Sex in the Sky

Despite the fact that he”d only seen Alicia Wilton a few times around town, Jamie found himself trusting the woman. Her manner reminded him of Megan”s, warm and open, not the kind of woman who”d keep secrets or lie to him. Jamie relaxed just a fraction, more than he would have thought possible under the circumstances.

Alicia plopped her briefcase down on the table. “When Brandon called me, he told me that the two of you were in trouble and that Dillon”s father was pressing charges for an alleged assault. Bran was on his way out to look for you, last I heard, and he wanted me to come here and wait until he found you. I”m guessing he did.”

“Actually, these two found me. I was on my way out the door when they showed up here.” Brandon stood up and pulled a chair out for his sister. As soon as she was seated, he walked over to the counter and poured her a mug of coffee. “You still take it black, munchkin?”

Alicia rolled her eyes at her brother, but her comments were for Jamie and Dillon. “I”m almost thirty-years-old, and the big jerk still calls me munchkin.” To Bran, she said, “Unless that”s decaf, you”d better drink it yourself. I”m off caffeine for the next seven-and-a-half months.”

Brandon”s entire face changed. “For the same reason you were off caffeine the last time?”

Alicia nodded. “Yep. Emily”s gonna be a big sister.”

Brandon came back to the table, lifting Alicia out of her chair and into his arms. “Congratulations to all three of you, Miss Emily Jane Big Britches, included.” He stepped back, his expression changing from elation to concern. “Emily”s only eighteen months old. Doesn”t your doctor think it”s a little too soon for you to be getting pregnant, again?”

Alicia laughed as she sat back down. “Some couples don”t wait even that long to start trying. My obstetrician tells me I”m in perfect health, and Garth and I want our kids to be close together. We don”t plan on having a whole brood like Mom and Dad did, either. Two will do rather nicely, I think.”

Bran nodded and sat down beside Alicia. “If the new addition is anything like Emily, two will be a houseful.” He pushed the tape-recorder in Alicia”s direction. “I could talk about my nieces and nephews all night, but Ronald Skinner”s doing me a favor on this one, so we”d better get down to it. Everything the boys told me is on this tape.”

Alicia”s blue eyes widened. “Ronald Skinner, the chief of police?”

“One and the same.”

Alicia reached for the tape recorder. “This I”ve got to hear.”

Jamie reached for Dillon”s hand, worried about how silent he”d been for the last few minutes. Thankfully, Dillon squeezed back, his way of letting Jamie know he was all right.

Alicia started the tape. A couple of times during the re-play, Jamie looked in Dillon”s direction. He looked tired, his beloved face drawn and weary, but he didn”t seem overly upset. Not compared to what they”d been through, anyway. Jamie turned his attention back to Alicia just in time to see her push the stop button on the tape recorder. It wasn”t until he heard the click that Jamie realized Alicia had turned the tape recorder off at the mention of Henderson”s name.

“Henderson? Not Lyle Henderson?”

Dillon shrugged. “I”m not sure. He never gave his first name, and I didn”t want to know, anyway.”

Alicia”s face was sweet sympathy itself. “No, sweetie, I guess you didn”t.”

Brandon said, “Why do you ask?”

“I need to finish listening to the tape before I say anything else, but if this guy is the same Dr. Henderson I think he is, he”s your key to getting Jamie and Dillon off the hook for this so-called assault.” Alicia turned the tape back on, this time taking a steno pad and pen out of her briefcase. Jamie watched as she scribbled notes in a graceful, flowing script that made his own handwriting look like chicken scratches. As soon as the tape finished, Alicia said, “I”ll need confirmation, but I”m almost certain this Henderson is the same guy our office has been investigating for the last two years.” She smiled at Dillon. “You and your little twinkie here may have just given us the evidence we need to make an arrest. At least we can get a warrant to search his office and home.”

Jamie was completely in the dark. “I don”t get it. Am I being arrested for cracking Dillon”s father on the head?”

Alicia tossed her notebook back into the briefcase. “Nope, not if I can help it, and I”m darn sure I can.” She pulled a hot pink cell phone out of the lining of the case, grinning when she saw her brother”s smirk. “What? Even a prosecuting attorney needs to have a little bit of style.” She punched in a series of numbers from memory and then waited. Jamie could hear a click, like someone picking up on the other end. Alicia said, “Bruce? Hi, it”s Al.” Pause. “I”m fine, but I need a favor.” Pause. “Yes, I know I still owe you from the last favor, but this is important. It”s about the Henderson case. I need you to get together everything you”ve got on the guy and meet me at this address.” She rattled off Brandon”s location and then listened again to the man on the other line before saying, “I”m not sure just yet, but I think we may have finally nailed the S.O.B.”

#

Not long after the phone call, Nate left, saying he had errands to run. Dillon was pretty sure Nate was leaving to give them some space, which only added to his nervousness. If Nate was leaving his own home so that Brandon and Alicia could handle his and Jamie”s case, this thing had to go way beyond a simple assault charge. Jamie called Aunt Sadie to let him know what was going on. Her thoughts must have echoed Dillon”s, because she gave Jamie a real earful. Brandon took the phone away from Jamie”s ear, talking to her with that commanding air of his and making Sadie promise to stay put until further notice.

Bruce Seaford, Alicia”s friend and special investigator for the D.A.”s office, showed up at Brandon”s place about an hour later, carrying an overfilled, accordion style file folder. Dillon estimated him to be in his thirties, and though he wasn”t drop-dead gorgeous, he had a pleasant face and a genuine smile that made Dillon feel comfortable around him. But Seaford wasn”t alone. The man who came into the kitchen behind him was the polar opposite of Seaford. He wasn”t smiling, and no one could ever accuse the guy of being merely pleasant.

It wasn”t that the guy was hard on the eyes. In fact, he was handsome to the extreme. His finely chiseled features and honed body could have easily graced the cover of an art magazine under the heading of “perfect specimen.” His hair was the color of honeyed wheat, tousled slightly, but in no way detracting from the total picture. Seaford was wearing casual clothes–a wrinkled flannel shirt and a pair of faded jeans–but his companion was dressed for business, his pants expertly tailored, his shirt crisp and immaculate. Even so, nothing about the second man suggested he was anything other than a regular guy who”d come to help with the investigation. Nothing that is, except his eyes. They were a shade of deep silver that missed nothing, following everyone in the room with eerie perception. Dillon felt chill bumps race along the tops of his arms. Something about the man spoke of a quiet power that even had Jamie fidgeting in his chair.

If Brandon had the same reaction to the guy, he hid it well. He greeted both the new arrivals at the door, calling them by name. He slapped Bruce on the back and shook the other man”s hand with a friendly, though reserved, smile. “Dr. Carson, it”s good to see you again.”

Carson? Wasn”t that the doctor who was helping Ash? The man returned Brandon”s smile. “Please, call me Dex. I”m not here in a professional capacity.” He looked to Dillon and Jamie. “I”m here to help.”

The minute he said it, Dillon started to relax. Maybe it was the confidence in Carson”s voice when he said the word “help.” Or maybe it was the way he looked at them with compassion, but not a trace of pity. Whatever the case, Dillon”s chill bumps faded and the knot in his stomach loosened.

Alicia took over from there, asking the men to take a seat while she filled Dillon and Jamie in. “Let me make formal introductions, and then we”ll get down to business. James Walker and Dillon Carver, I”d like you to meet Bruce Seaford and Dexter Carson. They”re here to help us sort through this mess and get Jamie out of trouble and back home where he belongs.”

“Can I get you guys some coffee?”

Both men nodded a yes to Brandon”s question, declining cream and sugar and thanking him as he placed a mug in front of each of them. He then asked Dillon and Jamie the same question, but neither took him up on it, having barely drunk any of the hot chocolate they”d been given earlier. And besides, he didn”t know about Jamie, but the last thing Dillon needed was to put caffeine on his already raw nerves.

As Brandon reclaimed the place next to his sister, Bruce settled himself into the chair across from Jamie and next to Brandon, leaving Carson to take the seat facing Dillon. “So, what have we got, Al?”

Alicia reached for the tape recorder. “You can hear it for yourselves and then decide.”

For the second time in as many hours, Dillon heard his own words played back to him. The first time he”d listened to the retelling of the story, he”d been scared to death and trying desperately to hide it. Now, though, he was less apprehensive. He was worried about Jamie, sure, and about being locked up in some crazy ward by that wacko, Henderson. But the way Alicia and Brandon had rallied to their defense soothed Dillon. He was starting to feel the first glimmers of hope.

When the tape was done, Bruce reached down beside his chair and grabbed the file folder, placing it on the table. Unclasping the latch, he removed six, eight-by-ten photos from the first compartment and slid them across the table to Dillon. Each one was of a different man, only one of whom Dillon knew. Bruce said, “I need you to look at each picture, Dillon, and tell me if the man who identified himself as Henderson is in there. Take your time.”

Dillon didn”t need to take his time. Just seeing Henderson”s semi-smiling face, even in a photograph, was enough to make his stomach lurch. He slid the pictures–Henderson”s on top–back across the table to Bruce. “That”s him.”

“You sure?”

“Not a doubt in my mind, Mr. Seaford. That”s the guy who tried to give me the shot.”

Jamie seconded Dillon”s vote. “I only saw the guy for a few minutes, but I know it”s him.”

Bruce looked like a kid at Christmas. “What do you think, Al? Is it enough to get a warrant?”

Alicia nodded. “Henderson is a Ph.D., not an M.D., which means he doesn”t have the right to give out meds. We also have Dillon”s statement that Henderson tried to give him an injection. That should at least be enough to get us in the door so we can search his office.”

Jamie said, “I don”t wanna seem dense or anything, but could somebody please tell us what”s going on? What does Henderson have to do with me hitting Dillon”s father over the head with a bat?”

“With the actual assault, nothing. With the case, everything.” Alicia turned her chair enough to clearly see them both down the length of the farmhouse table. “Lyle Henderson is a psychologist from Chicago who prides himself on being able to take gay men and “turn” them straight. That”s what he claims, anyway. Because Henderson is a doctor of theology, and not medicine, he can”t prescribe or administer the type of drugs Dillon heard him tell Douglas Carver were in that syringe. That”s a felony, and should be enough to convince a judge to issue a warrant so we can find what we”re looking for.”

Brandon said, “I get the feeling you aren”t looking to bust this guy just for dispensing without a license. Off the record, what gives?”

Alicia looked to Bruce. “You think it”s okay to give the boys the full story.”

Bruce nodded. “I don”t see why not. They have a right to know, especially since they”re in the middle of all this mess. The way I see it, Dillon”s father involved him the minute he and his wife brought Henderson into their son”s apartment.”

“I agree.” Alicia clasped her hands in front of herself. “Everything I”m about to tell you guys is strictly off the record, meaning basically if you tell anybody I told you, I”ll deny it with my last breath.” She directed her next statement to Dr. Carson. “Can you handle this, Dex?”

“I”m fine, Alicia. I”m here to help any way I can.” Carson seemed calm, but Dillon could see something brewing just below the surface of the man, some inner tension. Whatever it was, it made Dillon shiver.

Alicia didn”t comment. Instead, she went right into the story. “Lyle Henderson subscribes to the old school practice of treating homosexuality as a disease. A mental illness, if you will. He believes that homosexuality can be cured with the right treatments. His treatment of choice is aversion therapy.”

Brandon whistled. “Damn.”

Dillon was lost. “What”s “aversion therapy?”"

Carson leaned forward. “Alicia, I”d like to take it from here, if that”s okay.”

“If you”re sure you”re up to it.”

“I am.” Carson stretched his tall, lanky frame and sat back in his chair. “Aversion therapy is the process of using negative reinforcement to turn a person away from a certain behavior or thought process. There are different ways it can be done, but in the case of sexual aversion therapy, doctors generally rely on shock treatments. They show gay and lesbian patients a series of nude or even pornographic pictures. When the patient looks at pictures of the opposite sex, nothing happens. But the minute the patient sees a picture of his or her own gender, electrodes secured to the skin deliver a mild electric shock.”

Alicia shuddered. “Is it just me, or does that sound positively barbaric to anyone else?”

Brandon said, “It”s not just you. Hell, I have a degree in forensic psychology, and I still don”t understand it. Not in the case of homosexuality, anyway. I”ve heard of aversion therapy being mildly successful in some other areas, but never that one.”

“Aversion therapy in general has fallen out of favor with a large section of the psychiatric community for that very reason. It”s simply not as effective as other, more humane treatment methods. And thankfully, most therapists and doctors now view homosexuality as a sexual preference one is born with and has no control over, rather than a disease.” Carson sighed. “Unfortunately, there are still a few holdouts–dinosaurs like Henderson–who think being gay is a mental illness. Some of these guys will do anything to “cure” a patient who”s gay. And I do mean anything.”

Alicia picked up the thread. “That”s where my office comes in. For over two years now, the D.A. in Chicago has been investigating Henderson for the abuse of his patients.”

Jamie scrunched his brows. “I don”t get it. If aversion therapy is used by lots of doctors, then why is Henderson in trouble for doing the same thing?”

“Because Henderson doesn”t stop at simple aversion therapy, James.” This coming from Bruce Seaford. “The D.A. brought me in to investigate allegations from more than one of Henderson”s former patients, allegations ranging from the patients being stung repeatedly with high voltage cattle-prods to being starved for days on end, kept in locked cells without food and water. Because most of these patients were teenagers at the time of treatment and only came forward as adults years later, the statute of limitations has expired, and there”s nothing we can do. Not for those patients, anyway. Our hands are further tied by the fact that Henderson isn”t a medical doctor. He doesn”t have hospital privileges–which makes his threat to have Dillon locked up in an institution laughable–nor does he see just any patients. It”s always harder to bust someone who”s in private practice, mainly because his records are harder to access.”

“But not anymore.” Alicia”s expression was pure satisfaction. “The minute Henderson pulled out that syringe, he opened himself up for investigation. All we have to do is secure a warrant and see what we can find.” She smiled at Jamie. “Now, you asked me a question. I believe you wanted to know what Henderson”s past had to do with you.”

“Yeah.”

“Jamie, when Douglas Carver held Dillon so that Henderson could dope him up, Douglas became Henderson”s accomplice. If we can prove that Henderson acted to harm Dillon and that Doug was helping to commit said harm, then yours becomes a case of self-defense, pure and simple.”

“How can it be self-defense if Dillon was the one threatened and not me?”

Brandon said, “I can answer that one. Because, kiddo, every man has a right to defend his spouse or his family. Since you and Dillon are partners, you have the right to defend him as you would yourself.”

“Yep. That about sums it up.” Alicia reached back into her briefcase, retrieving her phone and rising to her feet. “If you”ll please excuse me, I”ll call my boss and let him know what we”ve got so far. Hopefully, we”ll have a warrant before the night is out.”

Bruce stood as well, taking Brandon”s tape recorder with him. “I need to make copies of this. I have another recorder in my car that should do the trick.”

Brandon waited until Seaford was gone, then said, “I might as well call Skinner and let him know the score.” He stood and stretched. “Can I get you guys anything? How about you, Dex?”

Jamie and Dillon declined, as did Carson. “No, I”m fine, thank you.”

Brandon grabbed the cordless phone from one of the kitchen”s shining granite counters. “In that case, I”ll be in the living room, making a call.” Brandon walked out, leaving the three of them alone in awkward silence.”

The silence may have been awkward for Dillon–and Jamie too, if the way he was wiggling around in his chair was any indication–but Carson seemed oblivious to it. His silver eyes roamed the confines of the kitchen, taking in the homey atmosphere. Dillon didn”t even realize he was staring at the man until Carson said, “You can ask me about it, if you want to.”

“About what?” Even as he said it, Dillon knew what Carson was talking about.

“The reason Bruce called me and asked me to come with him while he and Alicia talked to you. I can tell you”re curious.”

“I just figured it was because you”re a psychiatrist. Maybe Bran and his sister think Jamie and I need a shrink.”

Carson laughed, the sound rich and warm in the quiet kitchen. “I”ll admit, it sounds like the two of you have been through the ringer, but I wasn”t asked here so I could analyze you.” He sobered. “I”m here because I know Henderson, know firsthand what he”s capable of.”

Jamie”s mouth dropped open. “You were his patient?”

“I was his first patient. Well, the first patient he ever tried to convert, anyway.” Carson lowered his eyes, but not before Dillon saw the aching sadness inside. “I”m also his son.”

“Jesus.”

Carson raised his eyes at Dillon”s well-placed curse. “Quite a kicker, isn”t it?” He leaned forward and crossed his arms, elbows bent and propped on the table. “My father used to be a well respected psychologist. Some of his philosophies were outdated, to be sure, but he was highly thought of by most of his colleagues. All that changed when he found out I was gay. He and my mother freaked.”

Like Dillon didn”t know how that felt. “How old were you?”

“Sixteen. My father caught me with my boyfriend. We were just kissing, but it was enough to set my father off. He forbade me to see the guy again, and then he started on his crusade, as I call it. He became convinced that he could cure me. He started studying up on different techniques, all the ways to steer a person”s mind away from the evils of homosexuality.” Carson shook his head. “Needless to say, it didn”t work. My father put me through a full year of electric shocks and “dirty” pictures before he realized it wasn”t working.” Carson”s jaw was set in stone. “That”s when my dad up-ed the stakes.”

Unbelievably, the twins weren”t done, but rather, they flipped me around facing up, then pulled their cocks out with loud pops and swiveled me around so that the man who had been in my ass was now at my head, and vice versa. I felt an enormous feeling of loss when they wrenched their dicks from my body, but that only exacerbated the pain/pleasure I felt when they crammed their dicks back in me. I vaguely recall the slightly tangy taste of the cock that had cum in my ass, as he plunged his dick into my throat. They fucked me in something approaching a frenzy for just a few more minutes before I felt them cum again. In the position my head was in, I couldn”t begin to swallow the cum load of the man in my throat, and his cum dripped down my cheeks and into my hair.

This time, they eased themselves out of me, then laid me back into the pool of cum. I was sprawled out, exhausted, trembling on the mat as I wallowed in the cum of several hundred men who had passed through the room. The drugs that my former master had given me earlier in the night had long since peaked. My mind was a hollow shell, as I lay there nearly comatose.

But when I opened my bleary eyes, I could see there were still a dozen or more men left surrounding me, all naked and looking down at me with hungry looks. And Mistress was still there, still calling the shots. She, too, had a feral look about her, and I wondered what was next. I began to get scared at that point, but then Mistress” look softened a bit as she knelt down between my widespread legs. With both hands, she cradled my ravaged cock, then she snaked her right hand between my cum-flooded butt cheeks, to my gaping, swollen anus. Slowly, she worked her hands over my groin. With her left hand she slowly stroked my cock, which began to show signs of renewed life. With her right hand, she slowly worked her fingers at my distended hole. She quickly had three fingers pumping slowly, methodically in my ass. After all it had been through, three fingers didn”t seem like much.

When she began to add her pinky to the three fingers, though, it began to dawn on me what she was about. Sure enough, before long, Mistress folded her thumb into her palm and began to push. She took her time about it, rhythmically stroking my now rock-hard cock, getting me relaxed and open to her. Nevertheless, when she reached the knuckles at the base of her fingers, I tensed slightly, and that elicited a purr of satisfaction, because she abruptly pushed her fingers hard into my ass until her whole hand was buried up to her wrist, then she curled her fingers into a ball, significantly expanding the size of the fist in my rectum. I screamed this time, loud and long. Mistress didn”t back away, but began to pump her fist powerfully back and forth.

Even though her hands were relatively small, I had never had this done to me, and at this stage of the night, with the dawn”s light streaming through the dingy windows high above the room and my body at the long end of an incredibly abusive orgy, it was painful. At the same time, the pleasure in my lust-fogged mind, from the felling of being fisted and stroked at the same time, was incredible.

Back and forth, Mistress pumped her fist wetly in my ass, sinking deeper with each thrust until at one point she had her arm imbedded in my ass halfway to her elbow. I think I passed into some state beyond bliss, beyond any conscious, coherent thought except the tactile pleasures Mistress was inflicting on my sex-ravished body.

Through cum-blurred eyes, I saw the remaining men begin to surround me. There were maybe a dozen or so, all of them beating their meat as they watched Mistress” assault on me. I closed my eyes as a kaleidoscope of swirling images ransacked my mind. I felt myself being transported to some distant cosmos, as I writhed around the arm that was impaling me. I shook and I shimmied in the cum bath that pooled on the mat.

From somewhere far away, I seemed to remember hearing myself scream, then my guts seemed to flow out my groin as a fifth orgasm swept out in the bubbling cum shot that oozed out the end of my cock. I stiffened and jerked as the powerful climax rippled through my body. The last thing I remember was a final rain of cum that showered over my body, covering my face and chest in another layer of cum.

I don”t know how long I lay passed out on that mat, but when I awoke the shadows were beginning to lengthen. I came to with a start, at the realization that I was alone – utterly, completely alone. The first time I tried to move, however, pain screamed from virtually every muscle in my body. I also tried to open my eyes and found them nearly covered with a thick crust of dried cum. I picked my head up off the mat to discover my hair was sticky with a still-viscous goo from under my head. I looked down and saw my body was streaked with scratches and red marks from being manhandled so roughly for so long. I was encased in a web of dried and nearly dried semen, not unlike the prey of a spider. As I came to a more wakeful state, I realized that my entire crotch area throbbed in pain from being so severely manipulated. My dick and scrotum were chapped from all the abuse and from all the cum that had dried around the area. But it was my ass that was really sore. It felt like a sequoia had been thrust up my rectum, and, incredibly, there was still wetness around my swollen anus.

As I began to move, I felt my stomach churning, and when I went to roll over, the room went into a spin, I saw stars and my belly regurgitated a fairly impressive amount of cum. In sudden, rapid need for water, I crawled painfully to the next room, the old bathroom that led into the showers. I managed to find a faucet that rendered rusty-colored water that I slurped up like it was the finest wine.

When I had gotten something to drink, I pulled myself painfully to my feet, using the sink as support. I managed to shamble back into the locker room, then I stumbled to the stairs leading up to the gym. Panic was beginning to grip me as I stumbled and crawled up the cold, bare stairs. I collapsed when I reached the top of the stairs and realized that I was indeed alone. Alone with no idea where I was, naked and filthy after a completely, deliciously degrading experience as the whore for a party of several hundred men. Just trying to piece together what happened brought my cock stirring to life, despite my fear, but it was much too sore to do anything with.

Besides, I was trying to get my foggy mind to comprehend the fact that there was no trace of the previous night”s activities, nothing that would have indicated that several hours earlier this gym had been throbbing with sound, with energy, with people, hundreds of people. Outside, it was another story. The area surrounding the old school was littered with beer cans and empty liquor bottles. But there was not a soul in sight.

And as the sobering reality of my situation hit me I completely broke down. I bawled like a baby, cursing the fate that had robbed me of my identity and had turned me into such a slut. I had been trained to believe that what I was doing was normal, but at that moment, I knew something wasn”t right about the way I was living.

But that didn”t solve my immediate problem, and as the day darkened into night, my fear began to unhinge me. I crawled back downstairs, huddled on the still-slimy mat where I”d been gangbanged and finally fell into a fitful sleep. The next day I felt a little stronger and explored the area. Because I was unable to find any clothes, I knew I had to be careful not to attract attention. I managed to find some scraps of junk food, half-eaten hamburgers and some doughnuts that had been left over from the rave.

After spending another night in the locker room, panic really set in, because it appeared that I had truly been abandoned, left to whatever fate came my way. And that”s just what happened that third day at the school. I was scavenging the grounds looking for food, when I sensed something, and turned around to see a large police officer staring at me. He looked me up and down, then a leering smile slowly widened on his face. As he licked his lips in a lascivious manner and rubbed his bulging crotch, my blood began to chill. Somehow I knew my life as a gay sex slave was about to take a turn for the worse.