Luther Ch. 01: Spell of the Big One

If he'd looked around like Luther had done when he brought Keith to the building in the rear of the lot, he'd probably have seen the curtains in Mrs. Watson's kitchen shaking with indignation. But neither he nor Luther looked.

"This is it," Luther said when they entered the dimly lit workshop. "Want me to turn on a light?"

"No, that's not necessary," Grant answered. He was glad that Luther had pointed the chair out. He could tell that some work had been done on it, but the furniture hadn't really needed to be refinished. It would have been hard for him to tell that chair from the one that hadn't been touched yet.

He took his time looking over the chair, spending the time trying to figure out his next move.

Luther was wandering aimlessly around the workshop. He'd picked an old, rusted harmonica off the shelf of a bookcase and was trying to get a tune out of it without much success. The tune sounded as rusty as the harmonica looked.

"You've got some really interesting furniture in here," Grant Sims said, reaching for anything to start up a conversation that could be bent to his purposes.

"We sure do. Some of it is real rare," Luther answered, with a sloppy smile on his face. "You ever seen a fuck fuck table?" he casually asked as he brushed by the table where he'd thoroughly fucked his new friend, Keith. Keith had been back twice for fuck sessions.

"Excuse me? A what?" Grant looked up in shock, not believing what he'd heard.

"A fuck fuck table. Lower than a dining table. My friend told me this was good for fucking. He said it was a fuck fuck table. And he said Tim and Alfred put it in here because this was where I should fuck fuck. They told me not to bring anyone into my room. But my friend said they put this fuck fuck table in here just for me."

Still somewhat bewildered, Grant responded in a croaking voice, "Yes, it's a very nice fuck fuck table, Luther. I like using those too. I would like to be your fuck fuck friend too. I see that you need a new harmonica. I have a nice new shiny one. Would you like to have it? I would like to give it to you as a present—if, of course, you have a present for me."

* * * *

"Yes, yes. Give it to me. GIVE IT TO ME. GIVEITTOME! Ram it in!" Grant Sims screamed when Luther did just that, as Grant stood on the floor and bent over Luther's fuck fuck table, grasping the opposite rim of the table with white-knuckled fists, pounding his cheek on the surface of the table, and letting the tears flow.

Luther, humming and thinking of the new harmonica he would have, stood between Grant's spread thighs from the rear, held his old gym teacher's waist with his hands, and pounded the older man's ass hard and deep. Mr. Sims had asked for it hard, Mr. Sims had been Luther's gym teacher, and Luther always wanted to please his teachers.

It was bigger, thicker, blacker even than Sims had remembered from four years earlier. And, oh gawd, it was splitting him. And he'd taken it all. The glory of the biggest, blackest cock he'd ever had.

"Oh, please, yesss!"

Luther was pushing him up on the surface of the table, and following him up. Sims was raised on his knees, his chest and cheek flat on the table top, his fists still gripping the opposite rim. Yodeling for it. Luther was crouched over his hips and fucking him like a dog.

Just like Grant Sims had fantasized for the past four years. Who would have known it would be this easy?

Afterward, Grant stopped Luther as they reached the door to the driveway.

"Tim might not like me giving you a new harmonica. So, we'll just keep me being here a secret, shall we? I'll be back in a few days with your new harmonica."

"And will you want to use the fuck fuck table again?" Luther was giving his former gym teacher a friendly, open smile. Not the least bit of embarrassment or concern. Just like what they had just been doing was the natural thing to do. His friend, Keith, had told him it was the natural thing for young men their ages to do—that all young men did this at this age. Luther wanted to show that he was as good as any other young man his age. He wanted to do what they all were doing. He was happy that his new friend, Keith, had told him about this. It was fun. But then there were a few things that even Keith didn't know.

"Oh, yes, Luther. I very much will want to use the fuck fuck table again. If it wasn't about time for Tim and Alfred to come home, I'd want to use it again right now." Grant felt brave saying that. He felt so reamed out that he wouldn't be able to put his legs together for a week. But he'd taken it. It was a telephone pole, and he'd had it all inside him. And he could hardly wait until he'd recovered enough to ride it again.

"We can't go into my room, you know," Luther said, all innocent smile. "Tim and Alfred say I can't bring friends into that room."

"That's why they put your fuck fuck table out here in the shop, I'm sure," Grant said. "They want you to fuck fuck out here. And this is fine with me."

You don't know just how fine, Grant was thinking. You might be retarded, but you do the best cocking in the State of New Jersey. And you don't even know it. Huge and black and a power driver. Oh, gawd.

Luther just smiled and waved as Grant Sims walked bowlegged to the car he'd parked on the street. The kitchen window curtains in Mrs. Watson's house ruffled angrily.