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34.BOND WEST


The sleepy young man rolled over in the dark, feeling around
for his cell phone. It was 2:00 am, but phone calls in the middle of
the night were typical. His hand found the small device on the fourth ring.
"Bond West," he answered.
The caller hesitated, then spoke nervously. "Yeah, um, hi. Uh,
I heard about you and wanted to make an appointment."
"Sure," Bond replied courteously. He always presented a
friendly, confident tone toward his customers. In this business it
didn't pay to piss people off. Inquiring about the details of where
and when, he scribbled down the information, ended the call, and got
out of bed. He had forty-five minutes to clean up and reach his
destination. He left his bedroom, walked into the bath across the
hall, and turned on the shower. When it felt good and warm he stepped
behind the curtain, quickly getting wet. As he rinsed shampoo out of
his hair he heard a voice in the room.
"Another late call?" asked his roommate, Brent. "What is it
this time, an old lady can't sleep? Somebody needs a bath?" The
steady sound of peeing accompanied the questions.
"I don't know," Bond lied. "I'll find out when I get there."
He'd found it convenient to mask his real activity by explaining to
his roommate, and anyone who asked, that he worked for a home
healthcare company. Part of the job was being on call anytime someone
needed help. Nobody wondered why he might be at home any time of the
day, or out any time of the night. The fact that he'd studied
healthcare in college made it that much easier to talk about disease
and discomfort, usually to the point people stopped asking questions.
Make it gross enough, he figured out, and they didn't want to know any more.
Rinsing off the remainder of the soap, he pushed back the
shower curtain and plucked a towel from the stack on top of the
toilet tank. Brent stood looking in the mirror, messing with his
dark, longish hair.
Bond dried himself, unconcerned with his nudity. He and Brent
had seen each other naked plenty of times during the eighteen months
they'd been roommates. They'd met at one of the gay bars in town,
became friends, then moved in together to save expenses a few months
later. Other friends assumed it was a relationship, but it hadn't
gone that way. True, Bond and Brent had messed around with each other
a little bit, but they'd never fucked. Both were attractive, around
the same age, 25, similar trim builds, although Brent's abs showed a
more pronounced six-pack. As he dragged the towel around his body
Bond looked Brent over. He never got tired of looking at his
roommate, especially when the boy was almost naked.
Even though a relationship hadn't developed, Bond had feelings
for Brent. Nothing deep or soulful, but heartfelt; good friends who
were there for each other. It didn't hurt that Brent was a hottie.
Bond let his eyes wander up from Brent's bare feet to his muscular
legs, past the boxers he wore, the tight, defined stomach and chest,
finally the handsome face. Bond's cock stirred slightly, but he ignored it.
As it suddenly dawned on him that he needed to go back to bed,
Brent let his hair go and walked out of the bathroom. Bond returned
to his own room to dress, heard the squeak of Brent's mattress, then
the rustle of the covers. He'd be asleep again in moments.

Bond left the apartment and began his drive. It wasn't too far
across town, and traffic was understandably light at that time of
night. He guessed about twenty minutes to reach his destination.
Turning the radio on low, Bond thought to himself as he drove. For
almost a year now he'd been making a living as a rent boy. Life as a
hooker hadn't been a goal, but neither had been working sixty-hour
weeks for crappy pay at a downtown health clinic. After mopping up
urine and vomit from the ten thousandth wino to stumble in the door
he'd had enough. A few weeks earlier a friend had jokingly suggested
Bond was hot enough to sell his ass and make a lot of money, plus set
his own hours. The offbeat idea came to him again about two weeks
later when an older man approached him at a bar and brazenly offered
$50 to suck his cock. After thinking it over he'd said yes. At the
time it had both frightened and aroused him, the perceived illegality
of it becoming a sexual stimulant he'd not encountered before.
Unfortunately for the guy paying, Bond lasted only a minute before
firing off down the cocksucker's throat. He was almost shocked when
the guy smiled, said thanks, and handed him the money. After that the
next time was easy. He gave notice at the clinic.
Word seemed to get around, at least in the circles of men who
hired other men for sex, as they began to share the cell phone number
and description of the new, hot boy on the market. At least one
thing his friend had said proved to be wrong, there wasn't any way to
set his own hours. Calls would come day or night, so it was either
risk getting a bad reputation for making people wait, or saying yes
to anyone who had the cash. Still, he'd walked on three or four guys
who turned out to be too disgustingly filthy to touch. Bond was a
whore, but he wouldn't endure lice to make a go of it. He was staying
plenty busy with cleaner guys.
The client tonight had sounded young, but sometimes phone
voices were deceiving. Bond didn't mind young guys, but if they were
paying for sex it usually meant one of two things, and sometimes
both; they were either way overweight or unattractive. Older guys
weren't always in good shape, but as long as they were clean he'd
show them a good time. He couldn't afford to be too choosey, after all.
The directions were accurate enough and he found the apartment
without too much searching. He lightly tapped on the door.
As the door opened and low light spilled out onto the walkway,
a lean, male figure appeared. Bond smiled as he took in his client's
appearance. A slightly shaggy hair cut, dishwater blond, framed a
cute, angular face, boyishly trim neck, shoulders, and bare chest. A
pair of cargo shorts hung obscenely low on narrow hips, followed by
bare feet. He looked totally smooth in the dim light. Bond guessed
him to be about 22, maybe 23.
"Hi, I'm Bond. You called about an hour ago?"
"Uh, yeah. Come in," the young man offered.
With the door shut and locked behind them, the two stood and
continued to size each other up.
"What's your name?" Bond asked, removing and dropping his
jacket across the end of the sofa, then kicking off his shoes.
"Scott."
"Nice to meet you, Scott." Bond could sense the nervous
tension in the air. "This your first time with a guy?"
The question came as a surprise. "What?!"
"No offense," said Bond, "you just seem really nervous."
"Oh, uh...I've been with guys, just not a..." Scott began to
explain, stopping short.
"Just not a whore?" Bond offered as completion. He looked
Scott in the eye and smiled broadly.
"Semantics," he added. "Whore, prostitute, escort, what
difference does it make? I don't concern myself with labels."
Scott gave a little laugh. "Whatever, dude. But you're right,
not with a whore before."
"So why call one tonight?" Bond wanted to know. "You're pretty
hot, I bet you've got guys lined up willing to give it to you for free."
"A couple of buds come around often enough," Scott answered, "but..."
"But?"
"They're both bottom boys; can't help me tonight. I wanted
something different."
Bond understood. "Ok, I get it. You want to get fucked; let
down your guard for an hour and stop being the top, but don't want
the whole world to know about it."
"Something like that," agreed Scott, his eyes darting to the floor.
With all his experience Bond knew what direction to start in,
then see if he'd get the reaction he expected. Walking to Scott, then
stepping behind him, Bond reached out and wrapped his arm around the
chest of the semi-naked boy. His other hand went to his waist. With
little resistance the shorts were pushed off Scott's hips, piling up
over his feet. Bond pulled back roughly, almost knocking the other
boy off balance. His tight embrace held them together.
"You're gonna get fucked, you little bitch," Bond whispered.
His free hand came down hard on Scott's naked ass. SMACK!
"AH!" Scott squeaked. A second swat stung his ass even harder.
He shuddered, but made no sound.
"Gonna fuck your bitch hole until you scream," Bond stated
menacingly, playing out the role he believed was the intended fantasy
of the young man in his grasp. Scott wordlessly confirmed it when he
offered no resistance as Bond pushed him toward the bedroom.
Pushed roughly forward, Scott fell face down over the side of
the bed. Turning to one side, propped on his elbow, he watched Bond
undress down to his tight briefs. The black fabric bulged out under
pressure from his half-hard cock. Bond already knew he'd enjoy
fucking this boy even if he wasn't getting paid to do it.
Bond approached the bed and stepped between Scott's legs.
Taking a wider stance, he forced Scott's legs apart, grabbing the
upturned ass with both hands.
"Fucking hot ass," Bond hissed. "My cock is gonna love it."
Another loud smack rang out as the open palm of his hand made contact
with Scott's butt cheek.
The sharp instance of pain caused Scott to wince, taking in a
quick breath. His mind reeled with sensations and thoughts of what
was happening, but the scene was exactly what he wanted.
"You're gonna fuck me? I don't know if I..." Scott resisted,
his statement cut short by another hard slap to his ass. "AAHHH!"
"I didn't ask you!" Bond commanded. "I'm telling you. Your
bitch ass it taking my cock!"
Wadding the bed linens with both hands, Scott nestled his face
into them, blocking out his vision. He wanted to hear and feel what
was happening to him, but not see it, maintaining a voluntary element
of surprise. His knees drew up below him, raising his ass for Bond's assault.
"Good boy," Bond praised.
Scott ...


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