Ernie Everhard fucks his way home (ch. 2)

**Chapter 2**
**Naked Hostage**

Ernie felt like no matter how far he ran he never got any closer to the fence. The continuity of green swelled ever before him, like a universe in eternal expansion. The night licked along his wet skin. His hard cock bobbed with each bounding leap, until he crouched by a tree, leaning by one hand against the crackly, dry bark and caught his breath.
“I think I saw him run this way!” came a distant voice, but not distant enough for comfort.
So she had delayed them, but not for very long, and still they pursued.
And how Ernie must appear; naked and wet in the moonlight, a prized quarry. God, how they might carve and apportion the trophies of his body. He imagined himself taxidermied in a supplicant position in some fine-furnished mansion, each visitor regaled by the rich hunter’s story, “yes, that’s the Dollar Dueller who killed my boy. Yes, it’s a shame, but I didn’t let him die easy. Taxidermied him alive I did! Replaced his eyes while he screamed. It was the formaldehyde poisoning finally did him in. Still, wish I could have made it last longer. All the same, he was a beautiful hunt. Can’t blame Rolph for dying by his hands in a fair fight. Look at his arms! And that cock! Didn’t even stuff it. Never went down. Died stiff. But that’s why I don’t fight fair. Fair fights for suckers.”
“I see tracks!” came the real voice now, breaking Ernie from his dark imaginings. He fell lower by the tree, into the shadows of the bordering hedge. He looked at across the course for a clear route of escape.
Too much of the green was open space; wide expanses for golfers to easily spot their small white balls, subtle grades across which a marksman could easily blast away his evading, nude form in the purple night.
He watched the three pursuers emerge into the middle of the green. Two of them were large and lumbering with shotguns on each shoulder. One of them was tall and thin, wearing a black suit, a handgun dangling at his side.
“Now now now, boys,” the tall one said, “if you were a scumbag povo piece of shit Dollar Dueller, where would you go?”
One of the larger fellows scratched his head. “Bus stop?”
“Mmm,” said the other.
“Bingo,” said the tall one, then twirled around until finally pointing with his handgun in the direction of the distant neon terminal. “But I doubt he made it that far yet. Chance is he’s…” the tall one spun around. Ernie held his breath. They were all three pointed in his direction. He didn’t dare move. He tensed every muscle and tried to become vegetation amidst the kindred tree and hedges.
“Hmm,” said the tall one. “Why don’t you two go over to that bus stop and see if he shows up. I mean keep a low profile don’t stand right by the bus stop, just hang on the sidewalk a little ways off, but in sight. If he thinks we gave up he might still try for it. Meanwhile I’m gonna…” the tall one began to walk toward Ernie’s hiding place, “gonna keep looking around here.”
“I swear to Moloch,” one of the burly ones said, “when we get him I’m going to take every fingernail and every toenail off one by one.”
“I’ll pour gasoline in his eyes,” said the other, “‘fore we rip them out.”
“Yes, yes,” said the tall one. “We’ll make a night of it. But you two go now before he catches the morning 42 out of here and we lose him for good. Shouldn’t be too hard to miss. He left his clothes back in the locker room. Just look for a naked fellow.”
The two shotgunners trotted down the grade and away toward the fence line where Ernie’d aimed. That bus stop was no longer any sort of option. They’d be waiting. After a few moments they were past another line of trees and shrank to dots disappearing on the horizon toward Ernie’s unseated goal.
The remaining tall one headed still straight toward him, gun out. “I know you’re over here Dollar Dueller,” he said. “Forgive all that colorful talk, if you come out now I’ll shoot you dead, plain and simple. I’ll tell my friends you surprised me and I reacted quick. I don’t take as much pleasure in torture as my friends do. I have other hobbies. Besides, it’s a simple matter of settling accounts for me. I don’t take it personally. My son was a dear asset, but always foolhardy, always getting himself into jams he couldn’t handle. I’ve been bailing him out all my life. I’m sure he’s the one that started it. But I can’t have some pleb bastard that murdered my son running around bragging, can I? I’ll make it quick but only if you come out now.”
Ernie didn’t move a muscle. The tall man was now leaning against the same tree as he. He didn’t dare breathe.
“Very well,” said the tall man. “I guess we’ll do it the hard way.”
The tall man turned right toward him and aimed the gun at his face. “Got you.”
Ernie exhaled. He began to whisper the nodnol for himself a second time, the time without the recent release of pleasure.
“Do it then,” said Ernie.
“Stand up,” said the tall man.
Ernie stood, raising his hands above his head. His knuckles were split where he’d beat the life from this man’s son among the others, but the rest of him was still gleaming from the steam room, and the slick of her body.
“My my, you are a specimen,” said the tall man, looking him up and down. “Why my son ever thought he could win a fight against you…”
“Just do it, you said you’d do it,” said Ernie. He kept waiting for the shot. Or for the black. It would be too quick wouldn’t it. He wouldn’t even hear the shot. Not if it was direct, to the head, like the man had promised. Either way, he was sick of being cold, sick of being awake, sing of being away from home. “Do it,” he said, “get it over with. Settle your accounts.” He spit the last words, rich man terms he’d never used.
“Oh no no I said if you came out right away,” said the tall man. “But you didn’t, did you. So we’re gonna go back to the locker room now and unpack the situation.” He gestured back toward the lake with the tip of his gun. “Go on,” he said, “march.”
Ernie’s heart sank. The chill of the wind bit him colder. There would be no end to this ordeal. He was fate’s eternal toy.
“No,” said Ernie. “Shoot me now. I’m not going fucking anywhere else. It ends right here.”
Ernie looked up at the moon, looked across the short-trimmed grass, where the field dipped and then leveled out between willows and oaks. It would almost be beautiful were it not a man-made glade for rich men’s games. He imagined it was a primeval forest where he was meeting a clean, animal death under the respectable malice of a hungry predator.
“Maybe I shoot out your kneecaps then,” said the tall man, “since you don’t think I’m serious.”
“Sure,” said Ernie, “if you feel like carrying me all the way back there.”
“Or perhaps,” the tall man took a step closer, placed the gun muzzle against Ernie’s open palm, “we blast a little stigmata in those hands. Maybe take the fingers off one by one?”
“Do whatever you want,” said Ernie. “But do it here, now…”
And Ernie closed his palm around thegun and twisted hard. Bam! Crack! The gun went off, the bullet hit the nearby tree, the tall man’s hand twisted and broke with Ernie’s swift movement.
“Ahh!” But the tall man’s scream’s were quickly silenced by Ernie’s repeated blows against his face with the gun barrel. He bashed, bashed, bashed. The tall man fell back. Ernie fell upon him and bashed more. Ernie screamed. The tall man fell still.
Ernie looked up. The two burly figures in the distance had changed course. They were headed back toward him now. They had heard the gunshots. He straddled the defaced corpse of the tall man and thought about his next move.
Somewhere above an owl hooted.
Could he circle to the bus stop now, without them seeing? No they were headed right toward him. They must see him by now. Well, he could fight it out, he had the gun now. No, there were two of them, with two shotguns. Well at least he could take the tall man’s suit and not be naked… blauw! blauw!
Two shotgun blasts sounded across the green. Though no shot hit upon his naked flesh, Ernie’s ears throbbed and rang at the nearness of the din.
No time for any plan. For him there never was. He left up from the fresh corpse, his thirteenth of the night, and ran, crouching low and zig zagging as he went, blind shots rising through the air behind him. After a while he tossed the handgun into a water trap as he dashed past.

He finally arrived at the chain link fence and spied the road beyond. The forest primeval, whose imagined aspect still replaced the golf course in his evasive mind, had left its brambles, burs, and mud upon his feet and legs, and he would not much miss its distance. He clutched to the metal of the fence, turned around once to see if the burly shotgunners still pursued. They were nowhere in sight, but he knew they still pursued and that if he paused to make a plan they would be upon him in no time. He was at a limit, and so began to climb the fence, even if this wasn’t anywhere near the bus stop toward which he’d initially aimed. Upon reaching the top of the fence he took great care in swinging his legs over the twists of metal, going slow and lifting up by his knees so that his low-hanging testicles did not catch upon the barbs. His cock rose its head up to the moon, seemingly enthralled by all this horror.
His bare feet landed in broken glass as he leapt down on the other side. “Fie!” Ernie cried, and crouched down. The scant night traffic down Lake Merced Blvd drowned his screams. He reached down, leaning back on his heels to expose where the small shards of green glass ornamented his rough soles, just lately washed by that lithe uprooter back in the locker room.
“Freeze!” came a light, raspy voice. He froze. Vertebrae by vertebrae, he eased up, until his eyes were matched by the twin holes of a shotgun aimed at his face.
For a moment he figured they’d gone out and around, somehow predicting his exact point of exit, nowhere near the bus stop, and beating him there by some sort of superhuman knowledge and capability by which the rich always seemed to operate.
But as he took in the new confronter totally he saw that the person who held the shotgun, the person who told him to freeze, was a woman standing in the open doorway of her Fleetwood RV.
There were trailers and motorhomes all along the boulevard just outside the golf course. In the past few years, as the oligarchy had tightened its grip on the metropolis, as the elite had eaten up more and more swaths of land for their fiefs and leisure, such shanties were common on any street that might allow long-term parking relatively unmolested.
“You some type of fucking pervert?” she said, then nudged him in the chest with the gun. “Huh?”
The woman was heavyset, her large breasts hanging in a soft, cotton pajama top, a slight belly hanging over the waste line of her plaid shorts, and thick thighs leading down to slippered feet. Her green eyes had the exhausted look of a working woman, a look that reminded Ernie of his home and of his reflection. For a moment he thought he might scatter her threatening visage with a swipe of his hand, that she might dissipate into ripples across the lake. Was he still on mescaline, down by the bank? Was this all just a nightmare?
The reality of her steel pressing again against his chest assured him it was not.
“Huh?” she repeated.
“I just wanna go home,” Ernie said, and heard tears threatening behind his words, yet again. Did he have any fluid left for more tears?
“What you doing out here?”
“I was…some thugs dropped me in the lake. I was…we were…supposed to be friends…we were out on a pilgrimage but they turned to their…worse natures. And after them the fucking…golf boys. They’re hunting me now.”
She drooped her gun down, alleviating the threat for a moment.
“Where you from?” she asked.
“I uh…” Ernie felt the glass in his feet bite again as he relaxed onto his soles, shocking him back onto his heels, raising his hands once more, “fucking Berkley I stay in Berkley, but I grew up in the Excelsior.”
“Excelsior huh,” she said. She seemed to consider him for the first time, looking him up and down to where his cock twitched at the new threat.
“Agh,” Ernie cried at the glass once again.
“What is it?” she said, “why do you keep screaming?”
“There’s fucking glass in my feet!”
“Ok, ok,” she said, and let the gun fall all the way to her side, “come in come in,” and disappeared into the shadows of the RV, beckoning him after.
He ducked into the dark.
“Close the door,” she said. He pulled it shut behind. “Sit on the bed,” she said. He did. She backed into the kitchenette, keeping the gun clutched close. “Now,” she pointed with the gun toward a small door in the back corner, “in there is the bathroom. You can find some tweezers and get the glass out.”
“You can put the gun down,” said Ernie. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m just having quite a night. I just want to go home.”
“Well,” she said, “this is my home, and as long as there’s a strange man in it I’ll be keeping the gun. I don’t trust men and I never will. As long as you’re here I’m holding this.”
“Fine, whatever,” said Ernie, and walked by his heels to the bathroom. He rooted around in the low orange light until he found a small pair of tweezers in the medicine cabinet. There he crouched, extracting the snow of green glass and sopping up the blood with toilet paper.
“There’s should be some hydrogen peroxide and bandages!” she called through the door. He found both and applied them. Then he hobbled back out where she was still waiting with the gun aimed.
“You’re making me nervous,” he said. “If you hate men so much I’ll just get back to my nightmare.” He walked toward the door.
“No, just sit,” she said. “I don’t hate men, I just don’t trust them. Sit.”
“Nah,” Ernie continued toward the door.
“Sit!” she shouted, and raised the gun up.
He raised his hands back up. “Oh that’s how it is. I’ve had enough of this for one night.” He sat down on the bed.
“Oh calm down I don’t mean anything,” she said, “I’m just trying to think.”
They both sat in silence a moment, her counting time by a tapping foot. Ernie began to feel all the aches and pains set in. Eventually he lay back against one of the pillows on the bed.
“If you think much longer,” Ernie said, “I’m going to fall asleep.”
“Don’t you…” she said, seeming to lose the thought, “I didn’t say you could stay here, I just…” she couldn’t seem to finish any thoughts. She kept switching the shotgun from one hand to the other. Through all his delirium and need, Ernie could tell someone had to make a decision.
“I’m so tired,” he said.
“I’m not letting some hobo stay here for free. I worked hard enough to keep this place, and find a place to park it… you can’t just freeload off…”
And yet she wouldn’t let him leave. Ernie knew she liked the look of him, the way her eyes kept flitting.
“I’m so tired,” he said, but this time he sat up. “I need a place to sleep.” And now Ernie stood on his bandaged feet, “and I’m so hungry,” he said stepping toward her, “I need something to eat.”
“What are you doing?” she said, raising the gun. “What are you doing?”
“I need something to eat,” he repeated.
And he fell to his knees and kissed her there, between her muscular thighs, sensing a smell of warm vinegar through the cotton.
He felt the barrel of the gun press against his head. He froze.
“You go ahead,” she said. “But don’t try anything sudden. You go slow.”
And so he did. He kissed and sniffed at the cotton shorts a while then lifted his roughed fingers and then drew them down. The front of the light, blue underwear beneath was wet already, and the scent of her reminded him of a dark vermouth he’d stolen from a party at which he’d been a hired caterer years before. The outline of her pussy was swollen, like two joined fists pinching the blue nylon in a claiming grip. He seized the top of her panties with his teeth and drew them down, down, down, until they reached her ankles and she kicked them off.
Her pussy was dark in color, with wisps of reddish, blonde hair atop. The left lip was slightly longer than the right, billowing like a rose petal. These he kissed, each in turn, and a small stream of white ichor fell from between and she let out a soft wheeze and relaxed the pressure of the gun from his head.
He kissed the pit where her thigh met her waist on her left side, and then he kissed the same spot on her right side. Here her body expressed a vetiver musk that reminded him of raking fall leaves. He glided his stubbly face back to her labia and exhaled a hot breath, then kissed again, then raised his hands, touched his fingers to the same lips he kissed, and eased them open with both hands, exposing the wet fruit glistening beneath.
He extended his tongue and honed in upon the surprisingly large, engorged fleshy mound of her wet, warm clitoris. It tasted like brackish bay water, honey, and soap. He pressed the weight of his whole face in, then set his tongue to slow work, lapping, lapping, lapping, the clitoris reacting, pulsing, seeming to kiss back at the effort of his tongue.
She groaned. “Don’t think…” gasps stole her words. “Don’t think…” a shudder down through her body ended in the release of another warm wave of vermouth-like liqueur into his mouth. He swallowed it down and went on lap, lap, lapping at her, keeping his pace steady. “Don’t think this will make me trust you.” Though one hand still hefted the weight of the shotgun against his bobbing head, the other now reached forward and seized a fistful of his thick black hair. She held it like a saddle-grip as his pace quickened. She pressed her thick thighs tight against the sides of face, feeling his stubble dig in. “Work me, work me, work me,” she said.
Finally, she dropped the gun. It clattered to the floor. He heard it fall but didn’t slow or stop. As the electricity mounted through her she grabbed at his hair with both hands and pushed him back. He stumbled onto his ass. His face was slick with her, bits of her dripping from his chin. She kept pushing until he fell all the way onto his back. Then she stood over him and looked down.
Ernie looked up at the towering might of the woman’s thick thighs, thick ass, hanging tits, face like a stork considering prey. “You’re doing great,” she said, “it’s no offense to you. But I can get this done even quicker.”
“Quick isn’t always best,” said Ernie.
“Shut up and hold your breath,” she said, then squatted down and rested all her weight upon his face.
**Will our prizefighter survive this smothering? Has he finally found shelter or just another aggressor? And how will he get home, still with no clothes and the two burly shotgunners still out hunting and stalking the bus stops?**
**The ordeal continues in Chapter 3: Smother Visions. Coming soon!**

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/rrtym7/ernie_everhard_fucks_his_way_home_ch_2