Note: everyone in this story is over eighteen years old.
When Daniel called him, asking him to meet, Arthur thought it was because of the party they were planning. Arthur met Daniel in one of his father's diners; the place was full, but he saw his friend right away, sitting by the farthest table, drinking coke. Arthur went to him and sat down.
"What happened now?" Arthur asked.
"Come on, bro." Dan smiled. "I talked to Mari; she's bringing the green. John will get the drinks. The place is rented. Nothing can go wrong."
Arthur sighed.
"So why did you call me?"
Dan grimaced. He looked offended at Arthur for a few seconds, then he flashed his white teeth.
"Alright, you got me. Dad needs your help again with his computer."
"Really?" Arthur said, excited. Dan frowned.
"Why are you so happy about it?"
"Haven't I told you? Last time I fixed your dad's computer, I got rich."
"Jesus...Did you steal from my dad?"
"I would never do that," Arthur said, looking down. He snickered. "I can go there right now. I brought my bike. Is he home?"
"He's there," Dan said, clapping his hand. "See ya, bro. Do not steal from my dad."
Arthur left the diner with a smile on his face.
He hopped on his bike and went directly to Dan's home to help Mr. David Jammil with his computer. It took him fifteen minutes to get there. It was a big house, but small compared to what Mr. Jammil could afford. A three-story house with a cool modern design.
The man himself opened the door. Damn. Mr. Jammil was kind of his hero.
Big in height and bulk, the man wasn't satisfied with just being rich, he needed to look like the strongest, most intimidating male around, putting all others to shame. He looked the embodiment of hard work and exercise, with his shining black hair, tight clothes around the muscles, his protuberant chest and wide shoulders. A boulder of a man. Arthur dreamed in getting old looking like that but knew it would never happen.
He followed Mr. Jammil inside.
"You know the rest of the way?" the big man asked, stopping by the stairs.
"Yeah, I do."
"Of course, you do. See what you can do about the internet, and if you could make it faster somehow. Anyway, I don't understand it much, so I'll trust your judgment. I'll be in my room upstairs when you're done. You can knock." He gave Arthur a reassuring nod, then went up.
Arthur didn't know why he couldn't give the money right away, but shrugged.
Mr. Jammil's home office was a representation of the man himself. Large and well kept. It carried a feeling of being untouchable. The huge table where the laptop was on could fit three laying Arthurs. Feeling a bit weird, he sat down on Mr. Jammil's master chair. He felt as if he was invading something sacred. The sanctuary of a powerful man.
Shit, he needed to stop being such a fanboy.
He looked at the door for a while, checking to see if it would open, and Mr Jammil would come in screaming at him to leave his fucking chair now. When he was sure Mr. Jammil wasn't coming, he checked the computer.
Half an hour later, his work was done. The internet was working fine now, and the machine wasn't so slow anymore.
Arthur thought about going away without saying anything. But he wanted the money...and hear Mr. Jammil thank him and acknowledge him. It made him feel ashamed to admit it, but it was the truth. He went up the stairs.
When he got to Mr. Jammil's bedroom, the door was half-open, and as he got closer, he heard the voices.
"No, you don't understand. My son's friend is in the house. In my office."
It was Mr. Jammil and he sounded troubled. Worried. Arthur was going to knock, but stopped himself. He eyed the entrance through the small gap, and his breath caught. There was a big bald man with a rounded belly there, shirtless. He was grabbing his own crotch as he looked at Mr. Jammil, kneeling on the bed and holding up his arms towards the guy.
Arthur had no idea what was going on, and yet his heart began to beat faster. He removed himself quickly so he wouldn't be seen. He still heard the voices.
"I didn't come all this way so you could turn me down. On your knees, faggot."
What? He couldn't be speaking to Mr. Jammil.
"Who's looking over the diner?" Mr. Jammil's voice cracked. Arthur had never heard him sound so vulnerable, and began to wonder if he should get in and help somehow. "You're the manager."
Arthur acknowledged that the stranger worked for Mr. Jammil in one of his diners. What the hell? If he was the boss, why did he allow the guy to call him faggot? It was outrageous.
"I didn't come here to meet my boss; I came to meet my cum-dump. Now get on your knees. There you go, I know how you love to be called that. Now, I want you naked. All naked. Take it off." Arthur closed his eyes, assuring himself he was hearing wrong. But the guy kept talking, bringing him to reality. "Show me that big fat cum-bucket ass. There you go." Arthur heard the guy spit...He could only imagine where he was spitting on. Then there was the smacking sound of tongue...Kisses...And moaning.
Mr. Jammil was moaning. "Please, you can't do this. My son's friend is here. He could hear. Please..." But even as he said it, he sounded like a bitch...Arthur cringed as he thought of his big hero like that. There was something wrong here. Mr. Jammil needed help, or something. He couldn't...He wasn't... Arthur closed his eyes harder. "Oh god," Mr. Jammil moaned, making Arthur breathe out a long fucking breath, and giving him a big erection. He saw it first, his shorts growing more and more, pointing forward, before he felt the painful sweetness of his thick shaft full of pumping blood. And Mr. Jammil kept moaning.
"If you don't want anyone to hear, shut up..."
"I can't, you have to stop...Shit, your tongue...Up my ass, oh yeah."
No, this couldn't be happening. Arthur grabbed himself, squeezing his erection hard in the hopes it would go away. It almost made him moan out loud.
Arthur heard other things. Slaps, and more slurs. Mr. Jammil was degraded and humiliated in every sound and words. And yet, he kept moaning like a well-paid whore. What the fuck? This could not be reality. Arthur was having a nightmare. Mr. Jammil would never do such things.
Mr. Jammil disagreed with him.
His moans began to sound high-pitched all of a sudden.
"Three fingers, old fag. I love hearing you past the breaking point. Do you want my cock now?"
"Hmm. Shit, please. Give me your cock...your big gorgeous cock...Make me your fag..."
"You already are," the guy said. Mr. Jammil moaned louder.
Even as Arthur kept squeezing his cock, he wondered if he should help Mr. Jammil...he was clearly getting blackmailed by that...that motherfucker who was fucking his hero, making him moan like a bitch, beg for cock.
Arthur was seriously about to jerk off, he was so horny. He couldn't, though. It was wrong, Mr. Jammil needed him, needed his help.
