I probably should point out that I'm not anti-religious -- every modern religion teaches peace and love, and the repudiation of hate. Unfortunately, there are preachers, rabbis, and imams who claim hate and fear to be the message of their god; and, even more unfortunately, there are people who believe them. So, I'm nowhere close to repudiating the God of Christianity in this story; but hate-mongers who claim to speak for Him are fair game.

This story is gay fiction. It is copyrighted and cannot be reproduced in any medium without my express permission. If you are a minor in your country of origin, don't read.

I have two other series running on Nifty: GLOBAL ENTERTAINMENT appearing in the Incest folder and ILLUSIONS in the Beginnings folder. If these two stories don't give you enough hot vampires and mortals, Starbooks has just released my LOVERS WHO STAY WITH YOU, and that has 28 tales that'll have you offering your neck to the next guy who offers to lick it. <G> You can help Nifty by using its link to A Different Light Bookstore when ordering this book.

I'd love to hear from you -- tell me what you think of this story, Illusions, or Global Entertainment. Just please put the title of the story in the subject box so that I won't delete your message along with all the spam I get. I'm at vichowel@aol.com.

Dave MacMillan

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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"Rev. Troy?"

Troy looked up from his desk and saw the football player from the night before standing at the door of his office. Behind him was a taller boy who looked like a slightly older and definitely slimmer version of the kid who'd spoken.

Troy smiled and stood. "Come on in, boys," he told them. "What can I do for you?"

"Good sermon, Troy," the older boy said and pushed the door to behind him. "You've got Rastus Reed's patented hellfire and damnation sermon down good."

Troy did not like where things seemed to be going. He and Rastus knew that preaching was a scam -- at least, he did -- but people at the church shouldn't know it. They were the ones being scammed. And that was exactly how this smart-alec seemed to be coming off.

"Do I know either of you?" he asked, keeping himself civil.

The football player guffawed. "We know you, Troy -- in the Biblical sense."

Troy blanched. And collapsed back against his chair. Even as he tried to breathe, he knew he was acting all wrong to be able to get out of the situation he was in. There was no way. He didn't do twinks.

"What do you mean by that?" he demanded, trying to wrap wounded indignation around himself. And failing.

"We've both fucked you, Troy," the older boy said conversationally. "And that blow job you gave my baby brother was his first sex with anybody."

"You're -- you're both crazy!" Troy managed to get out. "I don't know what you think you're pulling with this -- these lies -- but I want no part of it. Get out of my office now ... And pray to God to forgive you."

The older boy clapped and the football player took it up.

"Great acting job, Troy. You're going to make a good preacher -- if you know how to play your cards right so that you get the chance."

"Are you threatening me?" Troy demanded, anger finally roaring up inside him to catch up with shock.

"Of course, we are, you dumb whore," the football player told him. "Get undressed. My dick's hard and I want a real tight pussy wrapped around it. Your ass will do the job just fine."

Troy stared at him, his fists clinching.

The older boy chuckled. "You hustling in front of the Duval Hotel three years ago, Troy. You must've been way down on your luck that night because you hit on me and my brother here and agreed to do everything for twenty bucks."

Troy's mouth fell open. He remembered that night. He felt cold all over.

"Get naked, boy," the football player told him. "We've got to meet the folks for lunch in an hour."

His ears burned. He sighed as he accepted that there was no escape. Troy reached for his tie. "What if...?" he asked, glancing at the door.

The football player laughed as he unzipped his trousers. "I've got a buddy on look out out in the hall. We're safe."

* * *

I poured a shot of Famous Grouse and listened to my telephone messages. Telephone sales had been busy over the weekend -- there were a lot of dead lines recorded and only a few messages offering me everything from cemetery plots to financial advice to my own special invitation to praise God the right way with my fellow Christians at a new tabernacle being established below Ponce de Leon. I deleted them all and crossed to the windows to look out over Piedmont Park. Sniggums wove her way between legs, rubbing my jeans.

It was almost dark but I could still make out the outline of the trees. I was quickly caught up in a sense of peace that I'd not felt since I left the log house on the mountain that afternoon. I took a deep breath and held it, losing myself in the feeling of relaxation that was slowly spreading through me.

A knock at the door brought me back to reality fast. It would only be Brenda or Paul Estes from next door. Paul I didn't mind seeing; Brenda I knew I didn't want to see -- not right yet. I wasn't up to breaking off our relationship at the moment; but I certainly saw no way that it could continue now that I had Sam and Henry as lovers.

I started toward the door with Sniggums leading the way, her tail an exclamation point.

I opened the door to find Paul standing on the landing and juggling a casserole dish so he could free a hand to knock again. His face flushed when he realized that I'd opened the door.

"Have you eaten yet?" he asked, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

"Nope. Just got in," I told him and took in his outfit -- a wife-beater that was molded to his contours and a tight pair of melon-colored nylon running shorts. And no jockstrap.

Holy shit! This was supposed to be Paul Estes.

"I cooked up my favorite casserole and made too much. There's enough for two. I thought..."

Paul actually looked flustered and I'd never seen him looking anything less than totally in control.

I lifted the lid and was sure that it had come straight out of the oven. "Smells great," I told him stepping back. "Come on in. Want to have dinner with me?"

"If you don't have plans -- sure."

"Good. I'll make some coffee." I looked back at the dish as he stepped inside. "What is it?"

"Ham, cheddar, potatoes, and broccoli."

"Sounds good." It did. It sounded a lot better than anything fried after the weekend. My stomach growled its approval.

"How was your weekend?" I asked, leading him into the kitchen. I ground coffee beans while he made a production of setting down a large valentine-shaped potholder for the baking dish.

Paul was one of the most macho gay guys I knew. There had been a few times that he dropped hints of being into leather and doing the daddy thing. But, right then, Paul was acting like a lovestruck girl. All he needed was a frilly dress and he'd even look the part. It didn't make sense.

I decided not to push things but to give him his lead. At least, I'd wait until after we'd eaten before I asked questions. I poured water into the coffee maker and turned it on.

"I missed you," he said softly. I looked over my shoulder at him quickly but he had his back turned to me as he set the counter for the two of us.

"You?" I chuckled. "You've got eight or ten good-looking guys working for you who'd happily follow you to bed."

"I don't mix business and pleasure," he said, turning to face me. "Too much chance of losing a good worker that way."

"Aren't I business too?" I asked. "I'm a client."

"You're also a friend, Sammy." He quickly looked down at his feet, his ears turning red. "Wednesday you showed me how much I needed a good man -- like you."

"I what?" I'd been drunk. I knew I'd been ready to have him fuck me, but I thought I'd passed out and he'd been a gentleman and left.

"You were so good," he cooed. "So demanding -- wild even. But still considerate for all that."

I stared at him as shock oozed over me. "Paul, I..."

"No, Sammy. I've almost always topped, but you made me realize that, deep down, I was a femme bottom just waiting for the right man to show her how wonderful it can be." He batted his eyelashes at me, I swear.

I stared at him. Paul Estes? The gym rat himself. The personification of the Marlboro Man from all those billboards over the years, only with pronounced muscles. A bottom? Because of me? What in the hell had happened in my bedroom last week?

"Paul, I..."

"No. Sammy, please don't say it," he gushed. "I know I'm making too much out of what was nothing more than just a fuck. I'll even be able to accept it one of these days."

I had the sudden sense of Bette Davis or Katherine Hepburn emoting a farewell to Cary Grant with the back of her hand pressed against her forehead -- the Sarah Heartburn move that was the universal symbol of over-acting. Somewhere along the line, Paul had watched at least one too many movies.

Well -- as long as he didn't try to pull a Jason or Freddie Kruger on me ... "Let's eat!" I chirped.

Paul dished out servings for both of us and I poured coffee. Silence grew louder as we sat down. Every time I'd look down at my plate or look away, I'd turn back to find him studying me.

This was not going well. "So, how's the maid business going?" I asked for something to break the silence.

"We picked up three more clients last week," he allowed and silence again hung between us. It was as if he actually didn't want to talk, that he would only answer a question and, then, only say enough to answer it.

I sat back and sipped my coffee, looking across the counter at him. "Okay, Paul, what's the matter with you?"

"It's nothing," he looked down at his plate. "I'm just a little tired is all." He studied the empty serving dish for a moment. "I guess I'd better get back over to my place," he mumbled and made to slide off the stool.

I reached across the counter and grabbed his wrist. "Paul, we've been friends for a while. This isn't like you. You're acting like a lovestruck -- a lovestruck ..." I had to search for a word. "A lovesick teenager."

"You mean I'm acting like a silly, lovesick girl, don't you, Sammy?"

"I wouldn't actually go that far," I told him, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "Why don't you tell me exactly what happened Wednesday night that threw you off center?"

"You really don't remember?" He searched my face thoroughly. "Jesus!" he groaned. "You really were wiped out and I thought..." He rolled his eyes even as he blushed. "I am so fucking stupid!"

"So what happened?" I pushed. "I don't remember anything once we were in my bedroom." I grinned. "I sort of figured you'd been a proper gentleman of the old school and left after I passed out." I hoped that I was managing to lighten things up enough that he'd get back to being comfortable around me again.

"You really don't remember?" he asked as he studied his plate closely.

I shook my head and wished he'd look at me.

"You were lying on the bed, your legs spread; I figured you to be so drunk that you wouldn't resist, even though you were a virgin. I'd put on a rubber and was lifting you into position ... Jesus! I feel so stupid telling you all this!"

So, I had gotten plugged. "Just tell me," I told him, caught up in his tale now.

"Suddenly, I was on my back and you were rolling a raincoat down your dick. I was in shock -- you were supposed to be drunk. Sammy, I hadn't had a pole up my butt in twelve years, since I was eighteen. I resisted, but it didn't matter. You were so strong. So forceful. It was like I was a ragdoll." He shuddered and looked up at me. "Then you were in, and I knew I had to have you in me. You were where you belonged. I -- it felt so perfect."

"Yeah?"

This was sounding more than a little like my first weekend with Sam up on the mountain. Though I'd thought of those two nights as wet dreams, I was sure addicted to Sam's dick being in me afterwards. I hadn't thought in terms of being in love with the blond -- at that point. But I knew with complete certainty that my butt was his any time he was around and wanted it.

Only, Sam was up on that mountain, five hours away from midtown Atlanta. How had he managed to infect Paul like he had me? And how come it was me that Paul was fixated on?

"You fucked me for three hours straight that night, Sammy," he mumbled. "You made me come four times."

Yeah, this was sounding more and more like Sam had played fast and loose with Paul's brain last Wednesday all right. And used my body to do it. Only, how had he done it?

Questions and thoughts began to coalesce for me. If someone could control another person's mind -- control and direct it -- it probably didn't matter how close he was physically to the mind he was controlling. All those premonitions of disasters people had -- like plane crashes -- they usually were far away from where things were going to happen. So, maybe Sam could project his mind control trick two or three hundred miles without too much trouble.

And use me to take over Paul's mind.

The bastard had sure acted like he owned me even this past Friday. I felt my face begin to get hot when I realized that he'd been thinking of me as his fucktoy -- just as both Henry and I thought of Henry as mine. Sam probably still did, even after I lit into him about it. He'd just backed off far enough to let Henry and me get it on together.

I wondered if I was clutching at straws.

There was one way to find out if I was completely free of Sam's control by being in Atlanta.

"Want to go to bed with me, Paul?" I asked, wondering if Sam really would kick in from up on the mountain.

My neighbor's face showed his surprise, followed immediately by a big, happy grin. "Anytime and anywhere," he said. "Let me just run some water over these dishes so they can soak."

I lay back on the bed naked and watched Paul undress. I knew I wasn't being very romantic but, then, that wasn't what we were about. We were going to have sex. Period. Paul humping my butt for me. If old Mr. Sam with the big-assed dick let him. That's what I had to know -- was my sexual versatility solely available to the two Taylors I'd been having sex with or was it mine to enjoy with whomever I wanted to.

If Paul fucking me went off without a hitch, we could spend the rest of the night kissing and cuddling and all that other lovey dovey stuff.

Paul had his thumbs under the waistband of those godawful nylon shorts and was looking toward me.

I smiled and sat up, my legs going over the side of the bed. It was time to get this thing rolling along so we would see what we'd see.

He moved in between my knees. I reached out with one hand and touched his crotch, my fingers moving to outline his pecker hugging his abs through the shorts. I leaned closer, both hands moving to his waist. With just my fingertips, I began to ease his shorts down.

The tip of his dick quickly became uncovered, then the shaft as the front of the shorts slid easily over his tight belly. He'd trimmed his pubes to hardly more than stubble. He tightened his bubblebutt and for a moment the cheeks held the shorts in place. My fingers slipped further inside them and moved behind him.

His lips touched the crown of my head and he sighed as the shorts fell to his feet. "I've wanted this from five minutes after I left you on Wednesday," he breathed. "Take me, Sammy. I'm yours."

I bent and licked the head of his dick. Paul Estes was certainly no Sam Taylor. He wasn't Henry Taylor, either. He was maybe an inch shorter than my seven inches and about as wide. I opened wide and swallowed him.

"Shit!" he yelped, his hands moving to my neck to pull me closer. I hummed like Henry had done the night before when he'd sucked me. Paul's whole body shuddered.

His ball sack had already tightened and his jewels were close to strangling his shaft.

Talk about short fuses.

I pulled off him. I wanted him cumming in my butt, not my mouth.

I wasn't going to get it.

"Straddle my legs," I heard myself growl in a mixture of my and Sam's voice.

What the...? This was fucking crazy.

Paul didn't think so, though. He was prancing like a happy puppy as he stepped out from between my legs.

I tried to keep my legs spread. I really did.

Instead, they clamped together like a vise. Paul happily spread his legs and walked up to the edge of the bed like a bowlegged cowboy, my legs between his. His dick throbbed against his abs; mine found its way behind his balls.

"Sit on it, boy!" I commanded. Sam was definitely in command.

"We need a rubber, baby," Paul said in a voice hoarse with lust.

"Sit on it now!" I growled.

"But..."

"You want to go home, boy? You want to lose this thing for good?"

Paul's knees settled on the edge of the bed and, holding onto my shoulders, he inched closer. His cock now throbbed against my chest, his balls covered my bellybutton. One of his hands moved behind him, found my dick, and moved it along his perineum until the head was wedged against his hole. His smooth pecs were in front of my face.

"Sit on it!" I demanded.

Paul didn't just lower himself onto me, he squatted -- fast and hard. With a gasp as my dickhead entered him followed by the rest of my pecker. I was pressed up against him one moment and buried inside him the next.

I looked into his face. His eyes were squeezed shut, his mouth open, his jaw tight. It was fucking obvious he was in pain.

I could tell when he finally adjusted to me being in him. His whole face lit up in a beatific smile.

He opened his eyes and laughed. "It hurt so good, baby. But now it just feels so good."

"Fuck yourself then, boy!" Sam told him from my body. "Hard!"

I leaned back slightly on my elbows and watched as Paul raised and lowered himself on my seven inches. It was as if I were a spectator at the filming of a porn movie -- me off to the side and two guys going at it hot and heavy. My body didn't feel as if it were my own.

He'd bend forward a hair as he rose to keep his hard pole riding my stomach and straighten up like a soldier as he came down, his balls squashing between his rod and my pubes. His breathing was already labored. His head tilted back and his eyes closed, like some saint in rapture.

His whole body tensed up, and he speeded up his ride on my pecker. "Sweet Jesus!" he cried as his dick began to spew rope after rope of jizz onto my chest. His fuckchute clinched on my pole like it was some lifeline and he was a drowning man. He never faltered, he kept his body moving up and down as he continued to ride me.

He softened but remained tumescent. Sweat glistened on his pecs and face. A drop or two fell on me. His pole slowly grew hard again and splashed in the puddles he'd already unloaded on my chest and abs.

I heard my breath begin to rasp and felt my lungs struggle to suck in air. I tasted the sweat that my tongue licked off my upper lip. My dick expanded deep inside him and erupted my jizz into him. Paul's ass kept bobbing up and down on my pole, and I stayed hard.

I felt my orgasm but I wasn't a part of it. I was still only a spectator, not a participant. It happened outside of me, not to me.

Paul laid his face against my shoulder and began to relax. His ass released its grip on my pecker.

"You wanted it, boy," I growled at his ear. "You ride it until I tell you to quit."

Paul kissed my jaw and began to move on me again.

Realization flooded over me. I understood now as I hadn't been able to on the mountain that I was Sammy Taylor. I belonged to the Taylors of Taylor Mountain. No one else could even come close to possessing me unless he was one of us Taylors.

Getting fucked was too much like possession to Sam Adams Taylor. He thought of me as his but he would accept me sharing the wealth -- as long as it stayed on the mountain. Otherwise, I got kicked out into limbo to watch him take over and establish his authority.

Poor Paul had handled the abrupt turn-around in my bed last week by going femme. He didn't even know that it wasn't me that he wanted to give himself to. It wasn't me that he wanted now. I wondered if he was forever doomed to stand outside in the cold and watch Sam Taylor through a window.

* * *

Brenda stood on the landing and stared at the door. The key to Sammy's condo was in her hand. I shouldn't just go in, she told herself. She looked back at the stairs and, for a moment, wished she hadn't come.

But she'd had to come. She hadn't even stopped at her apartment; she driven straight from Mountain Hollow to midtown Atlanta. She had to save Sammy, now that she knew what was happening to him. If she could just, somehow, slip it into their conversation, she knew she could get Sammy to kneel with her and pray to Jesus. He'd be saved then, she knew it.

She'd tell him that she came over for a cup of coffee because she'd missed him. She'd have to keep it lighthearted so he wouldn't see where she was taking things. But, then, there wasn't a man alive who was perceptive. She giggled. They all thought with their dicks and needed their egos stroked.

Maybe she could get him to take her to bed. He was so good at making her feel good. She nodded, knowing that she'd found the right approach. Their needs satisfied, they'd lie in bed and she'd easily lead him into praying for salvation.

She felt a comfortable peace spread through her and knew it was Jesus telling her that what she was doing was right. She unlocked the door and stepped into Sammy's condo. "Be with me now, Jesus," she whispered softly as she closed the door behind her.

The lights were on in the living room and kitchen but Brenda didn't see anyone. She found the two plates and serving dish in the sink and frowned.

Sammy couldn't already be seeing somebody else, could he? Maybe she'd been too rough on him the last couple of weeks. But he had been stand-offish by going off to that dumb mountain in the first place and not taking her with him. He'd deserved his punishment.

Still, maybe she had pushed him a little too far. Especially, if he'd found somebody else.

No. He couldn't have. He'd have asked for her keys back if he'd dropped her.

She wondered if she ought to go. If Sammy had a girl in his bedroom ... She stopped then. She'd pull the jezebel's hair out if they were having sex. Sammy's dick was hers. Nobody else was going to have it.

Maybe he'd been tired from the drive back to Atlanta and laid down.

She was immediately sorry that she'd thought that Sammy would cheat on her. Her daddy was always telling her that suspicious minds were the playthings of the devil. She'd just look in on Sammy. She loved him, after all; she had every right to do that. Just to make sure he was all right. She wouldn't disturb him at all. And just a little peek wouldn't hurt anything anyway. Sammy wouldn't even know that she'd come by. She started across the living room.

Brenda stopped in the middle of the room when she heard the voices. They were so low that she couldn't make them out, but they sounded guttural. And they sounded masculine. She strained to hear more, telling herself that she was only hearing one voice. That Sammy was talking to himself in his sleep.

She heard heavy breathing and the bedsprings squeaking. She turned, ready to leave. She didn't want to see Sammy doing somebody else. She'd want to beat the girl to a pulp. She felt like crying. She definitely felt like escaping.

No! She reminded herself that daddy hadn't raised his little girl to run away. If she had to fight, then she fought. But she had to fight smart and that meant that she had to know her enemy's weak points. She'd leave Sammy's condo tonight, all right -- but only after she'd seen her enemy's face. If she had to fight to keep Sammy, she was going to win.

She steeled herself and crept into the small hallway toward the open door of the bedroom.

"Get that ass moving, boy!" Sammy growled. Only, it didn't exactly sound like Sammy's voice usually did.

She stared at the open bedroom door. Brenda was beside the bathroom when she heard the voice again. At first, she thought it was Sammy growling at someone; it sounded like him. But the twang was pure mountain and, as she thought about it, the voice was deeper than Sammy's.

Her eyes widened as she realized that she might be creeping up on burglars. Again, she wanted to get away. Something deep inside her, something she'd always thought of as the voice of God, told she had to look into the room. As a law-abiding citizen, she had to.

She moved closer to the bedroom, ready to turn and run if she was found out.

"Oh, God!" a voice hoarse with lust cried. She recognized it as belonging to Sammy's queer neighbor Paul.

She reached the doorway and peeked into the darkened room. There was enough light from the living room for her to make out a naked Paul Estes straddling another person. She squinted. It looked like it was Sammy beneath Paul and he was naked too.

Anger flared through her. The abomination Reverend Phredd said was on the mountain had found its way into Sammy, after all. That was her personal man and --abomination or not -- Sammy had no right to give himself to anybody else, especially to an abomination like Paul.

|Get out, woman!| the voice growled inside her and enveloped her. She saw that Sammy was lying back on his elbows, his head thrown back, and was looking directly at her.

|Get out now!|

Brenda was instantly certain that the voice was in her head. Somehow, the demon possessing Sammy was talking to her inside her head. She took a step back from the open door. Her last vision was of Paul's body bobbing up and down on Sammy's middle.

|Go, woman!| the voice growled again. |Else, I'll skin you alive and nail the skin on the wall.|

She turned and ran to the living room and the landing beyond it. And the demon laughed at her as she ran.