The Price of Love



The night sky was as clear as a bell, the perfect backdrop for the enormous moon hanging just over the horizon. It was the kind of moon that had, in the past, convinced two thrill-seeking boys that they might just be able to touch it if they climbed to the top of the tallest tree in the neighborhood.

Blaine glanced tenderly at the young man lying next to him on the blanket they’d ‘appropriated’ from his grandparents’ garage. "Do you remember how many times we climbed that damn tree behind your house? It’s a wonder we didn’t kill ourselves."

His gaze traveled down the naked expanse of Trent’s back, and a groan of appreciation escaped into the silence once the finest ass in all of Louisiana came into view. He trailed a finger along the damp crevice that divided the pale globes, and, after delving deeper, brushed it against the hidden ring of muscle. One huge, satisfied grin broke out when his finger slid easily in and out of the small opening. "Well fucked, indeed," he proudly stated.

Glancing back up at the moon, Blaine continued to reminisce. "You know what’s even a greater wonder is the fact that our behinds survived intact despite the countless whippings they received."

Trent’s right buttcheek was treated to a light smack. "Your mom wielded one mean paddle, Babe. Not to mention, my dad. I not only got a whipping from your mom but one from him, too. Double the punishment, double the pain."

Shifting closer to his boyfriend, Blaine laid down a trail of kisses, starting with the curve of Trent’s ass and ending at the nape of his neck. "It was worth it, the whippings, I mean. Getting in trouble with you has always been worth it."

"Speaking of trouble . . . ."

When thoughts of what awaited him invaded his stroll down memory lane, Blaine turned from his sleeping companion and sat up. Circling his bent knees with his arms, he gazed longingly at the teenager beside him.

"I’d do it again if I had to," he softly declared.

And he would, in a heartbeat. He loved Trent to the max. Canceling out on his boyfriend’s prom because of a fucking baseball game had nearly killed him. It didn’t matter that he’d pitched a near perfect game. Didn’t matter that his performance had greatly impressed his coach and teammates. The cheers, the praise -- none of it had erased the sting of Trent’s anger and disappointment in being left dateless on one of the most important nights of his senior year.

If it hadn’t been for Nathan Chandler’s dogged persistence . . . .

Blaine rested his head on his knees and started to rock back and forth. His parents were going to kill him if he lost his baseball scholarship. Not to mention, Trent would tear him a new hole for doing something so asinine as---

"What the hell?"

He dug under his butt and retrieved the cockring Trent presented to him earlier. The ring, along with a totally unexpected request, had started off the night’s festivities in a major way.

Thoughts of his scholarship, Nathan Chandler, his future, gave way to the sweet memory of Trent telling him he wanted to . . . .


. . . . "I want to rim you, Budman."

The quietly spoken announcement shattered the silence that had surrounded them once Trent parked the Mustang.

Taking advantage of the cool weather, his boyfriend had decided a night of lovemaking under the stars was better than making out in his bedroom. Blaine had agreed without hesitation, which was a good thing considering how impatient his talented ‘hands-on’ chauffeur was behaving. By the time they were parked in the back pasture of his granddad’s property, both his tie and jacket were MIA, not to mention, his shirt was opened to his waist.

"Did ya hear me?" Trent asked. "I want to rim you."

Blaine was desperately trying to remember how to talk when Trent unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to face him. Before he could open his mouth to speak or even breathe for that matter, his boyfriend had moved to his side of the car and wormed a hand between his legs. The squeeze and fondle that followed had his dick saluting in its usual eager fashion.

His quick response time was acknowledged with a snort of smugness.

"I take it you agree?" Trent asked.

Agree? Agree? Blaine stared stupidly at his boyfriend. Who in their right mind wouldn’t agree to such a request? Only thing wrong was the fact that rimming was his fantasy, not Trent’s. Blaine couldn’t count the number of times his boyfriend had derailed discussions on the subject. Why the sudden change of heart?

Warm, moist lips latched onto his neck. Within seconds they left a mark that even a blind man could see.

"Come on, Blaine. Strip off the penguin suit, and let me taste that sweet ass of yours. It’s the least I could do to thank you for making it home in time for my prom."

Blaine nearly decapitated himself while trying to get free of his seatbelt. To have Trent willing to rim him was a dream come true. To have Trent offer because he thought he owed him something was an entirely different matter altogether.

Throwing open the door, he stumbled out of the vehicle. "No thanks are necessary, especially that." He turned and ground his high-flying dick into the trunk’s metal frame. "There’s other ways you can thank me," he forced out between clenched teeth. "Other ways that ‘both’ of us will enjoy."

Trent silently exited the car and circled round to where Blaine was hanging on for dear life. He rubbed up against his ass for a second or two before reaching past and lifting out an old Coleman lantern from the back seat. Light flooded the area, allowing Blaine to see his boyfriend’s wicked grin.

"I know there are other ways," Trent answered, "and believe you me, we ‘will’ get to each and every one of them before the night’s over. But right now . . . ."

Blaine was seriously short of breath by the time Trent had insinuated a hand between the car and his crotch. In fact, breathing of any sort was put on hold owing to the fact that he was entirely too busy enjoying the pumping action of Trent’s hand on his expertly liberated dick.

"Damn it, Trent," he hoarsely protested. "Keep that up, and the party will be over before it gets started."

"Don’t worry, Budman. I’m about to lasso this big boy with the shiny new toy I bought him. Can’t have him shooting off prematurely."

"Toy? What toy? What in the hell are you talk---"

Gripping the sides of the car, Blaine prayed his rubbery legs would hold him up. He also prayed that Trent had taken out additional insurance on the car he’d rented for their special date. Not only would the Mustang’s exterior soon be slathered with spunk, but it would also carry the permanent indentations of his fingers.

Trent nipped the back of his neck before purring in his ear. "Too bad I don’t have a camera. Sure would like to get a picture of that."

Blaine couldn’t help himself; he looked down.

A cockring. Trent had bought him a cockring.

And not just a plain cockring. This one had a ball spreader attached to it, and from the way Trent was fondling his nuts, the ring would see major mileage starting tonight.

"Hey, what’s this?"

Blaine was spun around, his slacks and underwear shoved to the ground in record time.

"Good golly, Miss Molly," Trent exclaimed. He dropped to his knees and stared. "Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?"

Curious fingers mapped his groin, causing Blaine to once again gnaw frantically on his lower lip. Every inch of his pubes, his dick and his balls were investigated and re-investigated. Thank God he was wearing a cockring because otherwise Trent’s face would’ve been wearing a protein-rich cream.

"Enough with the touchy-feely, okay?" Blaine tugged on the soft curls brushing the lower part of his abdomen. "Jesus Christ, you’d think you’d never seen a shaved crotch before."

"To be honest, I haven’t." Trent pressed a kiss to a patch of smooth skin. "At least not in person." He gently lifted the hairless sac containing his boyfriend’s balls and licked it tentatively. "Lookin’ at it on the internet is one thing, seeing it in person is something else." Trent grinned up at Blaine. "Definitely something else."

Blaine grabbed his boyfriend by the shoulders and hauled him to his feet. "I take it you like the new look."

Trent fondled the freshly shaved groin rubbing against him. "Oh yeah, I like it. Like it as in, you better keep it shaved from here on out."

"Or else?"

Blaine mentally groaned. He’d shaved his genitals because Nathan indicated his readers preferred the bare look versus the---

Shaking his head, he slammed the door on that particular thought. No use thinking about it; the damage was done. The best he could do now was try and derive some enjoyment from Trent’s enthusiastic reaction.

"Or else what?" he repeated. "What’cha gonna do if I don’t keep things silky smooth down there?"

Blaine watched as Trent slowly divested him of his remaining clothes. He stood there naked and trembling while his boyfriend repeated the process on himself. Glittering gold nipple rings were the first thing that caught his attention. His mouth flooded with saliva at the thought of how good they were going to taste once he got his lips wrapped around them.

The second thing that caught his eye was not a specific piece of anatomy but the entire package. Trent had put on weight, weight as in muscles not fat. His shoulders, his arms, his thighs -- all were a boyfriend’s dream, a dream he couldn’t wait to explore.

With itchy fingers, Blaine reached for Trent’s pecs but was stopped short when hands grabbed him by the waist and turned him around. A not-so-tender shove between his shoulder blades had him bending forward over the trunk. There was then a kick to his left ankle, alerting him to the need to widen his stance. It wasn’t until the cheeks of his butt were pulled apart that he realized the reason behind his slightly awkward position.

"Trent, no! Oh God, you don’t have to . . . oh shit! Oh shit, hell and damnation, stop!"

Incredibly warm lips teased the area around his hole, darting in, darting out, nipping here, nipping there -- basically doing their best to drive him insane.

Unclenching his jaw, he tried once again to get Trent to listen to reason. "Babe, please. You don’t have to do this. It’s not necessary. Trent? Trent? Are you listening? Don’t . . . oh fuck me stupid!"

Fireworks exploded inside his skull. Fireworks, the moon -- hell, the entire universe shattered into a quadrillion pieces the second Trent’s mouth latched onto his hole. In fact, whatever pieces that remained of the demolished galaxy were totally dismissed without a second thought. Trent was rimming him. What else mattered?

Blaine howled as his whole existence narrowed down to the ferocious assault on his hole. Trent was going at him like a condemned man starved for food. There was no hesitation, no gagging, and no spitting. His boyfriend was rimming him with as much if not more enthusiasm than the first time he’d gone down on him.

His astonishment soon gave way to extreme frustration when the fires of his impending orgasm were held at bay by the ring he wore. He needed to come in the worst way, a need that was growing increasingly desperate the longer Trent stabbed at his hole with his tongue.

Desperation won out over astonishment, and soon Blaine was begging for Trent to stop the rimming and start the fucking.

"Trent, you gotta, you gotta . . . you gotta stop. I can’t, I need . . . fuck me! Stop with the tongue action, you cruel bastard, and fuck me!"

His demand was ignored for at least another minute or so, just enough time for him to devise a plan that would ensure his soon-to-be dead boyfriend’s corpse was never found.

"Trent, PLEASE!"

Blaine almost wept aloud when lubed fingers replaced the tongue buried inside his ass. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted, but it would do until the main event. Before too long those talented fingers were biding his ass adieu, leaving him open and wanting. His cry of displeasure mutated into a yell of sincere appreciation the second Trent sank balls deep inside him.

"Love you, Budman," the teenager whispered in his ear.

Blaine echoed the sentiment or at least tried to do so. Somehow his declaration of love got lost amidst a spate of incoherent babbling. "Back at--- oh yeah, harder. Same to--- hammer me. You, you know I lo--- fuck! Fuck, fuck, FUCK!"

And that’s exactly what Trent did. Fucked him into the next century.

Blaine found himself cooing complete and utter nonsense to the cool metal surface under his cheek once his brain came back online. Trent was plastered to his back, his arms stretched out in the same fashion as his own, their fingers entwined and gripping the sides of the Mustang.

He twisted his head to the side and kissed Trent on the nose. "As much as I love you being inside of me, not to mention on top of me, I seriously need to unglue myself from this car. Otherwise, I’ll be sporting a permanent replica of its emblem on my belly."

"Spoilsport," Trent grumbled.

Hands that were a shade unsteady took hold of his hips, and Blaine braced himself for the pain that came with separation. Trent had been like a wild man, nailing his ass in what was probably their hardest coupling ever. Not that he was complaining. He was an equal opportunist when it came to fucking. Liked it hard, liked it soft, liked to give, liked to receive. Regrettably his hole wasn’t quite prepared for the combination of serious rimming ‘and’ frantic fucking. Rear-end pleasure such as that was definitely something it’d have to work up to.

Of course, practice makes perfect, and if he knew Trent, they’d more than likely be practicing again and again and again.

Peeling his aching body away from the vehicle, Blaine turned around. What he saw next had him immediately dropping to his knees and crawling over to where Trent was puking his guts out.

"Sorry, Budman, thought I could handle it," Trent gasped. "Guess my stomach had other ideas."

"There’s nothing for you to be sorry for," Blaine answered.

Feeling like an absolute heel, he grabbed for his discarded slacks and dug out the handkerchief he always carried. "You bring anything to drink?" he asked while gently wiping Trent’s face and mouth. "Some water maybe?"

Trent indicated the Mustang with a weary wave of his hand. "Look in the picnic basket. Should be a bottle of that sparkling grape juice you like."

Blaine found the basket, the blanket they’d borrowed from his grandparents and a yellow plastic bucket, the kind kids took to the beach. Putting a lid on his curiosity, he gathered up everything and returned to Trent, who, by then, had taken shelter under the tree they’d parked beneath.

Once the blanket was spread across the ground and Trent’s ass planted on it, Blaine dug out the bottle of juice. He filled one of the plastic champagne flutes he found inside the basket and handed it to his boyfriend. "Sip it, don’t guzzle it," he tersely instructed.

Taking a seat behind Trent, he pulled the younger teen into his arms and hugged him tight. "You are a bona fide idiot, you know that, right?" Blaine kissed the side of Trent’s neck after raking back a swath of damp hair. "Damn it, Trent, you do realize you have the right to say no to me? Just ‘cause I say I want to try something doesn’t mean ‘you’ have to do it."

Blaine fingered the gold hoops threaded through his boyfriend’s nipples. "It’s bad enough you’re wearing a tat, not to mention got holes in your tits because of me. You did ‘not’ have to add rimming to the list."


Removing the empty glass, Blaine held up a hand, cutting off Trent’s protest. He then indicated they lay down on the blanket. "I love you, babe," he whispered once Trent was securely tucked close to his side, "and I’ll keep on loving you even when you say no."

"Thank God," was mumbled against his skin. Trent had scooted down somewhat and was pressing his face into his chest. "You have no idea how gross that was," the younger teen admitted. "Hell, it’s a miracle I didn’t puke all over you while we were fucking."

Trent rubbed his lips back and forth, using Blaine’s chest as if it was a washrag. "Man, the taste . . . how anyone can say they like the taste of ass is beyond me. Yuck."

Chuckling half-heartedly, Blaine tilted his boyfriend’s head up and softly kissed his forehead. "I appreciate your willingness," he honestly declared.

The words, ‘more than you’ll ever know,’ rose to his lips but were pushed back along with the memory of the rimming. Maybe one day when they were older, more mature, more experienced, they’d revisit this type of loving.

Blaine looked down at Trent and saw the look of disgust still residing on his face. Then again, maybe they wouldn’t.

"Wanna tell me what’s in the bucket?" he asked in hopes of diverting his boyfriend’s attention.

A grin as bright as the moon above them broke out. "Look for yourself, Budman."

Blaine snagged the bucket and pulled it toward him. Ripping off the top, he caught sight of its contents and straight away started laughing. Inside the brightly colored container were three bottles of their favorite lube, a very familiar and well used dildo, two studded sleeves for the dildo, a pair of stainless steel nipple clamps and one string of strangely shaped anal beads.

He lifted out the unique anal beads and showed them to Trent. "I don’t remembering us ordering these off the internet."

Trent’s grin grew even larger, leading Blaine to quickly offer up a silent prayer.

‘Please Almighty, if you are indeed a merciful god, please save my sorry ass from the torture about to be inflicted upon it. Amen.’


. . . . "Should’ve known God wasn’t listening."

Shoving the now empty bucket out of the way, Blaine carefully rolled onto his back. Within seconds he was returning to his side. For the umpteenth time he wondered how in the hell he was going to sit down, much less walk, in the days to come. The fact that his boyfriend would be suffering the same discomfort did little to appease his sore ass.

"Hot tub soaks," he promised his abused bottom. "Plenty of hot tub soaks."

An aborted snore returned his attention to his sleeping companion. Easing the trapped string of anal beads from beneath Trent’s hopefully depleted balls, Blaine pulled the younger boy into his arms and glanced up at the night sky. This time it wasn’t God he prayed to but the devil, the one he’d sold his soul to, the one named Nathan Chandler.

‘If you agree to do this, the money for the airline ticket is yours,’ the talent scout for ‘Freshman’ magazine had assured him. ‘You’ve got a bright future ahead of you, Blaine Matthews, one that will inspire young gay men nationwide. How ‘bout it? Half the money now, the other half once the photo shoot and interview are done.’

Without hesitation, Blaine had signed on the dotted line. Had placed his scholarship in jeopardy simply because . . .

Trent was worth it.


End of Chapter 19