gay

Author: admin

  • The Snow, The Men and the Tree

    Come!Said Illya, come my friend, it’s only a few kilometers. Come. His friend took another step and, for once, didn’t fall-his practice with snow shoes, though learned on the journey, was getting better; He only fell about every fifty paces and, to make the point, Illya still laughed, would come over, pull him up, dust off the snow and get him started on toward the next “incident”. With his wonderful Russian sense of humour he always laughed, always helped his American friend up and took the opportunity, while he was still in the snow bank, to teach him another florid curse in Russian. While it may not have been the way Russian was taught in school to foreigners, or even in Moscow to Russians, over time he was learning; He had the confidence to feel he could go in to a restaurant and order breakfast with some hope of getting what he ordered. Conversations were….problematic but he tried which made Illya smile into his magnificent Sable lined heavy Suede coat, pulling up the collar, pulling down his Astrakhan hat and extending-again-his strong hands in their heavy gloves. “Now, my friend, say, ‘You are the egg of an ugly pig….’ “. His friend would repeat to himself and then say it. “No, louder, with venom, swear at the snow, swear because it empties your bowels…..”And he would.

    Only love could create this trip. Each of them hauling sledges weighing 100 kilos as well as their heavy clothes, boots, using Eskimo wooden sun googles in the brilliant Siberian sun. Sixty degrees above the equator, thirty degrees from the North Pole, the Taiga was stark, brilliant, white, dark, long nights, short days. When they’d first left there had been only a bit of day, just the crescent of light on the horizon, briefly, He hadn’t had a beard then, or as mentioned, any ability to use snow shoes, pull a sledge, control two dogs, Laika-named for the Russian dog that went into space and Jones, his dog that had never gone anywhere until now. When they made a bivouac at night, the dogs and the minimal fire Ilya built out of seemingly nothing were their instruments of warmth. And, of course, their own body heat. Their external clothes were made so that they could be opened and then re-closed to form a sort of furry sleep sack. And then there was snuggling. As they heated their protein and fat rich food, they could be together, Illya teaching him Russian and, to add encouragement, all the terms for sexual congress. And, as the days went on, his friend learned got stronger, more observant, more….Russian. In his fractured, fragmented patois, he sounded like a street tough from Moscow which is what Illya liked. It’s what he had been and the ability to revert, somewhat, was comforting to him.Familiar. He was creating a partner that would be similar to him. Of course their values would be different, their views different, but their motives were parallel. He thought about that as they moved on until he heard the now familiar sound of a soft “plop” followed by a string of filth that made him smile; His friend was learning.

    As it was close to the end of light, such as it was, Illya decided that since his friend had already made an “impression” in the snow, they’d make their simple camp. The dogs were the contractors who dug the cave and used their fur to pack it smooth. The sledges were pulled up to form a barricade, the back packs were let down, they both sagged onto the snow in their home for the night. First thing, Illya had shot a few rabbits as they’d gone along that day and now he took them from the arrows, frozen stiff, and tossed them to the dogs who first played with them until they thawed a bit then ate them, regurgitating the fur and bones. He also had a large can of regular dog food, principally horse meat, which at this point they needed. A small fire was built and the men ate the simple food, heavy in fat and calories with beef tea made from concentrate in a pan; Snow melt was an endless source of water so the pan was soon bubbling, the gallon of beefy extract good and essential. That night there was a treat, a good Russian chocolate bar for each.

    Night which never really went away now was darker, easy to see the stars now that the clouds had cleared. The absolute silence made a crackle in the fire seem like a rifle shot. Illya knew they were almost there so he had a duty to perform. A simple one but one that would be important.

    “Have you picked a Russian name for yourself? Can you write it? With one finger dragged through the snow he spelled out “Alexi”…Illya laughed, He was proud of Alexi, he’d chosen a name that embodied Russian history and yet with the sad Tzar’s relatives, held a link to Europe. Alexei the son of the last Tzar, murdered with his family in the basement.

    On these nights they lay there, looked at the stars and moved into a pleasant state that was neither sleep nor wakefulness; It was on the verge of all things and yet none of them. Illya put his gloved hand on Alexi’s face, “It’s not far now, maybe two days…do you realize we’re twenty two days away from the town we left, more than two thirds of the month. You’ve gotten stronger, more alert but…I regret, no better with your snow shoes. When we get established at the place we’re going, you can use cross country skis, they’re easier. ” And there was a pause. “Sorry you came?” Alexi leaned up on his shoulder, put a hand on Ilya’s face, ‘Nyet’”. They both laughed. “You should say, “You chopped cock for brains, of course I’m not sorry I came. What would I have done if I had not come?Chased you, realizing I’d made a mistake in not going…..Then what?You wouldn’t know I was behind you and…” there was no point in stating the obvious.

    Illya looked at the stars, at the dark and smiled into it. “Yes my little refusenik, I wouldn’t know but…the dogs would, they would have come to me, cried, begged, run off a distance toward you and then come back. So I turn back and….there you are, tipped over in a snow bank your snow shoes in the air like the cheap antennas on top of a Moscow apartment building. The dogs, they love you too.” He leaned over, kissed his friend then covered his face in the Sable hood and was silent.

    Morning was when they wakened although it was dark as it would be for most of the day. Toward 10:30 there would be a slice of light, a pale, feeble light but enough to travel by. Their camp was quickly torn down, the straps for the sledge went under their legs and over their shoulders while back packs, put on last, balanced the load and made the runners move more smoothly.

    Every day or two Illya would take some of the valuable fat and grease them;No product worked better than real animal fat-Alexi remembered how he’d made him strip while they butchered boars-he said for men the fat from another male was better. Having collected the grease, he gutted it, seeming to engorge the feel and smell of warm intestines as they fell over his naked body, some of the intestines looping on his erect penis like sausage in a shop. Illya coated him with the intestines, rubbing him, dragging length of it through his groin, tying his balls and cock with it, kissing him with the blood of the animal in his mouth. It wasn’t a conventional butchering as he was looking ahead to storage and transport. He knew it would almost immediately freeze when taken outside so spoilage wasn’t a consideration.

    When it was all done he squatted down, still naked in the warm abattoir, brewed a bowl of hot water, added some spices and four pieces of meat. A poke with the fork meant they were done; Alexi was summoned, a hand was put over his eyes. There was the sound of chopping and then Ilya held something toward him, something warm, steaming, meaty.Alexi ate it and then several more pieces. Illya looked at him and in some seriousness, said, a man isn’t a man until he’s devoured the testicles of another male-it may be that one day we fight each other to snatch them and eat them. One day we both may have unmanned each other and roam the places we are to hunt other men to provide us with our manliness.” Boar balls are considered to be especially virile…he watched him, knew he would keep them down, relish the taste and smiled. “You are more the man of my forest each day. Soon you will fight me for the balls of an animal, eat them raw and smack your lips.”

    The next day involved a change, the trees grew fewer, if bigger and the snow grew hard, easier to navigate on the narrow gliding of skis walking, made pulling the sledge easier. He wondered why the dog never were hitched and allowed to help but Ilya said this was making a man out of him, a strong back, a sense of himself and his accomplishments. What he did not say was that the dogs were effectively serving as perimeter guards against larger, prey animal, in specific bear who would consider a dinner of man more than a tasty treat-not caring whether he ate the balls or the shoulder first.

    And so it went. The dogs raced around the men, spied a snow shoe hare or a marmot and the chase was on. Through the day they were lucky sometimes so much so that feeding them was unnecessary. A treat of whatever, they were happy and they rolled over forming warm cushions for the men when at last they slept. When the fire was guttering, Illya commenced his lesson and on any given day would teach him how to say divergent things; Anything from how to inquire at the train station for the express from Yekaterinburg to saying, “No I’ve had your sister but you look tight assed, you’ll do.” What happy laughter. Alexi took to making his own oaths not always successfully but never without either humour or confusion. As in , “Excuse me please do not wash your balls in the bidet whilst I am pissing in it.” As Illya thought, it was often time hard to know what he meant but…he tried. He was becoming the street tough that his soul demanded and his body needed; The strength of another man to match his own, that was the man he was making. One day, in the snow, they could strip, like Eskimo, to their pants and wrestle for hours, the heat of the contest obliterating the potential death of the cold.Eventually, they would wear nothing save their boots, steam coming from their balls, the warmest external part of a man. It might never happen but some time, the fight would take a turn for the personal.No anger, just the desire to win, to claim….something. The unspoken prize being their balls, swinging in a wrapping of steam, but there, waiting to be grasped, dragged to a mouth and worried through the flesh to get the treasures within.

    The last day was the longest. Illya and the dogs sensed they were near the end of the journey and now, at the end, could admit it had been tiring for all. Starting early, Alexi noticed that there were even fewer and fewer trees. He knew there was a line above which trees did not grow but to him, the sentimentalist, he liked to look about and see trees; Somehow they were the only normal things in this where first the sun didn’t rise and then the sun didn’t set but whichever it was, there was always the snow.

    Several hours in, Illya turned to him and pointed, “Home” That’s where we’re headed. See, the dogs are already running back and forth hoping we’ll go faster. From the first sighting to getting to it seemed both long and short. Alexi realized he’d miss pulling a sledge, falling down, spending nights with his companion, the dogs. Doing everything from identifying stars to gently sexing each other but now they were here. At a tree.

    As they drew closer it got larger, surely the largest tree this far North. The dogs dashed into the lower branches and then out. Finally the two men drew up and Illya said, “Welcome, my friend, to our new home for the winter, all the time of the dark until the first light sends us….well, somewhere. But come, let me show you around our home and pulled back some of the lower branches that swept the ground.

    Alexi was amazed. The lower branches on the interior had been cleared away leaving a living space at least ten square meters and ten high. Some one had been here before, worked at this, formed branches in to tables, places to sit. At one side there was a real fire place that vented out and away from the tree. “Come” said Illya, “there is another place….” If you knew how to find them there were actual steps that led up at least twenty meters and there was….a nest. A place to sleep but almost circular. It was lined with skins and furs and was just the right size for two men and, if they chose, the dogs.Alexi was taken aback, this wasn’t what he’d expected. Although just then he wasn’t just sure what he’d expected, this was such a diversion from his usual places to sleep. Illya put his arm around him, “Here my friend is our own private place, no one knows it’s here and even if they found the down stairs, a few quickly tossed boughs on the steps renders them invisible. Alexi plunked down only to find how soft and inviting it was. It almost said come, sleep on me, under me, you will be warm and welcomed.

    He would have stood there, entranced, longer but Illya was off down the stairs saying they needed to get the dogs fed, the sledges unpacked, their own packs opened and sorted. There was one camp light which shown brightly in the tree house but, as Illya said, as much as could be done should be done in the dark, it was their blanket, their friend, the thing that granted their privacy.

    There was only a waning gibbous moon which provided almost no light outside and in the branch shrouded interior, no light at all. One moved by a sense of sound of the other, often falling over the dogs who were quiet footed and knew their way around. But at last it was all done.Things stored. Well, for just then, off loaded waiting for more formal places for them. The sledges were turned into surprizingly comfortable couches and lolling in front of the little stove was both warm and intimate. As tired as they were, Illya made strong chocolate and boar bacon. Alexi could barely stay his mug from falling from tired, sleepy hands.

    Up the stairs made of boughs and into their nest. Ilya helped Alexei out of his clothes, which felt good after so many days, then undressed himself. How cleverly things were thought out.. There was a large bucket that had a small heat take off from the fire below and was full of warm water. They washed themselves and, like animals shook themselves dry. Alexi moved to look for some clothes but Illya stopped him, made him lay down on the furs, covered him with one or two skins and furs. The animal skins becoming his skin.

    “Why have you brought me here?”

    “Because my family has a tradition, when you are going to mate with a man, you must see if he’s strong enough, interested enough and, most important if he loves you enough to follow you wherever. My Alexi, you’ve done that and now we are a mated pair. But one thing is left, your virginity, and when we get to that is unimportant. Lets savour waiting in all the other ways. The last thing you will give me and I will take will be the first man and the last man; We are a mated pair, if one dies, so does the other, there is never another after that, never even the thought of another. He held him, his whole body making contact and Alexei knew he had given himself to this man forever. Their flesh seemed to protect them from the cold, their lips were hot, Ilya surrounded him with his arms and laid him down.

    “What if I had failed? What if my strength wasn’t enough?”

    “Well, your fat would have made good grease for the runners, your body would have supplied both the dogs and I with fresh meat and I’d have had your nuts as a special treat. After that, your carcass would be left behind for the scavengers that are following us now, the wolves, the bears…..we are their warm meat. For a moment the dogs would have tried to protect us but….they would be easily killed and then they’d come for us.” He said this as calmly and matter of factually as if mentally checking a list of things to make sure he had. One of those things on the list was their own death, it was just accepted…..

    Alexi looked out at where the crack in the limbs was and thought….I do love him. I had to learn it and now like two animals we are mated for life….this wonderful tree, this amazing custom….How could he be stark naked with a man in a tree who would eventually take all of him for his own privilege and property? But then, was there a better way?He sighed and relaxed toward his mate who threw a sable rug over them and they slept; In his dreams he saw the day when they would eat each others balls and wondered how they would taste? Would that be the final joining, when, apart from life, there was nothing left to give his man or was that the end, after they had consumed part of each other, did they continue on over days? Eventually dying providing their dogs with food….he dreamed of that and how he would anticipate giving himself, his body, his flesh, his blood to the man he loved. Only in death is love eternal…..

    Eight months later they appeared on the Kamchatka peninsula hitching a ride to Vladivostok. Two hairy men, with their dogs and their kit by the side of the road. Some driver with a truck let them load it all plus the dogs and three puppies onto the rear and bounced on.

    Illya and his mate thought, almost in unison, how quickly can we do what’s necessary and then head back. This time each man would pull two sledges, so strong had they become and plan to be gone…..forever.

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  • A visit to the Bijou

    Brad was at home for Christmas Break. He had been at his parents’ house in the suburbs of Chicago for a couple of days and he was going out of his mind. He has just recently come out to himself but not to his family or friends. The only sex he had had was either at glory hole in the Education Building’s third floor bathroom or out in the woods by the soccer fields. He had no idea where he could go around his house to get or give some head or to be fucked. He thought about trying to get into a gay bar but not only was he 19, it looked like all the gay bars were on the North Side, not in southern suburbs where he lived. He couldn’t ask to use his parents’ car to go looking for some place because they would want to know everywhere he went.

    He had some more Christmas gifts to buy so he took the Metro to Downtown Chicago. He went to Macy’s and then walked along the Magnificent Mile enjoying the lights and the hustle and bustle. While he made his way back to the train station he decided he wanted to get something to read on the ride so he stopped in a small newsstand close to the train station. While he looked around he came across a section of gay porn. While he had seen stuff on-line he hadn’t ever seen books and magazines. There was a newspaper just about the gay scene in Chicago. He flipped through it and came across an ad for the Bijou Theater. A man who was standing next to Brad said, “You should go check it out sometime, you’d be a big hit.” Then the man walked away. Brad wondered what he meant about being a “big hit”. He didn’t realize that the man was referring to the fact that Brad was a good looking kid. Just over 6′, he weighed about 170 and had maintained his swimmer’s body from when he swam in high school. He had close cropped light brown hair and brown eyes.

    He hadn’t given his parents an exact time that he would be home so he decided to check the Bijou out. The ad said it was around 1300 North Wells so he either had to figure out what bus to take or take the El to the closest stop. Luckily it wasn’t too cold for this time of year, so he wouldn’t mind walking.

    When he found the Bijou it was a pretty unimpressive building. It didn’t look like a theater at all even though it had a bright neon sign. There wasn’t a ticket booth like you’d find at other theaters. He went through the door and saw a man sitting behind a partition. Brad glanced around looking at some of the posters before stepping up to the man. Brad asked how much it was for a ticket. The man told him $22 and asked to see ID. Brad started to walk out and the man told him it was ok just buy a ticket. Brad thought that was a lot of money but he paid it any way just out of curiosity. There was a bowl of condoms and a bowl of little packs of lube. Brad didn’t understand why they were there but what 19 year old gay male wouldn’t take some of each for future use.

    When Brad walked through the door into the theater it felt like he was walking into a dark hole, he couldn’t see anything. There was a porno of two men fucking on the screen but the rest of the space was so dark he didn’t know what to do. He leaned against the wall and waited for his eyes to adjust. When he did he saw some rows of theater seats, like in an old theater, not the stadium style he had become used to at the movies.

    He noticed that there were some men scattered around the theater. Some were sitting alone and others were sitting next to another man. There were even some men sitting in the front row. Brad had always hated sitting in the front row because it caused a kink in his neck. Brad went to one of the middle rows and went a few seats in and sat down. The movie was like all the ones he had watched on-line. No real story line just a lot of sex, nothing wrong with that though. Brad started getting a hard on watching the film and started to rub his cock through his jeans.

    A guy in the row in front of him looked back at Brad’s face then down to his crotch and then back to his face. He reached his hand back and placed it on Brad’s crotch. That freaked Brad out a bit and he got up and moved further down the row. Not long after someone entered the row and instead of taking a seat a couple down from Brad he took the seat right next to him. The man proceeded to take his cock out and started to stroke it. He grabbed Brad’s hand and tried to bring it to his cock. Brad jumped up and went around the man and got to the side of the theater. He decided to go down a couple of rows. The next couple of rows had men in each of the end seats. Some of them were stroking their cocks while others were stroking the cocks of the guys next to them. The only option for Brad now was to go back to the back of the theater or go into the front row. As he did he saw a couple of guys on their knees blowing men that were sitting in the row. Brad moved away and leaned against the wall again. The movie had changed but it was the same story just different guys. While he stood against the wall he noticed that several men were coming and going from a door directly to the right of the screen.

    Brad decided to go check it out. When he went through the door he found a small ante room with a vending machine and a bench. If you went to the right there was a door that led out into a small garden where a couple of men were smoking. For some reason there were a couple of half walls dividing up the garden.

    As you came back in there was a bathroom to the right. All it had was a toilet without a door and a sink. There was a big glory hole on the stall wall between the toilet and the sink. There was ton of graffiti all over the walls. It smelled like pee and cum.

    As you came out of the bathroom and turned to the left there was a spiral staircase leading up to another level. He watched as a couple of men went up or came down. He was noticing that there were all different kind of men in the Bijou. The theater seemed to have an older crowd but in this space it was different. Out in the garden area were two guys not much older than him sharing a cigarette, there was also three middle aged guys talking. On the staircase he had seen a really buff black guy, a couple of Latino guys and a few older men. He decided to check out the upstairs. As he went up the stairs a couple guys were trying to come down. They obviously were checking Brad out and turned to follow him back up the stairs.

    When he reached the top of the stairs there was a long hallway that led to the back of the building. There were probably ten men all of different ethnicities, age, weight and height leaning against the wall. They looked at Brad as he entered the hallway. He enjoyed the feeling of having them look at him. He took off his jacket and carried it so they could see his body better. He walked past the gauntlet of men and noticed how they followed him with their eyes. There were a couple of rooms at the back. One was showing gay videos and the other had slings, a cross and a cage. There was a man in the sling getting fucked and several man standing around stroking their cocks.

    Brad turned around and walked back by the gauntlet of men again. As he moved forward he entered a very short hallway that had a partially blacked out window and a couple of doors. There were two guys in the hallway kissing. He turned back around again and saw a hallway to his left. Both sides of the hallway had doors. As he moved down the hall men would catch his eye and go through one of the doors. Then a few seconds later would come out and see that he had passed by.

    Brad walked by down the hallway. Several men grabbed his crotch and grabbed his ass. While he didn’t stop he took it as a compliment.

    At the end of the hallway he turned left, passed some of the men who were in the gauntlet and turned left into another hallway with doors on the left. As he went by the men in the gauntlet several of them said “hi”, “want a blow job”, and other things. He opened one of the doors and saw that there were glory holes on both walls and the back. As soon as he opened the door a man entered the booth next to it while giving him a look. The guy looked like a business man since he was in a suit. He looked like he had a good body under the suit. Brad closed the door to his booth and he saw the man’s face at the glory hole. “Give me your cock, kid.” That statement made Brad get even harder in his jeans but he left the booth not quite knowing what he should do. The business man exited his booth right behind Brad. He went back toward the gauntlet of men. A big black guy grabbed, really grabbed, his ass as he turned down the hallway. “I know what you want” the man said “and I can give it to you.” Brad looked him in the face and smiled but kept walking. If he turned to the left it looked like he was entering a maze made up of angled hallways, doors, a booth that was made up of fencing material and one booth that had a wall of Plexiglas so anyone in the hallway could see what was going on in the booth. He noticed that the black guy and the business man were following me.

    As he made the turn back into the main hallway he saw a guy about his own age. He looked like he was Middle Eastern. He had that rich skin tone, dark hair with a couple days of stubble with dark eyes. He looked to be about 6’2″ and about 190 pounds. His clothes were tight enough that Brad could tell he had a tight body under them.

    They caught each other’s eyes then he walked toward the hallway with the partially blacked out window. The Middle Eastern guy checked to see if Brad was following him, which he was, and then he went into one of the booths but didn’t shut the door. Brad followed him in and closed the door behind himself. The Middle Eastern man put one hand on Brad’s chest while the other caressed his ass. He leaned down just a bit and kissed Brad. Brad thought he tasted of clove cigarettes and smelled like some exotic oil. He took one of Brad’s hands and put it against the bulge in his jeans. His cock was running down the right leg of jeans and felt like it had a lot of heft. Brad started unbuttoning the guy’s 501s until he could reach far enough in with his fingers to pull the guy’s cock out of his boxers. All the while the Middle Eastern guy was rubbing the bulge in Brad’s jeans. Brad was so horny he already was leaking precum. He popped open the button on the top of Brad’s jeans and pushed his jeans and boxer briefs down to free Brad’s cock. The Middle Eastern guy then squatted down and took Brad’s cock into his mouth. Brad moaned, it had been several weeks since anyone other than he had touched his cock. Brad started moving his hips to get more of his cock into the Middle Eastern guy’s mouth. The Middle Eastern guy’s tongue kept moving from Brad’s shaft to his head as his lips caressed it from the outside. The Middle Eastern guy pulled Brad closer to him until Brad’s cock was all the way in. Brad tried to pull out before he came but the other guy wouldn’t let him. Brad let loose with a huge load of cream, it had been so long.

    The Middle Eastern guy stood up licking his lips, then kissed Brad again. Brad could taste his own cum. Brad looked down at the other guy’s cock and saw it was hard as steel. Brad grabbed it and started to stroke it but the Middle Eastern guy had other ideas, he pushed Brad down until Brad’s lips were even with his cock. Brad opened his mouth and sucked in the Middle Eastern guy’s cock. It was almost too big for Brad to get his lips around. It stretched Brad’s jaw until it hurt. Brad started to gag so the other guy pulled his cock back a bit but only until Brad stopped gagging and then he shoved it back in, hitting the back of Brad’s throat. Brad grabbed the shaft of the cock and stroked in time with his mouth movements. This went on for a while and then the Middle Eastern guy filled Brad’s mouth with his load of sperm. It was so much that Brad couldn’t swallow it all so some dripped out of the right corner of his mouth. The Middle Eastern guy pulled Brad up and licked his cum off of Brad’s face. His kissed Brad again, pulled up his underwear and jeans and left Brad in the booth.

    As soon as the Middle Eastern guy had left the booth a middle aged man tried to come in but Brad pulled up his jeans and left the booth. He needed some time to come down from his high of both sucking a cock and getting sucked off.

    Brad started walking around again. As he went by the gauntlet, the men were more vocal and touched Brad more knowing that he had just come out of a booth. Now that Brad had tasted cock again he wanted more. He went down the hallway of doors and picked one. He went in and shut the door. He could hear the doors to the booths on either side of him open and close. Brad didn’t think he could be sucked again so he didn’t respond when someone signaled or asked him to let them suck his cock. He heard both of the men leave the adjacent booths. He didn’t know if when that happens it sends a message to the guys milling around but within seconds two cocks came through the holes in the walls. Brad squatted down and wrapped his fingers around the cock to his left. He did the same with the cock to his right. Both were pretty good sized but the one to his left was bigger with a bigger head. Brad wanted to become a good cocksucker so he took the head of the one on his left into his mouth. Again, just like with the Middle Eastern guy, it was difficult to take it in but he worked at it. Little my little he was able to take more in. When he started to gag he did his best to control it, when he was successful he felt the head of the cock hit the back of his throat. All this time he was stroking the cock to his right. Without any sort of warning the cock to Brad’s left filled him with sperm. This time Brad was able to take it all. When he had finished swallowing that load he turned to the cock on his right and took the head of the cock into his mouth just as it flooded his mouth with yet another load of cum. Both cocks slowly retreated from their holes. Even though two more cocks appeared Brad straightened up and left the booth.

    Brad could tell by the looks on the men’s’ faces that they knew he was a cocksucker. Brad decided to walk through the maze again. Almost immediately the business man and the Black man were following him. When he passed the booth that was made of chain link fence the Black guy grabbed his arm and pulled him in. The Black man repeated “I know what you want and I’m going to give it to you now!” He grabbed Brad and spun him around so he was against one of the walls with chain link. The Black man kicked Brad’s legs apart and then pulled his jeans down below his ass. He could feel the heat of the man’s cock against his ass. Brad pulled out one of the condoms and one of the packets of lube from his shirt pocket and handed them back to the Black man. “Please” was all Brad said. He could hear the wrapper being opened and felt some lube get fingered into his ass and then again he felt the heat of a cock against his ass. A group of men had gathered in the hallway on the other side of the chain link and were watching with their cocks out.

    Brad felt the Black cock enter his eager hole. Brad had only been fucked twice before but he loved it. He had never been fucked by a cock this big but he really wanted to feel it up his ass. He wanted to feel full and wanted to feel used, not by another college kid but by a real man. The Black guy slide his cock in slowly “I want you to feel it all White boy” and Brad did. It felt incredible, better than anything he had ever experienced, he wanted to scream in pleasure and pain. Instead of screaming he just moaned and that really got the audience going. Brad could hear the beating of their cocks even though his head was spinning with the feeling of the big, Black cock in his ass starting to slide in an out so slowly and sensually. The Black guy leaned in and said “I knew you wanted this and I knew you would like it.”

    The Black guy took a step or two back and Brad pushed his ass back with him. As a result he moved away from the chain link. The Black man pushed his back so that his face was lowered along the chain link. The businessman, who’s cock was already out, moved closer and stuck his cock through the chain link. The Black guy said “eat it boy”. Brad took the cock into his mouth. He really couldn’t move so the business man grabbed hold of the chain link and started moving his hips back and forth driving his cock into Brad’s mouth. Brad couldn’t move so he couldn’t do anything to stop it. The Black cock kept sliding it and out of Brad’s ass. The Black man would pull it just far enough back so that only his head was in Brad’s ass then he would ever so slowly slide it back in. The business man shot his load into Brad’s waiting mouth. Brad drank it down like it was mother’s milk. The business man pulled his cock back through the chain link and another one appeared. It was one of the Latino guys that Brad had seen earlier. The Black man said “eat that cock too Whity.” Once again Brad took a cock between his lips and worked his lips and tongue the best he could with the Black man moving his body back and forth. After the Latino popped his nut the Black man made him eat four more cocks. After he had finished them all off the Black man pulled Brad up and had him hold onto the chain link again. This time he yelled at one of the men in the hallway, “Suck his dick mother fucker.” Brad felt someone’s fingers pull his painfully hard cock through the chain link and then felt the warmth of a mouth engulfing his cock. The Black man started picking up his pace which caused Brad’s cock to pick up speed in the mouth of whatever guy was sucking his cock.

    Brad could feel the Black guy’s cock stop moving and then could feel that his cock was filling up the rubber. As that happened he filled the mouth of the guy sucking his cock. Brad had never felt anything like this before in his life.

    The Black man pulled his cock out of Brad’s ass with sensual slowness. Brad wanted to scream to push it back in, he wanted to feel that full again but unfortunately the cock popped out of his ass. Brad turned around to see the Black man slowly pull the condom off his cock. He did it so carefully not a drop of cum fell from the rubber. “Tip your head back White boy.” Brad did what he was told. The Black man brought the condom up to Brad’s mouth and squeezed the cum into Brad’s waiting mouth. The Black man said “I told you that you wanted it. Now you’ve had my cock up your white pussy and my black cum down your throat.” He slapped Brad on the ass and left the booth of chain link.

    Brad licked his lips and pulled up his boxer briefs and jeans and left the booth. Several men started following him but Brad was satiated and decided to leave. As Brad was leaving the guy behind the partition said “I hope you had a good time.”

    Brad responded with “Yes, and I’ll be back.”

    To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

  • Surprise of a Lifetime

    “Shit, are you fucking kidding me?” I said under my breath. Here I was butt ass naked, with some douche spooning me with a hard-on, all while I was hungover. How I got into this situation, only God knows.

    Might as well describe myself before I go further. My name is Matthias. I’m 5’9”, around 150 pounds, with a swimmers body. I’m of Grecian heritage, with a bit of French as well. I’ve got that olive skin tone, green eyes and black hair styled in a quiff. I wouldn’t really say I’m anything special to look at, but I guess to each their own right? 

    Anyways back to my situation, I honestly don’t know how I got here. I mean, I was with my best friend last night at the club. We were getting wasted, like it was going to be his birthday soon. That’s the whole reason I came to Ottawa, oh yeah I currently live in Toronto, Canada. My friend didn’t even know I was coming, I just showed up at his apartment and surprised him. 

    My friend’s name is Alejandro. He’s from Guatemala. Alejandro is around the same height as myself, maybe about 175, but I mean this kid is muscular in all the right places. He has a medium skin tone, not too tan and not to pale. He also got brown eyes and medium dark brown styled in an Ivy League haircut.

    Myself and Alejandro have been friends for a really long time. We’ve almost grown up together, basically almost inseparable throughout middle school, then high school, but once university became part of the picture, we just wanted to study different things. Regardless of us being separated by 450 km, we still regularly communicate, and when he comes back to Toronto, I make an extra effort to see him. You might be thinking, does Xavier have a crush on his best friend? The answer is yes, I mean there is just something special about him that makes me gravitate towards him. I’ve kept is secret all these years, and probably never going to share it. Plus I’m still in the closet, meaning I’m also still a virgin. (Sucks I know)

    The dude next to me started to move, I quickly shut my eyes and pretended to sleep. He got out of bed and started walking towards the door. I caught a glimpse of the dick that was rubbing against my ass before he left the room. He must’ve been at least 9 inches that was thick as a beer can, and I’m not even trying to exaggerate here. I reached around to my ass to make sure I didn’t lose my virginity to that big dick while I was wasted. Nope, didn’t feel any different from before, I guess I have a chance to get that dick in my ass. Due to my ridiculous hangover, I fell back asleep.

    A couple hours later, I wake up totally confused again as to where I was, and how I got there. Then the realization hit me and I was all caught up again. I started to look around the room. It was decorated nicely, masculine but it showed that whoever lived here had a depth or sensitivity to them. There wasn’t any picture of the anonymous guy in the room which I guess was normal. I did however see beautifully taken photographs covering the walls that looked somewhat familiar to me. I got out of bed, and put on my clothes that were scattered on the ground, so I looked somewhat decent. I walked a the collage of photographs that was closest to me. There was just something about them that reminded me of so many memories. I had to walk away from them, the aura around them weirded me out. Next I decided to go through the night stand, I know it looks like an invasion of privacy but I had to find out something about this dude who I slept with me last night. Typical things in the night stand; receipts, condoms, lube, glasses, and some random paper shoved at the very back. 

    The paper itself although crumpled, looked beautiful. It was folded as if it was to be sent as a letter. The designs on it looked like it was done by hand, with an exquisite eye for detail. Then I saw it, the apparent front of this letter had my name on it. 

    Next thing you know the door opens. “Matthias, put it down,” the voice behind me said.

    Then it all came rushing into my head, its Alejandro who was in bed with me last night. The photographs were all ones he’d taken himself, I was even with him when took some of them. The bedroom just screamed Alejandro, he never took me for a house tour when I arrived at his place, so I would’ve never known. The designs on the letter, they were staples in Alejandro’s art. I should have known all along, but apparently I was too oblivious to notice. 

    I turned around, and Alejandro was still naked for some reason, but hey I’m not complaining. I put the letter down on the bed, grabbed my phone, and rushed out of Alejandro’s apartment. 

    I was confused, I didn’t understand what was going on. I still had a crush on him, but I never thought that it was going to be reciprocated. It was too much for my head to handle at the time. I heard him yelling for me to come back, but I needed to get some air for a moment. I walked to the closest park and just sat there. “Well that a surprise,” I murmured to myself.

    ________________________________________________________________________________________________________

    This is my first ever “erotic” story, so please be nice in the comments. I’d like to say that I’m sorry for the fact that there is no sex or anything like that in this chapter, but it will eventually come as I want to take writing the chapters fairly slowly. Other than that, if you have any comments/questions/concerns feel free to write them in the comments. Or you can email me at [email protected]

    Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed! 🙂

    To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

  • Michael’s Adventure in the Park

    Michael usually did his daily run in the morning after he got up and before he left for work. Today was not a usual day. He had an early breakfast meeting with a client that was flying out early in the morning. At the end of the day his boss wanted to go out for drinks so Michael had no choice but to go. He ended up getting home about 8 pm. His wife kissed him when he entered their house from the garage. She asked if he wanted some dinner that she kept warm. She also said that their kids had already gone to bed. Michael told his wife that he needed to do his run or he would feel off his schedule.

    He went upstairs and took off his business attire and decided what he was going to wear running. He had a pair of shorts that were split up the side which would be good that night because it was so hot. He put on his running shoes and grabbed a t-shirt and put it on. On the way out of the door he told his wife he would be back before she went to bed but if not she shouldn’t wait up. Michael was training for triathlon so he was going to do at least 15 miles that night so depending on his speed it would be about 2 hours before he got home.

    When Michael left the house he decided he would run over to the park with the trail that circled the nearby lake and just do laps. He didn’t want to run too much on the streets since it was already dark out. It was only about a mile to the park so he stuck to the sidewalks since he hadn’t picked the shoes with the reflectors.

    When he reached the park he noticed that there weren’t many people running that night. Altogether in his first lap he had only seen 3 men and 1 woman on the trail. As he passed one of the guys he couldn’t help but notice that he had a pretty nice ass. Lately it seemed like he was checking out men, something he really hadn’t done that much before besides the usual locker room stuff. He had even been wondering what it would be like to fuck a guy. Would it feel a lot different than fucking a woman? He also thought getting a blow job from a guy would probably be better than a woman because a man would know what feels good.

    He pushed that out of his mind and focused on running. While Michael had a runners lean body he also had some good muscle definition, a couple times a week he would use the free weights he kept in the garage just to make sure he kept his muscles in the best condition since that helped on a long run. He was also 35 with brown hair and brown eyes. He was relatively hairless and he was very proud of his cock. He had a thick one that was about 8 inches so more than the average man who had 5 ½ inches. Before he got married he had been somewhat of a man whore sleeping with any woman he could get but married life changed all that.

    He was about to lap the guy he had seen earlier with the nice ass. He decided to slow down and just enjoy the view of the man’s ass checks tightening with each stride. The man wasn’t wearing a shirt so Michael could also check out his shoulders and back. The guy looked like he was in great shape.

    Michael’s cock started to harden as he watched the man run. Even though his running shorts had the built in support for his cock it started swinging with each stride he made. The guy in front of him looked back over his shoulder to see who was following him. He moved his eyes from Michael’s face down to his swinging cock. The man smiled and kept running.

    Michael was starting to get warm so he took off his t-shirt and stuck it in the back of his shorts. The next time the guy looked back at Michael besides his swinging cock he saw Michael’s pumped up chest. This made Michael’s dick harden more. The netting in his shorts was getting more constricted. He reached down and moved the netting aside so that his cock could have more room.

    From the other direction came a guy running toward them. He was shirtless as well wearing tight shorts that showed off the outline of his cock. As he ran past Michael could tell that both he and the guy in front of him were being checked out. The guy nodded and smiled as he went past.

    When he and the guy in front of him had done another half lap the guy turned and ran into a break in the tree line along the path. The guy who was running in the other direction must have been doing a similar pace because Michael saw him approaching. Michael kept running but picked up his pace. As he passed the other runner it looked like his cock had grown in his tight shorts.

    As Michael kept running he didn’t see either guy again. When he reached the break in the tree line he decided to see where they had gone. Was there possibly another path or were they just taking a break? He slowed to a jog when he entered the brush. There were obviously paths back behind the tree line but they looked more like they had been made by people walking than planned paths for running. He slowed to a walk. As his breathing calmed down he started to hear noises in the brush and bushes. When he heard noise very close to where he was walking he parted the brush and looked in. There was a small clearing that looked the same as the paths, just packed down from a lot of foot traffic. Up against one of the trees was the runner he had been following giving the guy who had been running toward them a blow job. His tight shorts had been pushed down and the other runner had his cock all the way in his mouth. The guy with the tight shorts who was leaning against the tree waved him over with a nod. The guy on his knees didn’t seem to be aware that someone had entered the clearing. As Michael got closer he started to rub the growing bulge in his shorts. Since he had moved the netting aside the head of his cock was sticking beyond the hem of his running shorts. When he got close enough to the man against the tree the man put his hand on the outline of Michael’s cock. Michael jumped back a bit but the man held on and pulled Michael back toward him. With his other hand the man started to rub Michael’s chest while he pushed Michael’s shorts down freeing his cock. He stroked Michael’s cock very slowly. It was so different having someone else’s hand on his cock. It didn’t feel anything like when his wife held his cock. She always seemed so tentative when she held Michael’s cock. This man was almost rough the way that he stroked it. Then the man ran his thumb across the tip of Michael’s cock a couple of times. The man took his hand off Michael’s chest and put it on the head of the other runner. He pulled his cock out of his mouth and turned the runner’s head toward Michael’s cock. The guy on his knees took his cock into his mouth. It was definitely different than when he was sucked by a woman. The man’s tongue and lips worked his cock in ways his wife or any other woman had. The guy on his knees grabbed the base of Michael’s cock and then slowly, almost painfully but in a good way, moved his mouth and lips up and down his cock. Finally the guy on his knees had Michael’s 8 inches all the way in his mouth. Michael could feel that the head of his cock was rubbing the back of the man’s throat. No woman had ever taken him all the way.

    The man that was against the tree took Michael’s hand and brought it to his cock. Michael had never touched another man’s cock before. It felt different than his own. The veins were different and the texture of the skin was different. The cock also felt hot. Michael tentatively wrapped his fingers around the man’s cock. He started to stroke it like he would stroke his own. Obviously the man just beat off different than Michael did because he squirmed around while Michael stroked him. The guy on his knees reached up and ran a hand over Michael’s pecs and abs. For some reason that made Michael feel proud, that some guy would want to touch him like that. Michael could tell he was getting close and tried to pull his cock from the man’s mouth but the man wouldn’t let him, he just sucked harder. Michael unloaded his cock into the man’s mouth and the man appeared to have swallowed his cum. When the man on his knees was done drinking all of Michael’s seed he turned his attention back to the runner that was leaning against the tree. Michael continued to stroke the cock but the other guy put his mouth over the head. Seconds later Michael could feel the cock he was holding harden up and he could actually feel the rush of cum from the man’s balls to the mouth of the guy on his knees. Again, the guy on his knees took the full load not missing a drop. When the guy on his knees finished off the man against the tree he stood up and left the clearing without a word. The guy against the tree took one of his hands against Michael’s ass but Michael backed up, there was no way someone was going to fuck him. The man against the tree shrugged his shoulders and left the clearing.

    Michael was intrigued now. He walked along the various paths. He came across a couple of men sucking each other but they didn’t invite him over. He walked by some guys who were stroking their cocks as he walked by. Neither of them were in the kind of shape as the runners had been. When he went a little farther down the path he walked past a guy who looked like he may be in college and played sports. He had taken a t-shirt off and it was stuck in his back pocket. He had the top 2 buttons of his 501s undone. As Michael walked by the guy stared him in the eye while massaging the bulge in his jeans. Now that Michael had been blown by another guy he wondered what it would be like to blow a guy. He stopped and turned back toward the jock. He got closer and put his hand on the guy’s bulge and rubbed it. The jock put a hand on Michael’s shoulder and pushed him down to his knees. With his other hand he finished opening the fly on his jeans and pulled out a cock about the size of Michael’s. Michael tentatively leaned in and tasted the crown of the jock’s dick. He decided it didn’t taste half bad. He ran his tongue around the crown. It felt velvety in a way Michael hadn’t expected.

    In little more than a whisper the jock said “come on faggot, suck my cock.” Unexpectedly Michael was turned on by what the jock said. Michael realized that he was getting ready to suck another man’s cock and isn’t that one of the definitions of being a faggot. Michael took the head of the guy’s dick into his mouth and just held it there for a second while he got used to having it in his mouth. “Come on cock sucker I don’t have all night.” Michael grabbed the jocks cock at the base and started to synchronize his hand movements with his mouth. Little by little he got more of the jock’s cock into his mouth. At one point he started to gag but the jock wouldn’t let him slide back, “you’ll get used to it” and Michael did. Just like Michael had felt the head of his cock hit the back of the runner’s throat, Michael could feel the tip of the jock’s cock hitting his. “Come on cocksucker, tilt your head so you can get more of my cock.” Michael did and he realized he could get more of the jock’s dick in his mouth. As he got more comfortable he did long slides up and down the cock while at the same time twisting and stroking his cock. “Get ready for my load faggot.” Michael tried to pull off but the jock held his head in place. Michael’s mouth was filled with warm, salty liquid. Michael again tried to pull off but the jock held his head tight “swallow it.” When Michael had no other course of action he swallowed the large amount of sperm that the jock had feed him. “Nice job cocksucker, I hope to see you again.” As the jock walked away through the trees he buttoned up his 501s. Michael got up from his knees and brushed them off.

    Michael walked a little farther along one of the paths. He came across another well-built guy fucking a smaller guy who really seemed to be enjoying what was happening. The built guy saw Michael and said “come over, see how this piece of ass is eating up my cock, he’s incredible.” Since Michael had never seen anyone fuck another person besides on-line he walked over and saw the built guy’s dick slide in and out of the kid’s ass. The kid was moaning with each thrust. Michael watched for a few minutes and then the built guy grabbed the kid’s hips and rammed his cock in as far as he could. The guy let out a grunt and it was apparent that he had just filled the kid with his cum. The kid that was leaning forward on a tree made what sounded like a happy sigh. The built guy pulled his cock out of the kid, turned to Michael and said “he’s all yours, he really is a nice piece of ass.”

    Michael’s cock had gotten hard again watching the kid being fucked but he didn’t know if he was ready to try to fuck another guy. The guy who was leaning forward on the tree pushed his ass back. “Come on man, fuck me. I want to feel another cock up my pussy. Please.” Michael looked around and stepped behind the kid. He really didn’t know how he was supposed to do it so he fumbled a bit sticking his cock and not hitting anything. The kid reached back and lined Michael’s cock with his ass and Michael then instinctively knew what to do. He started pushing his cock past the kid’s sphincter while the kid moaned. He started pushing slowly and the kid asked him to go faster and harder. Michael picked up speed and drove his cock all the way into the kid’s ass. He got into a rhythm similar to how the speed he would use when he fucked his wife but the kid kept asking for him to go harder and faster. Michael picked up speed and force. He had always wanted to fuck his wife this way, to make her really feel his cock slamming into her and now he was having the chance to do that but with a man. The man’s ass was even felt tighter than his wife’s pussy.

    “Yeah take it, take my cock, take it mother fucker.”

    “That’s it Daddy, show me I’ve been a bad boy. Take it out on my ass. You’re cock is so fucking big.”

    Those words just worked up Michael more and he kept slamming the kid with his cock. Since he had cum just a little while ago, Michael was able to keep the fucking up for a while and the kid was loving it. He kept swearing and calling Michael Daddy. When Michael felt he was ready to cum, he did the same thing that the well-built guy did, he grabbed the kids hips and pushed every centimeter of his cock up the kid’s ass and then let loose. He had the strongest orgasm he ever had when he was fucking a woman. His head felt like it was going to blow up. When he caught his breath, he pulled his dick out of the kid’s ass. “Thanks Daddy, you’re one of the best fucks I’ve ever had. I hope to see you again.” Then he was off down the trail.

    Michael contemplated running home but he just couldn’t stop walking the trails. In a few minutes he came upon a mountain of a man. He must have had 4 inches and 50 pounds on Michael. He stormed toward Michael. “I knew I could find myself a cocksucker back in here, I’ve heard some of my friends talk about this is where faggots hang out.” The guy was rubbing the front of his pants. “I ain’t looking for no cocksucker though, I want me a piece of man pussy, I hear it’s tighter than real pussy.” He grabbed Michael around the neck and held him tight. Even though what was happening was scary it was turning Michael on.

    The guy pulled Michael close. Michael could feel the bulge in the guy’s jeans rubbing against his ass. He could also feel the guy opening up the front of his jeans and lowering his zipper. When he had finished that he pushed Michael’s shorts down until they were at his ankles. Michael knew he’d have to step out of them if he was going to get his legs far enough to give the guy access to his ass. The guy must have thought that Michael was struggling because he tightened his grip and whispered into Michael’s ear, “It’s not worth you fighting me faggot you’re going to take my cock one way or another.” Even though guy was getting a bit rougher it really was making him hot. His cock was sticking straight up and hard as a rock. The big guy must have seen it “yeah, I knew you’d like the thought of my python up your pussy.”

    The guy started pointing his cock at Michael’s ass but kept missing just like Michael had done. At least when Michael had fucked the kid there was sperm in has ass to act like lube. Michael spit into his hand and reached back to try and lube up the big guy’s dick. As he moved his arm, the big guy must have thought he was struggling again and pulled Michael even tighter to his muscled chest. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

    “Just want to give your cock a little lube to make it easier for you to give me your cock.”

    “Ok but no funny business cocksucker.” He let go of Michael’s arm. Michael reached around and grabbed on to the big guy’s cock. It was fucking huge, much thicker than Michael’s and maybe a little longer. He rubbed his spit on the cock and then, just like the kid had done for him, he guided the big guy’s cock to his waiting hole. Michael couldn’t believe that he wanted to be fucked, to experience what it felt like, and to be used by this mountain of a man.

    The heat from the head of the big guy’s cock burned Michael’s ass. “You’re going to feel it now faggot.” With one push the head of the guy’s cock enter Michael’s ass. Michael started to scream but the big guy put in large hand over Michael’s mouth. “Shut the fuck up.” He pushed a little bit farther in. Tears were coming out of Michael’s eyes.

    “Oh man, my friends were right, a faggot’s ass is so god damn tight. Feels unfucking believable. Why haven’t I found me a faggot before?” He pushed more in. Michael thought he was going to pass out but in a few more seconds it started to feel good….really good. The big guy lowered his arm from around Michael’s chest and wrapped it around Michael’s waist so he could pull Michael farther on to his cock. For a second the guy’s cock hit something inside Michael’s ass that felt incredible but then it was gone. It happened again but when the guy pulled back it stopped. Michael started to push his ass back toward the big guy. “Yeah, you really want it don’t you?” He took his hand off Michael’s mouth. “Tell me how much you like my cock up you pussy.”

    “I love your cock up my ass, it feels like nothing I’ve ever felt before.”

    “So I’m better than any other guy who’s fucked your ass?”

    No need to lie “Yes, you’re the best fuck I’ve ever had.”

    “Fucking A”. He pulled Michael to him one last time and Michael could feel his insides being coated with hot liquid. At that moment Michael’s cock shot off a third load of cum for the night. The big guy pulled his cock from Michael’s ass.

    “Now get the fuck out of here faggot.”

    As Michael walked out of the bushes and brush he knew he would be back but for tonight he wasn’t going to be running home.

    Be Well,

    Chad

    [email protected]

    To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

  • Tri-Peaks Holding Company


    Disclaimer:

    This forum has several quality stories that center around the idea of slavery returning in some fashion or another. These will necessarily share common themes. I have made every effort not to plagiarize, but if any writer or reader notices something that appears to be a word for word copy or paraphrase, please let me know and I will correct it since any appearance of it is entirely by accident.

    Backstory

    Nearly the entire Western world borrowed itself into something past bankruptcy. Apparently contingency plans had been drawn -up for some time because every industrialized Western country except Canada the Scandinavian countries defaulted at noon on the same day by simply declaring they would not repay any outstanding debt, would not issue any new debt or currency, and ended every active trade agreement. The US borders and territorial waters were militarized as were the borders of the European Union. The US and EU simply dared anyone to invade to try to collect on the debt. The rest of the planet quickly understood that any invasion would simply be throwing good money after bad and getting too many of their own killed in addition. They also understood that with the two largest hogs of pretty much everything of value and use were now, in essence, hermit kingdoms, they could trade amongst themselves without fear of intervention thus putting a quick end to any ill effects of the suddenly canceled debt.

    Each region introduced its own command economy that was intended to be temporary. But nothing so drastic as a sudden and near total reorganization of a society can ever be temporary.

    The story involves the US. There is no reason to go into the politics except to say that the Constitution was suspended indefinitely (three generations so far). Oil is, in fact, plentiful but because of a labor- shortage and reorganization, its use is tightly controlled and used almost exclusively in cities. Free citizens can travel at will, but the entire country’s infrastructure was reconfigured so that the means of travel from one city to the next were on road and rail specifically set aside to avoid all but accidental contact with the slave society that provides the materials for the free world. In territory the `bound’ area is roughly ten times the size as the free but the population is generally kept at roughly 2 – 1 (bound – free).

    This will be part history, part journal, part journalism, part in-territory participant story in structure. It is entirely open ended and I have only the roughest of sketches. Comments are welcomed if not encouraged and requests will be honored where possible.

    The Free Cities and Migration

    The Free Cities was what everyone called what for all intents and purposes was a new country. Even areas that were not cities essentially became so after the migration was complete. And it was difficult to call it a country since the free portions of it were not contiguous. Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Delaware, and South Carolina were the only full states containing no territorial lands. Costal Maine and the coast of New Hampshire were free, but the inland portions and all of Vermont were deemed territorial.

    Most of the eastern halves of Pennsylvania, Maryland, Virginia, and North Carolina, and the costal portion of Georgia finished out the east coast.

    The western halves of those states, nearly all of Georgia and all of Florida were territorial.

    Costal and the southern third of Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana along with coastal Texas finished were what was left of the Gulf states. A wide swath on either side of the Mississippi river up to St Louis was all that remained of the interior of the country except for an arc from Greater Chicago to Detroit.

    Portions of west Texas, most of New Mexico, Arizona, and half of Utah and Nevada were the new west. The western third of the 3 west coast states and the part of California that bordered Arizona were the new west coast.

    Hawaii was free. However, since tourism was going to take a drastic hit, anyone wishing to relocate to the continental free cities was permitted.

    Alaska remained free also, except for timberlands and much of the petroleum industry were deemed to be territorial.

    Everything else was the territories.

    The migration started by relocating free peoples of Nebraska, Kansas, and Iowa along with those living in Denver, Oklahoma City, and the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex. Free labor went into the three major cities and the smaller ones in the three states and dismantled, demolished, and salvaged

    (DDS) all they could. Slave labor began agricultural work in the three states. They also started what was named the Great Reroute.

    Meanwhile, renovation of abandoned or neglected neighborhoods in the free cities and construction of new dwellings began in parallel. The response to “but this is my home” and “but this farm has been in my family for generations” was either “it isn’t now” or “you can stay, but get used to being slaves.” It was a painful process, but everyone involved had seen the enslavement riots and knew that they could simply be relocated as a slave to the territories if they pushed back too hard, so while painful it occurred more smoothly than anyone had anticipated.

    As the dwelling space grew, the migration from agricultural areas and towns surrounding the raw materials areas were next mixed with the populations of the smaller interior cities. Paid labor was used to DDS the cities, but after this second migration, that ended and any large enough town to need the treatment was handled by slave labor. The last wave picked up everyone left who had not chosen to leave already.

    The so-called Great Reroute was happening along-side each migration. The Slave Bureau in conjunction with the Transportation Department didn’t exactly reroute the infrastructure in the territories as tear it up, but Reroute sounded hopeful instead of defeatist, so the misnomer stuck. They had a map of all federal, state, county, and local roads, and the entire rail system. Within a week they had “greenlined” a system of road and rail that removed nearly three-quarters of what had been there. The concrete and asphalt from roads and the steel rails that were not on the greenline map were ripped up and sent to the free cities to be recycled, where possible.

    Compensation and housing were Free Cities headache equivalent to the territorial headache from the switch from mechanized to mostly manual farm labor in the grain heartland. Just because you lived in a ten thousand square foot house didn’t mean you were going to get either the same size or the relative- equivalent sized home in the Free Cities. For many it worked like that, but not for most. The Bureau simply took the last assessed value of the property and paid that to the “owner.” Most city/county assessments are slightly inflated so the “fair market price” argument was impossible to maintain. The “owner” would have to pay the remainder of the mortgage and could use whatever remained (if anything) to choose a new home. For underwater homes, regardless of any other solid or liquid asset the “owner” had, the bank received the full compensation and wrote off the difference. Housing prices were strictly regulated based on size only.

    The only benefit anyone had over anyone else was that the earlier migrants had a larger number of properties to choose from, outbidding someone else was no longer possible.

    Those in apartments were relocated to apartments of relative-equivalent size. Anyone in a mobile home was upgraded to an apartment.

    Those with cars could bring them, however maintaining them was going to be expensive so most opted to sell their cars to the Bureau.

    This meant that a large section of the population that wasn’t used to having much cash on hand suddenly did. The Bureau offered assistance on how to save rather than splurge and the Bureau setup watchdog groups along-side local watchdog groups whose goals were to squash profiteering before it could start. Little of it occurred because the suddenly

    `wealthy’ often had at least one family member enslaved and understood better than most that if they became unemployed and lacked the savings to pay bills, they could easily join them.

    People already living in the Free Cities were given tax breaks and

    `inconvenience bonuses’ that assuaged some of the rapid economic imbalance.

    The complaint in the Free Cities was that the compensation didn’t amount to enough. The response was as blunt as most from the Bureau for complaints of that sort: an armed member of the military didn’t force you to pack up and leave everything you knew, but we would be happy to migrate you in the same manner to a different city if you want to know what that feels like.

    Where someone ended up was based on their skills. Professional, skilled, and unskilled labor was subdivided. If a family was to be relocated the member whose income would be the highest was the one classified (if both adults were skilled, then a special consideration was given to cover both).

    Each person would be randomly assigned to any area that needed the skill and unskilled labor was randomly assigned to any area with a deficit of unskilled labor. Attempted bribery might result in forfeiture; if anyone in the Bureau took the bribe, then all involved would forfeit. There was no evidence this occurred.

    The migration was complete in eight years. The obvious construction boom that would end in a glut had been anticipated from the beginning and as the need for new construction began to diminish that labor pool was allowed to find something else on their own or be reassigned, typically to infrastructure maintenance. In other words, the plan was not to have a group of people expand and rebuild the free cities then be sent, enslaves, to the territories when the job was complete.

    From the Journal of Stephen Mechamp, Chief Physiologist of the Tri-Peaks Holding Company.

    As much as I hate this rotation, I recognize its importance. I’m in the back of the bus filled with Overseer Recruits heading to what they call

    “The Compound.” I’m back here with my laptop and have actually decided to start keeping some record of what I’ve done that hasn’t been published in the professional journals. This is largely for me – I saw a friend the other day and he said it had been a long time since we had met; I disagreed saying it was just a few months but he was finally able to convince me it had been over two years. When I stopped to think about what I had done in the time between, I realized my life had become a blur of common activity with some focal points that I could remember but not put in any time order.

    However, anyone keeping a journal realizes (hopes?) that the work will have an audience beyond him at some point.

    I teach a two month graduate seminar in slave physiology at the University each semester. This is the slang term for it (well, slave-phyz actually)

    and as a professional I’m supposed to despise it. The catalog calls the seminar Health and Maintenance of a Bound Population. It is truly more than just physiology but the so-called health and maintenance are used in the physiological context. It is a 3 hour a day class for 2 months. I typically start out with fifteen students and end up with 8 (ten in a good semester, as few as 4 in a bad). It is the first course anyone interested in my kind of work has to take, so the washout rate isn’t unexpected. The course isn’t exactly difficult, but when faced with the realities of the so-called `bound population’ instead of the ideals they may have studied before, about half of the class decides that another job will be less trouble.

    Which brings me to sitting in the back of a bus filled with Tri-Peaks Overseer Recruits. The company considers the three weeks I spend with these young men as payment for the supposed reward for two months as a professor. I’m at the time of my life where I have researched pretty much all I intend, so the University really isn’t a reward anymore. However, since I see what I do as important, not to mention my particular brand of it, I see it as my legacy to continue with it as long as I am able –

    that includes my current duties with regards the men on this bus.

    We are on our way to the Tri-Peaks Advanced Overseer Training Facility –

    how it got named “The Fort” or why is lost on me. It had been a rural high school with an agricultural program so it came with the necessary acreage and reasonably sized pond the company needed for this training program. We only use the gym, fields, cafeteria, auditorium, and a few classrooms that were converted to dorms; otherwise the rest of the space is unused. It is surrounded by the requisite but perfunctory fence, so while it might pass for a minimum security prison, there is nothing fort-like about it. Of the fifty holding companies the same size as, or larger than, Tri-Peaks, less than a dozen use this kind of facility, let alone the reasoning behind it and methodology it teaches. When short and medium term profit outweigh all other considerations, the cost – while not significant at any stage –

    seem unjustified. When the slave is considered only a cog to be replaced when worn out (instead of an investment in long term productivity) a place like this facility would make no sense.

    I could not work for a company with that ethic.

    Tri-Peaks has a variety of overseer types based on the type of labor. I have never memorized the official titles, but have put them into broad categories for myself. General overseers have responsibility for a set number of slaves, area, and production. They have the responsibility to

    “encourage” necessary levels of production with whatever whips they have been cleared to use. They have the authority to punish using common lashing or other corporal techniques that do not involve the whip for anything shy of major problems. These overseers are responsible for medium and low labor capacity slaves which for Tri-Peaks includes the less heavy portions of quarry work, mining, and transport (and a small amount of livestock and ag work since Tri-Peaks feeds its property with its own foodstuffs, almost exclusively).

    The men on the bus are designated as heavy labor overseers. This is determined from personality testing and classroom observation. They are offered this opportunity very early in their education. Tri- Peaks discovered that men intended to work the heavy labor slaves were not as effective as they should have been if they learned the encouragement and punishment techniques that the general overseers use. They discovered that it was far easier to train an overseer to tone down his methods rather than amp them up – this is due to the overall philosophy the company uses and runs counter to the way overseers behave in purely profit driven enterprises.

    Both the psychology and physiology (not to forget nutrition and sanitation)

    needs of the middle and low capacity slaves are considerably different from their heavy labor counterpart, meaning, naturally, that the training for the men overseeing them will be considerably different. General overseers graduate in 6 months and undergo a six week probationary/observation period and then they are assigned. The dropout rate is about twenty percent (the reason most give for quitting is they didn’t understand there would be an academic approach, and my cursory research has most of those going to companies whose training program is short to non-existent). Heavy labor overseers’ graduate in 9 months, have a probationary period of 2 months before being assigned and are recertified every year. The dropout rate is less than a percent – the personality tests are truly that good.

    In addition to overseeing heavy labor slaves, these overseers are responsible for serious punishment of the slave population as a whole.

    “The Compound” is where they learn to do this. For as much as 12 hours a day for three weeks during which each will be given two days off after the first 10, but no more than a third can be off at any time. Slaves do get down time, however, this training for the overseers must be intense and the slave population is not exactly chosen at random. “The Compound” is one of the places that Tri-Peaks sends recalcitrant slaves, so the population is a mix of uncooperative middle and low capacity slaves and heavy labor slaves

    (that may be new or pulled from duties elsewhere there is a surplus of labor for usually seasonal or inventory reasons).

    We’ve arrived. I will air out my usual rooms, shower – just as they will – and prepare for the first lecture.

    The Opening Lecture

    Dr. Mechamp begins.

    “Gentlemen, this first lecture is just that. There will be a question and answer at the end, but I would appreciate full attention until then. The rest of your limited time in the classroom will be fully interactive, so I’m sure you can indulge me in laying out the fundamentals of The Compound.” He uses the slang term now since he understands he needs to be seen as `one of the guys’ in this setting rather than `the professor.’

    “Each of you has probably heard some or all of the following, but you must all hear it now, again, together. The first purpose of the next three weeks is to teach you not just the techniques of punishment but the reasoning behind it. Most of the time here will be spent with different lashes, but some of the time will be spent in what we call close quarter correction and a small amount of time will be spent with different sorts of punishment and encouragement options that will be available to you but you will have ample time to learn their uses during the rest of your training.

    “The second purpose is hands on work with heavy labor properties. To this you will be typically paired at random with another overseer and be given a task to perform. After dinner the instructors will go over the results and evaluate from there.

    “The third purpose is time and stress management. When posted, except for times when you are overseeing only heavy labor properties in more remote locations or running a heavy haul, there will be times when you will be called to handle situations elsewhere in the area only some of which will involve actual punishment. What we teach here is how to manage these situations well. A note here. This is a recent addition to the curriculum so you can imagine that circumstances in the field indicated it is needed.

    “The second and third are self-evident. The first requires more attention.

    “We do not hire, train, or retain sadists. Encouragement and punishment are bound by motives and goals. Cruelty has no place here. Some of you will be too harsh or rash early on; we expect that and know how to handle it. I say this because once you have been given the basics, you should feel free to encourage and punish in the way that suits you and the daily debriefs will determine what adjustments are necessary. We prefer that you be as aggressive as necessary early but that is not a license to abuse, just a reality we expect.

    “The motives and goals of encouragement are the right amount of force to get the full amount of energy – you will learn more about this in the coming days, but a quick preview, Tri-Peaks’ model is founded on energy not labor and yes there is a difference. Too much force will result in a decrease output because it affects both the physical and psychological aspects of the property. Too little will also result in decreased output, typically attributable to what we call psychic laxity. Even with the same team day to day the amount of encouragement force can change so it requires careful vigilance. To answer a question I know will come anyway: it is better to err on the side of too much, and we will get into that specifically later.

    “The motive of punishment depends on what makes it necessary. Is the reason you have to do it related to behavior to be adjusted or is it the result of an infraction of company rules or local laws? Each of these will occur in public but which public and how you do it depends on the reason for it. First, it is public because the individual psyche needs the impact of the audience for best effect. Second it is public because the others learn by-proxy – put differently `I don’t want that so I won’t do what he did.’

    “The goal is either to end a behavior or to stabilize a situation or population. A property that needs so much attention that others are allowed to slack is the most common thing you will face. The goal is to make that one understand that the penalty for the behavior is severe. The audience is typically no larger than the immediate group and any close by that could have witnessed the slacker. Remember when the properties are not active, energy is not being used fully. This is not to discourage you from using what you believe is the right amount of time to change the behavior, just something to keep in mind. Insubordination is the next most common and has to be handled differently we will get into the details as necessary. Also these punishments typically take place as close to the time that the overseer experiences the need as possible.

    “Physical insubordination, attempted insurrection, attempted or actual escape, or purposefully breaking a local law is different. These behaviors or the reactions to them impact the population and always result in lowered output until managed. This is one of the hazards of the trade. For these, the audience will be wide and the punishment particularly severe. These punishments occur as many as several days after the event itself usually.

    To answer another question in advance, while it might seem counterintuitive to wait long for this level of punishment, it is necessary for a couple of reasons. The first is a cooling off period so that all overseers involved will be guided by reason not anger. The second is that it takes time to gather an audience that might be spread over acres if not square miles.

    “If you didn’t see the blue packet on the desks in your rooms or haven’t read the schedule in it, do so when you get back. Everyone gets one late excuse and one only. There is an additional tag with a pink silencer on it, arrive in the morning with that attached to your general tag – if you decide at any point that you do not want to continue, remove that tag and hand it to an instructor. There is no shame in that, gentlemen. This is where you discover just how difficult a job this can be and if you determine that your talents are best used elsewhere, we will find a place where those talents will be best suited.

    “Ok, time for questions. For my sake, when you ask, please tell me your name.”

    At least half of the men raise hands. Nothing tells an instructor or teacher how enthusiastic and confident a student is than that.

    “Jason Andrews, why do you use property instead of slave sir?”

    “Your instructors are sir, no need to use that with me please. From here out, you will use slave most of the time, but some of the material you read will use both. I wanted to stress that the company sees the slave as a property, something to be maintained and protected. Yes they are slaves and the law does not call them otherwise, but we see them as cars instead of tubes of toothpaste.”

    “Alex Mann, protect?” He says with confusion.

    “Man of few words, forgive the pun. I assume you had a different question when you raised you hand before so I’ll let you ask that one too if you want. You will always hear and see it as maintain and protect, but ensuring equipment like boots and tools are in acceptable shape, ensuring any wound or illness is handled quickly and effectively to allow the slave to return to full capacity as soon as possible fall, to my mind anyway, in the protect category. What was going to be your original question?”

    “When you said tasks, do you mean like the projects we did in Youth Sight?”

    “Yes, but everything about them is more serious and there are actual stakes involved not just bragging rights, if you will. Please stand if you spent at least a year in Sight” two thirds of the men stand; “and keep standing if you completed a summer session.” Only two sit. “Thanks, please sit.

    Sight is a respectable organization and you will be able to apply some of that here. But the circumstances of the leaders and the region and the slaves at any given session were varied enough that I wouldn’t be surprised if you compared notes and everything but the core fundamentals were radically different. Basically, do not rely on what you learned there beyond that you were leaders then and are leaders now.”

    “Steven Riggart, will we be training on bred slaves here?”

    “I want to comment on your choice of words. It may seem petty and tedious, but what words you use when dealing with slaves is as important as how you manage them physically. You will learn some of that here, and more of that in the coming months. You will not be training `on’ but rather training

    `with’. There will be so-called bred slaves in the mix here. That reminds me, for the Youth Sight members and for the rest who may have learned the boot tag color scheme, Tri-Peaks does not use the standard system and here the tags will be aluminum and will only have the IN and blood group.”

    “I thought the colors were mandatory.”

    “Only the tag with that minimal information is required. I was on the committee that was formed to revise some of the rules and, though we can talk about this later, I was and am opposed to having them color coded at all. The logic that it helps identify how to handle an escaped slave is ridiculous. It is entirely psychological and I will explain more on that later. The system Tri-Peaks uses is based on current behavior, labor class, and whether the slave is on loan to a different part of the organization.”

    “Ty Steele, may I ask a personal question?” Nods. “I understand you were in medical school when you changed to slave phyz, I’m just wondering why?”

    “Harlan.” Nothing about the instructors changes, but the men in the room seem visibly to shrink and tension squashes what had been a relaxed atmosphere. “I must say I’m pleased by that reaction. The Harlan Holdings atrocity happened when I was taking a class in sports physiology – I had intended on being a surgeon in sports medicine. I did some side research on what the law said with regards to slave physiology which was nothing beyond a rudimentary list of classification recommendations. I tried to find the same kind of information from some holding companies and realized that there was only a little more, meaning that Harlan would be the first instead of the only holding company to be dissolved based on inhumane treatment. Since I realized my passion was research, not surgery, I changed my profession.

    “That’s time for this evening. I am available at any time for more questions or general discussion, so use that if you like. Before the first session tomorrow please read the syllabus. Also each of you has a blank notebook in your desk. It’s for keeping a journal. It isn’t required and no one will ask to read it, but I do encourage each of you to keep one.

    This profession is more mentally and psychically taxing than you may understand now and keeping a journal is one way to keep your thoughts and emotions from getting out of control.”

    Stocking The Compound

    Twice a year Brett Davis, Chief of Educational Logistics, culls through the Tri-Peaks inventory to find the necessary number and mix of slaves to bring to “The Compound”. He had been a divorce attorney before joining the company a dozen years back. The job is one that has little respect of the company outside the board and requires a tremendous amount of arguing and deal-making and last minute adjustments and panics. Previous holders of the title, all leaving after a few years, had been experts in crisis management and city planning – the board thought that those skills would be best suited for what the position required. A divorce attorney didn’t make immediate sense, but after his first stocking, the board realized that someone accustomed to arguments and half-truths and last minute come-aparts was what had been needed from the get. There is more to the job than just

    “The Compound”, a lot more, but for a full month before classes there and at least two weeks after, the vast majority of his time is spent picking the list, finding the ones from the list he can use, and arranging transport.

    Every April and September he has to locate and transport 200 of the sixty thousand slaves Tri-Peaks maintains from the Rockies to the Appalachians

    (and California and Washington) from five different industry types to a former high school in far west Tennessee in a `town’ with the unfortunate name of Nutbush. It can take as long as four days to get a slave from one of the remoter locations to The Compound. It can take a week’s worth of cajoling to get one from less than an hour away. That said, he loves the job. Point of fact, anyone with “Chief” in their title loves their job since you have to in order to put up with the bullshit that comes along with it.

    The timing is the major headache. All of the slaves have to be on-site by the morning of the first session but cannot be there for more than two days prior. Incidentally, these are Davis’s `rules’. Previous occupants of the office would leave slaves idle for as many as ten days. Davis’s efficiency has gained him not a little respect among `the men on the ground.’ Still, gathering six from three different California sites, one from Washington, thirty from Wyoming, five from just north of Memphis, and on and on is the equivalent of being a freight yard manager playing three simultaneous games of chess at the busiest time of the day.

    Nathan Alvarez, an instructor at The Compound waits at the stock stop for freight train heading from Nashville to Memphis. The train carries the last three: two class heavies from the gold mines in northern Georgia and a recal from a quarry in Alabama; combined mass 300 kg – meaning that he couldn’t use the truck to transport them since the minimum combined mass has to be 400 kg and that the recal is pretty damned small. Two naked drafts at the yoke of a cage-cart stand idle after the 5 mile trot to the stop. By covered truck they could travel on the free roads which is almost twice the distance but takes about ten minutes instead of nearly an hour.

    The train stops and the door to the passenger car opens. A transit guard leads three slaves, naked except for boots and wrists restraints attached at the back to their collars, to a spot a couple of yards from the train where they drop to slave-straight (knees wide apart, full body upright so no weight is resting on heels, toes of boots touching the ground and parallel with the other, hands behind head but not touching it, eyes full forward). They are not hobbled and are not chained together. Also, they are still covered in grime from their place of origin despite two days of travel. This is a typical form of protest from many of the southern locales so Nathan expects it. He also expects:

    “The manifest said they haven’t been fed or watered since last night, did you forget to update it?”

    “Naw, they was loaded on without and we don’t keep the stuff handy since none of y’all people use the same food.” The man is in his late forties and said his gripe with a careless drawl instead of any true ire.

    “No but we do all use the same goddamned water.” Nathan signs the manifest and the guard continues,

    “Toilet’s broke in this car so I figure theys more comfortabler not having full bladders.” He takes the manifest, boards the car and shuts the door.

    Nathan takes a moment to marvel remembering something an instructor told him when he got his first assignment: Once in the territories you’ll run into men that aren’t fit to be free or be bound so it is a private mystery that they can breathe and manage to function in any understanding of the word.

    “Go ahead and piss where you are” without pause they start. “I have food and water here. You think you can hold your shit for an hour or …” He can’t finish before all three say “Sir yes sir” in unison. They are thirsty, hungry, tired, grimy, and they would all rather be in the cage taking care of three of those problems than anything else.

    “Up and queue up.” They spring to their feet and line up behind the back of the cart. In less than thirty seconds Nathan unhooks the wrists, and they are all seated in the cage with the door closed and locked. “There’s six bottles of water in the box and the green bag is for the little one.

    Pace yourselves with the water we don’t have time to stop and you don’t want to have to spend any time washing this thing out.”

    “Sir why’s mine a different color sir?” Something just shy of terror replaces fatigue in the recalcitrant (recal) slave. The other two who have their hands in the box already freeze waiting for a tongue lashing if nothing else.

    “Because you are a different size so you get a different amount?” Then.

    “What’s got you all in a panic?”

    “Sir am I gonna be kilt at the compound sir?” Small, skinny, brown hair two week’s length too long, young, maybe too young and petrified.

    “No …”

    “Sir am I gonna wish I was dead sir?” Realizing nothing bad is going to happen, the other two start to eat one of the two biscuits from their bags.

    “No. I’m sure people told you all sorts of stuff to scare the shit out of you, but I’m sure none of it is true. It’s not going to be fun, but it’s not going to ruin you either. Calm down and eat. When we get there you’ll get showered and bunked. Should be a smooth ride all the way there. On your way boys.” The two drafts begin to trot and within a minute are at speed. The matched pair keeps an eleven minute mile with no need for the whip and know the way without need for reins. Barring unforeseen problems with the cargo, this was going to be a quiet hour. Nathan knows there will be few of those for twenty days so maybe using the cart was better than the truck after all.

    Nathan wakes the trio when the cart stops outside the gym. He points them towards what had been the girls’ locker room. They stop just inside it.

    “Take your boots off.” Knees and elbows and in seconds they are barefoot.

    “Toilets are over there, showers are over there. The showers have hot and cold so be careful not to scald yourselves, there’s soap and towels too.

    You have about fifteen minutes to take care of all that.” They all stare, mouths slightly agape. “I know you don’t get those things were you’re stationed and you won’t get them but a couple of times while you’re here but you get one now. I’ll give you a two minute warning so you can be dried off and boots on and ready for bunk down. So you can just let the water run on you as much as you want til then. Oh and don’t forget to flush.”

    They take off for the toilets and Nathan sits in the bleachers with an eye on his watch. In less than a minute all toilets have flushed and there are some yelps and giggles a minute later as they adjust the water.

    Names

    Like the population in the free cities the trio washing away days of grime have three `names’ and an identification number – common in the territories but not universal. In the free cities, family is tightly attached to the names a person has and the number confers benefits. In the territories, many slaves have the usually unspoken name, the `name’ the overseer uses, and the names they use among themselves. The secret name is the one their parents gave them. They are told at processing to forget the name and sharing it with anyone would be “a bad idea.” Tri-Peaks, like its competitors in kind, has never enforced this recommendation meant more for fear than anything else. But the slaves rarely speak that name even to their closest friends and never ask anyone else’s. The psychologists who noticed it came to two conclusions. The first is, they admit, sentimental

    – it is the last thing they can consider their own and should freedom find them, they will be able to share it without fear of it being taken.

    The second is, in the lingo, compartmentalization: speaking the name to anyone is a full admission that the person belonging to the name is fully, totally (likely hopelessly) enslaved and therefore forever lost.

    The second name depends on the overseer’s type. Cog companies (Harlan, Penn Coke and Steel, Archer Ag, and others) hire overseers without regard to personality type, but those with any empathy usually wash out early, leaving only the martinet and the brute who tend to bestow names that in the free cities cannot be said on television and would likely cause a fight. Investment companies (Tri-Peaks, Minnesota Mining, Daniels Ag, and others) hire and train overseers whose personalities indicate consensus leadership, responsibility ownership (“yes it was my fault”), and controlled empathy (the comparison here is a surgeon, even with a patient fully sedated, cutting on and cutting out is something that makes most cringe not because of the blood but because we cannot put aside the empathetic feel of the blade; surgeons know what they are doing is necessary and can put that empathy aside while doing their work).

    Consensus leadership means they are not dictators or blindly following rules, but make decisions based on the facts at the time and understand when rules can be bent or broken – this breeds respect among peers and among their slaves. Responsibility ownership earns them the respect of the company as a whole. Controlled empathy is why investment companies use facilities like The Compound. Their job is to get the full measure of energy each day from the slaves they oversee and this will require almost daily use of verbal and corporal `encouragement’, humiliation, and punishments intended to cause severe pain. They must be able to step outside their empathy during those times and return to it afterwards. Cog companies treat their overseers not much better than the slaves they oversee and their attrition rate is enormous. Investment companies treat their overseers as managers and the attrition rate is lower than any similarly classified job. The saying is “cogs hire and create alcoholics;

    investments hire and create men.” After saying all of that, these overseers tend to use petlike names.

    The names they give each other are too diverse to explain and even psychologists who have tried to get an insight have been unable to trust the information even when they could get it and have long since tabled any notion of answering the question.

    The Trio – Showers

    “I’m otter, quarry.” The small one says just loud enough to be heard over the water.

    “Deacon, he’s brown, both mining.” Muscled, buzzcut, pale once the grime heads to the drain but not at all unhealthy. Deacon is half a head shorter than the almost six foot brown, but otherwise they pass as brothers. “What kind of rock?”

    “White.”

    “Jesus, just white or speckled with other colors?” Deacon, who had been in college, knows that otter didn’t finish high school assuming he was even allowed to attend.

    “Jes white.”

    “Most likely Alabama.”

    “Wow, really? How’d you know?”

    “I don’t for sure, but you rode the train with us so you work in the south and the rock is probably alabaster which means most likely Alabama.

    Originally from?”

    “You a pretender?” Otter wants to step back but the water feels too good so he tenses up as if to fight.

    “No, just unlucky enough to be educated. We mine gold in Georgia. I’m from Pennsylvania, brown’s from New Jersey.”

    “Wow, gold, really?”

    “It’s not what you think, you can’t even see it. And even if we could what would we do with it? So where from?”

    “North Carolina.”

    “Two minutes boys.”

    There is really nothing to rinse off so they stay a few seconds longer then douse the water and towel off. They stand by the boots left at the entry.

    “Just carry them with you. You’ll sleep without them tonight.” Nathan points them to a brick building twenty meters away – it had been the athletic facility for the football team. Now it bunks two hundred slaves.

    “Lights are already out, so bed down quick.” He points deacon and brown to a pair of bunks on the right, near the door and otter to the left side.

    They are asleep almost before head meets pillow. Nathan listens to what amounts, ultimately, to nothing. Two hundred bodies that may as well be in a coma. No restless movement, no snoring.

    Day One: Punishment Basics and Recals

    After breakfast, the men sit in the risers, on the parquet floor is a table with whips and a few other items; beneath it are some visored helmets and several boxes that look like they hold Chicago deep dish pizzas. There is also a post, a T-bar and X-bar (the word cross is no longer used), a standing frame with different spots to hang rope or chain, an A bench, and a spread horse.

    Instructor John Aix begins.

    “It might look like introduction to torture …” general laughter, “… and in the wrong hands that is exactly what this is all used for. We joke and say what we teach you is energy extraction but the brass of it is that slaves by nature of what they are will withhold labor and energy that doesn’t belong to them and the way we make sure the company gets what it pays for, these items that haven’t really changed much in thousands of years and have been used everywhere on the planet once man realized that swinging a stick could make another do what he wanted.

    “Dr. Mechamp will give you all the details about calories in and out in a few days, so no need to mess with that now. The short version is that when you are on site you will have a group of slaves that have to meet a quota of output every day. The quota often changes every day based on weather for example or season, but it is still your job to make sure your team gets the tasks complete. If you have a solid team of slaves that don’t fight their station, you may get by swinging a whip just a couple of times a day and yelling a bit. For a more common mix, you’re going to be swinging different lashes throughout the day and yelling a bit more. If you oversee for two years without issue you get go on the list to be, um, rewarded? by having to break in a new team. By the end of the week you will be able imagine how much work that will take.

    “There are two hundred slaves here. Since you will spend most of your time paired up, that means 10 per group. It works out to 8 heavies and 2 recals. I will tell you that your first day on task with them will feel like we’ve thrown you in the deep end with cement shoes; I will also say none of you is set up to fail so the first couple of hard days will fade pretty fast. The other instructors are moving the teams of heavies around getting the work areas set up so the first group you’re going to work with is the recals. For those not up on the jargon, recalcitrant but you also hear recalibration but that’s wrong except, well, what happens is a recalibration. Any slave given a work pause punishment for the same problem three times in six months is a recal. Any class slave can become one, but you’ll be training on the lower labor class recals here. They will be brought in shortly and it’s going to get rough.

    “We do this first day in the gym because of the echo. There will be yelping, screaming, crying, and usually some begging. This can be loud outside but in here it is … you’ll find out. It is meant to shock their systems and yours too. There will be breaks periodically and that is the only time you are allowed outside. If you find that this shock is too much, then remove the tag you added last night, and hand it to me. Never turn your back either. Best way to get past whatever emotion hits you is to stare straight ahead until it passes. This includes laughter.

    Sometimes what happens is funny, but today is the one day you can’t laugh.

    A few will piss themselves at post or even waiting. That’s normal and you don’t stop what you’re doing, you just let it happen. Questions before we start … good. Bring `em in.”

    Two instructors open double doors and forty slaves move in quickly, form a 5×8 rank, kneel upright with hands behind heads, eyes forward. John stands in front of them with his back to the overseers.

    “All you slaves know you are here because you keep defying authority.” He doesn’t yell, or condescend. “All you slaves know what some lashes feel like and either sorta like it or have short memories. At lights out you will all have felt stings and blows of half a dozen different reminders that the labor `your’ slavebody can make does not belong to you. I’m just talking normal and you can hear an echo so you can guess that when you and your fellow slaves start screaming that it’s going to sound like Hell in here.”

    Otter kneels, slave-straight like everyone else. He cannot argue that defiance is the reason he is here. Fear and fatigue at processing and initial training erase detailed memory from most slaves, particularly the younger ones. After about six months in the alabaster quarry, otter had adjusted to the routine enough that he no longer feared for his life on-site, had in fact been injured and spent a full two weeks in recovery.

    That time was dull as hell, but it showed him he wasn’t going to be worked to death or sent off to become dog food. He was never well behaved –

    his neighborhood in Raleigh was a factory of the barely contained. Puberty amped up his bad behavior and he turned to drinking and drugs and petty thievery. The petty thievery didn’t give him the buzz for long so he started to steal more valuable items. Then in an odd turn of semantics, he stole his own freedom besides.

    The first example

    John walks back to the men in the risers. He picks up a small box from the table containing the whips, opens it, and asks the nearest overseer to pull out a chip. “What’s the number?”

    “Twenty-Eight.”

    John removes a leach that is coiled to his belt and walks to the rank of slaves. He clips the leash to the middle slave in the sixth row.

    “Up and follow at a walk.”

    “Sir yes sir.” He is a well made medium capacity transport slave; not quite six feet, probably 80kg. He shows no visible fear as he walks upright with eyes straight ahead trusting the leash and listening for the sound of the overseer’s boots to stop instead of looking right at him.

    They stop at the standard post.

    “Wrists up and click them into the place on those hooks.”

    “Sir yes sir.” He moves his wrists into place as he says this. Slipping one of each wristcuff’s rings through the carabiner on either side of the 12×12 post, his wrists hang just above his head.

    “To be fully effective, the psychology of the session is as important as the physical. You will get more details in the next few days, but I’m going to go over some basics. Beating alone doesn’t work for human animals. Now …” a hand is raised. “Yes Peterson?”

    “Is it a good idea to talk about that with the slaves here? I mean won’t that kinda undo the psychology, sir?”

    “We’re not going over all of it here, but even what I do cover won’t change how effective it is. Just because they might now know the reason behind it doesn’t mean it won’t still have the same impact. Good question though.”

    He continues. “Though time is hugely important, if a slave deserves this level of punishment, and you are certain you can get the daily work done without it, then you can put it at post at any time and have it wait for as long as you want. Five minutes or five hours, without knowing when the punishment will start and stop will wear on it. Not knowing which lash you will use or how many you will give is even more stressful. You will learn guidelines for the different types, but it is left to your discretion.

    Mann?”

    “What about announcing how many then going past it, sir?”

    “Useful but something to be careful with, I can go over details at a break.

    Also a good question. How this will work. I’ll explain how to setup and use the different classes of lashes then you’ll grab a chip out of the box and that will be your slave for the day. There will be an instructor at each station to monitor your technique but they won’t actually step in unless what you are doing is either ineffective or dangerous; we will go into finer detail at the debrief later.”

    John grabs the six foot single-tail from the table. The length is measured from where it begins on the handle to where it tapers to a narrow point.

    “Most of the lashes we use are a mylar, nylon, rubber mix. They are durable and easier to keep clean. To make things simpler for you, they are weighted so they feel the same as the standard leather.” He moves to a spot of tape on the floor that marks six feet from the slave. “The length of the lash defines where you stand, so if it is six foot, like this one, you will stand a little more than six feet from the target, not the post.

    For those of you with longer than average arms, you will stand a bit further back. The idea is that eighteen to twenty-four inches of lash will be in contact with the target.”

    Anyone looking at the slave sees a sheen of sweat that hadn’t been there until now. It has felt this many times before but something about the explanation of the technique makes it new and thus frightening in a way it couldn’t foresee.

    “You’ve probably heard `let the whip do the work’ and that’s true in so far as it goes. There are basically three places to stand and where you stand determines how you swing. First, how not to do it.” He moves two paces to his left. He swings casually and the whip grazes the slave from shoulder to hip and it jumps and gives a little eek. And the men laugh lightly.

    “If that’s all you can do, then there are other jobs for you.” He walks back to the table and takes a football helmet with a clear Plexiglas visor from underneath. He puts it on the slave’s head and whispers into an ear hole, “This is going to be very bad but there will only be one.”

    He walks back to his previous spot. The slave cannot hear the details and is as confused as scared. For it, warnings have never come with compassion.

    “Swinging with your torso is the opposite of what you just saw. You may have seen others do it, and it has its place, but it isn’t something you are going to need to do often and something you will not do here. I put the helmet on it because there is a relatively high risk the lash will hit its face. And any chance of that means a chance that it hits the eye which is a very costly mistake. He raises his arm parallel to the floor and pauses for a beat then swings as if throwing a baseball. The lash wraps over the slave’s right shoulder with the tip hitting just above the nipple and full four feet of the lash is against the skin at that instant and in the next split second that length travels the same path the joke lash had taken, this time leaving a red, bloodless slash. It screams a lungful then pants. Two of the waiting slaves, otter being one, piss a bit but are able to stop before fully emptying the bladders – the scream echoing as it does is what they were warned, but a hellish sound like that isn’t something easy to prepare for.

    “That motion is usually done out of anger, which is not the mind frame we want you in. Mann?”

    “I understand that, but wouldn’t standing back a bit more and swinging like that mean it would hurt worse so it would get the point across better, sir?”

    “Actually no. For most of these punishments your point isn’t the highest pain possible. Instead it is something much harder to gauge but something that you will learn in time. It is a level of pain that they are likely to remember in detail for a long time. Intense pain is something we forget most of. We remember the most intense and the last moments usually, but after we recover we immediately begin forgetting the rest of it. If you’ve ever broken a bone you can relate. They are going to forget parts of any whipping, but the point is to make as much of it stay in the memory as possible. The kind of whipping you’re thinking about is something we tend to use as a deterrent for the ones in the audience more so than the one at the business end of one of these.”

    He returns to the slave and removes the helmet and inspects the slave’s chest and face to make sure nothing is bleeding. John puts the helmet back on the slave and returns to the table and removes a thick, crude leather vest and puts it on.

    “One last way not to do it. Since most of the time you will be swinging across your body, any lash longer than four feet can end up in a position for the infamous backlash. If you pull your arm back into its start position too fast there’s about a sixty percent chance that the whip will hit you somewhere along your back or side.” He swings the lash the correct way. The slave, ready this time, yelps but does not scream. John quickly moves his arm to its start position and they all hear a loud pop. “Hitting yourself hurts like hell of course, but it wounds your pride, and it breaks the seriousness of the session. This is another reason anger cannot be the mindset you are in. Once your arm has completed the motion, let the lash fall, then move your arm like this …” His hand starts at his left front pocket and he keeps the arm extended but moving against his body in a smooth arc, once the hand is just past the right hip, he flicks the wrist and that brings the lash back to the starting position.

    He puts the whip and the vest back. He unhooks the slave, leashes it and returns it to the ranks.

    “Get one of them to mop up the piss then take them out and water them.” He says to the two instructors at the door.

    That action begins as he returns to the risers. Each man grabs one of the boxes. Inside is a new four foot single-tail. John explains that not everyone in every type of job will get access to all lashes, but that everyone, regardless, got this as their standard issue. He puts leather pillows on the post and the T and X bars. He shows them the basic method:

    arm parallel to the floor then lifting to about forty-five degrees, swing quickly with the arm fully extended, and wrist relaxed but still as straight as possible without being rigid, hand ending the swing at the opposite pocket (right hand – left pocket). He shows them the most common stance (the one he used for the earlier examples) and the full side position: standing to the side so that the lash goes across instead of on the diagonally.

    “You usually have to stand a bit farther away using this stance because of the likelihood that the lash wraps around and the tip hits the post. The wrap around isn’t a problem but hitting the post is since it can wear the whip out faster. This isn’t an issue if the slave is hanging or in another position where no post is in the way. Jenkins?”

    “How do we tell when a whip is worn out, sir?”

    “For these if any part of the end of it breaks off. Also after each use you will clean them and if they fray past a certain point that I’ll show you in detail later. For the leather ones, the answer is more complicated but we will go over that in detail also.”

    He shows them the full straight position: standing exactly in line and swinging perpendicular to the floor as if serving a tennis ball. He explains that they would need to stand farther back for this one to be most effective so that the tip doesn’t go higher than just above the shoulder blades.

    “I used the six foot because you needed to see it first and the rules for it generally apply to the others. There are two exceptions and you will use those today and in the next few. The first is this knotted three-tailed flogger, the second is the slave cane. With all lashes follow through is just as important as if you throw a ball or swing a bat or racket; it’s how you reach maximum effectiveness for the energy you will expend. This is true for the cane as well.”

    He passes the box of chips around. “You will draw chips each day until the teams are set, it is possible to wind up with the same one each day.

    Riggart pick a number between one and forty that is not the one in your hand or 28.”

    “Nine.”

    “Have a seat. We’ll bring them in and I’ll show you the cane and flogger. Then you’ll use the standard issue, flogger, and cane on your slave.”

    He has them brought in but much closer to the risers this time. Before they kneel, John leashes nine and leads him to the spread horse. It is a hip high bench with slightly splayed legs and a padded vinyl covering with the same general curve as a good sized horse. This device uses carabiners like all posts, one on each leg. He kicks a wooden box from underneath and the slave hops up on the bench, arms and legs in a position to be attached to the carabiners. John clicks the restraints into place.

    “Most stable locations have these, but the remote locales usually don’t.

    You can use the cane if you like on any of the other posts and can uses whips on this one if you like – it isn’t restricted for the cane only.

    The main benefit to this horse is exposure to things you can’t get to with the others.” He grabs the slave’s hips and pulls him back, grabs the cock, pulls it free so it points down, then pushes him back almost in the same starting position. The slave sucks in air through its teeth.

    “Butthole and sac exposed. Specifically targeting those spots repeatedly isn’t recommended since infection risk is too high for the butthole and work slowing swelling too high for the sac, but hitting either a few times is fine.”

    John picks up a three foot rod from the table.

    “Same material as the whip, just stiffened. Traditional would be fine in a world where everyone used soap all the time, but not where you will be spending most of your time. Once again I’ll show you what not to do. The pop method is something you may have had used on you.” General laughter.

    “Great with kids, not so effective with slaves.” He does a quick smack allowing the cane to bounce off the middle of the ass leaving a pink welt an inch above the scrotum. The slave jerks against the carabiners and again sucks air in through clenched teeth but settles quickly.

    “See, not the reaction we want. Follow through here just like with everything else.” He steps away from the horse a bit and swings as he did before but this time brings his arm to the same finish position as with the lash. This time there is an ear splitting screech and heavy panting and a puddle of piss.

    To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

  • Next Day!!!

    THE NEXT DAY

    He left about 8:00 AM and the place seemed especially quiet after he was gone.  I took a few minutes to consider what had happened, how easily it fell into place and how comfortable it was.  I had surprised myself and just thinking about him made me hard.  Then I remembered that I had video of the bedroom scene.  I ran upstairs and disconnected the camera from the stand and took it downstairs to the large screen T.V. After plugging in the camera and finding the right clip I hit the play button and there, big as life, was this man submitting to me, on the table, with his ass in the air at perfect camera height.  I watched myself eat out his ass and I had my dick out and in my hand stroking my raging hard on.  I had already come by the time I watched myself put the butt plug in his ass.  I stopped the tape and rested my head back on the couch.  I couldn’t believe this was happening to me.

    I pushed myself up and headed back outside to focus on the flower beds and distract myself from this fantasy that had completely taken over my life in less than twelve hours.  About forty-five minutes into my digging my phone vibrated.  I stopped and looked down and saw that I had a text from Dave.  

    Can I come again tonight sir?

    Immediately I felt myself stir to a raging hardon and in spite of how sore I was I knew that I wanted him back.  I had been thinking of nothing else but that bamboo stick and seeing how much he could handle. I decided to text back.

    You did not have permission to contact me. You will have to be punished.  You understand that?

    I waited a few minutes for a response.

    Yes sir, came his response.

    How many whips with the bamboo stick should a bad boy have? I texted back as my head raged with thoughts of him submitting to being spanked.

    I waited for about 10 minutes before I felt my phone vibrate again.

    Only one sir. I will not do it again sir.

    Again my cock strained to raging hard as I realized that he was scared of the stick and he was still willing to come.  I texted back,

    Same rules as last night but wait in the kitchen. I will decide how many lashes bad boys get.

    He texted back almost immediately

    Yes sir

    ****

    My day ended and I was tired from the digging and from very little sleep the night before.  Yet, I anticipated the arrival of Dave and while I waited I played with the idea of showering or not showering. I’d been working outside all day so I was ripe. I wasn’t sure how much I would like a stinky, sweaty guy, but I was very clear that this was a turn on for some. So, I decided to go with skank to see how Dave would react. Without needing a shower I decided to relax and patiently wait for the sound of crunching gravel.

    Like the night before, I had the lights out, music on, and family room set up.  Dave came in and immediately undressed. He was even more unsure of himself and in the dark he glanced furtively around trying to obtain any information as to the nature of his experience. I couldn’t believe he had come back knowing he would be spanked.  I was a little unsure how to proceed. I didn’t have a plan.  

    Dave quickly put on the blindfold and moved into the middle of the kitchen. He put his hands between his legs and stood nervously and showed that he was uncomfortable and scared. His willingness to be vulnerable made every part of me want him even more. I moved into the kitchen and very slowly I began to caress him, pinched a nipple, slapped his balls, rubbed his ass and watched him get hard.  I took the bamboo stick and very carefully rubbed it all over him and watched his dick go limp.  

    I took him by the arm into the family room where I had placed the massage table.  I leaned him over the table and clipped his wrist to chains that I clipped to his ankles. He was able to lean on the table and there was enough room to move a little but he was spread eagle over the table. I walked to where his head hung over the table and rubbed my crotch in his face.  Immediately he started licking and sucking on my dick through my jeans. I slowly unbuckled my belt, unzipped my pants and shoved my crotch back into his face. I could hear him breathing in through his nose in big gulps then standing on his toes and flicking his tongue around my crotch as far as it would go into my pants. He was moaning as I held his head into my crotch and just let him smell me. Then I took out my dick and shoved it into his mouth.  He sucked on my cock like a hungry calf on a teat and I almost shot down his throat.  From my position I saw that he was also hard and squirming because he couldn’t touch himself.

    I pulled out and quickly walked around the table and took a quick, hard swing with the stick on his ass.  He jumped and screamed and tried to get away but he was chained to his ankles over the table.  He stopped and rested on the table.  His legs were shaking and he was sweating all over and he had one long, red welt on his ass. He let out a small sob from deep inside and I froze. Immediately my dick went soft and I freaked a little because I had already pushed him too far and I had no idea what to do. I decided to let myself just act without thinking and I walked to the table and put my hand on his head and I began to rub it softly.  He pushed his head into my hand and whimpered a little as he relaxed even more.

    “May I speak sir?” he whispered to me.

    “Of course,” I say with my mouth next to his ear.

    “I think I need one more, sir. So I learn.”

    “Are you sure?” I asked because I was not thinking.

    “Please, sir,” he whispered back

    I rubbed his head and whispered to him, “You are the best boy.  Such a good boy.”

    Then I walked slowly around the table and I saw him stiffen and hold his breath. I took the bamboo stick and rubbed it on his thighs, on his back and his ass.  He was standing on his toes and I could see that he was hard again. I reached under him and felt his raging cock throb in my hands. I began to massage his dick and very slowly I felt him get closer and closer to his edge until he was shaking and he whispered, “please sir…please.”

    He began to clench as he started to come and I squeezed his dick one more time and felt him start to shoot then I felt the warm, hot liquid shoot into my hand and I let loose with the bamboo stick on his ass and he shot an extra wad, screamed and collapsed onto the table.  I stood shivering and watching him on the table, shackled and welted, and breathing heavy. I felt compelled to stop and unshackle him and take care of him. I was moving towards him when he snapped his head up and with his mouth open and gaping he searched for my cock. He didn’t say a word but his intentions were clear and who was I to not reward.  

    I walked over to him and once again pushed his face into my crotch.  I pushed my jeans down to my knees and let him have his way as he licked and sucked on me until my head was spinning. Then I felt him try to tongue my ass so I turned around spread my sweaty cheeks and he moaned even more as he ate out my ass.  His tongue was working its way around my hole and  my balls were burning. I felt his tongue go deep inside and I moaned then he moaned and I felt my guts clench. I turned around and he opened his mouth like a baby bird and moaned and reached with his lips for my cock so I plunged it into his mouth and grabbed his head as I shot my whole load down his throat. He gagged once, swallowed and sucked me dry in one try and then took a breath and once again a slight sob came from his throat as he said very quietly, “thank you sir

  • My first Blowjob

    He looked around the dark parking lot nervously and smiled when he was sure we were alone.

    The sound of his zipper echoed inside my head as he reached into his pants and fished out his cock. It was still just semi-erect but already long and thick with a swollen purple head that glistened with pre-cum. I could feel my mouth water with anticipation. I’d never seen another man’s hard cock before and before I met Barbara I’d never imagined I that I’d ever want to but she had changed that in a big way. 

    Barbara and I met on line and it was immediately apparent that we had tremendous chemistry. The first time we met in person we had a marathon weekend where we had sex eight times in 36 hours. We fucked hard and fast. We made sweet sensuous love. When we weren’t having hot passionate sex we were talking about it. We explored our fantasies and talked about what turned us on and what didn’t. She admitted to being bisexual and told me that she’d love to watch me with another woman and then share her with me. 

    “What about the other way,” she’d asked innocently as we lay in bed covered with sweat. “Would you watch me with another guy?” 

    “That could be hot,” I answered honestly. I’d never dreamed of a threesome with another guy but at that moment it seemed very hot and not just because my beautiful girlfriend was naked beside me with a lust filled gaze on her pretty face. 

    “Would you double team me with another guy,” she asked as her hands slid down her curvaceous body from her shapely breasts across her nearly flat tummy to her hips and smooth shaved pussy. Her body was thin and curvy in a way only god could create. “I have always wanted two cocks to play with,” she continued, “would you do that for me.”

    “Yes,” I replied as my recently spent cock started to stir back to life. 

    “I’m gonna cum baby,” she wailed loudly. “Tell me you’d do it baby. Tell me you’d suck cock for meee,” Barbara cried out loudly as wave after powerful wave crashed through her body. 

    “I’ll do it baby,” I told her as I furiously stroked my throbbing cock. “I’ll suck a cock for you and with you baby.”

    “Will you swallow his cum?” Barbara asked excitedly. Her eyes were closed tight and I knew she was picturing me swallowing a load of hot cum from our fantasy lover. 

    “Yes baby,” I groaned as cum flew from my spasming cock. Squealing happily, she scooped up my cum with her finger and pushed it into my mouth. 

    “Here…taste it,” Barbara chuckled softly. Here pretty green eyes were wide with excitement as she watched me clean my cum off her fingers. 

    Sadly we never lived out our fantasy because we broke up a month later. The passion we had in bed was intense but our relationship was volatile and we fought constantly whenever we weren’t having sex. I continued to date other women after we broke up and while the sex was good it paled by comparison to what I had with Barbara and I continued to fantasize about cock. 

    “Is this what you want?” he asked softly snapping me back to reality. My eyes widened as I looked at his cock. He had pushed his pants down to his knees revealing his smooth well groomed cock and balls. His name was Dean and we’d met less than an hour earlier in a bar just a few hundred yards away. It was a straight sports bar but somehow he had known that I was willing prey as I sat alone watching a football game. 

    Dean had sat down beside me and struck up an innocent conversation about sports. When I finished my beer he bought me another. It was an unfamiliar gesture. I’d never had a man buy me a drink and despite the fact that he didn’t seem gay to me I was pretty sure he was trying to pick me up. When he bought me a second drink I asked, “Are you trying to get me drunk?” 

    “Would it work,” Dean responded as he looked into my eyes. He had a serious look with an intriguing sparkle in his eyes. 

    “It might,” I had confessed. I’d never imagined being picked up by a guy. In my fantasies there was always a girl present directing the action. There was no girl but opportunity was staring me right in the face. “Or maybe,” I hesitated as I debated with my conscience, “you don’t have to.”

    Five minutes later Dean and I left the bar together. I didn’t know what surprises the night held but I was ready to take a leap and fulfill a fantasy or two. 

    “God yes,” I answered his query as I slowly reached out to touch his hard cock. It jutted straight out from a thick nest of black pubic hair and begged for my attention. 

    My fingers trembled slightly as I touched his warm flesh causing Dean to moan softly when I squeezed his thick shaft. I was nervous but incredibly turned on. 

    “So you’ve never?” Dean asked as he saw me wrestling with the concept of a taboo fantasy becoming reality. 

    “No,” I said quickly, my voice was unsteady that it sounded foreign to me. “But I’ve thought about it a lot,” I confessed. “You have a beautiful cock,” I continued. 

    “Get down and take a closer look,” he said playfully as he held his dick in his right hand and slowly waived it in the pale moonlight. 

    I slowly sank to my knees on the rough pavement with my eyes glued to his long thick cock. It was absolutely gorgeous. It was about 7 inches long, thick with a big mushroom head and veins popping out along its length. As I slowly moved my mouth toward Dean’s cock my body tingled with anticipation. 

    “Not yet,” Dean teased. “Touch it first. Get familiar with it,” he coached as his hand ran slowly up his hard shaft. It was an incredibly lewd yet sensuous gesture and it made my body shudder with excitement. 

    I wrapped my fingers around his throbbing cock and slowly stroked it. The skin was incredibly soft and its combination with the granite hardness of the shaft was very erotic. My fist worked up and down the shaft as a drop of pre-cum oozed from its slit. It begged for my lips. I looked up at him and Dean smiled brightly. 

    “Go ahead,” Dean nodded with a smile as he sensed my desire. 

    I flicked my tongue out and licked the pre-cum off his spongy purple head. The taste was familiar yet different from my own. It tasted likewise salty yet much sweeter than the many times that I’d licked and swallowed my own cum. I closed my eyes and moaned softly. The reality of the situation made the experience much more powerful than any fantasy that I’d created since my moment of discovery with Barbara. 

    “Its good isn’t it,” chuckled Dean as his hands found the side of my head. It was a simple gesture but with it he established his role as the person in control. That simple act calmed my nerves. 

    I looked up at him and smiled. “Yes, it’s delicious,” I answered honestly. My lips parted and Dean’s cock head slowly eased between them as I continued to look up at his smoldering dark eyes. Dean was a good looking guy with chiseled features and a bright smile but I wasn’t interested in his face. All I wanted was his cock. 

    I tightened my lips against his thick cock and slowly moved my head down taking half of his hard cock into my mouth. I could feel the head against the back of my throat and the sensation was incredible. As his pubic hair tickled my nose and lips, my hands slid around his body and grabbed his strong muscular ass. 

    “Oh fuck,” Dean whispered. It was clear that he liked what I was doing and that sent a wicked thrill through my body. I was finally doing it…taking another man’s cock in my mouth…and it was even better than I’d ever imagined. 

    I backed off his cock until just the head was in my mouth. My tongue swirled around it as I sucked hard, drawing more blood to his engorged cock. 

    Dean moaned so loud that for a moment I worried that someone would hear us but my worry passed as my mouth sank back down on his big cock. I felt his cock slid deeper into my throat as I took 3/4 of his long shaft into my mouth. I could smell his male essence as my nose neared his crotch and my own dick throbbed relentlessly inside the confines of my pants. 

    “Just like that,” Dean groaned helplessly as I backed off his delicious dick again and swirled my tongue around the drooling head. The world around me disappeared. Pre-cum oozed steadily from his cock and its flavor spurred me on. I forced my head all the way down until my nose was buried in his short well groomed thatch of fur. 

    Dean’s hands gripped the sides of my head, keeping his cock buried down my throat. 

    “Oh god,” he moaned loudly. 

    My hands gripped his ass cheeks and tears streamed down my cheeks as I fought my gag reflex. When I released his butt cheeks and backed off his cock so I could take a deep breath. 

    “You are a natural,” moaned Dean as I swirled my tongue around his cock head and sucked hard on the thick throbbing cock. 

    “Thank you,” I moaned softly as I continued to slurp his big dick. I forced his big cock back down my throat and started to fuck it with my mouth. My hands grabbed his ass cheeks again as I bounced my head on his hard cock. 

    “Don’t stop,” Dean moaned loudly. Anyone nearby would surely hear him but I didn’t care. I was a cock whore, a cum slut and I wanted his hot load. 

    His hands held my head steady and his cock thrust into my mouth hard and fast, his pubic hair brushing my nose with each powerful thrust. His breathing was ragged and unsteady. 

    “Cum for me,” I thought as he fucked my mouth hard and deep. “God please cum for me.” I was wanton and randy. I wanted his cum more than anything I could ever imagine. 

    When Dean suddenly stiffened all over and cried, “I’m cumming,” I dug my nails into his taunt butt-cheeks, spurring him on. Burying his dick deep in my mouth, Dean erupted against the back of my throat, several bursts of cum flowing in quick succession. I almost chocked on the first blast, but quickly adjusted my throat muscles to claim the remainder more easily. I wolfed it down, slurping as much cum as his balls had to offer.

    Dean pushed me off his dick and tucked it back into his pants as I slowly came down from the euphoria of my sexual high. I hadn’t cum yet but I felt completely satisfied as I savored the flavor of his cum in my mouth.

    “Thanks,” he said curtly. 

    A myriad of female voices around me snapped me out of my euphoric state and my head snapped around to see five women with camera phones watching me on my knees. One had a plastic tiara and a veil and the other four were dressed in short skirts and low cut tops. My cheeks flushed red and I wanted to disappear. I wiped my mouth and looked up at them unsure what they would say or do. 

    “It’s the best bachelorette party ever in the history of bachelorette parties!” exclaimed the chubby blonde girl in the tiara. 

    “That was so hot,” the other girls exclaimed as they staggered toward a long white limo parked at the parking lot entrance. “Thanks for the show.”

    As I slowly got to my feet, I noticed that Dean was gone. I looked around but saw no sign of the Dean…the man who’d just changed my life forever. I walked slowly to my car with a raging erection straining in my pants. I knew I would suck cock again. I had to, I was hooked…I was now a cocksucker. The end…

    To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

  • Luke’s Brutal Abduction

    Luke thrashed and twisted in his sleep, his bed like quicksand as he got ever more hopelessly entangled in his sheets. He struggled against invisible forces, knocking his pillows to the floor and scaring the cat off her corner of the bed.

    In his dream he was in a strange room, his hands and arms held down by invisible men. The more he struggled, the more of them there were, putting their knees on his forearms and their hands on his chest, making sure he couldn’t escape.

    “You want this,” a voice whispered.

    “No…” he protested. But in his heart he knew he didn’t mean it. It was what he was supposed to say, what he was supposed to feel. He wasn’t supposed to be so excited by it.

    Then one of the men straddled his chest, his crotch in Luke’s face. “You want this.”

    “Yes!”

    He woke with a shout. He bolted up, breathing hard. What the fuck! He looked at his phone – shit, four o’clock in the morning. Too early to get up and too late to go back to sleep. He lay back down but the sheets were cold and clammy now. He rolled over to the other, dry side of the bed. But now his hard-on was aching, and his bladder, too.

    He got up to piss, trying to will away his boner. That dream again, he thought. How many times now? He finally got sick of waiting to go soft, and stuck his dick over the sink and splashed cold water on it. That did the trick, and then he let out a sigh as the stream rushed into the bowl. He smiled – pissing in the bathroom sink, how bachelor was that?

    He started his morning, firing up the coffee and the computer, trying to shake off the scene in his head. Where did that crazy ass dream come from? he thought, and another part of him laughed. You know where, it said.

    Yeah, he did. From that movie.

    He’d been torrenting porn for a while now. His roommate Terry had turned him on to how easy it was to get professional grade stuff for free. And at first, when he was ready to stroke it, he’d just plunge into whatever he’d downloaded. But time after time he found his hand coming off his dick and onto the mouse to skip ahead in the movies, looking for the good parts. Most of the time he would just finish off while watching a half-assed onscreen fucking.

    If ever there was a case study on false advertising, porn was it – at least gay porn, though he didn’t imagine the straight stuff was any different. “Kyler Pounds Jaxxsin,” “Brutal Top Micah Nails Patrick,” etc. – all accompanied with descriptions full of equally thrilling adverbs.

    “And then, when you watch it, it’s like, what the fuck?” He’d complained to Terry one night as they sat on the couch watching the baseball playoffs. “Some guy sprawled on a bed, getting an indifferent blow job, then the bottom sits on his dick for a while. You call that a ‘pounding’?”

    “No, I don’t,” Terry said.

    “Why the fuck is it so hard to find one guy who loves to truly fuck the shit out of another guy, and another guy who loves to get it, and pay them to do it on camera?”

    “Maybe most people want to see that poochie ooh la la sex. They don’t like the nasty shit like we do.”

    “Then why do they advertise it like you’re gonna get Sodom and Gomorrah? Why…” He threw up his hands. “I tell you what, dude. You know what I like.”

    Terry laughed. “Hell yeah I do.”

    They’d met in a bar when Luke had seen Terry fighting with Tim, one of Luke’s exes, and after Tim had stormed out, Luke had talked to him to compare notes. They both had the same problem with Tim – he was a rude dominating bastard in the bedroom, which was what they both loved, but he was also a rude dominating bastard everywhere else, which, well, not so much. Why was it so hard to find someone who knew when to be Jekyll and when to be Hyde?

    Luke had raised his beer to swear an oath. “I will pay you the sum of one hundred dollars if you can find me a piece of pornography that gets me off so hard I can’t walk. I will pay you to find me a fucking movie that really does have someone pounding that fucking nail into that ass exactly as hard as they promise.”

    Terry clinked his beer against Luke’s. “Brother, you are on.”

    Luke had forgotten about the deal for a couple of weeks. Porn was low on his priorities list right now. He was busy on a bunch of freelance web design projects, so there just wasn’t time. And he didn’t have the patience, either, to comb through pages of porn titles, download a handful, and click through them looking for something that would get him off, only to end up deleting them all and having to start over next time he was horny.

    Lately he just jacked off in the shower (Terry did too so it was no biggie), thinking of his and Terry’s mutual ex, Tim. What a fucking beast he had been…too bad he was an asshole, too.

    Then one day he was in the home office he shared with Terry when his roomie came in, a feverish look on his face. “Dude.”

    “What’s wrong?”

    Terry smiled. “Nothing. Nothing…at…all.”

    “Did you just jerk off?”

    “Yeah. Oh yeah. In fact, I think….I know I just won our bet.”

    “What bet?”

    “You bet me a hundred bucks I couldn’t find a movie that would get you off.”

    “Well you haven’t won it yet.” He turned back to his project. “Put it on a stick for me and I’ll look at it later.”

    “Don’t wait too long. I need that money for the weekend.”

    “Yeah, yeah,” Luke waved him off.

    That night after he finished his work for the day, he shut himself in the bedroom and put the memory stick into his computer. He opened the folder and saw the file name: JAMIE’S BRUTAL ABDUCTION. Whatever. He double clicked it to open it and set VLC to full screen.

    Jamie walks a deserted street, fiddling with his MP3 player, earbuds in deep. He doesn’t see the van slowly pulling up next to him. Suddenly the van stops and two men jump out, dressed all in black from their ski masks to their Doc Martens. They yank a hood over the surprised man’s head and roughly haul him into the van…

    On a dirty mattress in an old warehouse, Jamie finds himself handcuffed, surrounded by men still in their ski masks, their pants popping open, their cocks shoved down his throat…they egg each other on, abusing him, using him, taking a knife to his jeans and cutting a vertical rip right over his asshole. He screams as one of the kidnappers shoves his fingers up his ass, a scream muffled by a hand over his mouth, then by the cock shoved down his gullet like a gag…

    Luke still had his shorts on, not expecting to be this excited, and now his stiff cock strained up, bumping up against the elastic as if trying to bust out of prison on its own if he wouldn’t help it out. He pulled his shorts down, not taking his eyes off the screen, and started stroking his dick.

    A door slams, and the men look up at the intruder. “What the fuck is this!” he shouts, clearly the alpha dog. He’s the only one without a mask, no shirt, torn jeans and black boots. “You fuckers think you’re gonna leave me sloppy seconds?” He grabs the guy getting his dick sucked and throws him down on the floor, giving him a kick.

    “We were just warming him up for you, boss,” the man complains.

    “This bitch is mine, assholes. Now get the fuck out.”

    Luke is gasping for air. The dude is a fucking god: lean, hairless and ripped, a dark scowl on his face, dark brown hair and eyes. A slightly receding hairline that makes him look like he’s got horns. The USMC tattoo on his forearm is the kicker for Luke – a real honest-to-God Marine, how fucking hot is that?

    He is pissed. He stalks around his prey, pushing his bitch bottom this way and that with his booted foot, then leans over in front of him, picking him up by the jaw, looks into his eyes. For a minute Jamie must think he’s about to get kissed. Then his kidnapper smirks, spits in his face, and follows it up with a sharp slap from the other hand. He shoves the cock whore’s face into the mattress with one hand and grabs his own crotch with the other, kneading his obvious woody.

    The dude is so turned on by this scene. This isn’t acting. This is what he fucking loves to do. He is a fucking pro at working over little faggots like this. He’d fucking make this movie for free.

    Luke couldn’t believe the tension in his prostate. His asshole was like a black hole, getting smaller and smaller and tighter and tighter like it could suck in the whole universe, all his mansex parts clenching with adrenalized strength like they were ready to lift a car, and then BANG he fucking shot all over the screen, the keyboard, the desk. “Ah, AHH! AHHH!” he shouted, completely forgetting his roomie was home, and completely not caring.

    “Oh shit,” he gasped, convulsing one more time as the action went on, getting crazier every second. He stopped the video, not wanting to spoil what came next by watching it with a limp dick in hand.

    He wiped himself down in the bathroom and did what he could to clean up the computer. Oh shit, I got cum in the keyboard, I hope that doesn’t fuck anything up too bad.

    Only when he opened his bedroom door to get some wipes did he realize Terry was home. Home, and sitting on the couch with a shit-eating grin.

    “That’ll be one hundred dollars.” He laughed. “I’ll take a check.”

    What Luke loved best about being his own boss was making his own schedule. And these days that meant making lots of time for “Jamie’s Brutal Abduction,” and his growing obsession with the star, Slader Jacobs. He found a short interview on YouTube where Slader, sitting on a park bench with his shirt off, answered a few questions.

    “So tell us about your tats. Is that Elvish around your arm?”

    “Yeah, that’s the One Ring, man.”

    “… ‘and in the darkness bind them,’ is that your motto?”

    “One of ’em.”

    “And you were in the Marines?”

    “Yeah,” he said, rubbing his taut smooth belly. “Couple years.”

    “You get it on with some of the other jarheads?”

    Slader laughed. “You gotta ask? Man, they jack you up in there to be the most aggressive motherfucker on the planet, you’re working out all the time, you’re always watching war movies, and when you’re just sitting there waiting for something to happen and you can’t shoot anything, what the fuck do you do with all that aggression? It’s just you and a bunch of bored young horny motherfuckers in top shape, man, band of brothers, who’s going to ever tell on a brother if he sucks a dick to help a brother out?”

    “So you’re really gay?”

    He shrugged. “No, I’m not gay, I’m not straight.” He grinned his feral grin. “I’m horny.”

    “So I hear you have a side business…”

    “Yeah, porn doesn’t pay that much, you know, and I’m not stupid, people get sick of looking at you and move on, you get old, you get fat, whatever. But after I did this one big hit…”

    “‘Jamie’s Brutal Abduction.’”

    “Yeah, that one. After that, guys in bars would start asking me if I’d kidnap ’em. Offering me serious fucking money to do it, too. So I thought about that, and I realized, you know, I’m not going to be an escort, I’m not gonna fuck guys for money, but if somebody wants to pay for that experience, for the ‘everything but,’ you know, that’s hot. I can do that.”

    Luke froze in his seat. Not only had he found the hottest guy in the world in the hottest movie ever, but he could be in that movie. It could be him on that dirty mattress, naked and bound…Okay so maybe he wouldn’t be getting all those cocks in his throat and his ass, but fuck! Some of the hottest tops he’d ever been with had never stuck their dicks in him, just fucking abused and tormented him with his own frustrated lust until he popped. And that experience would last him through a hundred jerkoff sessions at least.

    “So you must be busy then.”

    “Not really, man. It’s an expensive proposition. There’s a lot of overhead you know? A van, the other guys, a dirty basement to put the little faggot for a day or two, not everyone can afford it. And a lot of people call, you know, they want me to talk about the process and how it’ll go for them and then they fucking jack off and my time’s wasted. So I charge $500 now just to have the conversation, and if you’re serious it’s a down payment, if you’re not, fuck you pay me,” he laughed.

    “Well, thanks for your time, Slader. How can people get a hold of you?”

    “Google me, man. Not that hard.”

    Luke Googled. He found Slader’s website, and skipped all the “About Me” and “Gallery” and “Movies” links and went straight to “Services.”

    NON SEXUAL kidnap fantasy service. You know what this is or you wouldn’t be here. It’s $3,000. Send me $500 via PayPal and I’ll call you.

    Damn, that was a lot of money. Three thousand bucks…he could get a lot of new equipment for that. Take a nice long vacation. Or make a memory to last a lifetime.

    He logged into PayPal. He looked at the message box on the Send Money page. What to say? I love your movie. I fucking worship you. I would pay ANYTHING to get you to fuck me like that, and if I can’t get that, I want to get as close to it as I can.

    Like he doesn’t know that, if you’re sending him five hundred dollars just to talk about it! Instead, he just wrote his name and his phone number and clicked Send.

    When a week passed and he hadn’t heard anything, he started cycling between glum, angry, and optimistic. He’s a porn star, his sensible side told him. Not exactly the most stable people in the world. Yeah but I paid five hundred dollars for a fucking phone call! How hard is that to do, to take fucking five minutes of time? Maybe it’s part of the game, he told himself. Maybe it’s his way of showing you he’s in control. He hoped for the latter.

    The phone rang one day while he was out running errands. He looked at the number – blocked – and almost didn’t answer it. Could be a new client, though, he thought, and ducked into an alley to muffle the traffic noise on the busy street.

    “Hello?”

    “So you want to get kidnapped.” The voice was smooth, a little contemptuous.

    “Y…yeah,” he stuttered, his throat suddenly dry.

    “Why?”

    “The movie. I can’t stop jerking off to it.”

    “Why’s that.”

    “It’s…” He knew just saying “it’s hot” was the wrong answer, the boring stupid answer. He could already tell from Slader’s bored tone that he would have to work just to keep him on the line.

    “I finally found a movie that delivers what it promises. They all say rough this and hard that, and it’s all bullshit. You fucking take that guy and truly gang-bang him. It’s not acting. His face, man, he’s in real pain when you shove your dick in him. I mean you fucking shove that big piece in there, with one stroke. And you. You love it. The more he bucks and the more it hurts, the harder you grab him, the harder you shove his face into the mattress.”

    Luke sighed. “I’m sick of it, you know? I’m sick of fucking half-ass sex and half-ass guys. And even if this is ‘everything but,’ fuck man, everything but is still hotter than anything else I’m getting these days.”

    The silence on the end of the line seemed to go on forever. Then Slader said, “So you’d fucking love it if right now someone drove up and blocked that alley you’re standing in and threw you into a van.”

    Luke’s blood pressure soared. He was watching me right now! How the fuck could he find me with just… He thought about it. “Just” his phone number and email address and name.

    “Yeah man. Yeah.”

    Another silence, shorter this time. “Well, that ain’t gonna happen.” Luke let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Relieved and disappointed at the same time. “Because you pay in full first.”

    “Okay.”

    “You’ll get 24 hours notice. So when you disappear, nobody freaks and calls the cops. Sometime the day after you get the call, it happens. And that’ll be when I’m good and ready.”

    “How…how long will I be gone?”

    “How long you wanna be gone?”

    “A day..a night…?”

    “Okay, I might let you out that soon. Better tell people you’ll be gone a couple days.”

    “Okay.”

    “Non sexual, right? You’re aware that this is a perfectly legal operation?”

    “Yeah.”

    “I’m emailing you a consent form. Gotta protect myself.”

    “Okay.”

    “Be ready.” He hung up.

    “You seem jittery,” Terry said one day.

    “Lot on my mind, lot going on.”

    “You okay?”

    “Yeah, yeah.” It was killing him not to tell his friend, but that had been part of the deal. Nobody must know. And to be honest, telling someone would make it a game, a lark. Keeping the secret made it…dangerous. Exciting. Because who knew, what if this guy was a psycho? What if it wasn’t a game? His instincts told him it would be okay, this was a legitimate business that had a fucking lawyer drawing up contracts…even as another part of him thought, something, everything could go wrong.

    Another week passed. He was out to dinner with friends one night, and they’d long ago agreed to silence their phones and pile them in the middle of the table when the first drinks arrived, and not look at them until after the bill was settled. Which was killing him, thinking, what if he’s calling now, what if he’s expecting me to pick up? What if I don’t answer, is the deal off?

    After dinner, he was a little wobbly from the wine. He’d been eating light for a week now, telling himself it was a good time to cut back, but the reality of it was, he was hoping against hope that his “non-sexual” experience would turn out all kinds of sexual, and who wanted to be stuffed full of food when that happened?

    He checked his phone – just a text. He clicked it open.

    You’ve been called out of town on business. You’re leaving tomorrow night. We’ll find you. Take a long walk around midnight tomorrow.

    Already flushed from the wine, Luke turned red. “Bad news,” someone asked him.

    “No, no. Great news.”

    The next day, Luke made a big deal out of packing a carry bag as if he was going somewhere he’d need all that shit. He hooked up the douchenozzle to the shower and cleaned himself out a couple times. All for nothing, sure, no doubt, non sexual, but what if, what if…

    He left the house at 11. The streets in his neighborhood were pretty quiet this time of night. He wanted to turn around every time he heard a car slow down alongside him, willed himself not to. He would see a white van parked on the street and would think, is this it? He never thought about how damn many of those there were before – now they seemed to be everywhere. He suppressed the urge to cross the street when he saw one, some animal part of him ordering him to flee from danger.

    Twelve passed, and he walked some more. Then it was nearly one o’clock. Fuck! He was getting tired, the adrenaline wearing off. He saw activity ahead of him and it surged again for a moment, before he realized it was just some guys offloading boxes out of a panel truck in front of an all night deli. No masks, no hoods, just some working class guys doing their job. He was starting to feel stupid about the whole thing.

    He was just passing by when one of the guys dropped a box in front of him. Bottles broke and he was splashed with some kind of red juice. “Oh, sorry man, shit that got on you. Let me get a towel.”

    “No, that’s fine, I’m okay.”

    “No, here,” he said, reaching into the truck. Luke followed him off the curb and looked in the back.

    Hands reached out and grabbed him, while the guy behind him gave him a push. Before he knew it, the door was rolled down shut behind him, the engine roared to life, his arms were wrenched behind him and handcuffed. He was thrown down hard onto on the metal floor of the truck, his head bumped hard against the side. Then he heard Slader Jacobs’ voice in his ear as the truck sped off.

    “Don’t. Fucking. Move.”

    The shock was wearing off and the adrenaline kicking in. He was breathing hard and fast – as hard as he could with a knife to his throat. He could feel the edge of the blade nicking his skin. He was afraid to swallow.

    The knife came away after he’d proven he wouldn’t shout, and a hood was drawn over his head – burlap, painfully scratchy on his face, and he could feel it being tied close around his neck. What the fuck have I gotten myself into, he thought, pulse racing.

    He was on his knees, trying to keep his balance as best he could with his hands behind his back as the truck took its turns and swings. He had no idea how many men were in the truck with him.

    Finally they stopped somewhere. Two men up front, he realized, as he heard both doors slam. The rear door rolled up and he was picked up by two guys like a bag of potatoes and handed to the others on the ground. They each took an arm and led him. He heard keys, then a padlock clicking, a chain tick-ticking as it came off a fence, and a gate swinging open. They rushed him, pulling him forward so he stumbled, his feet dragging behind him, all his senses wanting him to stop in his tracks because they couldn’t tell where he was going.

    A big creaky door opened and he was being taken down steps. Ten, twelve, fourteen, he counted. It was basement-cold, the fifty-something degrees a basement always. It was brightly lit, he could tell through the burlap. Then, suddenly, it wasn’t – the lights were off. The two men on either side of him shoved him to his knees and took off the bag.

    Slader’s three accomplices were lean and fit, one of them built like a brick shithouse. Luke wondered if they were all Marines, and started to get hard thinking about it. All of them wore masks now, except Slader. Luke hadn’t had a long enough chance to see their faces on the street, paying attention as they’d intended to the stain on his pants, and now he would never see them.

    “Take off his shoes,” Slader said, and they stripped them off his feet. Slader stood in front of him, his cock at eye level. “You’re our prisoner now, you understand?”

    “Yes.”

    Slader slapped him, hard. His head turned with the impact.

    “Try again, faggot.”

    “Yes, sir.”

    “There you go. You see that?” he said, and Luke turned to look. There was a dirty old mattress (just like the movie, he thought), and a big metal ring embedded in the wall above it. “That’s your new home. You behave, you get treated well. You don’t…” He slapped him again. “You get it?”

    “Yes, sir.” Luke’s skin was stinging from the blow, but his cock was starting to throb.

    “Take off his pants,” Slader commanded. They unbuckled, unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, then threw him face down on the mattress and pulled them off, leaving him bare from the waist down save for his white socks.

    Slader laughed. “Shit, look at that. Fucking queer went out tonight without his skivvies. What was he hoping to get?” He straddled Luke and shoved his face into the mattress, leaning down to stage-whisper in his ear. “What did I tell you, son? Non. Fucking. Sexual. You don’t get any cock in that ass, you hear? Fucking pig.”

    The rest of them laughed. “Look at that ass,” one said. “I’d fuck it. I’d fucking wreck it.”

    “Yeah, well you aren’t getting paid to wreck it. I’m a legitimate businessman now. Fix him up there.”

    They took off his handcuffs, yanked off his t-shirt, and brought out a set of chains. They threaded the chain through the ring in the wall and started wrapping it tightly around his wrists as they held them behind his back. They knew what they were doing; there was just enough chain to wrap each wrist four times, then they padlocked the chain on each side, securing the last link to one above it. He was on his ass now, his arms held behind him but loosely. He could move a little, could sit down, but he wasn’t going far.

    Suspended above him was a water jug with a long sipper, like something you’d give a hamster, Luke thought. “Make sure he can reach it,” Slader said. “Don’t want no dead bodies stinkin’ up the place.”

    Luke had to prove he could pull a drink of water off the sipper before they were satisfied. Slader nodded. “Okay, good work, let’s get a beer. We’ll be back for you later. Maybe.” They all laughed and headed up the stairs.

    They left one light on, a dim bulb over the stairs. As his eyes adjusted, he looked around his prison. There was a TV on the wall in front of him, and a single speaker to the left to the mattress. Other than the water bottle, that was it. He was naked, cold, and scared.

    And horny as fuck. Being manhandled like that had given him a raging boner. It had been almost exactly like the movie…until now. Until instead of unzipping their own pants and shoving their cocks down his throat, they’d just…walked out.

    Suddenly the TV came to life. Then a movie started. He almost laughed – it was “Jamie’s Bareback Abduction.”

    “That’s what you were hoping for, wasn’t it, you sick fuck,” came a voice from the speaker. Luke nearly jumped out of his skin. It was Slader, whispering into a microphone upstairs. “Can you touch yourself in those chains?”

    “I…I don’t know.”

    “WELL FUCKING FIND OUT!” The voice almost deafened him, echoing in the cold concrete basement.

    Luke had to maneuver himself, sitting up against the wall so that his left hand was up behind his head, right against the ring, so all the play in the chain left him free to stroke himself with his right hand.

    “You guys see this?”

    In the background, their voices. “Yeah, man.” There must be a camera somewhere – maybe a webcam in the TV, Luke thought.

    “So show us how much you love this movie. How much you want to get fucking gang raped by a bunch of dudes.”

    Luke took a drink off the sipper, to get his saliva going, and got some spit on his hand to help lube his cock. He’d gone semi-soft from the shock of the speaker, and then came the scene where Slader burst in and scattered the other guys, claiming the little slut for himself, and his stiffie came back full force. Luke stroked himself, looking at the staircase, then back at the TV, waiting for Slader to come down and do this, all this, to him.

    “Please,” he whispered. “I’ll pay anything.”

    “Of course you will. But guess what, motherfucker. Some things aren’t for sale. Now fucking touch yourself.”

    Luke couldn’t help himself. He wouldn’t believe it, wouldn’t believe that he couldn’t offer himself so completely to Slader that he wouldn’t take him up on it. He could do this, he could prove that he was worthy, that he wouldn’t scream and cry and change his mind like some little half-assed sissy who ran away when he was this close to getting what he wanted.

    “Come on,” he said, looking at the staircase. “All of you. Come on.”

    The speaker was silent. He worked his dick harder and harder, slapping it around, slapping himself in the face, twisting each nipple till the pain was evident on his face. They should know what I want, what I can take, what I need.

    “I fucking need it. I fucking…need..it…” On his knees, back arched, left hand holding on for dear life to the ring, he shot his load across the mattress, his eyes fixed not on the screen but on the stairs, still willing them to come.

    Finally, spent, he collapsed on the mattress.

    “Drink,” the speaker commanded, but quietly. Luke drank his fill, and fell back on the mattress.

    The TV went off. Then the light over the stairs. Luke rolled over and slept the sleep of the dead.

    He woke up…when? The next day? There were no windows, no way to tell what time it was. They were coming down the stairs, one of them hauling what looked like an IV stand, the other with arms full of restraint straps.

    “Up and at ’em,” Slader said. Luke tried to rub his eyes and was pulled up short – the chain wouldn’t let both hands reach his face. They unlocked the padlocks, unchained him, and threw the chain in a corner.

    One of them put a bucket in front of him. “Piss in this,” he said. It was the one who said he’d wreck Luke’s ass. He looked up but the eyes in the ski mask were unreadable. Luke wasn’t shy; he let go a stream into the bucket, thanking his foresight in douching out so, if nothing else, at least he wouldn’t have to take a crap.

    Two of the guys tucked the restraint straps under the mattress. It was an X shape system that Luke knew from experience would keep him from using his hands or feet to escape around a corner of the mattress. “Face down,” Slader said. Luke lay face down on the musty old mattress, which reeked of stale sweat, old cum and piss. Each of the four men grabbed a limb, and tied him down. They checked the straps and pulled them tight, making sure there was no give, until he was completely spread-eagled. Luke started getting hard. This is it! Fuck yeah!

    Then he heard the IV rattling as they positioned it. What was that for?

    “Look right to you?”

    “Yeah, about right. Test it.”

    Luke felt a small splat land on the small of his back.

    “Little lower.”

    A drop of something landed on his ass crack, just above his hole. “Yeah,” one laughed. “That’s it.”

    Slader gave him a little kick in the side. “You know what that is?”

    “No, sir.”

    “That’s a lube drip. Right on your ass. You wanna be a good boy?”

    “Yes, sir!”

    “Then I want to see you work that asshole. I want to see you open it up and suck that fucking lube right down in there. I wanna see you fucking begging for it. Even though,” and he gave him another little kick, “never forget, there ain’t no dick going up there. You hear me?”

    “Yes sir.” He almost left the sir off, wanted to feel the sharp crack of Slader’s hand on his face. But he didn’t dare.

    They left again. He could feel the lube dripping from above him, only the smallest dollop every minute. He pulled himself up the bed an inch; he only had a few inches of mobility the way he was bound. He arched his back to spread his cheeks, trying to catch the lube right on his asshole. After a few minutes, he was getting it right on his hole. The first time he twitched a little from the shock of it, and it slid down and away. He concentrated on holding still, counting down the minute. He counted out loud every ten seconds, and at ten seconds to go, he held still and relaxed his asshole, tipping his ass up to get the lube right…there. Then he’d squeeze, trying to suck it in, trying to keep as much as possible in his hole.

    Time passed. There was a puddle on his balls, then on the mattress. His dick was still hard, and now between drops, he started to wriggle around enough to get the lube on the mattress onto his dick. Then he could start thrusting it into the slick fiber without rubbing it raw. His fists clenched as he tugged futilely against the restraints, his every desire trying to send his hand to his cock to work it, to his asshole to stuff the thick sauce splattered on his ass deep inside.

    “Very nice,” the speaker whispered. “You win a prize.”

    The door upstairs opened and two men – neither of them Slader – came down carrying some metal apparatus. Another carried a big round mirror, old and speckled where the reflective surface had flaked away. It was propped in the corner where Luke could see what was happening behind him. The lube drip was wheeled away.

    It wasn’t until he saw one of them running out the extension cord that he realized – it was a fucking machine. He watched as one of them fitted a fat dildo onto the end of the prong. It must have been seven inches around and ten long. Oh my god that would fucking kill me, he thought. He’d always stayed away from dildos, never wanted his ass to be stretched out like that.

    The speaker crackled. “I told you no cock in your ass, but I never said anything about anything else, did I?” Laughter in the background. “Perfectly legal. You ready for it?”

    “Y…yes, sir. I mean I never…it’s huge.”

    Slader laughed. “Yeah it is, isn’t it. You’ll take it, you’ll see.”

    They finished setting it up, pointed straight at his ass. They slathered it with thick, greasy lube. There’d been no point in catching the slick stuff with his ass, it had only been a test – there was so much cream on this dildo you could grease a pig with it. Then they left. What the fuck? Luke thought. He was afraid of the giant dildo but more afraid of being left here looking at it, waiting for something to feed his ravenous ass.

    Then he heard it come to life. A faint humming. But it wasn’t moving. He watched it in the mirror, waiting for the violation to come, wondering how loud he would scream when that thing ripped him open.

    A few minutes passed. Another test, he thought. Prove it, prove you want it. He buried his face in the mattress and waited for it to come to life and punch him in the guts, trying to keep his hole relaxed to minimize the pain.

    Suddenly he felt something touching his ass cheek. He looked in the mirror. It was on – it had been moving the whole time! It was moving as fast as a glacier, but it was moving, painfully slowly.

    “Relax,” Slader said. “It’s going in there. Just relax and fucking enjoy it.”

    The huge dildo pushed up against his asshole, slowly but insistently. There was nowhere for him to go. The pressure built slowly on his hole, and he felt it, knew it, any second now.

    “Deep breath.” He did as he was told.

    “Now, let it out slowly.” And as he did, relaxing, the head of the monstrous dildo slowly pushed inside him.

    “Oh fuck,” he said, letting it in, no choice in the matter. “Fuck.”

    The fucking machine pushed the dildo in, further, further, till he was full to bursting with it. Then when he thought he would die of the pain, when he was sure his prostate would be crushed like a grape, it started retreating. The whine of the machine got louder as it ever so slowly picked up speed.

    The TV came back on again. Luke looked in the mirror. But it wasn’t the movie.

    It was a scene in this room, a scene right here, and Slader and the guys were using and abusing some little faggot. He had a ski mask on just like his attackers. Only HE was getting it, getting their cocks shoved down his throat, passed around a semicircle from one to the next, each one using his hands to shove the prisoner’s head down onto the next one’s tool. And then he was tied face down, spread-eagled, just like Luke, and Slader jumped on top of him and with one stroke rammed his cock all the way in.

    Luke bucked, his cock wet with lube, using the mattress to rub it hard while the dildo fucked him faster and faster.

    While Slader pounded away, the others took turns skullfucking him. “Yeah, faggot, fucking take it. You fucking love it. Fucking tear you off the street and give you what you were looking for!”

    Luke came, screaming. The dildo machine got even faster, forcing the juice out of him again and again.

    Then it was over. The machine withdrew, the TV went off. He lay there gasping. “Come on,” he whispered. “Come on. I’m ready. Please.”

    “Time’s up,” the speaker said. There was a rustling and a snappy click as the microphone went off. The harsh fluorescent lights were on again. Two men came down and untied him. They threw his clothes at him.

    “You’re free. Get dressed and get out.”

    “No! I want what he got. I want…”

    He got slapped. “You get what you paid for, motherfucker. Now get out.”

    Luke staggered home. It was late the next night. He was nearly in tears of frustration. He told himself he’d got what he’d paid for. That he’d been lucky to get a dildo up his throbbing asshole. That he’d felt Slader’s skin on his, that rough soldier’s hand on his face. He’d paid to be abused, and in the end the final abuse had been having to watch someone else get everything he wanted.

    He let himself into his apartment. Terry was out, fortunately. He took a very long shower, cleaning off the grease and the sweat and the cum. He put on a pair of sweats and flopped out on the couch, trying to care about whatever was on SportsCenter. His phone chimed, an incoming call. Not now, he thought, whoever you are. But he answered anyway.

    “Good job,” Slader said. “Like I said, this is a legitimate business. The guy you saw getting fucked in that movie wasn’t a customer.”

    “Thanks,” Luke said, and for all his disappointment and exhaustion, hearing Slader’s voice again was sending blood to his crotch.

    “I work hard at being a good employer. And that means keeping the employees happy. Man, we get some sad-ass bitches down in there sometimes, and most of the time they go out the door and that’s the end of that. But I had some complaints this morning.”

    “Yeah?”

    “Yeah. Those boys wanted to give you what you were begging for. So maybe someday, maybe someday soon, you’ll get it.”

    “Fuck man, I would do anything for that.”

    Slader laughed. “You’ve already done it.”

    “So…you’ll do the same thing? Send me a text and…?”

    “Not exactly. Can’t leave a paper trail. See if you paid us for last night, and we text or email you to set up…the next thing, that would make it look like we’re delivering the rest of a paid service later, if we follow up that way, see?”

    “So how will I…”

    “Don’t worry,” Slader said, and Luke could see the smirk on his face. “We know where you live.”

    To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

  • Blades

    Blades

    I was at that point where sleep was the next logical step. The cats had been batted off my chest-to take up residence by my head-my hand was on the light switch when….my phone rang. I’d forgotten I was “on call” and it was “the service” (I’m sure it had a corporate name but I’d never heard it.) and I was needed for something somewhere, doubtless the most distant place from me that I ever went, it’s always like that at this hour. It’s also the hour when I want to fuck myself for becoming a Neurosurgeon; Anyone at any hour can find a doctor for a cold, flu, hell, Bubonic Plague, but Neurosurgeons are a rarer group and it was my night to “cover”. There was a standard way I answered-“where and what?”-that covered most situations but this time it did not.

    Cooper’s voice said, “Up, in ten.” There was no question that he was not referring to my dick, although I could have done that in far less than “ten” so, having interned with him twenty years earlier, what this meant was that he would pick me up in ten to go do something, probably something important. Had it not been important, he would have parked on the driveway, let himself in, fixed a drink and then wandered about to see if I was home. If “no” he’d graze on the groceries in the reefer until he found something edible, grab a fork, open the container and eat whatever it was. When you spend a lot of time in surgery-he was Orthopaedics-you quickly learn that lack of nourishment could cause difficulties but that one’s time to eat, much less find something to eat, had to be a choreographed chore to be done in minimum time leaving enough time to eat it, even if choking it down was more to the point. Also, if you were clever, you’d had your taste buds altered so whatever it was didn’t gag you even if there were suggestions on it-growing a green section-maybe this was inedible. Nothing is inedible to a surgeon. Nothing.

    Over time you learn what to put on that you can quickly take off and put on scrubs; Arriving nude would be the easiest but so many hospital had the equivalent of network “practices and standards” that showing up at least covered was the accepted mode. The easy part here, en route to my front door, was to reverse the order I’d undressed and collect from the floor what had been dropped there on my way to bed. So….the drill was….socks, shorts, T shirt and Crocs. No thought was given to colour or style. The shorts would have a pager and a cell phone as well as a billfold-only occasionally with money-but always with ID’s of various sorts, cards that opened doors, a credit card, driver’s license, miniaturized copy of my license to practice medicine and knife made from some sort of polyplastic that folded into the shape of another credit card.

    Two minutes later I was outside waiting for Coop to round the corner and do his version of the “Tokyo Drift”, pause, and allow just time enough for me to insert myself-the door could be grappled with and closed as he casually picked up four gears and we blew through the stop light at 80; A Porsche is a very fast car. Years of this sort of thing had made conversation unnecessary in that wherever we were going, what ever we were going to do would be instantly apparent, obvious when we got there. Had I given a shit, I would have noticed that he was over dressed in that he had on long pants and a long sleeved shirt albeit one in which he’d lately been painting the interior of his garage.

    I’m tall-as is he which makes his purchase of that car a puzzlement-so the time between there and where we were going was given over to trying to avoid putting a charley horse in my thighs and making sure his fighter plane style straps were on so that when we had an accident, that was certainly part of his future and possibly mine, there was some chance, minimal, of survival. All that done, I went to sleep for two reasons, I needed to sleep and it’s well known if you’re relaxed going into a crash, your possibilities of survival are better. Not great, better.

    The flashing lights woke me but, as I might not have expected, we weren’t on a freeway with a truly horrible wreck-involving six vehicles and an eighteen wheeler hauling sheep-but rather in quiet suburbia in front of Jay’s home.

    “Breathe deeply”.

    “I am”.

    “Got your ID?”-it was a rhetorical question.

    “Okay, find Carter and lets go in.”

    Carter was from major crimes and was as much a fixture at the emergency room as drunks, persons with strange knife wounds, crying children….Carter was at the front door and pushed it open for us while some dick head newbie cop tried to “do it by the book” and keep us out. Carter stuck out a long arm and pushed him into a bush then turned to us saying only, “It ain’t good guys”.

    It wasn’t. Apart from Carter an another officer whom I vaguely recognized from other situations that were not good, the house was quiet, only a few lights were on with the exception of the dining room which was lit so brightly it was almost hard, for a second or two, to recognize what you were looking at.

    It was Jay, naked, dead, sitting at the head of his dining room table, slumped over with his face in a plate of spaghetti and meat balls.There was a long drool of coagulated blood that ran from the chair to the floor but no apparent reason for his death. Closer. He had a scalpel in one hand and the meat balls had been his balls before he cut them off and, apparently, had partially eaten one.

    Another day, another time at my home. Per usual I’m in bed trying to absorb a scholarly article that, for no good reason, I felt compelled to read.Why did Jay always slam doors? Why did Jay always bounce up the stairs much like Greyhound chasing an electric rabbit? Why was Jay so boyishly handsome? Why did Jay feel compelled to keep himself in perfect condition only to waste time running marathons? Why did Jay always shed his clothing on his way to the bed, throw himself on top of me then stick his tongue in my mouth which, when withdrawn, was then wearing my half glasses? Why did I love Jay?

    On those nights when he found it easier to go to my place than his, that was the standard procedure. It wasn’t every night but many of them and-you will have guessed this-he was my lover so catching me outside an operating theatre and seemingly not involved with anything of importance was a signal moment for him and time spent on the formalities, such as foreplay, were ignored. He could rip off my covers, grab my cock, position himself so each had access to the other’s semen sprayer, and start the 69. I always knew his tongue, even in pitch darkness, as it was the only doctor I knew who had a pierced one with a ball in the center. Jay said this was to make himself more “with it” to his patients, or at least his patients owners who were young, “hip” and came with their own set of external-and some internal-metal. Being a Veterinarian did have some advantages, you could avoid a lot of tedious medical protocol such as how one dressed, how one was addressed, shit like that. For my personal wishes, I wished that often he’d come straight from doing a check on his overnight patients at his office during which he’d played with them, he’d have paused for a shower. I have never, ever even considered bestiality but Jay could smell like a beast and, I must add, fuck like one as well. Which beast depended on the day and what had showed up at his place.

    Needless to say, he was enormously popular and had a practice that consisted of mainly the wealthy whose money he used to care for animals he found, that were brought to him, that he placed with people or families….and, confusing me with one of his patients, would occasionally forget and scratch me behind my ears. Apparently his observations of animals fucking had served as an inspiration for that’s how I got fucked; There was no half way, I was bred every single time and, if I was not buckled and drooling from my mouth, ass and cock, could “mount” him. (Some how “mount” when used in conjunction with Jay and sex seems the only possible term; I’m quite certain that’s how he thought of me, another animal of a species he really, really, liked, turned him on, made him know that I was there to be, well, mounted…..)

    He was an impossible lover in every possible way but when he opened his eyes, surrounded by lashes with which you could paint walls, you forgot he smelled of the kennel or shampoo used to rid something of lice or his odd ball ways of doing practically everything; He was the only person I knew who routinely rode a motorcycle (Ducati 900) and carried with him a mountain bike. Or, alternately, something so light weight it was used in racing. On a few occasions he’d used my circular stair case to practice some sort of hopping maneuver with the mountain bike that, I was told, one used to transit from one rock to another.

    He also liked to play with himself using tools of his trade but his favourites were knives. In addition to the obvious orb in his mouth, he all sorts of decorations starting at the ho hum tattoos through extensive genital piercing to a type of cutting to make a design and, finally, a very large brand on his butt. (I was told he and some”buddies” played as if they were cattle being taken into a herd and, therefore, needed to be branded. Perhaps correctly, I’d not been told about this activity in advance so when he showed up-limping, it would seem riding his bike on a newly branded butt is painful. [ I was not sympathetic]. As I was to be told, and shown simultaneously, his brand- on top of a curve which, in cattle terms meant he was from the “Rockin’ J” ranch. He’d made this brand himself and, worse, had made one for me just like his; Regrettably in this instance we shared the same first initial, J for Jay and J for Jim.He offered to heat up the barbecue and bestow upon me a gift straight from his heart or, more accurately, the forge. Need I say my personal brand, as well as my ass, remained virginal in so far as branding was concerned. Whenever I was at his house they were both there, like crossed swords on display, one charred and one unused.)

    Perhaps unfortunately my work was demanding and took an abstract amount of my time. Although he did not “officially” live with me, only rarely did I come home to not find him in my bed, in the library, in the kitchen. On occasion I did visit him but…probably to be closer to nature, it’s an explanation I cling to, he and several other lovers of animals and nature in general had built their own suburb called, what else?, “Green Acres”. It was at considerable distance from anything including his office but that, too, had a down side; if he had a “patient” who he thought needed more attention, he’d bring it with him. Sick animals are not as cute when they’re vomiting or have little or no control over their bowels. I liked wall to wall carpeting which doesn’t react well to the virulent stomach juices as they spewed forth. Eventually pegged wood floors were installed on ever surface save the staircase which, as mentioned, Jay ruined with his mountain bike. (He said the ripped carpeting-until I took it out-made a great challenge as it replicated the uneven surface of rock.) Did I mention how much I loved him? I meant to.

    His waist length hair, in variably in a pony tail-save in surgery when his nurse put it in a braid and stuffed it under his surgery cap-always swung in indeterminate ways, separating, coming together and, you might as well know, used to whip my back. Yes, pain was a small part of our relationship, or smaller for me than for him. There were so many freckles that someone thought he was an albino black man. So many care about what’s in a mans “Package”; Let me quote and ad from some years ago-even though I cannot remember the product-“round and firm and fully packed. My height, as is typical of surgeons who have to deal with heavy patients, very strong arms-he could and did pick me up once holding me by my ankles, turning me and sucking my cock; It’s a strange experience, the blood rushing to my head, the cum rushing to my dick, very strange. But that was Jay in many ways, strange.

    His obsession with his body and how to change it moved from being a sort of faddish activity to a full blown obsession. Too many nights I would come home, turn on the lights in my room and find the bed scattered in blood. Not drips, no signs of major suppuration but clearly, someone had bled. The next stop was the bathroom where Jay was cleaning himself, all enthused about this latest thing he’d found to do. The end of that came when he read on article on the “Crocodile Ceremony” in New Guinea where men had there backs nicked with sharp objects and then kept open until they healed in bumps emulating the skin of a Croc. He couldn’t reach his back and so I was called in to perform this ritual. That was the first time my anger at what he was doing to himself boiled over and I threw him out. Not forever, just for then-he miscalculated an unknowable, my surgical schedule that day had been hell and I was in no mood for anything that involved more than my shower, my bed, darkness and, if he were there, his ass which I would have pounded to rid my own demons. When I found demonology had beat me to the punch, it was too much. Of course, a few days later, as repentant as a puppy who has just shit on all the Christmas Presents, he appeared, head down, handcuffed and with a gift certificate in his mouth; It was for a washing and grooming at his office……(Which I accepted. Having a leash on my neck attached to a pole so I wouldn’t try and lay down, made to stand on all fours in a tub of water while he took a sprayer and soap had a certain pleasure to it; Never have my genitals been as clean-or as drained. I had, however, not fully thought through the grooming part.When I heard the clippers words were said that weren’t in anyway medical. The result? Lets just say I now know why sheep bleat when their sheared.

    What he dismissed, or never realized was that my surgical career meant a lot to me and not in terms of money. I was fascinated with and by it.Each case brought something from which I learned and, as time passed, I became more and more involved if only because my case load increased. My sort of surgery is only done on a referral basis and when that happens, it means it’s serious, very hard to turn down particularly when the Doctor doing the referring was a friend and they not only referred but tossed in a bit of social history, usually including a bit of damage that would allow me to right a wrongs; I should have let Jay take me to his favourite tattoo parlour and had SUCKER inked in 90 point type on my back and, for the sake of the blind, in Braille on my ass…

    What all this meant was that I was less and less at home and more and more bunking in with the on call residents at one of two or three hospitals. Jay understood, sort of, but he was restive and when I was home-and not so exhausted that my eyes were crossed-our sexing was more aggressive, more uncontrolled, painful. Once he had a knife, it was in play, that he met me with at my door and pretended to be a thief who walked me upstairs, traded the knife for my gun, and made me strip. To mark the occasion, he took a scalpel and knicked both of my nipples and sliced his initial, the rockin’ J, on my chest.Nothing deep, I’ve seen worse paper cuts but it seemed to signal a change in him.

    His practice was disregarded, he brought in a freshly minted Vet to first assist him and then effectively run the practice. He developed a new set of friends who found his tastes to be their tastes and, the final straw, I came home t find him naked, hanging from a hook in my foyer, the floor covered with artists’ canvass his blood dripping from his fingers a nautilus shape being made as he circled and his body finally stopped. He’d passed out but there was some of his group who, careful not to spoil this work of art, got him down and I examined him, tried to calculate how much blood loss there had been, threw them out and carried him upstairs, his Magnus Opus still in the foyer. That was the night I fucked him until my penis bled from the corona and there were little tears in his rectum which were bleeding. Still furious, I forced my cock into his mouth and made him eat me, his blood and my semen. After I’d made sure his wounds were in no way threatening, I spread eagled him on my bed, took out my scalpels and suggested I’d play numbly peg until I cut off one or both balls; Sleeping with someone who is tied as described is difficult but my anger was such that I did it.

    For whatever reason, the next day was Sunday and, after I let him up, showered with him, I gave him a one minute lecture not about my anger but my fear. He fell on me, held me, wept, promised…and then had to go see the picture from the second floor. It was a long day, I made lunch, he ate it and me, he watched a game, I did paperwork and then insisted he go home as I had a long day in surgery tomorrow.

    It was three days later that Cooper took me to his home to see his response to what he felt was my abandoning him.

    Days passed. Good surgeon that I am, I showed up, did it, patched what I could, sympathized over what I could not and became the best surgical automaton in five statea. A patient came in, a former Marine, who was destined to be a quadriplegic and the only time I ever did this…..When people, men in particular, are maimed in certain ways, they cannot see that there may be a life. Leaning over my Marine I heard him whisper what many surgeons have heard, “Take me out Doc, I ain’t no fucking good to nobody.” Three days later in his room, after surgery, I shot him up and he died. I told him what I was going to do, watched him smile, thanked me and then closed his eyes. While clinically he was not moribund, his death was not unexpected and, of course, there was no suspicion on me; Doctors who’d been in surgery with me tried consolation by saying they knew how hard I’d tried to save this one….

    Tonight I’m quiet and pensive, hung the blood portrait of Jay on my dining room wall, made my dinner, am going to sit down, naked, to my plate of spaghetti, cut off my balls, start to eat them and then, when enough blood has gone, I’ll pass out into the plate.

    I think Cooper will understand. But maybe not. Hey, Cooper, as you’re reading this you’ll know what I mean.

    To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

  • Kidnapped by daddy bear

    I work for for the water department, and it is common for me to have to enter residences to conduct checks. One summer day, I was making my rounds through a slightly scetchy neighborhood. On warm days we are allowed to dress comfortably, so I was wearing shorts, a tshirt and hiking boots. I knocked on the door of a large older home in poor condition. A shirtless, hairy man with a weightlifter’s build of about 55 answered the door. I told him I needed access to his basement, and he seemed put out. He told me this was not a good time, and I explained that this was the only time I would be in the area. As I stood in the door way, he was looking me over in a way that pinged my “gaydar”. I’m a bit of an attention whore, so I don’t mind when a furry muscled-up mature hottie is checking me out. I am a serious bicyclist, and my muscular legs look good in the shorts and hiking boots I wear.

    “Just a minute, I have to go downstairs to put my dog away”. He returned a moment later, and pointed me to the basement door. As is often the case, I was left to search for the right room in the huge basement on my own. I began opening doors in my search. That was when I heard what I thought was a muffled moan coming from behind a door. I opened the door, and there was a man handcuffed to an overhead pipe. He was gagged, and naked except for a cock ring, and tall black boots similar to motorcycle cop boots. He looked my way, and said” help me”

    through the gag. I figured the best thing I could do was to pretend that I didn’t see him, then call the police when I got out of the house.

    Then, before I could turn around something hard came down on the back of my head. I went down to my knees, the room spinning around me. I fought off unconsciousness, and struggled back to my feet. Then I felt a powerful hairy forearm tighten around my neck. I passed out, going limp in the big man’s arms.

    I don’t know how long I was out. During this time he had stripped me down to my bikini briefs and hiking boots, and tied me up to the overhead pipe. My wrists were tied together, then tied to the pipe. My legs were spread apart, cuffed at each ankle.

    When I came to, the first thing I was aware of were hands gently stroking my thighs, then caressing my cock and balls through the thin fabric of my briefs. Even in my semi conscious state my cock began to stiffen in response, and a soft moan escaped my lips. But this ended abruptly when I became fully aware of my surroundings. I tried to yell, but all that came out was mmmphh! mmmphh! , I was gagged like the man I saw before I was knocked out. I wondered where he was now.

    “Sorry about the bump on the head. I would have extended a more conventional invitation to stay awhile, but I hate rejection”. It was the shirtless muscle bear. “Besides, I think it’s important to establish my dominance early on in the relationship. Knocking you out, and tying you up covers that pretty well, don’t you think?” “You have a pretty hard head, I was surprised when you didn’t black out from me clocking you. You didn’t have much fight left in you though, the sleeper worked instantly. You are a hot little man, I got to say having you go limp in my arms gave me instant wood. Maybe later we can play some breath control games” he laughed a sinister laugh.

    I was more alert now, and I began to struggle, but it was no use. My wrists were tied too tight.

    He walked behind me. “Relax, don’t waste your energy. I do enjoy watching you flex, though”. He said as he caressed my shoulders, then ran his hands up my arms squeezing my muscles until he reached my wrists, when he lightened his touch to fingertips tracing down my forearms. I am slightly ticklish, and this actually caused me to breath a little heavier, and made the hair on my arms stand up. “Ooh, you like daddy’s touch” as his fingers made one more pass through the hair on my forearms. Then, while still behind me he kissed my neck. I could feel a days worth of razor stubble on his broad chin. Then I heard his zipper. He first took off his jeans, then he pulled my bikini briefs slowly halfway down my thighs. Then his fingers slid up the back of my thighs to my ass cheeks gently until they found my hole, and gently circled it. I felt a pleasant twinge, as my dick began to stiffen slightly. Then he slapped my ass cheeks once, hard enough to bring an involuntary moan from me. I started to tense up, knowing I had no say over what may happen next.

    He put his mouth next to my ear and whispered “be a good boy for daddy”. He once again kissed my neck, as he pressed his naked body against mine. As frightened as I was, the feel of his broad, hairy chest against my back combined with the whiskers against my neck were intoxicating. Then he pressed his thick, hard cock into the hairy valley between my ass cheeks, grinding against me. I began to breathe hard, and my cock was fully stiff. I couldn’t believe that I was reacting to this situation with an erection. Then he reached around me to grab my penis. The hair on his huge arms tickling my tender sides. I moaned through the gag, unable to contain my arousal “mmmph”. The precum was oozing from the throbing head of my dick, as his huge hand roughly stroked me. My hips began to slowly buck in rythym. “No, not yet, boy”, as he stopped pleasuring me.

    “Me first, gonna see how that boy pussy feels wrapped around dad’s cock”. Fear once again cooled my blood. Even though I couldn’t see how big his cock was, as he rubbed it against me, I could feel how thick the shaft was. “I like your body, boy and I don’t want to break it, so I’m gonna use some lube”.

    After briefly sliding a few lubed fingers up my hole, I felt the hard, fat head of his pole pressing against my tight ass. “Relax, boy it will hurt less”. He pushed it in head deep, “umphh, oummph” I moaned through the gag. The pain was intense. “So nice boy” as he kissed my neck roughly while cradling my still hard dick in one hand, pinching my nipple with the other. Just when I recovered from the first two inches of his massive dick, he drew back and plunged the rest into me. The pain was beyond what I could take. A high pitched, almost feminine moan escaped me, the room seemed to darken, and I fainted. I don’t think I was out long, because when I came to, he was standing in front of me wiping off his still hard dick, and I could feel the cum dripping out of my stretched out hole. It cooled as it ran down my leg.

    “There, there, don’t be embarrassed about fainting like a little schoolgirl, next time you’ll take it like a man, right?”

    I was exhausted from all the abuse, I looked at him pleadingly. He approached me, and pulled off my gag. I took my first deep breath in a while. The he kissed me, showing me that his tongue was just like his cock. My erection returned immediately. This smelly, hairy ape of a man had just knocked me out, kidnapped and raped me, and yet his kiss brought me to full arousal. He reached down and grabbed my hard dick, I whispered “please, sir”. He turned around, and said ” if you are a good boy, I will let you come tomorrow”

    Then he left…..