7. Noir #2
“I’ll teach you,” he offered. Mrs. Arbagast smiled happily.
Harold was going to try to be nice to me.
She went back to her garden chair and her reflector, while Harold spent the next few hours instructing me on the fine points of croquet.
I was just getting the hang of hitting that wooden ball with my hard wooden mallet when Phipps came out and told us we would have to go inside and dress for dinner.
Fortunately, I had brought my blue suit.
So it had a moth hole. You couldn’t really see it unless you got down on your knees and stared at my ass.
The next couple of weeks went without incident. Harold and I were getting used to each other. To being roommates. He was being civil to me, if not really friendly.
I think it was a Tuesday afternoon, when his mother had had the chauffeur drive her into town to go to the department stores.
Harold and I were lazing around the bedroom, on our own beds.
I was reading a pulp paperback detective novel, and he was reading a magazine.
I didn’t know what magazine it was, but from a distance it looked like it might have had naked pictures in it.
I was wearing my tank top and my boxers, and my black socks. Harold had nothing on but a pair of skimpy white jockeys, that looked like they were three sizes too small. Everything was bulging. He started looking at me in a funny way. His eyes almost seemed flirtatious.
“Peter. Do you think I have pretty legs?” He started running his hand up and down his left leg as he flexed it. It was a nice leg. Smooth, with just a little sprinkling of golden fuzz.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I never really thought about it.”
“Well, look,” he encouraged me, and started showing off his long gams, feeling them all over. “I think I have pretty legs.”
“Do you?” I asked absently.
“Yes, I do.” He answered in a pout. “My father thinks I have pretty legs.”
I raised my eyes from my detective novel, and looked squarely at him. “Your father thinks you have pretty legs? How do you know that?”
“Because he tells me. He tells me all the time. He says I have the most beautiful long golden legs, as beautiful as any woman’s.
He says I have a gorgeous ass… Do you think I have a gorgeous ass, Peter?
” And now he got on his knees on the bed with his butt facing me and lowered his underpants, so that I could admire the two beautifully round firm fleshglobes.
He put his hands behind him and started caressing himself.
Then, with his ass in the air, he pulled the cheeks apart to expose his little pink hole to me.
He did have a pretty ass. His cheeks were nice, and I was even liking his little pink hole.
And my cock was liking it all too. I surreptitiously tried to push down my boner inside my boxers. “Do you like my ass, Peter?”
“It’s gorgeous,” I said, trying to sound sarcastic.
“How would you like to fuck my ass, Peter?” He started swaying it around hypnotically.
I was getting into a spell. I had never done that, but it was certainly worth considering, now that the opportunity was so screamingly presenting itself.
But, no. I couldn’t do that. He was in my charge.
I was getting paid a lot of dough to keep him safe.
If I fucked him and his mother found out, I could lose my job. My very nice well-paying job.
“No,” I decided finally.
“Are you worried that my mother would find out and fire you from your cushy job?”
I didn’t answer. He came over and stood in front of me, and he turned around and bent at the waist, moving his butt directly in front of my face. He started fondling it, and spreading the cheeks again. He looked over his shoulder and smiled as he tantalized me.
“Well, how about this scenario?” he proposed. “You don’t fuck me, but I tell my mother you did fuck me, and she fires your sorry ass. Do you follow my line of thought?”
“I follow it,” I assented, nodding my head, while focusing on the pretty pink hole.
I took off both my black socks and pulled my tank top over my head.
I raised my ass to lower my boxers, but they caught onto my hard-on and it took a couple of minutes to free them.
When I was naked, I moistened my index finger in my mouth and began to explore his tender bud.
When my finger touched the sensitive spot, he shuddered all over.
The little mouth almost opened by itself to lick my digit.
My finger went in. What a warm tight little space.
My cock was raging. You know how your cock gets when your finger is exploring a hot fuckchannel.
He turned around and dropped to his knees by the side of the bed, and moved me so that my legs were on both sides of him, and my feet were on the floor.
He suddenly sank his voracious mouth over my rigid member, and started noisily to ingest it.
It was a great blowjob. I’d never had one like it, I must admit.
The kid really knew how to appreciate a private dick’s dick.
He took his mouth off the long pole, but only to move his head down between my legs and lick my heavy cum-filled balls.
Wow, did that tickle. His hand was jacking my wet pole as he tongue-loved my giant nuts.
He raised my legs slightly and I rolled a little on my own round cheeks, so that now my own bud was available.
He moved his tongue between my cheeks and slobbered away.
No one had ever eaten my ass before. That’s for sure.
I right away knew that I could get used to this.
Finally, it was time to move on. He climbed on the bed.
He was on his knees with his head and chest down, and his pretty rear raised high.
It was just begging for a nice poke. I moved behind him, also on my knees, and positioned my wet dick at the entrance to paradise.
I moved forward and heard the angels sing.
Wow. I had never buttfucked before. I guess I hadn’t done much of anything before, but this job was giving me incredible new opportunities, and paying me a bundle in the bargain.
I grabbed his hips and began fucking his ass.
My tickly prick was scratching itself on his scorching sucking asswalls.
I pushed down on his rear, forcing him to flatten and I lay on top of him, so that I could flex my assmuscles into him and not just sway my hips back and forth.
He moaned, “nnnnnnnggggg. Nnnnnngggggg.” He was really loving it.
“Fuck me, daddy,” he begged. I wasn’t his real daddy but I was happy to oblige.
No wonder his father wanted him so badly.
But, too bad. I was being paid to keep his daddy from getting him.
I felt the exquisite climax building in my balls.
I think he felt my climax building also, because he started to move his ass in a frenzied fashion, squeezing his firm bubbles around my shaft, as I shafted him and shafted him, and wow, now I was shooting the most fantastic load I had ever shot in my entire life into his fucktunnel. His hot sweet fucktunnel.
“Oh, baby. Baby. Take my hot juice,” I screamed “Drink it up. Drink my hot juice into your ass.”
“I am. I am,” he yelled. “My ass is drinking your hot love juice, daddy. Drinking it all down.” After that we lay there, two limp rags, me on top of him with my very-relieved dick still deep in his assmouth. I sighed contentedly.
“How was that?” he asked.
“Do you have to ask?”
“Yes. I want to know. How did you like my ass?”
“Your ass is wonderful,” I said.
“Do you think my ass is beautiful?”
“Yes. I think your ass is so beautiful. I love your sweet ass. I never want to leave your sweet ass.”
“Oh, Peter,” he sighed. “I wish you never had to. I wish you could stay inside me forever. If I can’t be with my daddy, at least I have you now.”
“Yes, baby. You have me.” I kissed his golden hair. He smiled under me. My prick was still buried in his hole. His hole just didn’t want to let go of it.
After that we fucked every chance we got. I was loving my job, and praying my employer never found out that I was doing ‘filthy things’ to her beloved son, Harold.
My one mistake was driving back to my office to write out checks, and pay overdue invoices. Mrs. Arbagast was going to be home that day, and she gave me permission to go.
I had only been in my office around ten minutes, and was still opening mail, when I heard a knock at the door. Again I saw an ominous shadow darkening the dirty door glass.
“Come in,” I called, wondering who on earth it could be. The door opened, and a large well-dressed man entered. “Yes?” I asked.
“Do I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. Peter Piper?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m Peter Piper. And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
“I am Mickey Morris. Big Mickey they call me.”
“Sit down, Big Mickey,” I invited and pointed at the threadbare chair. He shuddered. He was immaculately and expensively dressed, and my chair was beneath him (figuratively), but not literally beneath him as yet. Finally, having no other choice, he sat. “What can I do for you?” I asked.
“You can turn over Harold Arbagast to me.”
My jaw dropped.
“Harold Arbagast?” I stuttered.
“Exactly. I know you’re working for his mother, trying to keep the boy from his beloved father. Well, I’m working for his father, Mr. Marvin Arbagast. Mr. Arbagast has hired me to get his son back. To return the dear lad to his rightful dad.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t help you,” I said.
“You mean you won’t help me.”
“I guess so,” I decided, my jaw tightening.
“In that case….” He never finished the sentence. He took out a revolver, and I thought he was going to shoot me, but he grabbed it by the muzzle, walked around the desk, and cracked me on the head with the steel handle.