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Clint and I had negotiated hard on me saving more money by letting him drive
me to Myrtle Beach to meet up with my buddies for a week in the surf. He'd
wanted to go the slow and easy route and stop for fun and games for two nights
as the price of travel, but I told him that was not going to happen. In the end,
I gave him one more straight fuck and he promised to drive me all the way
through to the South Carolina coast.
But Clint knew something I didn't. You can't get from where we were to Myrtle
Beach in one day in anything slower than an airplane. He made like he was giving
it the old college try, but in the outskirts of Charlotte, North Carolina, I saw
that we just weren't going to make it and agreed to stop for the night.
He drove into a posh area of the city and pulled up to a stop at a pretty
elegant looking Marriott, the SouthPark.
"I can't afford this, Clint," I said.
"Well, I can," he answered. "If I'm going to sleep anywhere but my bed, it's
going to be in a better bed. That's what my daddy taught me about traveling, and
that's the way it is with me."
"Surely there's a Red Roof around here somewhere," I whined.
"There certainly may be," Clint countered, "but I'm staying here. You might walk
down in that direction and see if you can see one."
We just sat there, the motor still humming at us, him waiting for me to get
reasonable.
"I can't afford this hotel," I said stubbornly.
"You can stay here a whole hell of a lot cheaper than at the Red Roof Inn," he
said with a sly grin.
"Meaning?" I asked. But I didn't really have to ask. I knew what he meant.
"A night free in a high-quality hotel room. God, it isn't as if sex is a
nonrenewable resource for a quick-loading stud like you, Ben. Come on. It's not
like I'm an ugly ogre or something—or that you have something I haven't seen or
fucked before."
I didn't say anything, but I opened the car door and swung my legs out and he
had the trunk popped before I got back to it.
The restaurant Clint picked out was even glitzier than the hotel.
"Shit, look at these prices," I exclaimed. "This'll cut my food budget in half
for the week at the beach."
"I'll pay, of course," Clint said, glowering at me, signaling for me not to
embarrass him and attract the attention of waiters who were buzzing around us.
"I can just imagine what that will cost me," I said in a clipped tone.
But Clint didn't say anything; he just buried his face in the menu.
"What?" I asked, "What?" And then I just stopped and stared at his knuckles
clutching the menu—realizing.
"So," I then asked sarcastically. "What's it going to cost?"
I looked at the menu. "What's the scale like between the shrimp and this juicy
Delmonico steak?" I laced my voice with just as much sarcasm as I could manage.
Clint took a swig of the wine he'd ordered and pushed my filled but
thus-far-untouched glass a bit toward me. Then, with a blissful smile he gave
his terse answer in a hoarse whisper. "A bit of bondage for the shrimp. Dildo
play for the steak. You can have the chicken, of course, but I hardly think that
would be worth my investing in a condom."
"Very funny," I replied. He was putting me on. Well I'd show him. When the
waiter appeared, I ordered the Surf and Turf—a Delmonico steak piled high with
fried shrimp.
Clint just sat and smiled his Cheshire Cat smile.
* * *
The night was late. Soft light from recessed lighting sent a warm glow around
the luxuriously appointed room, picking out the highly polished Southern-style
Chippendale-replica furniture, the richly colored paintings on the wall, and the
soft, heavy textured bedspread under our bodies.
Clint was laying, nude, on the bedspread, My equally nude body was draped on top
of his. My back was lying at a slight angle along his left breast, both of my
arms raised to the left of his head, my wrists bound together by strappings tied
off at the headboard above us. My legs were spread wide, held in the position by
straps around my ankles that were tied off at the opposite foot posters of the
bed. Spread-eagled taunt on top of Clint's heaving chest and pelvis.
Where we met squarely, Clint and I, was at our pelvises, where my butt was
rolled up a bit toward his belly, giving his hard, slowly pumping cock, full
entry in my ass.
I was panting and moaning, writhing slowly atop Clint, as he held me to him with
his left hand on my belly. He was holding a slender dildo in the form of a long
vibrating wand in his other hand and he was stroking that around on my body,
teasing me with it, letting me feel its pulsating power everywhere—across my
nipples, on the inside tender skin of my thighs, on my arm pits, sliding across
my abs, probing my navel, under my ball sac, introducing buzzing tip to tender
piss slit, buzzing my cheeks, parting my lips with in and gliding it in—sliding
it in across my tongue to the back of my mouth and pressing it against the inner
walls of my cheeks, guiding it in and out. Pulsating, pulsating, pulsating.
I was groaning in anticipation, in fear. My ass wasn't feeling the fear, though.
It was loving the stroking it was getting from Clint's cock. I moved my hips
with his slow, undulating rhythm. I was feeling him in every crevice and cranny
inside me, and he was throbbing and lengthening, moving ever deeper inside me.
The Dildo slid out of my mouth, moistened now, and it left a cool, wet,
throbbing trail as it descended between my pecs, pausing again to visit my
navel, dipping lower and lower down my belly. Poised there under my balls,
giving them a tingling sensation, at the rim of my hole, pulsating just at the
rim, nuzzling up against Clint's buried, slowly rocking cock root.
"Clint . . ." Icy cold with the fear. Trembling almost uncontrollably.
"Clint!"
"Remember the gift you gave me?" Clint was whispering in my ear. "You doubled
me. A gift worth receiving is a gift worth giving."
"On, no, Clint," I moaned. Begging him now. "It's vibrating, Clint. You're
bigger. I can't. I can't. Oh, God, N-o-o-o-o! Ahhhhhhhhhh!"
I arched my back, trying to pull up and way from him and from IT. But no where
to go. His strong hand on my belly holding me in place, the restraints giving me
no direction in which to escape.
Writhing, groaning, sobbing, crying out. Nooooooo. Oh, God, oh, God, oh God.
Yesssssss. Moooaan-n-n-n. Ahhhhhhgh!
My body twitching, writhing. Clint's too. Both of us moaning, groaning. Out of
control with waves of consuming passion. Bucking against each other, my butt
slapping against his crotch, his crotch thrusting between my butt cheeks.
Pulsating wand probing deeper, deeper along the top of Clint's searching cock.
Enflaming my inner walls deep inside me; waves and waves of sensation, pulsating
wand counterthrusting with churning cock. His hand off my belly now and loosely
wrapped around my cock. Me fucking his fist hard, insistently.
Ohhhhhhhh, Clint! Madly finding his lips with mine and kissing deeply, the only
point of steadiness beyond captured wrists and ankles. Everything else in wild,
undulating motion, bouncing, revolving, grinding, writhing, bucking against each
other. At the center, hard, relentless, all-consuming pulsing, moving deeper and
deeper and deeper, sending bolts of intense pleasure and possession throughout
my body.
* * *
Nothing spoken between us on the initial leg of the trip to the coast the next
day. I barely could walk down to the car. Clint with that gloating,
self-satisfied demeanor. Radio blaring.
About the time we hit the South Carolina border, Clint turned the radio down.
"It's your own fault you know. I couldn't resist. And it's no more than you did
to me, you know."
I didn't respond for the longest time. But I knew he was right on all points.
Still, I turned my head toward the passenger window, trying to signal that I was
ignoring him.
But eventually I offered a begrudging. "Well, I know not to order the Surf and
Turf again."
"Yeah," Clint said with a little laugh that showed how happy he was the ice was
breaking, "That was a bit cheeky of you. Challenging me by taking both of the
options."
More miles of quiet.
"But you enjoyed it. I know you did."
"What?" Trying to put both surprise and sarcasm in my voice at the same time.
"You enjoyed it. You were screaming for it before I was finished and splattering
cream all over that expensive bedspread. The second time was your hole begging
for it."
"Hump." I planned no other reply. But, of course, he was right about that too.
Ten minutes later. "I'm hungry. Aren't you hungry, Ben? We didn't catch anything
before we left Charlotte."
"So, if we stop, what's lunch going to cost me?" A bit of anger in this
response.
"Nothing, nothing, Ben," Clint said, his voice full of hurt now. "No more of
that negotiation shit, Ben. I'll give you anything you want. No strings. You can
take whatever you want."
* * *
In Myrtle Beach now, outside the beach house my friends had rented. I took my
two duffel bags out of the back seat of the car on the driver's side and Clint
snaked his hand out of his window, caught my elbow, and brought me down to where
I had to look him in the eye.
"Don't you know what I meant back there before breakfast, Ben . . . when I said
you can have it all without strings?"
"No, Clint, I don't know what you meant," I replied, exasperated with him. "I
maybe don't really want to know what you meant."
"Get back in the car, Ben. I'll take you to the best beach hotel here in Myrtle
Beach. Stay with me. Everything I have is yours. I want you to stay with me."
"Good-bye, Clint," I managed to say, although it came out a bit strangled. "It's
been really educational, but . . ."
"It's been the best God damn sex you'll ever get, Ben. I'm offering you the best
of everything, not just money, but the best damn cocking you'll ever have. Stay
with me, Ben. I want you; I need you."
"See you in the gym, Clint. I need to go find my friends and get the key to this
dump." I pulled away from him. I had to go now, or I wasn't sure I ever would.
Clint called out to me as I started working my way around the house, scanning
the sand for a familiar figure. "I'll be at Marriott's Grande Dunes for the next
three nights if you change your mind, Ben."
"The Grand Dunes," I muttered under my breath as I kept shuffling through the
sand. "About the most expensive hotel on the strand. It figures."
* * *
Two godawful days later discovering just how disgusting and juvenile my friends
were, I was standing in an elevator and punching a number hard.
Clint opened the door to me, and his smile broaden to take up the whole doorway
and his eyes started to glisten up.
"I'm no freeloader, Clint," I said through clinched teeth. "I came by to pay for
my breakfast the other morning. Don't have much money with me, though."
"Don't worry, Ben," Clint said. "Come on in. We'll think of some sort of trade."
He was already unbuttoning my shirt.
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