Cal drove through the barren streets of Canton in a daze. Street signs of the various drives and avenues he had known his entire life passed by him, virtually unrecognizable to his scattered mind. As his Bronco crossed by Milberry St. for the second (or was it third?) time, Cal chanced a glance at the clock on the truck’s dashboard. He had been due at work nearly an hour ago, but the thought of once again opening that grungy bar, and slinging cheap liquor to the numerous town drunks filled him with a sense of anxiety he had never experienced before. No, better to call in sick and let the denizens of Canton go a day without his services. It was simple enough to send a text to the boss man and then put him on mute. But the anxiety didn’t end there either.
He had briefly stopped at a gas station to fuel his vehicle, and as the few midday shoppers glanced at him while they entered or exited the aging building, a subtle wave of nausea came over him. He could feel them staring at him. Judging him. Like the stink of his sinful behavior marked him from head to toe.
With shaky hands, Cal had climbed back into his vehicle and peeled out of the parking lot. He had been driving ever since, wandering around the same paved streets and dusty roads of this small dead-end town he had called home since before he knew what the word meant. So why did it all feel wrong now? Why did the looks of his neighbors evoke feelings of dread and not friendship?
He jumped in his seat as his cellphone began to ring, a catchy country jingle bouncing off the truck’s interior. Against his better judgment, he pulled the phone out of his pocket and quickly looked at the screen, expecting to see the name of his youngest son plastered all over it. So, imagine his surprise when a completely different name appeared instead, one that made his belly flip in a completely new and unexpected way.
“H-hello…” he managed to squeak into the speaker, as he pulled his Bronco to the side of the road.
“Heeyyy buddy!” the voice on the line said, a gruff, cheerfulness, ringing its way into Cal’s eardrum. “Where the hell are ya hiding at!?”
“Sam…?” Cal gulped, completely unprepared for a conversation with his erstwhile friend. “Hey, uh, I’m just…um, driving around…”
“Driving around!? What the fuck are you doing that for? Don’t you have a job or something?” Cal bit back a wince at the implied accusation.
“…Yes, Sam. But…I’m not working today.” he managed. He couldn’t bring himself to explain the wild circumstances that had gotten him to this point.
“Well, lucky you! I’m sitting here with a bottle of whiskey all by my lonesome, and more beer than any sane man knows what to do with! So, get your ass over here, pronto!” The line went dead, and Cal sighed in annoyance. Sam may have been a good friend, but sometimes he was a real pain in the ass. The idiot hadn’t even bothered to explain to Cal where he was staying, but in a town this size there was only really one viable option.
After a short drive, Cal’s bronco pulled into the gravel lot of Nell’s Roadhouse. Maybe, once upon a time, someone named Nell had owned this dive, but if they had, she was long dead and buried. Instead, there was a sometimes lusty, but always grumpy proprietoress by the name of Marge Hendrickson who owned the establish. She wasn’t much for company in the best of times, but if you kept your crazy quiet and your bill paid, she left you be.
It didn’t take more than a minute for Cal to find Sam’s beat up jeep, and he parked his own vehicle snuggly next to it. He stepped into the manager’s office, ready for an awkward exchange, Marge didn’t give Cal much more than a glance before jingling the keys to Room 7, and turning back to her dime store romance novel. Cal frowned, not liking the dismissive attitude, but not exactly shocked by it either. Once upon a time, shortly after his divorce from Lisa, he and Marge had a sleazy little thing going between them, but after sobering up he realized he had loved the liquor more than the taste of her lips or her snatch. Thankfully, those days were long dead and buried.
Walking out of the office and around the perimeter of the building, he stopped at the door with a faded and crooked 7 pinned on it’s wooden frame. He rapped his knuckle against the door, once, twice, and was about to knock again when the door swung open and Sam’s beaming face greeted him. Sam had always been a stocky man, not fat exactly, but full-bodied. Now looking at his old friend in the cold light of day, lounging around in a muscle shirt and little else, Cal couldn’t help but notice the changes in the man.
Sam's belly hung slightly over the waistband of his gym shorts, and his face was weathered and creased with lines, a testament to the years of hard living and harder drinking that had passed since their glory days. Yet, Sam’s eyes radiated a youthful vigor that contrasted sharply with the rest of the man. And his lips looked as plump as ever. He remembered watching all the time back in the day when those lips used to caress the mouth of whichever coed or cheerleader type happened to be Sam’s latest conquest.
Cal felt the heat of a flush starting to form, and ducking his head, he quickly pushed past a bemused Sam and into the dank room. His nostrils were assaulted by the smell of stale beer and cheap cigarettes. Empty beer bottles littered each available surface. It was like stepping back in time and into his own bedraggled bachelor pad after his failed marriage to Lisa. The thought of those lonely years made him grimace.
“I see you’ve started the party all by yourself,” he demurred, still amused by Sam’s antics despite himself.
Sam flashed him a smile, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Oh, you know me, Cal,” he said. “I’ve always been the life of the party.” He tossed Cal a bottle of lukewarm beer, which Cal caught easily.
“Got an opener for me,” Cal asked dryly, “Or do I got to bust my chompers trying to get to this swill you call a beer?” Sam guffawed, and dug around the messy contents of the TV console unit until he scrounged up an old, scratched up bottle opener. He handed it to Cal, a naughty grin plastered on his face.
“Now we can’t have that can we,” he said, sweetly. “It would be an awful shame to ruin that pretty smile of yours.” Cal could feel himself beginning to flush again, and he quickly made a show of opening the bottle and chugging its contents. As if on cue, Sam was holding out another one, which he passed to Cal wordlessly.
"Well, well, well," Sam boomed, his voice as rough and gravelly as the parkways they used to drag race on back in the day. "It’s about damn time you showed up, Cal. I was starting to think you'd turned into an asshole, too good for the likes of me."
Cal forced a laugh, grip tight on his drink. "Nice to see you too, Sam," he said, twisting off the cap and taking a long swig. The beer was warm and tasteless, but it helped dull the edges of the knot of anxiety in his gut. And given Sam’s obvious inebriation, he knew he was going to need all the help he could get.
The pair fell into an easy banter, the kind borne from years of close proximity and a willingness to discuss any topic, no matter how embarrassing or humiliating. And boy was there a lot for both to talk about.
Sam took a swig of his beer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Damn, I miss those days, man. Us against the world, no fucks given. Remember when we used to run those inbred Clarkston County boys off the road? Damn, that was a hoot."
Cal nodded, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "How could I forget? I think I still got a scar or two from that mess."
Sam chuckled, his belly jiggling as he slapped his knee. "Hell yeah, you do. I still got that rusty piece of shit K-car sitting in my backyard as a reminder. Goddamn, we were unstoppable back then."
Cal took another pull from his beer, feeling the warmth spreading through his chest. This was what he needed, a night of drowning in the past, of forgetting the tangled mess of the present.
Sam studied Cal, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of the lines etched into his friend's face. "So, what's been eating you lately, anyway? You've been quieter than a nun in a whorehouse ever since you got here."
Cal shrugged, picking at the label on his beer bottle. He knew Sam wouldn't understand, wouldn't get the complexity of his feelings for Billy. Hell, most of the time Cal didn't even understand it himself.
When he didn't answer right away, Sam pressed further. "Aw, come on, spill your guts. You know you can tell me anything, man. What's the problem? Is it one of the kids? That middle one, right? Matt, I think? He's still giving you trouble?"
Cal's jaw clenched, his grip tightening on the beer bottle. "No, not Matt. He and I...we don't really talk much."
Sam raised an eyebrow, leaning forward in his seat. "Then what is it? Don't leave me in suspense here, you bastard."
Cal hesitated, then sighed deeply. "It's still Billy," he admitted quietly. "He's just...he's been going through some trouble lately. Trying to figure out who he is, you know?"
Sam nodded, but the knowing look in his eye made Cal uneasy. "I hear ya, man. Puberty's a bitch for a kid. Especially a good-looking one like him." He paused, and then added with a leer, "I'm bet he’s beating back all the girls with a stick. Maybe even a couple of the boys too.”
Cal shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the unease in his gut growing stronger. He didn't like the direction this conversation was headed, didn't like the way Sam was looking at him with those beady, knowing eyes. It made him feel dirty, like he had something to hide. And maybe he did, but he sure as hell didn't want to talk about it with Sam of all people.
He took a long swig of his beer, finishing it off and immediately reaching for another. "Hey, let's just...let's not talk about the kids, alright?" he said, his words starting to slur slightly. "I didn't come here to rehash old shit. I just wanted to...to forget for a while."
Sam shrugged, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Sure thing, buddy. Whatever you say." He raised his own bottle in a mocking toast before downing the rest of his beer in one long gulp.
As the night wore on and the beer flowed freely, Sam's behavior grew increasingly familiar, his hand clapping heavily on Cal's shoulder as he laughed too loud at his own jokes. Cal found himself leaning away, his skin prickling at the contact. There was something about Sam's friendliness, his constant proximity, that made him feel...uneasy. But he couldn't quite put his finger on why.
Maybe it was the way Sam's eyes lingered a little too long on certain parts of Cal's body, a hungry gleam in their depths. Or maybe it was the way he kept "accidentally" brushing against him, his large, calloused hands a constant presence on Cal's arm, his back, his thigh. Sam was always a little “handsy”, but something about this felt…different.
"Hey, you know, you're looking pretty good there, Cal," Sam said, his words slurring together slightly as he spoke. "Damn good. For an old bastard." He let out a braying laugh, his eyes roving over Cal's face, his body. Like a man eyeing his next meal.
Cal tensed, a flicker of something unpleasant passing through him. He wasn't sure what to call it. It was something like unease, but…more agitating, like a part of him wanted to jump out of his skin. He leaned away from Sam's touch, his hand tightening around his beer bottle like a lifeline.
"Thanks," he said shortly, taking a long pull from the bottle. The alcohol burned his throat, but he welcomed the distraction, the temporary numbness it provided.
A moment of awkward silence passed between them before Sam leaned back in his chair and reach into his pocket. “I got a little something special for us, Cal, old buddy.” He fished around for a moment, before pulling a small baggie full of familiar looking neon colored pills.
Cal eyed the baggie warily, his brows furrowing as Sam shook it tantalizingly in front of him. Ecstasy. He hadn't touched the stuff in years, not since those wild and reckless days of his youth. The mere sight of it now made him feel old and out of touch.
Sam, however, looked positively gleeful, his eyes sparkling with mischief and anticipation. "Come on, Cal," he cajoled, upending the baggie and shaking out a small, colorful pill into his palm. "Don't be such a fucking pussy. This shit is grade A, top notch. You can kiss all of those worries right the fuck away."
Cal hesitated, his tongue darting out to wet his suddenly dry lips. A part of him recoiled at the thought of drowning his sorrows in artificial bliss, of running away from the mess he'd made of his life. But another part of him, a part he'd tried to keep locked away for so long, yearned for the escape, for the chance to feel something other than the constant ache of guilt and confusion.
"I don't know, Sam," he hedged, even as his hand reached out, his fingers brushing against the baggie. "I'm not sure I should. I've got a lot of shit going on right now, and I don't want to make it worse."
Sam scoffed, popping a pill into his mouth and swallowing it down with a swig of warm beer. "Bullshit," he said, his words slightly slurred already. "You're letting life pass you by, man. Take a fucking chance. Live a little."
Cal glanced down at the pill in his hand, feeling the weight of it, the temptation it represented. And then he thought of Billy, of the anger and betrayal in his eyes that morning. He thought of the way he'd brushed off his son's pleas, of the way he'd rejected the one person who needed him most.
Something in him snapped, and with a muttered curse, he tossed the pill into his mouth, washing it down with the dregs of his beer. The bitter taste coated his tongue, and he shuddered, but it was too late to turn back now.
Sam grinned, his eyes already starting to glaze over as the drug took hold. "That's more like it," he slurred, collapsing back onto the bed. "Now let's get this party started, motherfucker."
Cal blinked, feeling a familiar wave of discomfort wash over him. He knew this was a mistake, that he was only making things worse. But right then, lost in the haze of memory and the promise of escape, he didn't care.
He just wanted to forget, to lose himself in the past and the artificial high of the drug. He wanted to be young and carefree again, untouched by the weight of responsibility and the guilt of forbidden desire. He was gong to take his pleasure where he could find it. Consequences be damned.
As the minutes ticked by, Cal began to feel a warm, tingling sensation spreading through his body. It started in his chest, a gentle heat that slowly crept outwards, seeping into his limbs and pooling in his core. The room seemed to shift around him, the colors brighter, the sounds crisper, as if a veil had been lifted from his eyes.
Sam, sprawled out beside him on the bed, let out a low, appreciative groan. He turned to Cal, his eyes glazed and unfocused, a blissful grin stretching across his face. "Fuck, dude," he slurred, his words slightly distorted. "This shit is fucking good."
Cal could only nod, his own tongue feeling thick and unwieldy in his mouth. He was acutely aware of every sensation, from the rough texture of the bedspread beneath him to the slight sheen of sweat that had broken out on his skin. It was as if every nerve ending had been set alight, every cell in his body humming with a newfound sensitivity.
Sam rolled towards him, his large frame pressing against Cal's side. He threw a heavy arm around Cal's shoulders, pulling him in close. "You know, I've always been jealous of you," Sam confessed, his breath hot and beery against Cal's cheek. "With your perfect little family, your perfect little life. Always the golden boy, huh?"
Cal tensed, a flicker of unease passing through him. He opened his mouth to protest, to assure Sam that his life was far from perfect, but the words died on his lips as Sam leaned in closer, his nose brushing against Cal's jaw.
"But now, looking at you, I can see you're not so perfect after all," Sam murmured, his hand sliding down to rest on Cal's chest. "You're just a man, with all the same desires and flaws as the rest of us. And maybe, just maybe..." His hand slid lower, his fingers toying with the waistband of Cal's jeans. "...you need someone to help you let go, to help you embrace your true self."
Cal's breath caught in his throat, his heart stuttering in his chest. He knew he should push Sam away, should put a stop to this before it went any further. But the X had lowered his inhibitions, had stripped away the layers of guilt and self-restraint that usually governed his actions. In that moment, lost in the haze of the drug and the pull of his old friend's touch, he felt the first stirrings of a long-dormant desire.
Sam seemed to sense his hesitation, his hand stilling for a moment before he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against Cal's ear. "Don't fight it," he breathed, his voice a low, seductive murmur. "Just let yourself feel, Cal. Let yourself go. I know you want to."
When Sam’s lips connected with us, Cal sat stock still, shock running through his system. But it wasn’t long, only a second or two, before the ice began to thaw and his mouth relaxed letting his former best friend’s tongue into his mouth. He tasted beer, whiskey, and nicotine. The taste was so familiar, like the legions of slutty bar flies he used to pick up back in his drinking days. But this was different too. Something more. This was Sam he was tasting. This was Sam’s tongue circling his mouth, rubbing on his teeth. This was Sam’s saliva mixing with his own and sinking drip by drip down his throat and into the pit of his being.
A small whimper escaped Cal’s lips, and he tried to pull back in embarassment, but Sam wasn’t having any of that. Sam’s big hand held onto the back of Cal’s head, holding him steady as he claimed his friend’s mouth. When he finally pulled off, Cal gasped, his mouth shiny and red. Sam’s eyes were twinkling again and he was grinning like a boy who was just caught stealing from the cookie jar.
“Fuck,” Sam said, his voice rough and reedy. “I’ve wanted to do that for years.”
Cal stared at Sam, dumbfounded by his words. “Wha-what…?” he stammered, truly at a loss for words.
“It’s true, man,” Sam said, bringing his lips down to Cal’s neck. “I’ve had a thing for you since as long I knew what my willy was made for.” His teeth scratched along the jugular vein of Cal’s neck, and Sam hummed in contentment.
“I wanted you more than anything. No, scratch that. I wanted you AND Lisa.” Sam said, hotly. “Fuck, you two were a hot ass couple.” As if to prove his point, Sam began to rub his crotch against Cal’s waist.
Cal’s grip on Sam tightened, as he tried to process this newest revelation. This was all happening too fast. He was back in the stormy ocean waters being emotionally tossed with the current every which way. It was the same as it was every time Billy touched him and flipped his world upside down.
Sam's hand slid under Cal's shirt, his calloused fingers splaying across the firm planes of Cal's stomach. Cal shuddered at the touch, his muscles clenching instinctively as a jolt of unwanted pleasure raced through him. He tried to protest, tried to push Sam away, but his limbs felt like lead, his body unresponsive and sluggish.
"Sam, don't," he slurred, his words thick and clumsy on his tongue. "This... We're not..."
But Sam was already tugging his shirt up and off, tossing it carelessly to the side. His eyes raked over Cal's bare torso, a hungry, almost feral look in their depths. "Fuck, look at you," he growled, his voice low and rough with desire. "You're goddamn gorgeous, man. Always have been, always will be."
Cal flushed, feeling a confusing mix of shame and pleasure at Sam's blatant admiration of his body. He started to cover himself, but Sam caught his wrists, pinning them above his head with a strength that made Cal's heart race.
"Don't hide from me, sexy," Sam murmured, his face hovering inches above Cal's stomach. "I wanna see all of you."
His head dipped down, and suddenly, shockingly, his mouth was on Cal's body, his lips and tongue exploring the hard contours of his chest and stomach. Cal gasped, his hips jerking involuntarily as Sam's mouth left a burning trail of fire in its wake.
"Sam, fuck," he choked out, his voice breaking as Sam's teeth scraped over a nipple. "We can't...I mean...fuck..."
But Sam was already moving lower, his mouth trailing down the line of hair that ran from Cal's navel to his groin. Cal's cock throbbed almost painfully in his jeans, the zipper digging into his sensitive flesh. He needed relief, even after his romp with Billy this very morning. He craved it with a desperation that scared him.
Sam's fingers found the button of Cal's jeans, popping it open with ease. The zipper followed a moment later, and then his jeans were being tugged down, his hard cock springing free, slapping against his stomach, flushed and leaking with arousal. Cal’s face felt like it was burning off his skull, a beating red mirror to the shameful hardon currently pulsing between his legs.
Sam licked his lips, his eyes glinting with a dark, hungry light as he stared at Cal's erection. "Goddamn, man," he breathed, wrapping a hand around the thick shaft, squeezing gently. "I knew you'd be hung like a horse, but fuck..."
And then his mouth was on Cal, his lips wrapping around the swollen head of his cock, his tongue swirling around the sensitive flesh. Cal cried out, his head falling back against the mattress as pleasure exploded behind his eyelids.
"Fu-uck," he groaned, his hips rocking up into the wet heat of Sam's mouth. "Oh, fuck...Sam..."
Sam just hummed around Cal's cock, the vibrations making the pleasure even more intense as he began to bob his head, taking more and more of Cal's thick length down his throat. Sam took him surprisingly easy, his big mouth milking the base of Cal’s cock for all it was worth.
Cal's resistance crumbled, the last of his inhibitions melting away under the drugged haze and Sam's relentless ministrations. He stopped trying to push Sam away, his hands falling limply to his sides as he surrendered to the pleasure radiating from his aching cock. Sam's mouth felt like liquid sin, hot and wet and greedy, enveloping Cal's throbbing shaft completely.
"Oh god, Sam," Cal groaned, his voice breaking on a strangled moan as Sam's head bobbed faster, his hand stroking in time with the rhythm of his mouth. "Fuck...your mouth...your fucking mouth feels so good..." Cal wasn’t singing false praises either. Sam was worshiping at the altar of his groin with an ease that only came from many nights of passionate practice.
Sam just moaned in response to Cal’s pleasure, the sound vibrating deliciously around Cal's sensitive flesh. He could feel Sam's tongue tracing every ridge and vein, could feel the slick slide as Sam's lips wrapped tightly around the thick girth of his cock. It was filthy, it was wrong, but god help him, it was incredible. His oldest friend in the world was sucking on him like a two-dollar whore, and at this moment, it felt better than anything in the world.
Cal tangled his fingers in Sam's hair, fisting the short strands as he held his friend's head in place. He started to rock his hips, thrusting up into the warm, welcoming cavern of Sam's mouth, chasing the pleasure that only his friend could give him. Sam took him without complaint, his breathing coming in short snorts and a rumbling growl.
"Fuck, man, I'm gonna...I'm gonna fucking…," Cal growled, his balls drawing up tight as his climax approached. As his seed began to reach a boiling point, he felt something dark shift within him. His grip on Sam’s hair tightened possessively. "You better swallow it, you dirty bastard."
Sam just moaned louder, sucking harder, his hand pumping faster. He wanted Cal's cum, wanted to taste his friend's pleasure on his tongue. He wanted to be the one to make Cal feel good, to show him that he could give him everything he needed, everything he craved. At this moment, Sam knew, he would do anything to make it happen.
With a hoarse shout, Cal came undone, his cock pulsing and throbbing as it shot jets of hot, thick seed down Sam's eager throat. Sam swallowed it noisily, snorting with pleasure, his throat working to gulp down every last drop of Cal's release. Cal’s seed, what little he had time to taste before it pummeled the back of his throat, was thick and creamy, just like he always imagined it would be. He didn't stop sucking until Cal collapsed back against the bed, utterly spent and panting with exertion.
Sam finally let Cal's softening cock slip from his mouth, sitting up and licking his lips with a very satisfied grin. "Damn, man," he said, his voice husky and rough. "That was fucking incredible. I can’t believe I finally got to taste you.” He peppered tiny kisses along the base of Cal’s cock and dived back on the head everytime another drop would appear.
Even though he was emotionally drained, Cal couldn’t stop a ghost of a smile from creeping onto his face. Sam’s enthusiasm, as inappropriate as it may have been, was proving to be reliably infectious.
“I feel like…you just sucked my soul out of my body,” Cal managed, rubbing a hand across his face. He braced himself for the conversation he was about to have. The one he used to give to each of the women he would bed before slinking off back home. But, as if reading his mind, Sam pulled him close, lips reconnecting with Cal’s once again, and Cal could feel the protestations melt away once again.
“I know what you’re thinking, Whitehurst,” San growled, his breath, smelling of cock and cum, was warm against Cal’s face. “And I’m not through with you. Not by a long shot.”
Sam maneuvered Cal onto his back on the bed, his movements quick and sure. Cal's head spun, his body still tingling from the aftershocks of his previous orgasm. He watched through hooded eyes as Sam lifted his legs, spreading them wide to expose his most intimate area. Sam’s eyes gleaned with lust as he caught his first glimpse of Cal’s virgin hole. The pink pucker was covered in a dusting of fine blondish hair, a stark contrast to the darkish grey of the hair on his head.
A shiver ran through Cal at the vulnerability of the position, his cock, just recently spent, twitching traitorously back to life. The alcohol and drugs in his system made him feel exposed, almost exhibitionistic. He wanted to cover himself, to hide from this new level of intimacy, but his body refused to obey. Instead, he clenched onto the bedsheets with one hand and onto Sam’s hairy knuckles with the other, grasping for some kind of leverage and finding none.
Sam's eyes raked over Cal’s exposed hole, a predatory gleam in their depths. "Fuck, you're beautiful," he growled, his voice rough with lust. "So perfect, and oh so tight." He leaned in closer, his breath hot against Cal's skin. Sam’s messy stubble scratched against Cal’s inner thighs as Sam licked his lips provocatively.
Cal's heart raced, a mix of fear and anticipation coursing through his veins as he realized what Sam was about to do. "Wait," he gasped, his voice thin and shaky. "I've never... I mean, no one's ever..."
But his words were cut off as Sam's mouth descended, his tongue lapping at Cal's entrance. At the first touch, Cal's back arched off the bed, a shocked moan tearing from his throat. The sensation was intense, foreign, sending sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine. He slapped a sweaty palm over his mouth, desperately trying to bury the humiliating noises that threatened to erupt from his throat.
Amused by Cal’s reaction, Sam’s tongue explored this uncharted territory, slowly mapping and marking it with a wet layer of saliva. Cal couldn't find the words, couldn't process the overwhelming flood of new sensations. Sam's tongue was relentless, circling and probing, sending jolts of electricity through his body. And it felt good, shockingly so.
"You taste so good," Sam murmured, his voice muffled against Cal's skin. "So fucking hot. I could eat this sweet ass of yours for hours." He punctuated his words with a particularly deep lick, his tongue breaching Cal's tight ring of muscle.
Cal’s grip on Sam’s meaty paw tightened like a vice. His fingers, shaking from the intensity of the tremors of pleasure coming from his asshole, dug between Sam’s fingers, clasping them together, and Sam squeezed back hard, almost painfully so. The hand on Cal’s mouth, shiny with spit, slipped from his gaping mouth. And as Sam’s tongue dug further into Cal’s fluttering pucker, he couldn’t even muster the energy to pretend anymore.
Supple now after Sam’s horny minstrations, Cal put up no fight as Sam brought Cal’s free hand to the back of his head. Whenhis fingers touched Sam’s dark, sweaty locks, Cal’s fingers instinctively entangled themselves like a needle pulling thread and his grip on Sam’s hair was tight enough to sting. But, despite the pain, Sam’s tongue never slowed. If anything its path of conquest became more pronounced, almost manic in its passion for Cal’s body.
Cal could fell himself slipping away, like he was floating away on a stream of sensual pleasure. Never in a million years did he think it would be like this. But now, with Sam feasting on his hole, eating it the way Cal had eaten pussy so many times in the past, it all started to feel natural. Inevitable. With Sam’s fat tongue stretching his pucker wide he didn’t have a care in the world.
A pulsing heat was building in his core, vibrant and aching. Every now and then, the tip of Sam’s tongue would poke a place in him, somewhere that was hidden even to himself, and he could feel himself tipping toward a precipice, one lick at a time. It should have scared him, would have scared him, if he hadn’t been floating on X. He could feel the pleasure from his ass building toward a crescendo, an impossible pleasure that threatened to make his leaking cock explode once again. How could that be? He wasn’t… He couldn’t…
But as he bit his lip to distract himself, and as his toes curled in that telltale sign of pleasure, a raucous pounding struck the door of the room. Cal’s eyes flew open, his body tensing in panic, and Sam came up for air. The man’s eyes gleamed with a hint of mania he had never seen in their depths until now.
Wiping his spit soaked chin and lips, Sam said, “Looks like our guest has finally arrived. Come on in, boy! The door is open!”
And Cal, legs spread, asshole exposed, lay frozen in place, as the outside door opened. He wanted to shout, to scream at Sam, but even those protestations died in his mind as he watched his youngest son, Billy Whitehurst walk into the room. Cal stared, entranced, his face a mask of horror and shame while Billy looked at him sheepishly and said in that same boyish voice that Cal had always loved, “Hi, Daddy. Did you miss me?”
