Chapter 2 – Chapter 2

Craig was panting and so was I. The scene was bathed in light from flashes of lightning outside at not-more-than-one-minute intervals now, and the wind was howling around the cabin perched on the mountainside. Thorenson extracted his finger and, with both hands, rent the hole in the briefs larger. He slathered his sheathed tool with KY, and then he was on his knees behind the raised hips of the young actor and was working his cock inside the hole in the briefs.

I watched, slack jowled, as Thorenson positioned the head of his tool at Craig's rim and then, hands now holding the young man's thighs, slowly entered him. Craig howled with the howling wind outside at the stretching invasion. I don't know how much of it was real and how much was acting—much of it was acting I surmised, as it seemed meant to arouse Thorenson to the limit—but Craig was crying out in agony and passion as Thorenson plowed up into him. He writhed, and screamed his distress, and begged for mercy and for patience. And then, slowly, these cries turned to cries of passion and for Thorenson to fuck him hard and deep. The young actor was bunching up sheeting in his fists and his mouth and giving me, at first, a wild "help me" look—and then, quickly enough, a self-satisfied, saucy "look what I have and you don't" look.

This hadn't gone on long, though, before Thorenson looked up at me, and in a throaty voice said, "Come and take over for me. Have some fun of your own. Roll that condom on and come on over here."

Fully aroused now, I didn't wait for a second invitation. I nervously tore open the condom packet, sheathed myself, and then hopped over to the bed. As I came over, Thorenson, pulled out of Craig's ass and pulled the youth back to where his knees were on the edge of the foot of the bed. I hadn't really liked the look Craig had given me, and I wasn't in a charitable mood, so as soon as I had saddled up to his ass, I thrust inside him with one, long bottoming out slide. He rewarded me with a cry that wasn't acting. Thorenson had stretched him wider than I could, though, and he was well lubricated, so it was an easy plowing for both of us.

I got my hands on the briefs and just ripped them away so that the young actor's taut little butt cheeks were fully exposed. I rode him hard and slapped at his cheeks, while he gave me noises of being well taken. Meanwhile, Thorenson was on his knees behind me, his head under my kilt and his mouth on my asshole. He was giving me as good and deep a tonguing there as anyone before him had, and his tongue was longer and thicker than some client's cocks. It certainly was bigger than Craig's cock. I had snaked my hand around to the young actor's groin and I found a boy's cock and balls, although the cock was enlarging more as I worked it, and it wasn't long before he had ejaculated into the palm of my hand.

I leaned my head down to his then, and he turned his face and gave me a deep kiss with those famous sensuous lips, showing me that he had enjoyed my visit.

While we were kissing, Thorenson stood up and was running his cock up and down my now-enlarged hole, dry fucking me between my butt cheeks. On one of the passes, though, he turned the bulbous head of his cock so that it was pushing at the rim of my hole, and then I was crying out just as Craig had done, without an ounce of acting of being fully taken, as he entered me. He turned his cock around and from side to side to open me farther as he relentlessly bored up into me. And I cried out and groaned and moaned for him.

And then I was pumping Craig and Thorenson was pumping me. We were thrusting in unison, me into Craig and Craig back up at me, and Thorenson into me in rhythm with the increasing flashes of lightning and rolling of the thunder that now were nearly upon us. I gushed inside Craig's ass just as the deluge of the rain was let loose again.

Then Craig was gone, and I was in the middle of the bed, risen up on my shoulders, my pelvis straight up in the air, my white-socked legs wishboned out from my body, and Thorenson mounting me from above, holding my legs under the knees where the tops of the socks met them and thrusting down deeply into me, pumping me hard and fast from above. I watched our reflection in the window between the alternating bright flashes of lightning and dark of rainy night, my white-sheathed legs splayed in the air, the folds of a red plaid kilt spread out below me and on my belly. And in the reflection, beyond us, in the chair I had vacated, was the young actor, Craig, his legs now draped over the arms of the chair where I had sat, and his hand working inside what was left of the front of his white briefs. I cried out in ecstasy and passion as Thorenson pumped me. I was, of course, quite experienced in being taken, but the setting and the storm and the roaring fire and masterful cocksmanship of the Hollywood director—and, yes, the presence of his young protege—were all highly arousing, and I arched my back and cried out in passion and came a second time as Thorenson unloaded deep inside me.

I spent the night in that big bed sandwiched between the director and the actor, the fire dying but never completely going out, and the storm slowly subsiding. Sucking and being sucked; being side-split and side-splitting through the night. Moaning and causing moaning. Getting hard, ejaculating, going soft, getting hard, pumping, arousing and being aroused. And then, exhausted, sleeping, entwined and entwining.

I awoke between Thorenson and Craig. I kissed Craig on the lips and he sighed, and then as I carefully rose from between them, I leaned down and kissed Thorenson deeply as I worked his tool with my hand. He sighed in his sleep and quickly hardened. And as I rose from the bed, he and Craig rolled together and their lips met. When I came out of the bathroom, they were locked at the pelvis, Craig's lithe, hairless torso arched back to the side of the bed and his long leg draped over Thorenson's heavily muscled waist. Thorenson's long dong was three-quarters inside Craig's ass and was slowly churning in and out. Neither seemed to be fully awake, but both were moaning and sighing. I was sorely tempted to rejoin them.

I left the kilt and socks on the table and picked up my still-damp cowboy costume and forced my feet into the not-completely-dry boots. I dressed in my other clothes while standing beside the BMW and enjoying the fresh air that had come through with the storm and that, briefly, had pushed the smog of L.A. out over the ocean. I loved this town.

I briefly worried about missing my engagement down on Timberlake Drive the previous evening—but only briefly. If Freddie had had to take the call on his own, it served him right, and he might now think twice before doing it to me again. And if he'd bailed out, he would be the one in trouble, not me. I had $700 in my pocket and Freddie undoubtedly did not. Leon wouldn't care that I hadn't shown up—not when I flashed the money I had gotten here, which was more than I could have made in the original assignment. If Freddie hadn't shown or hadn't satisfied and the four guys complained, Leon would just tell them they needed to get the road names changed up here if they wanted to be found.

And I had found once again that my grandfather had been right. Always take the high road if given the choice. On my way down the mountain, I memorized how I had gotten here in the first place. I'd certainly come back if I could, and if I showed up on a rainy night in a kilt, I strongly suspect I would be welcomed appropriately.