Date: Wed, 14 Apr 2021 05:59:36 -0400 From: Rick Heathen Subject: Millstone and Roche, Chapter 16 - The Conclusion Millstone & Roche, Chapter Sixteen I wrote this story for Nifty, a nifty site if there ever was one. Nifty needs your donations to host this work, and some works, no doubt, that are far better. If you enjoy Nifty, please, consider donating at donate.nifty.org/donate.html This work is the sole property of the author and may not be reprinted or reused without his written permission. All Rights Reserved © 2020, Rick Haydn Horst Formerly known as Rick Heathen This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Thank you for delving into this work; I hope you enjoy it. Hanging the Chimney Hook: a Millstone & Roche Investigation, By Rick Haydn Horst Chapter Sixteen As Max and I lay cozy in bed, I enjoyed the feel of his firm back muscles and the tactile sensation of digging my fingers into his golden fur. "So, Winter told you that she wants to have your children," I said. "That sounds like a serious offer, and since you had to think about it today, I take it you hadn't given her a flat no. Would you want children?" "I've always thought it would be great to have children, but I think she wants quite a few." "What did she say?" "She wants to leave how many open-ended and stop when it feels right. She said if I wanted to know her qualifications, to speak with Grey. Apparently, her sister died, his father rejected him, and Grey has lived with her since he was 4 years old. That Grey's an amazing young man is largely due to her influence and the environment in which she raised him. "Also, she said that, since she no longer has a last name, the children would bear mine, that we could name them together, and that I could have as much or as little involvement in their lives as I wanted. I must admit, if I picked someone to have my children, I would pick her. She's intelligent, kind, openminded, accepting, and gorgeous." "Not to mention financially sound," I added. "That too," he said, "I could only imagine how beautiful our children would be." "I have no doubt that she thinks the same things of you," I said. "So, what's the problem?" "I want you to have some input. As far as I'm concerned, we're together, and that's how it's going to stay. So, how would you factor into this? Would you be Daddy Millstone? Would you want to be Daddy Millstone?" "There's no doubt about it, your agreement would change your life, and therefore, it would change mine. So, I understand why you're asking, and while that's thoughtful if you have every intention of our remaining together, I would be happy no matter how the rest turns out. So, make this about you; if you want to take Winter's offer, then do it." "Would you ever like to have a child?" "I never used to," I said, "but I would like a couple of sons. I would give them the benefit of having one another (as an only child, that's something I never had), a healthier communal environment (also something I never had), a better education (that's another), and ensure they got all the things that really matter, but I think life handed me a different set of cards to play." "I will have your babies," he said. "And if we have a problem conceiving, then we would just have to keep trying, day and night." Just the thought of breeding my beautiful Golden Bear day and night excited me. So, when he hugged and kissed me, it hadn't taken long for me to grow erect, leaking a lot of precum, which Max rubbed around the head of my cock. "I need you." I pressed my forehead to his. "And I will never deny you your needs." In the indirect light from a nearby streetlamp, I kissed Max, and he positioned himself face down upon the bed, my full weight upon him, blanketing his body. When I lifted myself to enter him, a series of pushing and pulling worked my precum slickened cock deep inside him, seeking our mutual pleasure. In groans and moans, he thanked me, and arching his spine, he urged me to plunder further, filling him, until once again I lay atop his back. I ran my hands beneath his shoulders and gripped them from the front, grinding my pelvis into his granite-like ass. I kissed his neck and whispered into his ear, "Is that better, Honey Bear?" Cupping my head in his hand, he dug his fingers into my hair, pressing me to him and taking uneven, staccato breaths, he nodded saying, "Yes." He turned his head, kissed me, and gave me the highest compliment that any man could ever hope to receive about his lovemaking. "I love having you inside me. You are an unimaginable experience; there is nothing and no one else like you." Hearing that, the consequence of living a lifetime of inadequacy brought upon by excess, began fading and faltering to my mind's furthest recesses, replaced for the first time by a sense of normalcy. My father told me that I judged my self-described "biggest and most obvious flaw" far too harshly and prematurely. He said that one day it would enhance someone's love for me, not act as the prime cause or a problem to overlook. In a push-up position, I used my toes on Max's heels to gain leverage and proceeded to long-stroke Max's hole the way he enjoyed it most. His breath grew more erratic as he writhed and groaned and grunted beneath me as I drove him inexorably toward squeezing my cock with every shot of every load that he buried beneath him. I fucked him and fucked him and fucked him some more until, after his third cum, we had both tired ourselves too much to continue, so I gave him my second and final load of the evening and collapsed atop him. Our sweat-soaked bodies too exhausted to move, we fell asleep. During the night, we ended up in spoon fashion, and I remained deep inside him until we awoke the next morning at five with the sound of the alarm. "It smells like you had fun last night," said Trouble, commenting as the five of us entered our quarters for breakfast. After our workout, we invited Wade, Trouble, and Tucker for breakfast and told them they shouldn't bother dressing after our shower. We hadn't had the chance to clean up from the previous evening and made only a cursory attempt before meeting the fellas for our morning workout, so the heady scent of sweat and sex lingered. "We had a good time," said Max. "I hope it's not offensive." Max and I began making breakfast while our guests seated themselves at the table. "It smells like men," said Wade, "and that's never offensive to me." "Hey Trouble," I said, "how was the extra-special white-glove service last night?" "I liked Kurt, he had good table manners, and he knew how to have a conversation, but he had no stamina to accompany that gorgeous body and nice cock he had." "Was he a two-pump chump?" asked Tucker. "Oh no, not that bad, we went for about twenty minutes, and he could have held off for longer if he hadn't exhausted himself physically." "Have you ever had anyone who could keep up with you?" asked Max. "A few," he said, "one of them's right there." He pointed to Wade, who gave a little smile. "Men should swim more," he said. "So, when shall we meet this afternoon?" "Millstone, Tucker, and I have plans for ten o'clock at the barbershop that Trouble recommended," said Max, "and we have an appointment to pick up our suits from the tailor at noon, but we're open after that." "The preparations for the party happened yesterday afternoon," said Wade, "catering will arrive at 4:30 today. Guests are to begin arriving between 6 and 7 o'clock." "The invitation encourages people to come in cabs to minimize parking issues," said Max, "and Winter asked me to be there at 5:30." "That settles it then," said Wade. "We'll swap vehicles one more time. Trouble and I will coordinate the electronics, and we'll meet at the mansion at 5:30." He turned to Albert. "Do you have your tux ready?" "It's always ready," he said. "How many of us will there be?" Tucker asked Wade. "It's just the four of us," he said. "I couldn't load the place up with officers; it wouldn't look like an environment to take the chance on getting the ring from you. We wouldn't want to scare this guy off. Max and Millstone received an invitation. You already had one because you worked on the mansion for Alliance. Winter hand-delivered mine yesterday, and Trouble will go as my plus one. She said we could expect about 200 guests or so." Max and I brought the food to the table, and I asked Tucker, "Are you worried?" "No. I just want to get it over with and move on with my life." "Hey, Max," said Trouble, "when you get to the barbershop, tell Johann that I want another long ride on his riesenschwanz." "Riesenschwanz...is that some kind of German motorcycle?" asked Max. "It's a sort of giant German crotch rocket, yeah." "Those things are dangerous, Al," said Max. "Oh, don't I know it," Albert couldn't help but smile, "but please tell him that anyway." During the youth of my previous life in New York, my father would take me to the barbershop on 39th Street for what he called a 1952 haircut. That shop no longer exists as the old man retired, but my father, who eschewed the growing trend of men visiting a hair salon, told me that men go to a barbershop. Sure, it's a stereotypical response from a man set in his ways, but a man's visit to a barbershop has a similarity to a woman going to the beauty salon. Contrary to popular belief, men like to get pampered as much as women do. They just have different ideas about what that means. It seems that for many men today being pampered is having a great haircut fast and with little expense. Without realizing it, they've lost something by such meager expectations. Women may spend more time at a beauty salon, depending on what they want done and how far they want the pampering to go, but there's something about a visit to a good barbershop. Walking in without an appointment, you wait your turn reading the latest newspaper or some twenty-year-old Reader's Digest. You step up to sit in that fancy barber chair, you tell him what you specifically want, and he does just that. In our modern world, with the invention of safety razors with a dozen blades, we could easily shave at home, but there's something pampering about feeling that hot towel in preparation for the closest shave you'll ever experience with a single-bladed straight razor in the hands of a professional. For a man to rely on his barber to keep him looking attractive represents a time-honored tradition as barbershops have existed, in one form or another, for thousands of years. Along with numerous beauty parlors, hair salons, and quick cuts, the city had 18 barbershops, and naturally, as we lived in Franklin, the one suggested by Albert functioned differently from the one of my youth, but it had many similarities. We found The Strop Tonsorium a block from The Village on Peppercorn Drive in an area called Leatherton, home to most of the leather community. Its proximity to the tailor made a welcome convenience. Two shoeshine stands stood beneath the covered entryway, flanking the plate glass window out front, manned by shirtless young bootblacks, with cropped hair, jeans, and a harness, shining the boots of a couple of handsome leather men reading the paper. Beside the door hung a non-traditional barber's pole in black and white, housed in chrome with a mirror-like finish. The interior looked as one might expect of a barbershop, except classy. They made the ebony stained flooring and back bar for each station of reclaimed mahogany, and all other aspects of the decor they kept in black, white, and polished chrome, everything from the black ceiling to the black and white walls stenciled in an octagonal pattern to the black leather and polished chrome traditional barber's chairs. No one else waited when we walked in, and two of the three shirtless and muscular barbers there were busy. They had plaques at their stations, each read Johann, Mitch, Tony, and Andre, who, with his absence, presumably had the day off. After their names were the letters M.B. for Master Barber. The instant we walked through the door, Johann, a handsome thirty-year-old with medium-toned brown hair and enormous hairless pecs, said in his German accent, "Dibs on the red, and I'm almost done here." "Good morning, gentlemen," said Mitch, the barber with the empty chair. He had the sexiest Apollo's belt I had ever seen. It dipped from the sides of his lower abdomen down into a pair of low waisted jeans that showed he wore nothing beneath. "What can we do for you?" "We've never been here before," said Max, "so we're curious about the place, and Albert Sawyer asked me to tell Johann that he would like another long ride on your riesenschwanz." "Oh, he's missing me, ja?" asked Johann, who smiled to himself. "I would like that. Thanks for letting me know." "Well," said Mitch, "since this is your first time, I probably should tell you, when it comes to hair here, we cut it, trim it, shave it, or rip it out by the roots through various means, both fast and slow, whichever you or your master prefers (if you have one). From the crown of your head to the knuckles of your toes, if it has to do with hair, we accommodate every need. We also have a manicurist for anyone who needs it, especially those masters who enjoy a bit of fist play. Most of those things are through that door to the back. So, what might we do for you three gentlemen?" As Max explained our situation, Johann finished with the man in his chair, dusted him off, and removed the all-enveloping cape. He paid his barber with his cellphone, thanked him, and left. After prepping his station for another customer, he got Tucker's attention, tapped his chair, and Tucker took him up on it. Max sat in Mitch's chair, and I took a nearby seat next to a table stacked with copies of vintage Christopher Street and Drummer Magazines hardbound in sets of ten, each page laminated and protected with care for the ages to come. Max required less cutting than Tucker or me, but Tucker needed the most work as he tended not to keep himself clipped or shaved very often. I had tried, at least, but I had only received one non-professional haircut in the last nine weeks. "You are the sort of client that I enjoy most," said Johann with his Germanic accent. "For some time, you've done little to yourself. May I take some before and after shots? And, if you give me your number, I will text them." "I think you just want my phone number," said Tucker. "Of this, I am guilty." Tucker smiled and laughed to himself. "You can keep the photos, but my number is...." And he gave him his number. That satisfied Johann, who took a few headshots. "So, you attend the Winter housewarming, and you dress nice this evening, yes?" "Not a tuxedo. Something a bit less formal and cooler, or so he told me. It's made by... What's that tailor's name again?" "Wilson," said Max. "Taylor the tailor." "Ah!" said Johann. "In that case, we go with stylish, cool, but more devil-may-care. I clean you up, make it easy for you to maintain, and you leave looking like a million dollars, ja? I mean, yes?" "What do you think, Max?" Tucker asked. "Sounds perfect," said Max. "Go for it." "Alright," he said, "let's do this." Once Johann wet his hair, he got started. Tony had finished with his client, and, after he got paid and reset his station, I sat in his chair. He asked me what I wanted, I told him somewhere between dapper and devil-may-care. Sitting there, as the chair occasionally swiveled while Tony worked his magic, I could see Tucker at the next station. From our first meeting, I would never have guessed that I would find myself in any circumstance like the one I had with him. And my conversation with Max the previous evening made me realize what was happening. Tucker was 28 years old, but he seemed younger, so I was twelve years older than him according to my original birthdate, but as a child, I could ejaculate semen at the age of ten, so physiologically speaking--and as weird as it sounded even to me, I was old enough to be his father. Obviously, I wasn't his father, but I felt some kind of fatherly connection to him, and I wondered if his avuncular lawyer had sensed that too, but just couldn't allow himself to get that close, settling to act as a slightly more distant uncle-like figure instead. In two aspects, I hadn't thought it much of a problem since Tucker needed a mentor, and he needed people in his life that cared. I would willingly do that, but I would have to remind myself daily that he was not my son until he fit into my life where he belonged, especially since he had wanted to play with Max and me. Otherwise, that could complicate matters. Mitch had finished with Max, and he looked only slightly neater than the day I met him in the hospital, at the beginning of my stay there. His blonde hair, swept forward and off to the side a bit, suited him perfectly, and recalling that day, I think I loved him from the moment I saw him. I knew I was romanticizing it, but I allowed myself to indulge in it anyway. In every way, he was so beautiful to me. Tony finished with me a few minutes before Johann finished Tucker. Tony did a great job with mine, but the difference seemed minor compared to the incredible change in Tucker. Johann had given him a slickened side-part, with a bit of hair over his forehead in a sexy, carefree fashion. It had a gradual fade into a well-shaped clipped beard. When he turned Tucker to face the mirror so he could finally see himself, he just stared in disbelief. Johann took a few headshots, and Tucker gave him a broad smile. "You are ready for a red carpet in Hollywood, I think, ja?" asked Johann. Tucker nodded. "Ja." When Tucker stood from the chair, I could tell he felt confident in his appearance, standing just a little taller and straighter. He followed his first impulse and put his arm around Johann, hugging him a little. Max paid for their haircuts, along with some styling gel Johann recommended for Tucker. But when I pulled my credit card out to pay for mine with Tony, the first thing he said was, "I noticed you've had some work done." And rather than thinking of a quick comeback, my mind went blank, so, inside, I must have panicked. No one else had ever said anything, but that someone would was inevitable. Few people would notice since I was working on the minor scars, and they looked good. However, when someone cuts my hair, they would get close enough to notice them. As innocent as the question might seem, it felt a tad unprofessional for Tony to even mention them, but he said it, the others heard, including Tucker, and I drew a blank as to what to say. Max, my savior, stepped up. "Yeah, that's a sensitive topic," he said. "He doesn't like to talk about his heroism during the war." I had no idea what he was talking about. "Oh, I'm sorry," said Tony, giving me the receipt to sign. Max put his arm around me. "Yeah, Millstone's my hero." "Millstone," said Mitch, pondering the name. "Of Millstone & Roche mentioned in the gossip column? I thought I recognized your name." At that point, I stood on firmer ground. "Yes, that's us." And that's when I noticed all eyes staring at my crotch. "Is the gossip true?" asked Tony. I figured, "what the hell..." So, I unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned my jeans, and whipped it out. It elicited a couple of the typical reactions, usually "holy shit," some phrase that includes the word "horse," and "May I jam that down my throat?" those sorts of things. Before we left, they said they hoped we would return to maintain our hair with their establishment, and I rather liked the place, so we most likely would. Tucker told them he would return to get his body waxed. He never had much body hair anyway, and he apparently preferred to just eliminate what little he had. I had no idea where Max had gotten that heroistic hogwash about me in a war. In my previous life, they never sent me to war. When we left the barbershop, Max whispered one word to me, which explained everything, and I felt like a negligent fool. He said, "Essay." I kept meaning to read that essay given to me by Thomas Sawyer, but I never got around to it. Apparently, within it, it gave me an excuse for the scars should anyone notice them, and like an idiot, I hadn't read it. "I should have paid for my own haircut," said Tucker. "No, you shouldn't," I said. "You're helping the police catch a killer, and they'll reimburse us for necessities, including your haircut and suit." We had an early lunch at Lumberjack's, but, unlike the previous day, we ate more modest portions as we had the event that evening, and when noon came around, we entered the tailor shop. "Good day, gentlemen," he said. Taylor the tailor wore navy blue pants with a pinstripe vest, and his jacket hung on the rack behind the counter. He had everything ready. "I do hope you understand the difficulty I had with crafting Mr. Malor's suit in such a short time. I would like you to know that my creations are sort of like my children in a way. I put all that I have into everything that I make, so it's important to me that they go to a good home. And...,"--he studied Tucker's new appearance--"knowing what I have for you and looking at you now, I see that it's in good hands. You will love what I have made you, you will look splendid, and I wish you every happiness with it." Each suit came fully complete and ready to wear, including underwear, socks, shoes, and every necessity. "Winter said she would pay for our suits, but how much do we owe you for Mr. Malor's here?" I asked. "Nothing. Winter paid for all three," he said. "But she wasn't supposed to pay for all three," I said. "What was the total for the three of them?" "The total came to $18,230 and some odd change." Max and I just stood there with our mouths agape. "You're kidding!" said Tucker. "For three suits?" "They're unique to you," said Taylor, "especially yours, Mr. Malor. You told me you wouldn't feel comfortable in a tuxedo because they look stuffy. I guarantee you will love what I've made for you; it's probably the coolest, sexiest suit I've ever created. But in many respects, they're all handcrafted works of art, made from the finest materials that money can buy, like silkened cashmere, alpaca, spandex, full-grain deer leather, Kevlar, and many other materials." "Kevlar?" I asked. "Yes, I've had requests for it, so I keep it in stock. I understood from the detective that Mr. Malor required a suit that could accommodate a bulletproof vest beneath it. Well, no need for that, when I could just make him a bulletproof vest for the suit. Besides, the accommodation of the extraneous vest beneath would have a negative effect on my design." "You're brilliant," said Tucker. "Thank you!" said Taylor. "The suits we ordered from the display window won't have that sort of price tag, will they?" Max asked. "Oh, no. Those are everyday suits made of a comfortable Merino wool blend, but they're nowhere near the same class as these. Those will cost no more than $1000 each, and I have those made for me by my highly skilled apprentices. The suits you take home today, I have designed and crafted myself, just for you, although I had some assistance with yours, Mr. Malor, due to the time constraints. And I apologize for not having a preliminary fitting, but we had so little time, but I believe, however, you will enjoy yours most of all." "If you would," he told him, "I would like it if you called me Tucker. I think I've made up my mind to change my name. I just need to find a last name to go with it." "Very well, Tucker," he said. "Your appearance makes me think you have Scottish ancestry. There are some wonderful Scottish names you could choose from, like Tucker MacCallan, Tucker Flanagan, or perhaps Tucker Bannerman." "Tucker Bannerman has a nice sound to it," said Max. "I'll have to think about it," said Tucker. Taylor laid his hand on Tucker's shoulder. "Well, whatever you decide," he said, "let it be a name that speaks to you, that helps you present yourself to the world." "I will remember that." When we returned to the Minotaur, we had a couple of hours before we needed to get ready. So, once we set our bags onto the table, Max undressed, and he proceeded to undress me. "You need to cum a few times before this evening," he said. "I wouldn't want you to have a problem tonight." "Should I get undressed too?" Tucker asked. "Not if you'd rather play with your clothes on," said Max. I gazed over at Tucker, shucking his pants. "Playtime is a separate thing from work time, right? Because if you demonstrate that you can't keep the two things separated, this time will be the last time. Do you understand?" "I get it," he said. "What we do, I take seriously. I won't fuck this up." We had sufficient light from the windows to see, as the three of us daisy-chained on the bed. I sucked Max, Tucker sucked me, and Max planted his face on the bulbous end of Tucker's uncut appendage, jacking him with both hands. Due to my size and the angle of my erection, it felt a little awkward as we couldn't form anything resembling a circle. Tucker enjoyed sucking me, and it felt good, but I focused on giving my Golden Bear as much pleasure as my limited amount of practice could provide. I liked making him squirm, making him lose himself in the sensation of my tongue and lips, caressing the soft skin on the barrel of his cum gun. And despite all my previous expectations, tasting Max was like imbibing liquid joy. Unless someone had dehumanized sex or had degraded into pathological self-absorption, it's hard not to make an attachment of some kind with the man you've pleasured and cum you've ingested. I wouldn't know if that's psychological, biological, or both, but pleasuring Max caused a far greater attachment to him than when he pleasured me. And it came from more than just the erotic sensation of the spongy end of his cock jamming down my throat or the satisfaction of my reward for a job well cum; it came from a bond built on trust, and I felt that with Max. And while playing with our close friends was fun, it wasn't necessary to sustain us. When Max came, he began to grunt, thrusting his hips. I held it in my mouth and fed Tucker, who came, feeding Max, who in turn shared it with me. "Sucking you, Tucker," said Max, "is like mouthing the bottom of a Mason jar. I liked it, though." Tucker laughed. "Okay, that's a new one." He eyed my erection. "Looks like Millstone requires more effort." "It had me in a bad angle," I said. "It wouldn't take much if I sit up." They propped pillows behind me at the head of the bed, and they took turns blowing me. In half an hour or so, I had fed them both. Afterward, we relaxed on the bed. I lay on my back between them, my arms around them as they snuggled against me. I patted Tucker on the ass. "Have you had a good time?" He nodded. "Yeah, and I look forward to more times like this." "Out of curiosity," said Max, "have you any limits? Things you won't do." "Yeah," he said, "I'm picky about who goes into my ass, and even though I'm bi, I won't have sex with a woman again. I've had enough of that to last a lifetime." "What do you mean," asked Max. "A couple in their late twenties ran my group home in Baltimore, Declan and Caroline O'Neill. When I turned twelve, Declan, who instigated the whole thing, started bringing me into their bedroom, and he made me fuck his wife nearly every night, sometimes two or three times. I was smaller than I am now, but I had a big dick back then; that's one of the reasons she wanted me, but also because Declan and I both had auburn hair. "At first, I just found it enjoyable as a new experience, but I soon realized that I had no choice in the matter as Declan wouldn't let me say no, and at that age, it never took much to get an erection even when I didn't want one. They acted like I should be grateful. That went on for about four years. He apparently couldn't have children, and she wanted some of her own. That's why my having red hair was important; they could pass my children off as his. She really liked having sex with me, so even during her pregnancies, they made me do it. I put a stop to it when I got her pregnant with our third baby; I finally got brave and desperate enough to go to the police, so they were arrested and put in jail for a long time. My uncle lawyer said he would make certain my daughter and two sons would be adopted together by a good family, and he told me that they were. My sons are Liam, who's 16, and Sean, who's 15, but my daughter Fiona is 13, I think." "Do you know who adopted them?" Max asked. "He wouldn't tell me for certain," he said, "because he suggested it would be best if I didn't know, but I suspect that he and his wife adopted them, and that's another reason he tends to keep up with me. I'm going to call him on Sunday to tell him how things are going." When the time came for us to get ready, we carefully showered without wetting our hair and returned to our quarters to dress. Each of our suits from Taylor the tailor, had an entire ensemble down to the underwear, or in Max's case, a lack thereof. Apparently, due to the color and elements of its construction, his pants were designed to be worn without. Taylor intended for Max to wear no shirt, just the white alpaca bolero jacket with metallic gold thread for the damask pattern, leaving in view enormous amounts of his pale, golden-fur-covered body. It wouldn't cover much of his pecs or any of his abdominals or lower back. His white pants, which fit like tights, were an alpaca and spandex blend. It seemed strange, but because Max wore it, he made it look incredibly sexy. As Winter's escort, however, it needed to merely coordinate with her dress. Taylor made my tux of a black silkened cashmere with a silk lining. I thought he would go all gothic, but it looked like a typical, modern vested tuxedo, which was nice, so I could wear it at other functions. Taylor had assessed Tucker correctly when he created his masterpiece for him. He was not accustomed to wearing fancy clothing like a tuxedo, and he said he would feel uncomfortable and out of place in it, even if he would have looked extraordinarily handsome while wearing one. His uncomfortableness would detract from his experience of them, and Taylor would never want that. He strives for his customers to feel good about his creations. Tucker's suit, for as strange as Max's seemed, had the most unique appearance. It came with an optional black shirt to wear under it, but he decided to go without. It started with black leather boots with a hidden knife sheath in both, a fully lined pair of distressed black leather pants made to fit a little snug, and he made them with a gusset to give him ample room to accommodate his hefty appendage. His double-breasted vest, trimmed in distressed black leather, Taylor had made of forest green alpaca damask backed by Kevlar and lined in silk. His sleeveless coat of distressed black leather, intended to be worn open, finished off the look showing off his nice shoulders and big arms. He looked amazing, and he loved it, just as Taylor said he would. "Okay," said Max. "Looking at this now, I am not wearing this to the mansion. If I tried that, guaranteed, I'll have something from the cab on these snowy white pants before I get there, and that's not happening. Why couldn't she just ask me to escort her naked? That would have been so much easier, not to mention cheaper." We had opened the boxes, bags, and suit covers to gather things together. Tucker watched me put on my sock garters and copied what I did. My father, who had a lot of style, showed me how to dress well, and he taught me everything I know about men's clothing. I used to think that sock garters looked silly, and I refused to wear them when he got them, but he told me that I could wear them like a man and be comfortable, or I could leave them off and feel the need to pull on my socks all day like a 12-year-old during gym class from the 1970s. Needless to say, half a day of wearing them had me sold. Max and I watched Tucker don the sock garters, and I sometimes sensed he was so much younger than his years. At 28, and already the father of three teenagers, it seemed he had not experienced as much of life as he often pretended or as much as I expected, perhaps. Still, we knew so little about him. Like Wade, I hadn't wanted to use him as bait. It seemed like a good idea before we knew him at all, or when he really had no choice, but after the death of the Crows woman... "You don't have to do this," I said to him. "If you're having any second thoughts, maybe you should listen to them." "Millstone's right," said Max. "We could find some other way." He stood from the bench built into the footboard of the bed where we were dressing. "I appreciate that my welfare concerns you enough to make that offer. But look, I wouldn't want you to hold the impression that I'm just some sacrificial lamb waiting for this guy to slaughter me just so you could catch him. He and Delilah victimized me, but I am not a victim. It's hard to stop someone when you don't know their identity, and they've put you on the defensive elsewhere, like with the police. I have a side of me that you've not met, and few people will, because it's not a side that I like, but he's killed people, and he burned everything I owned. I won't let him get away with that. Just let me do this, so I can focus on my new relationship with Wade and working for you guys. I think you'll find that I could help you more than you realize. "We want him alive, ya know," said Max. "I wouldn't kill him unless he makes me," he said, "I have a right to defend myself, but I'm not a killer. Tonight, I'm just a hunter." "You think it's Neuhouser, don't you?" I asked. "Maybe," he said. "If he's there, I'll know when I see him again." When the time came for us to leave, we hired a taxi to take us there. Max surprised me when he decided to go naked to the mansion, saying he hadn't wanted to keep up with an extra set of clothing. He carefully placed what he would wear into one of the handled paper bags in which we brought home my new shirts, and we waited in the parking lot for the cab to arrive. Max pushed at my chest through the jacket to feel for my pistol, which I was wearing. He smiled a little. "Just checking. So, how do your suits fit?" "Okay," said Tucker in resignation, "the fit's worth letting him measure my junk." "It's the best I've had," I said. "I'm looking forward to the other suits we ordered." "I look forward to those too," said Max, "but I like being naked outside; it feels so freeing. You two should try this." "If I ever did that," I said, "photos of my cock would be all over the internet within 48 hours." "Same here," said Tucker. "But...I've been thinking, Millstone, since Bare as You Dare Day is coming up. I would join in if you would." "Are you challenging me?" I asked. "Yeah, why not? Let's see which of us has the guts to go through with it. So, I challenge you to stay naked for that 24 hours, join in the day's events, and generally have a good time. They might even let you enter the three-legged-race all by yourself." Max laughed. "Very funny," I said and squinted at him in thought. "Hmm. Alright, I'll take that challenge, and the first one to allow anybody to make us feel so uncomfortable that we quit by either avoiding the public or put on any clothes, loses." "Deal." And we shook hands on it. When the black London cab that we had ordered arrived, Glenn was our driver. "Hi guys," he said. I noticed the cheerful and bouncy attitude he presented before with the sisters seemed more subdued, and I think Max detected the difference too. "Hi Glenn," I said as we climbed in. "You're at work early, aren't you?" "Yeah," he said, "Hackney Cabs pulled in several of us two hours early. They're expecting a lot of people to need cabs tonight. Dispatch texted me that you needed a ride to the Thornbrier Mansion. Will you go naked to the party, Mr. Roche?" He pulled us out into traffic. "No, I have my clothes with me," he said. "I've not had a chance to tell you how sorry I am for your loss. Tommy sounded like a good guy." "Thanks, I appreciate that," he said. "I can't go to the party, but I will attend the memorial for Tommy afterward." At the mansion, the catering truck had arrived, and many people were working out the last-minute preparations. They had filled the dining room and the ballroom with tables for the roughly 200 guests that would arrive that evening. Grey, Albert, and Wade stood inside near the front door when we arrived. They were all wearing tuxedos and looked quite handsome. The instant Wade and Tucker saw one another, they both smiled. I could tell they wanted to greet one another with a kiss, but they had to show some prudence in public until after the killer was caught. "Good to see you," said Grey. "Max, Auntie Winter is upstairs. She wishes to speak with you and needs your assistance. She's on the first upper floor, right hallway, first bedroom to the left." "Okay, thanks," said Max. He hugged Tucker, wished him luck, and then he kissed me. "You be careful too." "You too," I said, and he knew why I said it. Once Max left and Grey went to speak to the caterer, Wade and Albert took us to a secluded corner of the mansion to give us the plan. "I need you to wear this," said Wade. He attached a small black disk containing a transmitter and a microphone to the back of the lapel on Tucker's jacket. "We've tested this; it works from one floor to another, but not two floors. If you're too far away, we can't hear you." "Got it," said Tucker. Wade gave me an earpiece. "This receiver is pretty small, so try not to lose it inside your ear. I want you to always keep Tucker in your sights, and since the three of us doing that would look suspicious, Albert and I will keep an eye on the crowd. Here's a micro-transmitter to keep in a pocket. You touch this to speak into it, and we'll hear you. If any of us sees anything, we let the others know. Tucker, I would give you a receiver, but something in your ear looks more conspicuous than the transmitter, and you need to look natural. Let us know if you need to go upstairs to the bathroom or anything, okay?" "Right," he said. "And lastly," said Wade, who pulled out the ring, "you wear this. Give me your hand." "But it's priceless," said Tucker. "What if I knock it against something and lose the stone?" "Don't worry," he said, "the inspector rightly forbade me to use the original; this is just a 60-dollar knockoff from a local jeweler." Tucker jutted his hand out, so Wade could put it on him, and when he did, he took his time, sliding it on slowly as he smiled at him. "What are you doing?" asked Tucker. "Just practicing," he said. Tucker smirked, looked to see if anyone else had come into the room, and seeing that we were alone, he kissed Wade. "And don't worry about me," he said. "I remember our little discussion from last night," he said and pointed at him. "Don't kill him, okay?" "What is this?" he asked. "Everyone thinks I'm going to kill the guy. I have my priorities straight, but that's not to say that I won't hurt him, given a chance." "No one would begrudge you a bit of smackdown," said Albert, "but know when to stop. That's all we ask." Since the exterior walls had deep-set windows and the landscape's mature trees blocked a lot of the sun, the interior of the mansion required a lot of artificial lighting. Fortunately, it created sufficient ambient light to make keeping watch relatively easy. Before guests arrived, Tucker and I took a small tour of the place to see where catering had taken up their temporary residence. When we looked in on the living area, where the chimney hook would find a new home inside its giant fireplace, I noticed the restorers had finished the painting that hung over the mantlepiece. "Oh my god!" said Tucker pointing at the painting. "That's where I saw it. I thought it looked familiar. I remember now, I helped take down this painting." The painting depicted Lady Thornbrier, somewhere in her early 30s, perhaps sitting in the room in which we stood, posed on a chintz-covered armchair, wearing a jeweled gown, a gaudy necklace, and a diamond tiara. However, in plain sight, on the finger of her right hand that rested on the chair arm, she wore the engagement ring with the red diamond. I had to admit, she made a stout looking figure who could have killed Leopold's lover with a fireplace poker. Guests, dressed in their fancy finery, arrived in groups, and Albert said that a line of cabs outside waited to drop everyone off at the door, making an orderly loop back out the front gate. Rapidly, the oversized foyer teemed with goths dressed in various gothic-themed formal wear, an array of members of the LGBT community, including a leatherman wearing a rather attractive leather tuxedo, and no one acted as though the two nudists had woefully underdressed for the occasion, so I saw no problem with Tucker's less than formal attire. Among the guests, a television crew of two people arrived, as well as Mr. Santiago, The Naked Reporter. Fortunately, he busied himself with his job on the social scene, and he left us alone, but if tonight went well, I would owe him an exclusive interview, a small price to pay, really. Tucker tried to stay out of the thick of the crowd, which began spilling over into other rooms, and he remained within my sight. A few people approached him from Alliance, asking him about his arrest. Of course, they never arrested him, and he set them right about that. "Hey, Millstone," said a voice behind me. I turned to find Bo Pecker standing there in a tuxedo, and seeing him put a smile on my face, but I tried not to get distracted from watching Tucker, so I repositioned myself to keep him within view. "Hey, Bo! Good to see you," I said. "Aren't you handsome this evening?" "Thanks," he said, and my compliment caused him to smile a little. "So, how's the investigation?" "Officially," I said, "I'm not supposed to say anything, but unofficially, I think it's played out. I think your former office manager had something against James Malor, and she killed Tommy and Douglas both, trying to pin the murders on him. Then, in some last-ditch effort to get back at him, she burned his home, and either got caught in the fire, or she doused herself and set the whole thing alight." "What a horrible thing to do," he said. "And I bought her lunch every day!" "That's because you're such a nice guy." I hadn't seen Neuhouser arrive, but I saw Tucker eyeing him when he stood nearby, and I couldn't tell whether Tucker still considered him a threat or not. Suddenly, Bo saw someone he needed to speak with and excused himself; but since I needed to focus on Tucker anyway, I hadn't complained. Unfortunately, a stream of people wanted to meet me because of the gossip column, and it grew more difficult to separate everything that I was hearing. I had my right ear picking up Tucker's conversation with someone about his few nights in the slammer (as far as they knew), I had my left ear engaged in the conversation with whoever next wanted to see my cock (I told them all to join in The Bare as You Dare Day events), and then I had to filter out the incessant drone of the background noise. The whole thing was giving me a headache. Guests stopped arriving at about 6:45, and at 7:00 p.m. on the dot, Winter emerged at the top of the stairs with Max at her side. Her dress positively glittered with a pattern of gold teardrops upon its white background. She wore a gold tiara and a simple gold chain from which hung a single diamond teardrop. She looked like a queen, and between Max's muscular physique, clothing, and golden fur, my Honey Bear made great arm candy. I stared at him for a moment and thought, "Damn, he is so handsome." I couldn't believe I had the privilege of having him in my arms every night, his love in my life, and his permission to pound his bubble on the regular, as Tucker would say. I saw his eyes find me in the crowd, and I smiled at him. However, I couldn't allow him to distract me too much. When enough people caught sight of them, everyone went quiet, and the crowd shifted away from the staircase, so they could see. And when that happened, I lost Tucker in the crowd. I pulled out my micro-transmitter, gripped it in my fist, and whispered into it while covering my mouth like I would cough. "I lost Tucker when the crowd moved," I said. "I can't see him either," said Wade. "Neither can I," said Albert. "Shit," I heard Wade say. Once on the landing, Winter spoke and thanked everyone for coming, making the usual hostess oration. She then spoke of the story of the chimney hook and its importance and tradition. Apparently, the lead worker who helped rebuild and restore the fireplaces and chimneys had the honor of hanging the hook inside the living room's fireplace, finalizing the completion of the mansion's structure, after which the caterers would serve dinner. As for Tucker, our hands were tied. We couldn't work our way through the crowd to find him, that would look suspicious, and his microphone remained silent except for the faint sound of Winter's oration. When she finished, she and Max descended to the first floor, and everyone turned to enter the living area. It would be a little tight in there, but with no furniture to get in the way, they would fit. As the crowd huddled together to make their way, I began to hear a popping sound through my earpiece, a series of three fast pops, three slow pops, and three fast pops repeated over and over. We were hearing SOS in Morse code. I tried to squeeze into the crowd to make a search, but I couldn't find him. The code tapped into our earpieces made hearing one another difficult, but then the code stopped, at which point we heard two voices. One was somewhat indistinct, but I heard Tucker's clearly. I met up with Albert and Wade, who said no one could go upstairs, so they must be on the ground floor somewhere, and decided that he and Albert should split up to search. "What do you want from me?" we heard Tucker ask, then came a reply that I could hardly make out. "You brought me up here for that?" asked Tucker. They'd gone up the secret passage. Wade came around the corner from the opposite end of the room and bounded up the staircase, telling Albert, "Stay here and keep everyone calm." I ran to the wood paneling of the staircase's skirting and searched for the lever. I could have run up the staircase too, but I figured it would be better if we entered the room at different locations. "You don't need that gun," said Tucker's voice, "you can have the ring." I found the lever, and in my ear, I heard a shot fired and a bit of scuffling. I tripped up the uneven stone staircase in the darkness. I pulled my weapon from the holster, and in my ear, I heard a loud thud, some yelling, and the screams of a man. By the time I reached the room, Wade found the room too from its main door. With a hand on his abdomen, Tucker stood over a man I never expected to see, screaming in pain, lying face down onto the floor. It was Bo Pecker. I pulled the earpiece from my ear. "What the fuck!" said Wade, who rushed to Tucker. "Are you shot?" The front of his vest had some damage to the cloth, but the Kevlar had not allowed the bullet to penetrate him. "I think I'm okay, but that bullet hurt." He saw me staring at Bo, who kept screaming in pain. "Don't worry about him; he's not going anywhere. Oh, shut-up, Pecker! You shot me, you fucking dickhead, and you don't hear me wailing about it." "What have you done to him?" asked Wade. "I incapacitated him by hyperextending his knees and dislocating his shoulders," he said. "He's pretty strong. I worried I couldn't do it." The arrest had to happen in an orderly manner and by the book. The detective took out his card. "Bo Pecker, you have the right to remain silent...," said the detective, who continued to read him the Miranda warning. I squatted and tipped my head, so I could look him in the face. "Why, Bo? Max and I really liked you. I don't understand; I thought you were a good man." His eyes wet and red, he said, "I'm sorry. I tried when I moved to Franklin, but I found being good all the time exhausting." Wade called the police department and requested two ambulances. When he ended the call, he hugged Tucker. "What do we need the second ambulance for?" I asked. "I want them to check Tucker over for internal injuries." He looked Tucker in the face. "What, no argument?" "I've never been shot before," he said, "I would like to make sure that I see at least a few more tomorrows with you." He kissed Wade. Many guests heard the gunshot, but they couldn't know for sure what it was or where it came from. By the time the police and ambulance arrived, Albert had corralled the guests into the dining room and ballroom for dinner, including the guests who needed to pee. The ambulance crew gave Pecker an injection for the pain, and they made his quick removal on the gurney with as little noise and as much discretion as possible. For the most part, the evening had minimal disruption to the festivities, and that would please Winter enormously. A police officer brought the detective an evidence bag, and he placed Pecker's Beretta Pico into it from where Tucker had kicked it. The hospital would keep him for a while, and Wade coordinated officers to guard him during his stay. In due course of time, Pecker confessed everything. Apparently, he and Crows had planned robberies together. She helped to hide the documents about transfers of any storage to various warehouses of the items they found inside homes requiring removals, like the motherload from the Thornbrier Estate. They circulated the storage from one warehouse to another until, in the confusion, they could manage to have their items-of-choice moved into warehouse 232 near the docks. They used the peons in removals to relocate the items in question, who unwittingly assisted with the thefts. Alliance's rapid turnover of the peons working in removals helped to hide what happened to the items they unknowingly stole; they all thought someone else took care of it. Naturally, none of them would be charged. During this, the ring was found by Tommy at warehouse 232, when it fell from a piece of furniture when he shifted it. He took a photo of it on his phone and then showed the ring to Chadwell, who easily convinced him to let him hand it over to their supervisor because he had worked for Alliance longer than Tommy. However, Chadwell dragging his feet about handing it in strained their friendship. Tommy had become chummy with the office staff. That's why Neuhouser, one of several managers, began calling him Tommy-Boy, and why Tommy told Delilah Crows about the ring, and where he found it, just before he called Neuhouser to leave the message. Crows also knew about his date with James Malor. As things had begun to unravel in Pecker's absence, she panicked and irrationally decided to kill Tommy before he could talk to Neuhouser the next day, fearing any attention drawn to warehouse 232. She waited for Malor to leave Tommy's house. She arrived, she plied Tommy with a few more drinks and got him drunk enough to give her no problems when she killed him. She initiated her plan to blame James by starting an evidence trail using a finger trap that she created that day, duplicating one made by James in Seattle. She figured that Chadwell would have to go too, and she would leave the trap that should have James's prints at the scene of Chadwell's death, implicating him for both murders. She told Pecker of her actions to protect their secret. He never wanted to kill anyone, but it forced him to return early from Greece to clean up her mess. They confronted Chadwell, and he revealed what he knew about the warehouse, and he tried to blackmail them. Chadwell returns home at 2:30 that night, seen by the neighbor with the elderly labradoodle. Pecker wanted the ring to go with all the rest of the jewelry found in the home, so he had gone to Chadwell's to get the ring and kill him to stop the blackmail, but Chadwell refused to give him the ring as he had already swallowed it. Pecker murders Chadwell, using two finger traps made by Crows, leaving the remainder at the scene to further implicate James. He attached the top portion of a note from Chadwell's work file (It originally contained an apology and reasons he arrived a few hours late for work a few months prior). He ransacks the house, searching for the ring but finds nothing and straightens it back up in a hurry. Crows wanted the police to think James did it, but as far as Pecker was concerned, it would suit him fine no matter how the police looked at it, so long as Chadwell couldn't blackmail them and no one else knew about the warehouse. If he had decided to give up on the ring at that point, they might have gotten away with it, but he got greedy. Pecker had no clue the police had the ring. When he saw it on James's hand in the paper, Crows confirmed that the ring looked identical to the photo that Tommy showed her. It was Crows's idea to ransack James's home and then burn it. Pecker decided at the last minute to rid himself of Crows in the fire. Pecker held the gun on James but hadn't intended to use it, thinking he could just push him down the darkened stone staircase in the secret passage. However, James attacked him, so he fired the gun. He underestimated James's fighting skills and quickly regretted the whole situation, with the pain of two injured knees and both of his shoulders dislocated. Bo Pecker remained in the custody of the on-duty police at the hospital. Before Wade had accompanied Tucker in the ambulance, he gave Albert the rest of the night off. He needed to prepare for the arrival of Master Brice at midnight. So, of our group, only Max and I remained at the estate. At the end of their meal, I pulled Max and Winter aside, informing them of what had occurred. She was pleased by the outcome and our discretion, so a few days later, she paid us a rather large sum, significantly more than the $2000 that I quoted. I decided to keep the money and help Tucker with most of it since a major portion of the outcome came from his bravery, and I would use some of it as a down payment on the vehicle we thought to buy for the business. The television crew left immediately after the hanging of the chimney hook, and they were oblivious to any of the goings on. Mr. Santiago, however, not only stayed but figured something was happening when Albert wouldn't allow him to go to the bathroom. He waited in the dining room and thoughtfully had the caterers keep a plate warm for me, so I could eat, and he could interview me. And, as I was starving, I gratefully agreed to it. Once the gathering had ended, the guests departed, except those who would stay for Tommy's memorial. Winter said we had given them closure, so we had done enough, and that Tommy would understand when we decided to go. "So, have you given Winter any definitive answer?" I asked him as he texted for a cab to pick us up. "No," he said, "I need to think it through. I'm leaning toward `yes,' but I don't know yet." As we reached the door, we met Glenn, who wore his usual cabbie attire, and Sister Foustina dressed in black, whom he brought with him. "Mr. Millstone, Mr. Roche," she said in a breathy, somber voice, "it's good to see you again." "Yes, indeed," I said. "So that you know, we have good news. We caught the killer." "You caught him?" she asked. "That's wonderful news. The sisters will be pleased." "I'm glad you got him," said Glenn. I put my hand on Glenn's shoulder. "I'm hoping that knowing the killer is off the streets will help you find your smile a little sooner." We told them Goodnight, and when the door shut behind us, Max began removing his clothing. "Ugh...I'm so glad to get out of this." "You don't like it?" "I had too many people tell me that I looked like a genie in it." As the cab pulled into the pea gravel drive, I wrapped my arms around my naked man, and I kissed him, "No, you're not the genie; you're my every wish granted." "Oh, that sounds far too sappy for you," he said. The cab stopped before us, and I opened the door to let him go first. He pulled me to him by my jacket, and he kissed me. "Let's just go home, so you can pound me half the night," he said. "As you wish." I climbed in and closed the door. "Cabbie, to the Minotaur and make it snappy. My Golden Bear needs his Stallion." The End. ------------ Please if you've read all 16 chapters of this novel and enjoyed it, I would love to hear from you. It spurs me on to write another one. Rick.Heathen@gmail.com.