Chapter 5 – Chapter 5

That evening I turned all of the lights on in the living room and stood naked, in front of the living room window, wine glass in one hand and dick in the other, and slowly masturbated—twice—for anyone out there to see, shooting my cum off in a splatter against the glass of the window, my eyes moving from the twinkling of the lights in the Massanutten bowl and valley below to the shadow of the trees, looking for movement. Not seeing any.

I went to bed, hyped up, not dissatisfied, though, because my mind was racing about the possibilities of what my exhibitionism might engender—especially in the mind and arousal of the Mediterranean hunk named Tony, who probably was camping in the cold snow at the base of the driveway below the cabin. And who might be scouting around the house at night, looking for what he might see, what could give him pleasure. Leaving his footprints in the snow.

While I had been masturbating in front of the window, it had begun to snow, and it was accumulating nicely before I had shot off the second time. If it stopped snowing soon, I'd be able to check for footprints in the snow the next morning. I would know if anyone had been watching. Tony's feet were big and his boots had a distinctive sole pattern on them. I'd carefully checked that out when I'd had him in the house after he'd shoveled the driveway. I probably would know if the footprints were his.

I drifted off to sleep, masturbating myself before, completed once again, but not fully satiated, I rolled over onto my belly with a groan—not wearing the sleeping pants tonight. As I drifted into sleep, I conjured up the naked, muscular body of Tony—with me; beside me, stroking me with his hands as I reciprocated; under me, as, nose in curly black pubic hair, I sucked him big and throbbing; on top of me; inside me; fucking me hard, me bucking against him, crying out for the cock.

I moaned and raised my rump to him to give him a deeper angle. It was so beautiful, so real. And then I realized that it was real. I cried out as the cock withdrew, nearly the whole way, and then slammed down hard, deep inside me. Out and then in again. Strong hands were fisting my wrists, entrapping my arms above my head and spread, holding me gloriously in thrall to him. He was covering my back close, the hair on his chest scratching my back as his torso slid against me in rhythm with his cock pumping my channel.

I moaned a long, low, guttural moan, "Yes, yes, fuck me hard. Fuck me deep."

He growled into my ear, "More up on your knees, Sean. I can go deeper. You want me deeper."

Obediently, I raised myself more up on my knees and he was doggy fucking me. Hard, deep, pumping faster. I cried out in ecstasy.

"Yes, scream. Let me know you like it, that you want it. I've wanted to give this to you for so long."

I did scream out then, in passion and pleasure, bucking my butt back into him to meet his deep, hard thrusts.

I heard myself crying out, "Yes, god, Reg. Shit, yes. Fuck me hard."

I tensed with shock at what I'd called out. But of course I knew. I knew as soon as he began fucking me. The scent was musky, not woodsy; even in the dim light, I could tell the hands holding my wrists were not those of a young man; and the forearms were sinewy, tough, not smooth and hairy like Tony's had been as I watched him drink coffee at my dining room table.

I was being fucked by my boss, Reginald Walker III. And no matter how nonsensical that was, I didn't care. He could fuck every bit as well, could reach farther inside me even, could pump as long and as vigorously as any of the Rods, Stevens, Chucks, or Brads I'd had inside me. In the dark, like this, he was giving me a glorious fuck.

Between fuckings—there were several that night; he was a virile man, and I was a needy bottom—he whispered, "Here, only here. But you will take the key to this cabin again, won't you?"

"Again and again, if that's what you want," I whispered back. At last, a man richer than me, a man who made the decisions and that I didn't have to proposition and be a sugar daddy to. Fuck being seventy. He had a big cock and still was able to do what he wanted with it—what I wanted from another man's cock. "But how . . . we're almost nowhere, in the snow."

"I own the cabin next door too," he said. "I came here as soon as I left the office—as soon as you accepted the key to this cabin. When I watched you stroking yourself to that gay porn last night, I was sure of you."

Of course, the familiar blur of a passing black vehicle. Reg3 owned a black Land Rover. I'd only seen it a couple of times, but it had registered in my mind.

"How did you? How did you know?" It hit me then that he'd called me Sean. He knew all along who I was. "You planned this. You set this up, didn't you?" We'd been side by side, but he was on his knees again, his strong hands on my hips, turning me onto my belly. I don't know if it had come out as an accusation. I didn't mean it that way. I was in awe of what he'd planned, that he wanted to fuck me. I realized suddenly that, over the years, I'd fantasized him fucking me, without ever having put the face and the name to the dream. The cock, though, and how it could make me both scream and moan, I knew all too well from my fantasies.

"This is just for here," he admonished me again, his status and reputation in Washington foremost in his mind. "You understand that, don't you?"

"I understand." It came out as a moan because of what his hands were doing as they explored my body. "But you set this up, didn't you?"

"Yes, I've been planning this for years," he growled. "But you always were with some younger man. Not now, though. You were mooning about being left. You were ready; you are ripe for it. You like my cock, don't you?"

"Oh, shit, yes, I love it. But I don't understand. You knew I was with men?"

"Of course. I know everything that goes on in the office, and don't you forget it. But this is completely separate from the office. Don't forget that either. Only here, but you'll be here when I want you, won't you?"

"Yes," I answered meekly—happily, even. A man to take care of me, to order me around. And one who could fuck like this too. That was what I was missing in my life. I knew that now.

"Up on your knees," he hissed, and exhilarated, aroused, I complied. I cried out in ecstasy as, gripping my hips with his hands and me fisting up wads of the sheets with mine, he thrust inside me again, immediately setting to pumping me hard and deep. I came almost immediately.

And later, I came again and again and again.

"I'll be back tomorrow night," he whispered as he pulled out of me for the last time and I could feel his weight lifting off the bed in the loft in the darkness.

"Please, please come earlier," I murmured back, in glorious exhaustion. "There's something I want."

"If you want," he whispered. He slapped me on the bare butt. "This ass is mine at last," he said with a low laugh.

"Yes," I agreed, with a sigh.