The Long Hunt Ch. 03

I spent more than a week riding around with Ray Ross before Aunt Clair finally called us up to the house to "give her a little sugar." What she meant by that was pretty much what I expected, and despite my excitement, the truth was that I already hated Ray so much I was questioning whether another orgasm inside Clair was worth the trouble.

On the morning when the call came, Ray was sitting in his office inside the grimy Quonset Hut on Commerce Street in Sudbury. Ray called the place "Ross World Headquarters," and it was the public face of the more-or-less legitimate side of his enterprises: small engine repairs, appliances, the occasional pickup or dirt bike.

His staff was a barely functioning 60-year-old alcoholic named Doot (full name: Deuteronomy) who handled most of the little repairs, and two pimply, sulking twentysomethings named Dwayne and Shawn Patterson who appeared to be doing exactly fuck-all.

So while I spent most of my time at the Quonset hanging around with those three losers, Ray entertained a steady stream of surprisingly diverse Sudbury characters, either inside his office, just inside the shade of the always-open double doors, or out in the sun in rusting metal deck chairs amidst the piles of old electrical motor parts, engine blocks and hulking, greasy transmission bodies. In the mornings they dropped by for coffee (it was my job to keep the urn filled). In the afternoon they came by for after-work beers.

Some wore overalls and smelled of chicken shit. Others wore summer-weight suits and high-gloss black shoes. There were younger men in wife-beaters and gimme caps, wannabe bad-asses with packs of Camels rolled up in the sleeves of their T-shirts, skinny country rakes in straw cowboy hats and Molly Hatchet concert shirts, fat old men covered in tattoos that spoke to time in the military or prison.

Even my Uncle Jim stopped by sometimes after shutting down his law office for the day.

Sometimes they just talking about nothing. Sometimes they talked business. Sometimes they'd cut their eyes at me or the Patterson boys and Ray would say something like "Hey, pencil dick. Take a hike," and they'd continue in private.

Pretty regularly someone would show up and reach for his wallet, or an unmarked envelope, and Ray would wave him off and say "Step into my office."

My first day on the "job" consisted of sweeping up, looking for things to do, taking the occasional insult from Doot (who insisted on calling me "Slats") and being ignored entirely by Ray. But on the second day Ray took me with him "to go run some errands." So I climbed in his crappy-ass Ford F-150 and off we went.

The first thing we did was drop by Clyde's Diner for more coffee, but Ray made me wait outside in the truck. Then we followed a man I'd never met before out to the country, and Ray – who barely spoke to me while he drove – dropped me off at a big metal storage building with two padlocks on the sliding doors. The stranger came around, unlocked them and pointed me toward a push broom and a utility closet with a rolling mop bucket. Then the two of them climbed into Ray's truck and disappeared back the way we came.

I was done with the job and sitting outside in the sun when they returned about two hours later – with a young-looking redhead sitting between them. Ray was grinning ear-to-ear.

"Hey boy," he said as he helped the girl step down from his truck. "This is Natalie. Say hello to Will, Natalie."

"Hello," she said, giving me a shy smile. She was probably about my age – maybe a bit older – with a Marilyn Monroe figure and long, straight, red hair. Sexy, for sure, but with a kind of simple innocence.

"Did you get that barn cleaned up, boy?" Ray asked. He poked his head inside as the stranger walked up to look it over ,too.

"That'll do," the stranger drawled. He was short, balding and pot-bellied, dressed in fat-slacks and a tucked-in polo shirt.

"Alright then," Ray said, smacking his palms and rubbing them together. "Let's get down to business, Natalie."

"R-right here?" she stammered, glancing around. "All three of you?"

"Not that boy," Ray said. "He ain't got nothing to do with this. Do you, boy?"

I shrugged.

"She ain't much for a blow job," the fat stranger said. "But that pussy is right tight."

"Is that true?" Ray said, taking the chin of her heart-shaped face between his thumb and curled index finger. "You some kinda retard when it comes to sucking cock, girl?"

"That's what Bill says," Natalie said. She closed her eyes. "I gag on it."

"Well I'll take my own counsel on this matter," Ray said, and put both his burly hands on the girl's shoulders and pushed her down. She knelt on the concrete slab at the doorway to the empty storage building. "Don't just sit there, dammit. Them jeans ain't gonna undo themselves."

If the rough fucking Ray had given Clair that day on her back porch had looked like rape to my virgin eyes, then what transpired with Natalie really put me in a weird place. Because it wasn't enough that this pretty little girl sucked Ray's thick cock – he had to jam it as far down her throat as far as he could, holding her head by the scalp of her red hair as she gagged and coughed, fucking her face, and slapping her cheek when she got free of his dick.

Meanwhile, the stranger – who I would eventually know by the name Bill Ferguson – had dropped his trousers and was stroking his sub-average penis. Which was just about the most unsexy thing I'd ever witnessed.

Eventually Ray released Natalie from his grasp, and she turned almost gratefully from his abusive, raging cock to start slurping on Bill. There was something gentle and erotic about it, even though her pretty face had been distorted by Ray's treatment. Her eyes were watering. Her nose was bright red and moist. Even her lips seemed bruised. But left to her own devices she was almost sweet to this toadish old man.

Ray wasn't exactly a man who appreciated the finer things, though. While Natalie sucked Bill, Ray pulled her into a standing, bent-over position, pulled down her jeans, and with no foreplay whatsoever pushed his cock into her pussy. It was clearly unpleasant for her, but she took it like a trooper and kept up her rhythm on Bill.

"Like I said, not much of a cocksucker," Bills said, using the same tone he might have used in discussing a hunting dog. "But how's that pussy, Ray? Not bad, huh?"

"Damn fine," Ray said. "Tight. And I like those little strawberry pubes, too."

"Now don't you cum in there, boy," Bill said. "I like to finish in that pussy and I don't wanna put my dick in none of your mess."

"Well, since we're business partners, alright. But I'm ready, boy."

"Alright then," Bill said, pulling out of Natalie's mouth and shoving her over toward Ray. "Cum all over that pretty fucking whore face, Ray! Shoot it!"

"Oh hell yes," Ray said, grabbing her hair again and stuffing her mouth. A few thrusts later I watched Natalie cough up a huge mouthful of cum, and when Ray pulled her head hard to his belly to complete his orgasm, she began gagging and gasping, with each pulse of his dick drooling out of her mouth.

"Ragged," Ray said as he released her. "You'll never be a Grade A whore until you improve your cocksucking skills, Miss Natalie."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Ross."

"You'd better be sorry," Bill said, pulling her up and leading over to a makeshift table consisting of some plywood over some 55-gallon drums. She understood what he wanted, pulled her jeans down and off of her left foot, then spread her legs and bent over so that one of the drums supported her weight.

"You're a gift to Mr. Ross today," Bill said as he tried to line up her pussy from behind. "And if you want to get all those good things we talked about, you'll work on your deficiencies." He pushed into her.

"Yes – uh! I mean, yes, Mr. Bill," Natalie said.

"I do like to watch her take that dick," Ray said, walking around and smacking the girl on the side of her ass as Bill plowed her with steady, short strokes.

"One of the best things about Natalie is that she don't mind if you shoot your load in her pussy," Bill said. "Do you mind, Natalie?"

"No Mr. Bill."

"Ain't you worried about her getting knocked up? Or maybe the clap?" Ray asked.

"Not really – damn that's good – I mean, I haven't put her out in the rotation yet. Kinda keeping it for myself at the moment. Share her around for special circumstances. You ready to take your load, Natalie?"

"Yes sir."

"Good! Cause there it it! Damn!"

The little piggie-looking man shuddered, and then pulled out of her. Sperm dribbled out of her labia.

Natalie slowly straightened up, while Bill Ferguson hitched up his pants with all the ceremony of a man in a public restroom.

"So what's next?" Ray asked. Bill looked at his wristwatch.

"Willie's boys should be down with the bales any minute now," Bill said. "We'll handle things from there. You just stick to the schedule and follow instructions and you'll be right as rain."

"Alright then," Ray said. "Come on, boy, let's go."

Natalie and I caught each other's eyes as I turned to leave, but she cut her gaze away from me.

"What was all that about?" I asked once we were underway.

"That ain't none of your concern," Ray said.

"The hell it ain't," I replied. "If you're putting me in the middle of something illegal, it's absolutely my business."

Ray laughed, a great big smile splashing across his black-bearded, beefy face.

"Well, ain't you just Billy Bad-Ass today? Hey, I got a question for you, Will. At them fancy Washington schools you went too, did they teach you how to fight country?"

"Say what?"

"They didn't teach you shit," Ray said, and he stopped the truck abruptly in the middle of the gravel road and swung up his door. Clouds of gravel dust billowed over us. "Come and get your first lesson, you Lurch-looking mortherfucker."

I'm not going to lie. My shit felt very weak at that moment.

"Why… what…" I said as I hesitantly leaned out the open passenger window.

"Come on, boy," Ray said. "You've got the big brass ones to curse at me. Question my instructions. You think you've got room to speak to me? Fine! Get out of that truck and fucking speak to me, you smart-ass little punk."

Well, what was I supposed to do?

I actually got in the first punch – a jab that caught Ray on the jaw. It probably would have taken down a lesser man, but Ray Ross, it turned out, was more or less a professional brawler. He just kept on coming forward, and once he got in range of my torso he doubled me over with a combination and brought his knee up into the side of my head. That dropped me to my knees, and Ray delivered two swift kicks to my ribs that put me on the ground.

"Here endeth the lesson," he said.

All I wanted to do at that moment was crawl into that gravel and dust and disappear. But Ray pulled me up and dusted me off.

"You know," he began, "I've got some pretty expensive dental work, and your one punch is going to probably wind up costing me around a thousand bucks."

"It was you who wanted to fight," I winced.

"Son, I haven't lost a fight in your lifetime. But that was one of the better shots I've taken in quite a while. You do much fighting?"

"No. Hardly any."

"Clair tells me you're pretty good with a rifle. That true?"

"Yes."

"Come on, son. Get in the truck."

We were on the hard road heading back toward Sudbury before Ray started talking again.

"Here's the deal, boy," he began. "Sudbury is a nice enough town, but it's not that different than most, I suppose. We have ways of getting things done and keeping things in order. Making sure the right people get paid and the wrong people get the message. You understand?"

"Not really."

"Think of it this way. I'm a simple man. I fix stuff for people. Sinks. Well pumps. Air conditioners. Clogged toilets. And then every now and again, a moonshiner will get sideways with a neighbor, and then I'll fix that him, too. Or maybe a husband will get drunk and beat his wife a little too hard. Understand that?"

"You mean you kill people."

"That's kind of extreme, ain't it? Killing people. You're a smart boy. Can't you think of better ways to fix problems than going around killing people all the time?"

"So you're a thug for hire."

"I'm a handyman, son. An odd-jobber. I fix things for people around here. And sometimes that means I'm on the other side of the fence from Johnny Law.

"But here's the thing for you to put in your mind. If you want to stay in the kiddie pool, you can hang around the Quonset Hut and sweep up and pick your nose like the Patterson boys, and I'll throw you a fucking bone every now and again.

"But if you want to come out and swim in the deep water? Listen son – a man your size, with a right jab that hard? I can use a man like that on the more profitable side of my enterprises. Particularly if you know how to handle a firearm."

I thought about the alternative for a moment. Hanging around with Doot.

"What's it pay?"

"Better. Don't you worry about money. It comes and goes, and I'll treat you right. But you get on my crew and it's more than just money. You'll get so much pussy you won't even be able to keep track. Maybe not as skilled as your Aunt Clair, but fine? Hoo-boy! There's some fine pussy that comes my way."

So that's how I signed on to Ray Ross' crew and became a criminal.

***

But I've gotten away from my story.

Like I said, I'd been riding around and hanging around with Ray for about a week – mopping floors, answering phones, occasionally serving as Ray's backup at tense conversations I seldom understood – when Clair finally rang him at the Quonset. "Come on, Slats!" he shouted as he jogged toward his truck. "Service call!"

"Sounds like your aunt is quite the horny little slut this afternoon," he said once we were on the way. "Says she wants us to give her some sugar. You and me. She used to love that shit, man, but I figured she was getting too old."

"How long have you two…"

He cut me off. "We were just kids. And me and her first husband, Bart – he's my cousin – we were her go-to pair of dicks for years. Bart, he was a real ass man. Usually left her pussy for me, which was just fine as far as I was concerned. I don't go in much for sodomy. I suspect Bart picked up his taste for butthole in the joint, if you know what I mean."

"I had no idea."

"Yeah, the Rosses and the McRaes, we go way back. You'll see."

Clair was definitely in a state when we rolled up to her house, dressed in a silk kimono, panties and fluffy slippers, leaning on the frame to her open door like a lush Lana Turner gone to seed and ruin. She had a drink in one hand and unlit cigarette in the other.

"Gave Julie some money to take Paul down to The Roxy in Sudbury," she purred as I followed Ray up the stairs to her porch. "That idiot son of mine has seen 'Cannonball Run' three goddamn times already, and guess what the fuck he wants to see? Again?"

Ray stopped in front of her and opened her kimono to expose her nipple.

"I can't believe Julie is gonna sit through another showing of that shit," he said.

"Hell, she don't care," Clair said, turning her eyes to me. "She's just gonna be sitting in the back row giving a hand job to that preppie pooh-boy Eric Dingle. But boys, I don't care either. It's been a hard goddamn week, and I just need to get fucked and filled."

"What's so hard about your weeks?" I asked, stupid boy that I was. "It's not like you have a job or anything."

Ray laughed, Clair joined him.

"Have I ever told you that you were about the dumbest boy I've ever met?" Ray said.

"It don't matter," Clair said, taking a long drink from her glass. "That boy's got the most beautiful cock you've ever seen. And you two are gonna make me forget every goddamn little thing. Come on, fellas."

Here's what I remember.

Clair paid the most attention to me at first, stripping off my shirt and taking down my pants, kissing my neck and chest. While Clair teasingly sucked my cock, Ray stood there looking awkward, fumbling around with a still-soft dick.

"Hello!" he said. "I'm stranding right here!"

"Shut up, Ray," Clair said. "This boy has a hair trigger. If I don't make him cum now, by the time he fits this big old cock in my asshole he'll be ready to blow. And I can't have that. Anyway, don't you worry. I know how you like it."

After that she lay on her back with her head off the edge of the bed and invited me to put my dick in her mouth. With Ray licking her cunt while Clair urged me to thrust faster and faster into her throat, I lasted only about a minute before I blasted her lips with sperm. She smiled as my semen leaked down her face.

Then it was Ray's turn. By this time he'd stripped down to nothing but socks, and looked goddamn ridiculous: Average height, burly but pot-bellied, covered in so much dark hair he looked like a pale monkey wearing white athletic socks. Clair didn't seem to really care about his looks, though, and went about sucking his dick aggressively.

I watched mutely for about 30 seconds before Clair took a break, re-arranged herself on the bed and said "Don't just stand there with your dick in your hand looking like a moron, boy. Get to licking!"

And so I did. My first experience with cunnilingus.

Without any experience, I didn't know then that Clair was a bit muskier than most women. Mostly I was just unskilled and kinda freaked out about it that first time. Didn't know where the clit was. Spent a lot of time trying to stick my tongue as deep as it would go.

For her part, Clair was so intent on sucking Ray's middle-aged erection to maximum hardness that she didn't pay much attention to my first foray into giving a woman head.

"You ever done that before, boy?" Ray asked, grinning down at me.

"No," I mumbled.

"Well, that explains a lot," Clair said before deep-throating Ray. Then she popped off his dick. "Not that it matters. I'm so fucking turned on right now he could rub it with a toothbrush and I wouldn't care." She glanced back at me. "Honey, you just do things so earnestly, don't you? Like you're working on a merit badge or something. Put a little English on them swirls, Will! It ain't like you're trying to start a fire with a couple of sticks or something."

"I'm as hard as I'm gonna get," Ray said. "You ready, girl?"

"Hell yes," Clair said. She pulled away from me and spun around to present her pussy to my boss, then put her forearms around her knees, grasped her ankles, and rocked her hips back to give him full access.

There was nothing subtle about Ray's fucking. He just slammed his dick into her pussy and started pounding away, looking more like a jackhammer than a sexually aware adult male. But Clair didn't seem to mind. And though Ray looked absurd to me, there was something about watching Clair get fucked roughly – particularly the little gasps and moans that she made – that just flipped my switch.

"Look at that, Ray," she said, staring back at me. "He just shot that huge load all over my face, and now his dick is getting hard again."

"That's cause he's just a fucking kid," Ray said. "My dick used to do that, too."

"You're a liar," Clair said as she pulled away from him, got on her hands and knees, and offered him her rump. "I fucked you back then, too. Remember?" Ray slurched right back into her pussy, and I accepted her wordless invitation to slip my dick into her mouth again. Again she enveloped it – gently, cleverly, alertly – but the sight of it just seemed to annoy Ray, who now fucked her as if trying to throw off the rhythm of the pleasure she was giving me.

After a few minutes of this I felt like my cock had been carved out of polished marble, and Clair's moaning descended into a deeper register. She'd been reaching back to twiddle her clit for a while, and there was no doubt she'd walked right up to the edge of the cliff.

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