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Other Lifeguard Stories:

Don't Fuck With the Lifeguard

Fucking With the Lifeguard

Merry Fucking Christmas, Chad!

Special thanks to DukeFerret, Psydrosis, and Cardigan for proofreading!

---

Nightswimming with the Lifeguard

The wolves are out tonight and you're basically naked, what's that mean to a horny bag of bones like you? What's your code? What's your trick? How 'bout another bite on the neck? Slap on the wrist? Slap on the ass? Keep running, motherfucker. 'Cause when the clock struck twelve, and your heart skipped rope, and the grass cut deep, and the cattails broke, that horde of shrieks made pennywhistles in the distance, but you still double checked your six every seven, eight seconds, nothing but air, trees, worry, ache, lust, stop, turn. Do those woods look dark enough? Deep enough to let the mind explode? That's locker room talk. Somebody should've blown the whistle before that train left the station, but what's done is done, so you bit the bullet and kept the shorts from getting loose, 'cause with a body like that, you've got a lot more than wolves to outrun.

You made it to the concrete; good shit. Sweat dripped down tight lips; kept 'em shut, somebody's always listening. The hymns of the night were a lot softer. Long neighborhood. Open fields. Porch lights. Stars, visible. Broken roads. Anxiety seeped through the cracks; shh. Wasn't the time. Those swim trunks 'round your legs were the only thing you had left, two shades bluer than the indigo night. Two stories, lit windows, seemed like the locals were enjoying the summer. Tiptoes. Not the safest place, but it sure beats that suburban clusterfuck of eyeballs looking to open. At least, it did for now.

Blankets of grass cushioned your steps as you softened your pace, wanting, needing, begging for a breather. No time to stop. No time to fuck around. Though you shivered as the milky breeze caressed your fur. You watched silhouettes in the windows pass by, if not only to feel that rush, that danger, that gesture, that underlying fear turned to gold. A twitch rattled your shorts, and your nipples were hard; not from the cold. Of course you had a thing for this. Down beneath the black horizon dawned the next decadent wave of Cantanka Beach rolling in to separate you from your trunks....

Sparks flashed your brain, mimicking the little twinkle coming down the road. Ducked down, you ran away, throwing yourself under a lit window as the headlights sped on by. Wait. Wait. For a hair's length, the _splittest_of seconds, you rose, but a long, shadowy figure stretched in the yellow box and startled you back on your ass. And he lingered there. Was it already too late? Its arms reached to the top right corner and down fell the shade, one body part eclipsed at a time, before the now-pale orange shone like a green light waiting for you.

You made your way back onto the road, back in the open, back to the worry. How many times were you going to have to do that? As if slumber was a good assumption in times like these. The thought alone scared you. You looked at the soil. These anthills have eyes. They kill the lights and leave the windows curtain-free. They go to sleep and leave the driveway camera sweeping. They diet and opt for a midnight snack on the freeway-not you. Wouldn't that be nice? Shut it. You got a mind full of lust and the poison's only sinking in the longer you think about it.

Oh shit. Someone had opened their door, just at the house you rested by before. You threw yourself in the shadow of a tree. One eye around the branches. Just some tabby cat in knickers getting a package off the front porch. Guess he had some better things to do that morning. You looked at the sheet of light at the ground fading fast, that border just an inch from the edge of your foot. That inch of time highlighting how fucked you'd be had you been a minute too late.

Jogging now. R.E.M. Breathing: agony; God, you needed a moment to rest. The thing about rest: the world never does it. What else had you missed? Crickets. Cicadas. Snap of a twig. Upper window, you thought a crowd was laughing, but it was just a sitcom. You got something to admit?

Oh, great. Now you were tenting. Can't go thirty steps past a single house without getting ideas? That movement in the curtains got you thinking of somebody in their place. What's your preference? Like 'em buff? Like 'em soft? Anybody you wanted. That burning, masculine eye through the veil of uncertainty. Suddenly the thought of getting caught wasn't so worrisome. One more look back. Nobody there. Is that what you call "safe"?

Two cars. Both ways. Seconds slipped. Luck struck like gold that flooded from a nearby garage. No camera. Jackpot. You leapt in it no problem. Weak legs collapsed in a criss-cross position as you brought your head to thighs. Breathed in. Out. Tough. Hard. It felt good. Maybe not "good". But a little better.

On the side of the wall hung a trenchcoat. You grabbed it and wrapped it around you. Draped past your feet like a cape. Finders keepers, right?

And the lights turned off. You paused. Behind you. Metal clink. Moonlight seeped on the threshold of the garage. Underneath the car, you saw the judging eye of a bald crocodile head poking out. Late night mechanic work. . As he climbed out, the sight of his bowling ball shoulders took you by surprise, as though everything was toned to perfection: shoulders, arms, legs crawling out to loom over you. You freaked out and ran past him, one hand snagging onto your-his-coat, pulling it all off in one go, though you had less than a second to process it as you bolted back into the town.

Running like the last chance, thunderous footsteps behind like a bat to the clock, bats startled from their trees, eyelids batting as you looked for cover, looking back, the shade still covering his face as it sank to texture his massive body, where was there to go? What did it matter? What did he care? Didn't. Matter. Have to. Rest. Remember?

Steel fence ahead, a barricade, a poor one; you vaulted over it, feet first on the concrete patio, running past the lawn chairs, looking for cover, for anything, the pool, the pool, fuck, he might just be crazy enough, what other option existed but that, plunging to the cold abyss that plumed through your trunks, body, taking your breath away.

Dark inside as it was outside. Your heart beat so hard it added to the bubbles rising up. White designs, all around, all like eyes, incomprehensible-

Shh.

Shh.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Hear the:

Thump. Thump.

On the.

Edge.

Giant.

Shadow.

Cast.

Heart is.

Thudding.

Waves.

Thump. Thump.

Rippled.

Toothy.

Grin.

Body.

Freezes.

Up.

Thump. Thump.

_ _ Breath is.

Bubbled.

Mass.

Lungs are.

Brittle.

Bags.

Thump. Thump.

Eyelids.

Heavy.

Sheaths.

Conscious.

Fading.

Fast.

Wait.

Thumping.

Fades.

Start to.

Sink.

Panic.

Sets.

Have to.

Swim.

Have to.

Breathe.

Stop.

Wait.

There's the:

Thump. Thump.

Somewhere

Else.

Cannot.

See the.

Light.

Shadow's.

Closing.

In.

Coming.

From the.

Other.

Side!

The water ruptured, tossed and turned, shorts barely knocked off, the last of your breath just a wisp of nighttime air, and back you fell! You thrashed your arms, thrashed your legs, any knowledge of swimming thrown immediately cast aside. All that mattered was the escape, but it was too late for that as two arms locked around your chest, pinning you to his massiveness, a torso three times your size hauling you all the way to the top. Sound broke and you gulped in air, so he clasped over your mouth, a window between his fingers for your nose.

And he kind of chuckled at you for a bit, deep, baritone, Mariana Trench style eardrum massage-without the dread. No hard feelings, maybe. Why? Was it. How you. Sank into him so quickly? No. Those meaty arms. That "plus" on his wet muscle shirt. That wide snout. This was that lifeguard everybody talked about. Chad Groker. Weird shit always happened around him. He could've squashed you if he wanted to. Called the cops. Sued. Nope. You were special.

So you nuzzled around in that flesh prison, the smooth, yet bumpy code of his muscle-scale pillows glossed with nectar calming you down quickly. And he seemed to accept you, himself. He hugged you tighter-just an inch-just to show you where your place is. Then he let your mouth go, letting you purr as he let his free hand do a little searching. Pretty warm for a cold blooded reptilian stud. The feel of his breath across your cheek, his presence over your shoulder, his inspection on your chest. All while the house before you stayed dark through the screen door, a couch sitting in front of the TV neat enough for sex.

Nah. That's stupid. Besides, the water was warm enough. You felt him loosen his grip. You shifted around. Faced him. Eyes. He got the drift of it. Those sausage-sized digits started searching through your ribs, belly, waist. Prodding at your body like a voodoo doll, controlling you, every one of your giggles met with a crocodile hand to shut you up, just for a second, then back again, just to see you squirm. You swiveled your hips and ground them into the thick bulge in his shorts. What you'd give to see that smirk through the shade. That confirmation you're just the fucktoy he needs. But he had other ideas. You felt his touch slow down. An inch at a time, he turned you on your back, took one of your arms in his hand and made a windmill with it. Then, he did the same with the other one. One after the other. You started kicking your legs. He was teaching you to swim.

Took a couple minutes to get the insult. Oh well. This was kind of his job, after all. Was it? Who cares. You were more distracted by the way he stood straight up in the deep end. The way that somewhat-caring aura contrasted with his Rorschach mantra: the longer you stared, the more sense of it you made on your own. Isn't that right? Easier when you were floating like a cloud of mist. Hot as one, too, the bump in your shorts growing to a full out tent to top it off.

You found yourself gripping the wall, legs bent to its lower section. Ass out. You shook it and gave him that slick look, so he slapped it back; bad form for a bad bitch. Tough luck that wasn't the last thing he had in store for you.

As you pushed off, the space around your legs got lighter, rushes of water over your bare legs, bare pelvis. Something wasn't right. Your trunks had fallen off. Then you saw them in his hand, high enough to block out a constellation or two. Could hardly see his face, but you could guess what he was thinking. You swam back over to him and tried to jump for it, but he just raised them higher, up, down, up, down, that nocturnal chuckle taunting you for even trying. Whimpering, you kept jumping higher and higher, but it was music to his ears as the red trunks waved like your very own white flag in the sky.

Humiliated enough? Only then did it ever hit you just how tall this guy was. Twice your size, at least. After a few minutes he got bored and just gripped your head and dunked you down below sea level. That's just what he does. But judging by that obvious boner, you were okay with that. Luckily there was a snake growing in his pants, too. The thick head touched your thigh. Heh. Apparently the both of you were worked up.

You brought a hand to his chest.

Then you were at his lips.

His free hand searched your front.

Water dripped.

Cold night air, nipples hard.

Then, you were pinching his.

His arm torpedoed underwater,

and his hand

snapped around that ass,

and that lucid, astral gaze,

said it all:

_"Mine." _

The light in the house flicked on behind you; Chad instantly dunked you underwater, dropping your trunks. You came up cheek-to-cheek with him, his arm around your hip, an inch above the edge of the water as you watched. There. Behind the screen door. A TV was on with the sports channel, the recliner in front of it back, thirty degrees. One ragged, grey wolf arm rested in it, remote in hand looking to control the whole fate of the night. Reading glasses. Could've sworn you saw your reflection in them. Both of you, even. Anybody could have called it quits right there. Then again, nobody would ever get this far. When would be the part when they would stop? The garage? The strip scene? Hell, who were we even talking about? This was you. Feel that grip on his hip. That skinny dip. That eager touch down his clean-cut abs through his shirt. Fuck backtracking. You knew damn well what you were here for.

So, you let yourself sink, feeling Chad's grip loosen. He wanted it. You wanted it. Couldn't see his underwear, but his cock was thick beneath it. You felt it up. Hand traveled down his shaft. Found the head at the hip. Damn. You circled your thumb around it and traced around his V-cut, prodding his sharp hip bones, before they slipped into the nape of his boxers, resting your cheek on the bulge as the fabric slipped further, further, undeterred by the friction of the water, cave of the Loch Ness Monster and its two boulders showed its hand.

Gravity and water both brought his slick cock up to greet your nose. You fondled his warm, hulking balls as the croc thrust his hips, his huge penis rubbing against your face as it somehow grew longer by the second. Just nuzzling that shaft brought your throat to shame. You'd have to be a special kind of slut to take the next part. It takes one to know one.

You let your lips engulf his tip. He pushed down on your head. Following suit, you hugged in his legs, sucking that cock, warming his cold meat with your tight mouth as its still-hardening state further crammed into what little space you had. Better watch the teeth. But you kept your eyes closed for this dick. Bubbles escaped your nose, but you could hold on. One breath was all you needed.

His pre-cum dotted the back of your throat as he pushed even further. Above, you swear you heard a sigh. You felt up his thigh muscles, smoothing closer to his cock, until you had one of each testicle in the palms. You did it now. He thrust forward, everything he had, that thick cock in your mouth swishing your entire body back until you smashed into the smooth wall. You gave a muffled grunt as he pumped and skewered your head, lump in your throat, your mouth a fucktoy, the yellow glow highlighting his navel as if it were a deer in headlights a mile away from you. Choking, fuzzy, you could do nothing but stare, fascinated.

Like a dream. Soundless. Head bumping. Interval of sex. Champion. Your heart thudded, and that thick meat pipe was looking to give it a high-five. Saliva mixed with water; nothing but lube. And that dick just kept sliding, and your muscles started twitching, crazed, your whole body knowing what's next to come. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as he started rocking your body in just the right way.

Rough groan.

Pipe burst.

Deep throat.

Mind haze.

Furnace lights.

There it went.

Drowning in cum;

Literally.

And it kept pumping.

And he kept cumming.

And your lungs pleaded.

But not yet.

Not now.

Not before you gulped

down

every

last

drop.

And when you were done, he hoisted you to the surface by the shoulders. Then he pushed you to his lips, and breathed into your throat, filling your lungs with new life while the taste of his own medicine danced between your mouths and down your chins. Woozy and blurry, you couldn't help but smile. When his eyes finally became clear, you gave him a wink, drawing your tongue across your lips, grinding your hard cock against his abs, feeling the head surge across the grooves of his scales. Inside, the TV crowd screamed. Heh. Touchdown.

He forced you to the edge, facing the screen door: that push-off position. Only this time, your thighs belonged to him. Both of them snug in his hands, he graced the tip of his cock on your tight hole and rubbed it in, teasing you. You side eyed him, watching him stare hungrily at your ass, his tongue slipping across his lips, a drop of cum collected on the tip. And like the blowjob, it didn't last long. He wrapped his hands around your waist and slid you onto his long, hard cock.

It was electric. The ambiance, the crickets shouting secrets, the _plap-plap-plaps_muffled as he filled your ass with dominance. You grit your teeth, taking his massiveness, fingertips gritty with the ground before it as you gripped hard on that pool wall. One eye open, squinted. The TV inside was off. The wolf had risen from his chair, stretching out, walking to a picture on the countertop, probably of someone special. Unaware of the bliss you felt as the pain within your rectum slowly turned to pleasure.

Beyond all that, a glimmer of headlights shreened across the road, shooting once behind the house, twice into the dead of night. Your heart raced. If they only knew what they were missing. Then you heard something else, rising in the distance. Sirens.

A meaty, scaly hand made that ass ripple, drops of water trickling on your back like foreshadowing. Grunting hard (but not too hard) he grabbed your hips in both hands and pulled, one inch at a time, feeling you shiver as he sank your body down to the base. Breath was inert. Your legs twitched, flexed; he thought it was hot. The tension in your stomach was melted chocolate, the unassuming cars passing in the background, and the telephone rang in the kitchen even though no one should be calling at this hour. You didn't care. You'd hoped they'd snuck a pic. And if they saw how far your ass had stretched for that crocodile cock, they'd make this shit a pool party in no time.

And with another thrust out, he kept fucking you silly, a squeak finally escaping your muzzle. Too much. He shut that up quick as he held you in place, pounding and pounding away. In your pleasure, you saw the wolf inside put down the frame. Hand on the wall. Hand on your ass. Gripping it tight. Claws poking. Wasn't. Long. Now.

Hissing, he pulled you all the way down his length, thirteen inches of dick deep inside you as he unleashed enough semen to refill this whole pool. And he kept pumping, hissing every time he pulled away, that huge penis raging with pleasure in your not-so-tight hole. He could feel what was coming next. Feel it in the way that you shivered, those cute moans leaking from between his fingers. Though you were on your way to warning him about the raging in your own cock. He knew. He was prepared.

He flipped over to your back and he slammed his mouth to your dick, down to the base, sucking you as you blasted in spurts. Your eyes rolled back as you lost all composure. That fire, that wide, predatory tongue, that massive maw guiding through between your thighs so not a single drop would spill made you fighting to keep your moans down; GOD, it felt good. Your leg kicked above the water and splashed loudly back down.

That's when his eyes went up.

Chad instantly seized you and threw you back down under, knowing exactly what it meant. Down. Below the pool lights. Down. Down. Chad sat on the ground, you in his lap. You shuddered. Goosebumps; a little too used to holding your breath. You know what's next. Thump. Thump.

There. Above. Column of light. Flashlight. Watchtower; left. Right. Left. Right. Rippled ceiling. Specks of dirt. He's right there. Watching. Waiting. Lips shut. No tell-tales.

And that heart wouldn't stop racing. The trunks were at your ankles. Feet up. Nape of the britches, ascending. You tried to bring it in, but they slid to your heel. Chad's grip flexed. All it took was one bubble.

Though it didn't matter.

The flashlight went off.

Relief.

Peace.

...Peace?

....Relief.

...

...

...

Chad was just about to bring you up when you heard a dragging sound from the far end. The stars were disappearing left to right. Your mind raced as you realized that was the pool cover blocking out the rest of the sky.

And at the same time, the pool lights went black, plunging you into darkness. Your breath was wearing thin. Finally, you heard it: _Thump. Thump. _

Not waiting for the screen door cue, Chad pushed off, taking you, and headed left. You could hear his claws scrape against the side of the pool as he felt his way to the staircase. The world returned as he peeled back that edge and hauled you back into the dead of night.

There's that cold shower after the bath. Ran a little further than the chest. Stomach. Legs. Penis. No trunks. Meanwhile, Chad raked his hands through his scales, slicking every last drop of water down into the pool. He extended his leg to the lawn chair, heaving the rest of his body with it. He did the same to the next one, inching closer to the gate door. His arms suddenly whirled, but he recovered. Then he finally touched the ground at the grassy soil near the gate. He looked at you and nodded his head towards the gate.

Red-blue horizon. The world, a mirror: the sky, the houses, the spooky branches.

The crocodile glared impatiently beyond the fence.

No.

Couldn't.

Had to go.

Back in the pool.

Stingray, dark inside and out, you swept the bumpy floor for a glimpse, a brush, a hint of fabric, guiding your salvation. Something by the pinkie. You swished, felt water, felt dread, rushed in the direction for a second glimpse. Grabbed that as fast as you could, you felt for the wall and followed it quickly, finally making it back to the staircase.

The sirens were screams by the time you emerged, and Chad was a green dot in the distance. You hopped the fence and ran after him. Ran as fast as you possibly could. Didn't even bother to put the trunks on. There was no need. Had to get away. Can't let them see. Get away. Get away.

Those police cars ate your dust as they parked at the house, the cops jogging out to the fence with their flashlights out. To the woods lay an exit but you thought twice; that chase would kill a motherfucker. That garage looked kinda nice, though. Not for long. The door was closing. Respite's end, you freaked out, double time on the pace, ignoring the pain, lightning across his lawn, that gray curtain of tranquility scrolling halfway down before you started crouching, arms first, pushed off, breath held one more time as moonlight turned to fluorescent yellow, the door shutting behind you, slamming by your soles.

You collapsed. What is an escape but the beginning to another chase? Could hardly tell apart from the pool water and the sweat. You opened your eyes to the glare of an angry croc bully; not a great sign. He picked you up by the neck and heaved you to the small square window in the garage door, facing you to the trail of wet footprints you left behind in the driveway.

Then he stormed back into the house, locking the door behind him. You heard a whooshing outside. The sprinkler system was turned on, right as he emerged. Picking up one of the sprinklers, making sure to look twice, he hauled it to the driveway, spraying it all with its water to cover over the footsteps. Constantly checking his six, he painted it from end to end before he threw it back into the yard, ran back inside, and turned them all off.

Fine. Fine. Everything was going to be-

Nope. There had to be footprints by the pool, too. Right to the gate. That sharp, metal gate. You checked to see if there was blood on your hands. Just a metaphor. The garage light flicked off, and you took that as your cue to lay down.

You heard a car approach from outside. Front door opened. Chit-chat. You shuddered. Muffled. What did they say? Muffled. In a way, you hoped they wouldn't speak up.

Back to silence. The door to the house came open once more. In the solitary light, Chad was dressed like he'd just gotten out of bed, grey sweatpants with the old sports jersey on, couldn't make out the team. That look of intent burned a hole in your skull. Especially beyond the light of his smartphone as he stomped your direction, swiping up your trousers, turning them upside down with the knot in your stomach. The room echoed with the clangs and clatters of cardboard tubes filled with quarters and dimes smashing against the floor, paper confetti of dollar bills flowing with it. Luck ran out.

He lingered there for a moment. Well, it was more like you did. And in a way, he almost seemed to like that. So much was said in one glare before he stormed back inside, taking the trunks with him. You weren't sure if he'd come back, but he did. This time wearing tan cargo shorts and a dark green t-shirt, his trademark yellow whistle dangling from his neck from its thin string, a scarier emblem than any siren could ever make. He waved a bulky white envelope in his hand as he shut the light off with the door behind him.

The garage door opened again.

You flinched, knowing what was next.

He shoved you in the back.

And the night got cold,

no temperature change.

He smirked at you.

Poked at you.

You began to walk.

Right out the driveway.

Right towards the road.

Back the way you came.

____________________________________________________________________________

The wolves were out tonight.

They had some questions.

Like, why'd you leave the decorations up?

The shirt you left behind?

The socks? The pants?

The scattered leaves and dirt above it?

That shit looked bad enough,

right?

Why were they on the intersections?

Did you forget them on the way?

Or were you trying

to lose

somebody's

trail?

Chad picked them up, too. He didn't want the cops to get them first. Not this time. Needless to say, he took pride in your naked walk. Each consecutive street lamp lit up the progress, and he loved it all to pieces. Scowl to a smirk. Something about how that man never stayed mad, so long as you play his game. But he was never full of surprises. That was always your fault.

Wasn't it? Say it. Say it loud. The flickering stoplights knew. The empty stores and their cardboard eyes. No bugs in the ambience, only voices. You covered yourself in shame, face flushed, every now and then getting bullied by a group of leather jackets and cigarettes. Each time, Chad would wave the trunks. Let 'em laugh. Smile for the cameras. The looks on their faces were unforgettable, but they were only there to laugh. Never strike. Every time they'd pass, you'd feel him grab your ass. He's got you. But more importantly, he's going easy on you. Any moment he could spill the beans and tell them how far you can stretch. How much you could take. How desperate you were for his cock. Mercy. You ran from the shame of being caught and it left you naked and embarrassed. So say it, now. Are you proud you let this move so fast? Say it.

** Say it.**

Because the nightlife only thickened. Billboards. Night shifts. A neon-suited bar and a pack of drunkards looking to laugh their guts out on the park bench. Those confused smiles. That possum with the thumbs up. Chad's laughter grew louder to accommodate. It crossed your mind how easy he'd just push you to the sidewalk and fuck you if he could. Maybe that's what he was thinking. Maybe not. Either way, you spent that card in the pool, so you shut your mouth tight, kept that dick out of sight, and let the whole town humiliate your pathetic, naked soul.

You breathed a sigh of relief when you saw the big sign: "Cantanka Beach". A few shacks lined the border while the indigo waves crashed in the background. All the stores were dark. He brought you to the furthest one and stopped you right outside the plume of light when you saw its front door. "Surf Shack". No cameras. So you thought.

Better safe than sorry. Your face became wet and tight with the fabric of the trunks wrapped around your eyes. In your hand was the envelope, filled with all the cash you stole. Another push forward. Blindly, you walked, the sand crunching underneath your feet until you reached the end of the drive and placed the envelope down. You froze. Panic. A shiver ran down your body as you prayed: No cameras. No cameras. You kept huffing, but it wasn't from exhaustion. And you definitely waited too long. Because once you realized your dick had grown full mast, you turned one eighty degrees and started walking.

The world got darker, and at once, the trunks were whisked off your face. Tough to see him in this light, but he definitely noticed your stiffness. He turned to the other building, just a few feet off from that store, an open room where all the lockers were, sand still speckling its floors. If you could peer enough, you could just barely make out the one that was open.

No.

No, no, no.

You tried to stop him. You really did. That wasn't how these things worked. Nothing could stop him from walking under the streetlight, finally bathing himself in golden light, holding those mighty trunks up to it as he fingered his way across to the sharpied tag:

"C.G.".

Chad Groker.

He shot you a look.

You dirty pervert.

You dirty,

nasty,

sandy little pervert.

____________________________________________________________________________

Stream of thoughts, a waterfall.

Wrists tight. Rope.

Skin deep. Veins.

You know what they say:

blood runs thicker than water.

But nobody was around to wash you up. Not when your sorry ass was tied to a street light, face to face with the snarking brute who looked to leave you there. Trunks over his shoulder, palm to his chin, that same smirk glimmered in the solitary light above you, just three feet off the curb of Cantanka Beach.

Of course he didn't care. Cracked his back absently. Texted someone. Texted twice. Sighed. Hand on the chin. Nothing's more scary than a bully getting bored.

Back to texting on his phone for a bit. Then, it vibrated. He checked it. Silence came again. Not for long. Something was rising. You were getting worried. And as that malicious smile started forming, the sirens in the distance started screaming again. You shuddered. The nerves were indescribable. Especially when a car approached to the right, headlights ablaze, scaring your doors off, and when it did, it stopped short, and you shut your eyes in an instant as you waited for the worst!

Never happened. Instead, the rope untied from your hands. Chad wrapped the trunks around your nose and mouth and pulled. Tight. Almost hurt. And that's all it'd ever be. Right after, he threw out a peace sign and opened the shotgun seat, sat down and closed the door behind him. The window rolled up and obscured that cocky, smirking face, one last glimpse of the man who took your dignity and drowned it with a smile on his face. Then the car took off.

Fuck it. Fuck it! Fuck it! No time for questions! That rope was way too tight to get the trunks off. You took off running in the same direction, knowing your neighborhood was somewhere there. You had to get home. The only option was home.

____________________________________________________________________________

The wolves were out tonight, and those eyes behind the trees glowed red like flaming cameras. Sweat dripped down tight lips; not that it belonged to you, this time. Calves tight, dick hard, knees weak, gotta keep going! Every duck behind the mailboxes, the alleyways, the detours; every action counted as you trusted your directions would last you through the night!

Not a good call. That arc of teal in the horizon screamed the end. They'd all see you eventually, how'd that look on your resume? Breath was of the essence, huffed through the netted underside, that last needle at your lungs of steel for the night. And that faint smell of his dick reminded you of what he did to you. Like his fingers on his hips were birthmarks to a new beginning. Better keep that boner hidden. It was the last thing you've got to hide.

Up ahead, quickest road back home. Easy pick. Nope; siren in the distance. No chances; jumped in the recycling bin nearby. Good choice. The scream passed, and you hauled yourself out and made a break for it. Dick swinging, side to side, you ran, and the houses got more familiar, counting the numbers on their mailboxes until you found your own and felt your fears drift away.

Hissing through your teeth, your knees were getting weak. Wasn't only from the running. That whole thing was intense. Chad came twice, you were still jealous. There was still time. You saw the oak just a few feet off the doorstep and threw yourself onto it, stroking your cock right out in the open.

The wind kicked up and brought that shit to life. The camera on your house watched. One more spectator. A smile cracked over as the feeling of your cock brought satisfaction at last. The car in the distance. The moonlight still loosely present. The grass beneath your body. The car in the driveway.

A warm yellow light swept across your body, flooding in and around the tree. Whoopsie. You whined through the trunks and circled around to its sharp shadow, brought your legs in, cock throbbing, startled by the hefty car in your driveway. You held your breath. All movements were useless. This was no cop. One identity came to mind: "investigator". One last regret as the car door chunked open.

Though the engine didn't stop, headlights left on, the constant _ee-oo-ee-oo_of the car's door alarm making an unsteady bees nest in the branches. Your fingers shuddered against the floor. Footsteps were on the porch as the grass swayed in the newfound gust of wind. And they all seemed to point at you. Naked and gagged. Soon to be handcuffed. Right? And still your dick twitched at the thought of it.

The footsteps turned. You couldn't watch. But you had to. Out your peripherals. Beast at the doorstep. Trenchcoat. Hat. Brim too wide to see around it. Both, black as the sharp shadows jutted in the bark.

And he raised a fist to the door:

Knock. Knock.

No answer.

And a drip creeped down your throat.

Windpipe.

...

Gust of wind. Hard, fast.

Let your cough go.

Then stopped.

Was it quiet enough?

Curiosity burned.

You slowly turned your head around the corner, saw him bending at the mat. Slow movements. Underwater. He straightened back up, and you shook, seeing he was barely taller than the door.

And you whirled yourself back behind the tree, hearing him walk the other way. Your breath could hardly keep up with the patience it took to get this far. It was all rewarded when the curtain of dark swept back over the grass, leaving that engine rumbling back down the street, back into the aether.

There was a back door with a key under the mat waiting for you.

You sighed, relieved. Then you finished what you started, spurting all over yourself in a matter of seconds.

____________________________________________________________________________

Saturday.

The coffee helped the blow of seeing your naked body go erect on TV. Actually, they blurred it out, but the sting still lingered. At least it wasn't damning. The money was back so the case was closed, relieving the panic, for the most part. There's a lesson in there somewhere. You took a shower, fantasized about that croc again, and put on some real clothes, for once. Normal day. Normal day! What do normal people do, again?

Figured you'd start by getting the mail. Though on your first step outside, you realized underneath was something other than your welcome mat. You looked down. It was a letter.

You picked it up and brought it inside.

Right below it: an address.

A note:

"1 Week

_ You owe me"_

You were puzzled.

Until you turned it around,

and found the tiny little thong

taped to the back.

---

Thumbnail: Renekton, "Dream" by xeoniios