The Good Neighbors Ch. 03

Tommy awoke after twelve hours.

He slipped out of bed in a state of hunger and ate the cabinets bare before downing a few Aspirin and going back to lay down again.

The Hastings had run his body ragged. He could feel the pit of painful emptiness inside his balls, like a black hole. Every muscle felt ruined. He couldn't even remember how many times he had finished. It was all a haze of sexual need, sweat, musk, and pumping hips. He downed a bottle of water and was out by the time it fell out of his hands.

"Good morning," a voice rang near his ear, making him jump. It was his mother, with his father right behind.

It was Friday, and they had picked up take-out on the way home from work. Tommy ravaged the meal. His parents reaction bordered on fear as they watched him finish. "Did you not eat today?" his father asked.

"We're out of everything," Tommy said, which was technically true.

"Well, hey," his father went on, "if you get one of those job things, they might give you money," he said, grinning wildly. "And then you could buy food. Perhaps even a car, too, to go get that food. Eh?"

Tommy nodded sullenly. Only then did he remember the $200 Mr. Hastings had slipped into his pocked as he had left. It felt like an almost impossible amount of money after having spent the last year with a bank account that tumbled down toward single digits. And all for a few photos? He grinned and his parents saw it. "Yeah, I guess that's a little outlandish of an idea," his father said.

Tommy went to bed early, and spent Saturday avoiding going outside, in case the Hastings spotted him again. He wasn't quite sure how to feel about everything that had happened. It felt so surreal and shameful now that he was back home. He peeked out the window at every opportunity. He watched Mr. Hastings working on the garden, and Mrs. Hastings out chatting with the neighbors. He ducked anytime she moved his way.

When his mother came home with the groceries, he helped her unload at record speed, his muscles straining under the load of a dozen heavy bags as he sprinted up the walkway, eager to get back inside. He hadn't been spotted. He breathed a sigh of relief as the front door slammed shut again.

The doorbell chimed, and his heart lurched suddenly.

His mother went to answer the door. Tommy waited, holding his breath, straining to hear. Mrs. Hastings sweet voice echoed down the hall. He dropped the bag of carrots he was carrying and sprinted off to his room, partly closing the door behind him and listening hard. After a minute, their voices got louder and his pulse quickened.

"Tommy? He was just here..." he heard his mother say. A bead of sweat dripped down his cheek. "Tommy?"

"Yeah," he called out through the door. He winced as he heard his voice crack.

"Come out here," she said, exasperated. He slunk his way down the hall and found them both in the kitchen, putting away groceries.

"Hello, Mrs. Hastings," he said, and grinned despite himself as she smiled back at him.

"And hello to you, Mr. Richards," she replied.

"The Hastings have a little job for you," his mother said. "Two hundreds dollars," she added, nodding approvingly.

Tommy's eyes pivoted to Mrs. Hastings, who grinned innocently. "Well, we saw how hard you were working the other day. And it's so hard to find satisfactory help with young people these days." Tommy saw his mother nodding along. "So, you were the first we thought of.

Tommy's eyes narrowed as he began to help his mother put away the last of the supplies. "Don't you want to know what you would be doing?" his mother asked.

In truth, he was far too worried to prompt her to say anything more. "Sure," he said, trying to smile.

"We're having a dinner party," Mrs. Hastings said. "Just a few friends, but one of the caterers couldn't make it. You'll just need to pass around a snack," she said, grinning wickedly. "And clean up afterward, of course.

"It's next Saturday," his mother added. "You're not busy are you?"

Tommy shook his head. Another two hundred would mean no part time job for the next semester. "Saturday will work," he said.

Mrs. Hastings slid smoothly out of the chair as she stood up, she stretched as his mother turned away, and her heavy chest strained against the fabric. "Excellent. Marty will be thrilled to see you, too, I'm sure. Oh." She stopped suddenly, and a worried look shot across her face. "I don't suppose you have any dress clothes, do you?"

"What kind?" Tommy asked.

"It's.. there's a sort of uniform the other caterers will be wearing. It's hard to describe. Could I see what you have, if you don't mind?"

Tommy nodded suspiciously, and she trailed him back toward his bedroom, pushing the door partly closed with her heel as she stepped inside. She had a look of utmost fascination as she glanced around the room. "It's so different than I remember it," she said, a little louder than she needed to.

He turned toward the closet and pulled it open. There wasn't much to show. As he started to file through his dress shirts, he felt her soft, smooth fingers slide beneath the band of his gym shorts. He jumped as her fingernails stroked his sweaty sack and trailed up to the shaft. "This one might work," she announced, as her hand enclosed the base of his cock and gave him a firm tug.

Tommy turned to the door. He couldn't see outside from where he was, but he could still hear his mother clearly in the kitchen. The house was dead silent otherwise. He slid the clothes back and forth nosily, and cleared his throat.

"What kind of belts do you have?" Mrs. Hastings asked, practically shouting. Her hand pumped faster as she ground her soft hips against his ass. Tommy felt himself leaning unsteadily onto her as she worked. He heard the soft pounding rhythm she beat against the flesh of his thighs, felt the pressure building rapidly as he did his best to coverup the noise.

"I like this one," she said, and he felt her breath against his ear. Her tongue was on his neck then. She tugged furiously. "Such a big cock," she whispered. "Such a fat cock. You're making my pussy so wet right now. Are you going to cum for me?" Tommy nodded quickly, feeling his face blush painfully warm. "Do you remember cumming all over mommy's big tits?" He nodded again. He remembered it perfectly. "Cum for me, Tommy," she cooed. He shut his eyes and his whole body froze as he came, then suddenly trembled with pleasure. Mrs. Hastings directed the jets of semen down onto the floor and kept tugging until it stopped.

She wiped her hand clean against his thigh and was out the door a second later. "I think we've got it," she yelled out down the hall. Tommy sagged against his dresser and hastily wiped his penis clean against a spare shirt, which he tossed on the floor of his closet to hide the mess.

When he left his room a long while later, Mrs. Hastings was long gone and his blush had died to a small blotch. He wandered back into the kitchen and the front door chimed again. He heard his mother answer it again a moment later as he helped himself to the chips she had picked up. He froze once again when he heard the other voice. It was Mr. Hastings.

"Dear? Tommy?" his mother called out.

Tommy set the bag down and went back to the hall. Was Mr. Hastings upset about what his wife had done? Was he going to confront him about it here? It seemed unlikely, but panic shot through him wildly as he got closer and found them both watching him silently.

"Wouldn't be able to help me with something, would ya?" Mr. Hastings asked. "It won't take long, I don't think."

"You're so popular," his mother breathed, nearing awe, as he stepped out the door behind their neighbor.

"Melissa told me she snuck a little something from you," Mr. Hastings whispered as they made their way toward the Hastings' backyard. "She was trying to make me jealous, and it worked," he said firmly, letting Tommy through the gate that led to their private pool. "Come on in here," he said, heading through another door into their private patio. "Try that out."

Tommy puzzled over it for a moment. Their wide, cushioned bench had a new addition -a small hill of a padded cushion. "What is it?" he asked.

Mr. Hastings laughed. "It's for you. Here, just get up on here," he said, slapping the large seat of the bench, "and then lay your belly across this," he said, stroking the cushion tenderly.

Tommy shook his head. Mrs. Hastings was nowhere in sight. "I don't know... My mom.."

"Asked you to come help," Mr. Hastings chided. "I'm not gonna hurt you now. I just can't let my wife have all the fun, can I?"

Tommy didn't know what to say to that, but he didn't trust that cushion. "I think maybe we should wait until next Saturday."

Mr. Hastings was on him suddenly, his hands stroking his muscular shoulders, and his lips hovering over Tommy's neck. "A hundred dollars. I just want to taste your body," the man breathed into his ear. Tommy blinked at him for a moment, doing a bit of mental math. Then he crawled onto the bench with his knees and leaned over the cushion. It was comfortable across the heavy padding.

Mr. Hastings grabbed him by the hips and readjusted him. With one firm tug, Tommy felt his gym shorts and boxers tugged down to his knees. The man wasted no time as he buried his face between his ass. Tommy winced the first time the bristles of the man's face brushed his hole. And then he smiled. Ten full minutes past with nothing but the wet sound of Mr. Hastings mouth.

Tommy's face was burning again, his mouth was sagging open, heedless to anything but the feeling of Mr. Hastings' tongue. The man ate sloppily and loudly. Tommy felt pre-cum dribbling out against the warm plastic of the cushion. Finally, Mr. Hastings head emerged, and Tommy heard him panting for breath. After a moment, Mr. Hastings laid back down on the bench. His erection bulged hard against the inside of his shorts, and a wet spot had spread out from it.

"Did you cum?" Tommy asked, unable to help himself.

Mr. Hastings nodded, still struggling for air. "You're going to be.. popular at this party," he said, when he had recovered some more. "I think you'll make out quite well," he said, as he pulled open his wallet and counted out a hundred dollars with a glazed, dream-like look across his face.

Tommy climbed to his feet and pocketed it quickly. "What do you mean?"

"They're swingers," Mr. Hastings grinned. "And old swingers can be very generous when they want to be."

"So there really is a party?" Tommy asked.

The old man laughed. "Of course! You do still have to cater for us! We wouldn't lie to you like that." Tommy nodded, more relieved than disappointed.

"Just don't be surprised if more than one makes you an offer like that," Mr. Hastings said, gesturing back to the cushion. "And don't be too mad at me when they give you better offers," he said, laughing to himself.

Tommy shifted uncomfortably as he tugged his pants back up to his waist. "And that's... all they'll want to do?" he asked, nodding at the bench.

"Eh," the old man said, wiping his face in the crook of his elbow. "Probably not. But you can always say no," he added, seeing Tommy's worried face. "Then again, they can always make a better offer."

Mr. Hastings stepped closer, and brushed his fingers down Tommy's muscled chest, stopping just shy of his groin.

"Yeah," Mr. Hastings purred, running his eyes up and down the length of Tommy's body again. "I think you'll do very well for yourself..."