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Full Service (mm)
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Subject: Full Service (M/M, b&d, ws)
Date: Thu Jul 20 03:40:58 1995
NOTE:
This story contains graphic descriptions of sex between males. It also
contains explicit depictions of bondage & domination/discipline and
watersports. If any of the above material offends you, please do not
read.
Full Service
What the fuck's wrong with kids these days?
Linc leaned back further in the old office chair. The cheap
metal
squealed in protest, but it held. It always held. Linc knew just how
far
he could push it without ending up on his ass.
No respect. No fucking respect--or gratitude.
Cigar ash fell on the chest of his old denim jacket. He brushed
it
away without looking. Old habit. Other than that, the man didn't move.
He just stared out the window, filthy with grease and desert dust, at
his
pumps and the figure hunched next to them out in the gathering
twilight.
I mean--you take a kid in off the highway, right? Give him some
food and a place to live--shit. I gave him the world on a string. And
look what I get in return.
The desert sun was going down fast. Soon it was going to get
cold.
Linc sat in his station office, unmoving and unmoved, his
snakeskin-booted
ankles crossed and propped up on his desk, an opencan of horse
piss-beer
sitting untouched on the floor, chomping his stogie more than smoking
it,
staring out the window and wondering what the hell he was going to do
next. Another ash fell. He brushed it away. His butt was about to go
numb.
Little fucker pays no rent. I feed him and house him and pay him
besides. Never asked for nothin' back--not but a good day's work and
some
good old-fashioned fuck-an'-suck. What's he want more money for?
Full dark fell. Still Linc sat still. He never moved to turn on
the office light, or the light in the workbay, or the ones in the
canopy
over the pumps. Even the sign on the highway stayed dark. The traffic
was lighter than usual. Not much business lost. Not that it mattered.
One night's receipts never entered his mind. Linc's-U-Pump-It was
closed
for the evening, the first time in seventeen, eighteen years, while its
owner leaned back in his office chair and its principal pump boy knelt
chained to a pump.
Fucker tried to rip me off...
The telephone shot his thoughts to hell. Outside, the oversized
bell on its pole ripped through the night and whipped the crouching
figure's head up and around to face the sound. Inside, the phone on the
desk sent a tingle up through the back of Linc'slegs. His feet had
gone
to sleep.
...aw, shit. Now what the FUCK is this?
Two rings. Three. Linc stretched and grunted, took a swig of
warm
stale beer, jackknifed his body and grabbed for the phone. Julie, the
sheriff's dispatcher. He automatically pitched the cigar butt. Julie
was
a lady. Right now Julie was concerned. She'd heard that Linc's was
dark
tonight. Was anything the matter?
"No ma'am, thank you. Just some trouble with Eddie."
Well, then, okay. Did he need any help?
"No thank you, ma'am. I'm about to go out and handle it now." He
knew she never liked Eddie. Tonight, from her voice, at last he knew
why.
Eddie had got what she wanted. "But thanks again for callin'. It's
nice
to know that someone cares."
He'd always known she cared, she said. She'd talk to him
tomorrow.
And maybe we'll do more than talk. Yea--maybe, tomorrow...
But this was tonight. Out over his boots, out the window and
past
the pumps and their huddled figure, out the other side of the highway
and
twelve miles of desert, 'way out to the east, the sky was getting light
again. The moon was coming up. Linc couldn't remember the last time
he'd watched the moon come up. He sat in the dark and he waited. It
seemed to be moving so fast. He didn't have to wait for long. The
moon
was full, and yellow and huge, and when it was all the way round and up
in
the sky Linc leaned his head back and howled. The silhouetted figure
stirred. It turned and made a sound of its own. It sounded like Eddie
was crying.
Cry, baby. Do it. Get used to it. You haven't even got
started.
Linc dropped his feet to the floor and stomped them to bring back
some life. Slowly, joint popping, he stretched and he stood.
Getting old I guess. Too old to fuck around with punks.
He picked up the beer and walked to the doorway. Leaning to one
side against the jam, he stuffed his free hand in his pocket and stared
at
his station. Everything he'd worked for. Everything he owned. He
swilled
the brew. He stared at the shadows and the bright spots of moonlight.
He
stared at the pathetic lump of something staring back at him from down
on
its knees. Everything he owned.
Fucker tried to rip me off.
He finished the beer and crumpled the can.
I'm easy, but nobody fucks me. You pump, you pay less. But
everybody pays.
The hand in his pocket seemed to be getting restless. The beer
had
gone straight to his bladder. A piss-hard was starting its way down
his
leg. He let his hand loose to do just what it wanted. It wanted to
play
with his dick. Linc stood, tall and square in the doorway, pulled his
hand out of his pocket and started groping himself. The eyes in the
shadows were shining. Partly with tears; partly with--what? Hope?
"I bet you think I'll fuck you, right? And this'll be all over?"
Linc barely whispered, but he knew he'd been heard. The lump in the
dark
made no answer. Eddie just sniffled and hiccupped and belched. Tried
to
turn away, but he'd been chaine dtoo well.
Not a bad job, if I do say so myself. For as much of a hurry as
I
was in...Little shit looks right nice in tow chains.
Linc's hands were working in constant motion: one pulling,
prodding, caressing--the other mangling a lump that had once been a
beer
can. Linc's boots were planted. Linc's world was falling back
together
and his mind was about made up.
"Hey, ASShole," he yelled; "I'm talking to YOU!" The hand that
had
held the beer can was suddenly empty and falling through space, its
lump
of metal launched in a glittering moonlit arc that ended right at the
top
of the sniveling lump of flesh. The beer can had knocked Eddie's cap
off.
He'd tried to duck and almost made it. Just as well. If he'd held
still
he'd have lost an eye. Linc just stared and groped himself. Everything
he
owned.
That fucking cap. How'd he keep it on, all through that fight?
I
tackled the fucker pretty hard. We wrestled. How'd he keep it on?
Punk.
Never did like the way he wore it, bill yanked down over his eyes.
"You gonna answer me, boy?" It didn't seem likely. Eddie made
noise--not one of them words. He whimpered and whined and sniffled,
but
he didn't seem inclined to speak.
You're gonna talk to me, boy.
Linc stared back down at the Eddie-lump's eyes as his boots
started
taking him closer. His one hand still worked on the bulge in his
crotch.
Now the other unbuttoned his fly.
"You think I'm gonna fuck you, boy?" Still there came no answer.
Linc was close enough to kick him now, but Eddie had nothing to say.
Damn straight I'm gonna fuck you, boy. You're gonna know you've
been fucked. Just like you tried to fuck me.
Even his boots had a mind of their own. One landed a
pointed-toed
dig into the ribs that sent Eddie's breath into spasms. The other
braced
and planted to let its brother kick again. Linc waited. Fingered
himself. Dragged his half-hard cock out into the moonlight.
Punk. I'm gonna fuck you, punk. But you're gonna pay me
backfirst.
The lump of bills Eddie'd tried to hide still rode the hip of his
jeans. Linc reached down and worked it out. Didn't bother to count
it.
He knew how much there was there. He fanned it in Eddie's face. Made
him
look at it, thought about making him eat some of it. Slapped him with
it
a couple of times and stuffed it down his own pocket. The one where
his
hand had been before. The hand that went back to his dick and balls
now.
Where's the fucking cap?
Linc saw it. Reached down for it. Leaned over Eddie, his crotch
in the boy's face, his big, smooth balls riding the lump's silent lips.
That's when the fucker bit him. Hard.
Linc caught his breath and saw stars, stood up and hauled backed
and kicked the boy's hands away from his crotch as far as the chains
would
let them go and sent that boot in for a kill. Eddie screamed when it
landed. Tried to writhe away, but couldn't ,for the chains. Tried to
drop his hands again, tried to protect himself, tried to save his nuts,
tried to breathe, tried not to throw up. Tried and failed.
"BITE MY NUTS," Linc screamed in the rhythm drummed out by his
punishing boot;"I'LL...TEACH...YOU...TO...BITE...MY...NUTS...PUNK...
YOU'RE...NOT GONNA...HAVE ANY...LEFT." Whatever Eddie'd had for lunch
was
making its way back up now. He screamed when he breathed. He puked in
between. He writhed and he retched and he couldn't get away. He tried
to
hold his head down. Tried hard not to gag. Looked like he thought he
was
choking. Looked like he would die. Looked, for a while, like he just
might be right.
Linc stopped and stared and sweated, chest heaving under his
jacket, one hand cradling his tooth-marked nut sac, the other still
holding the cap. "Fucking smartass, thieving PUNK," he yelled as he
started in whipping the boy's face with his own filthy cap. Spit and
sweat
and vomit flew in drops every time Eddie tried to dodge. Tried, and
failed.
Linc slowed, and stopped, and stared again. Finally reaching
down
to rub the boy's cap in his face and clean him up, after a fashion,
before
he planted it back on top of Eddie's head and pulled it down hard over
his
eyes.
"No, I never did like that, worn that way," he said to himself,
or
to no one. He stood back and though for a while and groped in his
crotch
with both hands. When he stepped back up and reached out, Eddie
flinched.
"Let's try it like this." Linc yanked the bill up and back and
flipped the cap around and slammed the whole thing back down home.
Backward. "Just like a fucking fireman, boy. Now I can see your
shifty,
worthless eyes." The kid's hair stuck out in odd places, curling and
shining with grease and sweat. Linc grabbed a handful and shook. Held
on
tight and slapped the kid backhand. Eddie's eyes shone like an
animal's.
"Fucking punk," said Linc. "You'll talk."
Maybe the fucker's just thirsty. Puking his guts up, and all.
"You want something to drink, punk? You been out here a long
time
now, and it's dry. Your mouth must taste like shit. How 'bout it boy?
You thirsty?" Still no response. No nod. No move to prove he'd
heard.
Fucking punk. You'll talk.
Eddie crouched, getting back his breath and staring up straight
at
Linc's eyes, chained to his pump in the moonlight, aching and pained
and
feeling like death, wanting cool water more than anything else out of
life, and his eyes wore a sharp look of simple defiance that made
Linc's
blood run cold. He didn't intend to say a word. He made that clear.
Not
to ask for water. Not to beg for mercy. Maybe not even to beg for
death.
I wonder if I'll kill him. I wonder if it'll come to that.
"I guess you got balls--I'll grant you that. You're cocky, but
you'll talk. I guarantee." Linc was relaxing all over again,
everywhere
but in his groin. He was in control here--but his need for relief was
controlling him.
I'll wet your whistle, boy. You'll talk.
"Open up, punk. I'll give you something to drink." The shiver,
the shake, the short sharp pain of pleasure at the start of the flow
all
hit Linc's nerves at once. His knees almost buckled, it all felt so
fine.
Everything he owned. He could afford to let go. "Open your mouth up.
You're gonna swallow this."
The first stream shot hot down the tube in his dick, slicing it
open, wetting down what had been dry all day long, slithering down to
the
tip, gathering under his foreskin in droplets before he slicked himself
back, sputtering and dribbling and forcing his slit-tip open and
gathering
then in a hard solid stream that steamed in the warm evening air and
landed flat on Eddie's face. The kid's eyes were open. Defiant. His
mouth was clamped good andhard shut.
"PUNK. I TOLD YOU TO OPEN YOUR MOUTH." Linc cut off his stream
again, using his hand and his bladder control, and cracked another
backhand slap across the kid's dumb face. "Just what the fuck is the
matter with you? Don't you know what's going on?" Linc stared down.
Eddie stared up. "If I want you to, you die. You know that?" Eddie's
eyes kept staring. They never blinked. He never closed them. But the
punk never opened his mouth.
"Well, you're not gonna die. Not yet anyway. But your are gonna
open your mouth." One hand holding hard to his dick-head, Linc turned
and
searched for a tool. Any tool. What he found was on top of the oil
can
rack. What he found on the rack was just perfect. By the time he
got back to stand in the kid's face he'd cradled it in both his hands,
leaving his dick to dangle and dribble and slap back and forth on his
thighs. An oil can spout. Dusty. Dry. It hadn't been used much since
they'd started selling oil in bottles with little plastic caps.
Sometimes old tools are the best.
Eddie's eyes flashed. Eddie wasn't stupid. Not really. Just
proud.
You'll get over it, punk. You'll talk.
Linc cradled the spout in one hand, looking at the way it curved,
matching it with the shape of Eddie's throat. He played with it,
rubbing
it over the kid's piss-soaked face, watching its dull flashes catch the
moonlight.
"You got a choice kid," he said. "You can open up now and I drop
this in easy," and Linc held the spout up, curve pointing down toward
Eddie's belly, just the right shape for a throat, "or I shove it in
backward. You got that, punk?" Linc turned the spout in his hand like
a
dagger, pointing the curve toward the back of Eddie's neck. For a
second
a flicker of something that looked like hope ran across the kid's eyes.
Just like a flame, it died. The muscles in Eddie's jaw twitched as he
clamped his teeth closed hard again. Linc sighed.
Have it your way, then. Do you always get just what you want?
Holding the spout in his left hand, Linc grabbed the kid's hair
with his right, started to snap Eddie's head back--and let go. Backed
off.
Gave the kid another chance. Watched the kid's eyes follow the nozzle
as
Linc pitched it, juggled it, played with it in both his hands.
"Another chance, kid. What'll it be?" Eddie's jaw was grinding.
Eddie's eyes were cold. "Well, have it your way. One more time."
I'm tired of fucking around with you.
The spout landed this time in his right hand. Linc looked at it,
stroked it, placed it just the way he wanted it. Hefted it. Liked its
feel. It might just slice out through the back of the punk's neck.
Too
fucking bad. It had been his choice. Linc watched his eyes and
grabbed
his hair up through his cap and hauled one boot back and slammed it up
and
in at exactly the spot where the kid's rib cage ended and watched,
amazed,
as the kid almost took it and started to haul back to kick again but
didn't, didn't have to: Eddie's eyes and his mouth bulged and finally
those eyes slid shit and that mouth flew open and Linc stuffed the
spout
inand down. The boy gasped and gagged and tried to scream. He damn
sure
couldn't breathe. Too bad.
That's just too fucking bad.
Eddie's eyes opened and stared up at Linc and looked a whole lot
less defiant. Linc smiled. Linc held on tight to his handful of hair,
but he let go of the metal spout and grabbed his own. He'd gone pretty
limp. He still had to piss. Plenty. He skinned himself back one more
time.
"I told you to open you mouth up, punk. Now you drink this."
And once again the pleasure flow started and once again Linc had
control and once again the stream was hard and steaming. This time he
aimed it and shot it down straight, past the spike that had punctured
cans, through the tube that had carried their oil, down through the
tube that had puked Eddie's guts up and into the belly that heaved and
roiled and had just now been empty and dry.
"See there, punk? You don't even have to swallow. I'm doing
everything for you. Just like I always have. Drink it, fucker." He
pissed hard--relaxed--pushed again. "Drink me down." He played with
his
skin, rubbing it back down the tip to splatter his flow, thumbing it
back
up past the crown until his wet head gleamed in the moonlight. "Drink
it.
Take it. Take it all, baby. Don't you spill a drop." He changed his
aim and laughed. Sprayed Eddie's face, his hair, his neck, and chest
down
inside the kid's jacket. "Don't spill none. And don't you throw this
up."
The kid was choking, gagging, heaving. Maybe turning blue. The
light was too dim too tell.
Feel like you're dyin' now, don't you, baby? Tough shit. I'm
not
done with you yet.
There was more to be let loose, but Linc was getting bored. He
clamped the stream off slowly. He wanted the kid to think he was
empty.
If the kid could think at all. Linc rubbed his thumbing lazy circles
over
his glistening dickhead. He was starting to get hard. Eddie's eyes
had
rolled back in his head. The flow of Linc's urine had stopped. His
dick
was hard. He let to of the kid's hair and reached down with both hands
to
pry his jaw open wide and pull the funnel out.
The wail of Eddie's long-lost breath was sickening. Rasping,
desperate not close to enough: A tornado through a keyhole. Linc
pitched
the oil spout into the dust. He wanted a cigar, but thought better of
lighting one next to his pumps. Everything he owned. He pulled one
out
anyway, chomping it cold, and stared down across it at the heaving,
gasping lump at his feet.
Eddie had never moved his head. His chin still jutted toward the
sky; his throat still lay smooth. Exposed. Linc's cock was hard and
throbbing now. Waiting to be taken care of. Linc could remember the
ripples that throat had made, taking his meat to the hairs. Now Linc's
dick was drooling.
You always could suck dick there, kid.
He slapped the kid's upturned face once. Twice. In time with
the
howling breaths. Forehand. Backhand. Eventually, with his cock. The
shaft slapped against his own piss. The impact, hard and swift, felt
fine. He stopped to rub himself down the smooth, hard line of the
kid's
jaw, to yank his skin all the way back and rub the glans up through the
hair he'd held tight in his fist, to let his nuts fall back to the
kid's
lips. One gasping howl whistled down past his sac. The next cut itself
off short. Linc's nuts had fallen right and been sucked down into the
kid's mouth and almost down his throat. Linc moved a warning boot back
to
his crotch. Eddie's eyes opened and cleared. Eddie stared up. Linc
stared down. Linc took hold of the kid's ears and rubbed his thumbs
across the kid's eyes.
I always did think you were beautiful.
"Don't even think of biting me again." One snap would do it. One
hard clamp and Linc would sing soprano. Linc knew it. Eddie knew it.
Eddie's eyes were wild. Thinking of what, Linc couldn't tell. Linc
just
stood and waited. Eddie started to heave for another breath. Linc
waited, breathed, understood the bargain in a sudden flash.
Everything
he owned.
You bite them, you die. Bite 'em off, you choke on them. I'll
stuff them down your throat. You choose. I own you, baby. I own your
fucking soul.
Eddie's jaw moved slowly. Eddie's eyes blinked and cleared.
Eddie sheathed his teeth and sucked.
Linc stood and let the kid breathe.
The howling sound was softer now. Less frenzied. Calmer. Almost
tamed. Almost. Never completely. Linc stood back and watched the kid.
Eddie watched him back. There was fire in his eyes. The defiance was
gone. Linc could see he understood. Everything he owned. He gave the
kid
more time. Stroked his meat, kept himself hard, chomped on the unlit
cigar. All the time he watched Eddie's eyes. Watched as they settled
and
started to close. Watched as his tongue wet his lips. Kept watching
while Eddie changed his body the way he changed his mind. The
shoulders
slumped, then squared. The hand resigned themselves to their bondage
and
found an attitude of peace. The head found a place to sit, that said
that
the kid was ready.
For now. For how long? I guess it doesn't matter. Someday
he'll
kill me. Someday. Not tonight.
Linc moved forward again. Eddie opened his mouth. His eyes were
quiet. He didn't speak. His tongue unrolled and waited. Linc skinned
himself back and laid his drooling dick down home. Eddie let his lips
fall
shut. He sucked Linc's dick like the first time again. Carefully.
Slowly. Looking for all the right ways. He breathed through his mouth,
around the sides. He breathed through his nose and thrusted and
bobbed.
Linc moved in ward and down. Eddie opened wider. Linc dropped his
hands
and flipped the kid's cap off, tilted his head back and cradled and
shoved.
You always could suck dick. Make me feel good, baby.
Eddie strained upward to meet each new thrust. With gentle
intensity, Linc pushed down hard. Slide, slip, stroke, shove. Pull
back
and do it over. Eddie followed his lead. Eddie gave him what he
needed.
Eddie sucked him off.
When Linc came he grunted and held the kid's head pressed hard in
the funk of his crotch. Each shot down his piss-widened tube and shot
out
and down with a pleasure he'd never known before. Right to the kid's
throat. Straight to his belly. Linc was going to fill him up. Eddie
worked his throat, following every shot as it started up somewhere on
top
of his chin, deep inside his master's flesh, helping to push it along
with
his tongue and finally squeezing it out and down. He held his breath.
He
had no choice. When Linc's hands relaxed on the back of his head, he
pressed his face into Linc's crotch on his own. Eddie sucked him dry.
Linc groaned and backed and let him breathe, shuddering with the
last drops as they oozed out and onto his tongue. Eddie gasped and
tried
to suck again. Linc held himself up and out of reach. Eddie tried to
nurse once more. Silently, he pleaded. Linc just backed away.
Wait.
Eddie slowed and settled and waited. Linc stood still and
watched.
I always did think you were beautiful.
Everything he owned.
When the kid had finally controlled his hunger, Linc stepped
close
in again and dropped his limp and trusting cock back on the kid's lips.
The tip of his foreskin was puckered, like a kiss. Eddie ran his tongue
up
into it. Followed his tongue with his lips. Worked his way back up
the
shaft to bury himself once again at its base. Linc stroked his
forehead
and let himself relax.
The head of Linc's soft dick sat quietly on the back of Eddie's
tongue when the first drops trickled out. Eddie groaned and waited.
Suddenly, Linc withdrew again. Eddie's eyes went wild. Eddie's mouth
began to flap. Eddie's raw throat croaked.
You'll talk.
Eddie rasped and mumbled. Linc held his water and waited.
"Please," rasped Eddie. He sounded like death. The sweetest
sound
that Linc ever heard.
"Please," said Eddie, stronger now. Linc watched him watching
him,
waiting.
"Please," cried Eddie. Desperate. Edgy. "Please, Linc, man.
Come
on."
"Please what?" Linc whispered.
I told you you'd talk.
"Please, man, just...please. Take me again." Eddie pleading.
Nice.
"Please WHAT?" Linc asked again, louder now.
You'll not only talk, you'll say it right.
"Please, shit, I don't know. Please piss in my mouth." Eddie
pleading and confused. Nicer still. Linc was in control again.
Everything
he owned.
"Please WHAT?" Linc yelled, and cracked the night.
You know what I want. And I'll get it. Punk.
"PLEASE, SIR, I WANT TO BE YOURS." Eddie was crying. Linc
fucked
his mouth. Slid his dick, half-hard, back home, opened the floodgates
and
pumped his boy full.
Fill 'er up? Fine, sir. Check your oil too? Full service...
Linc pissed and Eddie swallowed. Linc gave and Eddie took. Linc
ordered; Eddie obeyed. Just the way it should be.
For now.
Finally Linc dried up for good. Pulled himself out and stuffed
himself away. Back in his pants, still dripping. Eddie belched.
"Forgive me, Sir? I'm sorry."
"You sure as shit are."
Eddie said nothing. He wouldn't, they both knew, until he was
told
to. Linc finished buttoning his pants and turned away. Reached for the
water hose. Yanked it up out of the island. Pointed it toward Eddie's
face and turned it on. Eddie's eyes said "Thank you, Sir." Eddie's
mouth just swallowed. Eddie was soaked by the time he was done. Linc
hosed him all the way down. When Linc dropped the hose Eddie thanked
him
with words. Linc made no answer at all.
Eddie settled, resigning himself to a night being chained to his
pump. He wondered if he was lucky. Sometimes it was hard to tell.
Linc turned again and strode back to his office, stomping the
water
off the side of his boots and fishing in his pockets for a lighter. He
didn't look at the kid again until he was back in his chair, boots on
his
desk, leaning back with his lit cigar in on ehand and his telephone in
the
other. He thought about Julie. She might be a lady, but he was a man.
She'll have to get used to cigars.
He looked out at the boy, settling in for the night. How long
before he tried again? It didn't matter. He would. And when he won
it would be time for Linc to let go...of everything he owned. Until
then he had other plans.
Maybe I'll let you watch me, boy. Tie you up where she can't see
you and make you watch me fuck her. I wonder what you'd think of that.
And maybe someday you can fuck her yourself. Maybe. If you win.
He dialed the number. She answered, second ring. She always had
been good that way.
"I wanted to thank you for calling, again--and ask if you'd like
to go dancing."
She'd love it. Arrangements were made. Another call rang on the
switchboard; Julie had to go.
Linc hung up. His dick was hard. He pulled it out and stroked
it, leaning back, fully lit by moonlight and staring out his window at
everything he owned.
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