Blinded

Chapter 7

The next day dragged by as Brian waited for Justin's arrival and his parents' decision about him staying at the loft. Martin took Brian outside again and Brian did much better at finding his way back to his room. Martin brought a clock with no glass and Brian practised feeling the hands without disturbing the time.

Late in the afternoon Brian sat in his chair wondering how to keep himself occupied till Justin arrived. He decided that he liked having the real thing around, as in Justin, but right then he wished he had the tape. Justin's voice might have been able to keep him calm until he got the news about whether the young man could come home with him.

Thinking of the tape Brian remembered why he had asked Justin to get the recorder in the first place. He fished it out of the drawer of the nightstand and then sat back down in his chair. He tried to remember where he had left off. Finally he pushed the 'record' buttons and began to speak.

Dennis Stryker walked into "Shotz', his favorite hangout when he was looking for a certain kind of entertainment of an evening. His wary eyes scanned the clientele of the hustler bar. He recognized the faces of some of the usual patrons. Some were there every time he went into the joint. One or two gave him a slight nod of recognition, but most wanted to stay anonymous, much as he preferred to do. They all knew they weren't there for conversation, and there was very little of it going on in the dingy bar.

Stryker slid onto an empty barstool. He nodded at Fred who tended bar there most evenings. Fred quickly poured him a shot and set it down in front of him. It was immediately followed by a glass of draft. Stryker downed the shot and about half of the beer chaser. He could feel the reaction in his gut and allowed himself to relax slightly.

Stryker always sat at the bar when he came to Shotz. The mirrors behind it provided a panoramic view of most of the interior of the seedy bar. He also had a good view of the equally seedy patrons. Most of the men were heading towards or well into middle age like him. They were looking to score a piece of tight young ass just like he was. They nursed their drinks and waited just as he did.

They all knew that a little after ten a small contingent of young hustlers would show up. They could be had for the asking, and of course the usual fee. Fifty got you a blowjob, a hundred entitled you to a fuck, and two hundred could get you just about anything you dreamed of. Most of these men would settle for what fifty could buy. They didn't have the money for more.

Stryker knew he was prepared to fork out the two hundred tonight. Work had been a bitch and he was horny as hell. He had a lot of pent-up frustration and resentment to get rid of. A willing ass would be just what the doctor ordered.

Brian clicked off the recorder. His own words seemed so ironic to him. "What the doctor ordered" was a bit too close to home, but he supposed it fit the context of the story. He sat silently staring into the blackness deciding what he wanted to say next.

Suddenly he chuckled. Michael and Emmett and Ted would shit if they knew what he was doing. He could hardly believe how long he had been able to keep it a secret. No one knew except that fucking trick from a few weeks ago, and now he felt that Brian was his own private property, that Brian owed him something, something that Brian was totally unwilling to give. Now it didn't seem to be so funny. Brian sighed. Christ, he wanted his sight back. He wanted his life back. How much longer could he put up with this, and keep yet another secret?

Brian exhaled another long breath and turned on the recorder once again.

Stryker felt the rush of fresh air as someone opened the door to the bar and entered. He glanced at the mirror behind the bar and noted that the merry little band of hustlers had arrived. They stood by the door surveying the pickings for the night, and making it clear that they were for sale to the first bidder.

Many of them were hardly young anymore. Their twink status was rather questionable, but that was what they tried to convey in their clothes and demeanor. A high premium was placed on youth by the hustlers and the men who purchased them. Most of them looked tired and used. One of them was twitching noticeably. Stryker wondered what he was high on.

Stryker watched them and knew that he had had them all before. He wasn't above repeats but he had felt like some fresh meat for tonight. One of the regular customers of the hustler bar approached the group, and with a nod of his head indicated which boy he wanted to follow him to the backroom. Stryker knew the guy would get the hustler to blow him back there. The guy was a cheap son of a bitch.

Again Brian turned off the recorder and leaned his head back against the chair. He wondered if he was capturing the shoddiness and meanness of the hustler bar. He played back what he had recorded and felt mostly satisfied with it. Again he started the machine and spoke into the recorder.

Another whoosh of cool air told Stryker that the door had opened once again. He looked up and locked eyes with a young hustler that had been in the bar a few times before. Stryker had never had the kid, but maybe tonight was the night. As Stryker watched, another of the regulars made his way over to the young hustler, said something to him and they quickly left the bar. Stryker wondered if they were going to the man's car or if he would take the kid home. He had missed his chance on that one.

At that moment Stryker's eyes fell upon the boy who had come in with the kid who had just left. He seemed frightened and apprehensive. He glanced around furtively afraid to make eye contact with anyone. He was new there and seemed even more scared now that his companion was gone. Stryker knew this was the one that he had been waiting for. He stood up and threw some money on the bar. He turned and stared at the kid who would barely be eighteen. But that was all right. Stryker liked them young and inexperienced and afraid. He got off on fear. He headed towards the young man still hovering just inside the door.

"Brian?" Justin's voice said from the doorway.

"You're early, aren't you?" Brian asked quickly turning off the recorder.

"A bit. I got here as quick as I could. My parents said I can take you home tomorrow and stay for the weekend."

"Freedom!" Brian exclaimed.

Justin laughed. "I can hardly wait."

"That makes two of us."

Justin grinned from ear to ear. "So is there anything we need to do to get ready?"

"I have no food at the loft," Brian said thoughtfully, "but we could order in."

"For every meal?" Justin asked.

"Why? You don't like takeout?"

"I love takeout, but … every meal?" Justin repeated.

"Okay, okay," Brian said mulling over how to solve this problem. "Could you get some groceries tonight and stock up the loft before you take me home tomorrow? I don't think I'm ready for a supermarket just yet."

"I … I guess so."

"What's wrong?" Brian asked noting the hesitation. "Don't you want to do the mundane chores for me?"

"It's not that," Justin replied quickly. "It's … that I have a lot of homework tonight, and doing the shopping will take forever."

Brian thought about that. "You could take taxis," Brian suggested remembering how long it took Justin to go to the loft on the bus. Or…"

"Or what?"

"What if you took a taxi to the loft, took my Jeep to do the shopping and brought it back here so that you can take me home in it tomorrow."

"You'd let me take your car?"

Brian smirked. "But it comes back in one piece, understand, and if I find a scratch on it when I get my sight back…"

"What? You'll spank me?" Justin giggled.

"Hmm," was all Brian said. They both were getting hard from the thought.

"If you want me to do some shopping, I should probably get going."

Brian fished out his keychain. "Do you have enough money for a taxi?"

"Yes," Justin replied.

"Here's the debit card. You can use it at the supermarket, and if you need to get gas. I can't remember what's in the tank."

"Okay, I'll be back as soon as I can," Justin said.

"Take your time, and Justin, I appreciate this."

Justin grinned and quickly left the room. He loved that Brian thanked him and complimented him. He wanted to do his best for this handsome, intriguing man. He could hardly wait to spend twenty-four hours straight with the guy.

-----

Justin had been gone for a long time. Brian dictated a bit more of his story. He covered the part where Stryker picked up the hustler and took him home. He thought he had captured the fear and uncertainty of the young man quite effectively. Now he needed to write the sex. That was going to take some planning.

Dinner had arrived and Justin had not yet returned. He hoped he wasn't having trouble with the Jeep or the groceries or the debit card. All Brian could do was wait.

He took out his recorder and switched it on.

Stryker shoved his thick, blunt dick into the ass of the young hustler. The kid screamed out in pain and Stryker found his hands going around the kid's throat to shut him up. The last thing he needed was for his neighbors to hear. He drew back and drove in savagely. The kid gasped and tried to call out but the cruel hands around his neck made his scream come out as little more than a whimper.

The boy felt his insides ripping apart with each new thrust. He knew he was going to die, if not from the stranglehold the man had on him then from being torn apart internally. His sorry scrap of a life flashed before him. He had hustled all of three times before this and had not had good experiences. Why did these tricks have to be so cruel? He felt darkness beginning to cover his eyes as he gasped for breath and tried to endure the pain. It couldn't last much longer, could it?

Stryker continued his assault on the young body beneath him. Each thrust must be agony for the boy who had begged and pleaded so deliciously before Stryker had finally claimed him. He had decided not to use lube or condom wanting everything raw and primal. He had ripped the kid open and he had enjoyed every fucking second of it. He was almost there. A few more brutal thrusts and he came with a blinding orgasm unlike anything he had experienced for a very long time. He collapsed onto the unmoving body beneath him and waited for the world to come back into focus.

Finally he rolled away and watched with satisfaction as his spunk ran out of the kid's ass. He smiled to himself. He could go again already. Watching his juices mingled with streaks of the kid's blood had made him hard.

"Kid," he said shaking the boy.

There was no movement from the hustler. He was deathly still. Stryker jumped at that thought. It couldn't be. No! The kid was just recuperating from the workout Stryker had given him.

"Kid," Stryker repeated shaking the boy harder. There was no response. Stryker felt for a pulse in the neck. Nothing. He rolled the boy over and could tell instantly that the kid was dead. "Fuck!" he said aloud. Now what was he going to do?

Brian shut off the recorder and leaned his head back against the top of the chair. He thought back to that day several months ago when he and the gang had been going to go to the diner for breakfast. It was supposed to be the usual joke-cracking, inane morning. But as they came along the street they had seen the police tape and cruisers. And Debbie.

She was really shaken. But who could blame her when she had just found the body of a dead kid in the dumpster behind the diner. Brian remembered looking at the boy and thinking that he didn't look real. He had made some snide comment, but the image of the young hustler had haunted him afterwards. Debbie had gone on a crusade to find out who he was, and Brian had begun his own research.

He was interested more in who had killed the boy, than the boy himself. He tried to imagine what kind of savage creature, who walked among them looking like any other man, could have brutalized and then killed the young hustler. He had found out some interesting bits of information. Debbie had directed him to a young hustler who had befriended Jason Kemp, as Debbie had discovered the dumpster boy's name to be. The hustler had seen Debbie's shrine to Jason in the Liberty Diner and had told her he knew Jason. With the hustler's help Brian had narrowed the suspects to people in the hustler bar the night Jason was killed. The kid didn't know who Jason went with that night because he had left first. Nobody else remembered the scared, insecure kid.

Brian had spent several nights in the hustler bar asking questions and coming up empty. He had tried to garner information at the police station. A few weeks ago he had even fucked one of the clerks hoping to gain access to the file on Jason Kemp. At first the guy had been more than willing to do anything for Brian. After all Brian was probably the best fuck he'd ever had. After they had fucked Brian told the guy what he wanted from the files. All of a sudden the happily well fucked clerk had backed out apparently afraid that he would lose his fucking job. Brian had been royally pissed having wasted his time on an at best mediocre fuck and getting absolutely nothing out of it. Brian had made a few other attempts to get the information he wanted but he got nowhere fast. He had come up with a few theories about who might have done the dirty deed, one in particular, but nothing conclusive. He wondered if he might have actually talked to the murderer in the hustler bar when he was searching for information. That made his shudder, but he would never really know. He had found enough to give him the character of Stryker, and he would play it for all it was worth.

Strangely enough though he had found more and more of the story revolving around the young hustler, Jason Kemp. In Brian's story he was Jackson, a poor gay boy from some small town. He had come to Pittsburgh to check out life in the big city. Jackson had not found what he expected. Instead he had found poverty and abuse and Stryker.

Brian wondered if he should change the point of view in the story and tell it from Jackson's instead of Stryker's or maybe he could alternate from one to the other. That was an interesting thought, if he could tell it from the POV of the prey and the predator both. He sucked in his lips and thought about that possibility.

Suddenly Brian sat up straight. Someone was watching him. He knew it. "Who's there?' he demanded.

"Me," a male voice whispered almost inaudible.

"Justin?" Brian said hopefully, but it didn't feel like Justin. "Who is it? Who are you?"

Brian waited. He was sure he had heard someone and he felt the presence.

"Who is it?" Brian asked again feeling the fear crawl up his back. He waited for a reply. Nothing happened. And then as suddenly as the presence had appeared Brian could sense that it was gone. He knew that they always said your other senses took over when you lost one. He had known someone was there. Had known it wasn't Justin. Had known he was being watched. He shivered involuntarily.

"Brian," Justin's soft voice came to him from across the room. "Are you all right? You look … pale."

"Did you see anyone by my door?" Brian asked brusquely.

"No, was someone bothering you?"

"No, no," Brian said slowly. "I guess I was imagining things." But he didn't think he had imagined that voice.

"I got everything done," Justin said cheerfully. "The Jeep's in the parking lot and the loft's all stocked up."

"And tomorrow we go home," Brian added brightening up. He could hardly wait. He wanted to get out of this place as soon as possible.