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Cycle-Pathic | Stefan Seabourne 2
THE front wheel of the bike impacted the right front fender of the car exiting the garage. The cyclist managed to keep from going over the hood, but the collision left a sizable dent in the vehicle. The driver threw the car in park and jumped out. “Are you okay?” asked the handsome blond man. “Yeah. I’m a little shaken, but otherwise I’m fine,” the cyclist said in a British accent. “Then would you mind telling me why you felt compelled to wreck my car?” The young man’s eyes widened. “It was an accident.” “Did you go temporarily blind or something?” the driver asked. “No, I was….” “You were what? Playing with your iPod? Looking at some girl’s ass? Jerking off? What?” “Take it easy, mister. It’s just a ding.” “Just a ding? Do you know what kind of car this is?” “Yeah. It’s an Aston Martin. A real beauty too.” “It was,” the man corrected. “Now it’s imperfect.” “It can be fixed,” the kid shrugged.
Cycle-Pathic | Stefan Seabourne 3 “Do you have any idea how much it costs to replace a panel on a car like this?” “A lot?” the cyclist guessed. “All right,” the driver said in exasperation. “Let’s exchange information. Unless you want to call a cop?” “No, we can settle this between us,” the young man said quickly. “Fine. I’m Vincent Baylor.” “Mark Ogden,” the Brit said. “I don’t have a US driver’s license.” “How about a green card? You got one of those?” “I’m a student,” Mark said. “I don’t need a green card, just a visa.” “Uh-huh, and I suppose you haven’t worked since you’ve been here,” the man said, eyeing the backpack with the logo Zoney Express printed on it. “What are you? A lawyer or something?” “You’re a bright kid. As a matter of fact, I am an attorney. Tell me you have insurance.” Mark shook his head slowly, suddenly realizing the gravity of the situation. “So you can’t pay to have my car fixed. I guess we’re going to need the cops after all.” “Hold on a moment,” Mark said. “We don’t have to
Cycle-Pathic | Stefan Seabourne 4 involve law enforcement. I’m sure we can work something out.” Vincent was so angry that he hadn’t taken a good look at the young man. Now he noticed that the cyclist had the long limbs of a colt that even at rest betokened speed, strength and grace. He had the face of a faun, dominated by soulful dark eyes and framed by tendrils of dark, silkylooking hair. Smooth olive skin covered the lean musculature. In short, Vincent’s type to a T. “How old are you?” Vincent asked abruptly. “Twenty-four. What difference does that make?” “That depends,” Vincent smiled. Mark felt threatened suddenly, as though the man had shown him a gun. “On what?” Vincent’s vivid blue gaze skimmed the sleek contours of the young man’s physique in the body-hugging Lycra tank top and thigh-length shorts. “I want you to handle a special package for me, messenger boy. If you say yes, your age becomes a critical factor. I assume you can prove you’re of consenting age?” “My passport is in my knapsack,” Mark said, his heart racing and his mouth dry. “Excellent. So do you have time for a special delivery?” “You won’t call the cops, and you’ll forget about the car?” the young man clarified. “I’ll even pay for your bike,” Vincent said.
Cycle-Pathic | Stefan Seabourne 5 “I don’t know. This is really….” “Sordid? Sleazy? Slimy? May I remind you that I am in fact a lawyer?” “It’s blackmail,” Mark said, having found the word he was searching for. “Actually, it’s coercion,” Vincent said. “And I believe I have you over a barrel, or at least I hope to in the near future. If not a barrel, then perhaps the hood of this car.” Mark swallowed hard and tried to assess the likelihood that this man would call the police on the anorexic cell phone he was holding. He was a handsome man, moving into middle age at the young man’s estimation, but a lot of lawyers were good-looking. They had the time and money to spend on clothes, gyms, and grooming. This Baylor guy’s jacket alone probably cost three or four thousand dollars, and he drove an Aston Martin, which was probably just the sports model of a whole fleet of vehicles. The cyclist met the lawyer’s eyes and looked quickly away from the chill stare. “Where—where would we go?” “This is a private garage,” Vincent said. “I could back up, and you could bring your bike inside.” “You’re not serious?” “Absolutely. I’m also horny and looking at your rockhard backside in that shiny black Lycra is only exacerbating my condition.” Deciding that this man would indeed call the police, Mark made his decision. “No kinky stuff,” he said.
Cycle-Pathic | Stefan Seabourne 6 Vincent gave the young man a droll look. “I’ve coerced you into having sex with me on the hood of my car in the middle of the day in public. That’s enough kink for me.” “Let’s go, then.” Vincent backed the car down the ramp and waited for the young man to walk his wobbling bicycle through the door. The lawyer punched a code on a dash-mounted remote and the garage door came down. Backing the jet-black car into a parking space, Vincent waited for the other man to join him. While Mark was leaning his bike against the wall, Vincent took a few items from the glove box. Vincent got out of the car, slipping the small objects into his jacket pocket. Closing the door, he faced Mark and smiled pleasantly. “Are we ready?” he asked. Mark took a deep breath and started to go down on his knees. “What are you doing?” Vincent asked. Mark looked puzzled. “Don’t you want me to give you a blowie?” he asked. “No, I don’t want you to blow me,” Vincent said. “I want your ass.” “I don’t think I can do that,” Mark said honestly. “Look, kid, it’s either me or the boys down at the county lock-up. Believe me, they won’t ask as nicely as me, and they’re not averse to sharing, if you know what I mean.” “All right,” Mark said miserably. “But you have to wear protection.”
Cycle-Pathic | Stefan Seabourne 7 “I’m afraid that’s a deal-breaker,” the lawyer said. “I ride bareback, or you get a ride downtown.” “You’re a bastard!” “Did I mention that I was a lawyer?” Vincent said. “Now, take your shorts off, but leave the shirt and shoes. Face the car and put your hands on either side of the dent. Yeah, like that. That’s good. Damn, you’re fine! Spread your feet a little farther apart. Yeah, that’s it. Now don’t move.” Vincent took a tiny digital camera from his pocket and took several photos. The young man’s pale, sculpted backside, beneath the hem of the crimson tank top, contrasted sharply and most aesthetically with the obsidianblack finish of the car. Dropping the camera back in his pocket, Vincent retrieved the lubricant. Running a hand over the hard muscles of the cyclist’s buttocks, the lawyer pulled them apart. With a glistening finger, Vincent prodded Mark’s tightly clenched opening. “Relax,” Vincent advised. “For what it’s worth, I don’t have any STDs.” Mark tried to relax, but it was difficult. The idea that the big door might roll up at any moment was not conducive to calm. When the man’s finger pushed its way into him, Mark tensed up completely. “Relax,” Vincent repeated. “Everybody who parks here is at work. No one is going to come in. Do you think I’d risk getting caught with you? That’s better. Yeah. There you go. Relax.”
Cycle-Pathic | Stefan Seabourne 8 The man’s voice was soothing as his finger moved in Mark’s sheath, sliding deeper, probing insistently. The young man shivered as the lawyer found his prostate and concentrated on the area. The persistent pressure was fast wearing down Mark’s inhibitions. “How does that feel?” the lawyer asked. “Does it feel good?” “I have to talk to you too?” Mark groaned. “I’ll buy you the most expensive bike they make for a few smutty words.” “I don’t care,” Mark said candidly. “Just keep doing that.” Smiling, Vincent withdrew his finger and applied more lubricant. Mark moaned when the slippery digit entered him again and went unerringly to his most sensitive spot. The young man’s cock rose and brushed the polished fender. As the intimate massage continued, Mark leaned forward, pressing the underside of his erection to the smooth enamel finish. “Yeah,” Vincent murmured. “That’s my boy. This turns you on, doesn’t it? Fuck that fender. Go on. You know you want to. I’m not going to tell anybody. Go ahead. You fucked it up; you might as well fuck it.” With a deep groan, Mark pumped his hips slowly, rubbing his arousal against the panel. The cool metal felt good against his feverish flesh, and the friction doubled the sensations of pleasure. The young man became less and less self-conscious as the fondling continued until he was
Cycle-Pathic | Stefan Seabourne 9 moaning loudly and pushing demandingly against Vincent’s hand. “I could tell you’d be a firecracker once you were lit,” Vincent said, “but I’d like to hear you go off as well as watch the fireworks.” Mark drew a deep breath and said the first thing that came to mind. “I didn’t know anything could feel so good,” he panted. “Then you’d best hold on to something,” Vincent said. “Because you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” Mark cried out as the man pulled him backward slightly and took hold of his cock. The cyclist’s knees failed him as his arousal was pumped, and he had to lean back against the lawyer. His breath became shorter, and the tension in his lower belly coiled tighter. “You’re close, aren’t you?” Vincent said in the kid’s ear. When Mark indicated that he was indeed about to explode, Vincent released him, shoving him back against the fender. The young man leaned there, catching his breath, as the lawyer unfastened his pants. When Mark glanced at the man again, Vincent was greasing an erection of impressive length. Mark turned back around and looked down at his reflection in the mirror bright finish of the Aston. In another moment, his cheeks were being spread and the fisted head of the man’s cock was at his entrance. The young man flattened his palms against the hood and tried to relax.
Cycle-Pathic | Stefan Seabourne 10 “Good boy,” Vincent said, smacking Mark’s ass lightly. Slowly, inexorably, the big cock inched its way into the tight sheath as Mark leaned forward until he was lying on the hood with his arms outstretched. As Vincent sheathed his rod, he took the time to admire the tableau. It was perfect. The young man’s smooth-skinned limbs splayed against the black car. The blood red of the cyclist’s shirt. The sight of his own cock disappearing into the lithe body. Perfect. Vincent moved his hips, eliciting a deep groan from Mark. “You like that, don’t you?” the man said. “Want to feel it again?” Mark caught his breath as the big shaft shifted in his sheath. “Yes, I like it,” he whispered. “You want more?” “Yes, I want more.” The words were becoming easier to say. “Give me more.” Vincent pushed a bit farther into the tight heat, controlling the urge to bury his length in one hard thrust. “That’s it,” the lawyer said, when he was fully sheathed. “You took it all.” Mark shifted his feet. “Come on, mister, move it or take it out.” Vincent took a firm hold of the slim hips and backed his cock out halfway. With a smooth roll of his hips, he pushed back in. Mark moaned, his fingers scrabbling at the hood as the man thrust steadily. The cyclist had just become
Cycle-Pathic | Stefan Seabourne 11 accustomed to the intrusion when Vincent pulled all the way out. “Not good enough,” the man panted. “Turn over. I want to see your face.” “Why?” Mark asked. “Because you’re pretty. Don’t tell me no one’s ever pointed that out before.” With evident reluctance, the young man leaned back against the fender. “Get right up on the hood,” Vincent said. “Yeah, like that. Now spread your legs. Go on. Nothing to be shy about here. I’ve already had my cock in your ass. Wider. Yeah. Goddamn, you’re beautiful from top to bottom.” Moving between the cyclist’s long legs, Vincent reinserted the tip of his rod. Stroking the smooth skin of the young man’s thighs, the lawyer thrust delicately until Mark’s moans changed in quality. “Am I hitting the spot?” Vincent asked. “God, yes!” Mark cried out. “Keep doing whatever you’re doing.” “I thought you’d like that,” Vincent said smugly. “Hang on, boy, the ride’s about to get bumpy.” Hang on to what? This sleek vehicle had no protrusions to spoil the aerodynamic shape. All such practical thoughts were driven from Mark’s head a moment later when the lawyer began to thrust.
Cycle-Pathic | Stefan Seabourne 12 Vincent drove smoothly into the narrow passage, consistently striking the spot that made Mark squirm against the black lacquer. The kid’s hands moved restlessly, seeking purchase and not finding it. When Mark began to inch backward involuntarily, Vincent lifted the cyclist’s legs to his shoulders. Mark groaned as he was penetrated to his core, thrashing his head from side to side as the big shaft plunged deep and withdrew. The young man’s intense arousal spurred Vincent’s excitement, and he increased the power and speed of his stroke. It was becoming difficult to keep a grip on sweat-slick flesh as the two men strained toward release. “Are you going to come?” Vincent panted, when a bone deep shudder ran the length of his partner’s body. “Ahhh… yeah, God yeah, gonna come, oh, oh, oh my God, don’t stop, fuck me, yeah, fuck me, fuck me. Oh God, yeah! Oh! Oh!” Mark’s voice deteriorated into a series of loud moans. “Goddamn, you’re so hot,” Vincent said. “And so beautiful. You’re making me come just watching you come.” Mark gave a strangled cry as the man took hold of his leaking erection. Vincent squeezed the straining rod, pumping it firmly to the rhythm of his thrusts. Abruptly, Mark stiffened in a rictus of ecstasy, his back arching off the hood as his cock spurted. “Perfect,” the lawyer gasped as his cock was wrung by happily-contracting sheath muscles.
Cycle-Pathic | Stefan Seabourne 13 Without missing a beat, Vincent drove into the quivering socket, sinking his full length in the pleasure-dazed cyclist. Lowering one of Mark’s legs, the lawyer pushed the young man’s knee flat against the hood, giving him an unobstructed view. The sight of his cock pistoning in and out heightened the man’s pleasure to a dizzying degree. Losing control, he slammed into the lethargic body with abandon. “You’re making me come,” Vincent panted. “I can’t hold it. Tell me you want me.” Mark stirred and moaned. “Please,” he whimpered. “Please. I want you so much.” Vincent groaned deep in his chest and lodged his length in the tight passage. As his seed spooled out into the young man, the lawyer absently stroked the cyclist’s limp cock. Mark made a sound of protest and moved agitatedly against the hood. “No! No more. Please,” Mark mumbled. Capturing his partner’s fidgeting hands, Vincent unsheathed and pulled the young man up into an embrace. “Damn, that was a good one!” he said. “No arguments here,” Mark murmured. “You were so nasty, babe. You’d make a great lawyer.” “Fuck you,” Vincent said automatically. “You already did. Very well, I might add.” “You seemed to be getting into it. Of course, it was your idea.”
Cycle-Pathic | Stefan Seabourne 14 “We can stop the role-playing games if they bother you,” Mark said. “No, that’s okay,” Vincent said quickly. “If it makes you happy, I’m happy to play along.” Mark smirked at his lover. “You’re too good to me,” he said. “And you’re too tempting. Mind putting those shorts back on? Although they hide nothing, come to think of it.” “That’s why I wore them, you beautiful, naive man. Let’s get something to eat.” “I’m at your command,” Vincent said lightly. “Leave the bike. We’ll get it later.” “Was it worth dinging your precious baby?” Mark asked. “Are you talking about the car or yourself?” Mark laughed. “I love you, babe,” he said, getting into the car. “Yeah? Well next time, you can be the lawyer.” “Fuck you,” Mark laughed. “Anywhere, anytime,” Vincent assured his lover and put the car in gear.
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STEFAN SEABOURNE was born in 1977 in Vancouver, British Columbia. He left Canada to attend San Francisco State College in California. After a year’s study in the history department of behavioral and social sciences, he dropped out for financial reasons and went to work in a bookstore in the Castro Street area, ultimately attaining U.S. citizenship. In 1997, he suggested the owner add a coffee bar, and he’s been managing it ever since. Conversations with readers and writers sparked a desire to tell some stories of his own. When he’s not working in the shop, he’s more than likely at his laptop typing away. He loves a good meal, a good adventure yarn, and is currently single except for one insanely jealous cat named Nemo.
Cycle-pathic ©Copyright Stefan Seabourne, 2011 Published by Dreamspinner Press 382 NE 191st Street #88329 Miami, FL 33179-3899 USA http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/ This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. Cover Art by Anne Cain
[email protected] Cover Design by Mara McKennen This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 382 NE 191st Street #88329 Miami, FL 33179-3899 USA http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/ Released in the United States of America October 2011 eBook Edition