Journey to Mirage Ch. 06

"Yeah, maybe," Groton answered and laughed. "And maybe you and me—and him—can talk about some possibilities later."

"Well, come on in," Lefty said. "I got private rooms at the back. I'll let the front take care of itself tonight. Business should start up as soon as it gets dark. You can leave your cars out here, if you want. Most of the clients park in back of the building, though." He laughed a hearty laugh then and put one arm over Groton's shoulder and turned him toward the door to the roadhouse and took Billy Dan's arm in a firm grip with the other. As they stepped off on the walk, he looked around and gave Rick a welcoming—and frankly assessing—look.

Rick started to follow, but at the sound of a familiar noise—a human groan—he looked up at the window the shirtless guy had been smiling down from to see that the young man no longer alone. He was now leaning half out of the window, his fists gripping the wood of the frame hard. His face showed a mixed expression of pain and ecstasy, which Rick had no trouble figuring out, because Spike's big black paws were covering his nipples, Spike's chin was hooked on the young man's shoulder, and the guy's torso was swaying back and forth in the unquestionable movement of the fuck from the rear.

As Rick entered the reception room of the roadhouse, a bunch of both young women and men were sitting about in various versions of provocative dress. He needed no more evidence to conclude what this roadhouse dealt in.

If Rick hadn't figured it out before, he would have known when he was led to a bedroom—which was more the size of a cell—where only a limited attempt at decoration had been made. It was quite functional for the purpose it usually was being used for—and it did have a window, which was right next to the one where he'd seen the shirtless guy, Rick figured from the sound of fucking going on in the room next to him. The shirtless guy was quite vocal. And, as Rick well knew, Spike could pull loud sounds of taking out of a man.

The door had been open to the room at the other side of his when Rick was shown upstairs and he could see that it was larger and had a king-sized bed in it and a lot of red velour trappings around. He had thought it no doubt was the establishment's deluxe suite.

He wasn't surprised to find out that Groton was assigned to it. The walls of this room were no thicker than the one on the other side, though, Rick discovered later that night. The special occasion that Lefty had been saving Billy Dan for turned out to be to share him for his first taking with Groton. The headboard of the king-sized brass bed was against the wall Rick's bed was set lengthwise against, and Rick's own bed was rocked for nearly two hours in the night by the rhythmic pounding of the headboard on his wall accompanied by the unmistakable sound of Billy Dan's first taking. First by Groton, as the guest, and then, at greater length and more vocalization from Billy Dan by Lefty.

That racket had barely toned down to a plaintive moaning by Billy Dan when Rick's own door opened and a heavy body came down on top of him. Rick was lying on his belly, and Spike covered his body with his, writhing around on Rick's back and nipping at his ears and the hollow neck with his teeth, until Rick began panting and, with effort, raised his hips in presentation to the familiarity of Spike's channel-spitting cock.

"Where are the cameras?" Rick murmured between groans of the invasion of Spike's cock.

"It don't need to be acting a scene for me to want to be inside you," Spike muttered.

"The same with me," Rick whispered.

"But can't let Doug know that," Spike said. "That Groton's a jealous bastard. You shouda' heard him reaming Phil and Trace this evening."

Just then they heard someone in the hallway, and Spike barely was able to move to the back of where the door would open when it did open and Groton was standing in the hall, stark naked.

"The rest of the night in my bed with me, if you please, Rick."

Rick got up and moved through the door and was guided back into the room beside him.

Lefty was fucking a dazed and groaning Billy Dan on the bed again—or still. The young blond was on his back, his butt at the edge of the side of the bed, his legs spread wide, a stack of pillows under the small of his back, his torso arched back, and his head lolling to the side in near unconsciousness.

Lefty was a big, rough, hairy beast with heavy cock and balls to match. He wasn't wearing a condom—no doubt with the understanding that Billy Dan was no physical threat on his first taking—which Rick could tell because Lefty was bringing his cock all the way out before slamming it back into Billy Dan's channel. Billy Dan's body was twitching with each plunge. The cum of several fuckings, not all Lefty's, no doubt, was dribbling out of his channel and down the side of the sheeted mattress.

Groton pulled Rick around to the other side of the bed and laid him down in a mirror image to Billy Dan's, spread his legs, and plunged his own long, thin cock inside Rick's channel. Rick turned his face to Billy Dan's and they eyed each other as each was being taken.

Billy Dan looked so beleaguered yet determined to get beyond the threshold, that Rick gave him a concerned look and reached over with a hand and cupped the other young man's cheek with the palm of his hand in comfort. He wanted to tell Billy Dan that the first time didn't have to be like this. It could be gentle and loving and patient—and not in surroundings like this. But then he checked himself. His first time hadn't been any of those things. Tony had just pushed him through the rear passenger door and down on his belly on the backseat of a car they were chopping, held his arm against his back and bent up almost to the point of breaking it, jerked down Rick's shorts and briefs, and fucked him hard as Rick screamed his head off for mercy and patience that didn't come in echoes reverberating around the cavernous warehouse. Then he had turned him on his back, with Rick's feet scrambling for purchase on the roof of the car chassis and against the frame of its driver's door, had fucked him a second time.

Still, Rick believed it didn't have to be this way. And not just the first time, either. Each time.

Billy Dan turned his lips to Rick's palm as if in thanks for the attempt at comfort through this ordeal. And, instinctively, Rick moved his lips to Billy Dan's and they kissed to find some affection in the situation as Lefty and Groton churned away between their respective pairs of thighs on opposite sides of the bed.

When Lefty had come, he turned the limp body of Billy Dan so that it was lying on one side of the bed naturally and left the room, turning off the light as he left.

Groton fucked on. He could go at it for long stretches of time and then be ready to go again after a short break for recharging. When he was finished, he climbed over Rick, stretched out in the middle of the bed beside the still-moaning Billy Dan and pulled Rick in full length between him and the other side of the bed.

Rick hadn't come yet, and Groton held him in a tight embrace with one hand and started stroking his cock with the other.

"A fantasy. Give us a fantasy."

Rick was half asleep and wasn't even thinking much about what he was saying. "Bound. I'm bound, my arms above my head, my legs spread wide."

"Bound, eh. Where. Where are you bound."

"A tailgate. The tailgate of a truck."

Groton stopped stroking and held Rick so tightly he hardly could breathe. "So it was Trace, then. That's his specialty. I was going to make you tell me who fucked you this afternoon. But now I don't have to—or was it both of them? Tell me."

"No, neither of―"

"Don't lie to me, Rick. Don't ever lie to me."

Rick yelped in pain, as Groton had gripped both of his balls in a fist and squeezed hard. He maintained the vice grip, with Rick's eyes immediately beginning to water and his body going stiff as a board.

"It was Trace. Just Trace. Phil tried to stop it . . . but I wanted it."

"Did you beg for it, or did he make you want it by what he did to you?"

"I wanted it—but it didn't have to be from him. Oh, god, let up, Mr. Groton. I can't stand it. Yes, yes, he would have taken it even if I didn't want it. That's what Phil was on him about."

The grip loosened, and Rick let out an involuntary whimper.

To his shame, Rick wanted it again. He wanted Groton to jerk him off as he tried to come up with another fantasy and then to fuck him again. But, perhaps as punishment, Groton released his hold on Rick and rolled over and turned Billy Dan on his side, cuddled into his body, and Rick heard the exhausted groan and little cry as Groton began running his cock back up into Billy Dan's channel and beginning the rhythm of a fuck that made the mattress move under Rick's body like he was on the ocean.

Rick was nearly asleep when Groton turned back to him and started taking him in the same position he'd just taken Billy Dan.

This rotation, punctuated by brief bouts of dozing, went on for most of the rest of the night.

Near dawn, Groton was holding Rick close again and stroking his cock, which brought Rick slowly back toward consciousness.

"A fantasy. Tell me another fantasy, Rick." Rick looked around and saw that Groton had set up two video cameras on stands that were panned on the bed. Rick understood that it was show time again.

This brought a scenario to Rick's mind. It may have occurred because of what he had been thinking earlier about it not having to be this way—or more likely because of the new experience the previous afternoon with Trace of the bindings, and, specifically, the lack of control and choice at the height of the act. But what came to mind wasn't so much a fantasy as a reality that Rick had tried to bury deep inside him but that surfaced sometimes when he had brought himself to degradation—being taken hard and without choice or control . . . and wanting it. Like with Trace that afternoon at the back of the truck. He knew he was whoring, but he had wanted it so bad. And he had wanted it even though he knew that Phil disapproved—although Rick didn't know why he cared what Phil thought about it. Phil was someone he'd only really talked to once—and had barely touched, even though the touch was electric. For some reason he did care what Phil thought, however.

As Groton stroked Rick's cock and cajoled him to weave a fantasy as fingers of light began to invade the window of the now-quiet roadhouse bordello, Rick almost began to speak. The words were on his lips. "I'm alone in a prison cell with a hulking black man with muscles, a huge dick, and an attitude." But he held off; he couldn't do it. He knew the film was about fantasy turned into reality. But Rick had already lived the reality of this.

Taken from the chop shop by the police as the only one who didn't escape. Interrogated, but not giving Tony and his crew up—to the point of irritating the policemen who intentionally put him in a holding cell with a gang member from an all-black gang that was a bitter rival of Tony's gang. The police figuring that Rick was a member of Tony's gang, so why not let a rival gang member help loosen his tongue and resolve. A gorilla of a black ganger, all muscle and tattoos, and cock, and attitude. Getting the wink from the guard who tossed Rick into the cell with him. Having his heavy dick out and forcing it into Rick's mouth almost before the guard had clanged the cell door shut. Then Rick hanging onto the bars of the cage cell with dear might, and screaming for help and relief that never materialized, as the black monster pulled his hips away from the bars with a firm grip and banged his cock again and again and again, relentlessly, up into Rick's channel until he himself was worn out and flopped down on his back on the lower bunk, slung his arm over his eyes, and snored himself to sleep.

Rick slumping, moaning, to the ground inside the bars of the cage until the interrogators returned and, not having gotten any more cooperation—with most of what they were asking being far beyond anything Tony had let Rick know anyway—deciding to leave Rick in the cage with the black ganger all night.

Then the first shame for Rick—what he just could not tell as a fantasy to Groton and then have to live all over again in a reality phase. Rick dragging himself over to the bunk. Wanting it again. Climbing on top of the black ganger and, to the willing amusement of the monster, straddling those meaty hips and guiding the plump, reengorging cock into position, and fucking himself on that big black cock again. Because he wanted it. Because he couldn't help himself from wanting it again. And before dawn begging for it a third time.

And then, the recurring shame thereafter. Whenever Pete was fucking him, reliving the barred cage experience—and letting it arouse himself all the more, and because he responded so wildly, so fully, Pete wanting more of it too. A vicious circle of want and degradation.

No, Rick could not bring himself to reveal this fantasy to Groton. So he feigned groggy sleepiness, and willed his cock to go flaccid under Groton's ministrations. Which, thankfully it did—at least enough for Groton to lose interest in hearing another fantasy he could develop for his film.

When Rick woke, it was well into the next morning and he was alone in Groton's bed.