Chapter 2 – Chapter 2

He moved the hand from my belly to my pecs, where he played for a while and then up to my throat, pulling my head into the hollow of his shoulder.

I saw the fingers of his other hand covered in white powder coming at my face, and I started to writhe under him, trying to pull away from the approaching fingers, but he had me too well in control.

"I didn't—"

"Shush. Just go with it. You'll love it."

And he was right. I did love it. At the first ingestion of the powder, my head seemed to expand in an explosion of color and every fiber of me felt like it had moved to a whole new plane of feeling and pleasure. Images, colors, and shapes were racing through my brain at warp speed, and fireworks were going off snap, snap, snap. His fucking became something I never had felt before. A complete taking. The height of ecstasy. I was floating. No, I was soaring in the clouds, racing across the sky.

I saw his fingers with more of the white powder go beyond my head. He must be ingesting it too. His cock took on the proportions of a baseball bat. His pistoning doubled in intensity, and I could swear that he was reaching up into my stomach with it. But I didn't care. It was all amazing. He was whispering in my ear, speaking with intensity and so fast that I couldn't catch the words other than to know that we were racing across the sky together—welded at the pelvis, tongue-fucking kissing, arms entwined, hands everywhere at once.

We didn't stay bent over the table. He had me on my back on another surface and was fucking me to where I could see the muscles of his chest working hard. I was playing with his nipples and he was nibbling on my nipples and we were kissing—his tongue down my throat, swabbing my tonsils and he was fucking, fucking, fucking. Not far to go, I fantasized, before tip of tongue met piss slit of dick—inside me. And then he was kissing down my chest and belly and was bent over me, swallowing my cock, and taking my ejaculation. He went back to fucking my hole, and I lay back, relaxed and spent and drifted off into some sort of la la land, where I could feel every stroke and each one sent me over the moon. I came again. Exhilaration. It had been years since I could come that close together.

A slap on my buttocks—and not a light one—brought me more or less back into focus.

"Fifteen minutes," a fuzzy face in front of mine was saying. It sounded like it was coming up from a deep well. "Fifteen minutes and you need to be out of here. Use the back door. I'm going back into the shop. Come again soon. Best lay I've had in weeks."

When I was with it enough to sit up and try to locate my clothes in the grimy gloom of the storage room, Brad was gone. I barely had time to clear my head in time to dress and be at the back door when I heard the door to the shop being opened.

I should have been out of here fifteen minutes earlier, I realized. I did manage to get out before Brad entered the room with his next appointment, though. I didn't know how he did it. One an hour. He couldn't have given everyone the service he'd given me. And now that I thought about it, I think he did say a couple of times during the cocking that I was a special one for him.

I stumbled down the alley and to my car and just sat there, waiting for the world to come into focus. Still in the glow of the memory of it, I fished out my cock and slowly jacked off again. I had enough of a buzz on to enjoy it immensely. I sort of could see why these guys got into drugs. The combination of Brad's cock and the drug were enough to pull me back to him for more of the same. If it didn't scare me shitless, of course.

I wondered what it was he'd put up my nose—and whether there were any long-term effects. He'd taken me by surprise on that. I thought I'd made clear I didn't want the hit with it. But I knew now that I shouldn't have been surprised. He was a pusher, after all. Everything else was done to get the young college students hooked and coming back for more. I wondered if that was totally true with me, though. He kept telling me he enjoyed the fucking. I had to believe that his body wasn't lying about that.

I became more alert, but I dared not leave yet. It would be the end of me to be pulled over by one of my own patrolmen and found to be high. I ejaculated but was still hard—still in lust. I began stroking myself again. I wondered if this—the ability to keep it up, keep it spouting—was a function of the drug or of Brad. Most likely the combination of the two. Whatever, I'd never felt so high on it and able to shoot again and again. I was on top of the world.

So, I sat and waited—for nearly two hours—for my mind to come completely back, for my body to stop craving the working of my cock, the miraculously close-timed ejaculations. And as I waited, I fantasized. He'd be taken in just over a week now, unless he moved on before that. I could tell him, of course. But I wouldn't do that. The sex was OK, but the drugs weren't. He needed to be stopped on that.

That raised the question of Nick Parsons. He surely knew what Brad Buxton was doing in the back of his barber shop. He must be getting a kickback that was helping him keep the shop open. But Nick was an institution in this town. And he was an old man who surely was going to retire soon. The arrangement couldn't have been going on for more than a month. No, I'd do nothing about that. If the police found the connection with what they were targeting out in the woods, so be it. But I wouldn't report anything. I'd just let nature take its course on that.

But back to Buxton. I wanted him again. Even after just having been with him, I already wanted him again. He'd be held in the county jail for a while, before being moved someplace else. I was pretty sure about that. My mind started to work on how difficult it would be for me to arrange that he be put in an isolated private cell. It might be tricky. I'd have to make sure that I maintained my distance. Couldn't have any of the guys thinking I'd had a piece of this guy myself.

I was sure, though, that there should be some sort of favoritism I could come up with while he was in our jail that he'd want to trade for . . . while he was all alone in an isolated private cell.