Manhandled (30 page)

“Well,” I said, sauntering toward him. “Since we both know why I’m here, I suppose we can skip the exposition.”

He had no clue what I meant.

“You do understand why I’ve been tailing you?” I suggested helpfully. “Randall McCullough?”

Again, no hint of recognition. He was either truly stupid or truly innocent.

“You really don’t know Randall?” I asked in what I hoped was a friendly tone.

The kid bolted. Well, he
tried
to bolt. As he raced by, I managed to whip the dog collar out of my pocket and around his throat. The impact almost pulled
me off my feet as I drew it tight. The youth’s feet actually did leave the ground.

I shoved him against the brick wall of the alley and pinned him with my weight as I fastened the collar and snapped the end
of the leash to it. When I stepped back, I had the young man effectively tethered on a four-foot piece of chain.

Wrapping the chain around my left forearm, I kept tension on the line as I flipped my wallet open to show my ID.

“Robert Madigan, private investigator,” I said. “You can go as soon as you’ve told me everything you know about Randall.”

The kid was pulling hard against the chain. Keeping him steady was like boating a marlin. Finally I tired of the game and
jerked sharply on the chain, bringing him neatly to his knees on the pavement.

“Do we really have to do this the hard way?” I asked.

He levered up from the ground, his shoulder catching me neatly in the midsection. I backpedaled furiously across the alley
until my back hit the opposite wall. The breath left my body on impact, and he might have gotten away then if the chain hadn’t
still been wrapped around my wrist. Instead, I was able to jerk him back down to the ground.

When wrestling a twenty-something suspect to the ground, most middle-aged detectives learn, a certain amount of ruthless efficiency
is necessary. I grabbed a fistful of balls through the kid’s chinos. To my surprise, he was sporting a hard-on.

I laughed in spite of myself. The struggle was turning the little slut on.

“You like this, don’t you?” I grinned, chuckling at the furious expression flashing over the kid’s face. “You want the big,
bad detective to rape you?”

He began bucking harder. For a moment, I thought he might actually get out from under me. Pressing my forearm across his windpipe,
I shoved him down forcefully against the pavement and began unbuckling his belt. The kid really went nuts when I flipped him
on his stomach and lashed his wrists behind his back with the belt.

“By the way,” I said, tugging the slacks over his slim hips, “do you have a name or should I just call you shit-head? Or fucktoy?”

His only response was an inarticulate howl of rage as I ripped his Jockeys. His cock sprang free and spanked the gravel.

“That’s gotta hurt, fucktoy,” I chuckled.

“My name is Alan,” he hissed.

I spread his cheeks and spat on his asshole, then ran my thumb over the newly lubed opening.

“Do you like taking it up the ass, Alan?” I said obligingly. “Because if you don’t, you really should tell me what you know
about Randall.”

“Fuck you,” Alan hissed.

I pressed my cock against his asshole through my slacks and amiably suggested, “Maybe later.”

“No,” he whined. “Please… I’m not ready for this….”

Lurching to my feet, I jerked the chain, bringing Alan’s face level with my crotch.

“What are you ready for, Alan?” I said.

He began gnawing at my slacks, chewing my cock through the fabric. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to hurt me or just provide
foreplay. Either way, I enjoyed the sensation and let him go for a few moments.

Since Alan’s hands were tied, I unbuckled my belt and opened my pants for him, letting my cock bounce against his face a few
times before thrusting against his lips. The kid didn’t even struggle. Instead, he swallowed it, taking my length deep into
his mouth with a quick, almost birdlike motion.

He had the kind of short, spiky blond hair that always put me in mind of petting a hedgehog. I laced my fingers through it
and drew him down deeper on my cock. His throat convulsed against my glans as I stabbed my dick into his mouth. I could feel
him choking, but I held the embrace a bit longer before pulling away.

Alan recovered slightly before I rammed my cock home again. This time, I let him gag as I fucked his mouth with all my might.
He was sucking air through his nose in deep, hoarse gasps as I pumped. I came straight down his throat, tugging his hair hard
as I thrust one final time.

He was coughing uncontrollably when I hauled him back to his feet. Roughly, I grabbed his balls, intending to twist them as
I asked my question again.

Instead, I gasped in surprise. Alan still had a hard-on.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I chuckled. “Tell me you like it, you little slut.”

The blond was glassy-eyed and still gasping. He shook his head violently and I jerked it back until he was looking me in the
eye.

“Say it,” I said, favoring him with a wolfish grin.

“Fine,” he whispered. “I like it.”

I pushed him back to his knees. He actually flicked out his tongue to lick at my cock as I rubbed precum over his lips with
it. I pulled away, leaving it just out of reach of his mouth.

“What do you know about Randall?” I teased.

Groaning, Alan shook his head. I slapped him hard across the face with my cock. It was already getting stiff again.

“You’re a little bitch,” I remarked.

He nodded, and stroked my cock with his tongue.

“Tell me what you want….”

“You already know,” he said.

“I want to hear you say it,” I smirked. “It’s not a proper investigation if you keep your mouth shut.”

“Fuck me,” he said.

Shoving him against the wall, I jerked Alan’s jeans down over his hips. I took a moment to admire the line of his back. The
kid had a good body, with broad shoulders and a back that tapered nicely to his hips. He was shivering as I spread his ass
cheeks again and spit between them.

The kid whimpered as I worked a finger into his ass. With my other hand, I roughly pumped his cock. If anything, it had gotten
harder.

“You really are a sick little bitch, aren’t you?” I said.

He started to answer but my cock pierced his ass before he could form the words, so instead he howled. I think it was probably
from pain at first, but almost instantly, Alan was humping his ass back against me, trying to impale himself more completely.

I loved the sensation of his ass squeezing my cock. It was like being caught in a rubber vise. I kept one hand in his hair
and the other on the chain as I jerked his body back against mine. Alan was lost. He cried out with each thrust, a high-pitched,
keening plea for me to stop.

I didn’t stop, of course. I was too far gone myself. I wanted more of him. I wanted to punch through him, to become one with
the moment. I could feel the orgasm building in the pit of my stomach, but Alan wasn’t quite there yet. I leaned forward and
sank my teeth into his shoulder.

With a final cry, he began shooting his cum against the brick wall in front of him. I thrust one more time, holding his cheek
against the wall as my cock spasmed inside him.

“That’s better,” I said, stepping away from Alan to zip up.

I untied his hands and he fell to his knees, not bothering to pull his pants up. Leaning over, I pulled his head back by the
hair and kissed him hard on the lips.

“Get dressed and get out of here,” I said. “I’m done with you.”

Then I walked away. The whole thing had taken less than fifteen minutes. I was almost back to the street before the young
man had recovered enough to call out.

“I really don’t know anyone named Randall McCullough,” he said.

For a moment, I considered walking away without telling him. The idea of letting him wonder had a certain appeal. Instead,
I let him in on the joke.

Grinning, I turned back to Alan, cocked my head, and said, “Who?”

Charles Alexander

T
he club is pretty packed tonight, the heavy, voluptuous beat driving the crowd onto the dance floor.

I spot Nick at a table in the corner, stirring his straw listlessly in his tequila sunrise. I snag the chair in front of him
and turn it around, sitting in it with my forearms resting on the back. “What’s up, baby?”

Nick sighs. “Hey, BJ.”

“Why aren’t you bustin’ a move out there with everyone else? Something wrong?”

He peers up at me with big blue eyes. “It’s Devin.” A lock of blond hair falls into his eyes and he pushes it back angrily.
“He gave me another lecture today. He acts like he’s my dad or something.”

“Kinky.” I smirk. “So what was the lecture on this time? Did you leave the lights on again?”

“I forgot to change the toilet paper when it ran out,” he mumbles. “He just kept going on and on about how he was stranded
and blah-blah-blah.”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “Being stranded like that is quite demoralizing, you know.”

“I know, I know. But that’s not the point. He doesn’t respect me. It’s like I’m just his dumb blond plaything.”

“Aren’t you?”

He glares at me. “Funny.”

I shrug and toss him a shit-eating grin.

He slumps back in his chair. “I just wanna do something, you know, something to show him I’m not just another dumb blond.
I want him to see me differently, like, I dunno, an authority figure or a hero or something.”

I don’t suppress my snort. “What are you gonna do? Dress up in tights and save his life?”

He makes a face. “I don’t think I could pull off the tights with my ass.”

“But I like your ass. It’s so round and smackable.” I take a sip of his drink and smack my lips loudly.

“Shut up.” He grabs the drink out of my hand and stirs his straw around some more. “But that saving-his-life thing ain’t such
a bad idea.”

I choke on the drink and finally manage to swallow, tequila burning down the back of my throat. “What do you have in mind?”
I croak.

He shrugs. “Dunno.”

My finger taps my chin. “You could always hire someone to try and run him over and then push him out of the way.”

“Nah. It’s been done.”

I tug on the small hoop in my right ear. “Really now?”

Nick nods. “Yeah, you know Josh and Ryan? That’s how they met.”

“Didn’t Ryan go psycho and chase Josh with a broken plate?”

“Oh, right.” Nick chews his bottom lip thoughtfully. He has really nice lips. Red and lush. I bet they feel like expensive
silk.

“That could work,” he says.

I tear my gaze away from his lips. “You’re going to chase Devin with a broken plate?”

“What?” His forehead wrinkles. “No, I’m going to get a psycho to try and rape him.”

“Uh… OK.” I’m not even going to try and decipher the workings of Blondie’s mind. “So where are you gonna find a psycho?”

Sitting back in his chair, he scratches his head as his eyes survey the room, finally returning to me. His mouth breaks into
a big smile. “You could do it.”

“Whoa, me? Since when am I a psycho?”

Nick shrugs. “You could be a psycho. All those tattoos and piercings.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “You can’t be completely
normal.”

“Devin would never believe I’m a psycho.”

“Don’t give me that shit, BJ. You’re a great actor. I mean, you had me convinced you were straight when I first met you.”

“Yeah, well, you’re blond. It’s not hard.”

His eyes narrow at me. “Ha. Ha.”

“Anyway, Devin’s twice my size,” I continue.

“Size doesn’t matter when you have a gun.”

I cough. “Since when doesn’t size matter to you?”

Nick takes a hasty sip of his drink. “Well, you do have a gun, right?”

I waggle my eyebrows at him. “Baby, I got a rifle.”

Nick smiles. “So you’ll do it?”

“Hmm. Depends.” I stroke my goatee. Devin
does
need someone to pull that high-and-mighty stick out of his ass—and maybe stuff something else
in
it. This could be a really fun way to do it. “What do I get in return?”

“What do you want?”

I purse my lips. “You have to clean my house.”

Nick’s mouth drops open. “But your house is disgusting! If I slipped and fell, it would take days to find me in all the trash!
Nuh-uh, man, I wouldn’t go within a hundred feet of your house!”

“Fine. Then I won’t rape your boyfriend.”

“But—” He tugs on a lock of hair and gives me his best set of puppy-dog eyes, lower lip stuck out and everything.

I cross my arms and stare right back him.

He sighs, sitting back in his chair. “All right, I’ll do it.”

I stick out my hand. “Deal.”

Nick owes me for this. Big time. Like, I better be able to eat off my floor when he’s done cleaning.

I really went all out: black leather pants, black leather boots, black leather gloves, and a long black leather trench coat.

Psychos like black leather, right?

Hmm, if they do, that doesn’t bode particularly well for my sanity, considering I just happened to have all this stuff lying
around.