The Attic (by Rafe Raw)

Headed up First Street on my way to Donald's house, I noticed his attic window and realized I had never been up there. Upon reaching the iron gate there was movement behind the old curtains in the arched opening. Funny with all the times spent visiting Donald. I had never even thought about going up there.
Once inside the dwelling, I called out: "Anybody here?"
There was no answer, so I headed up the stairs. Passing the empty bedroom and bathroom, I caught the strong odor of cigarette smoke. Unless someone had left a butt unattended, I was sure that someone was in the house.
I followed the smell and continued up the darkened stairwell.
Outside the door to the attic, the odor was stronger. No one had answered when I first called out, so instead of knocking, I squatted and peeked through the keyhole. A man, dark and lean, lay back against the headboard of a huge antique bed. In one hand was a can of beer; the other held the source of the smoky scent. As though he had sensed my presence, the man turned towards the door. He almost seemed to look at me through the tiny hole. Then he spoke, his voice like gravel bouncing off sandpaper:
"Come in kid."
Nervous, but excited, I turned the handle, opened the creaking door and stepped inside. He scared the hell out of me, but I was turned on by the fear.
He was older than I, lean and handsome. The fading rays of the setting sun danced across the bearded face, in profile and ominous. Shirtless, I could see the tangled mass of dark fur rise and fall as he inhaled, then released clouds of smoke; the only sound his slow and relaxed breathing.
"You one of Donald's lovers?"
The voice was older than he appeared, a rich baritone aged by time and experience. I shuddered, aroused and intrigued, my face flushed and hot. My mouth opened to answer, but no words were forthcoming.
In the darkening room, I nodded, as he finished his smoke and set the beer aside. What daylight remained revealed trousers open from waist, his man flesh thick and heavy across his thigh. A real stallion, I thought. As though he had read my mind, the stranger answered.
"Yes, boy. You like them that way, don't you?" He extended a wiry arm towards me and beckoned with long, thick fingers." Come over here. I got what you're looking for."
I moved towards the bed as if pulled by a puppeteer's string, his voice guiding me towards his shadowy presence. The air was redolent with the mixed odors of beer, smoke and testosterone. Sliding onto his bed of desire, I saw his cock, hard and upright, poised to invade whatever it chose to enter. Without further invitation or warning, he pulled me towards him, tearing away my shirt. His rough hands twisted my nipples, then drew them to his mouth. Sharp, pointed teeth bit into them and began to suck as if feeding, as his hands dug into my waist. With strength close to inhuman, he ripped open the seat of my pants, and pushed two fingers into my ass.
"Good tight hole, just ready for breeding," he growled. Releasing my burning nipples from his mouth, he lifted, then impaled my ass on his
iron rod.
Ripping pain shot through my rectum, as he entered full force. I looked into demonic eyes red and blinding, as his upward thrusts threatened to split me in half.
"Fuck my dick, BITCH!" he commanded. "Ride this motherfuckin' cock, boy."
My ass tightened, gripping his cock like a rodeo cowboy not wanting to be thrown off. I'm raping myself, I thought. His cock grew thicker and harder, the more I tightened my hold. His teeth sought out my nipples once again, drawing blood as the beast-cock exploded, his spooge rushing through my guts like a fireman's hose turned up full throttle, but hot with white-heat. I cried out in pain and ecstasy, falling across his chest. His nuclear hose slid out of my with a wet hiss. Falling backwards, my head suspended between floor and bed, I felt gelatinous, lacking vertebrae. My heartbeat pummeled my temples.
"Go, now." he whispered. The room echoed his words, then silence. I sprang upright, finding myself in the middle of the bed- Alone.
The bed was smaller now, the bare mattress covered in thick pools of white fluid. My groin and chest were covered with sticky liquid. Whitish fluid similar to what covered the mattress seeped from my ass.
Movement was slow, dream-like. Was I in the attic? My right nipple itched and leaked a tiny drop of blood. But I saw him! Touched, felt him almost rip my ass in two-. Head in my hands, I heard the floorboards creak. In the doorway, stood a dark figure.
It was Donald.
"What's up, buddy?"
His voice was gentle, knowing, but what did he know? Furthermore, what could I say? How could I explain my bloody nipple and leaking ass?
"I'm not sure...I mean. Man, fuck. I just don't know." I brought my knees up to my chest.
Donald joined me on the bed. "So man, whatta ya think of the attic?
First time you've been up here."
I searched for words, but came up empty. How could I even begin to tell what had happened. Or what I thought or imagined had happened.
Before I found the words, Donald placed a finger on my lips.
"I know. You're not the first." He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and held me close. His strength and wisdom derived from experience and maturity soothed my anxiety and confusion. I let my head fall onto his shoulders. We sat there for what seemed an eternity.
Then with his usual paternal good sense, he ruffled my hair and rose to his feet. I could barely see him in the dark room.
"What you need is a hot bath. I'll run the water for you."
I muttered, "Thank you," as his lips softly grazed my cheek, finding comfort in his patriarchal warmth.
In the doorway, he paused and held out his hand.
"Tonight, we'll just sleep. Okay?"
I joined him there. As he slowly led me away from the attic room, I thought I heard breathing from the bed and smelled smoke from a cigarette. Then a voice, all gravel and sandpaper-
"You'll be back. I'll be waiting for you."
For a moment, I stood silent waiting, wanting to hear more, but there was only silence. I turned away from the room, closing the door and followed Donald down the stairway.