I got this, ain't it?"
before taking a flirtatious swig.

Sharkey's impressed, especially since he sees Justin's face hasn't yet
regained its colour from the shock, and that he's clearly battling the
adrenalin that's suddenly coursing its way through him to act so cool.

This is the Justin in whom Sharkey sees potential.

Justin sets his cup down. Again, it only just shows that his hand is
trembling.

"So I guess you've brought some cash with you, huh dude?" he says.

"Of course" Sharkey nods, slightly irritably, patting his jacket pocket
before taking the jacket off and resting it over the back of a
chair. Beneath he is wearing a tight black vest that shows off his big,
ripped body.

If the look Justin gives isn't lust, then it's certainly jealousy. Sharkey
calculates that it's some mix of the two, as he knows - he goddamn knows -
that Justin likes having a man's body on him. However much he may emphasise
the cash each time, like he wants to offer a disclaimer for the Ropers
Reach audience, Sharkey knows that this good kid likes what he does for his
that money.

Justin takes off his own faded blue denim jacket. He's wearing a vest too,
a white one that he probably threw on just to go to the store in. Damn, he
looks good in a vest. He's not built the way Sharkey is, of course. Like a
lot of teenagers and young men, his first concern with his body has been
building up his arms, and the result is that these look pleasingly
oversized for his frame, don't seem proportionate even to the shoulders
that support them. His bare arms are conspicuous, and Sharkey finds them
really fucking horny.

Confidently Justin closes the short distance between himself and the man
who hands over cash to bone him, and rests a hand on Sharkeys's bicep,
squeezing it as he offers his mouth up for a kiss. Sharkey ponders his face
up close for a long moment, looking directly and challengingly into his
eyes, waiting for some flinch, before taking what's being offered. He takes
hold of Justin's face at each side by the jaw as he kisses him
overpoweringly, refusing as a matter of pride to let this reluctant little
slut boy take the initiative. He clutches Justin's head to his, bearing
down on him like he's some predator trying to get at all his insides
through the mouth alone, like he's a fairytale ogre about to gobble up the
woodcutter's son. Justin reaches to grip Sharkey's arm and ribcage as much
to keep balance as to arouse his paymaster.

Sharkey keeps tearing himself away from Justin's mouth only for the
pleasure of going at it again. Each time Justin recovers himself with a
lusty, defiant half grin. Sharkey can feel the beautiful young man's heart
pounding fast and hard, the only sign that he's more scared or maybe
genuinely excited than he wants to let on. But then Sharkey's own heart is
thudding in his chest and throbbing at his crotch too. He's been waiting a
long time for this in the darkness of the Benchley basement - it's his
longed-for reward.

Justin escapes Sharkey's overwhelming, devouring mouth long enough to start
kissing at his arms.

"Ahhhhhh.... ooohhhhfuck, that's it... good boy..." Sharkey growls, because
he loves it when Justin kisses at his biceps. He tugs at the edges of
Justin's vest as this goes on, peeling it away from his lithe, athletic
little body. Jesus, he loves the smooth hairlessness of that body, can't
see how it was made for anything other than a man to fuck. Throwing
Justin's shirt away, he pulls off his own vest too, and they make out with
their bare upper bodies against each other.

Sharkey likes that Justin is smarter than he looks. Not smart enought to
fool him of course, but then the poor boy can have no idea how devious
Sharkey really is. Justin has realised that Sharkey enjoys making him
react, and so he's made an effort not to do it. It's the same strategy
you'd employ with a bully. By not reacting with shock, he probably hopes
Sharkey will become disinterested in doing something like this again. Smart
kid.

Soon the smart kid's on his knees, pleasuring Sharkey's mighty boner with
his mouth and his face. Oh, he's learned something these last few months,
knows well how Sharkey loves it when he uses the whole of his face against
Sharkey's cock to stimulate it further and further.

Now here's something you never usually see in a teen drama's act break. The
gorgeous face of one of the young male stars, swivelling and gyrating
against a great big rigid cock.

Fade to black for commercials. As they're not on this package, it resumes
with Sharkey getting his reward for his long wait; he's hit upon one of
these rare, unpredictable moments when Justin Benchley is really into
this. It's Sharkey's wish - no no, his intention, his aim - that there be
nothing but these moments in his relationship with Justin. He sees it as
only a matter of finding some key that will unlock the little slut in
Justin permanently. He's seen and felt enough to know that there is a
hungry, wild cock craving aspect to the boy, even if he can keep it under
control most of the time. Even if he can rationalise himself out of it
there is potential there --- and the noble Sharkey feels it only right to
help the boy achieve his potential to the full.

Justin's wet tongue is licking and slapping away at Sharkey's erection. The
huge stiff cock is slick and glistening with Justin's saliva, which is
pouring from his mouth, unexpected as the gut punch of excitement deep
inside him at this unexpected eruption of sex into his lazy morning.

No matter how much he pretends to take this in his stride, the eagerly
cocksucking Justin can't possibly guess at the lengths Sharkey has actually
gone to to be here, and to cover his tracks. He must imagine that Sharkey
snuck into the house while he was out, or even followed him in after he
returned from the store, perhaps leaving the door unlocked. Hah. Sweet
kid. Sharkey won't unburden him of his innocence.

The sweet kid's spit trails off of Sharkey's massive dick as his mouth
works its way up and down it, drool spilling and puddling on the linoleum
floor. Justin's making sounds of unabashed joy, lost in the pleasure of
cocksucking like he's forgotten how good it is, or doesn't want for now to
pretend that he does it reluctantly.

"Mmmmm.....mmmmmmmm.... looks like I get big fucking sausage... mmmm... for
breakfast.... uuhhhhhhhh.... huh?"

Sharkey runs his hands roughly through the boy's hair. Still on his mind
are the erotic torments he's been inflicting from afar on Jordon Lunar and
that fucking Pilce, and the pleasure he took from it is still coursing
through his system, adding extra fire to his boner. He enjoys that Justin
is unknowingly complicit in the degradation of Sharkey's collected faggots,
worshipping as he should at the almighty cock that is the reason for their
punishments.

He wonders for a while what Justin's reaction would be were he to take out
his phone and show him the images of Jordon Lunar and Pilce in all their
sexual slavery. Whether he could let Justin have a go at operating the
dildos up their butts, and if the sweet young man would enjoy it. All young
men secretly hanker for that kind of power trip. Could Justin become an
accomplice in his pleasures?

No. No, Justin must not realise just how much of a monster Sharkey
is. Certainly not until Sharkey has has the chance to mold him a little
more. Once he has turned Justin into his ...

Ah. Now, that's interesting. What does Sharkey want Justin to become? Not a
slave. Not like those wretches it pleases Sharkey to toy with.

The thought evaporates. There's something more pressing to deal with here,
and it is Sharkey's need to drive himself into the sexy young man .

He pulls Justin's mouth away from his cock. "Get your clothes off," he
says, "All of 'em", and as Justin strips away his jeans and his sneakers,
Sharkey likewise undresses.

The moment this is done, he grapples with Justin, taking him by surprise, a
flash of real panic on Justin's face. He lifts him up off the ground,
scooping him up in his arms like a guy carrying his bride over the
threshold.

"I'm gonna fuck you in your bed, man" Sharkey grunts. "I've been waiting to
fuck you in your own bed"

Justin seems to want to protest this, but can't find the words to do so,
nothing that wouldn't seem ridiculous now things have gone this far. And
Sharkey turns on his heel and carries his boy prize upstairs, the fit
athletic young man held aloft in Sharkey's arms like a helpless little
bitch. Unwilling to wrap his sexy arms around Sharkey's neck, the youth
instead lets them dangle, half tensed, which does nothing to make him look
less helpless.

Sharkey kicks open the door to the room, and the sleeping mutt is
ignored. He unloads Justin crudely onto the bed, like an industrial digger
dropping its contents. Before Justin knows what has happened or had a
chance to recover, Sharkey is heavily on top of him. Oh, Sharkey is all
over him, an overwhelming avalanche of man burying the kid beneath its
weight.

Justin offers little resistance, but Sharkey seizes and overpowers him as
if he were wriggling viciously to get free. He pinions one of those arms
that so arouse him, and with the other hand forces his boy prey's pretty
face deep into the sleep-moistened pillow. With no foreplay around his ass,
he rams his way into Justin's tight, hot hole as quickly as he can and
grinds him urgently and brutally into the messed-up layers of his
bed. Fuck, it feels good. Sharkey's whims must be obeyed, and it is another
fresh triumph to know he has turned this one into reality. The boy thought
he could keep Sharkey at arms' length - oh the sexiness of that arm - but
now he has surrendered himself in the very heart of his home. Sharkey has
penetrated his most intimate place of all.

A hungry Sharkey flips Justin Benchley about like a rag doll, pleased to
hear Justin scream out how much he loves to get fucked. He gets him on his
back and shoves his knees up against the headboard, Justin's feet in the
air and legs sandwiched between his and Sharkey's chests as Sharkey
relentlessy pounds his tight boy asshole.

"Oh fuck man, oh Christ man, that's good ..." Justin gasps as his eyes roll
back in his head. And when Sharkey draws back enough so that he's no longer
crushing Justin beneath him, he can't resist physically dominating him by
shoving a thumb in his mouth to suck, stroking and manipulating his jaw and
lips, then holding him by the throat almost tight enough to choke
him. Goddamn, does this boy need to be fucked. It pleases him to know that
if he wanted, he could have this beautiful lover of his installed right
where Jordon Lunar is now, where so many others have been in the past. It
pleases him too to know that he will never do this to Justin, that this
lucky son of a bitch is favored so much more than he knows.

For how could Justin, with this man's hand at his throat, his legs cramping
from the contortions they've been forced into, Justin with a thick cock
sundering his insides and even now flooding him with hot jizz... how could
he know this is Sharkey at his most caring?

After it's over, Justin seems hopeful that Sharkey will leave, but Sharkey
insists that they first shower together. He loves having his hands all over
Justin's strong and beautiful young body as he rubs frothy shower gel all
over it, and Justin is persuaded to sink to his knees in the cubicle and
give Sharkey's cock some more lingering attention with his mouth. It
amounts to a long goodbye blow job.

Justin is given his cash, and Sharkey leaves by the back door, saying he
probably won't call him for a while. Sharkey himself is not sure that this
is true, but he offers it to the sweet Justin as a reward for his good
work. Justin has been at his most responsive today, his most willing; the
way Sharkey likes him best but doesn't always get.

After Sharkey has gone, Justin breaks out into a cold sweat, almost
vomits. Realises how much he never wanted to see that man in his home. He
tidies up relentlessly for the rest of the day, searching for some obscure,
hidden sign that he has spent this day being fucked up his ass by an older
guy. He is sure there most be some clue, and doesn't stop being nervous
about it for three days.


-----


A little more than a week later it's his fiancee Beth's birthday, and they
have a great day out together. He spoils her with gifts, figuring that
though he's supposed to be saving up the extra money he's getting from
Sharkey, he can always put in a few more hours with the horny old guy to
make up for a splurge. When it comes to it, it's surprising how casually
this boy next door will factor selling his ass into his short-term plans.

They go horse riding, which Beth loves, and Justin finds he isn't too keen
on. What's with girls and horses, he wonders. After their dinner, he
staggers home with aching thighs, and his family laugh at him, while
quietly expressing their concerns at the amount of money he's been spending
on Beth's birthday gifts, what with a wedding to save for and all.

Uncomfortable, he tells them not to sweat it, and after a while heads off
to bed. He has to go to work in the morning. It was hard enough just to get
today off, and he's tired. Says a silent goodnight to the photograph of
himself and Beth on the shelf with a sense of contentment.

Soon after he has settled into the embrace of his snug bed - the sheets
changed three times since that day he let Sharkey fuck him here - the
lights go out in the Benchley household. Darkness and quiet descend.

Stillness. Forever.

And then. Where Sharkey emerges from in this gloom, you cannot say. Its one
thing to hide in the basement half the night. Now he seems to appear out of
the night itself, like a spirit. It's as if the dark itself is a drape, and
he's pushed it aside.

There must be an explanation, but you can't see it.

Wherever he's been lurking - and Sharkey seems too big, too physically
present to have kept himself hidden in this small family home - the man is
entirely naked, standing over and behind the unsuspecting Justin like his
secret keeper, a moonlit parody of a guardian angel.

He lifts the edge of the sheet only a fraction of a second before he clamps
his hand over Justin's mouth. The young man gasps in surprise for a second,
but the recognition of his lover's -- of Sharkeys presence comes to him
much quicker than he would like, he knows the smell of Sharkey's skin, and
his instinct for secrecy takes over rapidly. He lays still as Sharkey
climbs into the bed with him, tight against him, a cock pressed against the
small of his back that he can feel through the old t-shirt.

He whispers softly into Justin's ear: "Shush, babe, or they'll hear" and
gently eases his hand from Justin's mouth.

"What are you..." Justin squeaks, quiet as he can while still trying to
make himself heard.

But explanations are not forthcoming, and anyway, you know why Sharkey
wants this, let's not pretend you don't. Sharkey spends that entire night
crammed into Justin's slender single bed with him, arms wrapped around his
boy, cock buried inside him where it belongs. Justin keeps as silent as he
can as Sharkey fucks him hard, for all the world like he wants the parents
sleeping only a room away to hear, daring Justin to cry out as his hot
tunnel gets pumelled. Sharkey grins with devilish relish as he has his
forbidden way with Justin. He has cum up inside him three times before they
sleep, the jizz stoppered in by his cock, some of it finally trickling its
way out the sides afterwards where it can as Sharkey sleeps with Justin
held tightly in his arms, his still hard dick piercing his perfect boy all
through the night.

As his alarm goes off in the morning, Justin is released from Sharkey's
overwhelming grip. He feels the stickily chubby cock slip from his asshole
as he climbs numbly from his bed, the ghost presence of Sharkey's arms
still throbbing around him. As he rises and dresses, not speaking a word,
not daring to do anything that might alert the others in the house to the
alien presence of this man, he looks over sullenly to Sharkey, who lays
contentedly half beneath the sheet, propped up on one arm, observing the
boy's every move with satisfaction. Justin is a little dark around the eyes
from not sleeping well, his hair tousled wildly.

Goddamn. Justin looks good fucked.

There's accusation in his eyes, and not even a hint of apology in
Sharkey's. Justin flinches as Sharkey says, in a normal speaking voice,
"I'll wait 'til the house empties out, and then I'll go."  He ignores
Justin's angry shushing motions, going on: "Don't worry, son, I know you
deserve a bonus for all this, and you're gonna get it"

Pursing his lips, Justin shakes his head only slightly. He's not actually
sure what he means by this dismissive gesture. Maybe he wants to break off
this deal he has with this bastard. Maybe it's just sheer disbelieving fury
at Sharkey's nerve. He suddenly hopes it doesn't look like he's refusing
the money. But he doesn't say anything. He'll say it all later, somewhere
else, somewhere private.

He staggers downstairs, his gait stiff and awkward. His asshole is sore and
feels empty. Everyone laughs, thinks he's sore from the horse riding.

---------------------------

It's a few weeks before Justin hears from Sharkey again, and when he does,
he ignores the texts. The messages themselves are terse and businesslike -
no apologies, no affection. They suggest times and places, payments. Justin
doesn't respond. He doesn't answer his phone when it rings, when he's at
work and busy.

Then, one Saturday afternoon he finishes a half-day shift, and starts his
walk home. An unfamiliar car pulls up at the sidewalk next to him, just
around the corner from the diner. A neatly shaven Sharkey in mirrored
shades asks him if he wants a lift.

Sharkey can always manipulate Justin by playing on his fear of
discovery. The lad could refuse here, but of course Sharkey would just
persist, edging along next to him in his car. It would be conspicuous, and
the nosey passers-by of Ropers Reach would see, start to wonder what was
going on. The least amount of attention will be attracted by Justin
slipping into the car as casually as he can, and so that's what he does.

Sharkey's wearing a tight marl t-shirt, looking kind of youthful and
active, like he's some catalog model. Justin looks at his buff forearm on
the wheel, stark in the sun. He thinks of his girlfriend, his engagement,
the life that lies ahead for him. Goddammit, why is he feeling that
stinging flash of lust in his cock as he sits here with Sharkey? Why does
his butthole feel like a mouth slowly opening?

"I've gotta tell you, Justin, you really reek of onions and cheese" Sharkey
smirks.

Justin finds himself letting out a short laugh. "Yeah, well most of our
customers don't exactly go in for healthy eating."

They're silent as Sharkey drives out of the center of town.

"So, ah, where are we going?" Justin asks hesitantly. "Your place?"

"Well, certainly not yours, kid," Sharkey says. "Don't worry, we won't be
doing that again."

Justin instantly feels less anxious, relieved of a tension he hadn't
realised he's been carrying ever since it happened. Then he feels a surge
of anger that he should even needs this reassurance. Sharkey came into his
home without asking, in fact knowing that Justin would never want him
there. This promise shouldn't even be necessary.

And he means to say something like this to the man, he does, but... the
words catch in his throat. Swallowing his pride, he feels it safer to leave
well enough alone. The thought of the way Sharkey just suddenly turned up
is one he'd rather push to the back of his mind.

"I'm going to take you to my place, yeah," Sharkey says, "But just so you
can shower and change. Then I'm going to treat you, babe -"

Justin always feels discomfited when Sharkey uses affectionate terms. It
may be harder to get used to than getting his butt fucked.

"- I'm going to take you to West Mount Mall and buy you a bunch of
stuff. Clothes, trainers, CDs, whatever you want..."

"Huh? Trainers?" Justin queries.

"Sneakers" Sharkey corrects himself, smiling indulgently.

"What, so no... ?"

"No fucking, I think's the word you're looking for." Sharkey looks over at
him in his mirrored shades. "No, not today. I mean, unless you really want
to, of course."

Justin shakes his head lightly, looks out the window. "I... er, I guess you
do kind of owe me, you know?" Probably the most accusatory thing he'll say
about that night.

Sharkey drives on in silence, but with a smile fixed on his lips.


-------------

West Mount Mall is out of town, over a hundred miles beyond DeMontley. Safe
enough territory for Justin, very little chance of being seen. He's happy
to let Sharkey buy him stuff, enjoys it. He hasn't quite worked out yet the
excuses he'll make to his family and to Beth about where it all came from -
eBay? Could he get away with that? - but he's becoming quite confident with
his deceptions, and knows he will think of something soon
enough. Besides... he can't say no to these awesome sneakers.

What he perhaps doesn't notice - or chooses not to because he doesn't want
to hinder the magical swipe of the credit card - is the extent to which
Sharkey guides his choices. By casually pointing out stuff that looks good,
by choosing the one that looks better as Justin emerges from the fitting
rooms, Sharkey gradually fulfils his wish of dressing Justin the way he
want to see him. He feels a satisfactory sense of getting the boy more
firmly in his grip, of having more of a claim on him, as he sees him in the
clothes he's bought.

Still, he's never certain whether he truly is getting his own way, or being
a sap. Sharkey acknowledges to himself by now that
he's... smitten. Yes,he's into Justin, just as surely and sweetly as many
of the girls back at his school must have been. Sharkey feels like an
infatuated teenager.

Fuck. How can this be. He adores this young man.

And it remains his wish to totally own him.

---------

Sharkey buys him dinner at one of the better restaurants in the mall, and
they set down their bags to eat. Justin figures this is okay, so far away
from where anyone he knows is likely to spot them. He and Sharkey don't
look like lovers as they sit here, he decides; more like family
members. Father and son, maybe. Sharkey even seems to mimic his accent, the
way he did when they first met. He should object, but Sharkey seems not to
be doing it out of mockery. And it makes them less conspicuous, for which
he's grateful. There's no affection in Sharkey's cool demeanor, that's for
sure. Justin couldn't handle it if the guy was all over him, pawing at him,
making eyes. There's none of that. Sharkey tells him he looks good in the
jacket he just bought him, but it sounds polite and objective.

There's no overt display of affection, either, when Sharkey makes his
proposal.

"Kid, I want you to listen to this for a minute and think. You've been
planning the whole of this last year for a wedding, right? Planning and
saving. You entered into this arrangement with me because the money you
make isn't enough for the life you have planned, right? I mean, it's not
bonus cash for you - you need it, and you're relying on it."

Justin feels a lurching sensation at this open discussion of the realities
of his situation. It's not that he doesn't want to face them. Not much
anyway. He's worried about where this might be going.

"No," he says, with more panic than he'd like. In a more measured tone, he
adds: "That's not right. I could manage without it. It would take me
longer, I guess I'd have to do a lot more shifts -"

Sharkey nods slowly and appreciatively. "But you'd rather earn the
money... you know, doing what we do than by working a few... hundred more
hours at the diner?"

Justin chooses his words carefully. Or fails to. "Uh," he says.

"Relax, son, I'm not haggling, if that's what you're worried about."

"Haggling?" Justin queries quietly, not having heard the term.

Sharkey ignores him, continues: "You're happy to earn some money this way,
but you're worried that someone's going to find out somehow, yeah? Your
friends or your family. And being a good all-American boy, you don't want
people knowing anything about this, because you are totally scared
shitless, aren't you, that someone someday might call you -"

He looks around, leans in and whispers.

"- 'fag'. And you won't be able to argue, because homo or not, you don't
mind taking it up the ass."

Justin's cheeks are flushed pink. He fingers at the zipper on the collar of
his jacket. He looks panicked, like an animal caught in a trap. Sharkey
kind of likes that he can inspire this terror in Justin; what he really
wants is the ability to take Justin in his arms and make it better, and
thus make the guy more fully his.

"Listen to me, Justin. You don't need to have that fear, okay? And believe
it or not, you don't need to keep on worrying about saving up all this
money, planning for this future of yours."

Justin looks puzzled, and Sharkey looks him in the eyes. Sharkey's gray
eyes intimidate Justin when they look right into him like this. They're
dangerous, he realises. He can feel his will to refuse diminishing, like he
just wants to placate whatever secret rage it is that drives this man.

Sharkey goes in: "You think your life only has to go one way. You and your
wife, I guess is the way you're thinking about it. Working nine to five or
longer, probably more than that, paying off your mortgage for forty years,
raising your kids, drinking beer at the weekend, vacation maybe every other
year.

"Listen, and think about this: You could come with me. You could live with
me, a new life, and no-one in your old one needs to know anything about it
if you don't want them to. And no more worrying about cash - days like this
could be every weekend if you like. You want stuff, Justin, you want
things, I can give you as many of them as you like.

"Of course I want something out of this, son. I want you. I want as much as
I can possibly have of you.

"You know that, Justin, and you know how it is. I'm a man, men have needs,
and I need to fuck you as much as I can. I'm not offering you any romantic
crap, but I'm not asking you to work hard and make sacrifices. If you want,
you can come with me, and I'll give you whatever you like. I can take you
all around the world. And I'll protect you too, protect you from any of the
bullshit that, right now, you you think can get you. I'll show you it
can't."

Sharkey pauses, sits back. "The offer's on the table, kid. You can take it
or leave it. You don't want it, we can carry on as we are now. Just think
about it, yeah? Don't answer now, 'cause I know you think you can only say
no. But you just think. And next time we meet -- answer then. So what are
you having for dessert?"

-----------

Justin has not seen this coming, and finds himself ennervated by a mixture
of tremendous excitement and terrible dread. Sharkey quickly ushers them on
past the subject, making an immediate response impossible, and anyway, they
he has no idea what he can say. In fact Justin doesn't know what he thinks.

His immediate response to the offer is almost that of someone who's just
found they've won the lottery. He has the sense that a huge load could be
taken off his shoulders, a burden stretching on into the rest of his life
taken away. Like a lotto winner, his first thought is that he could give up
his job and stop worrying about money.

This relief is quickly followed by being appalled at himself. He can't just
ditch Beth, she's his fucking childhood sweetheart. He's always wanted to
take care of her forever. The night he proposed to her was the most magical
of his life.

They always are in these shows.

And, man, for what? To be this rich guy's... what? His fucking sex
plaything? His live-in bitch?

Just surrendering his pride and his autonomy and giving himself up to
Sharkey. A life that is just Sharkey fucking him and giving him stuff...

But Sharkey's words keep echoing in his head. His biggest worry is what
other people would think of him. And if that stops being an issue...

No. No, he thinks. I can endure Sharkey's lust for my body for a while, to
help me get the cash I need. Okay, maybe I even like it a little. I'm not
ever going to tell anyone that, least of all him, but it's not so bad. But
this is way beyond the occasional cock session.

And indeed it is, as Justin Benchley seriously contemplates whoring himself
as a way of life.

It would mean sharing a bed with Sharkey, he guesses. And he knows what
that feels like now - except that it wouldn't be his own tiny single bed at
home. The bed he's been fucked on at Sharkey's home is huge. The home
itself is like something off Cribs. A home he'll never get in a hundred
million years of toiling at the diner.

As Sharkey drives them back to Ropers Reach, on a flat smooth road at a
sedate pace, Justin stares dizzily into the starry distance feeling like
he's on a rollercoaster. Every time he tells himself that of course he's
going to reject this offer out of hand, he realises moments later that he's
still weighing it up. Fuck, a definite 'no' sounds too final. Saying
goodbye to the possibility of all that.

An impassive Sharkey gives no sign that the offer was even made.

-----

To be continued.