Millstone – Novel 01 Ch. 03

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Group Sex

Millstone – ONE – (Hanging the Chimney Hook)


Max proved himself a practical man. He noticed first that a double bed would never work for us. Two men my size at 180 pounds (much less if one had 40 pounds more muscle), would never fit comfortably on the double. Also, as he pointed out, we wouldn’t remain in the apartment due to what he referred to as its “inadequate and diminutive nature.” He had a way with words, and he was right. Fortunately, the landlord hadn’t locked us into a lease, so whenever we were ready, we could trade up. As that was the case, we purchased a king-sized bed and placed it on the floor. It didn’t matter if we had to remove the bedroom door from its hinges, and the movers had to wrench it into the room; they got the job done. We could cope with wall-to-wall bed for a little while.

I hadn’t slept in the same bed with a man since the time I slept with my father as a child. And when it came to sex, for years, I had men and women chowing down on my Big Mac to get a belly-full of my special sauce. However, the rarity of finding anyone willing to allow any penetration, other than oral, had me not bothering to look anymore. On the occasions that opportunity arose, penetration had its difficulties, which left me unsatisfied. I didn’t carry any thoughts that Max would consider anything else; he seemed so orally inclined and contented gobbling my knob. However, I didn’t know what I had with Max.

Max had seen me naked repeatedly in the hospital, so he knew what to expect. I had not seen him, not even that first night when we swapped places in the bathroom for the nightly routine before bed. He wore his all-enveloping white terrycloth robe that he acquired from the Waldorf Astoria in New York.

As usual, I shaved when I showered, but while standing at the sink brushing my teeth, I made a careful study of my face in the half-fogged mirror. My mind had yet to accept my appearance, and my name didn’t feel like mine either. I had no problem remembering it, but it felt like someone else’s. Then I got ahold of myself. I spit such notions down the sink drain along with the mouthwash and focused on the reality of it. I would reach a new normal, and I would be okay.

I couldn’t sleep wearing clothing. I had picked up the habit from my father. I wanted to be just like him, so when I discovered he slept naked, I followed his example. My mother didn’t like it, but my father insisted that she allow it. He said it was a man thing that she wouldn’t understand. Besides, like my father, I had developed early, and the usual underwear and pants made for males, whatever my age, always felt like a straitjacket on my junk. It embarrassed my mother to go with me to the tailor for the first time when I was nine years old. I needed pants made for me because I was, and I quote, “too big for my britches” (as she politely put it). It didn’t embarrass my father one bit; he was proud to do it and took me to the tailor he’d gone to for years for the same reason.

I left the bathroom that evening in my birthday suit and turned the corner to enter the bed-filled room. I froze to find Max lying nude on his belly, facing away from me, and reading an article from the folded newspaper that he brought from the diner. This pale skinned, muscular masterpiece had curly golden blonde hair covering his entire body, which shimmered from the glow of the naked lightbulb that hung from the ceiling. The view gave me a slack-jawed sense of awe and an instant erection.

I took a deep breath. “Shit…” I whispered to myself.

He didn’t turn toward me; instead, he said casually with his deep baritone voice, “The college here has a baseball team. I like baseball.”

“Do you? I’ll carry my equipment everywhere just in case you want to play.”

He turned to look at me. “Jeez.” He smiled. “I can’t get over how big you are when you’re erect.”

I shrugged. “It’s what my dad gave me.”

“What caused this? Have you seen something you like?”

“With you? I like all that I see.” I crawled onto the bed, and I touched his golden, fur-covered, concrete-like ass. He reached out to grasp my high, hard one.

“I’ve pleasured you for weeks,” he said. “I could use a good fuck. Do you like to fuck with this thing?”

“Are you serious? You want my bat in your ass?”

“Sure, why not?” he asked. “If you’re afraid you’ll hurt me, I regularly take toys nearly this size, but they could never feel half as good as you will. It won’t be a problem.”

I dropped onto the bed with my legs beneath me. “Wow! You’re the proverbial gift that keeps on giving, aren’t you? I would love to fuck you. Have you -you know- prepared for that?”

He got on his hands and knees; the globes of his ass faced me. “I’m clean as a whistle, pre-lubed and ready for you, buddy.”

I stared at the astonishing ass before me and the hunk attached to it. I couldn’t help myself, and the next thing I knew, I had my tongue buried deep in the soft, hairless cleft of two golden blonde fur-covered cannon balls.

“Yeah, Ankara escort get in there, and French kiss your new friend.” His groans rumbled deep in his chest. “You like that smooth hole? I had it lasered a few years ago for my convenience, and I am so glad I did.” He laughed with a gruff timbre that I found incredibly sexy. “We will find lots of time for the two of you to get acquainted, but why don’t you shove your man-rammer inside and try me on for size?”

I didn’t have much experience with fucking and never with a man. It invariably ended with complaints and no orgasm, but I felt so horny that without hesitation, I bent over a bit and aimed my cockhead at his hole. Although it clung tightly to my shaft, it allowed me entrance, and by his sounds of pleasure, I hadn’t hurt him, but I hadn’t experienced anyone who could take me. So, out of fear, I stopped halfway, and tentatively tried to fuck him, but he was having none of that.

“Don’t tease me, Millstone,” he said. “I’m not looking for a poke. I won’t be happy until you bang me with the whole thing as hard as you can, breeding me repeatedly, and our nuts collide for at least an hour.”

“Really?” I couldn’t believe it.

He looked over his shoulder. “I imagine this is new for you, but I invite you to take that bat of yours and discover that, unlike the others who couldn’t take a bunt, you are welcome to knock me out of the fucking park.”

So, I grasped his hips, and with one forceful shove, slid my cock into his lube-slickened chute until I had fully seated myself deep inside him, causing him to arch his spine and throw his head back.

“Goddamn, you’re fucking huge! Oh,” -he took a few breaths- “so full.”

“Are you okay?”

“Fuck, yeah! I love it!”

“You do?”

“Yeah, you are so deep. Let’s go, Millstone, fuck the hell out of me!”

I hauled my meat from his ass to the head, and I made a test slam. He growled like a blonde grizzly, saying, “Fuck, yeah.” So, I began fucking him as hard as I could, long-stroking him. I loved the feel of his warm, butter-like hole, stretched tight over my thick dong. I never knew that fucking full throttle could feel so good or be that much fun. After about twenty minutes, I flipped him over, rotating his body around my skewering cock. I got a look at the thick, golden fur down his front. His junk on full display, like his ass, he had lasered the hair off his stiff meat, and his big, equally hairless balls had drawn tight in their sack. I placed his legs over my shoulders and began a long pile-driving effort to pound him into our new mattress.

After about thirty minutes, he could do nothing but breathe and convulse as he had one anal orgasm after another, spewing cum all over himself without touching his cock.

When the last one ended, I asked him, “You like my fuck?” I began grinding my meat into him.

He nodded with an adorable simple smile on his face.

“I’m stretching this hole into a mancunt.”

“Just for you?” he asked.

I nodded. “Just for me.”

“It’s yours.”

“How do you like to fuck best?” I asked.

He replied, “Often.”

I laughed. I bent down so we could kiss. For someone his size, his body remained flexible. “Time to breed you.”

My golden blonde bear stared into my eyes as I fucked him hard. As he began to shudder, he aimed his cock at his face and came right down his own throat. I couldn’t hold back, watching this gorgeous hunk drink his own jizz, and my nuts turned inside out, breeding him for the first time. I came and came, my body jerking with every shot. We had both exhausted ourselves and fell sideways onto the bed. Leaving himself covered in cum, he kept my cock inside him and rotated his body around. I lay behind him, spooning him, my cock fully planted, using his body like a cock cozy, keeping it warm. He wouldn’t let me go, and I felt too tired to get up.

“What about the light?” I asked.

“No problem.” He clapped his hands twice, the light went out, and we lay in darkness.

“You want me to fall in love with you, don’t you?”

He said nothing but pulled my arm over him. I slickened my hand in the cum from his chest as I dug my fingers into his fur, and we slept that way through the night.

At breakfast, we had three scrambled eggs with an added cup of egg whites, tomatoes, oatmeal, and coffee. As we ate, a knock came upon our door. Sawyer had overnighted a package to me by a special courier. I signed for it, returned to the barstool at the kitchen counter where my food was turning cold and opened it.

“He certainly is reliable, isn’t he?” asked Max.

It contained all my photo identification and more. The thin box held a manila envelope with my driver’s license, passport, my state license to carry a gun, and my state detective license which meant I could legally work as a detective again.

“Sawyer’s a good man.” I put the necessary licenses into my wallet, but the rest back into the envelope and finished breakfast.

During clean-up, we had another visitor, Ankara escort bayan but when I glanced through the peephole, I didn’t know the man, and we no longer expected a delivery.

I asked, “Who is it?”

“It’s Albert, your first cousin, once removed,” he said.

I glanced at Max, who seemed as surprised as me. I thought maybe it was someone from the government. I opened the door. “Do you know Sawyer?”

“I am Sawyer.” The thickly built man stood there with a wine bottle, wearing black jeans, black boots, with black leather braces over a gray stripe shirt with rolled sleeves. He was in his early thirties with short dark hair, a clipped beard, and a full mustache that curled on the ends.

I stood there looking at him and made a reasonable guess. “You’re the brother of the Sawyer I know.”

“And you’re our first cousin once removed! Thomas told me all about it.”

“Thomas? Sawyer’s name is Tom Sawyer?” I started laughing.

“And that’s why he goes by his last name,” said Al. “Our parents were obliviously cruel.” He held out his hand for me to shake.

I grabbed his hand, pulling him into the apartment. “Come in! Come in!” I gave him a hug, which he gladly accepted.

“Al, please meet Max Roche.”

Al shook Max’s hand. “So, are the two of you…” and Al left it at that, waiting for one of us to fill in the blank.

Max glanced at me for a split second, instinctively knowing that I was not ready to say it, even if it were true, and when he answered, I could only sense myself growing more attached to him. He had a kind assertiveness that I perceived as generous and genuine. Max enjoyed my cock immensely but wanted me. At that moment, as he glanced at me and said what he had to Al, he spoke the truth to both of us.

“Yes, we are,” he told Al emphatically.

“That’s great! Well, this morning, I’m the Welcome Wagon, so welcome to Franklin.” He handed Max a bottle of 7-year-old, French, Pinot Noir. “I picked one my favorites from the cellar; I thought you might like it.”

“Thank you,” said Max. “That’s thoughtful.”

“Yes, thank you.”

Al looked around a bit. “So, Thomas told me he helped you find an apartment. Big mistake, he should have come to me.”

“What else did he tell you?” I asked, as I didn’t want to say too much and give myself away.

“Just that you’re a detective and would replace the gambling addict.”

“Does everyone know about that guy?” asked Max.

“It was in the papers,” he said.

“Ah!” I ushered Al beyond the front door and into the living room where we all sat. “Can you tell me why you only have one private detective in a city this size?”

“Probably because it takes a certain kind of person to be a detective, and of those people, who are a minority among our population, they prefer the police department. There might be someone who lives outside the city who wouldn’t mind the job if it were anywhere else. However, this is Freaky Franklin, renowned for its nonconformity, and maligned by the conservatives and religious community. The stain on the individual who comes here to work is too much for most people, even among our local supporters. If I were to guess, I would say we only have a couple of hundred commuters from outside the city limits. Well, I told Thomas, I would help you settle in. I know you could use the help, so what do you need?”

“That’s a generous offer, thank you,” said Max.

“We could use some advice,” I said, “We need a reputable bank, and someplace to get a decent car.”

“Well, cousin, that’s a reasonable enough request. Today’s my day off, so I can help you with that, but I need to drop by the precinct while we’re out. I’ll need my headphones for the gym in the morning.”

“Precinct? You’re a cop?”

He nodded. “Midtown.”

“So, you would have the skinny on the city?”

“The skinny.” He laughed. “I haven’t heard that in a long while, but yes, I do. Let’s get out of here and get you two a car.”

Al took us to the best dealership in town, the Mercedes dealer, he assured us we wouldn’t get ripped off there, and they had a variety of used cars in the back lot. We went inside, and the salesman named Terrance knew Al. He introduced us, and me as his cousin.

As Max had never owned a vehicle (a lot of people living in New York haven’t), he left it to me to find us one. I told Terrance what we needed, and we gave the lot a once over, but none of them suited our needs. They were either too big, too old, the mileage was too high, or whoever owned it didn’t take care of it. I didn’t want to own the object of someone else’s neglect. Terrance told us that new, used cars came in all the time, so he said he would keep his eye open for us.

As we were heading to Al’s car, Max stopped to admire a brand new, highly polished, silver, convertible two-seater inside the showroom, when a model of what I would call “female perfection,” breezed through the front door. I elbowed Max who turned to see what had caught my eye. Her pale skin appeared luminous Escort Ankara in the morning light, and her long, wavy, platinum blonde hair looked to be natural. The lace on the pure white dress that draped just below her knee hugged her curves, and the light reflecting off her shone like a vision of the shining one, Aglaia of the three graces. She said nothing, but her eyes locked with Max’s as she came toward us, her stride unbroken. Just before she passed us, her blood-red lips beamed a glamorous and sensual smile at Max that no one could ignore. She kept going, not looking back, but both Max and I couldn’t help but watch her. With the way that Max reacted you’d have thought an iconic celebrity had just walked past him. I could easily have dismissed her as casually flirting with him. However, she turned the corner, and just before she passed behind a room divider, disappearing, she looked to the far left to see if Max watched her. Her simple smile broadened, showing a beautiful set of pearly whites, and then she vanished.

I looked back to Al, but he had kept walking outside, not having noticed we stopped. Max and I caught up with him.

“That was Winter,” said Max.

“Yeah,” Al said as we continued to walk, “she’s probably here to pick up next year’s Mercedes-Maybach or something.”

“Her newspaper photo doesn’t do her justice,” said Max.

“The resolution of newsprint doesn’t do anyone justice,” said Al.

“What’s the skinny on her?” I asked.

He had unlocked the doors, but he stopped just before we got in and spoke across the top of his sedan. “Winter is a millionaire philanthropist, and from what I’ve seen, to the community she’s kind and warm-hearted, but to the outside world, she’s a harsh, barren, blast of money and power. I once heard someone refer to her as a Carrion Goth. She buys the remains of failed companies outside the city at pennies on the dollar, dismantles them, and sells their valuable bits of carcass at her silent auction house, the Winter Auction.”

I glanced at Max. “Jeez, I’m in the wrong business,” I said, as we climbed inside. “So, she’s goth?”

“Sure,” said Al, “not all goths wear black and dress like it’s 1890.”

On the way to the Midtown Precinct, Al pointed out the best, safest, and most sound financial institution in the city, the Franklin Credit Union, an institution also supported by Winter.

The ultramodern design of the Midtown Precinct had the garage beneath the building. We exited the elevator on the third floor. The uniforms of the police in Franklin surprised me as they had made them of leather: blue leather shirt, black leather pants with a blue stripe down the leg, and a blue and black leather Muir cap.

“Hey, Sawyer, I thought you were off again today,” said a man in plain clothes. He came from one of the offices on the far wall.

“I am Edge. I left something by mistake the other day. Let me introduce you to my first cousin once removed, Howard Millstone. He’s the new private dick in town. And this is his partner Max Roche. Howard, Max, this is my friend and coworker, Detective Wade Edgerton.”

“It’s good to meet you,” said Edgerton shaking our hands. “So…once removed. Never did understand how that worked.”

“I barely understand it,” I said.

“So, anything going on the last few days?” Al asked Edgerton.

“Yeah, and it’s not too good,” he said. “Tommy Two-Weeks topped himself Tuesday night. His roommate found him after he didn’t show up for work.”

“Oh man, I hate to hear that,” said Al, and turned to us. “Tommy Haines, known in Franklin as Tommy Two-Weeks, got in trouble off and on when he first arrived living on the street; nothing much, petty theft of food mostly and no one ever pressed charges. Tommy ran away from home three years ago when he was sixteen; he wanted to escape his abusive father. In the last six months, Tommy tried to get his life together.” He asked Edgerton, “Did he leave a note?”

“We didn’t find anything.”

“How did he end up with a name like Tommy Two-Weeks?” I asked.

“When he ran away from home, his father told him he wouldn’t last two weeks without him. He was pretty proud of himself for never going back.”

“A nineteen-year-old kid,” I said. “That’s a sad thing.”

“Has anyone told the sisters?” asked Al.

“Yeah, Delaney told them,” Edgerton said.

“You’re sure it was suicide?” I asked.

“You’ve been in Franklin for ten minutes, Millstone,” said Detective Edgerton. “I know suicide when I see one.”

“No offense,” I said, “I apologize for questioning your conclusion. After all, I wasn’t there. If you don’t mind, though, I do have a question. Even if your conclusion is correct, Tommy still left no note. That often means it came as an impulsive decision. Did his roommate tell you Tommy went out on a date the night before?”

“How did you know that?”

“I overheard Glenn, who I assume was Tommy’s roommate, tell the sisters that he finally went out on a date.”

Edgerton shook his head. “That’s irrelevant, unless the guy is directly involved in Tommy’s death, he isn’t culpable, and since he died of suicide, he isn’t. Look, I understand you want to help, but Tommy had some serious mental problems. I’m surprised he made it this long.”

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