Pool Party

From time to time, my eyes met with Jim Thornton's, and it was obvious that he was enjoying my discomfort. He'd smile knowingly at me, stand up in the water at the shallow end to give me a good look at his beautiful, tanned body, and then sink back down and send off a jet of water at a squealing kid, who was in ecstasy that one of the adults was playing with him.

At one point he drew a young boy into him, sitting him on his lap, under the water, hugging him and giving me a lustful look over the boy's shoulder. I shuddered at the thought of the sensuality of the man and couldn't understand why others couldn't see it too and weren't either disturbed or aroused by it. But, of course, maybe they were and were just trying to hide their reaction like I was doing. He bounced the boy up and down on his lap in the water and the boy squealed in innocent delight. I, however, went hard.

When we ate, I sat as far away from Jim as I could. All of the other men had put their shirts back on after getting out of the pool. Not Jim. He sat at the table, deeply tanned, muscular chested, and highly sexual, and acted like nothing about that was unusual or out of keeping with the rest. Of course he was getting interested looks from the women—and a few of the men too. I tried my best not to look.

I pulled out early, telling Ann I had to get back to my writing before I lost a plot twist that had developed my mind. That was actually the truth. The short story I was then working on came out of my encounter with the truck driver and my growing obsession with Jim Thornton. The story would never be published in the mainstream, but it was a scorcher. I'd titled it "Pool Party."

Ann nodded absently at me, in mid conversation with Madge Hill. It was a common excuse of mine, useful because it often, like now, was genuine. Story elements for "Pool Party" had been turning over in my mind while I was sitting there watching the action in and around the Thornton's pool—the looks going between Jim and Randy Hill were enough to light my fire—and I was hard and in heat. I needed to leave the party for that reason alone.

I made good money off my writing. Ann appreciated that and indulged my peculiarities that were connected with getting something written down that was publishable. I made the same excuse to Bev Thornton, who was accustomed to hearing it and not resenting it, hoping to make it out of there without encountering Jim.

No such luck, though. Jim was at my elbow. "I'll see Greg out," he said. "I want to check with him on something."

Around at the side of the house, in the bushes, Jim pulled me to him and into a kiss. I resisted, initially, but he was insistent and I opened my lips to his tongue. He reached down, took my hand, and ran it under the waistband of his Speedo, holding my hand on his cock, which was half hard and hardening.

"You know I'm going to fuck you, don't you? It's inevitable." he whispered when he released my mouth.

I said "yes" in my mind, but not openly to him.

"You enjoyed watching me fuck Randy, didn't you?"

This time I answered in a weak voice, "Yes."

"Maybe we could do a threesome."

I didn't respond to that.

"Tomorrow afternoon. Be here. In back, by the pool. We can talk then."

"I don't know. The wives . . ."

"Some of the women are going into New York to take in a Broadway play matinee—including Bev and Ann. They'll be gone until after dinner."

That wasn't what I meant in referencing the wives, but I didn't pursue the point. Of course I wouldn't show up the next day. We'd talk later, over the phone, at a safe distance from each other. This just wasn't something we should do with all of the close connections.

But, God, he was sexy as hell.

Then, and only then, did he release my hand from his cock. He was hard and thick and long now.

"Remember. 2:00 tomorrow. Here."

"I hear you," I threw over my shoulder as I escaped and started walking—no, staggering—back downhill to my own house. I left Ann the Jaguar. She had a food bowl to haul back when she left.

When I got home it was back into the bathroom, sitting on the toilet, and masturbating myself to a completion.

* * * *

At 2:00 p.m. the next day, I was walking around the side of the Thornton house to the pool area. I was in shorts, sandals, and a T-shirt. No way I was coming in the Speedo and swimming with Jim in the pool. This was a short meeting of the minds on stopping this silly business before it started. We were just too closely connected to get away with it. I was beyond pretending I didn't want it, but it had danger and tragedy written all over it.

He was swimming laps, seeming not to notice I'd come when he told me to. I stood, facing the pool, at the foot of the pool bed where he'd fucked the college kid—Randy Hill, the son of friends of the Thorntons—and of us.

But he had noticed me and, after half a dozen laps, stood up in the water at the shallow end of the pool, the end I was standing at, and walked up the steps in the pool to the patio. We stood there, facing each other, for the longest moment. He glistened in the sun, as the light bounced off the drips of water running down his tight abs. His body was magnificent. He gave me a teasing little smile and then slowly pushed his Speedo down and off his legs. He was in erection, the V at his pelvis that hadn't tanned as darkly as the rest of him highlighted the reddish-auburn bush, the long, thick cock, and the hairy balls. His body was even more magnificent and sexy naked.

"I came to talk, Jim," I said. "This isn't possible. We have too many connections. We'd be found out."

"You came to be fucked," Jim said. "We can get away with it. I always get away with it." And then, when I didn't have an answer for that, when I was just standing there, drunk on the sexiness of his body, trembling, he said, "Strip down, I want to see you naked. I didn't get the best view of you in the window at Hal's. Did the big bruiser holding you from behind in the window fuck you well?"

"Yes," I answered weakly—and honestly.

"Was he fucking you when I saw you?"

"Yes. He was a truck driver." I added that nonsensically, as if being a truck driver had anything to do with it. But of course it did, and Thornton picked up on why.

"So, you like it rough, impersonal . . . dirty?"

"Sometimes," I answered, again honestly.

"I can fuck you rough. Tell me how you like it and I'll give it to you that way. Do you want it here on the pool bed like I gave it to Randy Hill and then maybe in the pool?"

"Yes."

"You like being slapped around?"

"Sometimes."

"You want to be given orders?"

"Yes."

"Strip down for me."

I did so, and we stood there for a moment, both erect, eyeing each other. And then he moved to me, cupped the back of my head with one hand, pulling my face into his for a deep kiss, and frotting our hard cocks together with his other hand. He slow stroked them together with his fist. I moaned, already lost to him.

He pushed me at arms' length and slapped me across the face twice. I yelped and groaned in want. He pressed me down to sitting on the foot of the pool bed, and I pressed my cheek to his lower belly and reached around with both hands and palmed his buttocks, holding his pelvis to me. He rubbed his cock on my cheek and slapped it on my cheek a couple of times as well. Then he moved it down to my lips, which opened to it. I sucked on the cock, initially on the bulb, but then taking it deep in my throat. He held my head between his hands and moved his hips in a face fuck. I opened to the cock and took it all.

He laughed. "You know how to give blow jobs."

Yes, I knew. The truck driver had told me that too. I'd been doing it fairly regularly since my college days—up until a year previously. I had made sure not to go long without being serviced and servicing a man, but I'd never done it this close to home before—to the home I shared with Ann, and with a man whose wife I knew and played bridge with.

Pulling out of me before he came, he pushed on my chest and I lay back on the pool bed. He knelt at the foot of the bed, pushed my knees up into my chest, and rolled my pelvis up. I panted and moaned as he sucked my cock and ate out my hole.

Then he was turning me onto my stomach on the pool bed, in the same place the college kid had been several days previously. My legs were hanging off the side, the pads of my feet pressed into the stone patio surface, and my arms were dangling off the side of the bed, my knuckles dragging on the stone, while he ate out my hole some more and pulled my cock through between my legs and gave it attention too. He mounted my ass. I flinched and gasped as he entered me a couple of inches.

He leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Do you want me to stop?"

"No," I whispered back. "But would you stop if I said I wanted you to stop?"

"No," he answered and then laughed. "But if you said no to my cock, you'd be lying, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," I admitted, honestly, "I'd be lying. But you know that."

"Here it comes," he said. He lifted my hips up a bit with his hands, and I opened my eyes wide, and my mouth formed a deep, "Oh Shit!" as he plunged his cock up into me and immediately started pumping hard and deep.

"You said you liked it rough," he said.

I mouthed off a bit, trying to keep it down, as the lots here weren't that big and his eight-foot wooden fence closed off what we were doing from view, but it also gave us no clue what was going on in adjoining yards. I provided him assurances, though, as my huffing moved from "Oh, shit, you're big—you're too big. Slow down, you're killing me" transitioned into sounds of passion and "Yeah, yeah, like that. Fuck he hard. Harder. Yes, Yes! God, you're good!"

"So, this is the way you like it?" he murmured.

"I like it any way you give it," I answered, honestly.

For a few minutes I was able to get a hand under my raised pelvis and take care of my own need. After I'd shot my load on the pool pad, though, he grabbed my wrists, and pulled them back around his side, arching my torso up cruelly, burying his face in the hollow of my neck, when I wasn't turning my face to his for a kiss, and pounded my ass relentlessly to his ejaculation.

When he'd come, he let my body collapse on the pool bed. I heard him snap the condom off—I had no idea where the rubber had come from and how and when he'd gotten it on his cock—and he stretched out on top of me as we cooled down.

This had been a rougher fuck than I'd seen him give Randy Hill, the college kid, but maybe I'd left before the rough stuff started. But rough was fine with me—unfortunately. The fuck had been really fine. It just wasn't what I'd come here for, or so I told myself. Jim had told me differently.

I heard him snap anther condom on. "Come into the pool. I want you to fuck yourself on it in the pool. Randy did that too. Before you came and watched us."

Just as I had figured.

He stood at the wall, in water up to his nipples, and held my waist as I made like a crab in front of him, crouching over him, my arms stretched around his shoulders, my hands gripping the lip of the pool, and my legs raised and bent, my feet flat against the pool wall on either side of his chest—just like I was about to push off in the backstroke race. His cock was buried in my passage and, using the leverage of my hands and feet, I fucked myself on the shaft, moving slowly through the water. When I came, clouds of cum rose to the surface between us.

Thornton laughed. "Between you today and Randy the other day—and I don't know how many kids pissing in the pool, I'd better drain it and change the water," he said.

"Come upstairs with me," Jim whispered in my ear after he'd reversed our positions, put my back to the wall and my knees on his hips and fucked me again. "We've got all day. We won't do it in the family bedroom area, but there's a maid's room above the kitchen we don't use and Bev never goes in. We'll do it in there."

"We can't. We can't be doing this anymore, Jim," I said.

He fucked me on the floor of the maid's room as soon as we got up there. When we entered the room, he took me by surprise, backhanding me across the cheek and sending me to the floor. I rose back up to my feet, groggily, and he just pushed me down on all fours and I went down docilely, giving him no resistance whatsoever. He mounted me, high on my ass, and fucked me hard.

He fucked me on the bed an hour later and we dozed off in each other's arms. He woke me up as the light outside was fading by rolling over on top of me and slapping my thighs open. He fucked me in a missionary, with us in a close embrace, rocking back and forth, both of us concentrating on his cock moving inside me.

"How much of this can you take?" he murmured.

"How much can you give?"

"Forever," he answered.

"Since this is the last time, do your worst," I responded.

"We'll see about that," he countered. "I think you are in denial here."

We dozed again and woke to the sound of someone entering the house through the front door, which was just across the wall and downstairs from where we were in the bed, a bed that had been thumping against the wall to the tune of Jim's thrusts inside me just an hour before.

"She's home. Your wife is home," I said, panicked.

"Shush, it's fine," Jim answered, putting his hand over my mouth. "We brought our clothes up. There's a stairway down to the far side of the house from here. You can dress and go down that and through the bushes to the street. You didn't park the Jag out front, did you?"

"No, of course not."

"Well, you parked it at Hal's. That wasn't the best move."

"I know that now," I said.

"I'm going back to the patio and greet Bev coming out of the pool. I know how to do this. Don't panic. We can bring this off."

"We can't continue bringing this off, Jim. We've got to stop this."

"You can't give up the fucking," he said, with a laugh. "You can't give up the fuck from me."

I was so afraid that he was right.

When I got home, Ann had already returned.

"You weren't here when I got home," she said.

"I went for a walk," I answered without hesitation. I'd worked that out on the walk home. She bought it. I wondered how long she was going to continue buying it. Despite telling Jim it was over, I knew it wasn't.

* * * *

I was on my back at the foot of the bed in the cabin behind Hal's Tavern. Jim Thornton was standing at the foot, grabbing my ankles, and cruelly spreading them wide, as he fucked me in long, fast, deep slides of his cock. I was touching his lower belly, tracing the Speedo tan line, the sharp divide between dark and light flesh, with my thumbs, not only because the contrast in his coloring in the zone of his sex aroused me but also to maintain that contact with him. It must have turned him on too, because he was fucking me furiously. I was licking my lips and moving my head back and forth in pain-pleasure-passion-agony as he ravished me. I shot my load and he shot his and then he collapsed on me, searching out my lips with his for a deep kiss.

Twenty minutes later, I was at the window on the back wall of the cabin, overlooking the hidden parking area. My Jaguar and Jim's Corvette were nestled next to each other. We shouldn't have done that, I was thinking. Jim was lying on the bed, having a smoke. I was having a smoke at the window. After the high heat of the meeting of our bodies, I, at least, needed some separation to dampen down the smoldering. I knew we weren't finished—that Jim and I would fuck again this afternoon. And I knew we'd come back to the cabin behind Hal's Tavern again and again—until we were caught. I was in the spider's web and I wasn't getting out alive.

I'd smoked the cigarette down to the filter and stubbed it out on the window sill as so many before me had done—indeed, as I had done myself on the "day of the truck driver." I raised and spread my arms, pressing my hands into the upper edges of the window frame and lay my forehead against the cool window. I needed to cool down. Jim had me in perpetual heat.

Jim came up behind me and took my hips between his hands. "Jut your ass back to me, I'm going to slow fuck you," he whispered in my ear. I did so and he slid up inside me and began to slow pump me. He was moving his tongue in my ear cavity.

"Is this what the truck driver was doing with you that day I saw you in the window here?" he asked.

"Yes, he was fucking me like this, from behind. He told me to jut my ass back too, and he thrust up into me too when I did that. You asked and I told you. He was fucking me like this when you saw us in the window."

"But not as good as I am, right?"

"No, not as good as you are."

I looked out of the window and froze. Zach Childs, the friend from the party, the car dealer, who was as close to Jim and my ages and to being in shape as any of the others in the pool party group got, was standing out there, looking at our cars—at the Jaguar and the Corvette, nested together as close as Jim and I were now. He was a car dealer, for christ sake. He knew who owned those cars.

He looked up at the window and saw me, naked, and he saw Jim's face over my shoulder.

I turned from the window, dragging Jim with me. "Take me to the bed," I murmured, "And fuck me into the next world."

Jim did just that, laying me out, fully open, totally surrendered to him—totally surrendered to the whole situation—and he ravished me, taking no prisoners.

I was sitting in the Jaguar, watching the Corvette pull away, giving it a ten-minute interval before getting on the road myself when my cell phone buzzed.

"Greg? This is Zach Childs. I'm in cabin 2. I think we need to talk about something I saw in a window."

I lay, belly down, at the foot of the bed, legs spread and feet on floor, my eyes popping wide open, grunting at the difficulty of taking him. Childs was hunched over me, between my legs, one hand palming my lower belly and the other one pressing down on the small of my back.

"Let me in. Open for me," he growled. He was grunting too at the difficulty of stuffing my ass. He wasn't long, but his was the thickest cock I'd ever had, what some referred to as a beer can cock. He'd already unhinged my jaw when I was sucking it off.

But then he was inside me—just. "Yes, relax," he muttered. "Relax and take it." He was in maybe an inch and a half, and, grudgingly, my sphincter let his bulb pop beyond it, and my channel began to stretch open to him.

"You're fucked now," he muttered. "Don't fight me. Open up. Give it to me. I'm going to take it. I've wanted to fuck you for ages."

He held there, the bulb beyond the sphincter, giving me time to adjust, and when he felt I had done so enough, he pressed in on my belly with his hand, pulling my buttocks into the cock, and I panted and groaned as he gave me the other four plus inches. I felt his short and curlies tickling my butt cheeks. He was all in. I felt relief and it helped. I opened further and was surprised when he had another half inch to give me—and did.

I relaxed and took it—he had given me no other choice, saying this would just be the first of many meetings—as, in as far as he was going to get, he began to pump my ass.

"So sweet, so tight," he murmured as he plowed me.

It wasn't that I was so tight; it was that he was so thick.

I groaned as he turned me on his cock and continued plowing me from behind, sucking in his gut and watching us in the mirror that had conveniently been placed over the headboard. I turned my face up to the mirror and saw that the expression on my face not only showed the pain of his size but also, in spite of myself and to my embarrassment, the ecstasy of being fucked by a man—any man. In truth, any dick would do.

He leaned over and whispered in my ear, "You gonna come for me, baby?"