Chapter Four
IT WASN’T UNTIL the Friday after Thanksgiving that Mitch found out Randy had cancelled his flight back to Vegas.
“You need me here,” Randy said with a shrug when Mitch asked him why. He’d made scrambled eggs with cheese, onion, peppers—real hot peppers that made Mitch’s belly burn happily—and bacon. Randy spooned a healthy portion onto Mitch’s plate. “So I’m staying.”
“What, you’re just going to move in?” Mitch forked a bite of egg, and pleasure rippled through him as he put the food in his mouth.
“For now, but not for long.” Randy flicked Mitch’s sleeve with his fork. “Don’t worry, I won’t get too comfy.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Mitch took another bite and groaned. “Fuck, Skeet. The shit you do to food.”
“Yes, if only some rich sugar daddy would put me up in a designer kitchen. Think of how fat I could make him.” Randy sipped his coffee and leaned back in his chair. “Old Man, having been here a week, I’m here to tell you this shit is a mess. It’s more than schedules and money and poor queers who can’t go to the ball. You need to get out of this stinking-thinking you two have going on. I know you can’t move until Sam’s done with school, but the second that happens, you need to get the hell out of Dodge. Until that time, you need to do your damnedest to crawl outside of the fucking box this town has you in.”
Mitch frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean this place has been your home base for how long now, and you’ve made exactly zero friends. Sam’s BFF has potential, but she’s got her head up her own skirt.”
Mitch had gotten an earful from Sam about how Randy had tested Emma. “You could have been a little less bull-in-a-pharmacy with her from what I was told.”
“Yes, I could have. But I wanted a read on her, and I got one. She’s a nice girl who’ll have a vibrator in her bedside drawer until she has kids and she hides it in the back of her bureau and forgets about it, content to have sex once a month—if that—quick in the dark so the kids don’t hear. That’s about as deep as she goes. And outside of you, she’s Sam’s single, solitary close friend here. She most likely went to her sweetie’s family yesterday for the holiday and tittered over how they were making love in his childhood bedroom. Meanwhile Peaches wore a vibrating plug and a ball gag and let us eat pumpkin pie and whipped cream off his abdomen before we gang-banged him over the back of the couch. It’s bad enough you’re holing up and waiting for your prison sentence to be over, but you have to remember: Sam doesn’t know Middleton is jail. He thinks this is normal. We gotta get him to some actual kink-loving normal. STAT.”
Randy had a point. Mitch ran a hand over his face and sighed. “I’d take him on the road more, get him out to Vegas, but with his school—”
“Jesus. No, you can’t take him out of here to find it. He’s got to feel normal here. He needs—fuck, you need—to learn how to feel normal any-fucking-where you land.” When Mitch started to protest, Randy waved his sputter away airily. “I know you don’t know how to do that. This is why I cancelled my flight. I can play online poker and go to casinos and work on cars as easily here as I can back home. It’s just colder here and more boring.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Speaking of cars. We need to finish up here so I can go pick up mine.”
“You bought a car?”
“Van, technically, but yes. I need a way to get around. This one-car bullshit in a town with no public transportation is for the birds. If Sam were at school this morning instead of work, one of us would’ve had to drive him or we’d be without a vehicle.” Randy grinned around a bite of egg. “It’s an old conversion van all tricked out. Needs carburetor work, and exhaust. Gonna work at it in Mario’s brother’s garage, which’ll hopefully lead to repair jobs. But if not, there’s always online poker.”
“Who’s Mario?”
“Guy who owns the Mexican grocery store. He’s looking out for me, and in exchange, I’m doing some work for him.”
Mitch tried to digest it all, but mostly he kept hanging up on the fact that he wasn’t taking Randy back to the airport on Sunday. He was waking up to eggs and hash browns and coming home to meatloaf and a clean house and fucking Sam with him. Every day.
They got the van, and they tinkered with it in the alley until Sam got home. Over dinner, Randy shared his announcement about staying, and Sam’s joy made Mitch’s heart swell even as he felt guilty. He should have seen this, known what Sam needed without being told.
“That’s not how it works,” Randy said when Mitch confessed as much as they did dishes together. “You can’t see stuff like that in your own day-to-day. If you dropped into my life and poked around, you’d see all kinds of things I’m missing.”
“I wouldn’t see it like you do. And I probably wouldn’t know how to fix it.”
“So then you be glad I do see so well and am a manipulative bossy-pants who will help you scheme to a happily ever after.”
Mitch glanced at the couch, where Sam sat with headphones as he pored over a reading assignment. “I thought I already got that. The happy ever after, I mean.”
“Yeah, well, that’s where you’re wrong, Old Man. You don’t just ride Old Blue into the sunset and call it good. You keep on driving, into one hot mess after another.” He swatted Mitch on the butt with the dishtowel. “Be glad I’m here to help steer you back onto the road when you go off course.”
Mitch was glad. He really, really was.
RANDY HAD BEEN looking for wedding venues since before he’d arrived in Iowa, but after his Thanksgiving-week recon, he had a second and far more crucial mission: finding Sam and Mitch some local kink.
He knew from Sam’s stories of his pre-Mitch past how he’d had a string of regular tricks—straight boys he’d blow in the bathroom, a regular fuck-buddy who turned Sam’s crank with his disinterest—but Randy also knew that since Sam’s return to his hometown, his kink was with Mitch, and multiple partners happened only on the road. When asked about this, Sam stammered and blushed and said he didn’t have time. Mitch, when the two of them were alone, said he knew what Randy was getting at and agreed, but his intense driving schedule had meant it was hard to get out and vet potential candidates.
He also made it clear he’d be grateful if Randy put that task on his to-do list. So Randy did.
Grindr options were thin on the ground but better than Randy had thought they would be, and in addition to several prospects for a friendly orgy, he got to be pounded in the men’s restroom of one of the bars by a burly top with a thick beard and thicker cock. What Randy had trouble finding, though, were younger men. He wasn’t sure why his instincts kept steering him into that pool, but they did, so he went with it. There were plenty of sweet young things looking for a good time, and Randy gave a few of them what they sought, but they were too friendly, and all bottoms. Sam needed a bossy, angry top to call him a slut and mean it, and Mitch needed to watch. This was a tough order to fill.
Well—okay. Amend that. Randy didn’t know how to fill it and still keep Sam safe, physically and mentally. Yes, Mitch would be there to guard him, and initially so would Randy, but he wasn’t having anyone make his Peaches feel crappy about his fetish. It was not the case that just anyone would do. Problem was, Randy was beginning to feel nobody would do.
Then one night Randy met Keith Jameson at the bar, and he laughed at himself for taking so long to see what was right in front of him the whole time.
Keith was, Randy knew, Sam’s favorite straight-boy hookup at school, and given the amount of tit-watching the guy engaged in, straight was very much what Keith was. But an evening’s observation told Randy something else—Keith liked rough trade more than he liked tits and pussy. There was an edge to him, a need to fuck hard and spew venom at his partner, a yen born not out of hatred but a dark vein of forbidden. Randy would bet serious money this guy had a computer full of hard-core porn back at his apartment. This was why he liked to fuck Sam’s mouth in the school bathroom. What a rush that must have been, subjugating someone who wanted it so much.
Odds were good the guy hadn’t had anyone like Sam since Sam.
Smiling around the edge of his drink, Randy decided it was time poor Keith had a shift in fortune.
Flirting with a straight guy was an art Randy had perfected long ago. There were men nobody could touch with a ten-foot pole, but they were few and far between. Most people liked attention, and nearly all men loved sex. When Randy had a straight fish in his sights, he bought him a drink, chatted him up, and laid his groundwork. Keith was no exception, and it didn’t take long to find the lure: when Keith found out Randy lived in Vegas, he was all ears. Randy told him everything he wanted to know: about the Nevada brothels, about sex parties, about the lure of a constant stream of random strangers.
Eventually Randy moved them to a table in the back of the bar with a pitcher of Pabst, under the guise of telling Keith even filthier tales. He did—but it wasn’t long before the stories were rather gay. They always featured Randy, though—Randy letting guys do things to him and loving it. He told a lot of stories about fucking straight guys and letting them fuck him.
“Sex is sex, right?” He leaned back in his chair and ran the toe of his boot along Keith’s ankle. “Best fun sometimes is with a guy who isn’t actually into me. Sometimes it’s good to be used. And nobody uses you like a straight man.”
He gave Keith a blowjob in the alley—it was a little chilly, but Keith gave good hair-pull. They exchanged numbers, and it wasn’t long before Randy was making regular visits to Keith’s apartment to get the shit fucked out of him. It pleased him to be the kid’s first gay fuck. He taught the guy how to set up a Grindr account and assured him it was more than fine to say he was a straight guy only wanting to fuck and get sucked, no favors returned.
“Bigger kink than you might be thinking,” he promised.
Keith really was a nice guy, especially once someone let him go raw on their ass. “There used to be this guy at school. But he’s dating somebody now, and he’s not interested.”
God, Randy loved it when a game went the way he wanted it to. “Would this be Sam Keller?”
Keith’s eyes widened in surprise. “How did you know?”
Randy’s grin was feral. “Let me tell you a few more stories, sugar.”
When he went back to Sam and Mitch’s place that night, his ass was sore, his jaw hurt, and he was ready to fuck Sam like nobody’s business. Mitch saw what was coming as soon as Randy walked in the door and went for the rope. He took Sam’s books out of his hand, stripped him naked, and tied his wrists above his head. Randy spread Sam, lifted his ass with a pillow, and worked him open with a clinical efficiency that made Sam wriggle and moan.
“Got you a present.” Randy got a third finger into Sam’s ass, burrowing to his knuckles. “Somebody’s coming over tomorrow night. You’re going to suck him off, I’m teaching him how to paddle you, and then he’s doing you while we watch.”
Sam’s gaze went dark, a beautiful mix of fear and anticipation. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” Randy pushed Sam’s legs open wider and admired the gape before going in again. “He’s straight, but he likes rough sex and loves using. We’ve been meeting up all week, and he’s excited to do you. He’ll twist your shame kink until you burst.” Randy pulled out of Sam, slipped on a condom, and drove inside hard enough to make Sam stutter for breath. “Best part is, you’ve already been with him. He says he misses your mouth.”
Sam’s eyes flew open. “Randy, who—Ungh.” Sam shut his eyes and moved his hips in time to Randy’s thrusts.
Randy bent down and ran a wet tongue down the side of Sam’s ear. “Keith Jameson.”
Sam cried out in alarm, and Randy laughed against his neck and fucked Peaches until he shuddered and came.
Once recovered, Sam began to protest, saying he couldn’t do it, he didn’t want Keith to fuck him—except it was obvious as hell that he did. Mitch took point, making Sam give him a blowjob, then turning him, still tied, onto his stomach and doing him hard and rough as he whispered in Sam’s ear how much he was looking forward to seeing Keith take a shot at him. Randy had mastered the mimic of Sam’s favorite porn thrust weeks ago, and they’d spent many a night with Randy snapping and rolling his hips as he pounded Sam into the mattress while Mitch looked on.
They didn’t let Sam come a second time, and in fact they spent the better part of that night and the next morning, until Sam had to go to work, ramping him up. When he got home, they started up again, never letting him get off, always whispering about how good it would be to see him with Keith.
“He’s been fucking me for days.” Randy stroked Sam’s dick and licked his ear as he teased him. “Grabs my hair and yanks that shit while he stuffs that monster into my mouth.” He nipped Sam’s earlobe. “Bet you miss that big snake in your throat. Bet you remember. He remembers. Said nobody whimpered like you when he fucked their face. Said you were the best.”
Sam whimpered now, squirming against Randy, his eyes darting always over to Mitch.
When Keith finally showed up, it was hard to say who was hornier or more anxious, Sam or the boy who’d come to fuck him. Keith hovered in the doorway, looking ready to bolt if anyone breathed on him funny, and Sam stayed near Mitch, watching Keith like a hawk but not letting go of his fiancé’s arm. Mitch kept a close eye on Sam, but he also shot plenty of don’t you upset my boy glances at Keith.
Jesus, what a mess.
Randy assessed the situation, let them all fuck with each other for a few minutes, then clapped his hands. “All right, boys. I think we could all do with a few medicinal rounds of mescal, don’t you?”
He lined up four glasses on the counter and poured two fingers into each, launching into teasing mode as they got the liquid down. He wasn’t going to let anyone get drunk, but loose was definitely going to be an advantage here. Mitch arrived at relaxed first, taking a Bohemia from the fridge as he assumed his position in his chair for the show, and Keith’s shoulders settled into a more comfortable plane as he finished his glass and leaned against the fridge.
That only left Sam, and Randy knew what to do with him. Putting his drink aside, Randy leaned on the counter and pointed at the floor in front of him. “Peaches, get on your knees and suck my dick.”
Sam blushed, glancing around the room, his gaze lingering on Keith. Then he let out a shuddering sigh, finished off the last of his mescal, and got on the floor in front of Randy. His fingers trembled as he undid Randy’s belt and button, but as he set Randy’s semihard erection free, Sam began to calm.
Not all the way, though. He turned his head to look at Keith, who was still standing at the fridge.
Randy gripped his hair and forced his attention back to his dick.
“My dick, honey. I know you’re greedy for Keith’s cock, that you want him to treat you rough in front of us, but you’re my hole right now.” He yanked on Sam’s hair and slapped his cock against the side of Sam’s face. “Suck this, bitch. Make it hard. Open that hole and show me what it’s for.”
Whimpering, Sam opened his mouth wide and turned his head toward Randy’s dick, trying to trap it inside.
Randy slid into the offered opening, teasing the ring, then sliding in over Sam’s tongue. “There you go. Good hole. Now seal it up, Hole. That’s right. And suck it. Suck while I push into your throat.” He pressed in far enough to make Sam gag a little. “Suck harder.” He pushed against the back of Sam’s throat a few times, making him cry and whimper—he glanced at Sam’s right hand and made sure he had his handkerchief on him, and he did—then he pulled out, just past Sam’s puffy lips dripping with saliva. Then he drove in again, right to the back, thrusting and ordering Sam to suck harder until he was gurgling and almost crying.
After a few rounds of that he gave Sam a break, switching to shallow fucks inside his mouth as he anchored himself on Sam’s hair, and he turned to Keith, who had been watching the entire show with a feral look in his eye.
Randy winked at him. “We’ve taught Sam a lot since you last had his mouth. But you knew about the hair-pulling, right?” Randy yanked hard on Sam’s hair, making Sam moan and suck harder. “The more you yank, the harder he sucks. And you can deep throat this slut like nothing else. Really bang in there. Here, Peaches—show him how you let me face-fuck you. Not the slow stuff we’ve been doing or the deep holds. Let me pound you.”
Sam, gasping for air around Randy’s cock, looked worn out and wrecked, but not terrified. He also looked slutty as fuck and turned on as hell. He nodded at Randy and opened his mouth wide.
Randy massaged his hair. “That’s right. Open up. Little more. Nice and wide. Give me a good hole. But stop looking at Keith. Look at me.” He slapped Sam’s cheek. “Up. That’s the way. Right in my eyes. Gonna fuck your throat open. Shoot my load down so Keith can watch. Mitch too. You’ve been waiting a long time for this. You want Mitch to see the guy you were slutty with first. Feel all that shame rolling around while a straight boy from home fucks your face, then your ass.”
Keith moved closer, his expression hungry. “Shit, he lets you talk to him like that?”
Randy snorted. “Honey, he loves it. Don’t you, Peaches? You love it when I call you a slut. Because you are a slut. Aren’t you?” He pulled out of Sam’s mouth and pinched his nipple through his shirt, hard enough to make Sam wince. “Tell him. Tell Keith you’re a slut. Look him in the eye and tell him.”
Cheeks burning red, Sam turned his head and looked Keith in the eye. “I’m a slut.”
Randy tugged at the nipple he’d captured. “Tell him you like getting fucked in the mouth by strangers.”
Shame radiated from Sam like heat. “I like getting fucked in the mouth by strangers.”
Randy wouldn’t let up. “And how do you feel about men you barely know fucking you and treating you roughly in front of your fiancé?”
They might as well have peeled off Sam’s skin, he was so raw. “I want it so much I could get off just thinking about it.”
“Shall we let you have that, then?” Randy stepped closer and ran the tip of his dick along Sam’s cheek. “Shall I teach Keith how to use you and treat you rough?”
Sam shuddered, closed his eyes. “Yes, please.”
“Then turn back to me and open, baby. And be a good, good slut, and show us all how much you want this.”
Sam did. Face flaming with shame, eyes banked with lust, he opened his mouth and held still while Randy pounded into his throat, moving fast and rough but then sometimes going deep and holding himself in there until Sam gagged, then pulling back and fucking deep again. Randy deliberately kept tripping that gag reflex, and every time Sam gagged, Keith stiffened and dug his fingers into his jeans. When Randy came, he pulled out and sprayed all over Sam’s face, and Sam kept his mouth open like a baby bird, letting his tongue coat with cum.
Keith had his dick out before Randy had his put away—he gripped Sam’s hair and drove in, and with a moan, Sam took him home.
It really was a sight—Keith was a motherfucker, swearing at Sam and calling him names as he thrust and demanded Sam suck harder. He pulled his hair until he cried out, which of course only made Sam wilder.
Randy knelt behind Sam, nibbling on his neck while Keith fucked his face and Randy undid his pants. “Gonna bare your ass, because it’s next. Let Keith see how hard this gets you. How the more names he calls you and the rawer he gets, the harder you are. Sweet little slut. Show him how much you missed this cock in your mouth, how much you want it in your ass.”
Sam showed him. Sam sucked him and whimpered and looked up adoringly at Keith while he spewed venom. Keith came on his face, drawing Sam’s head down to let the spunk hit his hair.
With a wicked laugh, Randy pinched Keith’s ass, then led Sam to the couch for round two.
It was in so many ways one of Randy’s all-time favorite sex adventures with Sam and Mitch. Randy got to drive, but it was performance all the way—for Mitch, who simply sat in his armchair, dark gaze observing; for Keith, who willingly took up every raunchy act Randy egged him into. Randy opened Sam on his lap, encouraging Keith to watch while Randy greased Sam up. “Making him ready for you. All spread, getting himself wet.” He tweaked Sam’s nipple with lube-slick fingers. “You want to get wetter for Keith, Peaches? You want to be so wet you drip for him?”
Sam groaned, shut his eyes, and drew his legs wider.
Randy worked him with so much lube it slid from him as Keith arranged him on the coffee table, braced on a pile of cushions.
Randy held him down while Keith got ready behind him, pinching Sam’s nipples.
“You’re just a hole tonight, Sam, a slutty series of holes. He used the first one, and now he’s after this one. Let him see it.” Randy smacked Sam’s ass with his hand, then continued to tug ruthlessly on Sam’s nipple as he spoke to Keith. “What do you think of the hole? Open wide enough? Wet enough? Would you like to fuck it now, play with it? Push things into it? Slap it?”
Keith stilled. “Slap it?”
Sam whimpered, burying his face in his hands. “No, please.”
Randy slapped his ass again, then, out of spite, moved behind him and gave him a sharp slap against his perineum and over his waiting hole. Sam cried out and shivered, but ultimately didn’t move. Randy nodded in satisfaction and turned to Keith.
“Slap it. Like that.” He slapped Sam again, several times in succession, making him gasp and squirm and beg for Randy to stop. He didn’t, not until Sam whimpered and pushed against him desperately. “He loves to hate that one. You can mix it up too. Sharp slaps until he’s compliant, finger-fuck him until he’s desperate, then slap him again. Call him a dirty slut the whole time. Then out of nowhere start fucking him. Rough and hard until you’re done.”
The expression on Keith’s face was dark and dangerous and delightful. “How about slapping his ass and thighs. And pinching them.”
“Fair game, within reason. If he calls out violet or drops that red hanky, it’s over, or if Mitch or I tell you to stop, you stop. Otherwise no matter what he tells you, you keep going. In fact, if he begs you to stop without the word violet and that hanky is still in his hand, you go to fucking town, buddy. Got it?”
Keith grinned and stroked his dick. “Yeah. Got it.”
Keith got it all right. He played with Sam like a spider toying with a fly. First he mimicked Randy’s play, slapping at Sam and fingering him, but then he began to fuck him, slapping and pinching whatever flesh he could find as he pounded away. He loved going hard, loved a rough scene. He used Sam mercilessly, until Sam was crying and begging him to stop—at which point Keith only laughed and went harder.
Yet, as the night progressed, as Randy led them into other games, the three of them together, always, he couldn’t help but notice Jameson’s hard edges were rubbing off. He began to show a strange kind of affection for what he was allowed to do to Sam, speaking almost reverently about pounding Sam’s ass.
“He’s so amazing,” he whispered to Randy when Mitch and Sam were reconnecting in the bedroom alone and Keith and Randy were getting water in the kitchen. “I mean—I always knew he gave great head, and he seemed like a nice guy otherwise, but holy crap, the guy can take a pounding. I would be in tears over what he’s been through. And you’re telling me he’s just resting?”
Randy smiled around his glass. “He won’t rest until Mitch has had him too. And he’ll want you to see that. His way of letting you know that was all fun and games, but at the end of the day, Mitch is the one for him.”
“Well I know that,” Keith protested.
Randy shook his head. “It’s not about knowing. It’s about showing.”
Once the break was over, Randy trussed Peaches to a bench, shoved a metal plug in deep, strapped all his appendages down, and taught Keith how to paddle him. He taught him, too, how to take Sam all the way to the edge of coming but not let him get there, showed Keith what a fun head-fuck that was. Sam began to alternate between whimpering about his ass and begging to get off. He wasn’t allowed, though, not until Keith had fucked him over the bench, followed by Randy. With spent condoms littered at his knees and five loads coating his body, Sam, still hard as a bar of iron, went limp everywhere else as Randy untied him and laid him out like an offering for Mitch.
Keith watched, quiet, as Mitch fucked his fiancé more ruthlessly than Randy or Keith had. He noted, Randy knew, the difference between Sam getting fucked to get off and Sam getting fucked by the man he loved, however roughly. When Sam came, Keith shuddered. As Sam and Mitch retreated into the bathroom and then to bed, Randy passed Keith the bottle of mescal and a glass.
“You know,” Randy said once they’d both had a shot, “there are girls who will let you fuck them like that too.”
Keith shut his eyes and sank back into the couch. “I don’t know how the hell to find them.”
“Look. That’s how. Get out there. Put yourself out there—but be smart. Remember, with girls or guys you’ve got to be more delicate when you first meet them so they know you’re not a psycho. Too many guys are asses, and they’ll be checking to see if you’re going to fuck them up in a bad way. Letting someone use you like this takes trust. And when it’s someone of your actual orientation, reciprocate. With girls, a little cunnilingus never goes amiss.”
Keith snorted and took another hit of mescal. “Hanging out with gay men isn’t going to teach me that.”
“Please. If I weren’t so tired, I’d go find a girl and show you right now.” When Keith’s jaw fell open, Randy rolled his eyes. “What, you think you’re the only one in the world who loves sex enough not to be particular about how he gets it? I’m not straight, not even bi, but man do women come apart nice when you seduce them right.”
Keith stared at Randy like he wanted to blow him. It pleased Randy to know he could probably make that happen. “Would—would you show me? Seriously?”
Randy put an arm around Keith’s shoulders. “Oh, sweetheart. I thought you’d never ask.”