A Stan and Gus Story by Jessica Freely
The farm, at first glance, appeared vacant. The barn was all but
falling down, it’s gray, weather beaten wood full of holes and its roof
sagging. The house didn’t appear to be in much better condition.
White paint peeled from the clapboard walls and the porch railing was
missing a few posts. A lone cat sauntered along the roof and
disappeared through a broken window in one of the dormers that stared
out onto the isolated country rode like empty eyes.
“I don’t know about this, Pips,” said Gus, bringing the Mazda to a halt by the rusting gate. “This place looks like something out of Deliverance.”
“I’m telling you guys. I was out here last Saturday and it was the best party I’ve ever been to,” said Billy Pips. “And you guys know I know what I’m talking about.”
“But there’s nobody here but us,” protested Stan.
Gus hoped there was nobody here but them. Visions of farm-raised raving maniacs with banjos and shotguns danced in his head.
“It’s early yet,” said Pips, getting out. Stan and Gus joined him. It was too hot to stay in the car. “Look, it’s barely even sunset.”
Gus looked up at the sky. The vivid blue of day was beginning to give way to dusk. The lengthening rays of the sun tinged feathery cirrus clouds pink. In the east, he saw a star. “I don’t know about being out here after dark.”
“Don’t be such a pussy,” Pips said. “Help me get the liquor out of the trunk.”
Gus carried the crate of gin and sake up the steps and onto the rickety porch, Pips and Stan right behind him, each with a case of beer. Gus could feel the floorboards sagging beneath him. Great. Just his luck he’d fall through.
The front door stood ajar. Pips came around him and went right inside. Stan was about to follow him, but Gus turned, blocking the way. “I don’t know, Stan.”
Stan rolled his eyes. "Pips is right, you are a pussy. C’mon, what’s the worst thing that can happen?”
“The owner comes home with a shotgun and fills us all full of lead,” Gus informed him.
“Not going to happen. Look around. The place is abandoned. It’s the perfect place for a rave.”
Gus had to admit he was right. No neighbors to call the cops, plenty of room, freaky, picturesque venue. “If anyone else shows up,” he persisted.
Stan sighed and gave him a kiss. “Stop worrying so much. Take that hallucinogenic mushroom I gave you.”
Gus sighed and finally allowed himself to be convinced. It was pretty country out here, and once the sound guys showed up, he’d get to watch Stan dance. He loved that. Stan was so tall and graceful, with his long legs and arms and his slender body. He was everything Gus wasn’t and when he danced… he didn’t even really dance, he just… flowed.
Gus followed Stan and Pips inside. The place was dank and the walls were spotted with black mold. He deposited the liquor on the kitchen counter and went into what once must have been the living room. Stan joined him. He fished the mushroom cap out of the pocket of his cargo shorts. “It’s a big one. Want half?” he asked Stan.
“Yeah, sure.”
They split the mushroom and chewed thoughtfully, staring around the room. It was obvious the place hadn’t been occupied in years, not by people, anyway. Two more cats -- a calico and a Siamese -- sat on the back of a dilapidated couch, staring at them.
“Freaky,” said Stan.
“Yeah,” agreed Gus.
Then Stan said, “Where’s Pips?”
They found him in the kitchen, on his knees before a big fluffy Persian cat. His back was to them but Gus could see that he had a bottle of gin and he was pouring it into a bowl on the floor, and whispering something.
“Pips!” yelled Stan, “What the fuck are you doing wasting good gin on a cat?”
The Persian leaped onto the counter beside Stan and hissed. Its green eyes glowed with rage and its fur, already fluffy, stood out on end. It swiped at Stan with one clawed paw and Stan barely dodged it.
“Holy fuck!” said Gus, but it wasn’t because of the cat. Pips had turned around. He stared at Gus, his face blank, his eyes milky white. “P-p-pips?”
It was almost dark out now. Pips' eyes glowed in the dim light. He stepped toward Gus and Stan, now huddled together in the archway between the kitchen and the living room. “You will serve them, as I do,” he said.
Stan clung to Gus. “Jesus Christ, you were right. You’re always right, Gus. Why the fuck don’t I ever listen to you?”
Gus wrapped his arm around him, backing both of them slowly into the living room.
It had been a hot day. He was wearing shorts. He felt a soft paw on the back of his calf. Gasping, he whipped around, releasing Stan. He looked down into the luminous golden eyes of the calico. Suddenly, he felt the urge to go get this cat a beer.
Gus clamped his eyes shut and the feeling passed. He groped for Stan. “Stan! Don’t look in their eyes. Stan!”
At last, his hand connected with Stan’s arm. At least, he hoped it was Stan. He held on tight and staggered toward where he remembered the door being. He tripped over something soft and went ass over teakettle, losing his grip again in the process. The next thing he knew, something heavy landed on his shoulders. He felt fur on the back of his neck, and then claws, sinking into his shoulders. He reached back, trying to dislodge the cat, and it bit him. “Fuck!”
“Get the fuck off of my boyfriend you pussy!”
It was Stan! There was yowl, and then the weight on his shoulders was gone, the claws were gone. He risked a glance up and saw Stan, one hand over his eyes, peering at him through his fingers. He held his other hand out to him. “Come on!”
Gus took his hand and they made it to the door. Behind them, he could hear Billy Pips, making odd little mewling sounds. What the fuck was that?
“Hurry,” said Stan, dragging him out the door. He slammed it shut behind them and stood with his back to it, panting, his face streaked with sweat. “Holy shit, Gus. Those are mind-control cats.”
“Yeah. And they’re lushes too.” Through the grimy window to the kitchen, he could see the big Persian, lapping contentedly from its bowl of gin. It looked up and Gus quickly turned away.
“Let’s get out of here,” said Stan.
Just then they heard a screeching wail from inside. “Pips,” said Gus, hesitating on the top step of the porch. “We can’t leave him.”
“The fuck we can’t. He deliberately led us into this trap. He was more than willing to hand us over to his feline masters, dooming us to a fate he himself knows only too well.” Stan stood at the bottom of the steps, his arms folded, implacable. Beside him, the kangaroo in the tuxedo nodded in agreement.
Gus felt outnumbered. The truth was, he hated Pips. He knew they’d be better off without him in their lives. But some things go beyond common sense or even self-preservation. When Pips made that sound again, Gus spun around and ran back into the house.
“Fuck! Gus!”
The living room and kitchen were empty. He went down the hallway. There was a door at the end of it. Noises emanated from the other side of that door. Horrible, mewling sounds. Gus shook as he reached for the doorknob.
“Wait!” It was Stan, running down the hall and coming to a halt at his side. Behind him, in the living room, the kangaroo and the carousel horse danced a waltz. “I can’t let you go in there alone,” said Stan.
Gus looked into his lover’s eyes. His pupils were huge. He was really high. “Stay behind me.”
“No,” said Stan, taking his free hand. “Beside you.”
Gus opened the door.
Pips was there, staked out on the floor, naked and spread-eagled. His wrists and ankles were bound with yarn, and tied to hooks in the corners of the room. More yarn wound around his body, in a crisscross pattern, down to his hips and groin where it wrapped around the base of his cock and balls, constricting them. He was hard, and leaking. Clothes pins pinched his nipples. The Persian perched on his chest, batting at the clothes pins while the other two, the calico and the Siamese, assaulted his rigid cock and his swollen balls with their sandy tongues. Pips was in agony, his face contorted. He screamed again.
“Holy shit, Pips! Hang on, man, we’re going to get you out of this,” said Gus.
Stan started forward, one hand cautiously shielding his eyes from the perilous gaze of the mind-control cats. He grabbed the yarn binding Pips’ nearest hand and tried to break it. It was strong. “Stan! Gus!” Pips shouted.
“Yeah, we’re here buddy, we came back for you,” said Stan. “Gus was all for leaving your ass, but I said no, we can’t do that.”
“Stan!” Pips yelled again.
“Just a second buddy. We’ll have you out of here in no time.”
“Get the fuck out, both of you! You’re ruining my scene!”
The kangaroo and the carousel horse talked them out of driving home
in the dark. Neither of them wanted anything to do with Pips’
mind-control pussy kink, so they bedded down for the night in the
abandoned barn. Now, Gus straddled Stan’s hips. Beneath him, Stan
sprawled in the straw, his long blond hair fanned out around his head.
Morning light peeped through the gaps in the weathered walls, turning
the burnished locks to golden fire. Stan looked up at Gus, his lips
red and swollen from kissing, the sex blush pink on the pale skin of
his chest and neck.
Gus’s cock, already hard, pulsed with impatience as he gazed at his boyfriend’s wanton beauty. “Gus,” Stan panted. “I need you now.”
Gus took a shaky breath and nodded his head. A second later, he was rummaging through his pockets looking for rubbers and lube. He ripped open the foil packet.
“Let me.” Stan propped himself up on one elbow and took the rubber from him. He lowered it over Gus’s thick, leaking cock. “I’m not into cats, you know, but that bondage business. That’s some hot shit,” he said. “Gives me dirty thoughts.”
Gus grinned, hissing slightly as Stan’s fingers stroked his erection. He reached down and pumped Stan’s long, hard cock, delighting in the sight of Stan arching beneath him, his head thrown back, his long, pale neck exposed. “You want to tie me up?”
“No.” Stan looked up at him, his eyes liquid emeralds in the morning light. “I want you to tie me up.” He took one of Gus’s hands and wrapped it around his wrist, then pushed it to the ground beside his head. “I want you to hold me down.”
Gus seized Stan’s other wrist and pinned it to the ground. “Like this?”
He bit his lip and nodded. Gus leaned down, and kissed him, plundering his mouth. He shifted so that he knelt between Stan’s legs. He pulled Stan’s hands up over his head and held them with one hand. “Lift your knees,” he commanded. “Open up for me.”
Stan blushed so beautifully as he raised his legs and tilted his hips. Gus’s cock nudged at his opening. Gus reached down and grasped it with his free hand. As he slowly pierced Stan’s opening, he watched his partner’s face. Stan’s mouth opened, as if in surprise. His eyes became glazed, his breath escaped him. “You’re so big.”
Gus pushed in a little more, and Stan’s eyes rolled back. “Oh my god! I can’t… I can’t… you’re too big…”
“You’ll take it,” said Gus pushing in a little more. Stan’s channel hugged him so tightly, it was all he could do to maintain control. “You want it.”
Stan, beyond words for once in his life, merely panted, and nodded.
Gus pushed all the way into Stan’s wet heat and rested there, relishing the feeling of being surrounded. Stan gasped and licked his lips, and looked up at him. For a moment, they just stared at one another. “I should listen to you,” he whispered, “You’re always right.”
Gus pinned Stan’s hands beside his head once more and started fucking him in earnest -- long, hard strokes, because he couldn’t hold back any more. Stan was impossible, foolish, impulsive, reckless, and his. Everything he wanted. He plunged into him, abandoning restraint as his orgasm boiled up from the soles of his feet and gathered in his balls. “I’m always right,” he panted.
“Oh! God! Yes!” yelled Stan.
Gus let go of one of Stan’s hands again, reached down and stroked Stan’s cock, the velvety flesh hot against his palm. “Gus! I’m-I’m-I’m… Ahhh!”
Stan came in torrents of pearly white come that sparkled in the morning sun. His orgasm sent reverberations through his body that brought Gus right to the edge of the precipice. He released Stan’s other hand, grasped his hips, and pulled him onto him, fucking him hard and fast as everything inside rose to the top and spilled out and he fell into oblivion.
When they came to themselves, and dressed, and staggered to the car, they found Pips waiting, covered with scratch marks and skin abrasions, a goofy grin on his lips. Nobody said anything as they got in the car and headed home, but all of them were smiling.
Hallucinogenic mushroom
Red herring (plot device)
Carousel
Cloths pins
Kangaroo
Cirrus Clouds
Mind Control Cat
Farm-Raised
Raving Maniacs
Twilight Zone
Dirty Thoughts
Cats getting drunk:
Persians love gin
Siamese like sake
Calico cats have brewski's
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