Date: Mon, 6 Feb 2017 00:54:28 +0000
From: Rob Armstrong <robarmstrong26@hotmail.co.uk>
Subject: SPIKES BOARDING HOUSE 2

SPIKES BOARDING HOUSE: CHAPTER 2   STRAIGHTS WILL BE FUCKED

   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 Two:  STRAIGHTs WILL BE FUCKED


	Brian Alstead sat out in the pickup, waiting for his dad to finish
settling up with the clerk inside the gas stop.  Not for the first time in
the last couple of hours, Brian tapped at his cell in frustration, wishing
he could bash the damn things brains in, but that wouldn't improve his
reception any.

	'Still nothing?' his dad asked as he exited the cabin and went over
to check that all their stuff was still secure in the bed of the truck.

	Brian shook his head.  'How long we gonna be stuck in this dead
zone, Dad?'

	'Ah, quit your grousing,' Rick laughed as he climbed back into the
driving seat.  He tapped his son with folded paper.  'Now this here, my
fine young millenial, is what we old-timers call a map.  Can you say that?
With me, now - MAAAAP...'

	Brian couldn't help laughing.  'No shit, Sherlock - I know what a
map is.'

	Rick raised his eyebrows.  'You're kidding?  For real?  Geez, I'd
no idea my boy was so old-school.'  His dad stopped kidding around.  'But
seriously, son, I can take the map if you'd prefer to drive...'

	Brad laughed again.  'That's okay, Dad, I can read a map.  I
figured there was life before GPS.'

	As Rick started the truck, he yawned out loud and long, causing his
son to do the same.  'Shit, man,' said Rick, 'we're both too spent to do
much more driving today.  Whaddya say we check in somewheres?'

	Brian shrugged.  'Guess we might as well.  God only knows how far
ahead the movers have gotten by now.'

	Rick nodded.  'We're agreed, then.  That weird old guy on the desk
in there tipped me off about some kinda boarding house in this neck of the
woods.  Comes highly recommended.  Oh, he scribbled it down on the map for
me there...'

	Brian turned the map over and made out the old dude's
handwriting. 'Oh yeah.  Hey, we're pretty close.'

	They drove off into the Wyoming morning, the shade of the trees
dappling the windshield.

	'What was the name of the place, again?' queried Rick.

	'Spike's,' his son returned, with another quick glance.  'It's
called Spike's Boarding House.'



	Little more than 20 minutes later Brian announced the turning
should be coming up any second.  And sure enough, a battered old wooden
arrow board pointed the way up an old dirt track into the woods.

	''SPIKE'S,'' read out Brian, 'Yup, this is it, Dad.'

	Rick made the turn, and Brian got a closer look at that sign.

	His eyes popped. 'What the FUCK?'

	Rick glanced sideways at his son, amused.  'Kiss your girlfriend
with that mouth?'

	Brian laughed.  'Sorry, I misread the sign.  It says ''STRAIGHT
TILL THE FORKED...'', is all - and I guess the rest is missing where the
board's broken off there...'

	'Why, what did you think it said?'

	But Brian knew he would never hear the end of it.

	'Oh, trust me, Dad, you don't want to know what I thought it said!'

	They both chuckled and Rick drove on - Brian concealing from his
dad how wigged he'd been there for a second.

	''STRAIGHTs WILL BE FUCKED''

	He coulda sworn that's what it had said when he first glanced at
it.

	Brian pinched the flesh at the bridge of his nose, figuring he was
more exhausted than he'd realised.



	About half a mile up the track they reached the fork that the sign
had begun to tell them about.  Luckily another, newer sign filled in the
missing directions and pointed the way, this one simply proclaiming
''SPIKE'S''.  They both stifled another yawn and took the bend.

	The shady track opened out and unexpectedly they were cruising
along the shoreline of a wide creek.  Sunlight sparkled off the inviting
waters, dazzling both Alstead men and causing them to screw up their eyes.

	This bedazzlement, combined with their fatigue, lent the whole
experience a floaty, dreamlike quality and Brian felt as if they were
suddenly living their lives in slow motion.

	Well-built young men appeared to be splashing around in the creek,
sitting on each other's shoulders, play-fighting and generally horsing
around.  It occured to Brian to make some crack about it looking like a
shoot for Abercrombie down there, but somehow he didn't want to spoil the
moment - in the privacy of his innermost thoughts, he acknowledged the
simple, primal beauty of the scene.  Guys.  Just young guys.  Glorying in
the late morning sunshine and glad to be alive.

	The revellers spotted the newcomers driving by and included them in
the scene, giving them a friendly wave.  Cynical city-slicker though he
was, Brian surprised himself by giving them a big, open smile and waving
back.

	Creek gave way to prairie, which swept up to an enormous farmhouse
- a gigantic Dutch Barn of a place, set against the stunning backdrop of
the spruce-forested Absaroka Mountains.  Out front on the grass, muscular
wranglers worked shirtless and sweating as they rubbed down their stallions
with curry combs.

	One young bearded dude was bathing in an old tin tub, teeth clamped
on a cigar, his legs dangling out over the front rim.  He was lazily
lathering up his smooth caramel pecs with a sponge as the Alsteads went by
in their pickup... when his dark eyes locked on Brian's with the brazen
curiosity of a steer.

	Unaccountably, Brian felt his breath hitch as those eyes bored into
him.

	Then a handsome older dude in a black stetson appeared behind the
tub - the spit of the younger cowboy.  He gently poured hot water over his
head, careful to avoid drenching the cigar.  Then he knelt behind him and
sensuously worked a lather into his son's raven hair, staring at Brian
also.  The young buck settled back into the older man's naked chest,
purring in pleasure, enjoying the attention - but never once breaking eye
contact with the newcomer.

	Identical eyes seemed to issue Brian a challenge, and he craned his
head to watch them as they glided by...

	Just before Brian lost sight of them around a corner of the
building, the older guy deliberately picked up the sponge and sank it below
the water between his son's legs...

	And then Dad was parking up round the side.

	Brian blinked.  What had he just..?

	Dad misinterpreted his son's foggy expression.  'Look, Brian, I'm
completely bushed too, but I think we should keep going once we've checked
in.  If we light out now, our cycle is gonna be completely outta whack.'

	'Huh?'  Brian seemed to remember for the first time his dad was
there.  'Oh, yeah.  Sure, Dad.'

	Rick looked at his son doubtfully, and then half-pushed him out of
the car.  'Come on, sleepy head, let's get moving.'

	The shadow of the farmhouse lay over them both.  As Brian looked up
at the timber edifice, he felt a chill of apprehension.

	'Dad, I'm not so sure about...'

	But Dad was already up on the veranda, pulling open the screen of
the front door.  Brian had little choice but to follow him inside.

	It was cool in the lobby, and dark after the blaze of the day.  As
Brian's eyes adjusted, he saw that the interior of the place was clad in
timber also, giving it the air of a huge mountain lodge.  Which he guessed,
in a way, it was.

	There was a strong smell of pine disinfectant, and under that the
bite of bleach.  A young bodybuilder on all fours wearing only skimpy
cut-offs was scrubbing away at the floor boards with a large brush and a
bucket of foam.

	Father and son stared mesmerised at his upturned rump, the top half
of his crack visible above the waistband, the plump globes protruding below
the frayed denim.  He was working that ass like he was giving them a lap
dance...

	'Help you?'

	The Alsteads jumped and turned to the guy who had suddenly appeared
in a doorway behind them.  They were both crimson in the face and neither
understanding quite why.

	The mountain man loomed over them and certainly had them at a
disadvantage.  He stood 6'8" easy, a red-bearded giant with darker auburn
hair that he swept back into a loose ponytail.  The plaid shirt he wore was
unbuttoned and barely contained the lushly forested swell of pure, hard
muscle that plated his upper body.  The denim of his jeans, too, similarly
strained over the ropes and bulges of his powerful legs.

	He made for an intimidating spectacle and the look on his face was
none too friendly.

	'Ermm...' Rick struggled to regain his composure, 'I... er... I'm
in the process of relocating my family and we were looking for somewhere to
spend the night...'

	'This ain't no Holiday Inn, buddy,' the man rejoined, 'so you and
your boy here go back on out to the missus in the car and...'

	'Oh, my wife isn't with us,' Rick put in, 'She and my daughter are
already there, setting up and waiting for the movers to arrive.  We were
just following on with the last few pieces we couldn't fit on the truck.'

	The man said nothing.  His face was unreadable.  Instead he turned
to the young guy cleaning the floor.

	'Okay, Robbie, that'll do for now.  Go see how your dad or bro are
doin.'

	For some reason this elicited a dirty laugh from the young muscle
dude.  But when he rose and nodded to his boss, Brian was shocked to see he
was only a kid - fourteen or fifteen at most.  Those tight shorts of his
were unbuttoned at the top, exposing a thicket of pubic hair...

	And then he turned and took his brush and bucket off down the
passage, a cocky strut causing his nearly naked ass to flex as he went...

	Geez, thought Brian in disgust, what a little slut... not even
noticing the tingle in his groin.

	Meanwhile Rick babbled on, not knowing why he felt the need to
explain himself but unable to stop.  'And so... we kinda... lost the movers
and fell behind so...'

	The big bear returned his attention to his visitors.

	'So..?  So, it's just you and your son here?'

	Rick sighed with relief.  'Yes yes, just me and Brian.'

	Brian felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach.

	Somehow he wished his dad hadn't told him that.

	'At least, could we use your phone?' asked Rick, 'just so I can
call ahead and tell them where we are.'

	Oh, and he really wished he hadn't said that.

	'Phone's out.'

	Surprise, surprise, thought Brian, with increasing unease.

	The big guy raised an eyebrow.

	'Who did you say told you about this place?'

	'Erm, it was some old geez... elderly gentleman at the gas stop, he
recommended it very highly.'

	For the first time the man began to crack a smile.  'Well I should
hope so.  He's my grampappy.'

	Brian's dad laughed like an idiot.  'Well, lookit that - small
world!'

	The bear pumped Rick's hand with a massive paw.  'Sorry for the
frosty welcome, dude, some families role up here expecting a guest house.
But it really is what it says, a boarding house for farm and ranch workers
in these parts.'

	'So you must be Spike,' put in Rick, but the guy shook his head.

	'Nah, ''Spike's'' in name only.  Kind of a tribute to a guy I
worked under in the airforce when I was stationed in Nevada.  He lets me
use the name and lends me... uhm... some... equipment... from time to
time...  Name's Cleetus.'

	More hand shaking ensued as Rick introduced the two of them.

	Cleetus looked Brian over like he was appraising a bull at auction.
'So which is it?  College ball or high school?'

	Brian swallowed uncomfortably.  'Erm... senior team in high school
- hopefully college next year...'

	Cleetus nodded.  'Impressive development for your age - I woulda
said college...' and he reached out and brazenly pressed his palm into
Brian's taut six-pack.

	Brian's eyes widened at the man's impertinence but his dad just
grinned proudly.  Cleetus then ran his other hand over Rick's flat stomach.

	'And I can see he's following in the old man's footsteps, am I
right?'

	Brian's eyes practically bugged now at this fresh insolence, but
far from being offended Rick lifted up the hem of his polo shirt to give
him a better access.  His six-pack was tanned and covered in salt and
pepper fur.

	'Twenty-two years,' he boasted, 'and I haven't let myself go!'

	Brian couldn't believe it - his dad was turning into a preening
prom queen before his very eyes.  He didn't even object when the big bear
slipped his paw up Brian's own shirt, or as he ran his hands slowly up and
down their washboard flesh with a grunt of appreciation.

	'Nice!'

	He leered at Rick, his voice a rich, deep purr now.

	'You ever work out with your boy at home..?'

	He began to comb his fingers through Rick's thick fur.

	'Like... when the weather's real hot...'

	Rick gaped at him, mesmerised...

	'...and it's just the two of you in the house...'

	Cleetus began to tug at that belly hair...

	'...and maybe the a/c's busted...'

	Brian watched as his father's nipples grew visibly hard under the
cotton...

	'...and you see that one trail of sweat....'

	Rick was sweating now...

	'...running down your boy's thick, corded neck...'

	Cleetus lifted his hand higher and flicked a fingernail repeatedly
at Rick's erect nipple...

	...Rick's breath grew hot and heavy...

	'...tricklin down the side of his pec...'

	flick flick

	Brian watched, speechless, as a stirring began in his dad's tan
shorts...

	'...and it beads on thaaat... one...'

	flick flick

	'...special..'

	flick flick

	'...spot...'

	Brian looked on aghast...

	...as his father's crotch...

	...began to swell and throb...

	flick flick

	throb

	flick flick

	'...and yer jus' hafta lean in and...'

	What ever Cleetus said next...

	...Rick's eyes widened...

	throb throb

	...Brian couldn't hear because...

	throb throb throb throb

	...Cleetus whispered it in his dad's ear....

	...Rick gasped...

	...and came in his shorts.

	Rope after rope of ejaculate.

	Soaking them at the crotch.

	Brian stood there.  Too stunned to say anything.

	For a moment all he could smell was his father's yeasty sperm.  And
the big man's musk, so strong it nearly overpowered the acridity of the
cleaning fluids

	Rick's breathing returned to normal.

	Brian didn't know what to say.  He was burning up with shame and
just wanted to get the hell out of there right then.  So he said the only
thing he could think of under the circumstances.

	'Shall... shall I get the bags from the car, Dad?'

	'Oh!'  Rick looked slightly startled as he snapped out of it, and a
little shamefaced.  'Why - sure, son...'  He felt around in his shorts,
seemingly oblivious of his condition.  'Sorry, I kinda zoned there for an
instant.  Now what did I do with those keys?'

	How could he be so completely unaware of the massive stain that was
soaking him?

	'Pickup's already open, Dad,' muttered Brian, and he fled.

	Cleetus watched the kid go as he fondled and groped Rick's firm
ass....  When Brian bent over to retrieve their bags from the pickup's
interior, he leaned in and murmurred in Rick's ear...

	'...your son's got a hot ass... just like his poppa...'

	'Yes...' Rick replied absently, 'yes... I guess he has... He does a
lot of... squats...'

	Cleetus nuzzled the father's neck as he laughed...

	'Ohoohhoo... squaaaats... you're a dirrrrrty daddy, aintcha..?'

	'Well, a little dusty from the road, perhaps...'

	Rick really was TERRIBLY tired...

	Cleetus slipped one hand down inside the back of Rick's shorts and
ran a long finger up and down his moist trench.  With the other he reached
up and undid the top three buttons on his polo.

	He began to lick Rick's long neck and bit at his ear...

	Rick sighed in pleasure, his mind far, far away...

	'GODDD, I'm going to enjoy breaking you two in...'

	And he tongued Rick's ear, laving it with spit, as he teased at his
hole with a fingertip.

	Never once taking his eyes from the sight of the boy's hot little
rump outside...