The Hardest Thing

got back into rhythm, and all that was left to decide was who was going to come first.
    You won’t be surprised to learn that it was Bill. His fist came down to his cock and started working it, leaking all over his belly—so much, in fact, that I thought he’d already shot his load—but he remained hard. From the way he was groaning, it wouldn’t take long.

    One big blob of cum appeared at the head of his dick and spread over his hand.
    “Look at that,” I said. “Bill’s popping his nuts while I fuck him up the ass.”
    The second lot shot out at force, hitting Bill on the chin and landing in a line down his shirt and stomach. A third and fourth added to the mess.
    It looked like Hank was going to take the silver medal, from the way his pace was picking up. But then inspiration struck.
    I pulled out of Bill’s ass, removed the condom and threw it in the sink. Relieved, he lowered his legs and stood up.
    “Not finished with you yet, boy ,” I said. “On your knees.”
    He looked puzzled, but his still-hard cock was doing his thinking for him. He obeyed.
    “Come on, guys,” I said. “We’re going to give old Bill here something to remember.”
    Hank pulled out of Jody and we stood around Bill, three hard dicks jerking in his face, slapping his cheeks—which, given the bristles there, was kind of painful—and rubbing against his lips.
    Jody was the first to let go, and the force of his load surprised me until I realized that Hank had a couple of thick fingers up his ass. All of it sprayed into Bill’s face. He screwed up his eyes but didn’t close his mouth. When Jody had finished, Bill swallowed and licked his lips.
    I was next, adding another thick layer to Bill’s stubble and some more to swallow.
    Hank’s brawny arm was working on his tool, and he
was making so much noise that anyone standing outside must have heard him. Jody couldn’t keep his hands to himself, and so he grabbed Hank’s cock, pointed it toward Bill’s face and delivered the last few strokes. Hank bellowed, shooting so much jizz that Bill’s face was almost invisible under the viscous coating. When he’d finished—and it took a while—Bill took Hank’s cock in his mouth and sucked it.
    It was a touching finale.
    Jody and I washed up and left the two of them on the sticky bathroom floor. It took a lot of wiping before Bill was able to open his eyes and struggle shakily to his feet; by that time we were both dressed.
    “Thanks for the fuck, guys,” I said, shouldering my bag.
    “Yeah,” said Hank, grinning like an idiot. Bill looked shamefaced, insofar as that’s possible when you have cum drying in your hair and dripping off your chin.

The Abduction 8
    Buffalo, Cleveland, Chicago, the west…
    That’s what I said. Wasn’t it? Well, we made it as far as Buffalo.
    Jody mellowed out after our little bathroom interlude. Any jealous suspicions he’d been harboring about Kenny seemed to have been soothed by ten inches of Viking dick up his ass. As for me, I’m not the jealous type. Never had the chance to be. Maybe if I’d seen another officer making a move on Will Laurence, I’d have killed him—but at the time my only fear was being found out. And now? How did I feel watching the man I was beginning to love get ploughed in a grungy gas station? Pass. Next question. It’s hard to feel jealous when your dick’s up someone else’s ass. The only regret I had was that we’d wasted time. I don’t like digressions. I like to stick to the plan. What happened back there was gratuitous.
    But hell, we might both die tomorrow.
    We drove for hours, well into the night. I should have been tired—Jody was asleep within twenty minutes—
but I was wide awake, and while I felt that way I wanted to put a couple of hundred miles behind me. I do my best thinking when I’m driving. I like the distraction of the road, the mechanical business of accelerator and brakes—and, in the case of this old rust-bucket, stick shift. If the practical part of my brain is engaged, the other stuff just works itself out nicely.
    I had two objectives: stay alive, and get revenge on the bastards who tried to kill us. The first one was fine; I had a much better chance of survival if I got as far out of Marshall’s reach as possible. As for the second—well, I didn’t have a fucking clue. What would you do? Get tooled up like Rambo and go blasting into the offices of Marshall Land wearing an oil-stained vest? “Eat lead, motherfuckers,”