5,000 Words by 5pm
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Ranklestein chomped on his cigar and sucked smoke into his lungs as he stared at the text on the laptop. “Fuck. What a boring piece of . . . of boring crap.”
The buzzing of the phone jerked him away. “Hi,” he barked.
“Hi. So how’s it going? I need those five thou by this afternoon, Rank. Five thousand, is that so hard?”
“Hard? Hard? This Manissus is a moaner and a wimp with the sex appeal of two-day-old roadkill. Geez. I mean, who created this guy? You think I can work miracles in four hours?”
“It was Guy Royal’s last heroic, erotic, action-fantasy, OK? He was dying of pancreatic cancer, the most painful, Rank, baby, hear that? And his agent had just run off with his boyfriend, and he was almost destitute, for god sake. If it hadn’t been for guys like Brad, he’d have . . .ugh, well . . . he’d have starved. And you expect him to be cheerful? Feeling sexy? Hey, get real. Anyway, Guy Royal was a star. A cult figure. Battle of the Gods will sell whatever kind of shit it is. You, I am paying to make it raunchy without making it unrecognizable, OK? Fifty thousand sexed-up words by the end of the month, but I need those five thou today, baby.”
“Geez, Sol. If I didn’t have alimony to pay, I’d say go fuck yourself.”
“See. I knew you could do it, baby. So, by 5 pm? OK?”
“OK. Ok, all right,” Ranklestein barked and slammed down the phone.
“Shit,” he added, chomping down grimly on his cigar and returning to reading the first chapter of Battle of the Gods. The gay epic that had been recovered from the late Guy Royal’s hard drive after his death. A miracle, everyone was calling it. “Another tidy earner they can all live off for a few years till they find another Royal,” Rank grumbled, “Christ. I wish they’d buried it with him.”
He was reading again.
Fortunately for the man Manissus, the moon was nearly full, and even more fortunately, the goddess’ bright silver face was sitting almost directly overhead in a clear night sky. A sky that was typical in that year of dry weather that had been frustrating the regions farmers throughout the mild winter, and looked like continuing into the approaching spring.
The brightness of the night was a fortunate gift from the goddess, because otherwise Manissus would have fallen often as he made his way drunkenly through the narrow unevenly paved streets of the city.
Unfortunately, as far as Rank was concerned, the story was no gift from anyone and continued in the same woefully depressing, long-winded way for quite a few pages before there was even a hint of sword action of either the violent kind or the male/male sex kind.
“Moan, moan. Christ, if he didn’t get any, then whose fault was it?” Rank asked out loud as he read on in exasperation, seeing all the missed opportunities for hot action.
It had been far from the intimate evening Manissus had hoped for and needed. Instead, Thesis seemed to have invited all the men of his family along to the dinner party, and it had already been far too late when the last of them had departed. Manissus should have left then himself, but he had waited impatiently all evening to be alone with his friend. Then when he was the only one left, Manissus had finally staggered over to join Thesis on his couch, believing that the evening would be worth it after all. But Thesis had sat up just as he reached him, wished Manissus a safe journey home, and made his excuses.
“A hunky Greek from the time of the Trojan wars, and all he could do was stagger over and whine when he didn’t get any. Geez. I mean, just throw this guy Thesis back on his couch and take his dick in your mouth, and he’d be begging for it after thirty seconds. Guaranteed,” Rank shouted as he pulled his own cock free of his pants and gave it a stroke, imagining the two ancient Greeks dropping their linen whatevers and getting naked together on the couch. “Or an orgy. Yeah, the whole damned lot of them. All those relatives he invited along. Oh yeah,” a hard-on always helped him think of sex to put in a story. “Hey Brad,” he called out between pants. “Come out here.”
His houseboy, Brad, padded out to the poolside patio wearing nothing but a thong and an all-over tan.
“Yes? You called, master?” Brad joked, striking a hand-on-hip pose and making his abs bunch up and his arms and legs flex, a blond, bronzed god with the oversized swimming pool in the background.
Now, there was a real Greek god, thought Rank. “Oh yeah, you look so good. But I’ve got a problem, babe. I need inspiration; I need somewhere to start with this Guy Royal thing. Forget hot sex even. I need anything. It’s dead. Like buried.” He stuck his cigar back in his mouth and sucked briefly, while taking in what Brad had to offer and stroking himself a bit more quickly.
“I mean this guy is such a bore. You have read this. So, give me inspiration.”
Brad frowned. “I liked it; I thought it was very literary, very artistic.”
“Literary? Royal wasn’t about literary, babe. Royal’s all about güvenilir bahis sword action. Both kinds. I like the café bit, when he sees the hot young guy his ex-buddy Thesis is drooling all over now.
“That bit? That’s hot?” Brad asked pouting. “He discovers his buddy, the man he loves, is chasing some eighteen year old. It’s a pivotal emotional moment,” he argued.
It was Rank’s turn to frown. “Yeah? Pivotal?” he shrugged. “Well, I could see real potential there. Great three-way building. But it’s way into the story. There’s potential before that. And Sol wants the first five thousand words by 5 pm, and hot.”
“You’ll come up with something,” Brad replied huffily, then moved in behind Rank and rubbed his crotch against Rank’s upper back, making his employer close his eyes and his head flop about from side to side as he emitted small moans. “Just as long as you don’t change the story,” Brad said firmly.
“Yeah, the story’s got lots of possibilities. Oh, yeah, now that’s inspiring,” Rank murmured, as he grabbed Brad’s arm, and pulled him around so he could tug off the thong and wrap a hand around the sausage it had been trying to hide. Brad bent over and they kissed, as the houseboy’s hand joined his employer’s on Rank’s rock hard very thick, six-and-a-quarter-incher.
“Start with yourself, baby,” Brad said as he kicked off the thong and pulled Rank’s hand free of his stiffening meat. “I’ll be back in two shakes,” he added reassuringly as he padded back into the low-set white-painted, Spanish-style house.
“OK. So. . .” Rank returned his attention to his laptop.
Then, when he was the only one left, Manissus had finally staggered over to join Thesis on his couch, believing that the evening would be worth it after all.
“De dah, deh, dah-now. . .” Rank mumbled and started to type.
Manissus knelt by his friend’s couch and grasped Thesis’s organ through the fine linen fabric of his short tunic and felt it stiffening instantly. He stroked it lovingly; he had been waiting all evening, for Thesis’s cock to be rock hard and throbbing. Now he was shaping the fabric around it, feeling it engorging under his attentions, and then, as it grew longer he was licking it, making the fabric transparent. . .
Brad came padding back with a fistful of condoms and a tube of lube, and Rank looked up at him, “This has potential, loads of it . . . But, shit, he just lets if drift by. I mean Royal was good. Well, I read him once, and it was real hot and heavy. This . . . this ain’t Royal, it’s . . .”
Rank paged forward,
. . . a line of men burnt the color of cedar by days spent laboring naked, or almost so, under the hot sun, were passing up and down the two gangplanks running from the ship’s side to the new stone dock.
“There’s more potential there too,” Rank mumbled. “Lines of naked men, sweaty and muscular, I mean . . . When you were visiting Guy, did he ever talk about this Battle of the Gods?” Rank asked, frowning and taking a puff on his cigar.
“I think he mentioned something about it. About it being real literature.” Brad replied sharply, seeing that Rank had an idea he wasn’t going to let go of. “But I don’t really remember.”
And Rank’s thoughts were interrupted just then as Brad’s now well-filled tool was pushed at his lips, and he opened automatically to take in and suck his favorite treat.
For several minutes, the only noises were Brad’s grunts and moans and the sound of Rank’s sucking and slobbering on Brad’s rock-hard eight inches of cock. Rank always almost choked on it before he got the deep-throating action right, and then it was a smooth head-pumping face fuck that had them both moving on to another plane. And once the action was right, Brad held Rank’s head in his hands, guiding it, and as the tension inside him built up, he rolled the middle-aged graying head from side to side as he pushed it back and forth. Brad loved the moving pressure Rank’s mouth provided for him, like another kind of all-over stroking action.
Rank’s cigar was sitting in the ashtray beside his laptop and went out about the time Brad decided he would come if he kept doing what he was doing. And he didn’t want to come just yet. Brad pulled his cock from the sucking mouth with a slurping sound, as Rank tried to hang on to it. He loved sucking cock-loved the feel of a cock in his mouth almost as much as he loved the feel of one inside his ass.
Brad gave him an open-mouthed kiss, playing his tongue about in the warm mouth that tasted slightly of him, and with his hands under his arms lifted Rank up. Rank kicked off his own pants and pushed his briefs down and then pulled Brad’s hips in tight to his so the two rock-hard cocks were rubbing against each other and sending Rank off into a whimpering sucking of Brad’s tongue in his mouth.
Brad pulled free, and Rank cried, “Oh yes, I want your cock, baby, fuc. . .” the cry was cut off abruptly as Brad stuffed the dead cigar into Rank’s mouth. The loud vocalizing during türkçe bahis sex wasn’t going down well with their new neighbors, and the police were happy to come and investigate their complaints.
With his mouth now full of cigar, Rank was quiet as Brad turned him around, and Rank chomped down hard on the firmly rolled tobacco as he bent over and rested his elbows on the seat of his chair, stuck his butt up in the air, and widened his stance. He made grunting and mumbling noises as he looked back under his chest, back to what was going on between his spread thighs. His erection bounced up and down, revealing and then hiding his tight balls, and behind him he saw Brad’s thighs. Brad moved in closer and inspected Rank’s hole and briefly let himself imagine the different ways he could open it up.
He loved giving a good fuck just as much as Rank liked taking one, and his urge today made him stroke over that well-used puckered rim with the big red cap of his own tool, a sight he never tired of seeing. His cock head stroking up and down between the parted cheeks and over the tightly puckered rim of Rank.
Rank grunted and moaned and whimpered as he chewed on his cigar before he finally had to reach back for his own dick and stroke himself to completion. He could never hang off like Brad could, and once he felt a cock at his rim, he was usually coming.
Some lube fingered into the slack hole, and Brad was guiding his big cockhead to it. Then, with the head barely in, he thrust hard. The cigar butt shot out of Rank’s mouth as he let loose an almighty cry of “Yeeoww.” Then he was shouting loud enough to be heard half a block away, as Brad started deep pumping him, “Fuck. You’re fucking killing me. Ohh, I can’t take it.”
The cigar was too far away to be rescued, so Rank just continued yelling as Brad plowed his ass in a frenzy. The neighbors called the police and were yelling complaints at them at about the same time Rank got hard again. His cries took on a new pitch as he beat himself off and Brad lightly squeezed his balls, and his yell of “I’m coming. Coming, coming, coming,” was indecipherable. Brad came with a small grunt and did the rotation of his hips that always made him moan it felt so good, and he rotated them again for another jolt.
Brad finally pulled out, satisfied, and Rank eased himself up and back into his seat and the two men kissed.
“Just as long as you don’t change the story,” Brad said firmly, before he retrieved his thong and carried it back into the house.
For a moment Rank sat there silently, still spent and mellow, but then he looked at his computer and finally focused. There was silence for a few minutes as Rank read and pondered.
“He didn’t write this,” Ranklestein suddenly said, sitting bolt upright. “What is Sol baby trying to pull? Guy Royal never wrote this shit. I doubt he ever set eyes on it even.” He frowned and skimmed a bit and then called, “Brad, here, baby.”
Brad reappeared in a clean thong, carrying a fresh cigar, and wandered over to his employer. ‘You rang?” he said jokingly as he handed over the cigar.
“You were there in Royal’s house. Just about every bloody day. So, Brad, spill. What’s the story with this Battle of the Gods?” Rank asked, shoving the six inches of cheap machine rolled tobacco into his mouth. “This ain’t Royal’s writing, and don’t distract me again,” he added, as Brad made a grab for his dick and Rank batted his hand away.
“What was that thing you wrote for that creative writing course you did? The thing you never showed me? That was some ancient Greek story, wasn’t it?”
Brad looked surprised, “But. . . you never listen to anything I say. All I am to you is a sex object.”
“I always hear you,” Rank argued. “You’re hot as hell, but I listen babe. I swear. And what’s wrong with being a sex object anyway?”
Brad sniffed, Brad pouted, Brad looked Rank in the eye and said reluctantly, “Guy liked it,” and straitening up to his full six-foot he added; “He was going to help me knock it into shape and find a publisher. That’s why it was in his computer.” Then he crumpled up and his eyes went round. “Are you going to tell Sol?”
Rank didn’t even have to think about that. “Fuck Sol. Far as he’s concerned, this is Guy Royal’s story. And if it’s Guy Royal’s, it will sell and we all get paid and everyone’s happy. This has potential. I can make it raunchy. You didn’t put anything else on his computer, did you? Leave any disks around someone could find? Anything like that? I mean Sol’s desperate . . . and I can make anything hot . . .”
“No,” replied Brad, huffily, “I slaved over that, Rank, and Guy said it was a work of art, real literature.”
“Humph. Guy was dying in poverty, and you were feeding him, babe,” Rank replied, patting Brad’s ass. “I can tell you it ain’t going nowhere as it is. But why no sex, baby? That’s all it needs. It’s got real potential, so many scenes that can be turned into strokes. So why, baby?”
“Because I wanted to güvenilir bahis siteleri prove that I can do more than just give a great fuck, Rank,” Brad replied in anguish.
Now the truth was out Brad was starting to think of arguing for Battle of the Gods to be left as it was, unraunchy and literary, but he’d already had ten rejections on it and was getting depressed. And he had some idea of what Guy’s books had earned the old man. He was saved from further thinking by the bell, as just then he heard the door chimes and instead of arguing with Rank he went to answer it. He knew who it was, so he greeted the two policemen by throwing the door wide and striking a hand on hip pose for them, his abs bunched up and his muscles flexed and a big smile on his face.
“And what can I do for you today, officers?” he asked.
Three months later.
Ranklestein chomped on his cigar and sucked smoke into his lungs. “Fuck. What a boring piece of . . . of boring crap.”
The buzzing of the phone jerked him away. “Hi,” he barked.
“Hi. So how’s it going? How’s Servant of the Great Moghul going? Another week, Rank. OK?”
“OK. Ok, it’s boring shit, but I’m the great Rank. I can make anything raunchy, right, Sol? And how’s Battle of the Gods selling?”
“Off the shelves, Rank. Still flying off the fucking shelves. Hottest thing Guy ever wrote. One hundred thousand copies local U.S. sales already,” Sol replied. “And have you got anything else off those disks Guy gave Brad to keep safe for him?” he added in a wheedling voice.
“I reckon we can make something more out of them, Sol, baby. Couple of story outlines, and a few more disks to go through,” Rank replied, leaning back in his chair and sucking contentedly on his cigar. “Yeah. Few more disks. Guy was sure prolific. And I reckon he started twice as many things as he finished, Sol. Yeah. Those disks of Brad’s are a veritable gold mine. His lawyer’s drawing up that contract, by the way.”
“Hey, do we need a contract, Rank. I mean Brad’s family,” Sol exclaimed.
“Brad’s not getting any younger, Sol. He’s got to think of his old age. And if he’s anyone’s family, he’s mine, Sol, baby. OK? So, ciao. I gotta go sex-up this crap.” Rank cut the call.
Brad was seated on the other side of the patio table bent over his laptop, “So, how many books do you expect me to write?” Brad asked, looking over the top of his reading glasses at Rank. “And one day I want to be taken seriously as a writer, Rank. I’m not pumping out great historical novels for you to raunch up forever you know,” he added, pouting at his business partner.
“Sure, baby. But this will improve your writing. And we can sell however many you can write, baby. So, how’s the last chapter of Servant of the Great Moghul coming?” Rank asked.
Brad got up, naked except for his thong, and came around behind Rank and rubbed his mound over Rank’s back. “You’re distracting me, babe,” Rank moaned as he put his cigar in the ashtray and turned around and flipped Brad’s growing dick out of his thong and made love to it with his tongue. He probed the slit as the big cock hardened up and tasted the pre-cum that the finger he had up Brad’s ass was helping to make flow. He had a star to keep happy now, and he loved any excuse to suck cock, so there was no problem.
“Tongue around,” Brad groaned and Rank obliged him, his tongue swirling about the head of Brad’s cock. Then the cock was moving further into his mouth, moving down his throat and then out again. He gulped and sucked and took it all in again. Feeling the soft cap stroking his throat, the slick hardness and tasting the salty taste. He tried to hang onto the big meaty piece as Brad pulled it free.
“Over,” brad ordered and Rank obediently leant over the table and spread his cheeks and wiggled his butt as he widened his feet. “Give it to me. Give it to me, babe,” Rank wailed loudly, as Brad dug a finger into his hole] and found his prostrate.
Then it was two fingers, and then three stretching Rank’s ass, and his groans and shouts got louder, and he couldn’t hold back on stroking himself. Brad didn’t bother sticking the half smoked cigar in Rank’s mouth. He quite enjoyed occasional visits from the local police, and it had been a while. Instead, he used his cock head to rim Ranks ass and then, positioning it at his entrance, drove it in with one great plunge.
“Yeooooowww,” Rank cried as the thick eight-incher buried itself to the hilt inside him.
“You’re killing me,” he wailed, as Brad bottomed inside him, and his cries kept up as Brad fucked him slowly for a good twenty minutes, before coming, at the same time as Rank let loose his second load of cream.
After they had kissed Rank picked up his cigar and relit it.
“Guy Royal smoked cigars too.” Brad observed. “Do you think I’d be taken more seriously as a writer if I smoked a cigar?”
“No,” Rank replied sharply, “And stop distracting me. You haven’t finished the last chapter, have you, babe? Have you even started it?”
Brad pouted and hearing the front door chimes, hurried off to answer, leaving Rank worrying about his deadline. No, their deadline, Rank realized, sighing and taking a long draw on his cigar.
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