Despite the two-hour drive down into Washington, D.C., for my government job, living along the top of the ridge of Blue Mountain, the last mountain north in the Blue Ridge Mountain chain, was usually heavenly. In the summer, it was a good ten degrees cooler up there on the tree-covered ridge with stunning views of the town of Front Royal below and into West Virginia and toward the Allegheny Mountains to the west. The same tree coverage and the isolation from many of the amenities of city or suburban life could make the winters sheer hell, though. Often were the times in the winter that I had to stay in town on a snowy night. This wasn’t all bad, as it gave me an evening to play, but it just wouldn’t do during Christmas week.
I usually countered that by taking the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day off, hoping for snow, supplying up, and planning to go nowhere out of the house. We’d even solved the problems of bundling up and trudging out for New Year’s parties by having become the family that hosted the New Year’s Eve party for those living along our ridge road who took to the mountains for the holidays. That usually worked out well—usually.
Our New Year’s parties usually became an exhilarating and a bit dangerous “catch me if you can” game for me. Some of the men living along the ridge road, some married, some not, and some bold enough to be living with another man, were gay or bisexual. I, in my late twenties, was blond and fit and was told I was quite good looking. I was well-heeled too for a guy my age, with a good political-connections job on Capitol Hill. The connection, though, was through my wife Marianne’s family. Her father had been a senator and now served on the board of a handful of powerful companies. Marianne was older than I was—much. She knew I went with both women and men before we were married, but she assumed that her family’s position and sponsorship had solved that. It hadn’t. Often, she was so busy being a hostess for New Year’s Eve that I was able to welcome in the new year with a bit of touchy feely—and more—during our annual party.
Men who wanted to cover younger men seemed to gravitate to me, and if they were good-looking and hung, I didn’t fight them off—if it was convenient for me to receive them. Most of my men now were prominent government men some twenty years older than I was. I had my times, though, when I’d look at a young, hunky blue-collar worker and longed to sheath his cock and be treated a bit rough in the ride.
I was contemplating being able to entertain one of the younger guys on New Year’s Eve at 4:00 p.m. one afternoon, on December 29th, when I was in our lower-floor exercise room, doing my dailies, and Marianne was upstairs in the kitchen, baking Snickerdoodle cookies for the party. We were being buffeted from outside by an ice storm that was promising to be a record-snow and ice storm all along the northeast seaboard, but we were snug, with Christmas music playing on the stereo and shimmering decorated Christmas trees twinkling in various public rooms of our sprawling house.
I didn’t have any lighting on in the exercise room—there was a wall of glass between the room and the lower-level terrace overlooking the valley below, which let in all the light I needed, even at that time of day in the winter. I did hear the explosive pop, though, and Marianne’s exclamation from the kitchen overhead of “Oh, shit,” and I knew instantly that the power had gone out. I didn’t have any trouble knowing why it had gone out either. Trees fell and their tops snapped up here on the mountainside in any sort of storm. Ice storms were probably the worst. I could only hope that whatever tree that had brought down the power lines serving the houses on the ridge hadn’t come down on our narrow gravel mountain road too. We had only one exit route from here.
This wouldn’t automatically cancel the New Year’s party. We had a generator and multiple fireplaces and lots of candles, but the generator couldn’t be used before the party or it wouldn’t last until the party, and the food for the party hadn’t been finished yet—nor was it as far along to being finished as it usually was. Most of the locals could make the party on foot, but it was going to be cold as shit up here until we got power and I couldn’t maintain e-mail connection with my office during a rather delicate political time. I was expecting documents via e-mail that I had to review and sign off on before January 1st.
I called the power company, to be told that there were outages all over the area, but in hearing who I was and who I was married to, we were put high on the priority list for attention.
“One of our board members lives up there,” the woman I talked to said, “So, your area is already on the list.” She said it like it wasn’t any clout that I had that was making a difference. I was warned, though, that “high” didn’t mean today. I had to accept that. The next thing I had to ascertain was whether we could even get off the mountain. We couldn’t stay here tonight without power. Most of the neighbors along the ridge were outside, checking that out too, but the more seasoned of them—those who had lived up here through many more winters than Marianne and I had—warned that, if we wanted to stay warm, we best get out now for the couple of days it would take to get the power back on.
I found where the line had come down, just a couple of lots further down the road from us, at the Barnes’s house. Timothy Barnes, a black Marine major, whose wife, Sharon, had inherited a vacation house up here, was standing outside his house by the downed tree. He had a power saw and was cutting off limbs, but it was obvious that something more powerful than what he had was what would be needed to get this pine tree cleared.
That wasn’t to say he wasn’t a powerful man. He was a big, strapping, squared-away Marine, all muscle, square jaw, and crew cut. I’d had my eye on him for some time and he on me too, I could tell. We were both married, him with kids, but the signals were there and I’d returned them. The Barneses usually weren’t up here for Christmas and New Year’s, though.
“Looks like a bad one,” I said as I came up to him. We were both bundled up like snowmen, but we both had gotten the measure of the other. We knew what was on offer. We had just been waiting for the opportunity. As they hadn’t been on the mountain for Christmas before, I just hadn’t thought it would be this New Year’s.
“Yeah, we’re going to need a power company bucket truck up here. Guess this scotches your New Year’s party, and we’d made an effort to be here for it this year. I’d made an effort to be here.” The look he gave me told me exactly why he’d made the effort to be here for the party this year. We’d murmured to each other before what fun the party could be. He’d decided this was the year the two of us would manage to party.
“We have a generator,” I said. “We should be able to have the party even if the power doesn’t come back on. Whoever is up here on the ridge might be stuck up here at New Year’s anyway. I’m looking forward to you being at the party.”
“Of course, there’s no reason to have to wait for the party,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. His eyes scanned up and down the road. No one else was in view.
“Oh?” I asked, trembling in anticipation. I’d been dreaming of getting me some young cock this Christmas season. It had been several months since I’d had any cock at all. Barnes was maybe in his mid-thirties. There was no doubt he was fit.
“I’m hard as steel and aching for it,” he growled.
He fucked me up against a tree well out of sight of any of the houses. We remained bundled up, but he was hung like a bull, long and thick, and my jeans and briefs were only pulled down to my knees. My buns were kept warm by his gloved hands palming and separating them, as, with my knees hooked on his hips and my gloved hands clutching his biceps, he worked his way inside me with difficulty. Once in, though it was smooth going, with me rocking on him in rhythm with the thrusts. We fucked like two horny animals in deep rut—which, of course, we were. It would be nice if the Barneses made the New Year’s Eve party, but there was nothing insistent now that they be able to do so. I had been had by him.
I was humming when I returned to the house and Timothy picked up his power saw to resume his limb trimming. I didn’t think of myself as a slut for it, but perhaps it would be best for me to give that another thought.
Marianne was from Arizona. She wasn’t a fan of cold in any shape or form. She cursed about having to suspend her food preparation, but she voted for going down to the valley for a night in a hotel before I did. So, we packed for two nights, took the winter car—an old and trusty Land Rover—and went down into Front Royal. I only had a couple of documents to look at being sent to me via the Internet, but it was vital that I receive and review them before the new year. The money they represented, if I signed off on them, would be lost if not dedicated to a project this calendar year.
There aren’t many hotels in the Front Royal area that pass muster with Marianne, but there’s a super-duper Holiday Inn resort hotel out near where Route 66 goes by the town that she likes, so that’s where we headed. It wasn’t really far from Blue Mountain. We could clearly see it from our house, but coming down off the mountain and through the town of Front Royal takes more than a half hour in the best of times—and while an ice storm was still spitting along wasn’t the best of times.
It took us the better part of an hour to reach the hotel. I drove in a funk, thinking that being stuck in a hotel in the boonies with Marianne would really crimp of my style of wanting to mix it up with other guys during the Christmas holidays.
But my disappointment proved to be unfounded.
* * * *
When we were checking into the hotel, without reservations and finding the parking lot almost entirely deserted, the reception clerk noted that there were few rooms available, because “anytime now a hundred Dominion Energy linemen will be showing up to stay here en route to the Northeast, where the storm is raging.”
I gave that no notice at the time. It was only when we were eating dinner in Houlahan’s, a bar and restaurant connected to the hotel, that we saw men dressed for work outside in the snow and ice slowly drifting in, most headed for the bar. Three strapping guys came in, boisterously yammering with each other, and briefly stood at the hostess’s desk before turning left into the bar. They appeared to be rough-and-ready hulky hunks, a Hispanic and two Mediterranean types. They saw that I was looking at them and one of them winked at me. I instinctively winked back. I don’t know what it is about guys in my lifestyle, but we seem able to quickly connect our interests.
These guys were gods in work clothes, a combination quite arousing to me, and I was fairly open in showing my interest. These three guys were open in returning that interest. It was just a brief moment. Marianne brought me back to ground by asking me a question and the three guys turned toward the bar.
We went upstairs to our room and it was less than another hour before one of our neighbors up on the Blue Mountain ridge called to say that the power was back on. Marianne got antsy at that point.
“I have so much to do before the party. I’m thinking that we should go on home.”
I hadn’t received the documents I needed to review by e-mail attachment yet, though. “The power being on doesn’t mean Internet access is up yet,” I said. “The cable companies can’t get their lines back up until the power is on, and we won’t exactly be high priority to get the cables back in.”
“You could stay here and I’ll go home,” Marianne said. She really, really wanted to get back to the house.
I wasn’t thinking straight or I would have hopped on that idea immediately. Instead, I said, “You don’t like driving the Land Rover and the roads are treacherous. I don’t want to see you trying to drive in this on your own.” She showed a pout and I adjusted. “I can drive you back up and come back to the hotel to review my documents and spend the night. It would just take an hour and a half.”
I wasn’t even thinking of possibilities at that point, but, luckily, Marianne jumped on the idea. So, that’s what we did.
The drive up and back was harrowing, but the Land Rover managed it. I almost went into shock when I got back to the hotel. The large parking lot was nearly bumper to bumper with a sea of Dominion Energy bucket trucks. The bulk of the army of linemen headed into the Northeast to repair the storm damage there had arrived. The lobby of the hotel was clogged with bulked-up outside service men checking in and standing around and jabbering to each other. I was triggered into going into arousal overdrive, but I made it to my room, found the documents had arrived, and did what I had to do to get those back in time to pin the funding down.
The documents taken care of, I realized I was hopelessly keyed up—on more levels than one. I was relieved I’d gotten the work done I needed to do; I was still full of nervous energy from the difficult drive, first down the mountain and then up and down again in the messy weather; and having all these rough-and-ready men around me had me aroused. On top of that, I felt free of Marianne for the night. She was on top of Blue Mountain. I was down in Front Royal, by myself. There was no way Marianne was suddenly going to show up wherever I was and whatever I was doing. I could do what I often did when I was stuck in Washington alone on a night like this.
I needed a drink—or two or three. I needed to be fucked too—Timothy Barnes had only whetted my appetite for young cock. I wanted to lie on my back with a thick cock deep inside me, moving, while a young muscle stud did pushups on my body.
I dressed in something provocative and went down to the bar at Houlihan’s. I unconsciously had been preparing for this before I was aware I was. When I’d taken Marianne back to the house, I’d pulled out a pair of white stretch jeans and a red-mesh athlete T-shirt. It was nearly New Year’s and I’d have something with me to dress for the season now that I would be on my own for the night. I was aware of the possibility of going into Front Royal to Charlie’s, a gay bar, but nothing consciously had formed at that point.
In Houlihan’s, I turned left into the bar, which was chock-a-block with boisterous Dominion linemen. Passing through the bar, I entered the back party room that the bar had opened to take the overflow.
The three guys were there, standing in a tight group, drinks in hand, ogling the other men swirling around. They saw me. They smiled and ogled me and I smiled and ogled them back. They obviously were on the make. So was I. I was aware of the danger that they were doing this as a pack, but that only heightened my arousal. I’d been gangbanged before.
Their names were Anthony, Sami, and Ed, Ed being the Hispanic looker. Out of their bulky outerwear, all three of them looked like muscular bodybuilders. They all were older than I was, but not older than their early forties.
I told them my name was Craig. It isn’t, but close enough for a one-night stand. And this would be a one-night stand. Three of them and rough trade. I just needed an itch scratched—a Christmas present.
* * * *
They came to me in the back room at Houlihan’s. If they hadn’t, I don’t know if I’d played coy or worked my way to them or maybe seen the danger and extreme possibilities of three rough men and backed off. But I didn’t have time to think about it. They came to me, two of them each taking an elbow and the third, the Hispanic, who seemed to be in charge, saying, “You were looking for us, Blondie?”
They hadn’t been in the Houlihan bar all this time. They’d come in in their work clothes, but now they were in jeans and leather jackets, with tight T-shirts that clearly showed how sculpted their torsos were. They’d probably eaten, gone to their rooms to clean up, and returned to drink and carouse—and, it now was quite evident, to hook up—and to hook up with men rather than women.
To hook up with me—three on one. Throughout the evening, they moved in consort as if they were accustomed to this.
I had a brief worry that they’d seen me with Marianne, a woman, earlier in the restaurant portion of Houlahan’s, but then I remembered that we’d been sitting in a booth. I’d been facing the entrance where they were. Marianne had been hidden from their view.
“Maybe,” I answered.
“Dressed just for us, did you?” the one who looked like a Turk asked. “Nice.” He touched me on a nipple, which clearly showed through the mesh of the red T-shirt. The nipple was puffed up. I was more than ready.
“Maybe,” I answered him.
“Looking for company?” asked the third, the guy who looked Greek.
To which the Hispanic said, “I think he says more than maybe to that. I think he dressed just for us. Come on over to where we can sit and talk—and stuff.”
And stuff. It was a clear signal for me to piss off if I didn’t want this to wind up with dicks inside me. I didn’t back off.
They guided me to the far wall of the room, where there where horseshoe-shaped bubbly vinyl-covered sofas lining the wall, with ottomans at the open ends. The lighting here was dim and tinted blue. You had to be standing right over anyone sitting in this configuration to have a clear view of what they were doing. That was, I was sure, on purpose. I’d been to private parties here and knew one could get quite intimate and frisky without being noticed as long as everyone else had someone to concentrate on. One section was just being vacated, and they sat me down in the middle, with the Greek on one side of me and the Turk on the other. The Hispanic sat on the ottoman, facing us and hovering over toward me. I was blocked from view from the room. Ed could have come in closer, put it in me, and no one in the room would know I was being fucked if I was quiet about it.
The Hispanic had come very close to calling me slut on the make for them. That triggered my arousal, and I decided that being entirely free this evening and hot for it, I’d be their slut, if that was what they wanted. Three rough linemen. Macho time. It was just a one-night stand.
“You boys seemed to know each other very well,” I said as the Hispanic leaned over, grasped my knees in two strong, callused hands, and spread my legs. The Greek and the Turk from each side laid an equally strong-looking and callused hand on my thighs. A barman arrived and the Hispanic ordered Corona beers for all of us. He was taking charge of me as well as of his chums. After the beers arrived, he ran his hands up my inner calves inside the stretchy material of my jeans, and I shuddered for him. What I wanted to say is that they seemed to be running in a pack of like minds—there didn’t seem to be any hesitation in what each of them wanted and how they signaled they wanted it.
“Yep, we’re buds,” the Hispanic said. “I’m Ed—for Eduardo. That there is Anthony,” indicating the Greek, “and Sami,” indicating the Turk. “We both work for Dominion out of Nashville, Tennessee. The storm didn’t hit there, so we’re being sent together with two of trucks to help out north. We like to play together and it’s been a long day. Anthony here is randy.”
“And you’re not?” I asked, giving him a saucy look. If it was slut they wanted, it was slut I’d give them.
“What do you think?” he asked. He looked around to see if anyone was watching us close, and, deciding they weren’t, one of his hands went to my basket and to the zipper, which he pulled down, provocatively, just an inch. His eyes were locked on me to see if I’d resist that. I didn’t. He could, I’m sure, feel me going hard under the heel of his hand. “We can’t party long tonight. Are you a local? Do you know where we can go to be comfortable and let it all hang out?”
As it transpired, I did. “There’s a place called Charlie’s on the outskirts of Front Royal. Usually not more than ten minutes away from here, maybe fifteen minutes in this weather.”
“Sounds good,” Ed, the Hispanic, said. “Two fifty from each of us?”
Shit, they took me for hooker, not just a slut. A little tingle of pleasure went up my spine. This new and dangerous game really had me hard, as Ed could attest, as his hand was still on my basket and the pull of my zipper still between his thumb and a finger.
“For what?” I asked.
“For it all. Whatever we want. And we play together. They have a taxi service or something around here to get us to the Charlie’s place? One of our trucks would be a little conspicuous.”
“I have wheels,” I said.
“Fuckin terrific,” Ed said. Sami, the dark, hirsute, sultry Turk was turning my head toward his, and we kissed. When he released me, Anthony, the blond, hunky Greek, with the chiseled features, turned me to give him a taste of me. Ed was rubbing my cock through the material of the jeans with his thumb. As I came out of the kiss with Anthony, Ed pulled the zipper down, pushed his thumb into the fly and pressed it to the base of my cock. My moan was audible to all three of them.
“You want me, don’t you?” he asked.
“Yes.” I couldn’t lie, and it went with the role I was spinning.
“You like the strong outdoor man’s man, don’t you? It takes a lot of strength and moxie to climb those poles and lay out that wire, especially in weather like this. You like it rough, I’ll bet.”
“I like what I see.”
“Lots of muscle, right, and that one big muscle hanging between our legs. Lean over here. Get a feel.” Sami and Anthony put their hands on my shoulders and leaned me forward. I reached out on my own as Ed unzipped himself, took my hand, and stuffed it in his fly.
“Shit,” I exclaimed. He was big and in erection. He wouldn’t have done this, of course, if he wasn’t hung like a bull,
“The three of us are going to lay you out and fuck you good.”
“Yes. Do you still want to go to Charlie’s or do you have a room here you want us to go to?” I asked.
“Charlie’s first; room later.”
Fine. Three hunks would rough fuck me—gangbang me if they wanted; I certainly let guys do that in the athlete fraternity I’d been in at Chapel Hill. That’s how I got into the fraternity—by lying down and opening my legs for any of the jocks who wanted to get their rocks off that way—singly or more than one at a time. I’d fucked around since then, but not three at once. Not big, rough men like this. And they’d be gone, up north, tomorrow morning. A one-stand experience for me to savor. I’d be a bad boy, a rent-boy for the night. I’d enjoy me some blue-collar cock and be paid for it to boot. I trembled in anticipation. The rubbing of Ed’s thumb on the base of my cock was driving me crazy. I liked to think I was doing the same by pulling on his cock inside his fly. But Anthony and Sami were getting their fingers inside my fly, touching my cock, too.
“You boy’s going to double me?” I asked, panting.
“Maybe,” Anthony said. “Does that scare you?”
“Yes, a little,” I answered.
“Just a little. You’ve had two before?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” said Sami. “Gotta keep you on edge. Want our money’s worth.”
* * * *
I was glad I’d driven the old Land Rover rather than my Lexus down the mountain today. This seemed more the power linesmen’s style. I wanted them to keep thinking I was a rent-boy ready to be manhandled to earn seven fifty. I hadn’t been rough used since college. I missed it occasionally. I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to miss getting it tonight.
Charlie’s wasn’t crowded. It was the proverbial dark and stormy night—or had been. By the time we were driving into Front Royal, the storm, which only brushed by us anyway, had moved on, although it still wanted to spit as us from time to time. We were still in the phase that the foliage was covered and weighted down by ice. Trees still could fall. They were set well away from Route 522 into the town and out to the southern fringe, though, and this was a piece of cake for the Land Rover.
There was no band at Charlie’s this night—just the juke box, and no dancers. A young rent-boy named Jimmy was holding down the end of the bar where he usually sat, and there were a few other couples—all men—sitting around and mooning over each other, but the place otherwise was sort of dead. I put money in the juke box and did some dance moves, with my mesh muscle shirt off, for Ed and Anthony, who sat by the platform at a table and chugged Coronas, while Sami, who had taken a shine to Jimmy, went into the back, beyond the beaded-curtain-covered doorway, with him and the rent-boy gave the Turk a blow job.
“I’d like to see you dance like that with more than the shirt off,” Ed said to me while Jimmy was off blowing Sami. “You’ve got a mighty fine bod.”
Yes, I did, and I knew I did. “I can do that if that’s what you want.” Would they lay me out right here on a table and every man in the place who wanted to would screw me?
“Maybe back at the hotel after Sami’s done in the back. We’ll want to fuck you as a finale of the dance. Then we’ll be in for the night. Gotta get rolling early in the morning.” He looked at me to see if I’d object, but I didn’t.
“He means we’ll be in you for the night,” Anthony said, laughing at his own joke.
I didn’t object to that either. Sami was coming out of the back, zipping himself up and buckling his belt, so I picked my red-mesh T off the floor, pulled it on, and we were ready to drive back to the hotel.
“It’s dead here,” Ed said as we were leaving. “We can party better in Anthony and Sami’s room.”
“It’s usually livelier,” I said. But it’s not a night to entice guys to come out.
“They need to be men of steel, like me and the other linesmen. Nights like this are what we’re made for—what real men are made for. Men with cocks of steel. You gonna spin on our cocks of steel, Blondie, and then you’ll know what real men are.”
I shivered, but it’s what I wanted from the night—cocks of steel inside me, making me feel it. As we walked out of Charlie’s, Ed grabbed one of my buttocks cheeks and squeezed. He left it there as we went to the car. There was a light rain. Some of what was coming down was ice pellets. It was making what little snow we’d gotten disappear. Of course, that was down here in the valley. There were several inches of snow on the mountain when I’d driven Marianne home. It undoubtedly was still there.
It wasn’t several inches of snow I was thinking of as we approached the Land Rover for the drive back to the hotel, though. It was the several inches of cock I was going to be taking from these three rough studs. Several inches of steely cocks. I didn’t think they’d be delicate about putting it to me. I was theirs for the night. They were going to get seven hundred and fifty dollars-worth of fuck out of me.
Maybe I’d regret this after all.
“Me first. Now,” Ed whispered in my ear as his hand on my butt steered me to the back door of the vehicle. He voice was thick with lust, a lust I’d seen build up in his eyes and expression as I danced for him on the stage. It was all for him. I’d let Anthony and Sami fuck me, but Ed was “the man.” I knew without a doubt that when Ed fucked me, I’d be FUCKED. It was a whisper, but it was loud enough for both Anthony and Sami to hear it. I knew they would have no objection to Ed taking his piece first. We all knew Ed was in charge.
It started in the car. They knew the way now. Ed took the keys from me and handed them to Anthony. Sami sat up front with Anthony. Ed covered me on the backseat, knees between my thighs, my white jeans and silky briefs on the floor, my toes scrunching up as they pressed into the ceiling and the back of the passenger seat headrest to hold me steady and for leverage, while Ed fucked me with eight inches of thick steel.
Eduardo treated me like the slut I’d let them think I was. At no time did he give me any regard at all. It was all about him and slowly getting himself off royally. He didn’t ask me if he was hurting me or if he should take it slower or not thrust so deep. He took what he wanted, vigorously and with the stamina of a fit, rough outdoorsman. It was exhausting. It was glorious.
His jacket and T-shirt were off; my jeans were off. I dug my fingernails into his bulging, hard-as steel biceps, his berry-brown torso covered in a swirly pattern black-ink tattoo, my nails pressing in, matching the rhythm of the thrusts of his shaft, as he chewed on the hollow of my throat and hummed his pleasure, muttering, “Take it. Take it, bitch. Open up. Give it all to me.”
I loved every stroke of the cock of steel.
Anthony parked on the outer edge of the hotel parking lot, beyond a sea of Dominion Energy bucket trucks, all identical except for a vehicle number, until Ed was finished. Ed took his time; I lost track of how long he pounded me. He paused occasionally, and I took over, leveraging off of my feet on ceiling and headrest to move on the cock of steel, as I murmured, “Yes, yes. Fuck you’re big.” Ed laughed at my easy and total surrender. Anthony and Sami both were screwed around in the front seat, watching us in the back, smiling, anticipating their turns.
I came out of the car stumbling and had to be helped upstairs in the elevator. As they were helping me to their hotel room, which Anthony and Sami were sharing just as they were about to share me, Anthony whispered in my ear, “Our turn now.”
Yes, I groaned.
“You’re one sweet piece,” Sami said. There was awe in his face. They probably didn’t get someone as young and good-looking as me very often—or as easy.
Sami had gotten his blow job at Charlie’s. Anthony got his from me in their hotel room. First they made me strip and they put their hands on me until we all were panting. Then they found something approximating bump and grind music on the room TV, and I danced for them, first in front of them and then giving Anthony and Sami lap dances, all of us naked, the two guys rising now and then to bump and grind with me, touching me, kissing me, worshipping my body—the body they would violate.
Ed didn’t want a lap dance. He sat off to the side, slit-eyed, a small smile on his face, stroking himself, and watching his buddies play with me. Anthony’s lap dance ended with him pushing me to my knees and making me take his cock in my mouth and suck him off to an ejaculation, his cum dribbling down my chin. I didn’t hold back. I gave them whatever they demanded.
While Anthony recovered, I gave Sami his lap dance, which ended, after I had rolled a condom on his shaft, in him bringing me down on his lap and his erection, and, grasping my waist between his strong, callused hands, bouncing me up and down on his shaft until he too came inside me. He was one and a half my size—each of them was. He—and the other two—manipulated me like I was a rag doll.
Then a recovered Anthony fucked me in a missionary on the bed and Sami fucked me doggie style there as well. Their evening ended with Sami on his back on the bed, with me straddling him in a cowboy position and then Anthony saddling up behind me, penetrating me above Sami’s buried cock, and the two working me together in a DP. They obviously had done this before. They were as much into each other as into whoever they were sharing at the moment.
I don’t know how many rubbers they used before Ed growled, pulled me out of the mix, took me to his room, tossed me on his bed, slapped me a couple of times to ensure I’d be docile for him, and fucked me and fucked me and fucked me through the night.
At some point, well after midnight, we both dozed off, exhausted and satiated. The alarm clock showed 5:30 when he shook me awake, standing over me, fully dressed.
“Time to move on. We’ll rolling out here within the hour. You need to be out of the room.”
He didn’t know if I had a room of my own here or not. He didn’t care. He didn’t praise what I’d done for him or give me a critique. He and the other guys had paid their money and got their slice of the slut’s tail. I groaned and rolled over, but he slapped me hard enough on my butt to get me rolling out of bed, grabbing for my clothes, and leaving the room.
And that was that. When I woke up in my own room and stumbled downstairs for breakfast at 8:00 a.m., all of the Dominion Energy bucket trucks that had been in the parking lot were gone. My night with the hunky linemen studs was over.
It had been memorable. I’d had my night as a slutty rent-boy. And I had $750 I’d deposited at the reception desk to put in their safe for me to show for my performance.
* * * *
The New Year’s Eve party on top of Blue Mountain went just fine—up to a point. Perhaps the punch was a bit too spiked, though. That certainly made my evening more difficult, in the form of Admiral Julius Melton.
I knew the admiral had a hunting lodge on the mountain and therefore was a sometimes neighbor and that Marianne, who knew him well through her father, would have sent him an invitation to the party. But he’d owned up here when we’d had our previous parties. Indeed, he’d owned up here a lot longer than we had. He was a name from my past—completely separate from my wife’s father being a friend of his—that I was avoiding. When I’d come to Washington, D.C., for the first time, I was just a sailor—in the Navy—fresh out of college and naval ROTC. I was a Lieutenant JG at the beck and call of the big brass. My first job in Washington, at the Pentagon, was to be Admiral Julius Melton’s driver and gofer.
I was an ambitious boy. It wasn’t long before the admiral was driving me with his thick gearshift, and he became so taken with me that he pulled strings and gave me a leg up in the Navy—for letting him put a leg over me. As well as getting his exercise by doing pushups on me in bed, he put me on a fast track on a masters degree at the Navy’s expense. I didn’t stay in the Navy, nor with my legs open to Admiral Melton, but if he hadn’t pulled me up, I wouldn’t be where I was today in the U.S. government. Through him I met Marianne’s father and then Marianne, and, at twenty-three I was married into financial comfort and on my way up in the government.
I’d remained respectful and polite with the admiral. He wasn’t the type of man to want to have as an enemy in Washington, but I’d also maintained my distance—until the night of the New Year’s Eve party on top of Blue Mountain in a snow and ice storm where punch that had too much alcohol in it was being served. Marianne was trying a new punch recipe. It certainly had a punch. There were people at the party letting their hair down and pursuing possibilities that they never would do sober. Timothy Barnes kept nosing around me, but we couldn’t get alone. It was a good thing we’d taken our slice of each other before party night.
One of those people on the make was Admiral Julius Melton, and, fortified by the punch, he was pursing me. Everywhere I looked, there he was, leering at me, giving me meaningful smiles and signals—lowering his hand to dangle in front of his crotch. He was a hung man, to be sure, and he obviously wanted me to remember that.
And he wanted to hump me—tonight. Now.
His chance came when the ice storm brought the tree down a couple of lots down from us again—at the Barneses again—thankfully up the road from the only entrance onto our ridge road. It brought the powerlines down and put the party into near darkness. The fireplaces were going and there were lots of candles around, so we weren’t totally blacked out. Anyone with any chance of hooking up with someone else at the party had a perfect opportunity to do so—if they got right to it. It would be a couple of minutes before the generator kicked in.
Admiral Melton was near enough to me at the time to latch a strong grip onto one of my wrists and pull me down the stairs to the lower level and back down a hallway to what had been a servant’s bedroom when the previous, richer, owners had built the place. We didn’t have any live-in servants. But there was a single bed in the room. The admiral was strong, determined, and although nearly drunk, not so drunk that he couldn’t get it up or that he didn’t remember what to do with it. He’d had it up for an hour or more. He wanted to put it in me in the worst way.
I didn’t want to make an enemy of the admiral. When he had me in his grip from behind, bent over the bed, and he’d pulled my trousers and briefs down, I surrendered and let him have what he wanted. He mounted, penetrated, and rode me from behind and I held still and steady, taking his cock, letting him fuck me, going with the rhythm once he’d settled in, rocking back on the cock and going with the fuck.
When Marianne floated through the house, calling out “Gordon. Gordon,” which was my real name, “where are you? Taylor called the power company and they’re sending a truck up,” the admiral had a hand over my nose and mouth, controlling my breathing, keeping me from answering her call, although under the circumstances I most certainly wouldn’t have answered her call. He was a virile old man; he didn’t miss a beat in his strokes. I just held there in his embrace while he fucked me hard and deep in a doggie and got it out of his system.
He was thick and didn’t have anything at hand to prepare me other than his spit, so the opening was difficult and painful, but once he was in, it was like old times. He knew all the off-beat cadences that made me shudder and shimmer while he was destroying me deep in my core. I was a slut for it; once he was well-saddled inside me, I settled down, moaned deeply, and went with him in the ride. When the danger of discovery by Marianne had passed, he took his hand off my mouth, ran his fingers into my golden curls at the back of my head, cruelly arched my head back, and rode me hard as in memorable times of the past.
The admiral gave extremely good fuck.
Taylor was the right guy to call Dominion. He was on their board of directors.
After the admiral breeded me, he let me fall onto the bed and he disappeared. I didn’t see him again that night, although I was sure I’d be seeing him more often now. I couldn’t avoid him and I couldn’t deny him. The most I could hope for was that he was content with keeping his cock just between him and me and that he’d be discreet about taking his opportunities. I had forgotten that he was a good cocksman—that he had a good, steady thrust, so I didn’t regret the encounter—as long as no one else learned about it.
When he was gone, I managed to make it to the downstairs mudroom, where I kept boots and a heavy coat. I pulled them on, went out the lower level, slid around to the stairs that went up to the upper level, which was on ground level at the front of the house, and came back into the entrance foyer. There I belatedly answered Marianne’s call. When she appeared, I said, “I went outside when the power went off to check where the lines came down. They’re down at the Barnes’s house a couple of lots up. A tree’s down across the road with the lines under it. Has anyone called the power company? I’ll go down toward the entrance to the road and see if that’s clear.”
The generator had kicked in. The lights were on in the house, and the party was swinging again.
She told me that Taylor had called Dominion and they were on their way. I went back out and walked out toward the entrance. Two Dominion Energy bucket trucks met me on the road right at our lot line.
Ed, Anthony, and Sami came out of the trucks, smiling and waving to me.
“Well, lookee here,” Ed said. “Fancy meeting you here, Craig. You all having a nice party? Sounds like that house there is rocking with party.”
I stood there, dumbfounded, unable to think of anything to say.
“If they’ve got great rent-boys like you on offer at the party,” Anthony rang it, “It must be quite a gangbang.”
I finally found my tongue enough to say, “You guys were headed up into the Northeast.” What I meant by that was that they were supposed to be in the area for just the one night—a one-night stand. Nothing that would come back to bite me.
“We only made it as far as Winchester,” Sami said, reaching out and running a hand in where my coat split in front, establishing ownership. “Our two trucks were pulled off the convoy there and we’ve been working in the area. Got a call to haul our asses right up here because some bigwig in Dominion was out of power. Is it this house? Think he’ll invite us in when we’ve gotten the power back on? Has he screwed you yet? What is he paying you? His dick as big as mine, is it?”
Ed had come around behind me and put his arms around me. “Why don’t you and Sami take the first truck on up the road and find the downed lines,” he said to Anthony. “You guys can start working on it. I want to show Craig here something in the other truck.”
I knew exactly what Ed wanted to show me in the other truck, but I was trapped and I more than half wanted it anyway. I just had to think of a way to keep them out of the house and separate from my real life. I meekly let him herd me toward the second bucket truck. Once again, I didn’t really have much to say about where to go with this from here. When I went with them before I was just being a slut for the one night. It was supposed to just be a one-night stand.
