Page 53 of Plentywood
“Enjoy your shower,” I said. I needed to jack off so badly. I was tempted to ask if I could watch him shower, but knew he’d gladly agree.
The door to the bathroom was slightly ajar. After hearing the water come on, I moved slowly toward the door. I didn’t look at first until I heard the shower door close and the spray of water hit the glass. Ever so slightly, I peeked around the edge of the door. My eyes tripled in size.
Charlie leaned against the tiled wall, massive dick in hand, eyes closed, facing me, and stroked the length of his shaft with soap. His free hand tugged on his balls while he stroked slowly back and forth, his eyes fluttering behind their lids. He was a porn star performing to an audience he didn’t even know he had. Or did he?
Water cascaded down his chest and stomach, pooling in the small valleys of his abdominal muscles, before racing along his obliques toward the promised land. Posters of my view would sell in the millions if available online. I burned the image into my memory for total recall at any time.
His legs stiffened and then relaxed. The expression written on his face appeared painful at times while he flexed his cock, preparing his load to be shot. “Fuuucccckkkk,” he huffed, still sliding back and forth over his meat.
I remained hidden, struggling to contain the desire to bust into the shower and deep-throat him until he fed me his seed. I was an expert cocksucker with zero gag reflex. I knew he’d be impressed, and I desperately wanted to showcase my talents for him.
Don’t do it, Ben. Charlie is just another Rocco. Just another dude who will use and abuse your heart. The sex will be awesome, but bad boys are incapable of love. That’s what men like Charlie and Rocco do to boys who want true love. Don’t go there. Resist.
“Fuuucccckkkk yeah!” he gasped, burying a finger in his ass from behind. “Yeessss!” he grunted, sounding like what I imagined a caveman would sound like. He jerked his cockharder, bending forward and fucking his own ass with who knows how many fingers.
Suddenly, he went completely stiff, stood up straight, and cried out like a wounded animal. “Ahhhh…uunghhh,” he grunted, spraying his come all over the glass enclosure.
He slid down the shower wall to a seated position, his legs splayed in front of him, gasping for breath. I was utterly engrossed with his show and disappointed it was over. Regret atnotreceiving his load entered my mind. I’d missed my shot. Literally.
Charlie’s eyes popped open, and I froze, half my face visible behind the door. He grinned and ran a finger over his cock slit, sticking the digit in his mouth.
Resisting Charlie “Skeeter” Brewster was going to be very difficult in the future.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: Hunter
I’d already made an excuse earlier to drive into town, even though it was Sunday. That was four hours ago. He wasn’t at the clinic, so I returned home. Frustrated. Sick to my stomach. Sad. But then again, how could I be sure? He’d said he was going to sell his car, and if he’d done that, couldn’t he actually be at home since he wouldn’t have a vehicle?
The microwave’s digital clock read ten minutes after six in the evening. Surely, they could’ve driven back from Missoula by then. After waking from a fitful night’s sleep at around seven AM, I’d managed to check the time every ten minutes for hours upon hours. And as embarrassed as I was to admit to it, me and my binoculars had been studying the road at the end of my driveway, the only road to town, to see who drove by.
Maybe I was distracted and missed him driving by. What if he and Charlie had fallen in love overnight and he was at Charlie’s right now being seduced by him? They’d fucked all night long in the hotel and couldn’t wait to get to the gas station to fuck some more.
Those thoughts, and hundreds of others, occupied my mind all morning until I drove into town at two. No vehicle at the clinic. No lights, either, but it was daytime, and there wouldn’t be any indication of whether he was home at this hour. Not to mention, I couldn’t keep driving around the block in my cruiser before the neighbors would get suspicious.
“What are you doing in town, sheriff?”the new deputy had asked me when he pulled alongside my SUV earlier.“Something happening that you aren’t sharing?”
I’d pointed at the nearest house. “Mr. Lyles called for some help. I lent him a hand moving some heavy furniture,” I’d lied.
Fortunately for me, Lucah was new and didn’t press me on my bullshit lie. After three more circles of the block, and no signs that Ben had arrived home yet, I drove home. Still miserable. Still sure Charlie had won before I even had a chance.
Setting the binoculars back on the window ledge, I looked around my living room, unsure of how to get my mind settled. I was pretty certain I wouldn’t be able to take another sleepless night without knowing if Ben had returned yet.
“What would you do, girl?” I asked Bella. She flipped over on her back, confusing my question with, ‘Did she want her belly rubbed?’ “You would? You’d get in the Tahoe right this second,Lassie, and you’d drive into town one more time? You sure?” I asked.
I knew I sounded ridiculous, but her tail wagged and she wiggled uncontrollably as I stared at her. Good enough for me. I grabbed the baseball cap I kept hanging on the back of the door for when my hair was stuck to my head and searched for the Tahoe keys.
“Well? You comin’?”
Bella flipped over and sprinted to the door. I flipped the porch light on in case I got home late and headed to the driveway. One more trip to town wouldn’t hurt anybody, and maybe I’d stop and have a beer at Smitty’s. Or perhaps even better, grab some free dinner at Jill’s Diner, even if she wasn’t there on Sundays.
As soon as I got to the end of my football-field-length driveway and to the highway, an older model Chevy truck I didn’t recognize whizzed by. It was my job to know the vehiclesin my town and on the outskirts of the city limits. When a vehicle that didn’t belong to one of our citizens came to town, we all knew they weren’t local.
I pulled onto the forty-five-mile-an-hour speed limit highway and did my best to catch up to the white pickup truck that had just barreled by. Finally, after needing to speed up to seventy, I was on the truck’s tail and flipped my blue lights on. There was a single driver in the cab, as far as I could tell. The driver drove another hundred yards or so until they could safely pull over on the graveled edge of the highway.
I was in street clothes, my baseball cap on backwards, so the driver might have reason for concern. If I found something wrong with the driver or the truck, which had a temporary license plate taped in the back window, I’d have Deputy Michaelsen drive out and handle the fine.
“Hey, sheriff,” a timid Ben Hawthorne said when I arrived by his window.
He was the last person I’d expected to see, and the first that I was delighted to see. “Hi, doc. I didn’t recognize the vehicle,” I stated, leaning against the driver’s side door. “And you seem to be in quite a hurry.”
