Date: Wed, 8 Feb 2017 01:46:54 +0000 From: Rob Armstrong <robarmstrong26@hotmail.co.uk> Subject: SPIKES BOARDING HOUSE 3 SPIKES BOARDING HOUSE: CHAPTER 3 Downtime Away from the Womenfolk THESE STORIES CONTAINS THEMES OF INCEST BETWEEN FATHERS, SONS AND/ OR GRANDSONS, WATERSPORTS AND DOMINATION. THESE CHARACTERS EXIST IN AN AIDS FREE, CONSEQUENCE FREE, FANTASY PARALLEL UNIVERSE AND ARE NOT TO BE EMULATED. THE AUTHOR IN NO WAY CONDONES UNDERAGE OR NON-CONSENSUAL SEX - THE ACTS HERE REPRESENT MERE FANTASY AND, IF ACTED UPON IN THE REAL WORLD, WOULD DESTROY LIVES AND NOTHING LESS. PLEASE SUPPORT NIFTY WITH YOUR DONATIONS AND KEEP THIS INCREDIBLE RESOURCE GOING. NB: See 'Spike's Piercing Parlour' series, November 24th 2012 and 'Spikle's Diaries' series, August 28th 2016 The author would like to thank the producers of FX's series, 'AHS: Hotel' as well as the creator of the gay sex tumblr 'The Lodging House' for inspiring this new series. Spike's Boarding House: Chapter Three: Downtime Away from the Womenfolk A few minutes later, Cleetus was showing Brian and his dad into 13, their room for the night. 'And you fellas get the only private bathroom in the place!' he exclaimed proudly, indicating the inner door. 'So, you're all set. I'll leave you to get comfortable.' Brian was far too freaked out about what had just happened down in the lobby to worry how shabby the place was. He threw their bags on the kingsize before he noticed the obvious. 'Shit. There's only one bed.' His dad, on the other hand, was full of cheery fascination. 'Brian, come on over to the window and see.' Their room overlooked the rear of the property and they had an uninterupted view of the mountains. It was not those, however, that had caught Rick's attention, but the small, dilapidated shanty town that lay between. Rusty brown lean-tos and shacks littered the land just before the treeline, not 50 yards away. 'This is mining country, son,' Rick expounded, 'and I'm prepared to wager that out there is a piece of history - the remains of an old miners' community.' He peered out from side to side. 'So I guess somewheres around here there has to be old coal workings, huh?' Normally a ruined ghost town would have fascinated Brian equally, but just now he was more concerned about Dad's extremely atypical behaviour. The man seemed to have no idea that a few scant minutes earlier he had cum in his shorts in front of his own son and a total stranger. 'Erm... Dad... don't you think you should change outta your shorts?' 'Hmm? ' At last Rick took in the dark stain at his crotch. 'Oh dammit, willya lookit that - spilt my soda in the car!' Really? That's what he remembered? Neither of them had drunk a soda today. And what was more, the Alsteads were a pretty liberal but buttoned-up kinda family - since when did Dad ever wear his shirt undone? Yet suddenly the top three buttons left his polo agape to mid-chest, a forest of salt and pepper fur on proud display in unaccustomed fashion. Still, they were broth pretty strung out from all the driving they'd shared. And at least he was dealing with it now. As Rick dropped the messed up shorts and retrieved his spare pair from his bag. Brian couldn't help noticing that Dad had stained his boxer briefs even worse - a fact which Rick himself seemed oblivious to as he drew on the replacements over them. Brian sure as hell wasn't going to point it out to his old man, he was weirded out enough by all this. Instead he headed into the bathroom for some alone time. He neeeded to take a dump anyway... To his dismay the place was straight out of the museum of skank, a horror of cracked green tile and obsolete fittings. The john lacked a seat and looked like it belonged in one of the dirtier truck stops. A rusty looking cistern was mounted above it, high on the wall, worked by an even rustier looking chain. The bath was an ancient enamel tub with brass plumbing that was so outdated it almost had a steampunk cool. Brian supposed that a crowd of hardworking country boys weren't too particular about such things and that he should stop being such a spoiled city brat about it. At least there was a large mirror over the basin, opposite the john. But then came the deal breaker. 'Ah shit - Dad, there's no lock on the damn door!' He heard Rick guffaw from the other room. 'Then for both our sakes, I suggest you whistle when you're in there!' Brian couldn't help cracking a smile at that. He told himself to stop being a pussy, just sit on the damn porcelain, and take care of business. He shuddered for a second when the flesh of his naked ass hit the cold toilet rim. Nevertheless, he sat there a spell after he was done, trying to puzzle out what was going on with Dad. He tried not to think about the sight of him messing his pants, but it wasn't an image you could easily get rid of. And now he was going to have to share a bed with him, like he was six again. Oh well... A drip-drip-dripping noise barely registered as he sat there, musing. The edges of his vision blurred, his fatigue attempting to reassert itself now that he was beginning to relax. But Dad was right about not napping - if they did that now, they'd have problems sleeping tonight, so he better get... SHIT! FUCK! Brian sprang to his feet as if scalded and turned to stare down at the toilet bowl behind him. What looked back at him wasn't pretty, but it was his own. For a second there... ...for a second... ...Bri could have sworn that something warm and wet had touched his anus... It was nearing lunchtime when the two Alsteads re-emerged into the Wyoming sunshine and by now they were both famished. As luck would have it, the boarding house ran a more or less permanent cookout during the clement weather. An enormous, severe-faced, Mongolian fellow manned the grill. He resembled a brick wall in a wifebeater and chef's apron, but turned out to be friendly enough with a smart line in deadpan humour that the two city men enjoyed. 'So, you two gettin a little downtime, away from the womenfolk?' the man enquired, and Rick had to explain their predicament all over again. But in no time he and Brian were loaded up with barbecued franks, chicken wings and onions. As they headed over to a picnic bench beneath a nearby stand of sycamores, they were aware of the scrutiny of their fellow diners at neighboring tables - all blue collar, country types, ranging from Brian's age up to guys in their early sixties. They were uniformly shirtless, some smooth, some hirsuite - and ran from the buff to downright massively muscled, just like the big Asian chef. A little disconcerted, the Alsteads gave a friendly nod. The best they got in return was a lazy finger salute or a wink. Most of the men there eyed them hungrily, as if there were no food on the dishes before them. One guy extravagantly licked rib-sauce off his fingers as he stared at Brian's ass. 'Okaaaay...' muttered Brian quietly to his dad, 'anyone else getting a prison vibe offa these guys?' 'I know just what you mean,' Rick confided through a gritted grin, which was purely for show, 'I kinda feel like the new fish on Block D... Smile, son, keep the locals happy... we're only here for today...' Most of the meal was eaten in uncomfortable silence - though the food itself was excellent. One topic which they did discuss, however, was how they were going to keep themselves awake until lights out tonight. 'I just want to collapse into a lawn chair in the sun,' Brian confessed, but his dad shook his head. 'You'd be asleep in a heartbeat. Best thing for us is to keep active. In fairness, we've landed up in a pretty interesting part of the county.' After they were done eating, they returned their empty dishes to the chef and quizzed him about hiring a couple of horses - both Alsteads were experienced riders - but the Mongolian had disappointing news. 'Only horses here are farm or ranchin' animals. Nuthin for leisure trekkin', sorry boss.' On the topic of the old mining town he was more positive. 'Just watch yer step, fellas - some of those old workins run pretty shallow underfoot - tho we ain't had a cave-in in the last ten years.' Rick assured him they would be careful and they set off. It was a short walk to the ruined settlement, but it was a journey into another world. The air was cooler here - almost chilled, in spite of the early afternoon sunshine. But that light seemed dimmer. The world was greyer in this spot, too, the colors more muted. The sounds of nature seemed to... stop... and give way to the memory of iron on stone... of banded cartwheels in muddy ruts... of the music of mouth organ and Irish squeezebox... It was, in short, eerie. Rick and Brian both felt watched out there in that little collection of rotting huts and rusted lean-tos - but it was a different scrutiny from the kind they had experienced over lunch. This was something unknown. Unknowable. It was cold. It was all-seeing. It was merciless. This was a how the field mouse felt when it fell beneath the shadow of the eagle. A thudding of bare feet came to their ears, like a figure looming out of thick fog. This was no phantom, but solid, real and alive. As Brian and his dad looked over to the east, a near-naked muscular young figure flitted from building to building with a coltish vitality as he headed for the building nearest the treeline... 'Hey,' said Brian, 'isn't he that kid from the lobby?' Rick nodded. 'Robbie. He was scrubbing the floor.' Brian looked sharply at his dad. Dad was shit with names. But his father didn't notice, his eyes fixed distantly on the kid's wake. Brian watched as Dad absently rubbed at his furry six-pack beneath the hem of his polo, and once more two nubs pushed out at the cotton covering his chest. A screenshot from Brian's head filled his vision now - that hot, slutty, gyrating ass, made more naked by the meagre covering of denim cutoffs - swiftly followed by the kid's dirty laugh when Cleetus instructed him to go see to his father and brother. And straight on the heels of that recollection, came a noise from the furthest building. 'What the fuck was that?' 'Hmmmm..?' Dad seemed to be dreaming where he stood. 'Shit!' Brian exclaimed, as further sounds issued from that same spot. How could his dad not hear it? It sounded like somebody was getting murdered down there; the sounds of lash and abused flesh; of two sets of deep, mature groans; the clank of metal links; of rhythmic male grunting; and above it, most disturbing of all, the pealing of young male laughter from vocal chords that hadn't long broken into adulthood. Brian's first instinct was to run down there and go to the assistance of whoever-it-was. But that was overruled by better judgement. 'Dad - let's get the fuck outta here.' His dad regarded him mildly. 'I know, this place kinda gives ya the creeps, am I right?' Brian stared at him. He hadn't heard a thing. Hadn't heard what? The sounds had stopped. There was... nothing. Had there really been... anything? Brian shook his head to clear it. Rick frowned in concern. 'What is it, son?' Brian shrugged, and adjusted himself at the crotch. 'Nothing, Dad, forget it.' He looked around. 'What say we head off into the trees, there, huh Dad?' Dad smiled. 'Nature trail, huh? Getting back to the wild?' He, too, had to adjust his crotch. The rest of that afternoon was spent in much more pleasant woodland surroundings, among the spruces and shrubberies of the gently sloping mountain foothills. By unspoken agreement, they avoided the ghost town on the return trip. After all that good, fresh mountain air and blood-pumping exercise they felt restored and Brian had pretty much forgotten any misgivings. It was early evening by the time they got back to the boarding house, the sun painting a dramatic wash across the sky as it sank behind the mountains. It was mealtime again, and this time the cookout was much more crowded. A radio was playing country music, beers were being passed around, and the locals were much more welcoming now that the day's work was done. Cleetus welcomed Rick and Brian into the crowd, a beer ready for each of the Alsteads. Cleetus turned to Rick as he placed a Bud in his son's hand. 'You ain't pussy about your boy havin a beer, are ya Rick?' Rick regarded his son in amusement. 'I think Brian knows how to keep a secret.' And somewhat to Brian and his dad's embarrassment, this remark was met with a chorus of whoops, wolf whistles and catcalls, as if Rick had said something much more suggestive than he'd intended. But it was just a guy thing, guys kidding guys, so the two of them brushed it off as good-natured banter. Even in the cool of the evening, no-one else seemed to be wearing a shirt and Brian and Rick were beginning to feel distinctly overdressed. Everywhere you looked there was flesh - male flesh, in varying tones of tan, caramel and chocolate. The guys were much more friendly this evening, and the beer that flowed freely probably had a lot to do with it. Brian was no novice to drinking, but even so he was soon getting pretty buzzed, as nobody seemed to want either him or his dad to go without for more than an instant. In no time his dad was drawn away by some of the older dudes. 'Congratulations on getting a little downtime,' he heard one of them remark to Rick, 'away from the womenfolk.' And Rick laughed ruefully as they led him away. This left Brian free to wander at will. He was intrigued to discover that not everybody at the boarding house was a local. 'So how come you're working here then?' he asked one barechested little fireplug of a linebacker. 'Oh, you know,' the guy replied, 'just a little downtime, away from the womenfolk.' Brian goggled at him for a second - and then burst out laughing. 'Womenfolk? Who are you, dude, Audie Murphy?' The young guy laughed along with him... his eyes a little too bright. 'Guess I watched too many westerns as a kid,' he replied. 'So how much do you bench press, dude..?' And so they moved onto sports. Brian was feeling pretty good by now, and thought nothing of it when some of the younger guys came up and complimented him on his sporting physique - in spite of the fact that they were every bit as built as he. One or two of them even squeezed his throwing arm, and he flexed his biceps for them with all the ego of a manwhore, soaking up the admiration of his peers. A couple of them even got fresh enough to swat him on the heiny and that had Brian giggling like an idiot. And adjusting his crotch... As he moved around the crowd, meeting new people and shaking hands, Brian found himself looking for the washtub cowboy he had seen earlier. He surprised himself with this realisation and was at a loss to explain it. At last he caught up with his dad and Rick introduced him to a couple of new people. 'Hey, son, this is Hal Rokeby and his son Ethan. They're city slickers just like us.' Brian shook their hands. Hal was tall, bearded and handsome, with a mane of salt and pepper hair swept back from his forehead. He held a strong paternal arm around the powerful shoulders of his son. Ethan was Brian's age - a younger, clean-shaven version of his dad. He too was a football player, and both father and son had gym-built physiques the equal of any around them. 'So what brings you guys out to this neck of the woods?' asked Brian. 'Oh, you know' said Hal, 'just a little downtime...' '...away from the womenfolk,' finished his son. Brian's smile froze on his face. Hal relaxed his arm, now holding his son around the waist. Meanwhile Rick chattered on, oblivious, as he pointed out the Rokebys' shirtless state. 'So it looks like you two have gone native.' Hal went quiet. He hugged Ethan closer. The boy settled himself deeper into his dad's hot, sweaty pit and instinctively turned his face toward it, breathing deeply... ...as they rubbed naked torsos sensuously up against each other in front of Rick and his son... Hal and Ethan chuckled low to each other as they looked into each other's eyes.... ...and shared a mischievous, secretive grin... 'Oh buddy,' Hal answered Rick seriously, 'like you wouldn't believe...' and he switched his gaze directly to Rick and ran a hand seductively up and down his own ripped abs. 'This place has a way of.... widening your... horizons...' The other hand that Hal had around his son's waist had disappeared... and suddenly Brian had the sense that it was now down the back of the boy's jeans... ...Ethan's gentle hiss and closed eyes did nothing to dispel that impression... ...his hips starting to... ...kinda... ...gyrate... ...Hal held Rick's eyes like a king cobra... ...as he ran his hand higher and cupped one of his meaty pecs... starting to... ...sorta... ...massage himself... ...slow and deliberate... ...his thumbnail beginning to graze his nipple... ...harder and harder... ...Rick's own nipples popped up again like bullets through his polo... Both Hal and Ethan were sporting obscene hardons in their jean now, clearly commando and staining their crotches with seeping juices... ...Ethan starting to moan and writhe his hips against whatever his father's hidden hand was doing to him... Brian was dumstruck - and majorly grossed out. The beer turned to acid in his stomach as he noted that his dad, too, was sporting an erection. 'You know, Rick...' Hal crooned in a low, sultry voice... 'you and your boy could stand to get a little more comfortable too, ya know...' ...Rick nodded obediently. And put his hands to the hem of Brian's shirt... 'Dad..? What the fuck..?' '...Do it slowly, Rick...' Hal commanded softly, '...give us a show...' Brian batted his father's hands away, but it was a sudden yell that broke Rick's trance. 'Hey, Dad! Can I have a beer?' It was the studly little slut. Robbie the apprentice lap dancer. He appeared suddenly at the side of his dad and big brother brandishing an open Bud. The spell was broken. Rick instantly stepped away from Brian and glared at his hands as if they had offended him. Ethan tutted and rolled his eyes at the interruption, but Hal didn't seem the least put out. He looked his near naked younger son up and down and had to knead his leaking bulge as a result. 'Well now, stud,' he breathed, his voice hot and heavy as he blasted beer breath in the kid's face, 'if you're old enough for... other activities... I guess we can allow you just one... huh...?' 'Thank you, Dad...' 'Is that all..?' 'Awww... Daaad...' 'You got a little kiss for Daddy, stud..?' 'Yeah, okaaay... I gueeesss...' Hal reached out to his young son, drew him in... ...and brazenly tongue raped the kid's mouth for all to see, griniding his erection into the boy's crotch and causing the kid to bone up as well. Right there. In front of the Alsteads. In front of the whole Christin cookout. Hal Rokeby yanked Robbie's tight shorts and Ethan's tighter jeans just down enough to expose their asses for all the world to see. He grunted like boar in heat, frotting his younger son hard while he openly fingered both of them now... The purple head of Robbie's dick popped out through his open zipper and he spooged all over his father's hardon... ...and painted long streaks up his chest and catching in his beard... 'Oh fuck, yeah, boy,' grunted his father nastily, 'how many's that today?' 'Ten,' the boy gasped. 'Fuck man,' replied Hal, 'to be fifteen again, huh?' Hal nodded to the Alsteads, still hard and soaking his jeans, his voice croaking from lust. 'Daddy got some business to take care of.' Fingers up both his sons' holes, he marched the two of them away towards the house while they groped their father's ass... both Hal's and Ethan's backs striped with the recent lashing they had been subjected to. During this obscene display, the gathered audience had firmly taken hold of the two Alstead men by the arms. Brian was being supported by a couple of guys as he lost his beer all over the grass at his feet, puking and heaving as if he was going to turn inside out. Rick, on the other hand, was sagging limp between a couple of brawny wranglers, babbling over and over again about how he and his son were leaving. 'Ain't gonna happen, buddy,' warned Cleetus reasonably but firmly, 'Not tonight, at least. You and your boy have had way too much beer to do any drivin. Best you both sleep it off, an' git goin' tomorrow, huh?' But Rick was on a drunken loop, protesting about what they had just witnessed and insisting that they were getting the hell outta there. 'That's right, fella,' Cleetus humored him, 'We're gettin you boys to yer pickup riiiight now.' Where Rick and his son were deposited, of course, was the king sized bed in room 13. Brian was vaguely conscious of someone giving him plenty of water to drink and to rinse the sour taste from his mouth. They also gave him some painkillers to deal with the killer headache that had bitten down just about the time he had thrown up all that beer. The combination of exhaustion, beer and mountain air hit Brian like a roofie as soon as his head hit the pillow. It wasn't until hours later, in the troff of the night, that Brian surfaced briefly. He was face down on the bed, fully dressed except for his shirt which he had soiled and had been removed for him. He heard his dad snorting in his sleep behind him on the bed. The world beneath him was in the throes of an earthquake, and men were screaming and moaning somewhere nearby like the souls of the damned. Brian came to a little more and became aware that these voices were coming from other rooms in the boarding house. That's right. They were in that boarding house for the night. Hmmm.... Sex sounds. Porno sounds. The only pain those guys were in was the good kind. Huh. Good for them. Go figure. This caused Brian to seek out the boner in his shorts and pull it into a more comfortable position beneath him. No jerking off, though... Nah... Too tired... Sleep now... Tired... Sigh... No good... Dad making too much noise... ...damn snoring... ...worse than it used to be... Huh... Did Dad snore? Like... ever..? Huh. Brian flipped himself over intending to ask his dad to can it. But what he saw there, in the early hours gloom of that bedroom, his tired brain struggled to make sense of. Dad was on his stomach also, his face towards his son. He was snoring, yet wide awake. His eyes bulged in terror and his face was red as beet. A hand was clamped over his mouth and the only sounds he could make were those grunting snorts of pain... ...alternating with snorting grunts of something else... Some dark, heavy weight was pressing Dad down into the bed and causing it to rock and shake in a steady rythm, the old wooden headboard crashing repeatedly against the wall... ...and there, in the shadows beyond the bed... other, darker figures gathered to take their turn... Brian's eyes began to flutter closed again as his mind detatched and went sailing down the rapids in a rythmically bouncing boat that swept past tall dark stones gathered on the shore... ...his dad's face in his own, trying to warn him about some kind of problem with the boat...