Date: Wed, 12 Jun 2002 21:24:35 -0400
From: Steve Griffin <knack6@hotmail.com>
Subject: Guiding Light 6

Guiding Light belongs to CBS and Procter & Gamble. The actors belong to
themselves, and only their characters are my fantasy pawns. Please don't
archive or pass this around without my permission (although, if you want a
few friends to see it, that's OK). If you aren't over 18 or the age of
majority in your area, don't read this.

Thanks for the feedback, and please, please send more. This chapter is more
about Richard, but will eventually tie into the Danny storyline.

--

Richard Winslow hated working at the car lot. He hated the way the people
would gawk at him or chuckle inwardly to themselves that a former prince was
now selling cars to them, that they were superior to royalty. Richard wanted
to tell them he fully intended to find better employment, and only slaved in
used car hell because of his constantly needy wife, Cassie. Richard wanted
to tell them to go stuff it up their arse.

Today, he was living a literal definition of that phrase.

An hour and a half earlier, a coffee-skinned, 6 foot 2 lawyer had strutted
in, bursting out of a tee shirt and khaki pants several sizes too small.
This Mr. Stevens had run his gleaming brown eyes up and down Richard's toned
body, with the contact lingering just a moment too long as they shook hands.
The man had behaved horribly, "accidentally" bumping his ample bulge against
Richard's buttocks as they each walked around a sports car, blatantly
staring at Richard's crotch as Richard explained the features of the auto,
running his smooth fingers over Richard's coarsened palm when taking the pen
to sign the agreement with, and then pausing the second before he was going
to agree to buy the cherry red convertible.

"I want extra incentive. Can we dig deeper into this...in a more private
place?" Mr. Stevens said in a purringly masculine light Southern drawl,
licking his lips.

Richard's hands gripped the sink as roughly as Stevens' held his hips.
Biting into his lower lip, Richard held firm with each savage thrust into
his chiseled cheeks. He hadn't been anally serviced in years, and the deep,
warm tongue which had flopped around his rectum several moments earlier had
reminded him of the pleasures only another man can bring. Women had tongues
as well, but never quite as eager. Cassie wouldn't even give him oral sex,
as that brought back memories of her sordid past. Richard understood, but he
missed the sensations desperately.

Stevens had an annoying, arousing habit of sliding his 10-inch log out to
the very tip, tickling Richard's hairy hole, letting Richard catch a breath,
then slamming back home. Richard grunted with every new assault, his anus
ring stretching after years of dormancy. Stevens raped Richard's ear,
gnawing on his lobe, rasping how tight Richard was, how he was the king now
and Richard was the whore, how Richard wouldn't be able to sit for weeks.
Richard had kept his beige dress shirt on, and the smooth material tickled
his cheeks, heightening his pleasure as it wafted back and forth on top of
the girth maneuvering inside him.

Their sets of low-hangers crashed together like skin cymbals, rough hands
reaching inside Richard's beige dress shirt to maul his juicy nipples.
Richard grunted as the final stages of the fuck began, letting the other man
maintain dominance as his shaft scraped against the edge of the sink, bumpy
veins lining the bottom of his thick sausage set afire by the cold contact.
Contrasting the hot slab of skin ravaging his ass, and the slab of porcelain
cool and heavy under his penis, Richard could only whimper and wheeze, grunt
and pant, jacking himself off.

Slightly ashamed, Richard had kept away from his reflection. But near the
moment of orgasm, Stevens snatched a handful of his sandy brown hair,
yanking up and forcing Richard to see his gasping, masturbating, rock-hard
mirror image, to see the dark hips sweat-glued to his white, gyrating hips.
When Stevens turned them to let Richard see the slimy flesh nightstick
sliding in and out of his twitching hole, Richard let out a hoarse cry,
exploding gallons of seed onto the toilet bowl, his clenching thighs, only
saving his shirt by instinct forcing him to lift it up just before the flood
began. The sea of semen was prolonged by the feeling of Stevens brutally
plunging balls-deep one last time, painting Richard's dark, damp walls a
bright, gooey white.

With a pop, Richard's ass was suddenly, painfully empty, and Richard was
left to try to ignore the man he had just been ravaged by. A last whimper of
pleasure escape his lips as Stevens licked his stomach clean while removing
Richard's shoes, pants, and boxers from his body. Richard's confusion was
answered when Stevens held the blue silk boxers to his face, making Richard
breathe in the musky scent. Stevens then used the silk fabric to mop up the
cum trails on Richard's cock and legs. After both men had washed themselves,
Stevens put the underwear in his own pocket, handing Richard a $100 bill.

"I want to taste them, jack off in them, wear them, fuck, maybe put 'em in
my scrapbook. Go buy yourself something pretty."

Richard wanted to remind the smirking, sparkly-eyed man that he once had the
power to execute those with such arrogant tones. He wanted to punch the
impudent bastard in the face. Yet, he chose to take the cash and remain
silent. What Richard hated more than being a whore was that he had actually
enjoyed the rough sex, and if Stevens wanted more, he would be hard-pressed
(no pun intended) to turn him down.

The spent men returned to the office area, where Mr. Theodore Stevens bought
his new automobile. The final, lewd wink as he left the lot reminded Richard
that he had nothing on under his suit pants, and he should try his best to
avoid any erections while going, as the Americans would say, "commando". As
Richard had difficulty sitting anyway, he would later excuse himself for
several self-pleasuring sessions, swearing he could never make himself that
vulnerable again. But he had a strong hunch that this would not be his last
dalliance with a member of his own sex.

The next morning, Theo Stevens whipped out his cell phone, breeze hitting
his bald scalp and tickling his muscular arms.

"Hey, you filthy limey! Yeah yeah, you aren't British, you're San
Cristobilian...whatever the fuck that is. Guess who just gave me a test
drive of their ass? Richard Winslow, your Richard. No, I ain't shittin' ya.
Go feel for yourself! Yeah, at that car lot. I have a date with my second
ex-wife, gotta go."

Edmund hung up his phone, careful not to wake the moody Romeo Jones,
currently sharing his bed with Edmund, and, several hours ago, his bodily
fluids. He was torn between giddiness and concern at Richard debasing
himself to such a level. He was also perplexed by the ample girth which had
grown between his legs while Theo described the vise-like intensity of
Richard's buttocks, the salty taste of his bronzed neck. He hadn't thought
of Richard that way in years. He hadn't allowed himself to.

Edmund glance at his hardness. At least he knew how to take care of this
problem. Straddling his knees between Romeo's ears, he stroked himself to a
state of being able to hammer nails, then slapped Romeo awake.

"Wha..."

As Romeo spoke and tried to open his tired eyes, he was treated to a
breakfast facial, drowned in the pedigree cream of Prince Edmund Winslow.
Edmund then sat on his protesting, cursing mouth. By the time Romeo made an
effort to get Edmund away, the chuckling stud had inhaled his morning
hard-on, and Romeo contented himself to whimpers, and eating out the plush
cheeks planted against his nostrils.

Thus that was the way the day began, and the way it remained until an hour
before noon, when Romeo spewed his last supply of man-milk into his pleading
lover's ass. Edmund watched his incredibly dangerous and hunky boytoy shower
and slither into his clothes, then he showered as well, wondering whether or
not he should pay a visit to poor, long-suffering, cock-slut Richard. His
brain said no, but the soaped-up penis currently being fisted in his head
said yes, definitely, absolutely. As Edmund blew his load against the shower
wall, knees trembling under the battery of chilling water, he pondered which
head to think with.