Snitches

Later it occurred to Hardesty what he was mimicking while he fucked Raul, and he almost laughed. The only difference was that Raul was bound—because he said he wanted to be—at the wrists by his belt and at the ankles by Hardesty’s belt. Otherwise it was the same position on the sofa that Hardesty had watched the Oriental client fucking Toby the previous night. Raul’s knees were pushed into where the sofa cushion met the sofa back and he was bent over the back of the sofa, his bound arms dangling toward the carpet behind the sofa, his legs bound together, and Hardesty, feet up on the sofa cushion, crouched over Raul’s back, mounted on him and fucking him from a high position while grasping the hair on the back of the young Hispanic’s head and arching his head back.

“Jesus you’re rough,” Raul cried out.

“You want it this way. You want to feel it.”

“Shit yes, I want it this way.”

Pounding, pounding, pounding the young Hispanic, just as they both wanted to avoid thinking about the power of the man out there who was searching for Raul and Jason—the two survivors left—and to assuage their own carnal lust.

Afterward, Raul wanted Hardesty to take him into Hardesty’s bedroom and continue fucking him, but Hardesty said, “No, not until later. Time to settle in. You’ll find what you need in the refrigerator and then you can shower and sit and contemplate the similarities between the Washington Monument and my dick if you want to. I have someplace to go before the government closes down and then I have to make better arrangements for you for the next few days than here.”