Hot Valley (6 page)

“This way of life, Jack…”

“Yes, Father?” Was he about to accuse me of something?

“It must end.”

“I don't believe things have gotten so bad…”

“I mean this life that you're living. Your aimless, godless wanderings. Don't think I don't see you, sitting here day after day like a prisoner, counting the hours until you can leave and join your…friends.”

“Father, I—”

“I hoped that my son would make me proud. That he would make his way in the world, make something of himself. Or at least be a helpmate in the business. You're twenty-one, Jack. When are you going to begin your life?”

“I have a life, Father.”

“I know what sort of life you have. Throwing your money around those bars downtown, wasting your youth and your education with people from God knows where and getting up to God knows what.”

God knew what, indeed, and I began to believe that, as Aaron had warned me, others knew too. Including my father.

“I see I must become more serious, Father.”

“More serious!” He shouted the words, almost screamed. The door opened an inch, and Mr. Windridge's nose appeared, then hastily withdrew. I did not hear his footsteps, and imagined his delight in eavesdropping.

“You must change your life, Jack. You must…change… your life.” He glared at me, and I glanced shiftily back, ashamed of myself, for all my bravado and bluster. When I went over the scene later in my mind, I thought of all the clever things I should have said. I should have told my father that I was not ashamed of my friends, that I would save him the trouble and expense of my keep, that I would make my way in the world, proud and independent. Instead I sat there blushing, almost weeping, as he stormed out of the room. Windridge entered immediately, pretending that he had heard and seen nothing.

“Are those figures ready, Mr. Edgerton?”

I almost knocked him down.

I found Johnson out by the boiler house, overseeing a couple of engineers who were patching up a leaky pipe.

“So, not content with running the office, you're now the director of works as well, are you?”

“Ah, Mr. Edgerton. We're attempting to save the business several hundred dollars a year by increasing the efficiency of the plant.”

I looked into the boiler house, where two apes in heavy cotton coveralls were attacking the boiler with wrenches and saws. One of them, a heavy-browed, dark-haired brute of, I think, Italian extraction, had shot his load in my face one wild night at the White Horse. The other was a young, fair-skinned, freckle-faced Irish lad whose job seemed to be to hold things.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” I said. “I see you have some very large tools. I hope you know what to do with them.”

They looked up, puzzled, as if awaiting orders.

“Walk with me, Jack,” Johnson said, taking my elbow. “Keep at it, Benny.”

“Sure, boss,” came a thick, hoarse voice from the boiler house.

“Boss?” I squeaked, as Johnson hustled me across the yard to the stables. “So now you're the boss! Is that what this is all about? You turn up here like a genie out of a bottle and suddenly you're taking over—”

He pushed me through a door and I landed on my back in a pile of straw. Thankfully, it was clean; the stables were mucked out in the morning.

“Now shut that pretty pink mouth of yours, Master Jack, and listen to me. I heard what your Daddy said to you. I know you got all riled up. Your pal Mick left town, right? And you're as fretful as a kitten up a tree. You start shaking your little white ass around the engineers, and you know they'll give you a taste and make no fuss because you line their pockets. Well, it's time you learned that you don't treat people like that.”

“Jealous, Johnson?” I said, lying back in the straw and stretching my arms behind my head. “You want my pretty pink mouth and my little white ass for yourself?”

“I should whip you for saying that.”

“Go ahead. Take that thick leather belt and tan my hide for me.” I turned over and wiggled my tail at him, wondering how far this game would go.

Crack! His belt found its mark, and it stung like hell. I was so shocked I could not even cry out. Crack! It came down again.

“Johnson, stop!”

Crack! A third strike, and even through the thick wool of my pants I could feel the bite of the leather.

I looked over my shoulder to see him breathing hard, his mighty chest working inside his shirt. I was in pain, but I was excited too. His pants, unsupported by the thick leather strap that was doubled up in his left hand, were sliding down his hips.

“Do your worst, Johnson. Fuck me if you want.”

With a growl, he jumped on me, grinding his groin into my ass, pressing the rock-hard swelling against my burning cheeks. His mouth was on my neck, my ears, kissing, licking, and biting. He was like an animal in rut. I twisted my head to take his kisses on my mouth, pressed my hips back and up to meet his thrusts. The horses, separated from us only by a low wooden bar, stamped and snorted.

“I'll fuck you, Jack. I'll fuck you from here to kingdom come.” His hand reached down inside my pants, found my hole, and started brutally fingering it. “You've wanted it ever since you first saw me, haven't you? Waggling that ass at me like a barroom whore…”

These words, so coarse in black and white, were murmured in my ear like the tenderest endearments. I felt my guts melt, and I was ready to take whatever he could give me.

But suddenly, the thrusting stopped, the string of obscenities was hushed, and his body lay limp and heavy on top of me.

“It would be so easy, Jack. So easy.”

He stood up, brushed the straw from his clothes, held out a hand, and helped me to my feet.

“Why not? I want you so much.” I wanted him to see, to understand. I rubbed my crotch to draw attention to the swelling there.

“You make me mad, Jack. A madman.”

“So, be mad. Fuck me.”

“Jack… I can't…” He ran out of the stable, and was across the yard and back indoors before I could say another word.

I was furious, frustrated, filthy, covered in straw, sweating like a horse, and hard. I could not go back into the office; I could not, as Johnson apparently could, turn my feelings on and off like a faucet. I brushed off the worst of the dirt and, without really thinking about what I was doing, strolled back toward the boiler house where Italian Benny and his freckle-faced assistant were still banging away.

“Need a hand?” I felt reckless.

“I think we got it covered,” Benny said, his face and hands smeared with oil.

“I can hold your tools for you.”

“Oh, yeah?”

The younger one looked puzzled; why was the boss's son offering these pointless services?

“Yeah. And I'll do more than hold them. I'll work 'em.” The danger of the situation was affecting me like a drug; my cock was as hard as the wrench in Benny's hand.

“You'll work 'em, huh?” Benny said, dropping a hand to his crotch, idly cupping it. I knew from our previous acquaintance that he had a big, uncut, veiny cock in a deep black bush of soft hair.

“Yeah.” I licked my lips. “And I'll finish the job for you.”

“You know what we got here, Pete,” he said to his young companion, who was scratching his head just behind the ear, looking confused. “We got a queer boy that wants a taste of cock.”

“All right!” Pete said, the truth dawning on his simple, freckled face. “He wants to suck my prick?”

“Yeah. We gonna let him?”

“Maybe. Cheaper than buying us a woman.”

“Oh, yeah,” Benny said, laughing, “he's cheap, all right. Get down on your knees, Jackie Boy, and let's see what Pete's got for you.”

I did as I was told, kneeling in the oily mud that surrounded the boiler.

“C'mon, Pete. Show him that thing.”

Pete grinned and unbuttoned his fly, hauling out a fat white prick that was several shades paler than the skin on his sunburned face and hands. It looked like a long hunk of uncooked dough that had been left to rise.

“What do you think of that, Jackie?”

“It's big.”

“You want to kiss it for him?”

“Yes.”

“You want to suck it, boy? Want him to fuck your mouth?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir.”

So this was Benny's game; a little bit of table-turning. It suited my mood perfectly.

“Ask him nicely, then. Let's see some of them fancy manners.”

“Please, sir, may I suck your cock?”

Pete laughed. “Listen to him! Fuckin' fairy.”

“You gonna let him put his lips around that thing, Pete?”

“Yeah. Let him suck it.” He waggled his cock at me; I moved my face closer so it slapped me on the forehead and nose. Benny grabbed me by the hair—little wonder that it was falling out, with the amount of tugging it had taken in the last couple of years—and pulled my head back. My mouth made contact with Pete's half-hard cock, which he took great delight in rubbing and bouncing off my face.

“You better feed the faggot,” Benny said, pulling my mouth open. I liked this pretense that they were forcing me to do something against my will; I'd already learned that this particular performance enabled some men to give me a far harder fucking than a gentler, more agreeable approach would.

The head slipped between my lips, and I immediately closed my mouth around it, sucking Pete way inside me so that he touched the back of my throat.

“Jesus!” he whispered. “He's really eating it! Look at that!”

“Yeah, he's done it before,” Benny said. “Let's see what he can do with two.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw a familiar thick, dark, veiny shape emerging from the front
of his pants. Soon Benny's cock was contending with Pete for possession of my mouth. I knew I couldn't suck both of them fully at the same time—I'd tried that before at the White Horse and been frustrated at my limitations—but I knew that I could give pleasure to both, so I allowed Pete's cock to slip out until only the head was in my mouth. That way, I could stretch my lips around two heads rather than just one. I held on to each shaft and worked them so that they rubbed and pressed together in my mouth.

“Fucking cock-hungry bitch,” Benny said, laughing as he saw my mouth stretched into a clown's grimace. “Now you're going to get it up the other end.”

Unwilling as I was to relinquish the dual delight in my mouth, the thought of taking these two monsters up my ass was too good to turn down.

“Hold him, Pete.”

Pete pulled me to my feet and held my arms behind me, while Benny tore at my clothes. He sensed rightly that I wouldn't complain, however rough their treatment, and took the opportunity to wreak a bit of revenge on the ruling class. He tore off my shirt and threw it in the mud, pulling my pants down, heedless of the pain that they caused me as they dug into my legs. Thus hobbled, with my pants around my ankles and my boots still on, I felt Pete's hard cock pressing into my bare ass. My own dick, hard as hell, swung in front of me.

Benny ignored it, although I knew from our previous encounter that he wasn't averse to a taste of cock when there was no one else to witness it. “Okay, pretty boy, you're going to get fucked. Pete and me are going to fuck you so hard you'll be screaming for your mama. But you make one single noise and we know how to shut you up.” I didn't think he meant he'd stick his cock in my mouth again. There were plenty of tools lying around the boiler house that could have silenced me quickly and effectively.

“Yes, sir.”

Benny stepped out of his coveralls; underneath he wore only a rough cotton shirt. The loose garment slipped over his boots. His legs were thick, the muscles knotted, the hair black and dense on his thighs. He pulled the shirt over his head; naked, apart from his work boots, he looked like a painting of the Minotaur in my book of Greek legends, minus the bull's head (although there was something bovine in his countenance), plus a big hard dick. He lay down on a dry piece of stone flooring, spread his legs, and held his cock perpendicular.

“You better sit on it, boy.”

I needed no second bidding, but I knew that if I was to survive the kind of rough treatment Benny and Pete had in store for me I'd need something to make the ride a little smoother, otherwise I'd be yelling the house down, no matter how hard I tried to keep quiet. I saw a grease gun lying among their tools, and picked it up.

“That's it, Jackie. Make yourself nice and slippery for me. Hey, Pete, give him a hand.”

Pete, still grinning from ear to ear—he seemed to regard this kind of adventure as everyday fun and games—took the grease gun, inserted the nozzle in my ass and pumped a couple of hefty globs inside me. He then smeared them around with a thick, work-toughened finger.

“He ready?”

“He'll do.”

“So sit on it.”

I could tell by the stiffness of Benny's cock that he was enjoying this as much as I was, for all his hostile bluster. The moment his exposed head made contact with my greasy ass ring, I saw a look on his face—an expression of longing, or delight—that betrayed his lust for male contact. It was time for me to take back some of the control of the situation. Opening my ass muscles, I allowed him to glide into me at a rate of two inches a second, so that very soon I was
sitting right down on his thighs. His prick filled me, set me on fire—and I clamped my ring around the base as hard as I could.

“Wooh! Fuck, boy, what you doing?”