Chapter 5 – Chapter 5

I was so deep into remembering what I allowed Lenny to do with me—what I wanted him to do to me—as I sat at Art's table that I only slowly was aware the hulking club bouncer was standing in the doorway to the bedroom, dressed, his hair wet from the shower. The look he was giving me was unguarded, and I instantly felt the heel again from the love and desire I saw in his eyes.

"Guess it's about time for me to go to work again."

"If you'll give me a few minutes, I'll shower and dress and go with you," I said.

He beamed at me. "We got time to stop and buy you some more clothes, if you'd like."

"Yes, I'd like that. And maybe we can stop at the bodega and get some beer and one of those boxes of chocolates they have in the window for Christmas . . . and get a couple more boxes of those Magnums too."

He beamed again.

We were happy and domesticated through the rest of the week, right through Christmas and moving toward New Year, settling down into a pattern. And I'd been right. My cooking was a lot better than his was.

* * * *

Lenny was crouched over me, his weight borne on a hand propped next to my head, as I lay flat on my back on the padded bench in his living room, my hands clutched and digging into his biceps, my heels digging into the carpet on either side of the bench, toes tense, pointed up, crunching in rhythm with his rocking. His other hand was between our bellies, cupping both of our docked cocks, the cocks linked by a metal rod penetrating both of our piss slits.

I moaned deeply, completely transported, not knowing why I found this so arousing, so satisfying. But not caring, as long as he continued doing this to me.

He was slowly rocking his cock back and forth, narrowing the distance between our bulbs of the exposed metal, forcing more of the wand into each of our cocks, fucking both of the urethra channels.

I was panting hard, perpetually close to coming, and watching his eyes closely, only now and then casting a gaze down my torso to the two docked cocks. He'd told me what the goal was. There was still two and a half inches of rod to be seen between our bulbs.

"It usually takes forever for a guy to learn to take this," Lenny murmured. "You learn fast. You love this. My own little fuckin' whore."

He rose up momentarily, reaching for a bottle of poppers. "Here, take another drag on this," he said, waving it under my nose. When I had, my eyes followed the bottle back to the surface of the adjacent table, where the wands were laid out on a table. Next to them was the hypodermic syringe and the other bottle. I shuddered in fear of that.

Lenny went back to moving his cock, swallowing more of the wand at his end, penetrating my urethra canal more with the wand at the other end. I felt the tip of my bulb kiss the tip of his. With a little jerk I came. And so did he, our cum colliding and mixing. He wrapped an arm around my waist, raising my pelvis to his, his continuing to sway back and forth, sending the wand connecting our cocks shimmering. My torso was arched back toward the surface of the bench, my head thrown back, my arms dangling at my side. His lips went to the hollow of my neck and then descended to my nipples.

Swaying back and forth, back and forth. I had had cum in reserve and gave it to him now. The same with him.

"Nice" he said, stopping and holding. Then, "I'm taking you to the bed now and fucking your lights out."

"I can't stay the night," I murmured. But he wasn't listening to me.

That was the first thing I'd said to him too that second Friday night when I was putting the garbage in the alley dumpster along about 1:15 a.m., as Art and I were closing up the House of Blues.

The red Camaro had shown up at the head of the alley and I'd dipped my head to the passenger window and told Lenny, "I can't stay the night."

Art and I had had a good, solid week of settling in when Friday night rolled around again and it was Lenny's regular gig to play at the House of Blues.

He'd brought the blond college kid with him and, once again, the kid had followed Lenny beyond the beaded curtain into the back of the club after Lenny's first set. And once again Lenny took his sweet time on his break and the blond didn't come back into the main room with him.

And once again Lenny's playing was mesmerizing. He played just like he was playing for me and was playing my body as smoothly and sweetly as he was playing that sax. Art just let me moon. He knew I'd make up the work time during Lenny's breaks and that this was only once a week.

I have no idea if Art knew that it had been Lenny I was with the previous Friday night or not. All I know is that Art said nothing, showed nothing other than a bit of concern in the way he saw me mooning over Lenny and his music. I don't know, maybe if Art had shown more jealousy . . . but then maybe not. I knew I was like a skittish colt, ready to break and run back to a life on the streets the first sign of possessiveness from Art.

Which was kind of funny, really. That's what attracted me to Lenny. His complete possession of me.

I got busy toward 10:00 p.m. and didn't see whether the blond guy came back out to the main room the rest of the night.

On Lenny's bed that night, he was on top of me, fucking me from behind, and I was belly to the bed, when he went up on his knees between my thighs and pulled me up on my knees in front of him. I could vaguely see our reflection bouncing off the window overlooking the city. He was holding me against his chest with one arm embracing mine.

I watched—and whimpered—as he reached over beside us with the other hand and picked out a wand—thicker than I'd taken before—and, cupping my hard cock, began to work the wand into my piss slit, twirling it as it descended into me. Then he pushed my torso down again, so that I was on all fours, and began pumping me seriously with his cock. His hand was still cupping my cock and holding it so that, as my body lowered more from the onslaught of his ass fucking, the bulb of my cock pushed into the surface of the bed—or, rather, the end of the wand did.

As his strokes pushed my hips down lower, the wand was slowly penetrating deeper into my urethra canal. Lenny took his hand away and I was then forcing the deeper penetration myself, pushing down a bit more each time before drawing back. When it occurred to me that I was now fucking my own cock with the wand, I was overcome with arousal and ejaculated. Sensing that I had, Lenny laughed and came inside me too.

He pushed me all of the way down on the surface of the bed, with his body covering mine.

The last thing I remember saying before I drifted off to an exhausted sleep was, "I can't stay the night."

I woke up Saturday morning to the sound of soft sax music from the living room. I turned over on my back and realized from the swollen soreness feeling in my cock that the wand was still in it. Just the thought of that made me start going hard again. I rolled onto my back and grasped the bulb at the end of the wand and, slowly, started to pull it out. I moaned at the feel of it moving inside. I'd pulled it three-quarters of the way out when, without thinking, I slowly twirled it back down to half way. I arched my back from the pleasurable feel of it. Out . . . and then back in. Out and in, out and in. I was groaning and moaning at the forbidden pleasure of it. When I pulled it all of the way out, it was to leave my ejaculation unimpeded.

I lay there, thinking what a slut I was and knowing that I repeatedly had said I couldn't stay the night, knowing that Art would be sitting at the table in his little apartment, smoking cigarette after cigarette, pretending to read the newspaper, probably doing my laundry, and worrying about where I was. The lights of his Christmas tree turned off . . . because I wasn't there.

With a sigh, I rolled out of the bed, took a shower, dressed, and walked out into the living room. As before, Lenny was lost to my presence, making love to his saxophone, the syringe and empty drug bottle next to him on the glass-topped table.