by Cattus Politterarum

 

Bobby pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the tallest tower silhouetted against the sky, moonlight reflecting from what was left of the windows.

He texted it to Lucas:

Bobby_Miller [9:38PM]
Proof

The reply dots churned instantly:

LucasHottie [9:39PM]
you’re not even inside yet
and you have to stay til dawn
if you want to feel this inside

Lucas followed his last text with a dick pic. A really good dick pic. He was hard, his left hand wrapped around a beautiful thick shaft. There was a pearly drop of precum oozing from the slit. Bobby licked his lips unconsciously, then laughed at himself for being so thirsty.

But he wasn’t the only thirsty one, was he? Had Lucas been jacking himself, waiting for Bobby to text? That was pretty hot.

One of the boards under the porch gave a little, with a groan so sharp it was almost a crack. But the rest were firm under his feet. He nudged one of the loose boards in the doors out of the way, turned sideways, and slipped inside. It was utterly dark. The moon lit a narrow swath of threadbare carpet; beyond its borders he could see nothing.

He took another pic, looking back through the door at the moonlit patch of grass between the house and the trees.

Bobby_Miller [9:42PM]
Inside

Lucas replied immediately.

LucasHottie [9:42PM]
til sunrise tho
#goals

Then he blessed Bobby with a second dick pic. Cradling his heavy balls this time.

And then the battery indicator on his phone turned red.

“What the fuck?”

His startled voice was very loud in the empty house. His phone had been almost fully charged, and now it was at 20%. And now it was 15%. 10%. And then it died, before he could even put it into low power mode.

He set his backpack down, and pulled the big flashlight out. He flipped the switch. Nothing. He fumbled for the charge pack and plugged it into his phone. Seemed like that was dead too.

Bobby vaguely remembered hearing somewhere that the Earth’s magnetic field had local variations, and he knew magnetism and electricity were tied up. So maybe the hill was on top of some ore deposit, and that had zapped his battery?

Whatever, it seemed like his plan to spend the first hour or two listening to an audiobook was a no-go.

But his eyes were adjusting to the light, and gradually he began to make out shapes. A lighter patch rising from eye-height to his left was probably wall, and the dark blob under it was some kind of furniture. A couch, maybe. To the right was more wall, more furniture. And ahead were stairs.

The highest tower had lots of windows, right? If he could find his way up there, that would be better than spending the night in this gloomy cavern.

Bobby left the dim radiance behind as he climbed the stairs.

Based on the shape of the house, he expected halls stretching to either side, and deeper into the house. The tower was set back from the facade; so the stairs up to it must be toward the back as well.

He scuffled slowly at an angle across the floor until his outstretched hand found something solid. Flat, faintly ridged under his fingertips, slightly clammy. 

Ancient wallpaper, he told himself, trying not to visualize spiders scuttling along the wall inches from his hand.

He swallowed and forced himself to sidle down the dark hallway. He tested each step before he committed his weight.

Cock. Lucas’s huge, gorgeous cock would make this all worth it.

It was dark enough to confuse his brain. He kept thinking he almost saw a looming shape. So he got pretty close to the door before he was sure it was really there.

But it was, a bump of molding under his hand, then wood, dry and rough. And at his feet, a barely-there bar of light from under it. He could actually see his shoes.

If there was light in the room it must have a window. If he opened the door, there’d be at least a little more light in the hall.

His fingers found a metal plate, shockingly cold, and the curve of a doorknob.

There was no reason not to open a door to an empty room in an empty house. There was nothing to be frightened of, except falling through the floor and breaking his fool neck.

He gripped the knob, and turned his wrist. It resisted at first. Locked, Bobby thought, simultaneously relieved and annoyed at himself for being relieved. But then it gave, suddenly, and the door flew out of his hand, like the pressure in the hall was much higher than inside the room.

It was much brighter inside than Bobby expected, not moonlight-through-clouds bright, electric light bright. After minutes in utter darkness it was overwhelming, almost painful. Bobby blinked frantically, tears flooding his eyes. 

“Well, hello there!” said a voice. The voice sounded male, a rumbly baritone. And amused.

Bobby still couldn’t see. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he gasped out. “I didn’t know anyone lived here.”

“Oh, we don’t live here,” the voice said. “Lucas dared you to spend the night, didn’t he?”

“You know Lucas?” Bobby could see the speaker now, a little bit. Sitting on a couch on the other side of the room. A big man, muscular, nude apart from close-fitting black briefs and ankle-length boots. But his eyes weren’t working right yet, because the man looked green.

A gravely chuckle. “Oh, we know Lucas, all right.”

“Carnally.” This was a second voice, female, Bobby thought. A growly, lascivious contralto.

“You can call me Frank,” said the first voice.

Bobby had never been in any doubt about his sexuality. The first time someone defined “gay,” he felt a sense of recognition and relief. But still, back in high school, the first time he’d seen Peter Hinwood in The Rocky Horror Picture Show had been a defining moment. That. I want that.

Maybe it was because Bobby had been creeping around — okay, he could admit it — a spooky old house, but Frank reminded Bobby a lot of Rocky in that classic flick. The thong, the booties. The glossy short bowl-cut. The muscles. Mostly the muscles.

And Frank was actually green, Bobby realized as his eyes adjusted. An olive shade, with rude stitches criss-crossing his delicious form. His hair was a brighter shade, and two metal bolts protruded from his temples.

“Frankie,” said the other voice. She was sitting next to Frank, and costumed to match, with the addition of a bikini top straining to contain her breasts.

Well. It wasn’t quite Halloween yet, but some folks went all-in on Spooky Season right from the first of October.

“I’m Bobby.”

Frank nodded, like he already knew that.

“Those are, uh, those are some outfits,” Bobby added.

Frank grinned. His teeth were dyed too, a yellow so deep it was almost orange. “This old thing?” He shrugged, showing off rippling musculature to very good advantage. “You, on the other hand, look a little overdressed.”

Bobby stepped into the room, and the door banged shut behind him, making him jump. “Neat trick,” he managed.

Frank and Frankie exchanged a sly grin.

“So when Lucas dared me to spend the night—”

“He was daring you to let yourself be our toy,” Frankie said.

Bobby glanced around the room. He was on the second floor, so he couldn’t really call it a dungeon, but it was outfitted like one. Gym mats on the floor, a Saint Andrew’s cross against one wall, a classic black leather bondage horse to one side. A playroom, then. Bobby swallowed. He was no stranger to group fun, or rough fun. He was happily very switch, and Frank looked delectable either to top or be topped by. But he was unsure about having a woman in the mix.

But then Frankie pulled her bikini briefs to the side, revealing a very respectable cock. It was as green as the rest of her. Okay, I think I can get with this.

“Overdressed,” Frankie repeated.

Bobby had dressed for comfort on a chilly night, not to seduce. Windbreaker, chamois shirt, his rattiest jeans. On the other hand, he’d harbored a hope that Lucas might show up to spend the night with him, so he’d prepared for the possibility butt play. He set his backpack down, and shrugged out of the jacket. It was very warm in the room, actually. He unbuttoned his shirt slowly, making a bit of a show of it.

Frankie pumped her cock as she watched. Her eyes were wide under the freaky red-tinted contact lenses they both wore. They really commit to the bit!

Bobby slid his shirt down his arms, and tossed it on top of his jacket. He unbuckled his belt.

Frank pulled his cock out of his thong, and stroked it as he watched.

Bobby paused to peel off his undershirt.

Frank and Frankie smiled approvingly as they slowly jacked themselves.

Bobby kicked off his boots before he pushed his jeans down. He fondled himself through his own briefs. He was completely hard already.

“C’mere and suck me, Bobby,” Frankie ordered.

Bobby was a little leery about getting a mouthful of green makeup, but he did as he was told and knelt in front of her. It couldn’t be toxic, right? Her cock was slick against his tongue, surprisingly cool. A toy? No. It just tasted like regular cock, meaty and musky, no chemical aftertaste of makeup, and it thrummed and twitched eagerly under his touch. She had balls, clean-shaven, also not as warm as fingers, but soft, heavy, undeniably real. Her thighs were likewise cool, almost slippery under his hands as he bobbed his head on her.

“Yes,” Frankie rumbled. “Suck that girl-cock, Bobby!”

This was hot. He was having sex with a woman, for the first time ever, and she was bigger hung than he was (just by a little bit). Frank watching just made it even hotter.

And then Frank got up from the couch, and tugged Bobby’s briefs down. “Green, yellow, red,” he said. “Yes?”

Bobby nodded on Frankie’s shaft. “Mm-hmm.”

“And if your mouth is occupied, squeeze once for yellow, twice for red.” Frank dribbled some lube onto Bobby’s asshole, and pushed one cold finger in, then two.

Oh fuck, yes!

Bobby sucked Frankie enthusiastically as Frank frigged his ass.

He thought she might want to come down his throat, but no. “Is he ready for me, husband?”

Bobby heard the smile in the green man’s voice. “I believe he is, wife!”

Bobby let himself be nudged into the position Frank and Frankie wanted, on his hands and knees. Frankie crouched over him and Frank knelt in front of him. He opened his mouth, and Frank filled it. His dick was just as weirdly cool as his wife’s, but even bigger, too big to suck comfortably. Bobby loved it. He moaned happily around Frank’s cock, urging the man to really fuck his mouth.

Frankie pulled his cheeks wide, spat once on his hole, then pushed herself in.

She gave him only a little time to adjust to her girth before she started to fuck him in earnest.

Bobby loved a good spit roast. When it was just right, he felt almost irrelevant, a human bumper car between two people who were really fucking each other. He loved to be bucked back and forth by thrusts in his mouth and his ass. Frank and Frankie used him thoroughly, perfectly. Frankie didn’t reach down to jerk him, she fucked him with no regard for his pleasure. It was so hot. He could almost get off on it.

They both grunted as they vigorously fucked him and he groaned ecstatically.

“How’s that ass, wife?”

“His ring is so tight, it’s fantastic.”

“Let’s switch.”

Bobby squeezed the big man’s thigh once, because his one A2M experience hadn’t been great. But then Frank reached down, grabbed his dick, and, impossibly, rotated it in Bobby’s mouth. Frankie’s penis, likewise, swiveled inside his ass. Frank stood up, leaving his cock behind in Bobby’s mouth.

What the fuck!?

Frank’s crotch was as flat as a Ken doll’s, only there was a threaded metal ring, a few inches wide, that his cock had clearly clamped on to.

He moved out of Bobby’s sight, and Frankie came into view, although Bobby’s ass was still full of her cock. Like Ken, she had a metal ring between her legs. Not a vagina, not an orifice. An … attachment point.

She knelt in front of Bobby and snapped Frank’s cock into place. “Ever hear that old ’90s song?” she asked with a wink.

“Detachable penis,” Frank sing-songed. Bobby felt Frankie’s cock turn within his butt again as Frank clamped it on.

I’m high, I must be high, Bobby thought wildly. They dosed me, somehow?

Then they started fucking him again, and there was no more thinking.

Bobby went deeper into sub-space than he usually did. The cocks churned in his mouth and ass, emptying and filling him over and over. His lips and his asshole were cock-receptacles, there for the use and pleasure of these green-skinned freaks. He was a good sub. He wouldn’t gag, wouldn’t flinch. He’d take, take, take, thrust after thrust, until he claimed his reward.

Frankie’s motions got more spasmodic.

“Yes, wife,” Frank’s voice was even huskier, thick with lust. “Feed him. Feed him!”

Frankie stiffened. “Yes,” she ground out. “I’m coming, love. Coming!”

This was impossible, really impossible, because there hadn’t been any plumbing for the dick to connect to, but the cock in Bobby’s mouth was pulsing. Her cock was too far down his throat for Bobby to taste her, but he felt her jizz sliding down his throat, thick and gloppy, and as oddly lukewarm as the rest of her.

He slurped and sucked as she spasmed, and finally tasted the familiar musk when she withdrew. She rocked back on her heels, her weird red eyes glittering as she watched Frank pound Bobby. “Cream his ass, husband! Let me see you cream his ass!”

His wife’s words pushed the big man over the edge. His thick fingers grasped Bobby’s waist roughly as he sheathed himself all the way. “Coming,” he grated. “I’m coming in his ass, wife!”

Bobby felt Frank’s – or was it still Frankie’s? — shaft throbbing in his hole as the man obeyed his wife’s command.

Finally, Frank pulled himself out. He and his wife sagged against the couch, heavy-lidded, breathing raggedly. After the intense double-fuck, Bobby was dizzy too. A little respite was welcome, even though he hadn’t come yet. He lay down on the mat.

He closed his eyes just for a second, or so he thought. His eyes opened to near total darkness. What the fuck?! He could only just make out the one window, high and small, a trapezoid of midnight on black.

“Frank?” he called unsteadily. “Frankie?”

There was no response.

It wasn’t a hallucination. The taste of come was still on his tongue, his asshole was still tingling pleasantly. He was so hard it was literally painful, his balls aching, and the room reeked of sex.

He fumbled around on the mat for his backpack and clothes. He bumped his head several times, and eventually found the door, but not any of his stuff. Frank or Frankie must have taken my bag and my clothes.

Gradually his eyes adjusted until he could make out the shapes in the room, the bondage horse, the couch, a menacing glitter from the rings on the cross.

He also found a rack on the wall by the door. A leather strop with a smooth polished handle felt good in his hand, so he took it. I may be naked, but I’m not defenseless.

He opened the door and eased back into the hall.

Bobby didn’t think Lucas or his strange friends would really strand him here. His clothes, his phone, his wallet would be somewhere in the house. The tower was as good a place as any to look for them as well as to wait out the night, he reasoned. If he had to, he’d look for his stuff in the morning, when it was light.

He moved more boldly now, despite the dark. Frank and Frankie sure hadn’t worried about the state of the floorboards.

Eventually he stubbed his toe on something. A step. He’d found a staircase, at the back end of the hall, a spiral climbing up. A hand rail, the metal so cold it stung a little. As he climbed he started to rationalize what he’d experienced: Frankie is probably a cis woman, and Frank is transmasc. They were wearing skintight suits with built-in strap-on harnesses – that’s why their skin felt cold and slick. The dildos must have reservoirs in the testes, with squeeze bulbs or something.

He even mostly believed it.

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