The Next(46)

My heart fluttered as fast as a hummingbird's.

Marzoli stuck his hand out formally. Mr. Layworth shook it, grinning.

Layworth gripped the handshake tighter and pulled Marzoli in. Their lips  crushed together. Their chests crushed together. Then their crotches  crushed together. I saw their tongues enter each other's mouths  forcefully. Marzoli ground his pelvis into Layworth's, who returned the  favor. Marzoli grabbed Layworth's muscular back and pulled him in  closer, then padded down to the rock solid lobes of his ass and squeezed  tight. Layworth groaned and lifted his head to the ceiling. Marzoli  opened his jaw and wrapped his mouth around Layworth's throat. He darted  his tongue out and lapped up the salt as his teeth lightly cut through  the stubble.

Layworth's dick pushed forward. Marzoli sank to his knees and engulfed  the thickness in his mouth. Layworth shoved in and out, his hips wildly  angling to feel the sensation of Marzoli's mouth from all directions.

I couldn't fucking stand it. I stood up, clenched my fists, sat back  down, then repeated this perfectly useless act. On one hand, watching  the man I cared so much for suck face and blow the man he believed to be  a killer was ethically grotesque. On the other hand, one couldn't ask  for two actors more suited for a porn flick.

How the fuck could I compete with that?

Layworth finally dug his dick all the way in, holding the back of  Marzoli's head tightly, gagging him. Marzoli clamped tightly, choking,  and then finally strained his bulbous triceps as he pushed it out of his  mouth. Marzoli's stomach appeared to lurch as he spit up clear bile  onto the bottom of Layworth's testicles. He proceeded to smear the bile  deep underneath onto the lips of Layworth's hole, lubing it. Layworth  groaned in pleasure, gasping for air.

Marzoli returned to his feet and pushed Layworth to the bed face down.

This act relieved me somewhat. Marzoli knew his disfigurement limited  any further contact to only one possible position-with Layworth facing  away. Marzoli had to leave no question as to who would top. I felt  better knowing Marzoli's brain was still fixed on the investigation.

Marzoli gripped Layworth's dick and bent him over the bed, forcing  Layworth to prop himself on the mattress with his arms locked straight  down, holding his torso horizontally and his legs vertically, leaving  his hole at the absolute perfect height for Marzoli to grind into his  white, muscular naked plump cheeks, just as Ruben had only a couple  nights before.

Marzoli unbuttoned his fly completely. His plumpness sprung out of his  underwear. Layworth tried to look behind, but Marzoli gripped his pelvis  on either side tightly with his massive forearms to prevent any view of  his acid-scarring. Marzoli's soldier hovered at the entrance of  Layworths hole and prodded gently. It put its foot in the door, then  wedged it open all the way. With a thrust, Marzoli entered.

I heard a raspy "Oh, Fuck!" echo across the courtyard.

This exclamation triggered the flash of watching Ruben fuck the shit out  of Layworth … so eerily the same … .but no … something was different.  Something was subtly different.

What was it?

Layworth's striated beefy back was perfectly perpendicular to Marzoli's  upright torso and glistened as he rocked to and fro. The pocket in the  small of his back pooled with sweat, which Marzoli used to smear around  his body and then slide his fist down over Layworth's full engorgement.  Layworth's eyes were shut tight in ecstasy, panting like an overheated  dog.

Suddenly I saw what was different. All at once I knew the purpose of the  wire cutters. All at once I knew how the Layworths intended to remove  Ruben's body. All at once I knew why the children entered and exited the  closet without seeing any body, although it most definitely was there …

With Ruben, Layworth laid his stomach flat on the mattress with his ass  at the perfect height for being plunged into. With Marzoli, Layworth's  torso was still perfectly horizontal and his ass was still at the  perfect height, but he had to hold his torso up on locked arms straight  down to the mattress.         

     



 

I picked up my phone and typed:

Ruben is INSIDE the box spring, which was moved to the closet!

With my fingers shaking, I sent the text. If Marzoli's phone was on  vibrate, as I knew it would be, he'd feel the vibration and reach into  his pocket.

He did not.

The fucking was too frenetic to feel any vibration.

Suddenly movement underneath them caught my eye.

The Princess had emerged from the bathroom with her hair fully cropped to answer the doorbell. She opened the door.

Through the door stepped Mrs. Layworth!

Mrs. Layworth looked tired from a fucked day at work, yet dazzled in a  bright white fur-lined open trench coat over a bright white A-Dress. The  Princess greeted her with compliments, then withdrew four dresses from  her closet and handed them to Mrs. Layworth. But of course! That's how  the Princess could afford to wear all that designer couture; they were  free from the fashion designer neighbor upstairs! And now she was  returning them.

My blood was racing as I texted: Mrs. Layworth is returning! Get out!

Again, Marzoli did not reach into his pocket. They were both sweating  feverishly and approaching the final stretch. The thrusting into  Layworth's ass had become so violent that you could almost hear the  slapping of skin.

C'mon! Look at your phone, you Puerto Rican Sicilian mofo!

Finally, with one strong upward thrust, Marzoli battery-rammed his  victim to the point of no return. Layworth spun over onto his back,  rotating like a spit-skewered pig over a fire. He gripped his cock with  both hands and wrenched his first long white band of cum onto the fur of  his chest.

Mr. Layworth moaned loudly, "Oh, god!"

Mrs. Layworth's eyes shot up to the ceiling.

I grabbed my phone and dialed Marzoli's phone.

With another spasm, Layworth striped himself again.

Answer the fucking phone!

Mrs. Layworth's urgency ratcheted up, and her expression transformed  into a seething, silent rage. She sharply flicked open the Princess'  window.

Marzoli withdrew his reddened dick, engorged like a whale, and came into  his hand, causing his whole body to convulse. He gobbed a white lake  into his palm, spurt after spurt just as Layworth's spasms twitched to a  halt.

Mrs. Layworth stepped out onto the fire escape, her trench coat  elegantly sliding over the snow as her eyes fixed furiously on the  target above her. She stepped up the first step.

Goddamn it! Answer it!

She cautiously stepped up another step, navigating the slippery snow under her pumps.

As Marzoli spurted a final time, he reached into his pocket with his  free hand and withdrew his phone. He quickly skimmed all the texts  before answering. His body went rigid.

He answered the phone in a whisper. "Where is she?"

"Climbing up the fire escape!" I exclaimed.

He looked at the window in alarm.

Layworth saw this sudden shift in Marzoli's disposition.

I heard Layworth ask in the background, "Where is who?"

Mrs. Layworth had taken several more steps up the fire escape.

Marzoli smeared his cum on the towel and stuffed his still plump cock  back into his pants, buttoning up. Layworth bounded to his feet in all  his nakedness, striped in cum, and blocked Marzoli's exit.

"Where are you going?" he demanded at full volume.

Mrs. Layworth rushed the final steps to the top of the fire escape and  peered into the window. Both men looked back in horror. They were  caught.

Be smart, Marzoli!

Marzoli rushed to the closet, opened the door, and disappeared.

Yes, he could have fought his way out, but Mr. Perfect matched him  muscle for muscle. If he was going to get into a fight, running into the  closet made strategic sense. Since the game was up, he had nothing to  lose and everything to gain by confirming that Ruben's body was, in  fact, there. He was fulfilling a narrative he could now tell an  investigator. He'd been invited over to fiddle with the master of the  house and then ran into the closet to hide when the mistress of the  house returned only to find the body of a dead man.

Layworth followed Marzoli into the closet while Mrs. Layworth darted  through the window, through the bedroom, out the door, and into the  kitchen. She pulled a large knife out of a drawer.

Oh Christ! What can I do from here?

Even from across the courtyard, I could hear the slamming of solid men  into the walls of the closet, followed by the splintering of wood and  the crashing of wire hangers everywhere. These were not little chicks  wrestling. These were fully developed, bulky, muscular males who matched  each other in weight and strength.

Red with rage, Mrs. Layworth reentered the bedroom holding the knife.

God damn it!

Mr. Layworth wrestled Marzoli out of the closet in a tight headlock,  dragging his victim forcefully. Marzoli thrashed his legs to the sides,  turning over lamps and coffee tables. One of his legs brushed near Mrs.  Perfect, and the bitch sank her knife into Marzoli's thigh and withdrew  it.         

     



 

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!