TAYLOR MOUNTAIN CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I probably should point out that I'm not anti-religious -- every modern religion teaches peace and love, and the repudiation of hate. Unfortunately, there are preachers, rabbis, and imams who claim hate and fear to be the message of their god; and, even more unfortunately, there are people who believe them. So, I'm nowhere close to repudiating the God of Christianity in this story; but hate-mongers who claim to speak for Him are fair game.
This story is gay fiction. It is copyrighted and cannot be reproduced in any medium without my express permission. If you are a minor in your country of origin, don't read.
I have two other series running on Nifty: GLOBAL ENTERTAINMENT appearing in the Incest folder and ILLUSIONS in the Beginnings folder. If these two stories don't give you enough hot vampires and mortals, Starbooks has just released my LOVERS WHO STAY WITH YOU, and that has 28 tales that'll have you offering your neck to the next guy who offers to lick it. You can help Nifty by using its link to A Different Light bookstore when buying this book.
I'd love to hear from you -- tell me what you think of this story, Illusions, or Global Entertainment. Just please put the title of the story in the subject box so that I won't delete your message along with all the spam I get. I'm at vichowel@aol.com.
Dave MacMillan
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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Brenda sat on the couch in her living room, unaware that she was staring at the large photograph on the wall across from her. She'd cried until she didn't have any tears left. But she finally understood what that kind Reverend Phredd in Mountain Hollow had tried to help her understand. Sammy had become an abomination.
She jerked as she focused on the photograph across from her. Rastus Reed glared down at her from it, his finger pointing right at her heart, God's own wrath in his soul. "Just like an Old Testament prophet ferreting out the sins of Israel -- or the abominations of Taylor Mountain!" she growled.
She'd been so blind! Reverend Phredd and Brother Zack had told that the men of the mountain were like that nasty Paul was; but she hadn't listened. She knew Sammy would never do that. She hadn't taken into account that the devil could bend a man's will that far.
She accepted that the evil of Taylor Mountain had taken Sammy away from her now. It was just as bad as Reverend Phredd had warned her it would be. She couldn't forget Sammy's eyes staring at her. Only, they hadn't been Sammy's. That much she knew as certainly as Jesus Christ was coming back to save the world.
And that voice that had been in her head telling her to leave! It had come straight from hell. She felt dirty just knowing that the devil had spoken to her, that it had been in her head.
The devil had been in Sammy's body. It was controlling him. It was making him into an abomination.
That hadn't been Sammy. Not her Sammy!
She knew her Sammy, and he wasn't queer. He knew how to make a woman feel good. He was a real man.
But, now, Sammy was a sodomite. She'd seen it with her own two eyes. It had been so disgusting she'd almost puked. That Paul Estes with all of Sammy's thing up his butthole, riding it -- like he was some wannabe woman.
She'd tried to be nice to those abominations Sammy knew. She'd believed him when he said that he was trying to build a client base. It was a girl's responsibility to help her man, and she'd done it. She'd ignored what she knew was God's Word. She went to queer art shows. She was nice to the queers Sammy introduced her to.
Sammy Taylor would never be like them. She knew him too well for him to have been doing that. He'd never take a substitute for the real thing, either -- not before he went up to that mountain without her.
She knew it wasn't the real Sammy she'd seen wallowing in evil with Paul. In that movie The Exorcist, it wasn't the little girl doing all those awful things. She'd had a demon inside her, controlling her.
Like Sammy had! She'd seen him and heard that evil presence.
In the movie, it'd taken two Catholic priests to get the demon out of the girl -- well, one really. The demon killed the first one. Her eyes widened. It'd killed the other one, too. But only after he'd opened himself up so it'd leave the girl and enter him. He'd had just enough of himself left to jump out of that window. That had killed the priest all right; but he'd saved the little girl.
If Catholics were supposed to be able to exorcise demons, she knew that Baptists could. Baptists knew a lot more about God than those idolators.
Brenda smiled as a new realization struck her. That meant that she could maybe still save Sammy. She felt herself become wet as she allowed herself to begin imagining having him again. After the abomination had been exorcised.
She pulled her gaze from her father's picture. Her Daddy didn't need to know just how good she thought Sammy Taylor was in bed. He just needed to know that a demon had taken possession of her boyfriend and was destroying their relationship.
What her Daddy needed to know was that there was a soul that was in the direst danger of eternal damnation. It wouldn't matter that Sammy was her boyfriend or not. Rastus Reed would save him. She knew how devoted he was to Jesus. And to the Word. He'd never let anybody go to hell if he had a chance to save them. Him and Reverend Phredd both. Together, they could be like those priests in The Exorcist. Only, they'd be stronger; they were Baptists.
The revival was two weeks away, though. The devil would be in complete control of Sammy if she waited that long to do anything. Even her Daddy might have problems getting rid of the thing.
She smiled more broadly. She didn't have to wait for the revival to show Sammy that she loved him, to remind him of his love for her. To keep what was still human in him from slipping away. She could be there for him the next two weeks, every evening. Neither Paul nor any other queer would have a chance at him then.
She giggled. She'd starve the devil that had gotten into Sammy that way. She'd even go up on that evil mountain next weekend and take on old Beelzebub himself for her man. She'd save Sammy. She had to.
* * *
If Paul had looked like a bowlegged cowpoke when he was moving to straddle me, he looked like a cheerleader after a nonstop weekend with the football team when he left for his condo three hours later. I'd came four times while he rode my dick and he'd probably doubled that. My chest and stomach were covered with his jizz.
I was back in my body, in complete control of it the moment he'd pulled off and began to inch his way down my legs. Sam just left and I was the only one inside my head. My pecker did a melt down before Paul was past my knees.
He hummed happily as he pulled on his clothes. He smiled when he looked back at me lying on the bed unable to get up. He leaned over and kissed me -- on the eyelids, on the cheeks, on the mouth.
"Want me to come over tomorrow night, Sammy?" he cooed.
I wondered if I'd be able to get hard again in less than a year, much less twenty-four hours.
"Let's play it by ear," I told him. "I just got back into town. I don't know what'll be happening yet."
"Call me, Sammy." He stood back up. "Any time." He wiggled his butt and smiled down at me, his fingers stroking my deflated meat. "I'll be waiting."
Paul let himself out. It took me another hour to convince myself that I could get out of bed. With his jizz drying on my chest, I figured it was a good time to hit the showers.
I tried to understand what I'd gotten myself into as I stood under the hot water and soaped myself up.
Point number one, as I saw it, was that I wasn't into girls. I couldn't even get my pole to twitch when I put a picture of Brenda naked in front of my mind. Not even a close up of her knockers did anything for me any more. And this was the former Miss Georgia Peach I was disrobing in my mind. Twenty-something years of heterosexual programming had gone out the window in less than two weeks.
Point number two was that I was really into Sam Taylor. My dick got hard just thinking about him shoving that big-assed monster up my butt. Point number three was that I was equally into Henry Taylor.
I was hard and drooling under the hot water. And there was no Sam Taylor controlling my body this time. Yep, I sure was queer. Sighing, I spread my fingers around my pole and began to stroke.
The people on the mountain were absolutely positive that the good-looking blond really was the first Sam Taylor in all his glory. I told myself this as the screen in my mind lit up with Sam behind me and Henry under me.
Those people also thought he was a vampire. He thought so too.
I could feel his dick moving inside me. It was almost real. The image of Henry disappeared and Sam was pounding my butt. I looked like Paul had earlier -- eyes shut, tongue lolling out of my mouth, and my face slack.
I came. My legs went weak and I had to grab the towel rack to hold myself up. Yeah, I was definitely gay, jacking off to getting my ass plugged by the biggest dick I'd ever seen.
I still couldn't get a firm handle on the vampire stuff, though. I mean, that was all superstitious nonsense -- or pure fiction. Like Frankenstein's monster.
It did, however, explain why he looked twenty, instead of a hundred. I figured it went a long way also in explaining the telepathy and mind control as well. The couple of vampire movies I'd seen as a kid had Bela Lagosi controlling his victims mentally. I wondered if that could include controlling two people at the same time -- at a distance of a couple of hundred miles.
I had to admit that was one fucking good trick. It almost had me convinced.
It had been Sam in my body fucking the shit out of Paul, too. I knew damn well there was no way in hell that I could ever keep it up that long or cum that many times in such a short period of time. Give me a whole night and maybe -- but no way in hell in just a few hours.
He'd had to have been controlling Paul, too. When Henry was doing the honors, I was good for one time only. But when I was riding Sam's pole? I went for hours and never even thought about it. I stayed hard, too. The only way I could see that happening was if he was controlling me, my mind and my body.
Okay, so I was a gay boy. I was what I'd heard called "versatile" since I'd started meeting and knowing gay guys who talked about their kind of sex. Our kind of sex, I reminded myself. I could screw anybody -- at least, I was allowed to. But nobody touched my butt, unless he was an authorized Taylor from Taylor Mountain.
I didn't know if I liked that.
I mean, I'd fucked a lot of different girls the past fourteen years. I was used to going with the flow if that flow was there. I couldn't see why the same kind of thinking didn't apply to guys.
I figured it did and it didn't. I could fuck any of them. At least, I guessed that I could. I'd sure had Paul riding my pole to glory; so, it sort of stood to reason that it could happen with other guys. But the moment things got close to getting down to me bending over, Sam took over and I was no longer spreading my legs. I was allowed to fuck, but I couldn't get fucked. Except by Sam and Henry. And maybe others from Taylor Mountain.
I wasn't so sure I liked the restrictions I saw Sam had put on me.
When he was there, all I wanted was for him to bury himself in my butt. But I got interested in sex at times when he wasn't around. On the mountain, Henry took care of me. I could go along with that. Both Sam and Henry were good-looking and well-hung. They took care of me quite adequately.
However, there were going to be a lot of times that I wasn't on the mountain. It was only a weekend get-away. And there were a lot of gay boys in Atlanta. Good-looking gay men. I suspected there were quite a few of them whom I'd like to share a lot of intimacy with, including them being inside me. Only, the thing with Paul earlier had sure indicated that wasn't going to happen.
I figured that Sam and I had better have a long heart-to-heart the next time I saw him. I mean, it wasn't like I was his slave or something. My body was mine, not his. He was going to have to let me have my privacy when I wasn't around him or Henry.
* * *
Troy lay in his bed, staring up at the darkened ceiling and trying not to remember his humiliation that afternoon at the church. He was failing miserably.
He didn't know the name of even one of the boys he'd serviced. He could probably ask around and find out; but that could raise a red flag over his head if anybody at Gospel Baptist was suspicious. It could also make the two younger guys, the jocks, think he was interested.
It wasn't that Troy was a virgin; it was just that most people got interested in his dick the moment he popped a boner. Both men and women did. He'd known most people were size queens before he was sixteen.
The two jocks and the one's older brother sure weren't, though. They'd keyed right in on Troy's mouth and ass -- and stayed there until each of them had unloaded in him. His dick didn't turn even one head. The worst part of it was that he'd blown a load while the first football player was pumping his ass hard.
No! The worst part of it was that he'd gotten into it. By the time the older guy was sliding into his butt, Troy was shoving back to take it faster. And opening wide for the second jock to slide his dick into Troy's mouth. He'd even been pounding his pud when the second jock pushed into him and the brothers were dressing.
Whether he'd gotten into it or not, it couldn't happen again. No way! Rastus would fire him for sure it got around that he was doing kids at the church. Hell! The deacons would probably be leading the lynching party. And he'd already seen that preaching was the perfect scam and Rastus was one of the better teachers to learn it from. He couldn't afford to lose out on this one.
Only, how did he make sure that it didn't?
He couldn't run. His chance of becoming as rich as Rastus would go down in flames without so much as a whimper that way. If for no other reason than finding another holyroller who liked dick as much as Rastus did would be like finding a needle in a haystack. Troy reminded himself that he wasn't getting any younger, either.
Okay, so he stood up and fought. But how? With what?
He sure as hell didn't have the law on his side -- the two football players had mentioned they were just shy of eighteen. He'd understood instantly what they were telling him, probably better than they had. In the eyes of the law, he was guilty of statutory rape; it didn't matter that the kids had been plugging him.
He couldn't scream rape and he wasn't about to run. What else was there?
That was the scary thing -- just how limited his options really were.
The way he saw it, he could either try reasoning with the kids or he could learn to live with the situation as it developed. Reasoning with them hadn't gone anywhere at the church; he doubted it would anywhere. In his book, that only left learning to live with it.
He groaned. And remembered how he'd gotten into this situation in the first place.
Three years ago, Troy'd just been released from Duval County Detention Center after a nine month stint for prostitution. Two days out of jail, he'd been broke, hungry, and desperate.
He'd met Rastus at the detention center; the preacher had been the chaplain. He also hadn't been able to keep his hands off Troy almost from the moment they met. Rastus had set him up with a place to stay after he got out. He understood what that meant and accepted the roof over his head.
Troy'd moved into the house as soon as he could make it downtown from the center. The problem was that Rastus was preaching a revival in Alabama the week; the couple of dollars he'd got from the detention center were gone before the first day was out. He went two days without food before he went out to hustle.
Troy knew where he should be able to turn a trick. The Duval Hotel catered to rich travelers of both sexes and he'd always before found the hunting good there. Of course, it'd been Memorial Day weekend and there wasn't a damned thing going on in Jacksonville.
By eleven that night, Troy's stomach was growling continuously and he didn't have two dimes in his pocket to rub together. That's when the two kids came out of Barnes and Noble, stared at him for a moment, whispered together for a couple more, and approached him. They'd turned out to be a high school senior and his kid brother looking for something more interesting than a latte mocha.
Troy'd almost shot them a bird and told them what they could do with their dicks. His stomach had growled again. They had a car. He'd agreed to a suck and a fuck each -- for a lousy twenty dollars and a trip through the MacDonald's drive-through.
That should have been the end of it. He'd thought it was. He hadn't seen them, or thought of them, for three years.
"The older one's in college," he told himself. And the other two are seniors. Right! He grinned to himself.
The older one wouldn't be around often. And Troy could avoid the other two by just not being at the church after school let out. And he wouldn't go to any Ambassadors for Christ meetings.
Their parents might be members of the church, but that didn't mean that kids would know where he'd be living come Monday morning. Kids were oblivious to everything.
They'd had their fun. After he'd avoided them for a couple of weeks, they'd have found another fun that didn't include him. And he'd be free of them.