Loading...Cody moved over to the corner of the floor-to-ceiling plate-glass window of the penthouse party room at the top of the high-rise. At one angle we was looking down at the busy E. Colfax Avenue in Denver. The other wall of window overlooked the Denver Zoo. He took a swig of his drink more so that it looked like he was drinking than that he wanted to drink. In truth, he would have liked to get drunk, but this was definitely not the time or place for it.
He did what he could not to look back into the room where a cut black dude had his wife, Pam, backed up against a wall. She certainly didn’t look like she minded. They made a body-beautiful couple. In fact everyone in the party room the Saturday night three weeks before Christmas looked like body beautiful. That’s why they were here.
Cody himself outshone most of the men present in looks and perfect proportion if not for muscular development.
Cody had tried to pass on the annual Christmas-season conference of the Hayden Key Club Gym and Hotel empire at its Denver headquarters—and he would have skipped it if Tyler Hayden hadn’t specifically asked Pam if she was bringing her husband. Pam, as manager of the Chicago facility, was the direct employee of Hayden Enterprises. But the company was Cody’s biggest modeling account as well, so, in many ways, he was as much in thrall to the enterprise and Ty Hayden as Pam was.
Hayden had already taken Pam for a spin a couple of times and she had said more than once that it wouldn’t be long before he took Cody for a ride too. The Hayden clubs were for no-holds-barred swingers, and Hayden himself was a prime example.
So, here Cody was, at the company Christmas party at the top of the Denver Hayden club tower, with rented retail on the ground floor, three floors of parking garage above that, rented office space on the next two floors, the Hayden Hotel on the next four floors, the gym services the two floors above that, the national headquarters offices the four flights above that, and the party floor at the top.
The Hayden gyms were for very special people. They not only had to be rich, but they also had to be body beautiful. Most were bisexuals who worshipped the full potential of pleasure they could get out of their own bodies. The gym and spa services were for maintaining their hard, cut bodies, not to create them. And clients didn’t even bother paying the price unless they were swingers. That’s why each of the company’s facilities had not only party rooms but hotel space, as well—not to mention very discreet parking.
But the company Christmas party wasn’t for the clients. It was for the company managers—all of whom had to maintain body beautiful as well. They displayed this at gatherings such as this by coming topless—women as well as men. This eased the casual sexiness of the parties, where assignations were made—and as the night wore on, were carried out either right there or in one of the hotel rooms below. Before the night was through everyone would be naked—if they hadn’t left early. Even then few left alone or with the one they came with.
Cody had planned to leave the party early—and he planned to leave alone. He knew his wife would stay to the bitter end.
Although some came as couples, either both spouses working for the company or the employee’s spouse meeting the rigorous requirements, most came unattached, and all came prepared to swing—and not just heterosexually.
Some had to swing literally. There was a trapeze suspended from the ceiling of the two-story party room and Ty Hayden had the privilege of designating who would swing. Often this identified who Hayden would fuck that night. Several would swing on the trapeze, and Hayden would fuck several—women and men alike. Cody’s wife, Pam, had already had a turn on the trapeze and Cody had heard rumors that this was the night Hayden would send him, Cody, up on the swing as well.
That’s what had Cody on edge. It didn’t bother him all that much that Pam would be swinging with or without him at this party. Theirs was a marriage of convenience anyway. Pam liked being escorted in Chicago by a high-profile male model and Cody was happy using the camouflage that he was a lady’s man, when, although he didn’t indulge much, he preferred the attention of men. Being married gave him the ability to shop discreetly without being taken for granted. The demographic of those turned on by the ads he modeled for was mostly female, so Cody was in the closet with the door closed.
What had him on edge at the Denver gathering was knowing that Geneva, the manager of the San Francisco facility would be at this party and was bringing her husband, Gordon Clay, who owned a modeling and performers’ agency in California and was putting the rush on Cody to jump ship from his Chicago agency and come out to the West Coast. Although he was tempted, Cody didn’t want to be tempted. He was happy in Chicago and a move, with Pam in Chicago, would be messy. The kicker was that Clay was well known for agenting gay men, including porn stars.
Cody was struggling with the thought of leaving Pam anyway, but he just wasn’t up to the change and the aggravation. It didn’t help that Gordon was a real hunk, was openly bisexual, and was suggesting more benefits of coming to California than just more money.
The temptation was maddening. Cody had camouflage now—although his camouflage could be wearing thin if the rumors were right that Ty Hayden, who was actively bi, was thinking of sending him up on the trapeze. Working for Gordon would bring him out in the open—and once his preferences were publicly known, his life would face a whole new set of complications. Ty Hayden wouldn’t be the least of the complications.
And here Gordon was, walking over to where Cody had isolated himself in a corner at the window as everyone else was getting serious about hooking up. He realized now that he should have picked out some stacked bimbo to hook up to avoid Gordon—God knows a few had signaled their interest. Too late for that now, though. He couldn’t even count on Geneva to come looking for her husband. Geneva had just come down from the trapeze and Ty Hayden himself had cut her out of the herd and had an arm around her over by a conference table. Although he was older—in his fifties—Hayden didn’t make any demands on his employees that he didn’t follow himself. A former Mr. America, he had maintained his muscularity and tone.
Geneva was an ambitious woman. If Hayden wanted to lay her, they would be at it for the next hour or so and Gordon would be at loose ends. Cody looked over occasionally and saw that a young muscle man from the New Orleans gym had joined Hayden and Geneva in a touchy-feelee-kissy buildup to something—something quite soon considering where Hayden had several fingers of a hand buried in Geneva.
“I’m glad to see you here, Cody,” Gordon said, as he approached. “I think you’ve been avoiding me.”
“I avoid nearly everyone, Mr. Clay,” Cody answered. “I’m afraid I’m pretty much of a recluse.”
“Rather a strange thing for someone to be who models in Speedos for national magazines and billboards,” Gordon said, with a laugh. “I would think it was more a job for an exhibitionist.”
“One would think that, yes,” Cody answered, looking down at the hand Gordon had placed on his arm until Gordon dropped his hand. “But not everyone is who you’d think they’d be.”
“Funny you should say that, Cody. One would think you were straight unless they’d done their research.”
Cody gave the man a hard look. There wasn’t much else he could do. He felt the wind going out of his sails. Gordon knew. It had seemed he did considering the offers he’d been making, buy nothing had been baldly stated until now. Clay was a dangerous man to have such information in his control.
“Have you considered the offer to come West and work under me?”
“You mean for you?” Cody asked.
“I meant what I said—under me. I am going to have you one of these days. Make no mistake about that. I think it would be in your best interests to consider the offer quite seriously. It may become quite problematical for you to continue to work in Chicago and married to Pam. It would make quite a social splash story on both of you.”
“Pam—”
“Is Pam and is addicted to black cock. I know all about your arrangement with Pam.”
“She isn’t—”
“Don’t even bother to say it, Cody. Look over where she is now.”
Cody looked across the room. The black stud, manager of the Houston gym, who Pam had been flirting with, was fucking her now. He had her backed up against the wall, with her knees hooked on his hips and her skirt gathered up at her waist. He was pounding her hard and she had an ecstatic expression on her face. No one was paying much attention to them; much of the rest of the party had already transitioned to orgy mode.
“So, what did you want to say about Pam?” Gordon asked, his voice full of acid. “Aren’t you going to go to her rescue?”
“Pam does what she wishes,” Cody answered in a tight voice. “She doesn’t need to be rescued.”
“But you wish that the black bull who is fuckin her now was fucking you instead, don’t you?”
“How about Geneva, your wife?” Cody countered. “Isn’t that her going off with Ty Hayden and that Dennis guy?”
“It certainly is. Geneva and I have the same arrangement that you and Pam do. And now that she’ll be occupied for a while, how about you and I going to my room? The book on you is that you melt for muscle men and horse hung, and I can satisfy you in both realms. After I fuck your lights out, we can discuss when you’ll be moving to the West Coast and contracts. And maybe later Geneva will come back to the room and we can share her like Ty and Dennis are going to share her now. Which would you prefer? Me cunt and you ass? But no, I think perhaps you cunt and me your ass.”
Cody was saved from answering by a couple of West Coast gym managers who saddled up to Gordon and him, but with interest only in talking business with Gordon. Keyed up—not least because Gordon was right, Cody opened his legs for muscular, horse-hung men, with Pam not being the only one in the family who enjoyed black bulls And Rashad Jackson being a black stud Cody would enjoy—Cody withdrew and left the party room. This was all too hot and heavy for him. And he couldn’t deny that Gordon fit the profile of handsome, muscular, and horse hung. He also, though, was a sure avenue to Cody being outed, which Cody was still avoiding. His modeling career very likely would go down the tubes if he lost his sex appeal with women.
He was tense and on edge in leaving the party, though, and, since he spent half his life in the gym sculpting his body, that’s where he went—to the gym floor. The lights were on in the gym, but the facility was deserted. Stripping down to his briefs, he started working his way through the machines.
He was on the bench press with an inclined back support, with a heavy set of barbells being lifted from his chest to the full extension of his arms when Gordon walked into the gym—completely naked.
Cody sucked in air. He already knew that Gordon’s torso musculature and arms were perfectly—if massively—sculptured. Now, though, he also knew that Gordon was magnificently hung—and in full erection. Gordon picked up a couple of leather leads as he strutted up to Cody. Cody was mesmerized by the man’s body, feeling himself trembling, and the constant need he had rising inside him. His cock was rising too, and Gordon could see that it was.
Cody had barely been able to resist the arrogant mastery of the man in the party room. Here, where they were alone, he didn’t stand a chance.
“I told you that I was going to fuck your lights out,” Gordon said. “If you fight me, so help me, your preferences will be spread across the Chicago tabloids by the weekend. Put the barbell down in its stand, but don’t let loose of it.”
It was a command, in an authoritative voice, which linked into another of Cody’s weaknesses to other men. He wanted to be told what to do, to be dominated. Gordon knew how to dominate. Cody didn’t have a chance against him. He watched, meekly, while Gordon bound his hands and wrists to the ends of the barbell resting on its frame.
Gordon straddled Cody’s chest when he was done. “Suck me hard,” he commanded as he moved his pelvis in to Cody’s face. As far as Cody was concerned, Gordon already was hard and mammoth, but he opened his mouth to Gordon’s cock and found that it could get harder, thicker, longer.
Pulling out of his mouth, Gordon backed off far enough to grab the waistband of Cody’s briefs and pull them off his legs. He laughed. “There, see, you want me.”
He reached over to a bookshelf next to the bench press and pulled out a condom packet. This was that sort of gym, there for client instant gratification if they so desired and made a hookup. Part of the thrill of coming to one of these gyms was to be able to watch couples and threesomes fucking while you exercised.
Cody panted and moaned as Gordon pulled the Trojan Magnum on his cock. He squatted on the bench below where Cody sat, his legs bent at each side of the bench press and leveraged on the soles of his feet pulled back to the back side of the bench.
Gordon’s cock was projecting out a mile and a half, it seemed toward Cody’s hard cock, nudging under it, the bulb pressing into Cody’s balls. “Raise your ankles to my shoulders,” Gordon commanded, but Cody hesitated. “Saturday morning, in the Chicago Tattler,” Gordon barked, and, with a sigh, Cody raised his legs and rested his ankles on Gordon’s shoulders.
“Roll your butt up.” With a whimper, Cody did so. “Impale yourself on the cock.” Panting and whimpering, Cody slid his buttocks forward, stopping and panting hard as the bulb of Gordon’s cock was pulled inside him. Suddenly, cruelly, Gordon thrust his cock forward, giving Cody lots of inches. Cody cried out, shuddered, and babbled a bit about how impossibly long and thick Gordon was.
“Shut up. Fuck yourself on the cock,” Gordon demanded. With a whimper Cody moved his hips back and forward on the cock, until, with a groan, he shot off up Gordon’s belly. With a laugh, Gordon grabbed Cody’s waist and took over the sheathing and unsheathing of the cock until he too had come with a jerk. He stood immediately, pulled off the spent condom, and presenting his dick to Cody’s mouth, commanded, “Clean it.” Cody took the cock in his mouth.
“Now I’m taking you up to my room and give you a proper fucking and we’ll talk about the West Coast job.” He untied Cody’s wrist and moved back to the doorway to retrieve his trousers as Cody, whimpering, felt around for his own briefs and trousers.
Geneva had already returned to their room before Gordon and Cody arrived. She was sitting on the end of the bed, having started to unclip her stocking tops from the garter belt. But she stopped what she was doing as soon as the men entered the room.
“You found him,” she said, her voice clearly showing her pleasure. “Such a luscious young man. I’ve envied Pam for a year. Can I have him too? Does he have a nice cock? Let me see it.”
“Strip, Cody,” Gordon demanded, and Cody complied
“Oh, sweet Jezusss, let me play with him, Gordon.” She opened her arms wide. “Come to Momma. Let me suck it.”
Cody hesitated, but Gordon growled, “You heard the woman. Let her suck you and then fuck her.”
Cody walked toward the bed like a man going to the gallows. As he was crouched between her legs, kissing her mouth and breasts, as commanded, and fucking her deep, Gordon saddled up behind him, thrust his cock up Cody’s ass, and controlled the pace not only of him fucking Cody but Cody fucking Geneva as well.
Cody considered himself lucky that Gordon and Geneva worked up a lust for each other that surpassed what they had for him. At length he managed to roll out from between them and Gordon attacked his wife, who laughed and writhed under him, like a wild man as Cody slipped out of the room.
He went directly to his own room. Pam wasn’t there, nor did he expect her to be. He packed and was out of the hotel, headed to the airport and back to Chicago within fifteen minutes. It would be harder for Gordon to give him commands in Chicago from the West Coast. Still, he knew it was only a matter of time that something had to give—unless he could find a way to counter Gordon—unless Cody could find a protector.
But Gordon was so handsome and so forceful. And he was still Mr. America muscular—and hung like a bull and virile and vigorous. Maybe it was time for Cody to come out. One thing was for certain: if Gordon got close enough to Cody to bark a command and wanted to get his dick inside Cody’s ass, Cody would meekly open his legs to the man.
* * * *
“But we just went to an office Christmas party—and this one is way out in San Francisco, not Denver.”
“I know,” Pam answered, “but we can’t skip this one. I certainly can’t, and under the circumstances you can’t either.”
Cody’s blood at run cold with Pam came home with an invitation to yet another Hayden Enterprise’s management Christmas party—and in this time in San Francisco, right in the lion’s den. He had come to think of Gordon Clay as a lion—commanding, a king of beasts, but to be avoided at all costs. Cody knew he was weak. He dreamed of being fucked by Gordon, but there was too much danger involved, and he could see that if he came under Gordon’s sway, he would be devoured and spit out as skin and bones.
Cody had checked the tabloids in fear for the week after he had run out on Gordon Clay and the man’s demands that Cody come out of the closet and come to San Francisco.—surely to lose his modeling career in its current form and be at the complete mercy of the cruel dominator—or be exposed by Gordon anyway. There hadn’t been any exposure yet, and with each passing day Cody had increasing hopes that Gordon was bluffing or that he had turned his interests to some other young man.
But here was a summons to San Francisco.—the invitation was to a party at the San Francisco Hayden Key Club and Gym, managed by Geneva Clay, but Cody knew it really was a trap set by Gordon Clay.
“What circumstances, Pam? I don’t see why I should be at the beck and call of Geneva Clay.” More to the point, he couldn’t see that Pam could allow him to knuckle under to Gordon Clay, especially if it involved Cody publicly declaring as gay. That, in essence, is what Gordon was demanding he do. It wasn’t just to come to the West Coast and lay under Gordon at that arrogant man’s bidding. Gordon had told Cody that, the West Coast being what it was, he wanted Cody to take modeling accounts with gay-oriented companies. The sexy ads now would be Cody in suggestive positions with other men rather than women. This wouldn’t be any better for Pam’s career than it was for Cody’s. There would have to be a nasty breakup and divorce in public and Pam still would suffer from the backlash.
Gordon wanted Cody to do gay male porn movies too—to be submissive on film to other dominating men. “Very tasteful; expensive films distributed only to those who can pay for them,” Gordon said, but the image he wanted to give Cody was diametrically opposed to the one Cody had already established for himself.
“Look at the invitation—if we can call it that—more of a summons, I’d say. It’s from Ty Hayden himself, and he is quite clear he wants you at the party.”
“Me?”
“Yes. You know what this means, don’t you? We’ve discussed this possibility before.”
And, when Cody didn’t answer, Pam continued. “It stands to reason it would come to this. He’s actively bisexual, and he’s a randy old goat. He’s seen you occasionally at parties—most recently last week in Denver. And you model in the ads for the gym companies. He asked me about you several times last week. He said he heard you were submissive to men. I knew he wanted you to be, so I didn’t lie to him.”
“But he’s fucked you already. We’ve already paid our dues to the man.”
“It seems it’s your turn to be fucked by him. We’ve discussed this already. We’ve agreed that both of us would give the man whatever he wants. He’s already had me a couple of times. Now he wants you. I wouldn’t be surprised if he forced Geneva to host this second office Christmas party just to get at you. I should have seen it last weekend. After you’d left and flown home—without telling anyone, including me—he asked where you were and was irritated that you hadn’t stayed.”
“God, how did we get into this situation, Pam?” Cody asked. “How did we fall so helplessly under the control of an old man like Hayden. He must be fifty.”
“He’s fifty-two. And he’s in great shape. You saw him shirtless last weekend. He’s a good advertisement for his own line of sexy gyms. And you don’t know the half of it. He’s what you like; he’s hung like a bull, and he’ll fuck you to exhaustion. And you’ll please him, just like I’ve done more than once, to assure our cushy lifestyle here in Chicago. There’s something about what he likes . . . but, no, I’ll let you discover that for yourself.
“Now, go tell Sally that we need air tickets for Friday out to San Francisco, returning on Monday morning. And buck up; we’re swingers. You’re a swinger. If Ty Hayden had picked you up in a bar and showed you his erection and his bankroll, you’d have gone with him without a whimper. We’ve already discussed what we’d each do when he wanted either one of us.”
Cody dearly wanted to tell Pam that it wasn’t as simple as that—that there was the added danger of being in San Francisco with Gordon. He hadn’t told Pam how great a threat Gordon was to their cushy lifestyle in Chicago, and he didn’t think there was anything Pam could do about it even if he told her. There was still Ty Hayden and his demands.
That was Cody’s real problem—the dominating people around him and his natural submissiveness to them. It wasn’t just Hayden and Clay, it was Pam too. When she barked a command at him like a general as she just had done, Cody knuckled under and meekly did her bidding—just like he now did by going out to the business manager’s office and starting the ticketing process for San Francisco.
The times they had fucked were when she had wanted it from him or wanted him to ensnare another woman. She had flatly told him that she wanted to use his dick, and as little interested in women that he was, he had laid there while she rode him, willed himself to stay hard, and ejaculated on command.
At least with Gordon Clay—and with Ty Hayden, if Pam’s description of his equipment could be believed, Cody could attain sexual pleasure from being dominated and fucked.
* * * *
“Oh, God, oh shit. Yes, fuck me. Fuck me hard. Fuck me deep! Yes, Gordon, YES!” Cody was ashamed of himself for letting loose this much—and this easily—but he couldn’t help it. Gordon Clay was growling commands, and Cody was knuckling right under. Not that there was any choice now, though. Cody was trussed up like a lamb to the slaughter. For Cody, though, being bound soared him higher into the clouds. He had a fixation of being taken whether he wanted to be or not—by muscular, big-cocked men.
Gordon was bringing all of these fetishes of Cody’s to bear on him. Cody, once Gordon got him alone—and especially once Gordon got his dick in him—was helpless to resist.
He had no choice in what he knew Gordon’s plans were for him now, with the presence of Rashad Jackson, the black bull stud, manager of the Houston gym, who Cody had watched fuck Pam against a wall at the Denver Christmas party—the black stud Cody had wanted to fuck him. And not just the presence of Rashad, but also of the photographer, firing off photos—photos that Gordon declared he had every intention of, first, using to blackmail Cody into working for him and then to send around to the porn studios to help get Cody into gay films.
Gordon was on his back on a bench press in the San Francisco Hayden Club gym, while the office Christmas party was roaring away at the other end of the sprawling complex. Cody was stretched on his back on top of Gordon, his torso arched and his buttocks rolled back so that Gordon could have most of his hard cock buried in Cody’s passage. Cody’s wrists were bound together and were wedged behind Gordon’s neck at the top edge of the bench, providing a headrest for Gordon’s neck. Cody’s legs were raised and spread, with his ankles tied off on the arms of a barbell frame.
Cody wasn’t going anywhere until someone released him. He was trembling with fear-laced pleasure of being totally at Gordon’s mercy. Whatever happened now wasn’t his fault. Few men other than Gordon had given Cody all he desired like this—including a black bull spreading Cody’s thighs with his knees.
The photographer had fired off shots of Gordon, hands grasping Cody’s thin waist, pulling Cody on and off Gordon’s cock. Cody couldn’t help himself, even knowing that frames were being shot and a video camera was running. The big-cocked, muscular man was dominating him, fucking him hard and deep, and he was bound, helpless to the onslaught of the man. It was just the sex the Cody liked best.
He particularly liked that the big black bull, Rashad Jackson, was kneeling between his and Gordon’s spread legs and giving him head while distending and crushing his balls in a big, black fist. An overpowering black man giving him pain and sex, dominating him. Perfection.
It was all good—at least until Gordon barked out, “You too, Jackson. We’ll fuck him together.”
Cody whimpered in less than a good way—in a distinctly fearful way but still arousing enough for Cody to fire off an ejaculation. Still, he tried to writhe away from Gordon—uselessly—as Jackson stood, still close, between their legs, and rolled on a Trojan Magnum.
“You gonna come for me again,” Rashad muttered. It wasn’t a question.
Cody had had every intention of staying away from Gordon at this party. His plan was to latch onto Ty Hayden as quickly as possible, let Hayden do what he wanted with him, and catch the next plane back to Chicago, just as he’d done at the Denver party.
But there was no Ty Hayden at the party. There had been an office emergency in Denver and he hadn’t shown up. They were in Gordon Clay’s jurisdiction now. He’d met them at the airport. He’d barked for Cody to get in the back of one limousine and when Pam came out of the arrival hall, having been distracted by Geneva, she was handed into the second limousine by Geneva.
Pam had been taken to the hotel attached to the San Francisco Hayden Key Club. Gordon had fucked Cody in the limousine into moaning submission en route to the Clays’ mansion with Gordon’s own form of a torture chamber in the basement, where Cody had been laced with sex-enhancing drugs, hung from hooks, and his body abused in every way that wouldn’t show as bruises later in the evening for the party. All the time he informed Cody of the contract he’d sign the next morning to transfer to San Francisco and fall into the plans Gordon had for him.
Cody was completely cowed—having no backup plan to Ty Hayden not being here—and was expertly fucked and dominated by Gordon. Once Gordon got his mammoth cock inside Cody, Cody was lost to him. Even the flogging was arousing to him.
They weren’t at the party long, with Pam trying to pull answers out of Cody on where he’d been, why Ty Hayden wasn’t in evidence—until Cody arrived alone, on the arm of Gordon Clay, Pam had thought he’d been with Ty Hayden all afternoon and early evening—and why Cody was so sluggish and glassy eyed, before Gordon commanded that Cody come with him, and they arrived in the gym to link up with a naked and magnificently erect Rashad Jackson, and a photographer.
Cody weakly objected as he felt the bulb of Rashad’s cock pressed to his asshole on top of Gordon’s already-buried cock. He began to thrash around as best he could, knowing that he couldn’t take two mammoth cocks at the same time—not without more preparation–until Gordon growled, “Stop fighting it. It will be easier. Relax. Take it.”
Grinning, Rashad bent over Cody’s chest and grasped Cody’s sides with big, black mitts positioned above Gordon’s hands holding Cody’s waist. Cody tried to relax, as commanded, and panted hard, as he felt Rashad’s cock try to enter him on top of Gordon’s. The bulb penetrated him, but It just wasn’t happening without more preparation. The two cocks were too big. Although Cody had been doubled before, it never had been by cocks this size.
At that moment, Geneva, Gordon’s wife, entered the gym and stripped down to basic, voluptuous Geneva. She went to one of the large-frame exercise contraptions that provided support for a multiple number of exercises. She chose one that spread her legs and pointed her trimmed cunt at the men on the bench.
Rashad lost interest in trying to double Cody and went over to the exercise frame. He found a position facing Geneva, with his legs spread, under hers, and both of them suspended in the air. They selected a shared exercise where they were both swinging, attached at the pelvises, with his dick buried in her box. The energetic swinging of the two in concert were providing cries and moans from Geneva, grunts and groans from Rashad, long and deep thrusts, and vigorous friction.
Both Gordon and Cody were watching the performance closely and Gordon was timing the slamming of Cody’s passage on his cock with the increasingly wild swings of the couple on the creaking and shuddering exercise frame. Gordon was grunting and Cody, lost in the fuck, was crying “Yes, deeper, harder!”
The photographer was running around snapping off photos and rolling film in frustration of which direction to film in and what the best angles were.
All four fired off at once in explosive orgasms. It was more than the exercise frame could take, though. Rashad jumped free as it collapsed, but Geneva was under it aw it came roaring down to the floor.
Gordon climbed out from underneath Cody, barking at the photographer, “Untie him.”
Quickly freed, Cody ran out of the room with Rashad right behind, the latter running for help, as Gordon went to start pulling steel off his wife.
Cody, however, did exactly what he’d done in a similar circumstance in Denver the previous weekend. Finding clothes, he then hustled Pam up to their hotel room, rummaged around for what he needed, and an hour later, they were in the San Francisco. airport, each headed in a different direction.
* * * *
Of course Pam and Cody had to return to San Francisco the next weekend—the day after Christmas—for Geneva’s funeral. There was no question that Cody was going, under the circumstances, and Pam showed up just to check on how Cody was doing. He hadn’t seen her since they’d flown off in separated directions from the San Francisco airport.
The two met up about half way to the gravesite, where Cody had to cling to her. He was walking bowlegged and in a haze. Cody couldn’t help but notice that Rashad Jackson was walking on the other side of her and holding her arm possessively.
“You and Rashad?” Cody asked.
“He appeared at the airport when your plane was taking off,” she answered. “He came to Chicago with me. He’s been a big comfort.”
“I’ll bet he has been,” Cody said.
Pam caught that he was a bit miffed. “Is everything—?” she started to ask, in a whisper, because a large group of mourners—many from the various Hayden enterprise holdings—were moving from the cars to the gravesite. She changed what she was about to say. “Cody, you know about me and black studs.”
“Yes, I know,” he answered through clinched teeth. It wasn’t that he resented that Pam was fucking the black bull. He wanted Rashad to fuck him too, and it almost had happened. “It’s not that . . . oh, God, you were right. I’ve gotten no rest,” Cody answered. “The training to it was brutal. But I think it will work out. I can manage and am beginning to enjoy it. Don’t know when—or if—I can come home, though.”
Cody looked up toward where the family was sitting beside the grave. As far as he knew, Gordon hadn’t released any of the photos or videos he’d had taken on the fateful day a weekend before. But then, with the funeral arrangements and all, he hadn’t had time to do much of what he threatened to do—which relieved Cody. But Gordon was boring his eyes into the young male model as the three of them—Cody, Pam, and Rashad—approached the gravesite, arm in arm.
Gordon nodded to Cody to acknowledge he was there and also, Cody knew, to lay down a marker that they had unfinished business.
The ceremony was brief. While the coffin was being lowered, Pam turned and walked in one direction. She looked around for Rashad to follow her, but he was wavering, walking closer to Cody toward the cars. Cody wasn’t surprised. The last time they’d seen each other, they both were in compromising positions—on tape—and there had been a tragedy. Cody wasn’t surprised that Rashad might like to say something to him.
But Gordon arrived, pushing between them, as they approached the line of limousines.
“My car is up there, at the head of the line,” he growled at Cody as they reached the road. “We’ve got business to do—you have a contract to sign. Go to the car and get in.”
They had reached a limousine, the back door to which opened as they arrived. A voice boomed out from the interior. “Cody is riding with me. Rashad is too. Get in, lads.”
Gordon recognized the voice and froze, letting his possessing hand drop from Cody’s arm.
Ty Haden continued speaking. “I understand you have some photographs and videos that I’ll want to have all copies of, Gordon, and that you won’t speak of them again—to anyone. Cody is with me now. I’ll not have him publicly exposed.”
Gordon stood there, dumbfounded, flanked, and defeated, as Cody, who had flown not to Chicago from San Francisco the previous Saturday but to Ty Hayden in Denver, climbed gingerly into the back of the limousine behind Rashad.
On the way to the airport to return to Denver, Cody did what he’d been in training to do throughout the previous week to win a new sponsor—one with power over Gordon Clay—he’d held his legs open for Ty Hayden’s favorite form of fuck—the double penetration. As Ty Hayden sat in the middle of the limousine’s backseat and Cody sat in his lap, Hayden’s monster cock buried up his passage, and Cody faced away from Hayden, Rashad crouched and came in between their legs.
This time his cock easily joined Hayden’s inside Cody’s passage—the training had been rigorous, the reaming wide. Although he was growing used to it, Cody writhed and sobbed and begged, first, for mercy, and then for deeper penetration and more vigorous stroking while the two worked him in counterthrusts. He had quickly learned what turned Hayden on the most and kept in him bed and interested.
Cody had repeatedly been reamed by two cocks at the same time over the preceding week to where he could take two bulls at once with little effort. Hayden had promised to keep Cody’s preferences a secret publicly and to protect him against Gordon Clay’s threats—and the service he would be providing for Hayden as long as Hayden wanted it, wouldn’t show in Cody’s modeling gigs.
As far as Pam, she was getting the job security she wanted, she had been the one who told him he needed to lay under Hayden, and Rashad was just a temporary fix; Hayden had more studs to join him inside Cody’s ass back in Denver. Rashad could return to Pam the following week.