Author: admin

  • Training in the Time of Covid

    The Buddha is right. Desire is the source of sorrow. But it is also a source of incredible bliss – if fulfilled. The problem is that our desires are so rarely fulfilled. This is hardly an insight we have all been waiting for. Just simple reality.

    But those desires. We all have them. To have ice cream. For the Red Sox to win. For our friends to be healthy. For our bodies to be used sexually.

    The last one, the last desire more difficult to fulfill when you re gay, a pig, married and on the down low, with no chance of being able to be out. And you know that being out would not be a festival of constant sexual activity. How the desire overwhelms, dominates…

    Desire… sorrow… bliss… even those few minutes when you can ride a huge dildo in the cellar while the wife is upstairs on a Zoom call. This is the time of COVID. She is not going out to work. Those hours of freedom are gone. The challenge is to make the best of the 45 minutes to an hour and a half she is on Zoom. My hole calls. My desire to be opened does not go away.

    So what? Doesn’t ever gay man on the DL have the same problems? Sure we do. Perhaps that is why we do, when we can, share some stories. These are stories that may help us get off, may help us relieved some frustration, maybe give some others some pleasure from reading about what we feel and do.

    So here is a story. And stories are not all fictions, any more than all memoirs are all true.

    The story… about a simple play area that I have established in my cellar for solo dildo play.

    It is where I will be going later today, to feed my hole and feed my spirit. I have been tidying up down there today – folding the towels, arranging the dildoes, checking my supply of lube, getting my gas mask ready, thinking about  how it will feel to have the latex fist slip into my pussy while I am sucking the dildo cock, after I have sprayed my throat with some numbing spray, after I have lubed my hole and the fist, wanting it so much to be two real men ready to fill me mouth and cunt with cum… no cum today – and rushed, like an old-school hook-up in an alley way… fuck I love this. It is me.

    I have to allow that I am very happy with how easily my hole opened to take my now basic dildo – 2.5 inches in diameter and 10 inches long (I have yet to take it all the way). It simply slides in now, caressing my cunt lips, kissing the insides of my pussy, sometimes making that incredible contact with my prostate. It can be almost too intense. And how much is added when I huff some poppers. How much hungrier I become to be filled. Damn it is so good.

    Sometimes I start now with a medium-sized clenched fist dildo. Sometimes I work up to a kind of punch fucking. I want my hole to just become a supple, wet, hungry man pussy… ready when I have a real man, a pussy ready to be fucked and used, because it is. I want it to be a pussy able to take the pleasure another man wants to give it as he seeks his pleasure. My hole is not all about me. Would that a dildo could cum because it wants to seed me…

    I think of this play in the cellar as training. Some men go to the gym. I go to the work area of my cellar, the place with the work bench and the storage for my tools and toys. It is in a special corner of the cellar. It is an area that the wife does not go into. And I keep it in enough disorder to suggest that… well… if you need something that might be there, well ask me and I will get it.

    So to training.

    First the Zoom or Skype, or Facetime call has to be well underway. I do not want to start too soon only to have to find out that the call had to be re-scheduled. It can be anytime. And I often do not have too much time to get ready. So sometimes things are not quite squeaky clean. But then…

    The call is well underway. And I have to allow that I do not leave the basic douching until now. I have done some before, discretely. I want my hole ready. Sometimes I do a bit of spot cleaning.  It depends on time and timing.

    I decide I am ready. I head down to the cellar. Go to my corner. I strip. I put on a cock ring. I get out the toys to be enjoyed, the lube, the poppers, my trusty gas mask for hands-free huffing if it seems like I have time to get really poppered up, and I want to ready. Next week I will try Boof from Fort Troff – CBD for your hole. They say that the feeling is great, maybe wonderful, relaxing, buy my hole opens readily, maybe the BOOF will help it take the really big clenched fist. I hope so. I want to ride that baby.

    I attach the cock dildo I will be sucking. I get a few sweet sucks in before I spray my throat with some numbing fluid (my training has a goal of being to take the dildo down to the base, like I want to be able to do with a real cock0. I lube my hole. I then start to stroke my cock. I stroke the cock dildo. I squat down to suck.

    I love how it feels so good, how much it inflames to want cock, cock, cock. I love the feeling of the cock head and dream about having a cock right there pulsing, giving my cum. I rejoice in the advancing ability to take it deeper. One day. Balls to lips. One day. Balls to lips and cum, maybe piss.

    Squatting, I feel my hole relaxing. It wants cock, a fist. I touch it to feel it, the lips, to be sure it is ready.

    And while doing this, I move my hole above the dildo I have chosen to start with. Maybe it is the small fist. Maybe it is the 12 inches by 2.5 inches. I have two really big dildoes standing by.

    So today it is the small fist… well not so small. It is clenched and I will feel the stretch. I want to feel it. I have to feel it. I have pre-lubed it and my ass. It is tightly held upright in my handy Stanley foldable work bench. I wonder if the people at Stanley had had this use in mind when they designed how it works. I hope they did, some horny guy, perhaps, but knowing it would be a use not to be described in the sales materials.

    While keeping the cock dildo in my mouth, I squat down to feel the knuckles on my ass. I run my ass over them. I pause over my hole. I push back just a little. I feel them caress my hole, my hungry ass lips. At this point, I used to have take a huff of poppers to ready my hole. No more. Poppers can and will wait. Today, I squat more. The fist dildo opens me more. I stop to enjoy the early stages of the invasion. I lower down more. Exquisite. My hole opens more. I stop. I start. I lower down more. All the while me mouth is on the dildo. I stop. Now for a huff of poppers. One nostril. Deep hold. Feel it work. Feel my hole open and as I push down, feeling the fist dildo, its lifelike design, the knuckles, the wide part of the hand, clenched, feel my hole simply open to welcome what it wants in it, a fist. Exquisite. I rest. Then I rise up and feel the dildo slide out. Damn it wants to be back in. My pussy wants it back in. My pussy makes my decisions right now. I huff again. Hold. Lower. It is in. My mouth is back on the dildo. Mouth and ass filled – if only it could be two men…

    Today. Another intense session. Maybe ten minutes. I ought to have put on the mask and finished my cunt on a big dildo. But I was not sure of the time. Maybe my three big dildos – ones that will take me past 4 inches in diameter… one – a new one – close to 5 inches.

    The mask, the flood of poppers, the racing heart rate, desire pounding in my ears. The mask, deep, continuous breathing until my whole body is one pulsing cunt – perfect. Sometimes making me punch fuck my hole. Sometimes making me simply take the big clenched dildo and let it fill me, fully. The mask is a taste of heaven, the heaven of one aspect of gay sex. I would love to have it on, a fist deep in me. I have had that in real time. Then take it off. Take a cock in my mouth. Perhaps that cock cums in my hungry mouth. Perhaps it floods my mouth with the piss I so crave now.

    But all there is now right now is training. Well the call is ending. So the writing has to end.

    Perhaps it will be time to share some true experiences from the pre-Covid-19 days.

  • My Crown Has Come Home

    Note: This story is one of my favorites because it brings back memories of an experience of long, long past. Of course, names and characters are changed from the real stuff; also some actions are embellished with imagination. But the basic story-line remains true to life. I hope you enjoy it. And your comments are welcome.


    The drive from Illinois to Pennsylvania took around 9 hours. I was then in grad school on a student exchange program. I was visiting a distant cousin whom I had met two years before when he came to Africa to visit his “roots.” The car trip to Pennsylvania was shared with three other students where each contributed to the gas and food.

    My gay experiences in the US up till then were nil. I was 23 with only two experiences with guys: one when I was 15 in boarding school and the other with a guy during my second year in college. I was quite timid and usually sneaked my way into a porn shop in downtown Champaign to buy a photo porn magazine or two. I would be so embarrassed when I took the magazines to the cashier to pay and I left as quickly as possible. I would jerk off in my room to the photos, remembering my two prior experiences and fantasizing about my very sexy American apartment-mate who was straight as an arrow. I was actually his girlfriend’s confidant. She’d come to me and cry whenever Don gave her a hard time. So I had to give up on Don.

    Anyway, I got to Philadelphia to stay with my cousin for Thanksgiving. I had one week off. My cousin, Dejen, was 26 years old. I thought I could detect some gayness in his attitude and movements, but I also thought that that was simply due to my hyper-sexed imagination. Dejen introduced me to a friend, a nice-looking white guy, on the first evening and the three of us agreed to meet for coffee later.

    Dejen drove to his friend’s place. As we parked and I got out of the car, Dejen told me to wait in the car so he could check whether Jim was ready. I thought nothing of it then, and I waited. A few minutes later, Dejen came down and said that Jim would be down in five, and that he had a friend that would be joining us.

    Jim and his friend appeared around ten minutes later. They both looked as if they had just got out of the shower, wet hair and all. Jim’s friend was also a looker. We went to an all-night place, some sort of a diner, and sat in a booth. When we ordered coffee, the waitress was very friendly and called the guys “honey.”

    I was sitting next to Dejen in the booth, with Jim and his friend facing us. They sat closer to each other than we did. Around 30 minutes later, two other guys came over. There were handshakes and Jim asked them to join us. One squeezed next to me, the other next to Jim and his friend.

    The conversation was normal: lots of shared experiences and laughs and stuff like that. After a while, the conversation turned to me. They wanted to know about my major and about Africa. The booth seats were designed to hold two on each side, so we were quite squeezed three to a side.

    Frank, the white guy who sat next to me, was very friendly. A couple of times he’d place his hand on my thigh and say something like “How do you find the good ol’ US of A”, a rub, and he’d move his hand away. Our knees touched all the time and I was sure that Frank pressed a bit more than just from being normally squeezed.

    I liked Frank. He was tall, like me, with black hair and green eyes, somewhat slim, also like me, and with a great sense of humor. I was very excited sitting so close next to him, but I didn’t dare make any move. Jim and his friend were holding some kind of conversation in hushed tones when Dejen and Frank’s friend got up to go to the bathroom. This left Frank and me somewhat to each other, in a way.

    When I had introduced myself earlier, everyone other than Dejen found it difficult to pronounce my name, Adebowale, which means “my crown has come home.” They were surprised that our names had such meanings. Dejen meant “foundation” or “support.” There were a few cracks about Dejen’s name and the “crown” part in my name, although I couldn’t figure out what the smirks on their faces were for. Everyone agreed to go with Ed instead of Adebowale, and I had to agree after their failed attempts at massacring my name, which I was—still am—very proud of.

    Frank squeezed closer to me, placed his hand on my thigh again, now more on the inside of my thigh, rubbed a little and said, “Ed, I’m glad we came over and got to meet you. We don’t meet guys from your corner of the world every day here, and you are quite nice.”

    “Thanks, Frank. That’s nice of you to say.”

    He squeezed my thigh and rubbed up and down. “I really like you, Eddie. Do you really think I’m nice too?” He said this in a low voice as the other two were still mumbling to each other and laughing, not paying attention to us.

    “Oh, yes, sure. You really are nice and I like you, too.” I started to sweat a little because I knew there was something going on under the table. Frank’s hand moved up, touching my crotch. I erected in one second. He rubbed my erection and said smiling, “Yea, I can tell,” raising an eyebrow as soon as he sized my dick.

    Regrettably, Frank’s friend came back from the toilet—I kind of hoped he’d flush himself down—and Frank moved his hand away. But my erection raged. I wasn’t thinking straight and whenever any of the guys directed a comment about me or asked me something I couldn’t really concentrate and wasn’t as sharp and as coherent as I usually was.

    When Dejen returned from the bathroom, Frank and I had to move out of the booth to let him through. As soon as he slid in, Frank leaned over behind my head and whispered something to Dejen, which I wasn’t able to hear. Then, Frank leaned to me and whispered in my ear: “I spoke with Dejen and he said it was ok for you to spend the night at my place… that is, if you want to.”

    This took me totally by surprise. I couldn’t find my voice. His hand was back on my thigh rubbing and I felt dizzy. I just nodded in agreement and Frank’s smile doubled across his face.

    We stayed for about an hour. It was almost midnight when Dejen yawned and said he needed to go to bed since he had work the next morning.

    “Do you want go home, Adebowale?” he asked.

    I didn’t know what to say. I looked at Frank. And he came to the rescue straight away and said, “Well, Dejen, you can go on home. I can give Ed a lift if he wants to stay some more.”

    Dejen said, “Is that ok with you, buddy? I really have to go and get some sleep.”

    “Ahh, umm,” I stammered. “Sure, Dejen, I can stay for a while as Frank suggested.”

    Dejen left. After half an hour or so of knee rubbing and thigh kneading, Frank said, “OK, guys, it’s time for us to split.”

    We slid out of the booth. Frank paid his share as well as mine. He refused to let me pay saying I was his guest. We walked over to his car: a red Mustang. He drove us to his place and we went up to his apartment. During the ride, he tried to strike a conversation with me, but I was so taken with how fast things were developing that my spit reservoir had gone empty, leaving my mouth dry.

    As soon as we entered the apartment, Frank grabbed me to him and kissed me, deep and urgent, bodies grinding, erections pressing, moaning, and tonguing. It was so intense and so surprising that I thought I was going to blow my load right there in my undershorts.

    After what felt like hours, Frank moved away.

    “Wow,” Frank said in a low, husky voice. “I needed that badly!”

    We walked over to the couch. I sat down, still speechless. Frank went to the little kitchenette and brought two bottles of beer. I asked for a coke instead. He laughed, got me a coke, saying, “Wimp!” jokingly. We drank sitting next to each other. Frank reached over and pulled my shirt out of my jeans and started to unbutton it, slowly. He looked at the hair patch in the middle of my chest and exclaimed: “Oh, my God, that is so sexy,” and he started licking my chest hair and my nipples with my shirt open.

    I took off my shirt, arms trembling. So did Frank. He was smooth, very white as opposed to my black African skin, with maybe two or three hairs curling around his pink nipples. I bent and sucked the now-hard nipples. He moaned and lay back on the couch, which encouraged me to lick up under his chin on to his neck and down his chest, and then lower to his belly button. His erection was visible inside his pants, throbbing. Mine was about ready to explode. I didn’t dare touch myself knowing that if I did I would definitely ejaculate.

    Frank stood up. He undid his pants and pulled them down. He was standing in front of me, his tight briefs stretched to the maximum with his erection. I touched it.

    “Yes, oh yes, Ed,” he moaned.

    I kissed the bulge tracing the shaft that curved sideways inside the briefs; I licked right to the head and back to where the balls bulged. I must have slobbered a little—or was it his pre-cum?—I couldn’t tell, but when I moved away from him, his briefs were wet around his cock head.

    I stood up too. We kissed and kissed: passionately, with bodies glued. I was still in my jeans. When I started to unbuckle my belt, Frank said, “Wait, Ed, let me do that.”

    He kneeled in front of me and started undoing my jeans as I looked down at him. He looked so sexy doing that. I was wearing baggy undershorts. When Frank saw them he laughed.

    “That’s why it felt as if you weren’t wearing underwear when I touched you back in the diner. Man, we need to go get you some real hot briefs first thing tomorrow. These shorts are for nerds!”

    I didn’t give a fuck about underwear at that moment. My cock tented the shorts like at no other time. But it looked like Frank had something for tight briefs. I had not been comfortable with briefs because of my large dick. When erect, it is 24 centimeters long, uncut, and thick. Briefs are sort of a tight container for my baggage, especially when I get a hard-on watching hot American college students lie around half naked in the quad.

    He grabbed my dick inside the shorts and started to stroke me. He peeled the skin back and forth easily, gazing at my cock size, eyes wide, unbelieving.

    “God,” he mumbled. “This is elephant-size cock, Ed!”

    I had to stop him because I was so close to shooting. We went back to kissing, standing up, me in my stupid shorts, Frank in his hot bulging briefs. He was about 5 centimeters shorter than me and I could feel his cock pressed on my thigh. He put one arm around my head as we kissed and reached down with his other hand to rub my erection, making sure he didn’t rub too fast, and grinding his own cock against me. I wrapped my arms around his waist and rubbed his back. I slid one hand inside his briefs waistband and massaged his smooth butt, finding his crack. He moaned into my mouth, his cock growing even harder.

    We moved to the couch. We sat next to each other, cocks still erect in our underwear, drinking. He told me about how he had broken up with his boyfriend a month before. I told him about my short experience with Ebele. This got us more excited. After a while of chatting and caressing each other—he loved my hairy legs and thighs and I adored his smooth chest—he stood up, took my hand and pulled me up, and we walked to his bedroom. Needless to say, I walked on wobbly, watery legs, with my erection tenting my shorts in front of me.

    On the bed he immediately climbed on top of me, his body pressed on mine and we kissed more. I slid his briefs down his thighs, and arched my butt to let him slide mine off. Our unsheathed cocks met. The feeling was totally electric: shocks and shocks went through my body, our lips glued, our tongues probing, and our hands all over each other. My balls ached and I shuddered with excitement.

    I whispered in his ear: “Frank, if we keep this up one more minute, I think I’m going to lose it and blow.”

    He laughed, got off, and reached for the night table drawer. He took a tube of gel and spread some on my cock, pulling back the skin and covering the shaft, still looking with wonder at the long shaft, hard and throbbing. He squeezed out more gel and fingered his own hole. Then he pinned me down and sat down on my cock. I cried out when my cockhead penetrated his hole. He fisted my lubed shaft and guided me into him. He pressed down. I slid all the way up into his insides, the whole shaft now totally buried. He arched his back as he relaxed his ass muscle to take me into him, with a look of pain mixed with pleasure and lust on his face. His butt cheeks rested onto my upper thighs and his balls buried in my pubic hair.

    My cockhead could feel the warm silk insides and I ached to start pumping him, but he had me flat on my back forcing his butt cheeks on my crotch. He was trying to accommodate all that meat in his body. His cock, around 16 centimeters long, but with a very thick shaft, was plastered to his belly. He ran his lubed hands all over my chest, grinding on my cock, squeezing and massaging my nipples. I pushed up insistently and he knew I wanted to fuck.

    “Your crown has come home, Ed,” he said.

    Oh, I thought, that was what they were smirking about back in the diner when I explained what my name meant!  

    Slowly, he started to move up and down on my shaft, still pinning me down, still playing with my nipples and massaging my chest and playing with my chest hair. I thrust up and he met my thrusts, grunting and moaning. But he wouldn’t let me go fast: just slow and deep. It felt like the times when I wanted to delay my ejaculation as I masturbated, edging, and ready to cum but not there yet. I reached for his dick. As soon as I fisted his thick shaft his hole squeezed tighter around my cock. I stroked him using some of the lube he had covered my chest with. His dick felt so hot in my fist: hard and cut and throbbing. With my hand still around his cock shaft, working it, he bent over me and found my mouth. This gave me some freedom to control the fucking. I rammed up into him and increased the fucking tempo.

    He cried out and bit my lower lip as he felt the impaling thrusts. My cock slid in and out of his hole so easily, so perfectly, the skin and lube making the fucking so natural.

    He started moaning louder, vibrating in my mouth. I pressed my palm tighter on his dick and stroked him faster, my cock pistonning his fuck tunnel. I felt his cock get thicker in my fist and with a loud cry, he shot onto my chest as he let go of my mouth and arched his body back. Globs and globs of thick streams of cum covered my chest and my face. His hole squeezed and twitched on my cock shaft milking me. I let go of his spurting cock and, with one final deep thrust, exploded inside him. When he felt the hot juice and my final deep thrusts, he cried out loudly, sweat covering his smooth hot chest.

    My cock flexed inside his ass. His softening dick rested above his balls in my pubes, dripping. His hands massaged his cum on my chest and my face. Then he got off and plopped next to me.

    “My God, Ed,” he exclaimed. “That was intense.”

    “Yea Frank,” I agreed. “You are one hot fuck!”

    We lay down next to each other breathing hard, covered with sweat and cum, for 5 or 10 minutes. Then we moved into the shower. Frank wanted us to shower together and I surely didn’t complain or resist. This got me hard instantly and he laughed when he saw my erection.

    “Ed, fuck, you’re ready again.”

    “Uhuh,” I said, smirking, 24 centimeters of hard man-cock pointing upwards in front of me.

    In the shower, we kissed. Frank was so much into kissing and he knew how to do it. He soaped both of us. He ran the soap all over our bodies and cocks, and both of our love tools were by now raging hard. Then Frank let go and turned me around, his cock sliding into my crack. I lifted one leg placing my foot on the soap dish and he entered me.

    I had thought that his thick cock was going to need some hard work to penetrate me. But with all the soap and my being so horny, my ass just welcomed him in. He pumped. He was a hard fucker, not like when he was riding my cock. He pumped fiercely as I cried out over and over, my ass muscle stretched to the maximum and beyond. His thick cock stretched me and filled me. When he shot his load, it was his turn to cry out. His cum was hot inside me as I masturbated. He pulled out and turned me around. He saw me servicing myself and became apologetic. He kissed the side of my neck and started to mumble: “Oh, fuck, fuck, I’m so fucking sorry, Ed, I didn’t mean to cum so soon. Sorry man you’re still hard.”

    I pushed his head down. “Then do something about it, you little fuck,” I whispered hoarsely.

    He gobbled my wet soapy dick, pulling the skin back all the way and licking and sucking on the pink sensitive head.  As soon as my cock head hit his throat I shot my load. With every squirt, my sore ass squeezed in response. He swallowed my juice. I could feel his cum starting to seep out of my ass down onto my thighs. I squirted gallons into his hungry hot mouth and he kept swallowing. I didn’t stop pumping his face. I squirted and pumped, each time going deeper into his throat, the soreness in my ass making me cum more fiercely. Finally, I pulled out, my cock head so pink and sensitive after the fucking and sucking.

    I spent the night at Frank’s, fucking and sucking in all positions. When I woke up, he was behind me, spooning me, his hardness in my crack. Penetrating, he gave me my morning fuck. I cummed on the bed sheet with him still pounding my burning ass.

    The rest of the Thanksgiving break I spent with Frank. We saw Dejen and we went out every evening with him. He knew we were fucking like rabbits, and I’m sure he approved, but he never commented. The nights, however, were spent at Frank’s place: on Frank’s couch, in Frank’s bed, under Frank’s shower. It didn’t matter who was fucking or sucking who. It was hot horny man sex.

    Frank visited me later at the university in February for a few days. He stayed in my room and, of course, we fucked and sucked, my crown coming home over and over. But we were careful to be quiet and discreet. I didn’t want my hot, straight apartment-mate to find out that I was gay. He was too sexy to lose having him around as a straight friend!


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


  • My teacher abuses me

    On Fridays Mr.Guske doesn’t let the students stay after class; he’s too eager to do whatever the hell he wants to with his weekend. This day was different. I was doing class work while Mr.Guske casually walked around the room. He had stopped every once in a while to answer a question, but the class was relatively quiet. I sat at the back of the class. I preferred it back there away from the eyes of my teachers. I felt safer in the back, but Mr.Guske often came to the back to watch the students. I was surprised that on this day he stopped behind me when I hadn’t said a word. When I turned to look at him, he was stretching. He stretched his arms up to the ceiling and as he did, his shirt slid up so I had an intimate view of his muscled hips and the trail of hair leading below his belt. I hadn’t grown any pubic hair down there yet so I looked inquisitively at his manly body, but his shirt slid back down. I looked up and met his intimidating and fiery gaze. I felt like a baby mouse looking up at a lion; a mere morsel. I stared at his light brown eyes which pierced my being as the slightest smirk contorted his face into something menacing. I had never seen something so beast-like. I couldn’t take it any longer so I whipped my head around and got back to work. 

    The bell rang and I started packing my things. Mr. Guske got up from his chair and wished the class a happy weekend. My heart dropped as I saw him look at me and call me over to the front where his desk was. He waited in silence until the class was empty. The whole time I was nervously fiddling with the straps of my back pack and biting my lips. I knew that my B in his class was because I had grown lazy and that we both knew I was a smart kid, but the way he looked me up and down from that chair told me that this wasn’t about my grades. 

    As the door closed Mr.Guske gestured to a desk near his chair and told me to sit in a calm and plain voice. He had a deep voice which had a slight southern accent. 

    I obeyed and waited to hear his reason for keeping me late on a Friday.

    “ How are you feeling?”

    What an odd question. I had hoped he was just going to get to the point, but I played along anyways.

    “I’m okay.”

    “Good.Good.”

    Mr. Guske put his hands behind his head and reclined in his chair. In the eerie silence of the room I could hear the shirt sliding up and brushing against his black curly pubic hair. I swear I didn’t look because I’m a perv; it was just so quiet that I had the instinct to look where the sound was coming from. As I saw his exposed body, I looked away completely humiliated at what I had done and I’m sure Mr.Guske had followed my stare and had seen the look on my face. 

    After a moment of delay, Mr. Guske took a deep break and stood up. He strode across the room and slid the lock into place. As he went to close the blinds, my heart started to beat faster.

    “M-Mr. Guske?”

    He didn’t respond. He just walked back and stood a few inches from my face. I was eye-level with his pants and yet again, he stretched his arms, but this time he must have adjusted his pants because they rode just above his cock and no higher. I dared not look, but I could smell the stench of unwashed man. It smelled so bad that I nearly gagged. 

    I didn’t stop staring straight ahead even as I felt a large hand massage my shoulder. Mr.Guske seemingly took my silence as consent and was oblivious to the tears welling up in my eyes. Now both of his hands were on me as he moved behind me. My teacher started massaging my back and although I was paralyzed in fear, I let an involuntary groan escape my lips. Mr.Guske stopped and bent down to whisper in my ear. 

    I could feel his warm breath with every word and smell the scent of his morning coffee as he said, “You and I have known each other for a while now and I feel we have grown close. I-I need a favor of you and no one else can help me…..You’re a sweet boy and my wife hasn’t been so loving with me for a long, long time. I just need you to help me. Do you think you could do that?”

    “Mr. Guske, please.”

    I squirmed and tried to free myself as his hands slipped under my collar and felt the smooth skin on my back. His rough hands were quick and stronger than my weak frame could handle. As I leaped up from my seat he grabbed my collar, choking me and slammed my ribs into the side of the desk. Disoriented, I collapsed on the ground for a moment. Mr. Guske rushed me and kicked the small on my back. I was spread on the floor and Mr. Guske jumped on top of me. He grabbed my wrists and replaced his hands with his knees. He quickly took his tie off and quieted my loud cries with this makeshift gag. Mr. Guske got up, put his shoe on my face, and as I squirmed, he added a painful amount of pressure. I was able to look at him as my face was being mashed into the ground. He opened his desk drawer and revealed some handcuffs covered in pink fluff. He rummaged for a moment before looking me over analytically as if taking measurements and pulled out a school girl outfit. He threw the outfit on the floor next to me. It looked like a Halloween outfit for sluts. It was a white button up and a short, plaid skirt. 

    Mr. Guske gestured at the girl’s outfit and said, “Put it on.”

    He lifted his shoe from my face and I got up. I turned away and began unbuttoning my shirt as tears fell on the carpet floor. After taking off my shirt I pulled down my pants and started to put on the dress. 

    “No,no,no. Take that underwear off too.”

    My hands trembled as I slid my underwear down. This left my smooth and pale body to the gaze of my teacher. Mr. Guske scratched his beard in anticipation as I put on the school girl outfit. As soon as I was done, Guske grabbed me by the waist and pulled me onto his lap so my back was towards him. I could feel the tent of his pants on my naked ass as the skirt rose up. He pulled my arms behind my back without resistance on my part and secured the handcuffs. He replaced the tie with a ball gag from the bottom of his desk drawer. Then Guske pulled by head back by my hair and licked my neck. As I struggled against his grip, he only pulled harder. Finally I gave in and surrendered to the physical stimulation of a grown man’s mouth. My breath was shallow and staggered as Guske slid his tongue upward to my ear. I had never been touched before or even thought of men in that way. Being taken by force like this scared me more than anything else.

    “Get on your knees,” he said as he released my ball gag.

    I slid off Guske’s lap and turn to face him. He stood up and slid his pants down. I almost got slapped in the face by the tent that his boxers created. The smell of male musk started to take over my young brain, twisting my conscious into submission. Finally, he slid his boxers down. His uncut cock sprung up. It was long (at least 10”), but more that that, it was thick all around with a massive head at the end. His penis was covered by foreskin which was more than long enough to hang off the tip. I could see those v hips which (as well as a thick happy trail) led to his dick. I sat and was mesmerized by the alien life-form that was pulsing inches from my face and leaking copious amounts of precum into the carpet like a predator salivating at its prey.

    With an exasperated sigh and his hands on his hips Guske said, “Well, don’t just stare at it.”

    I slowly put it in my mouth as his precum coated my tongue. It tasted nasty unlike anything I’ve ever tasted. 

    “Don’t worry. You’ll like it more the longer you do it. Just try it again.”

    “Okay,” I said reluctantly, wiping the slime and tears from my lips.

    I closed my eyes and stuck my tongue out. I felt the tip again, but this time I slid my tongue beneath his foreskin. I started to swirl my tongue there and Mr. Guske’s head fell back as he moaned in ecstasy from his sensitive head being toyed with by a student. 

    “Suck on my dick, girl.” 

    The word “girl” lodged in my head as my brain began to process the humiliation of my predicament; dressed as a slut, on my knees, and sucking the precum off my teacher’s dick. 

    I stopped and looked up at him. 

    “Please, I don’t like this.”

    “I need this one way or another bitch.”

    With that, Guske took my head in his massive hands and shoved his cock deep in my throat. I gagged and vomited immediately on myself and his dick. 

    “What the fuck?!” Guske exclaimed. 

    I began sobbing. I felt that I had done him wrong and that I wasn’t pleasing him. I don’t know why I felt compelled to do a good job, but I knew that he was getting frustrated.

    He wiped his dick with a tissue while giving my a disgusted look as I cried with the slime running down my face and soaking my shirt. His gaze changed. I think my broken state turned him on. I must have reminded him of those girls you see in porn who look destroyed by the time the video is over.

    Guske took of this as an opportunity to try out a porn video fantasy. Guske walked back to my face, roughly grabbed my head, and began face fucking me. I gagged a threw up more, but Guske didn’t stop. He was only able to get 6” down my throat and although I vainly tried to pull my head away, Guske held fast and pumped relentlessly. Eventually, it became easier. My throat stopped closing up and I became limp as I looked up at his face. Tears left wet tracks down my face and my throat was sore, but the smile on his face as he watched me take his massive cock was all the validation I needed. 

    “That’s it baby. Look up at me. You’re such a dirty slut.” 

    I knew that I was a slut whatever that word meant. I began to bob my head and Guske let go. I kept up the pace like my life depended on it. I took it down to the hilt where I could feel his black, scraggly pubes tickle my face. I held my face there, relishing what I had found humiliating only minutes before. 

    “Damn I’m going to have to stop for a moment. I want this to last.”

    I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but I let his cock slide out. I took my discarded shirt and used it to wipe my face as I waited for Guske to calm down. He replaced the ball gag in my mouth which made me gag slightly.

    “Get up and bend over the table.”

    I did as he said, but since my hands were bound I had to lay my face and chest on the table. Guske put the gag back in my mouth. I couldn’t see what he was doing back there, but I felt my skirt rise in the back and then two hands spread my ass. His hands felt so right on me. I somehow felt comforted by them even as they spread me to expose my tight, pink hole to my teacher. 

    Mr. Guske got on his knees behind me and soon enough, I felt his beard and mustache in my crack. I didn’t understand what he was doing until I felt a rush of pleasure. He was eating me out. It was so invigorating that I moaned into my gag despite myself. His tongue was so strong and I felt myself open for the penetration of it as I was no longer tense. Waves of ecstasy spread over me as my privates were being violated for the first time. Suddenly, my elation was replaced by disappointment as Mr.Guske stopped tongue-fucking me and stood up. I looked back and saw him fiddle with his penis behind my ass. Guske leaned over the desk and pressed his body against mine. I could feel his hairy chest brush my back and I relished the warmth I felt as he enveloped me in his own body. He reached down and positioned his penis at the opening of my ass. I felt him try to thrust in and instinctively tensed. I began screaming again; losing all previous sense of pleasure from his tongue.

    “I’m going to need you to relax for me baby. Trust me, it’ll make this so much easier.” 

    I shook my head violently and screamed into my gag. I knew I didn’t want this, I knew it would hurt, but I was too incapable of doing anything. My hands were bound, but every bit of my body thrashed in defiance. Mr.Guske struggled against me and in a rage grabbed me and flipped my body over on the desk. He gripped my ankles and forced my legs onto his muscled shoulders. Yet again, my teacher tried to force himself into my virgin hole. This time, he wasn’t so nice about it and I felt the extreme pain of being opened to accommodate the head of the penis. My muffled screams were the only noise in the classroom as Guske pushed further in. 

    He plummeted into me and I felt myself tearing internally. 

    “YEAHHHHH”, he roared.

    I felt like I was going to pass out from the pain and exhaustion. My teacher was slamming himself into me and my ass was on fire. The tears from my face fell on the desk and sweat matted my hair to my beat red face.

    The sound of Guske’s hips slamming loudly against my ass filled my ears and sweat from his body dropped down his big pecs and muscled, slight-beer belly with some drops falling on my body. He bared his teeth and the muscles in his arms flexed as he grabbed my legs and forced them open further. Guske began slamming even harder and hitting a part of me inside that made me see stars. 

    “Oh fuck yeahhhh! You feel that? That’s the clit in your pussy! I’m going to show you what I can make that do!”

    He continuously thrusted harder and harder, hitting the same spot again and again. He stared at my expression of agony as the pain only grew and now there was a new overstimulating sensation. It started to sound wet so I looked down to see him punching his massive cock in and out of me. My expression turned from agony to horror and he smiled as he saw my realization that I was leaking blood, ass juices, and precum. 

    “It’s okay baby, you’re making me feel so good. Give yourself to me you piece of shit. You’re go-“

    And with that, I shit all over his dick uncontrollably. He looked down taken aback, but then, he renewed his vigor- fucking my shit all over the back of my legs and his pubes.

    “Damn you’re fucking filthy.” 

    I was broken. I laid there crying as my rape continued and blood, sweat, and shit stank up the room. 

    Then he started unepectedly loosing his erection. I could see the frustration grow at his sudden lose of manhood. Tears of frustration welled up in his eyes and suddenly he punched my stomach in anger. I was in shock for a moment, and then I vomited in my ball gag. I started choking on my vomit as only some of it was able to leak out. 

    While I choked, his dick became hard again as I struggled for air. 

    I could feel my body tensing up around his dick and I saw him smile again and fuck me like he was trying to kill me. I began to become light headed from not being able to breathe and when my eyes rolled into the back of my head, Guske thrust his hips and threw his head back in a roar as he came hard. 

    Then he quickly undid my gag and turned me on my side to let me cough up the vomit. I laid there and he sat in the desk next to me, combing my hair with his fingers sweetly. 

    “Okay baby girl, I’m going to give you a moment to rest as I try and clean up the mess you made. Thank you for this. It means the world to me.” 

    With that, he got up and began cleaning up the mess on the carpet. 

    Once he finished, I was still laying there defeated. He lifted my leg and began wiping my ass and legs clean. I winced as my torn ass was stretched. He put a numbing agent in and gave me the bottle. 

    “Put this on there to help stop the pain. It will take a long time to heal. Don’t fucking show anyone anything.”

    I nodded numbly and sat up. He helped me dress back into my clothes and then we walked to the showers. 

    No one was on campus at this hour so when we got in the showers and stripped naked, he was able to come up behind me and wash me. He was very soft with his touch but his hands were rough and strong as he glided them over my smooth body. Guske washed me with soap from head to toe before he started moving his hands down to my crack. The steam and warmth from the showers relaxed my body as he inserted a finger into my wrecked boy pussy lips. I moaned as the sore tissue was being touched. Guske seemed to like this and he quickly inserted four fingers making me scream and fall to the ground. 

    “Hahahaha. I wanna go again sweetie. You won’t deny me what’s mine will you?” 

    I crawled back until I felt my back against the cold tile wall. His massive muscular body looked over me. He looked like a hairy demon.

    I trembled and weakly cried, “No please.” 

    He laughed and grabbed my hair, dragging my body until my ass was presented to him. I faced the wall and laid belly down until Mr.Guske got on his knees behind me. I felt him massage my ass that now looked more like a pussy than ever. Then he inserted four fingers- massaging my sore pussy. I screamed which prompted him to put all his fingers in to the knuckle. 

    “Okay sweetheart, this is going to wreck your hole forever. You’ll no longer have an asshole. You’re going to have a pussy after this.”

    With that, he pushed his hand in past the knuckles and I sighed a relief as my sphincter reached his smaller wrist. Then he started pulling the hand out and pushing it in over and over until I was loose and my ass was burning. I was limp so my ass made no attempts to tighten up. He could see the red inside of my hole when he pulled out and that’s when he started punching his fist in and out of me. I could feel him going harder and faster until finally, he punched up to the middle of his forearm into my ass. He kept his arm there and bent over to talk to me.

    “You’re mine now pretty girl. So I’m going to change you from now on to fit my liking,” he said as he moved his arm from side to side in me. 

    “You’re going to push as hard as you can when I pull out.” 

    I couldn’t respond from exhaustion. My hole was destroyed. 

    “On three. One, two, three!!”

    I did as he commanded and pushed as hard as I could  when he pulled out swiftly. 

    I felt my insides burst from my opening. 

    “Good job sweetheart! You’ve never looked better.” 

    Mr. Guske then began massaging around my hole to bring more of me out as he licked it. Without a word, he mounted me again and began fucking my red sock. It felt so different from the first time he fucked me. Totally loose and exhausted, I felt little pain from him. 

    Guske roared as he fucked me hard and fast. He grabbed my hair and smashed my face against the tile wall as he fucked me on and on until he came. 

    “Okay babe. This is going to take a second here.” 

    Me.Guske slowly began trying to stuff me back into myself. When done, he finished washing up and left the room to put on his clothes. When he returned, I was still laying there passed out. Guske picked me up and dried me off. He clothed me and held me in his arms as we made the way to his car which was an old sedan. He laid me in the back seat and drove me to his place. He drove down a windy road that made me bump my head against the door every so often allowing me little rest. 

    I felt the road give way to gravel and saw big trees cover the stars.

    We pulled up to his house which was in the rural area just out of town. It was a humble home seemingly just for him. The décor left much to be desired with beer cans everywhere and a torn sofa. He carried me through his house to his room where I spent the night in bed with him. 

    It took me a week to recover from my rape. My pussy (which is what I’ve been trained to call it now) has healed, but it does in fact resemble a pussy more than an asshole now. The outer ring of my hole has become so stretched, it’s turned into the lips and my hole has never tightened again. It’s just a loose cunt now. 

    When I awoke, Mr. Guske sat down on the bed next to me and told me that he had texted my parents from my phone and told them that I was staying the weekend at my friend’s house. I scooted away from him. My parents were not the most loving and seemingly couldn’t have cared less if I came home or not. 

    “Don’t worry baby girl, I’m not going to do anything to you. We’re just going to focus on getting you healed up. As soon as you are healed, we’ll start we’ll start where we left off, but for now I’m going to pamper you, princess.” 

    Even though I was still straight, Guske acted like the man of my dreams. He did absolutely everything he could to help my wounds heal and caressed me like a lover would. Though he didn’t use my pussy, he did eat it out gently which made me moan with pleasure. I was in heaven for the weekend, despite not getting up from bed much since it hurt to walk. 

    Because of his efforts though, my new pussy healed nicely.

    When I went home, Guske would text me on my phone that he had a great time and that he would require me to call him every night before I went to bed. 

    At school, I would watch him waiting to see if his tight shirt would burst. It hugged his massive biceps and the buttons strained against his muscular beer belly. He’d make sure to look at me drooling over him and smirk knowingly. 

    He knew after school I’d be staying for some one on one tutoring. It started the same. He’d lock the door, close the binds, turn off the lights and make me undress for him and dress into the school girl outfit. This time though, he told me I was coming home with him. I felt my pussy get wet and clench in anticipation. I followed Mr.Guske to his car; watching his thick ass bounce. The whole way there, Guske forced my face down on his dick. “Be a good girl and swallow my piss”. Sure enough, my stomach was full of his manly acidic piss as we were pulling up into his driveway. I walked inside and he told me to strip and get on all fours. Guske went to the box under the bed and brought out a pink leather collar and leash. I felt a big plug stuffed into my pussy do I looked behind me to see a tail and then I felt the cold metal of the collar and leash on my neck. Then Guske told me to stay. After a few minutes, he came back with the biggest dog I had ever seen. A mastiff with cream fur and a black snout. I was immediately intimidated and looked down at the ground. Mr.Guske laughed and said, “Here Brute. Here’s my bitch.” He turned to me. “Present yourself to him.” I didn’t know what that meant so I stayed still. Mr. Guske kicked my shoulders and I collapsed with my face down and ass up. Mr. Guske took the dog around to my tail. Brute sniffed my tail and found it to his liking so he took a lick around my hole making me groan. 

    “That’s a good boy Brute. You’ve done it before, so I know you can do it again.” 

    With that, Guske yanked the plug out of my pussy with a loud pop. That’s when Brute started to really lose control. He strained against his leash while Guske teased him with the tasty treat in front of his nose. Finally when Brutes drool was coating the floor, Guske let go of the leash and Brute dove his tongue deep into my hole; nipping around my pussy with his teeth. I moaned and winced as the dog saturated my hole with his drool. 

    After ten full minutes of pussy eating Guske led the dog to the front. He bent down to my face and looked me in the eyes as he said, “Suck.”

    Brute then lined his massive 8” red rocket with my mouth and began pummeling away. I gagged as the dog’s penis flew down my throat. Meanwhile, Guske went around to my backside and shoved his thick 10” cock deep into my pussy. My eyes rolled into the back of my head. It hurt so badly and I hated the feeling and taste of dick, but I learned to love being dominated by one. 

    Brute was getting close from my big dick sucking lips slobbering all over his thick cock.  My teacher saw this and abruptly ordered him off. He took the leash and led him to my sloppy hole. At this point Brute was at the point of no return. Mr.Guske released him onto me and Brute dove all the way in. I had the wind knocked out of me by the sheer force of Brute’s thrust. His 8” rocket was about to blow and I felt his dick engorge at the base as it began to pop in and out. The swelling didn’t stop until the base of Brute’s dick was the size of my fist. It was like getting rapidly fisted and fucked deeply at the same time. My pussy was sounding wet and sloppy and my yelps and screams climaxed as Brute laid one last thrust in me, popping all the way in and tearing my hole open again. The pain was immense. Mr. Guske watched it all while playing with his dick. I was collapsed on the floor with Brute’s dick deep in my cum saturated cunt and his cold slobber dripping down my neck. 

    Finally, Brute popped out of me. 

    I passed out with my naked body sprawled on the floor. When I woke up, I was being washed outside in a kiddy pool…. 


    To be continued. Let me know in the comments what you’d like to see!

  • Dirt road main street

    I looked at my cell, “Morning, Uncle.”

    “Good morning, Son.”

    “Well, you called me, Uncle,” I said when he didn’t start talking.

    “Tell me Ben is with you. Not one word has been said round here.”

    “Yes, Uncle. Ben is doing very well.”

    “Ryan?”

    “Are you gonna start with me, Uncle?”

    “Ryan? Ben’s Daddy. Do you think Ben might call or something?”

    “If he hasn’t done it on his own by now, then I won’t say a thing. You are the one who told me to take him away.”

    “Yes, I did. And, yes you did. Good talking to you, boy.”

    “And you, Old man.” I had to smile.

    As the middle of November rolled around Ben and I still hadn’t. We did sleep in the same bed, woke up curled into the other, but we hadn’t. I’m sure he jacked-off as much as I did, tried to hide from the other so he, or I, didn’t feel bad. I did feel bad.

    My family was gone and the gatherings Rob and I used to have, were gone as well. I thought about what holidays for Ben were like, the three of them sitting around a Thanksgiving Table must have been sad. I starting inviting people. I mean I have a chief’s kitchen, with all the leaves I can seat twenty at the table.

    So… I am not a chief, couldn’t fill the table, but we had twelve. Parker and his wife, his sister, Cassidy, along with their Mom and Dad. Sugar and the girl at the moment; I often wondered what they saw in him and what he could do. Go figure. Ben took great pride in helping; set the table, did silver wear, and complimented me.

    He was becoming so… much more comfortable around me; the way he’d touch me in front of others. He held nothing back. I looked at the table he’d set; thirteen. We should have just had a rider-less horse. I knew what he was trying to do and walked out picking up the setting to my right and left that spot with nothing.

    We shared a look. I knew what he was trying to do and he did as well. I left him to answer the door, do the greetings; It’s a special thing. I mean I started this morning; if you plan big shit like this, it just happens almost by its self if you plan. I had been drinking most of the afternoon but wasn’t smashed yet.

    A sting to my ass and he was going to do it again. “That, fuckin, hurt.”

    “Are you buying my grades???” And his voice was a little too loud. How could he think that???

    I snatched his arm pulling him outside. “Don’t, you, fuckin, dare,” I said, pulling him to the deck.

    “Really? You invite some of my teachers?”

    “If you get an A; that’s on you; you stupid fuckin Farmb.” And I reeled it in.

    “I would never do that, Benny. I told you that you would affect lives. Don’t think you can skate, you will have to work for every grade, maybe even harder.” And I gave him a quick kiss.

    I could have fuckin smacked him; then I thought. “Ben. Prof H, loves books and I have a collection; he has no one. Miss Lawless. She has been alone for a while; raises dogs and lives on the Island I told you we could drive to.” And still, I could have slapped him.

    “Ben? This is where I live, my name is on a building at the university you go to. It’s not all about you.”

    “You are so… gonna get it one of these days.” And I got his smile as he made a feeble attempt at slugging me in the stomach.

    I gave the honor of carving the bird to my Godfather. All in all, it was an eclectic group. My sexual orientation is not something I ever threw out there but most at dinner understood about Ben. As we ate, talked, and laughed, Ben would look at me.

    “Poor us some Brandy, Chancellor,” Cass said leaning on the bar showing her cleavage.

    I did and she took my arm leading us to the backyard. “WELL?” And I acted dumb.

    “WELL, what?” I wasn’t going to make it easy for her.

    “Is he why you had Thanksgiving, this year?”

    “You just want to know if he has a big dick. You’re such a size whore.” And I expected the slug to my arm.

    “I’ve sized him up. A girl can tell. So he’s hung?”

    “Yes, Cass. He is hung as well as I am. Happy? I miss you, little sister.”

    “Don’t you dare go getting all weepy on me, you big old quire. I miss you too. SO?”

    I pulled her close. “I love you, Cass. We haven’t if that’s what you’re talking about?”

    “If you don’t, I will.” She said like, she was serious.

    I thought about what she said. Maybe? Ben had never been with a girl or a boy. Maybe? “You are such a slut.” And I pulled her closer.

    I had pies up the ass and poured drinks with a heavy hand. I’d never really thought about it with Rob, but being friends with the U staff. Miss Lawless, was a short, big, woman. She did nothing to improve her looks; stringy uncombed hair, no makeup, she didn’t fuckin care.

    It’s funny in a way. With all her quirks, she did have a beauty about her. Ben did well; he did really well. Prof H? He is a nerd, to the max. We talked about books I’d never read, a value I cared nothing about, and he was the last to leave. I put the shit in that needed to go in the fridge, threw plastic over stuff that needed it, and got in the tub.

    Ben got in next to me and I handed him the joint I’d had too many hits off of. “I think; Cass was cuming on to me?”

    I really do love him. It started as a smile, then a giggle, then a full out laugh. “Ben, Ben, Ben?”

    I straddled him, I was going to kiss him. “Don’t tease me.” He said.

    Just when I thought I could, I realized, I couldn’t. Ben? I had taken pictures down making room for new ones and realized I needed to paint because you could see.

    It was close to Christmas when Ben brought in his tablet to show me. The first quarter grades were posted. Ben was all I knew he was and more. He nailed it. It was no surprise to me, the grades, the way he really didn’t need to study, and the books he read in the library.

    “I’m doing good, Mamma.” He said, and I’m not one to eavesdrop. But.

    “Don’t cry. I’m going to The University, here. I’m sorry for not calling sooner.” I should have moved on, but didn’t.

    “Did you guys paint my room too, mamma?” And I could tell he was crying. How, fuckin, sad. Ben hadn’t hung himself but was dead in his father’s eyes.

    I walked back into my bedroom and opened the drawers that were Robby’s. I’d never cleaned them out. It was long… overdue. Five fuckin years. Why hadn’t I done this? Greif; it’s an awful thing. I could still hear Ben on the phone with his Momma.

    I was pissed on so… many levels, and sad on many more. I sat on the floor with all his drawer stuff around me and just cried. I was making room for Ben. I wanted this to be our room, as it had been ours with Robby. “He’s a good man; a real good man,” I heard as he walked in and saw me.

    “I got to go, love you too.” And he sat next to me.

    “You, crazy city boy. What are you doing?”

    “Ryan.” And he pulled my crying eyes to his neck.

    I hate fuckin crying. But they say, tears cleanse the soul. I pulled myself together, dried my eyes, and packed shit up. Ben watched. I smelled everything; still smelled like him after five years. Ben got up and I heard the truck start and he drove away. And I thought I was the one who took on baggage.

    I packed up everything, clothes, shoes, along with the hundred pairs of underwear I bought him. I pinged Ben’s phone, sent a text; nothing. I walked to the bar grabbing a bottle of Scotch older than me then to the tub. I was really in the bag when he slid in next to me.

    I wanted to tell him, needed him to know; but didn’t tell him how much I loved him. We did do the deed that night.

    Now, I wasn’t a virgin. I knew Ben was. It had been so…long since I went down on a guy. I left the light on, tasted every part of him; every part. I took him in my mouth, chocked on him, and got him off quicker than I thought.

    He gave me something I didn’t realize how much I needed. It had been five years and I didn’t close my eyes. Ben filled me. I kissed him as his hard shaft filled me, shook my head feeling what men feel, rode him with abandon. ‘Don’t close your eyes when I love you tonight.’

    For those who don’t know; but want to. I can’t speak to how a woman feels, cum leaking from your fuck hole, dripping from what your lover planted. But for a man. Ben was a great lover. I was a wanting, lover. He had to see in my eyes as I rode his fuck pole, had to feel me squeeze his shaft as I came, the ecstasy as he filled me with children who will never be born.

    I had really worked up a fuckin sweat, my legs were cramping, and my ass was on fire. Ben had his eyes closed shaking his head back and forth; I smiled looking down on him. He had stopped cuming but was flexing every few seconds; fuckin show off, I thought.

    I fell asleep with him inside me; we didn’t talk. What can you really say after that? We separated somehow during the night, I was curled up to his back when I woke. “I love you, Benny,” I said in his ear. He didn’t move.

    I’d dumped what he planted in me and was showering when he came in. “Thank you.” He said and his arms came around me.

    “Thank you.” I returned moving his hands down.

    So here we were. I didn’t know what he was doing as I sat down at my keyboard. It had been a while, I was working a lot and Ben was in school.

    The keyboard is nice because you can pull so… many different sounds out. I sat naked hitting the keys like plucking strings. “It’s late in the evening; you’re wondering what clothes to wear. You’ll do what you do then spray your long blond hair.” Pause.

    I thought about us and hit, next, on my playlist. “Goodbye to you my trusted friend. We’ve known each other since we were nine or ten.” Pause.

    Next. “You packed in the morning, and I struggled as I looked out the window.” Next. Next. Next.

    “My love; I’ll never find the words, my love.” This was for Ben. ‘I’ll never find the words.’ I didn’t feel him behind me.

    He took my headphones off; “Come back to bed, Chancellor.” OK. Fuck me into the next century.

    I have no idea how long I explored his body? Time meant nothing. I don’t want to say it, but I had something to prove. “Sweet dreams, Rob.” I thought.

    Ben was, I mean. Ben was ready when I stabbed him. It was one, long, push. And I was in. I came; just like that. Talk about, your hair, fuckin, trigger? But I pushed on.

    I gave Ben more than I thought I had in me. I looked down on him with his legs over my shoulders, sweat from me dripping on him; and came for the second time. Fuck me.

    Now it had happened for both of us in a big way. Life.

    Eight years later:

    There he was, eight years after getting off the train with me. Eight years of studying, purple cord around his neck, he walked up to me. “I love you, Rye” And his arms went around my neck.

    Yes, It, had been eight years of love like he said, and he said it a lot. I’d never said it, the thing that kept me awake at night, the, I love you. I did love him; he knew that, but I never said it. And that is on me.

    This was his day; something I’d never achieve. “I love you, more,” I told him; finally.

    There it was again. I saw his eyes moisten. I gave him something I had held back for way too long. If you know it; say it out loud.

    When he’d tell me, daily, I love you, my response was always; how could you not? It made him smile. Now he had from me what I have no fuckin idea why I held from him for so… long.

    His tears made my heart hurt, “That’s debatable.” And he didn’t let go of me for a long time. The End.


    From your Author:

    We, as men, seem to hold back on the shit that matters. Don’t. If it’s in your heart; let it out. What I write is a perfect example; one says it every day knowing the other does too, but never says it. How fucked up is that??? RJC.


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


  • Hot Property

    1

    The dark basement room had no furniture yet. Large cardboard boxes, still unopened, sat along the walls, where the movers had left them. In the center of the room, a thick, expansive braided rug cushioned the concrete floor. It felt good to Rob, Ken and Troy as they stretched out on it, breathless and laughing after a long romp of horseplay and tickling.

    Rob and Ken, hunky high school wrestling team buddies, especially enjoyed the fun. Each of them had looked forward to getting into a situation like this, so they could check out the new guy. Anyone could under­stand why. Troy’s body made a striking impression—light blond hair, an incredibly handsome face, riveting blue eyes, a square jaw, broad shoulders, narrow waist, and gorgeous buns that tempted you through the tight jeans he wore. His younger age didn’t deter the two. But the guy’s unusually big dick-bulge drew them like a magnet.

    Rob positioned himself on hands and knees above and across Troy’s body, with hands on one side of the guy’s chest and knees on the other. Then he dropped down onto the kid, mimicking a pro-wrestling splash.

    “You’re pinned, man!” Rob chuckled.

    The time had come to find out what the kid had between his legs. Rob held a hand over the fly and tickled the jean-covered dick with a finger.

    “Ah!” laughed Troy.

    Rob laid his hand on it.

    “No!” protested the kid, still laughing. He made a grab for Rob’s hand, but couldn’t reach it with Rob’s body lying across him.

    “Now your dick’s pinned, too!” joked Rob, tightening his fingers around the stiffening muscle.

    “Let go!” said Troy with more concern.

    “Why?” replied Rob, continuing his hold. “All the guys do it.”

    “Not me.”

    Rob began to rub his fingers slowly up and down the growing tool.

    “Don’t do that,” said Troy.

    Rob ignored the request. “Does it feel good?”

    Troy squirmed in obvious pleasure.

    “I bet you like it a lot,” suggested Rob, feeling the dick respond to his seductive rubbing. It quickly pushed above the kid’s brief, then the jeans, and showed no sign of stopping there.

    “What a cock you’ve got, man,” said Rob, astonished at its size. He opened the jeans and pulled them down to Troy’s knees. Just enough light filtered through one small window to let him see the cock and to watch it lengthen.

    Ken crawled up close. “Shit!” he said. “Look at the size of that fucker! What is it—nine inches? Ten? Let me feel it.” He pulled Rob’s caressing hand from the pole and gripped it hard—too hard.

    “Ah!” yelled Troy.

    Rob yanked Ken’s hand off the cock.

    “What are ya doin’, man?” said Ken in surprise. “Let me get him!”

    “Wait!” whispered Rob. “I think this is his first time. Don’t rush it. Give him some slack.”

    Rob put his fingers around the cock again.

    “No!” shouted Troy, trying to push Rob’s body away from him.

    “It’s O.K.,” said Rob, reassuring the kid in the darkness.

    “Don’t do it anymore,” said Troy, calming down.

    “Has your cock ever shot off?” asked Rob, gently massaging the huge phallus.

    “Every guy loves it.”

    “You mean when I piss?”

    “No,” smiled Rob. “Has it ever squirted when it gets stiff like this?” Troy didn’t answer, embarrassed that the truth might make the two guys mock his inexperience.

    Rob continued. “It shoots sperm. When it comes out, it’s the best feeling a guy can have.” He paused. “Wanna give it a try?”

    “No,” answered Troy, in a voice that sounded more cautious than negative.

    “Then can I just hold it?” asked Rob.

    “For a minute,” Troy responded.

    Rob relocated his fingers higher around the giant rod and rested the pad of his thumb very lightly on the kid’s cock hole. The thumb’s pressure was so delicate that the kid had no sensation of it. But as time passed, Troy’s cock became harder and really started to feel good to him. As it stiffened, Rob felt its rim stiffen under his thumb—without him doing anything else to produce that. After a moment, thick pre-cum started to gradually push out of the hard penis. To Rob it seemed like the cock was trying to reach out to him, wanting more.

    Troy leaned back against Rob as the good feeling grew. He began to trust Rob. He didn’t know exactly why, but he didn’t want this feeling to go away. As he rested against Rob’s body Troy’s already exceptionally long cock seemed to get even longer. It began to pulse.

    “Does your cock feel good?” asked Rob

    “Yeah,” replied Troy in a whisper. “Better and better.”

    “Just relax and enjoy it.”

    Troy felt an enticing pleasure continue to gradually take hold of his long shaft—from deep in his balls to the tip of his cock. Troy briefly lifted his head, trying to see what caused it, but couldn’t in the darkness.

    The wonderful sensations in his cock increased. He began to hold Rob tighter, almost becoming afraid of the seething, masculine power that churned within him, dominating him.

    “Your cock feels like its growing, and that’s a good thing, man.”

    Troy loved the reassurance. The kid held Rob tightly, never wanting to let go. Rob gradually began to move his thumb pad slightly around the slippery top of Troy cock hole.

    “Ah!” gasped Troy, paralyzed by an onrush of pleasure and fear. His heart raced, his cock pounded violently. Troy felt his balls stiffen. He hugged Rob as his pleasure grew his beyond belief. He spread his legs.

    “Let it happen, buddy,” encouraged Rob.

    Troy lifted his butt off the floor. Suddenly a monstrous pleasure roared up his long, tingling tube. Rob could hardly hold the kid down when the juice erupted.

    “Yeah! Pump it, boy!” said Rob. He moved on top of Troy and lowered his open mouth to the shooting cockhead. He slipped it inside his mouth. When Troy felt Ron’s warm mouth and tongue on his cock, the pleasure of it paralyzed him.

    Rob held Troy close to him after the diminishing squirts ended. Troy embraced Rob, feeling better than he ever had in his life. Love had reached his fear. Rob understood. He kissed Troy, wanting the youth all to himself.

    “Hey!” shouted Ken, crawling over to them and seeing Troy’s huge, dripping shaft. “Give me some of that!”

    Ken roughly pulled Rob away from kid. Rob lunged toward Troy, but Ken nailed him with a hard punch in the gut. As Rob paused to catch his breath, Ken quickly crawled onto Troy and started to suck the youth’s gigantic, oozing pole. Never having experienced post-orgasm work, Troy cried out as a extreme, intolerable pleasure suddenly attacked his rod.

    “He’s mine, you bastard!” yelled Rob angrily.

    Ken freed the cockhead only long enough to say, “Not anymore!” Then his mouth captured the cock again.

    Enraged, Rob threw a fist into Ken’s jean-gripped ballsack from behind. The tight jeans, extremely thin from years of wear, did nothing to minimize the blow. Suffering in pain, Ken sat up and clutched his smarting nuts. “You’re history, man!” he said. Ken threw himself at Rob with so much force that it knocked his back against a wall of the basement. Ken gripped his throat with a hand and kept him pinned against the wall with a severe choke hold. Rob tried to pull the hand away, but couldn’t.

    Ken opened Rob’s jeans with his other hand. He knew that Rob usually didn’t wear a jock, and now that’s what he wanted. He grabbed Rob’s naked balls and squeezed them hard. Troy heard Rob’s screams and it sent shivers down his spine.

    “I’m takin’ the kid!” snarled Ken. “So get your ass outa here! If you don’t, say goodbye to your nuts!”

    Rob knew his balls couldn’t take another minute of Ken’s crushing hold. “O.K., he’s yours. You win, fucker!” said Rob in a rasping voice. When Ken released him, Rob quickly crawled to the door.

    “Don’t leave me here with Ken!” begged Troy.

    But it was too late. Rob had already opened the door and a few seconds later it closed, leaving Troy and Ken alone in the dark room.

    Ken immediately yanked down Troy’s jeans and jock, then pulled down his own. Troy tried to escape, but Ken wrestled him onto his stomach, holding him down with both arms around his waist. To Troy the hunk seemed like a hostile warrior threatening him with a spear—especially when he felt Ken’s spear push between his butt cakes. The scared kid tried punching Ken’s arms with his fists.

    “No you don’t,” said Ken.

    The wrestler locked him in a secure full nelson to put an end to that.

    “Since you’re mine now,” said Ken, “I’m gonna make it official!” He pushed his oozing cock into Troy’s butthole.

    “Rob! Rob!” yelled the panic-stricken kid.

    “He’s gone,” said Ken. “It’s just you and me now.”

    The wrestler pushed his eager cock all the way into Troy’s defenseless hole. “You can’t stop me, dude, so get ready to become my slave.”

    Troy’s mouth opened in fear as Ken started a fuck session that would last longer than Troy could imagine.

    “We’re gonna do this a lot, boy!” stated Ken. “Your ass is mine now. Isn’t that right?”

    Ken’s power-fucks made Troy gasp in agreement. What else could he do? But after that moment, the room’s darkness somehow began to work its way into him, body and soul. Soon he could see no light in the room, nor hear any sounds, nor feel anything. He could only think of Rob. Troy tried to scream as the warrior shoved his spear into his ass again and again, but he couldn’t utter a sound. Ken smiled, burying his spear deeper inside the handsome slave’s power­less, submissive body.

    2

    Years later, Troy walked apprehensively though a dingy and abandoned warehouse, a popular hangout for Masters and their boys. On one particular night, the place had attracted many more guys than usual because of a special event. Some boys had gathered not only watch this event, but to show themselves to Masters who might select them as future slaves.

    Troy happily walked side-by-side with Roth, his Master. They headed toward their destination—the “Game Room,” the source of all of the talking and laughing they heard in the distance. Troy, naked by slave custom, had a hand constantly on his Master’s curving, jock-covered ass. Sometimes he squeezed it, sometimes he patted or caressed it. Before they entered the “Game Room,” the Master stopped and turned to him.

    “Look what that does to me,” he said. The slave looked down to see Roth’s erect cock poking dramatically into his skimpy brief. The slave smiled and slipped a hand inside the brief. He held the stiff rod and then the solid, low-hanging sack that hung between his Master’s thighs. He fondled each testicle. Roth gazed at him and whispered, “I love you Troy.”

    The Roth put his strong arms around Troy’s waist, pulled naked stud to his chest and kissed him with a passion and strength that only a wrestler could possess.

    While they kissed, Roth rubbed his cock against Troy’s gut, grunting in pleasure. He moved one hand down to the kid’s butt and eased his middle finger inside the warm, young fuckhole. Troy groaned some words though Roth’s powerful kiss. Roth couldn’t hear those words clearly, but he knew what they meant. The Master had always known. Troy genuinely worshipped him and always became aroused by the lightest touch of his hand or any other body part. The kid also felt wonderfully safe around Roth. The mysterious, magnetic attraction of the two made their relationship grow steadily.

    Troy finally broke away from the kiss. “Do you really have to do it, sir?” he asked with a sudden nervousness.

    “Boy, we’ve gone over this many times,” said Roth patiently, as he massaged the kid’s butthole. “I have to confront him. I can defeat him. And when I do, he’ll be out of my life for good, and yours too. It’s the only way. I have to risk it all to show him I’m not a coward. He knows you’re the only thing that really matters to me. He’ll never win you. I won’t let him.” He slid his finger out of Troy’s ass and held the kid steady. “He’ll never get you.”

    Though the possibility of losing his Master in the upcoming fight upset him, Troy realized the inherent truth of what Roth said. The bitter rivalry between the two Masters had to stop. He looked down at Roth’s bulging brief. The slave kneeled in front of his hunky Master. He pulled the jock’s front down and put the cock in his mouth. The tool immediately rewarded Troy with a load of pre-cum. Troy savored it before he swallowed.

    “Well, what a happy couple,” said a sarcastic voice in the distance.

    Startled, Troy got up and stood beside Roth.

    “I hope you can find enough time to fight me,” said Kane, walking toward them. He stopped a few feet away to stare for several moments at the perfection of Troy’s incredible body. His greenish eyes looked particularly menacing as he spoke to Troy. “I’m gonna take you home with me tonight, boy!”

    “I wouldn’t count on it,” replied Roth.

    Kane looked both imposing and terrifyingly to Troy. The guy’s muscles were huge and his dark beard looked intimidating. Troy mentally cringed as Kane’s eyes inspected his aroused and extravagantly long sex pole. Normally he enjoyed showing it off to other guys. But he knew Kane had different thoughts in his mind as he scanned it—ideas of torture and sweat and submission.

    “By the way,” Kane continued to Roth, “you’re lax on discipline: a slave never stands beside his Master; he always stands behind him. But don’t worry, I’ll whip his ass into shape real fast.” He turned and walked away.

    Roth connected a heavy chain to Troy’s waist strap, then followed Kane into the Game Room, towing Troy behind. Only one bright light illuminated the empty center of the room, where wrestling bondage exhibitions events took place. Most of the room looked shadowy and gray. Yet Troy could still see a lot of young spectators—mostly naked freeboys and slaves. Masters stood out, wearing leather harnesses, jocks or briefs. He saw many of the naked boys getting their erect cocks handled or stroked by other studs. As Roth led Troy through the crowd, Troy caught sight of two freeboys that made his cock jump. One stood behind the other, licking the back of his neck. The one in front reached a hand behind him and reciprocated by slow-wrestling the boy’s big cock. Troy thought how much he liked it when Roth did that to him.Or when Roth tied his arms and legs to a St. Andrew’s Cross and worked on him for hours until he shot off.

    The Master stopped, unfastened the chain, and let it fall to the floor, leaving Troy on the edge of the ropeless play area. Troy watched Roth and Kane walk to the middle of the “stage.” Both did a few quick warm-up stretches, which made the onlookers cheer.

    But the audience seemed especially turned-on when Roth slowly bent himself backward until his hands reached the floor. He planted his legs far apart and pushed his butt upward, forming a magnificent bridge.

    When the onlookers saw his impressive physique stretched like that, and his balls and cock fully displayed under the bright light above, they cheered louder. It instantly made him the crowd favorite of the evening. The sight made the cock of one freeboy immediately erupt in cum. He aimed his exploding cock toward Roth, fantasizing himself as Roth’s slave. Roth gave the boy a smile.

    “Enough of this shit,” bellowed Kane. Let’s wrestle.” But first he pointed a finger at Troy. “When this is over, you’re gonna suck my cock, boy!”

    Troy glared at Kane, unwilling to show fear or weakness. But inwardly, uncertainty gnawed at his gut and wouldn’t let go. The crowd could feel the tension as well. They knew about the fight’s extremely high stakes—a Master fighting to keep his sexy slave. Some of them knew that years earlier, Kane’s slave had left him to be with Roth. But now that the massively endowed blond had become Roth’s new slave—and an incredibly loyal one—Kane demanded a match to claim Troy as his property if Roth won.

    Though many in attendance disliked Kane, they respected his spectacular muscles. The overhead light made those muscles stand out all over his physique. They made his shaft look stronger and his balls bigger. In addition, Kane’s gaze seemed to have a strange, immobilizing effect on others. One of the ringside freeboys found this out earlier, when Kane suddenly approached him before the match.

    “Hands behind your back,” ordered Kane. He then took hold of the boy’s rigid, outstretched rod and crushed it with a long, barbaric squeeze. Yet the freeboy just stared at him in numbing pain, unable to raise an arm against the hunk.

    “You like this, don’t ya,” said Kane, as if demonstrating his power to everyone in the room.

    “Yes sir!” gasped the boy.

    Kane grinned and squeezed harder, pulling the freeboy down on his knees with the cock. “Now cum for me.”

    “Yes sir!” cried the kid.

    The surprised onlookers watched—along with Troy—as the freeboy pushed his cock forward, trying to fulfill Kane’s order. A few seconds later, the cock did give Master what he wanted—a look at his young sperm. The shots left the boy breathless. As soon as Kane let go of the cock, the freeboy sank to the floor.

    “You’ll make a good slave,” said Kane, admiring the youth’s twitching tool.

    “For you, sir?” groaned the kid.

    “Not this time, boy.” Kane turned his head to Troy. “If I win this fight, my prize is gonna be THAT meat. As Kane stared at Troy’s super long, erect tool, he asked the kid, “What do you think of his cock?”

    “Awesome, sir,” said the kid. “I’d like to see it shoot, sir.”

    “Stick around,” said the Master.

    Just before the fight began, Roth and Kane slipped off their briefs and faced each other. The overhead spotlight did a good job of illuminating their considerable muscles, particularly their already aroused cocks and balls. The two wrestlers didn’t have to do anything else to capture the attention of onlookers.

    Roth did not seem shaken by Kane’s threatening appearance or by his hypnotic gaze. When the fight started, Roth crouched, spread his legs and beckoned the bearded Master to come and get him. As soon as Kane moved closer, Roth immediately went for the guy’s balls, striking them with a lightning fist that made the hunk stagger, then fall to his knees.

    Roth got behind him and brought his fist up between Kane’s legs and into the balls again. The gasping hunk fell forward, toppling to the floor on his chest. Roth grapevined Kane’s left thigh, draped him­self across the Master’s lower back and butt, then wrapped his arms around the right thigh. He pulled on the thigh, forcing it away from the crotch. Kane groaned in pain as Roth split the legs wider and wider. The hunk pounded the mat with both hands. The widening leg split brought his big, low-hanging balls into the spotlight for all to see.

    Kane didn’t submit, so Roth unhooked one hand from the thigh and gripped the helpless ball sack in a submission squeeze that few guys could tolerate. Some of the freeboys wanted more and shouted their wish to Roth: “Punch hits nuts! Punch his nuts!” He didn’t disappoint them. Roth unhooked his claw hold and slammed his fist into the balls. He paused, then repeated his attack. Roth hit hard, determined to force the hunk into submission. More punches followed, soon making the sack skin turn red. The spectators shouted their approval as Kane’s body twitched in pain.

    Kane almost did submit. But Roth couldn’t keep Kane’s powerful thigh down with only one arm. The hunk suddenly brought his legs together, turned toward Roth, thrust a knuckle into his opponent’s windpipe and kept it pressed there. Roth tried to pull the knuckle away from his neck, but Kane pushed it in harder. Still on his knees, Roth desperately pummeled Kane’s chest with his fists.

    “Yeah, hit me!” said Kane. “I love that!”

    He cradled the back of Roth’s neck with his other hand, then used the knuckle to slowly force Roth down to the mat on his shoulders. Now in a position of maximum control, Kane straddled his victim on one knee and went for the sub­mission. His cock twitched as he pressed the knuckle in further, cutting off Roth’s air supply.

    “Give—or die!” shouted Kane.

    Aware that he had only seconds to act, Roth rammed a power fist into the hunk’s ball sack again, mashing his nuts against the crotch. Kane shrieked and instantly grabbed Roth’s arm with both hands. Despite his quickness, the reaction came too late to undo the damage. Paralyzing, stud-slaughtering pain bludgeoned his balls. When Roth at last disengaged, he left Kane on his knees, holding his tortured testicles.

    “I’m gonna get ya for this,” threatened the hunk. “You’re gonna pay big!”

    “Think so?” Roth jumped behind him and slammed a fist into Kane’s lower spine. The hunk cried out, arching his body backward from the blow. Roth turned around and gripped the front of Kane’s neck with his hands. He slowly rose to his feet, suspending the hunk in a hangman hold. Roth bent forward, increas­ing the pressure on his victim’s neck.

    “No! No!” yelled Kane.

    “Yes!” shouted the onlookers, turned on by the hold’s devastation, and also by its sexy display of the hunk’s muscular body. Several of the freeboys moved closer, staring in awe at Kane’s protruding testicles and upright rod. Their cocks oozed as each boy imagined himself squeezing those balls or sucking on the cock of the squirming hunk.

    “Make him give,” Troy whispered to himself, gripping his long tool as he watched Roth’s hold. The bearded hunk held his arms out and splayed all ten fingers in alarm.

    “Yes, yes!” said Troy more loudly.

    The hold clearly agonized Kane.

    “I’m gonna break your neck unless you submit, man!” warned Roth. Seconds passed, then minutes. Troy stared at the suspended hunk in disbe­lief. How could any guy last this long in a hangman? How could the hunk have such astounding strength and stamina?

    “Let’s hear it!” shouted Roth.

    “Never!” replied Kane in a strained voice.

    “Keep it on him!” yelled one freeboy, enjoying the sight of the hunky Mas­ter’s balls and shaft.

    But Roth wanted a submission, not an exhibition. He unhooked his hands and let Kane slump to the mat. By the time Roth turned around, the pained hunk had staggered to his feet. Roth rammed himself into his opponent’s gut and seized his balls once more. Kane gasped as the fingers pressed into his bulging gonads. Troy smiled, sensing Kane’s approaching end. Roth glanced behind Kane at Troy in the distance. The boy’s golden-haired, beautifully sculpted body stood out dramatically from the other naked hunks around him. You simply could not miss its muscular symmetry, the kid’s luminous blue eyes, and a towering sex tool that liked to stand at attention, especially when Roth looked at it.

    Yet Roth paid a big price for that glance at his boy. He failed to watch and dodge Kane’s knee. It plunged full force into his unprotected gut, instantly depriving him of the ability to inhale. While he struggled for breath, Kane got behind and opened his arms to launch a reverse bear hug combined with devastating body blows.

    First, Kane encircled Roth’s the waist with his incredibly pumped, iron-like biceps. He clasped his hands together and suddenly drove his two-fisted battering ram into Roth’s gut. Roth gasped for air. Kane’s biceps assault­ed his gut again—as well as his kidneys and his respiration. Roth tried to wedge a hand under an arm to pry it away from his waist, but found that impossible. Intense pain invaded him on all sides. He pounded the massive arms as hard as he could. Kane smiled at the useless attempt and attacked Roth’s weakened gut with his battering ram again and again. Roth winced as strength began to drain from his body.

    “Yeah!” yelled Kane.

    For the first time during the match, Troy looked at Roth and saw impending doom—both for Roth and for himself. A feeling of emptiness and loneliness started to consume him. His friendly, flashing blue eyes darkened in fear. If he lost Roth, what would he do? How could he exist with another guy when he only wanted Roth? He gazed longingly at his buddy’s still rigid rod and balls, wondering if he’d ever be able to hold them again, make love to them.

    Kane spread his legs into an extremely wide, sexy stance. He lifted Roth off the mat and dug his arms further into the tortured abs. Roth’s jaw dropped open, but he didn’t yell out from the obvious pain he felt. That really bothered Kane, who wanted to hear his victim cry out in torment. But no matter how hard or how long he worked on the bear hug, Kane couldn’t make him utter a shout or a submission.

    The top of Roth’s cock nudged Kane’s gut-embedded fists, as if asking to get into the action. Kane finally obliged. He opened his hands and wrapped them both around Roth’s shaft, one above the other. He squeezed with the same heart-stopping power he had used in the bear hug. Roth didn’t gasp, but the slaves viewing it did. Not one of them could conceive of having his cock crushed like that. Roth would have to sub­mit. One slave put his arm around Troy to comfort him. “Sorry, man,” he said sadly.

    Yet the pain of a violent cock squeeze did not worry Roth the most—pleasure did. He knew that such a squeeze could eventually make him shoot. And according to the rules, that would mean he had lost the match—and also the love of his life. Troy realized the danger too, since he had used this method to juice his buddy many times. He hoped that Kane would release the hold before figuring out that it had the power to produce an orgasm in Roth.

    But Kane didn’t need to figure it out. Years earlier and unknown to Troy, Kane himself had juiced Roth with a violent cock squeeze. He knew it could happen again. He grinned as Roth started to squirm in pleasure. Kane’s hands felt the cock’s pleasure-pulse gradually pick up speed.

    “I think you’re in trouble!” he said. “Your cock wants to submit and take you with it!”

    “No!” shouted Roth, fighting an inner battle to keep his sperm under control. But the urge grew stronger. He grunted more frequently as he felt his balls filling with pleasure juice.

    “Give into it, man,” said Kane. “Just like you did the last time I bear hugged it! Remember that? Or were you too drunk to remember what happened? You started squirtin’ cum all over the place! Remember?”

    “Ah! Shit!” groaned Roth as Kane squeezed harder.

    Troy’s heart sank. He saw Roth frantically try to pull Kane’s hands from his shaft.

    “It’s gonna shoot!” insisted Kane.

    “Not thistime!” Roth closed his eyes to avoid seeing something that would definitely make him cum—like Troy’s gorgeous body.

    Kane continued to squeeze, but it didn’t bring him the quick vic­tory that he expected. He tried a different verbal approach.

    “I know you like this,” he pointed out, attempting to push Roth over the edge with some sex talk. “I can feel your big cock poundin’ with pleasure. You know it’s true. Show all the cute boys how a Master shoots! They’re waitin’ to see it…”

    Roth didn’t open his eyes. Luckily he didn’t see that many of the slaves had their cocks grabbed by guys near them.

    “Show ‘em what real stud juice looks like,” said Kane, coaxing Roth further.

    “Yeah, show us!” shouted one slave. “Show us! Show us!” shouted others.

    Roth fought hard to hold back his cum. He tried not to think of Troy as Kane crushed his excited shaft.

    “Make it easy on yourself and cum for your fans!” said Kane. “Or be stupid and make me have to hurt ya real bad!”

    “You can’t hurt me, fucker!” replied Roth defiantly.

    “Have it your way, you stupid ass!”

    Kane wrapped his right arm around Roth’s neck. He released the ruddy shaft and moved his left hand lower, down to the large, stiff ball sack. He placed his fingers around it and crushed into the balls with a strength powerful enough to damage them.

    Roth’s eyelids instantly flew upward wildly, exposing a look of unspeakable terror. “No!” he screamed, his voice now choked with pain. He had never experienced pain like this, and he didn’t know why. After all, he had always remained the tough one, able to withstand nut squeezes that made others soon surrender. Sometimes for fun, he would even let a bunch of slaveboys try their hand at his balls, one at a time, yet none could cause enough pain to defeat him.

    But Kane had his claw-like fingers embedded in the balls much deeper than anyone else had achieved. Roth screamed and clutched Kane’s left arm. A heavy, nauseating pain began to grow within his testicles. It slowly spread throughout his crotch, then to his gut, then higher. Roth’s screams compelled Troy to open his eyes. A few moments later, he saw his Master fall to his knees, gradually succumbing to the murderous hold. The slaves became quiet, aghast by the viciousness and effectiveness of the crippling hold.

    “Yeah!” gloated Kane. “I’ve ruined some young balls with this move.”

    Roth screamed louder as the pain reached his chest and head.

    “Give!” ordered Kane.

    “No!” cried Roth.

    “You’re a fool! This hold will wreck your testicles, man! It smashes the tubules so they can’t secrete. The longer I squeeze, the more damage it does.”

    But Roth looked at Troy and vowed to survive the sickening pain. Troy cer­tainly didn’t want Roth to lose, yet he didn’t want him to permanently damage his balls either—they meant as much to him as his own.

    Roth cried out again. Kane’s fingers had gone so deep into his gonads that tears of pain began to blur Roth’s vision. His chilling screams echoed through­out the room, slamming against the walls again and again, like a wounded animal trying to escape.

    “Give! Nobody’s important enough to lose your nuts over! If you don’t submit, not even surgery will help you!” shouted Kane.

    Roth felt a puncturing-like agony bore into his balls.

    “They’re gonna start bleedin’ internally, man!” warned the hunk.

    Roth gazed at Troy, aware that he could no longer endure the punishment. The look on his face expressed the only thing he could say to his beautiful, loyal slaveboy: “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

    Troy covered his eyes with both hands, unwilling to watch Roth submit. But he also didn’t want Roth, or any of his slave buddies, to see him cry.

    Kane clawed into his victim’s testicles deep enough, and long enough, to split them open Roth cried out and struck Kane’s left arm with dozens of desperate, rapid-fire slaps.

    “No! No! Stop! I give! I give!” screamed Roth.

    “Shout it louder!” demanded Kane.

    “I submit! I give!”

    The words slashed into Troy’s ears, tearing them to pieces. He dropped to his knees, still keeping his eyes covered.

    Kane continued his nut-wrecking squeeze. “What do you give me?”

    “Troy! I give you Troy!” cried Roth, out of his mind with pain.

    Kane finally released the sweat-covered musclegod and pushed him to the mat. Roth landed on his back, still screaming from the overwhelming pain between his legs. Unable to move, he could only lie there, displaying his defeated balls to all the staring slaveboys.

    The victor beckoned to Troy to kneel in front of him. Troy slowly crawled along the floor and did that. Kane stood over his new slave, admiring his stunning physique. Kane grabbed Troy’s hair and jerked his head upward so that the boy faced the Master’s outstretched, throbbing cock.

    The huge cylinder twitched in anticipation. “The first thing you’re gonna do as my slave is to show your ex-Master how glad you are to be mine!”

    Troy started to shout out a rebellious “No!”, but before he could, Kane thrust his cock between Troy’s lips. The Master gripped his hair with both hands and shoved the shaft in all the way.

    Screams of protest gurgled in Troy’s throat. He tried in vain to push Kane’s body away. But the Master proved stronger. He pulled harder on the hair and kept the shaft fully captured within his mouth.

    “Grab my ass!” he ordered.

    Groaning in shock and misery, Troy did as ordered.

    “Yeah, that’s better,” said the Master. He started fucking Troy’s mouth. He did it with varying degrees of speed—sometimes slowly and at times much faster—but always plunging it right up to his balls to achieve his greatest pleasure.

    Roth watched the two as his misery grew. The torturing pain still stabbed his balls, refusing to let up. He attempted to mentally block it out, but didn’t succeed. He couldn’t shake the feeling of Kane’s fingers digging into his nuts—squeezing, penetrating, destroying. Yet the pain of loss hurt him more than the physical pain. Seeing Kane fuck Troy’s handsome face over and over felt like a knife in the gut. He didn’t want to look, but knew that he couldn’t avoid it.

    Kane grunted as his pleasure increased. “Oh yeah! Bring it up! You want it, don’t ya!”

    Kane spread his legs and prepared for the orgasm. Still holding the slave’s hair, he steadied himself and pulled the cock back until only its head remained in his mouth. Then at the moment of supreme ecstasy, he rammed the rod forward as far as he could. He shouted in triumph as the first load of cum burst from the inflamed sex tool. Many loads followed. Roth groaned in desolation, while Kane’s shouts of ecstasy rang in his ears. In his mind’s eye he saw the victor’s seed shooting down the throat of his former slave and diving deep into the strong, handsome body—becom­ing part of it, nourishing it, energizing it.

    “Yeah! Swallow every drop, boy!” roared Kane.

    During the long orgasm, the kid took the cum in big gulps, never flinching, and kept a tight grip on Kane’s butt. He stayed on his knees, keeping the shaft firmly between his lips, even after the hunk had stopped pumping.

    “You and I are gonna get along just fine,” said Kane, putting his hands on the young stud’s shoulders. He grunted as his cock fired a delayed, final shot into the kid.

    “How does it taste, slaveboy?”

    Troy responded by squeezing his Master’s butt several times.

    The shaft remained rock hard, as if ignoring the fact that a major orgasm had just occurred.

    “Make love to it again, so Roth can watch it,” ordered Kane.

    The slave started to caress the cock with his tongue, keeping it at the peak of arousal. Kane turned his head toward Roth. “No wonder you kept him: he’s got a hot tongue!”

    Roth attempted to raise himself in protest, but the relentless pain in his balls stopped him. He fell back to the mat immediately.

    “Don’t even think about it,” said Kane. “He isn’t yours anymore. Besides, he wants MY cum now. Your nuts are shot, man. I fixed ‘em real good. They’re not gonna be able to make a drop—not for this boy or any boy. And every time they try, the pain’s gonna kill ya!”

    He let go of the slave’s hair and put a hand on each side of his face, holding the head in an almost affectionate way. “Show my balls that you love them.”

    The Master grunted while Troy’s tongue explored and fondled the stiff nuts. “You’re gonna make love to ‘em whenever I tell you to, and wherever I tell you.”

    Roth closed his eyes, remembering when Troy had played with his balls for long periods of time—sometimes in his dungeon, sometimes outside, and sometimes even in a public park. But those memories seemed to make his balls hurt even worse.

    “Yeah, make ‘em bulge. All that cum is for you, SpermBoy. That’s your new name—sexy SpermBoy.” The Master’s cock twitched. It wanted another orgasm. Kane pushed his cock up to Troy’s mouth.

    The kid knew he had to take the Master’s sperm once more. He moved closer and opened his mouth with hesitation.

    “That’s right, SpermBoy—come to daddy.”

    The slave shut his eyes, not wanting to see the tool facing him. But he couldn’t avoid feeling its warm cockhead ease into his mouth. Holding the kid’s head with both hands, the Master began to slowly push it forward and back. Since he had as much time as he wanted, Kane didn’t rush it. Roth watched in dismay. Usually he liked seeing a slave suck off a Master, but not in this case. He gritted his teeth.

    Ecstasy began to contort Kane’s facial muscles. The Master already had an addiction to the kid and he gloried in it. After a few moments he stopped pulling on the kid’s head and held it steady. Just having the slave’s mouth around his cock now became enough to keep Kane at the peak of excitement. Soon the Master uttered a cry that all the observers recognized. The kid braced himself as more rounds of cum fired into him.

    “Yeah, swallow it—all of it!” yelled the Master, shooting more juice into his slave than the kid could handle.

    “No, no, no…” whispered Roth, feeling the flames of a wildfire continue to scorch his balls. He still couldn’t move, or even touch his injured nuts because of the agony it caused him. With his back to the mat, he looked thoroughly beaten, as if he were a slave fastened to the floor.

    When Kane finally pulled out of him, the kid coughed and held onto the Master’s legs for support.

    “You did O.K., boy, but you’ll need more practice. You can work on that later.”

    Kane peered at the kid’s steel cock ring. He studied the ring closely, noticing the letters R-O-T-H etched deeply in its surface. Then he spat on it to pave the way for its removal. He gripped the wide circle with his fingertips. The Master sneered and started to pull on the ring.

    “No!” yelled the kid in extreme agitation. He grabbed Kane’s arm to stop him.

    Kane ripped the hand away and slammed a fist into the kid’s enormous balls. Troy cried out in agony and toppled forward.

    “That’s what you’ll get every time you oppose me, slave!” said Kane.

    The Master purposely took a considerable amount of time to slide the ring off. He wanted to vividly imprint upon the slave’s mind the termination of his bond with Roth. As he inched the cock ring toward the top of the rod, he wanted the kid to feel the loss physically, even sexually.

    During the removal process, the kid sobbed and groaned. A wretched hollowness grew inside his body. He sensed Roth slowly slipping away from him. Kane pulled the ring up bit by bit, torturing him psychologically, but also tanta­lizing him as it enlivened one pleasure spot after another along the tall shaft.

    “Yeah, it feels good to lose him, doesn’t it,” said the Master quietly—and also sarcastically.

    Without realizing it, Troy held Kane tighter, maybe to avoid an orgasm. Kane got a kick out of watching his cock squirm, begging to shoot off for him. He carefully slid the ring across the bulging head until at last he had it off. The Master tossed the ring aside indifferently. With his cock stripped, the kid felt even more naked and vulnerable.

    Kane rubbed the long shaft lightly with his fingers. “That’s better. Now it’s all mine. Kiss me!”

    During the kiss, the Master picked up the kid by his crotch and brought the kid’s spine down hard across his bent leg. Troy’s athletic physique and flexible spine helped him to flow with a backbreaker hold like this, but he was not use to the body-wrenching ex­tremes that Kane liked employed. The Master kept him decisively in place by forcing his chin down as far as he could with one hand, and holding his balls tight with the other. The severely arched slave had only one hope: that the Master would make this punishment short.

    But Kane loved this hold and intended to sustain it until he got what he wanted. The kid’s exceptionally long rod made it easy. Kane tipped his head down and licked the long, stiff pole. The slave groaned as the Master enclosed the top three inches of the rod in his mouth and went to work on it with his teeth as well as his tongue.

    The kid’s screams reverberated in Roth’s brain, reminding him of the kid’s past or­gasms and his youthful, luscious cum. A new wave of pain swept through his balls. Yet his memories of the kid didn’t lessen. They became more important to him than ever.

    Kane released the imprisoned cock from his mouth for a moment. He watched some sperm ooze out of its hole and flow onto the surface of its wide head. He lapped it up, savoring the kid’s flavor. Kane closed his lips around the slave’s meat again and began to slowly massage the head with his tongue. The kid’s pleasure escalated until it had obscured much of the pain that prickled through his wrenched spine.

    The slaveboy never seemed to run out of what the Master wanted. Every minute or so Kane devoured another spurt of virile, delectable pre-cum that emerged from the cock. He became anxious for more.

    “Now you’re gonna give me the rest of it, SpermBoy. Your cum’s for me now—all of it.” He turned his attention again to the pulsating tool. He squeezed into the shaft’s root through the nut sack. The kid grunted as his rod lifted itself upward. The Master caught its head in his mouth and started to shake it back and forth, like a hungry beast making a fresh kill. The slave’s cum couldn’t contain itself. When it shot up the shaft, Kane relished every bit of the delicious manhood. It shot into his Master in long, thick streams—too many to count.

    Roth groaned in misery as he witnessed Kane swallow load after load of prime stud juice. The swallowing began to appear exaggerated to him, surreal. He saw a vampire consuming the kid’s juice, voraciously draining his victim and at the same time feeding on its youthful, restorative essence.

    In reality, the kid’s eruptions constituted more than one orgasm. Keeping the handsome body back-bent across his leg, Kane became obsessed and emptied him several times. When at last he dumped the spent slave to the mat, Kane stood up grinned. A gob of the slave’s juice still clung to his beard. He scooped it up with a finger, then flicked it onto Roth’s prone body. “That’s the last of him you’re gonna get!” said the Master sarcastically.

    “You fuckin’ bastard!” shouted Roth. “You don’t have what it takes to own a slave like Troy! You’re the loser, you son of a bitch!”

    “Tough talk from someone who can’t even get up and fight for his pretty boy­friend!” countered Kane.

    “I’ll get him back, you dickhead!”

    “Dickhead?” roared Kane. “When I get through with you, nobodywill want your worthless dick!”

    Kane dropped down onto Roth’s thighs, facing his chest. He moved his left hand toward the wide open crotch.

    “Not my balls!” yelled Roth.

    “No. They aren’t worth the trouble anymore,” said the Master. He gripped the bottom half of Roth’s semi-hard cock tightly with his left hand. “This is all you got left!”

    Kane spit saliva on it and started some slow jacking with his right hand. Roth gasped in relief as the handsome tool suddenly hardened to steel. Many in the audience also gasped, thankful that they got to see an unusual the reconciliation of two opposing warriors.

    “I’ve always liked your cock. I used to dream about how I would wrestle it and suck it.” He paused to admire the stiff muscle. “SpermBoy, get over here! You’re gonna be my assistant for a while.”

    Not knowing what to expect, the slave complied.

    “Sit by his head on your knees. Lock an arm between each leg. Put both of your hands on his chest and hold him against the mat.”

    When the slave had accomplished that, Roth lay with his arms trapped and the back of his head resting on the slave’s dick. To many in the audience this looked hopeful, with Kane jacking off Roth as the slave watched. Nonetheless, the slave had a worried look on his face.

    Roth quickly became absorbed in pleasure. Kane’s jackoff was the slowest that anyone in the room had ever seen. In fact, Kane sometimes even stopped his hand for a moment to study the hard shaft and the bulged out, throbbing veins running through it.

    “It’s gonna be a shame to mess up such a sexy rod,” he said in a quiet but menacing voice.

    Kane opened his mouth, making a point to show his sharp teeth. Roth suddenly realized what Kane was about to do and tried to free himself using every muscle in his body. The slave had a difficult time holding Roth down. He barely managed it. .

    “No!” yelled Roth. “God no! Please!”

    Kane slowly lowered his open mouth to Roth’s cock, then sank his teeth into the taut muscle, just below the cockhead. The audience cringed at the sight. At the same time, they heard Roth cry out in the most shattering, murderous scream they had ever heard from a guy. The slave turned his head away, unable to watch.

    Roth tried to roll over, then lift his body off the mat. But the intense pain stopped him. Many ordinarily tough guys in the audience seemed to lose their strength as they witnessed Kane’s man-killing attack. Fortunately they could not actually see what the teeth did to Roth’s cock. But unfortunately, their minds instead created all kinds of gruesome images for them to think about.

    A nearby slave saw Kane’s jaw moving back and forth and imagined the Master’s sharp teeth slicing into the cock’s delicate skin. Another slave imagined a medic performing pain tests on a guy’s long, stiff rod. One freeboy, a lover of Dracula movies, immediately saw Kane’s attack as the ultimate sucking scene—first swallowing the victim’s cum out of his cock, then his blood. Another spectator imagined a guy’s cock skin tearing as the teeth dug into him deeper and deeper.

    One Master in the crowd whispered to a slave, “This will make scars that take many weeks to heal, if they ever do heal.”

    Roth screamed in terror as he felt Kane’s teeth burrowing into him. His already fast breathing immediately accelerated. In unspeakable agony, Roth tried many times to somehow get his body away from away from Kane’s ruthless assault. He arched his back, trying to lift himself off the mat. But he found that the pain had sapped much of his strength. He felt weak, deserted. His back finally collapsed to the mat again. His hands frantically reached up, attempting to somehow grab Kane. Roth believed that if he could slam a fist into the guy and knock him off balance, he could end this horror. Sadly, Roth’s hands could only tremble from the pain in his cock. When his fingers reached out to grab Kane, could only thrash and claw the air.

    After what seemed like an eternity of pain, Kane released the shaft and took a few breaths. The kid thought that was the end of Roth’s torture, but Kane had not finished with Roth. The Master changed his position somewhat, confidently sitting up on one knee in a wide stance, giving the audience a good view of his balls and tall cock. Kane tightened his left hand grip on the rod, then lowered his mouth to Roth’s cock once more.

    Roth seemed to scream louder than ever as the razor-like teeth went back to work on his injured cock. Kane had a look on his face that reflected his utmost concentration. His eyes also appeared to glow in a reddish rage, prepared to scorch anyone or anything that tried to stop him. Everyone knew that no interference was allowed in a match like this.

    Many slaves and freeboys in the room had trained long hours, long days and weeks, conditioning themselves to resist pain and avoid displaying their emotions. Yet as they watched the muscleman weakening in front of them, a lot of the boys could not hold back their feelings. Tears flooded their eyes as they imagined Roth’s cock—or any cock—being wickedly scraped and torn. Some wept openly, although without making a sound. Despite being a wrenching ordeal to watch, they all realized that they were also witnessing something that few had ever seen—the destruction of an icon, the end of a once famous Master.

    Gut wrenching screams burst from Roth’s mouth. The upper half of his physique involuntarily bolted upward. Luckily the kid grabbed Roth’s chest and forced the screaming muscleman back to the mat. Although the move severely anguished the kid, it no doubt saved Roth from even more horrors. In shock, the kid again turned his head away from the excruciating scene. But he could not turn off the horrific images that flooded his mind. With microscopic clarity those images showed Kane’s teeth repeatedly piercing and tearing Roth’s courageous, rigid rod.

    Tears boiled in the slave’s eyes. His brain shouted “No! No!” in a sickening repetition that he could not control. It tormented him more than the pain of the worst submission hold that any wrestler had ever unleashed on his body. Even worse, he was in no condition to help Roth. Like his former Master, he felt beaten, destroyed.

    The writhing, sweating musclehunk screamed so loudly that his vocal cords soon gave out. Unable to fight back, Roth started to jerk his head hysterically from side to side. “No more! No more!” he shouted, but all anyone heard was a rasping whisper. Kane had finally conquered his toughest opponent.

    The Master opened his mouth, released the shaft and for a moment stared at Roth’s cock. He smiled at his success and stood up slowly. Now finally freed, Roth immediately grabbed his cock and, still screaming, rolled into a ball. The kid didn’t see the tortured cock, which was fortunate. The sight of it would have given him nightmares for months. He had loved that cock. He’d worshiped its sexy perfection every day. He craved the feel of it on his tongue, between his lips, and inside his ass.

    Kane remained motionless for a while under the light. He flexed his biceps for the audience, but there was no cheering and no booing. The onlookers seemed stunned to the core. The freeboys and slaves dropped their heads, still in disbelief. They said nothing. How was it possible to convey their reactions in words? In any case, Kane’s erect cock seemed to flaunt itself as well, occasionally twitching in its masculine glory.

    Kane slipped his jockstrap on again and looked down at his new slave. “You did a good job holding him down, SpermBoy,” he said, locking a leather collar and leash to his neck. Three young slaves appeared from the audience and huddled around Kane, waiting for any instructions he might give.

    “These are my other boys—your new slave brothers,” said the Master. “When we get home, you’ll be bunking with them.”

    Kane locked the three onto another leash and led his four slaves toward the doorway. But Kane stopped before going through it. He pulled Troy to his chest and gave him a long stare. “Since you did such a good job, tonight you’re gonna get a reward.” He placed one of the slave’s hands around his large, sperm-filled ball sack.

    Despite the sexiness of the balls in his hand, the kid turned his head to the side to check on Roth.

    “Yes, you can look at him. But after tonight you’re never gonna see him again or think about him again. He’s fin­ished. It’s meyou’re gonna be concerned about from now on. You got that, boy?”

    The slave slowly nodded his head in agreement.

    Kane jerked on both leashes and walked through the doorway, pulling his naked property behind him. But just before exiting, Troy stole one more quick look at his former Master. Roth looked up at the same time to catch a glimpse of the only guy he had ever really loved. The watery eyes of both guys connected like an electrical charge. And in that flash of a moment, when only silence can speak, each communicated an identical message to the other: “Later.”

    3

         Returning home, Kane brought the naked slave into his underground dungeon.   He fastened Troy’s wrists above his head and his ankles to an anchored spreader bar.  In the dim light, Troy could only see a small portion of the objects hanging on a wall near him—leather and metal collars, restraints, straps, chains, anal plugs, hooks, electrical devices and other objects.     

         “Each new slave always gets a physical exam before the fun starts,” stated Kane.  

          The Master tied a ball-gag across his mouth.   Next, he filled a syringe with an unknown liquid and held the needle beside his slave’s face.  As some of it squirted from the syringe, Troy’s body stiffened in fear.

          “This will make you more cooperative,” said Kane. 

          As he slowly injected the fluid into the kid’s arm, Kane smiled. 

          “Don’t worry, SpermBoy.  I’m an expert in stuff like this.  I got an early start as a medic in the Army.  I learned fast and loved examining new guys entering the military.”

          The kid looked concerned as he felt the liquid entering his body.

          The Master continued.  “I’d sit down in front of each naked guy and give him a thorough physical—one that he’d always remember.”   The Master glanced at the syringe’s fluid level, watching it slowly decrease.   “I got to check out many great balls and dicks that way.  Later, some of the guys made appointments with me to re-check parts of their bodies after they did tough physical training.”

          The kid felt his body relaxing, succumbing to the serum still flowing into him.  He also started to feel more horny.

          Kane went on.  “I liked it when a guy’s dick started to get hard as I examined it.  That made the exam much better!   I’d tell him that regulations required a sperm sample as well.  I got real good at making guys cum for me.”   

           The kid could see that the syringe still had had not completely emptied. 

            Kane continued.  “But checking out a guy’s testicles was the best part.  Sometimes I’d spend a whole lot of time on that part of the exam.  For a few guys, their balls would get harder as I proceeded.  I even complemented some of them about it.  That’s how I got to know balls so well.     

          Kane slowly removed his needle from the slave’s arm.  The kid breathed a sigh of relief as Kane briefly massaged the injection site.   A long exam followed, including just about every part of the kid’s body—his ears, eyes, mouth, armpits, nipples, navel and abdomen. 

         Then Kane sat down behind the kid and worked a lubed finger into his butthole.  After a moment, he added a second finger.  The kid groaned as Kane inspected his prostate gland.  His penis started to tighten.  

         Kane moved his chair in front of the kid, sat down and focsed directed his attention on the slave’s cock.  He pinched its tight skin, and poked it in various places.  He used his fingers to feel it way down to its lowest place, which made the cock reach upward and jump energetically.   But Kane devoted the most time to investigating the massive testicles—something the kid had worried about.  Kane studied them minute-after-minute with his fingers, maybe for their potential in rougher sessions to come.  He mentally  compared them to those of his other well-endowed slaveboys.

          Kane held one of the kid’s testicles in each hand and gently started inspecting both with his thumbs.  To the slave it seemed like Kane was looking for something along their surfaces, or even inside them.   Kane grinned as though he had uncovered secrets about the testicles that even the kid himself did not know or fully understand.        

          Satisfied with his findings, Kane stood up and walked into the darkness.  When he returned, he held an object attached to an electrical cord.  The kid recognized it as an e-stim wand.  Kane sat down again in front of the spread-eagled kid and held the long wand near his victim’s left tit.   

          Kane lightly touched the tit with the wand’s end for only one second.  But the touch made the slave’s entire body jerk.  Kane smiled as the kid winced from the shock.  Kane touched the tit for a second time, then a third.  The kid shook his head back and forth in protest, but Kane ignored it.  The Master’s own cock started to swell in his jockstrap.   

         “Get used to it, SpermBoy.  We’re only just beginning.”

         The kid found out that was true.  Kane proceeded to use the wand on his right tit, then on his armpits, his sides, and his inner thighs.  Every touch stung hard.  Then Kane aimed the wand at his erect rod.  The kid screamed at him to stop, but only a few audible sounds came through the ball-gag. 

         “Control yourself, SpermBoy,” warned the Master. All my slaves go through this!”

         Kane touched the kid’s cock in many places, each time making the shaft snap away from it.   The punishment—or was it extreme pleasure?—seemed to double when the wand came into contact with a specific area of his cock just below its head.   The kid finally gave up trying to scream, since that wouldn’t stop Kane anyway.  The wand’s scary buzzing sound also added to his fright. 

          But before he finished with the cock, the Master held the bottom of the kid’s rod firmly with one hand and the wand in the other.  Every nerve in the kid’s body screamed as Kane pressed the wand against the cock’s tip and, for the first time, didn’t retract it.  The slave’s body shook all over as crackling electricity coursed through his shaft. After what seemed like an eternity of misery to the kid, Kane pulled the wand away.  He briefly massaged the thankful cock with his hand.  However, Kane pressed the wand into the shaft again—this time keeping it there longer than before, forcing his body into more spasms. 

          “Yeah, submit to it, SpermBoy!”

          The slave writhed, thinking the wand would finish him for good.  But he somehow managed to survive.  He wondered how well the other slaves did when Kane had used it on them

           Yet what followed was even worse.    

          “Do you have brave balls, boy?” asked Kane, fondling them. “We’re gonna find out.”

          Kane seized one of the kid’s large testicles in a hand.  He moved the wand up close and began to prod it with a series of short jolts.  The kid’s eyes opened wide in agony.  Kane positioned the wand in a different places around the testicle for each jolt.  He especially liked to hold the wand upside down and push its tip against the bottom of the sack.  The slave couldn’t stand this for very long.  His head fell forward as though he had fainted.   Kane slapped him to bring the kid back to reality.  Then the Master worked on the bottom of each testicle with the wand, trying to finds out which one did the best job of withstanding the assaults.    

          “Very good, SpermBoy,” said Kane afterward, checking each testicle with a hand.   “One more exam and we’re done.”

           But that final test the kid couldn’t see, only feel.  Kane took the wand behind him and shot some electrical charges into his butt hole.  The kid jerked wildly and yelled in silent screams.

          “Let’s see if your ass likes more voltage.”

          Kane turned up the power and worked on the hole repeatedly with the wand.  The heat and pain of it forced the slave into continuous, muffled screaming.  The gruesome wand caused him more instant pain than even the most brutal and sustained wrestling hold a guy could use on him.  But here his screams and submissions didn’t count.

           Some time later, the kid found himself lying on a narrow bed in the “Slave Dorm,” where the Master had dumped him following his ordeal in the dungeon.  He looked up and saw Kane’s three naked slave boys kneeling beside his bed—and looking at him both with admiration and concern.  

           “Where am I?  Where’s Kane?” he asked.

           “You’re in your new home,” said one of the boys.   Kane went back to his house on the other side of the woods.”

           The slaves explained that Kane’s property was situated in a secluded location and surrounded by a tall, chain-link fence topped with barbed wire  The kid immediately wanted to get up and look around outside.  But, still hurting mentally and physically from what had happened, he didn’t have his usual strength.  His body wouldn’t allow him to move much.  He grinned at the handsome youths crowded around him. 

          “What are your names?” whispered Troy.

          “Our Master calls us TallBoy, FlexBoy and SkinnyBoy,” answered FlexBoy.  “He calls you SpermBoy,” he added, smiling at the name.

          “How long have you been here?” asked Troy.

          “A couple years,” said TallBoy.  “We’re all still teens.  FlexBoy is the oldest and SkinnyBoy’s the youngest.   This is where we ended up after family break-ups and other shit.”

          “Kane took us in and feeds us—as long as we see to his needs.  It’s not so bad,” said SkinnyBoy.  

          But Troy could still see uneasiness in their faces. 

          “We feel real bad that you lost Roth in that fight.  What a stud!” said TallBoy.  “We’d like to help you if we can, but…..”

          “We also like your body!” interrupted FlexBoy, staring at Troy.  

            Troy smiled at his handsome face.  “Thanks, Flex.”

            “I’d love to have a body like yours.  Can you train me?”

            FlexBoy continued to stare at Troy’s muscles, his huge balls and long, semi-hard penis. 

           “Your body looks great to me, Flex,” said Troy.  “But yeah, I can train you.  When I feel better, we can all wrestle and have some fun together.”

          “We’ll have to be careful when we do that,” added FlexBoy.   “If the Master finds out, you know what can happen.” 

          “I get it,” said Troy.   “One of us can act as a lookout when we play.” 

          “Good idea,” agreed TallBoy.  “We have to stand together, and someday….”

           “Someday you can leave here and maybe become Masters yourselves,” said Troy. 

         “A nice idea,” said FlexBoy.  “But where would we go?  Where would we live?  How could we survive without money?   He even took our clothes.”  

          But at the moment TallBoy seemed more concerned about his new slave brother.  “Are you still hurtin’, SpernBoy?”

         “Yeah, a lot.  Kane used the e-stim on me.”

         “Oh shit,” said FlexBoy, frowning.  “That thing’ll really get a guy.  Where did he get ya with it?”

          “Everwhere—tits, armpits, balls, dick, ass,” answered Troy.

          The slaveboys looked aghast.    

          “How did you ever survive all that?” asked FlexBoy.

          “I’m not sure I did!” said Troy.

          The three slaves showed their sympathy in different ways.  SkinnyBoy put his arm on Troy’s shoulder.  FlexBoy put a comforting hand on Troy’s upper thigh.  But TallBoy did something bolder.   He looked into Troy’s sky-blue eyes and asked, “Would you mind if I held your nuts?   They’re the most awesome ones I’ve ever seen.  I’ll be very careful with them.”

         Troy paused.  “O.K.  Go ahead/  They’re large but still sensitive!.”

          TallBoy grinned.  “You can trust me.”  He carefully put a hand around them. 

          “Oh yeah,” said Troy, relaxing his whole body as he felt the slaveboy’s warm, comforting hand.  

          “I’d hold these all night if you’d let me,” smiled TallBoy.

          “Hey, let’s shove all our beds together and do a group sleep!” suggested FlexBoy.

           FlexBoy and SkinnyBoy immediately moved the beds against each other and all four slid under the blankets.  They had a good time cuddling and stroking each other.  Troy separated his legs for TallBoy, who returned to holding his ballsack.        

          Troy loved connecting in this way with his new brothers.  “You guys are cool,” he whispered to them.

           The four naked guys had a good night together.  They paid special attention to Troy’s exceptional but still hurting physique.  And though the boys worshipped Troy’s body, they soon began to look up to him in every respect, feeling fortunate that he was now among them.

          In the morning Troy felt better, but he had a long, serious talk with the boys.  “I don’t know when or how, but I gotta get out and find Roth.”

          “We know,” said FlexBoy, looking dejected. 

          “But maybe you guys can come with me,” suggested Troy. 

          “I…I don’t know if I’m ready to leave,” said SkinnyBoy quietly. 

          “I’m not forcing any of you, it’s just an idea,” said Troy.  

          Troy and FlexBoy went outside, giving Troy a chance to look at the surroundings.  He studied the Dorm’s cement block walls, its roof, the fence, the surrounding huge trees—everything he could see.

          “There might be a way, Flex,” said Troy quietly.   He put an arm around FlexBoy’s shoulder.  “Maybe there’s a way.”  FlexBoy

    responded by holding Troy’s dick affectionately and hugging him.  But the guys heard a noise in the distance and hurried back inside their Dorm.   After a few minutes, Kane approached, threw open the door and walked inside.  He grinned menacingly as he scanned his four naked slaves.  He stepped over to TallBoy, grabbed his hair and pulled him out the door.  

          “He takes one of us just about every day,” explained FlexBoy.  “We never know what to expect when we puts us in his dungeon.”

          TallBoy didn’t return the rest of the day or that night, causing lots of concern among the slaves.  When he did return the next morning, Kane tossed him inside the Dorm and left abruptly.  TallBoy looked different, haggard.  He walked a few steps, staggered and dropped to the floor on his knees, unable to walk.  Troy picked him up and carried him to his bed.   TallBoy had a wild, crazed look on his face.  Troy immediately got down next to him in bed and held him. 

          Suddenly TallBoy’s emotions burst out of him.  He started to scream and hit Troy on his chest—harder and harder.  FlexBoy rushed to the bed intending to pull him away.  But Troy said, “Let him be,” and continued to hold close the out-of-control youth.  TallBoy rammed Troy with both fists.  His eyes glared with reddish rage. His screams turned into uncontrollable weeping as he punched.     

         Troy never flinched.  He simply continued to hold TallBoy in his arms through many more punches, screams and tears.  As time passed, the punches decreased, but the weeping didn’t stop.  The other boys marveled at how well Troy could handle this shocking situation.   

          Troy finally managed to calm down TallBoy.  But it took many more minutes for the youth to settle down completely, though he still occasionally cried.  Eventually he began to hug Troy almost frantically.  Troy massaged his neck and head. 

         “I’m sorry for hitting you,” sobbed TallBoy.   “The Master….he…”

          “Don’t tell me what he did.  Try to forget it,” said Troy, caressing  and kissing him. 

          Enraged at Kane’s treatment of TallBoy, FlexBoy suddenly slammed a first into the wall, and came close to injuring himself.

          “Everybody settle down,” said Troy calmly.  

          A tear rolled down FlexBoy’s flushed face.  “None of us had fathers, or anyone else, who truly loved us,” said FlexBoy, choked with emotion. 

         “I know,” replied Troy, continuing to cuddle TallBoy. 

         FlexBoy kneeled beside the bed and put his arms around Troy.  SkinnyBoy, sobbing quietly, held FlexBoy.  The four guys stayed locked onto each other for a long time, not speaking at all.   

          When TallBoy finally stopped crying, they all sat together on the bed, talking quietly and holding each other.    

          “We know you have to get away and find Roth,” said FlexBoy.  “Have you figured out a way to do it?”

          “I’d like to try—but I also don’t want to put any of you in trouble with Kane.”  He paused.  “Flex, do you remember the two big oak trees on opposite sides of the fence?  Their branches look strong—maybe strong enough to hold some naked guys!  The next time Kane comes for me, I’ll put a plan into operation.  Wish me luck!”

        A couple of days passed until Kane took Troy away again.

    Afterward the three boys clung together, listening for any sound or sign from SpermBoy.  After about an hour, something did happen:  Troy walked through the door of the Dorm—fully dressed and looking anxious.  

         “I don’t have much time!” he told the boys.  “I knocked out Kane in the dungeon and tied him to the workout table.   When he wakes up, he’s gonna be fuckin’ mad!   Troy threw a bunch of Kane’s clothes on a bed.

          “Flex, I couldn’t find the key to the gate, so you guys will have to use the oak trees to get over the fence.”  He also tossed some money on the bed. “This won’t get you very far, but it’s all I could find lying around his house.”

          FlexBoy suddenly hugged him, then the others. 

          “Skinny, be good and listen to these guys.  You’re very lucky to have them!”

          Troy had a difficult time leaving the boys.   “Take care of yourselves—and each other.  You can do it!”  Then he turned to TallBoy, who had tears flowing down his cheeks.  “TallBoy, I wrote down my old address and telephone number on this scrap of paper.  The number may still work.  When you get a chance, call me!”

          Then Troy hugged each of this brothers and dashed out the door—not sure if he had made the right decision. 

    4

           After Roth lost Troy in the fight with Kane, the defeated Master disappeared.   Some of the freeboys searched for him, wanting to take Troy’s place as his personal slave.   But none succeeded in locating the stud.  The damage done to Roth’s cock during the fight did not lessen their efforts to find him.   In fact, it encouraged them.   A few envisioned themselves helping Roth to have short erections at first, then progressively longer ones as the cockhole recovered from Kane’s attack.  One freeboy saw himself sitting on Roth’s chest, carefully applying a soothing salve to the injured muscle.   Another boy imagined holding the tool in his mouth for extended periods, gradually conditioning the cockhead to “treatments” with his tongue.   The boys had orgasms every day just thinking about how they would bring the beautiful cock back to normal functioning and how they would make Roth happy again.

           Roth certainly needed to regain his happiness—a much harder thing to achieve than making a physical recovery.   For many weeks the Master wandered from town to town, state to state, carrying a melancholy that he couldn’t seem to shake off.   He missed Troy deeply.  Slaveboys pursued him in every leather bar where he appeared.   Yes, he did enjoy their attention.  Sometimes he would even let one of them feel his balls for a moment through his jeans.

           “Please let me suck you, sir,” one would say to him.   Or, “My body is yours, sir, if you like it.”   Or, “I’m strong, sir.   I’ve been workin’ out hard.  I’m ready for your discipline.”  Or, “Let me cum for you, sir.”

           The freeboys had athletic physiques that went far beyond the category of “handsome”—bodies that a guy would definitely want to have fun with.  And Roth knew he could possess any of them.   But the hunky Master only smiled and gave each a friendly hug, then walked away.  To him, no one could substitute for Troy.

           After months of roaming, Roth found himself at a small leather bar in a distant city.  He had never seen the faces there, yet they all looked familiar, just like they did in every other bar, in every other city.  He had a few drinks, then decided to leave after he took a piss.  Roth entered the restroom, stepped up to a urinal and began relieving him­self.

            Another guy occupied the urinal next to him, a scruffy-looking character, who mumbled to himself in obvious drunkenness as he pissed.  Roth didn’t pay him any attention until he recognized the voice—the voice of Kane.  Roth zipped up his jeans and walked behind him, surveying his body.

           As the last squirts of urine ran down the discolored porcelain, Kane felt the presence of someone standing behind him.   He turned around.  “Roth!” he shouted, taking a reverse step that trapped him against the urinal.

           Kane’s muscles didn’t seem to stand out as impressively as Roth had remembered them.  Kane’s eyes and disposition seemed unsettled, tired, distracted.   Kane’s long dick still hung outside his jeans, forgotten in the disorientation of the moment.

           “Where’s the boy?” asked Roth.

           “What boy?” said Kane, confused.

           “Your slave!” yelled Roth impatiently.

           “Which one?   I’ve had so many slaves…..so many beautiful boys,” he said, slurring his words.   “And now they’re gone…..”

           “Troy too?” asked Roth.  

           “Fuck him!  He’s gone just like all the others……All the beautiful boys are gone……” said Kane, his words drifting off into nothingness.

           “Where did he go?” pressed Roth.

           “Ran away….a few days after our fight.”

           “Where is he?” asked Roth, growing more impatient.

           “Fuck!  How should do I know?” shouted Kane.  “I didn’t want him anyway!   Worthless shit!  That’s what he was: worthless shit—just like you!”   He pushed Roth aside to leave.

           But Roth caught his dick and halted him.   “You must have heard something about him,” he said, squeezing the unprepared dick.

           “Ah!” cried Kane in pain.

           “Tell me!” shouted Roth.

           “I wouldn’t tell you even if I did know!   I’m sick of you, man!   Everywhere I go, the guys talk about you, how much they like you.   Fuck them!   I’m a Master, too!   Did they forget that?   And I’m a better one than you!   I demolish­ed your pretty ass for everyone to see!   And I can do it again!”

           He took a wild swing at Roth’s face. But Roth ducked and landed a blow into Kane’s gut.  As Kane doubled over, Roth opened his jeans and yanked them down, revealing the guy’s naked, low-hanging balls.  Kane broke away and started to bolt toward the door.  But he tripped on the lowered jeans and landed on his hands and knees.

           “You fucker!” he yelled.

           Roth grabbed him around the waist from behind, pulled down his jock and locked all ten fingers onto his balls.

           “You’re gonna tell me everything you know about Troy!”

           “I hurt him real bad!  Did you hear about that?”

           “You shithead!” shouted Roth.

           He dug his fingers deeper into the hunk’s balls.

           “Stop!” yelled Kane.   “They can’t take this!”

           “I know they can’t,” said Roth.  

           Kane wanted to scream again, but he couldn’t.   Sickening agony prevented even a gasp or a movement of any part of his body.   Kane felt his breathing stop, and then time itself.

           Roth elaborated.  “I learned this hold from an Asian wrestler.  He called it his ‘castration’ hold.   “The pain will go away after a while, but you’ll never be the same again.” 

           Kane’s mouth remained open as he tried to deal with a pain that threaten­ed to destroy his very manhood.

           At that point, the restroom door opened.  A young, African-American, leather-clad Master walked in.   He grinned when he saw Kane on his knees, caught in Roth’s grip.

           “What do we have here?” he asked.

           “A payback,” quipped Roth.

           The handsome stranger stepped up to a urinal, spread his legs, and relieved himself.  Then he walked closer to the guys.   He sank to his knees next to Kane to get a better look at the grip.

           “That’s quite a hold, man,” he said, surveying it with great interest.   The young Master looked closer at the positions of Roth’s fingers on the balls.

           “Awesome,” he whispered.  He gave Roth a big smile. “My name’s Adam.  I’d like to wrestle with you sometime.”

           “No problem,” answered the Master.   “I’m Roth.  Another couple of minutes of this should finish the job.   Then you and I can talk.”

           Kane’s head seemed dizzy.  He doubted he could remain conscious for two minutes longer.  And what about his balls?   Would they last that long?   A sharp, unending testicle pain kept him in constant fear and totally motionless.

           The young Master moved still closer to Kane.  “Damn!” he whispered, focusing his eyes on the drastic hold. 

           Roth stretched the ballsack out further for Adam’s benefit.

           “Yeah,” said Adam, completely carried away by the sight.   The young Master rubbed his own growing cock as it pushed into his leather pants.  He looked at Kane.   “You must be a real bastard to get a payback like this!”

           Roth smiled.  “He is.  He got sadistic with my cock, then hurt my slav….my lover.”

           Adam sat up on his knees and frowned at Kane.   “Not good, man.  I’d get ya too if you did that to me.”  He removed a narrow chain from inside the pocket of his leather vest and showed it to Roth.   “Mind if I join in?”

           “Fine with me,” answered Roth.

           Adam wrapped the chain around Kane’s sensitive dickskin.  He pulled the chain’s ends tighter, pressing its small, sharply-honed links into Kane’s dick.   Kane’s eyeballs grew large in fright.

           “I hope you can handle cock pain,” said Adam to Kane.  He pulled on each end of the chain, pressing the jagged links deeper into the dick.  Kane cried out.  Drops of perspiration formed on his face. 

         “Take it off me!” begged Kane. 

         “Not yet, man.  Doin’ this always makes me horny!”  

         Roth released Kane’s balls to watch Adam’s torture show.  Adam’s dick quickly hardened into a thick tool. 

         “Strip me,” said Adam to Roth.  

          Roth unfastened Adam’s heavy leather belt and peeled the pants down to Adam’s knees.  He paused to admire the guy’s bulging white thong.   Adam’s cock had forced the cum-stained fabric away from his gut, allowing Roth to get at least a partial view of the guy’s unusually wide tool.  Encasing the massive muscle required the whole front of the thong.  Taking hold of the elastic sides, Roth slid it slowly down—across Adam’s big shaft, around his ass, and along his well-developed thighs to his knees.

          “Thanks, man,” said Adam.  “It feels better now!”  The young Master’s whopping shaft revealed its con­siderable weight as it swung unrestrained, heavy with passion. 

           Adam grabbed Kane’s chain-choked tool and pressed into it with a long squeeze.  Kane screamed for mercy as the squeeze began to push the links into his hardening rod.   

           Roth heard Adam grunt and saw a huge load of pre-cum push out of Adam’s cockhole and fall heavily to the floor.

           “Yeah!” said Adam, throwing his head back in pleasure.   Cum continued to leek out as he put more muscle into his squeeze.  He squeezed so hard that he pinched Kane’s cum tube totally closed.        

           “You’d better not shoot off right now,” Adam warned Kane, “because I won’t let it out!”

           Kane yelped for mercy and slapped the floor with a hand.    

    Roth watched Adam’s ballsack begin to expand.  He could almost see the gonads filling with sperm.  Adam groaned in pleasure as his shaft again ejected a large amount of cum—not the main event, but an unusually big warm-up shot that surpassed the complete orgasms of many guys.

            Fear gripped Kane.   What would happen to his juice, he thought, if Adam kept it trapped inside?   He didn’t want to know.

           “Please don’t make me cum!” he begged Adam. “Don’t wreck me!”

           “Say it properly and I’ll consider it,” 

           Kane felt cum slowly rising in his cock.  He suddenly realized what Adam wanted to hear and it threw him into a rage.   “I’m not your slave!   I’m a Master!   I’ll never say ‘sir’ to you!”

           “Have it your way then,” said Adam, watching the rod’s veins enlarge and pulse in anticipation.  

           “Fuck!” cried Kane, losing the battle with pleasure.   “I’m not your slave!   I’m not your slave!” he screamed.

          “That’s exactly what you are: my fuckin’ slave!   This is your last chance, boy.”     

           “Ah!   No more!”

           “Say it!  advised Adam, as the chain dug into Kane. 

           “No!   Stop!” shouted Kane.   “Please, SIR!”

           “Say it again!”

           “Please stop, SIR!   Don’t make me shoot, SIR!”

           The sounds of the words set off alarm bells in Adam’s pulsing crotch.  His ballsack suddenly pushed against the bottom of the thick shaft, overwhelming it with pleasure.  Hot cream shot into Adam’s cock.  Huge blasts of cum shot from his black pleasure hole like cannon-fire.   The rod leaped wildly and started squirting.   But Adam, still pumping out his stud milk, remained motionless, transfixed in pleasure.

           “Please, sir!” shouted Kane, still praying for a release.

           As the last of the cum dripped from Adam’s shaft, he Master at last let go of the chain.  A few seconds later, Kane’s cock unloaded.  Roth and Adam stood up.  Kane gasped in pleasure as his sperm shot up the rod.   But when it passed the chain-gouged area, it triggered excruciating, skin-splitting pain.   Kane scream­ed in agony and fell forward onto his stomach, erupting like a volcano.

           “No!   No!   Damn you!” he roared.

           Each load of cum rekindled his burning pain as it pumped up the rod.  Kane suffered intensely, since his balls always produced an uncommonly large supply of sperm.

           Adam and Roth pulled up their jocks and jeans as Kane’s cock continued to spit liquid pain out onto the floor.  The two Masters congratulated each other.

           “Now tell me about that hold of yours,” said Adam, smiling broadly.  How about at my place?”

           When the two guys left the restroom, Kane didn’t try to get up.  Still flinching from every lingering drop of cum, he only had enough energy to swear at them.

           Outside the restroom they met a tall, leather-clad stud on his way to the john.

           “What’s all the yellin’ about in there?” he asked.

           Roth grinned.   “There’s a guy inside who’s beggin’ to be fucked!” 

           “No kiddin’?” said the stranger, fondling his dick through the jeans.

           “Yeah,” agreed Adam.  “He’s bare-assed and down on his hands and knees, just waitin’ for it,” he added, tongue-in-cheek.

           The muscular stud unzipped his fly.   “Guess I’d better not keep him waiting.”   He turned and went into the restroom.

           Roth heard muffled shouts from Kane.

           “Once a slave, always a slave!” grinned Adam.

    5

           Roth liked Adam’s dungeon.   The spacious room contained large posters of naked hunks, candles, many wrestling mats, and an impressive supply of bondage devices and equipment.  The room’s pungent smell of leather made him feel right at home.  The two Masters stripped naked and sat on a mat facing each other.  Roth knew that Adam wanted to find out more about the hold that Roth had used on Kane.  But for several minutes, the two Masters were satisfied by simply fixing their eyes on each other, silently admiring the muscles on display.   Finally Adam spoke.

           “I almost shot off when I saw that hold of yours, man,” admitted Adam.  “Ball grips are my favorites.”

           “Yeah, that’s a sexy hold, but I think it’ll make just about any guy submit.”

           Adam stared at Roth’s ballsack and erect cock.  “You have beautiful stuff.”

           “Yours too,” said Roth.

           Adam flexed his heavy rod for Roth.   “Feel it.”

           Roth hesitated.   He hadn’t touched any guy’s cock since he lost Troy.

           “Feel it.   I want you to,” said Adam, speaking softer and with unmistakable desire in his voice.

           Roth delayed, then moved toward him and put a hand around the wide muscle.   Adam reclined in pleasure, putting his hands on the floor behind him to prop himself up.   Roth spent the next several minutes examining the whole shaft, top to bottom.

           “God that feels great,” said the young Master.

           The shaft’s size captivated Roth.   He began to check it in particular places, each check lasting at least one minute.  Soon pre-cum began to reveal itself on the cock’s huge, round head.  

           Adam groan­ed happily.   “Time-out, man,” he said at last.   “I don’t wanna shoot so soon.”   He got up on his knees, and both guys watched the massive rod twitch in sexy, spermless spasms of pleasure.

           “Your touch does somethin’ to me,” said the black stud, wrapping an arm around Roth’s shoulder.   “I want you to teach me that hold of yours, coach!  Will ya help me with it?” he asked with an irresistible smile.

           Adam’s question brought back wonderful for Roth—happy memories as a college wrestling coach.  He never turned down a guy’s request for assistance in polishing his wrestling moves.  The athletes always appreciated it, and Roth always had a very good time with them.  

           “Sure,” Roth answered.

           “But I gotta do it on you, coach, so I can know if it’s right,” said Adam.

           “That’s the only way,” replied Roth.   “Get behind me.”

     Roth readied himself on his hands and knees.  “In the restroom I told Kane that I learned the move from a Chinese fighter,” explained Roth.  

           Adam slowly put his strong arms around Roth’s waist.  He rested his chest and head on Roth’s back and neck.  At that point Adam would gladly have jacked off the guy, or fucked him, but instead he waited for instructions. 

          “Applying the hold for a few seconds won’t hurt a guy,” began Roth.  “But keeping it on him for several minutes will really do some damage.” 

           To execute the hold, Roth told Adam how to properly place a hand around the sack, then which fingers to use to get the best results.  The tricky part was finding the exact spot for the fingertips to press and how deeply to press them.   That took some practice time for Adam.  During it, Roth could feel Adam’s cock lengthening and hardening against his butt.       

          “Oh god!” gasped Adam in wonderment.  “Your balls are awesome, man!” reported Adam.  The young Master couldn’t avoid worshipping them for a moment with his hands.   “They’re so fuckin’ hard!” he whispered in Roth’s ear.  Adam took some time to adjusting his fingertips on the big balls according to Roth’s directions.

           “How’s that?” asked Adam, trying to perfect the hold.

           “Not bad.  You must have watched me closely in the john.”

           “Yeah, I did.   I tried to memorize where your fingers were.”   After a little more adjusting, Adam had the grip exactly right.   Now try it,” said Roth.

           “I don’t wanna hurt ya, man, so tell me when to stop.”  Adam began to push his fingertips carefully into Roth’s ball sack.   He gradually applied more muscle, often checking with Roth to get a reaction.  

           “Ya.  Just a little more pressure and you’ve got it.”

           Adam’s shaft throbbed with passion as he squeezed his coach’s willing nuts.  His enormous shaft-head began to eject a few short spurts of cum onto Roth’s back.  Each spurt was accompanied by a grunt or gasp from Adam, as if thanking Roth for allowing the fellow Master to practice on him.

            As Adam’s chest pressed against his back, Roth could feel him breathe faster.  “Shit!  This is so sexy, man!” whispered Adam, being careful not to squeeze into Rroth’s balls too deeply. 

           The feel of Adam’s fingers pressing into his balls made Roth’s cock stand straight up in undeniable excitement.  Yet, he knew he didn’t want to shot off without holding Troy. 

            “I gotta take a break and calm down,” said Adam.   He released the balls and hugged Roth’s shoulder.  “Applying that hold does somethin’ to me, man.   I get really turned on!”

           Roth smiled at him. “It’s a hold that probably scares guys the most.” 

           “May I try one more?” asked Adam.   

           “Yeah, do it.”

           Adam patted Roth’s gut in appreciation and again put his arms around the Master.  Roth winced when he felt the fingers slowly work their way into his ball flesh once more.  After a few moments Adam’s cock got really excited again.  

           “You have great balls to play with, man!” said Adam.  “Holdin’ them makes me feel so hot I can hardly stand it!” 

           Because of that, a short time later Adam had to let go of Roth’s stiff balls.  He sat up on his knees.  “I gotta shoot, man!” he gasped.   Both guys faced each other.  Adam put his hands on Roth’s shoulders as his cock erupted.  It fired many blasts of cum onto Roth’s chest—and also onto Roth’s shaft.    

          After the cock stopped ejecting his juice, Adam fell forward, grasping Roth to help him remain upright. 

           “Thanks, man,” said Adam softly.   “Too bad for me that you and Troy are an item.  He must be a great guy.”

           “He is.” Roth hung his head in sudden dejection.  “But he’s gone—where to I don’t know.”

           “What happened?”

           Roth told Adam about his feud with Kane—about Kane losing a past slave to Roth, and about Roth and Troy becoming Master and slave, then best friends, then lovers.  He also told him about the fight with Kane over Troy, and about Roth’s loss of spirit after losing Troy.

           Adam deliberated before responding.  “Man, by now he’s probably found another guy.”

           “He hasn’t.”

           “You don’t know that.”

           “Yes I do.   Troy still loves me.   I have to find him.”

           The young Master sat up and put a hand on Roth’s arm.  He looked at the stud with great admiration.  “I’ve never met a guy so dedicated.”   He pondered the situation again.   “I’d like to help you.   Can we look for him together?”

           Roth’s eyes looked more hopeful.  “You mean it?”

           “Sure do.   You guys have to get back together.”   He glanced at Roth’s shaft.   “Look—the idea is makin’ it twitch in agreement!”

           Roth smiled.  “Thanks, man.”  

    6

           Roth and Adam visited every leather bar they could find in their search for Troy, or for information about him.   Sometimes they checked the bars separately to cover them faster, and later met at a local motel to discuss the results.  Yet, after many weeks, they had made no progress.

           Late one night Roth returned to their motel room and found the bed pushed to one side, its mattress moved to the floor, and two naked guys on it—Adam and a stud with close-cropped red hair.   Red had Adam on his back.   Sprawled on top of him, face-over-crotch and a vertical thigh alongside each of Adam’s shoulders, the guy looked like he planned to suck the young Master. Then Roth saw it—a long, cylinder-shaped object that Red had pushed into Adam’s ass. Hold­ing the end of it with both hands, he forced it in further, making Adam gasp.

           “Hey!   Get off him!” shouted Roth, ready to defend Adam.

           “It’s O.K.,” said Adam, gritting his teeth. 

           Getting closer, Roth identified the object:  the handle of a whip, with its long lash trailing between Adam’s legs on the mattress.

           Red ignored Roth’s presence and continued to push the handle into the butthole. “Yeah, take it!  Just a few more inches.”

           With his jaw locked wide open, Adam uttered a cry with every breath as the guy worked it in deeper.  The stud grasped Red’s thighs.

           “You can do it, man,” encouraged Red.   He pushed until only the very end of the handle remained visible.   “It’s in,” he said at last.   He picked up the lash and lightly slapped Adam’s ballsack with it, more playfully than seriously.  “You sure are hot!”  he said.

           Adam’s cock leaped up several times.

           “How does it feel?” asked Red.

           “Better.   A lot better.”

           Red kept the handle inside Adam for quite a while.  During much of that time he played with the stud’s tight, hard ballsack.   He used the lash strands to tie it, squeeze it, pull on it.  Roth closely watched every movement.   After several minutes Red directed his attention to Adam’s shaft.   He teased and licked it.   Despite its massive size and weight, the cock jumped in quick, nervous leaps.   It didn’t shoot, however.

           Nevertheless satisfied with his encounter with Adam, Red gave the rod a friendly, parting slap.  “Maybe we can do this again sometime.”  He gradually, cautiously removed the whip handle from Adam’s ass.  Afterward, the guy put on his leather jacket, jeans, boots, and got up to leave.   He walked over to Roth, admiring the Master’s crotch and hunky physique.   “Maybe all three of us can get together.”  He grinned and left the room.

           “A friend of yours?” asked Roth.

           “He wants to be,” answered Adam, sitting up on his knees.

           “How’s your ass?”

           “A little sore, but it was worth it.”

           “Why?”

           “I let him have his fun in exchange for news about Troy.”

           “No shit?” asked Roth excitedly.

           “He recognized Troy when I showed him the photo.   Told me a place where we might run into him.”

           “Fantastic, man!” yelled Roth.

           He jumped down onto the mattress, pushed Adam down on his back and kissed him.   Then he sat on Adam’s gut and smiled at him.   “You’re quite a guy.  Thanks.” 

          Adam smiled.   “That’s what buddies are for.”

           The next evening, the two Masters showed up at the bar Red had talked about.  It had a dark, unadvertised basement room used for after-hours Levi or leather fights, and naked matches between freeboys hoping to attract any Masters in attendance.   Roth and Adam sat down in a corner of the room to watch the action.

           An announcer bellowed the names of the first two opponents. 

          “O.K. boys, let’s hear it for two of our favorite fighters—S.B. and Gabe!”

           As the audience cheered, two young hunks appeared out of the darkness and walked to the middle of the illuminated fight circle.   Their skins were white and black, both had shaved heads and wore only thongs.

           “My god,” said Roth in a whisper. “That’s him!”

           “Troy?” asked Adam, trying to recognize the face without its longish blond hair.

          The two studs locked up, collar-and-elbow, and struggled for control.

           “That’s him!” repeated Roth with growing fervor.   He started to get up, but Adam stopped him.

           “Don’t distract him, man.   Let him wrestle.   You guys can talk afterward,” ad­vised Adam.

           Roth sat down but again whispered, “That’s him!”  Roth tried to curb his powerful desire to leap up and grab Troy’s ass.

           “Not yet,” said Adam, grinning at Roth’s sudden, adolescent-like urgency.

           Gabe, the black stud, broke out of the collar-and-elbow, slipped behind Troy and cinched in a tight full nelson.   He applied tremendous pressure to the back of Troy’s neck, eventually forcing his victim to bend forward and drop down on his knees.   Gabe kept applying pressure until he had Troy’s chin pressed against his chest.

           “Give, or I’ll snap it!” warned Gabe.

           Troy attempted to power out again and again, but failed.   His straining began to rob him of energy.

           “Yeah, wear yourself out, boy,” said the stud.   “You ain’t goin’ nowhere!”

           At those words, Troy suddenly slammed his butt backward into Gabe’s balls.   The large, jock-covered gonads made a vulnerable target, and a painful one.   Gabe yelled, but the nelson remained firmly fixed.   Troy gave the guy’s balls a stronger butt smash.

           “Ah!” groaned Gabe, breaking his hold in order to hold his smarting nuts.

           A quick leg sweep by Troy sent Gabe to the mat on his stomach.   As the wrestler slowly pushed up onto his hands and knees, Troy straddled his back, locked both hands around the square jaw, and dropped down on the stud’s back.   The small but vocal crowd yelled their approval and clamored for Troy to pull it backward farther.  Gabe groaned as Troy arched him beyond what anyone expected.

           In his desire to go to the extreme, however, Troy miscalculated.  He pulled too far and lost his balance.   Gabe took advantage and brought his knees forward.   He threw himself backward, toppling Troy to the mat.   The black stud picked up Troy’s feet and wrenched the legs apart in a severe crotch-split.   Holding the legs, he planted a foot between the Troy’s legs and onto the thong’s bulging pouch.  A raucous yell burst from the bottom of Troy’s throat.

           Roth got up out of concern, but Adam again pulled him back down.   Gabe kept the pressure on Troy’s balls and waited for the inevitable submission.   But Troy refused to give up.  The black stud started to slowly twist Troy’s foot back and forth, grinding the balls against each other and against the crotch.  Troy yelled and grabbed the foot, but the stud made him let go by suddenly widening the leg split.

           “I’ve got ya, man!” he said.  

           Shouting in pain, Troy turned his body to one side to get away.   The black stud removed his foot from the crotch and used Troy’s turning movement to flip him onto his stomach, then into a Bos­ton crab.   He sat down on Troy’s lower back and applied the hold full force.

           The onlookers enjoyed the extremely sexy view of Troy’s thong-encased ballsack hanging in magnificence in front of them.  Some of the onlookers also saw Troy’s large phallus harden inside his thong.  For, as Roth knew from wrestling Troy, this hold always made the kid’s cock harden.   Grinning in anticipated

    vic­tory, Gabe began to focus on the shouts from his buddies in the crowd.

           “Finish him!   Strip him!   Grab his nuts!” they urged.

           The stud liked their ideas.   He dropped one of the legs and seized Troy’s nuts.  Troy reacted with a long series of yells.  But

    no matter how hard he squeezed, he couldn’t get Troy to sub­mit.   Frustrated, he let go of the nutsack and leg, then pulled off Troy’s  thong.   When Troy started to get up, the stud wrapped his thighs around him at the waist and squeezed.

           “Ah!” shouted Troy, unable to stop the massive legs from forcing him down onto his back.

           Gabe’s eyes opened wide as he stared at the kid’s incredibly long, aroused, naked cock.

           So did Adam’s eyes.  “What a rod on that boy!” he whispered to Roth. 

           Gabe bear hugged the huge shaft as he scissored Troy. 

           Even from a distance Roth could see that the stud meant it as a sub­mission hold, not the kind of fun squeeze used by many guys when they wrestle.   Troy tried everything to free himself from the cock squeeze and scissors—he kicked, he bridged up, he attempted to push himself forward with his feet, he pounded the stud’s brick-like thigh.   Nothing worked.

           “Jack him off!” yelled one of Gabe’s buddies.   “Make him cum!”

           The wrestler gave it a try, hoping that an orgasm would weaken him to the breaking point. Troy grunted as pleasure swiftly replaced the pain in his shaft.

           “Yeah!  Your juice is gonna submit to me!” shouted Gabe, jacking the inflamed cock in a brisk rhythm.

          Troy felt the pleasure escalate rapidly.  At the same time, the stud reapplied the scissors with breath-stopping power.   His buns, facing Troy’s head, flexed as he squeezed the thighs. The kid frantically grabbed Gabe’s crotch-hugging thong in desperation.  He yanked on it so hard that the thong’s waistband and leg straps snapped away into several pieces.   Troy then shoved his middle finger into Gabe’s butthole.

           The stud yelled, now unable to continue both the scissors and the cock squeeze.   When Gabe released his holds, Troy quickly crawled away from the lethal legs, but kept his finger inside the butt.

           “Get up!” yelled Troy.

           He used his finger to force the black stud to his feet. Throttling him around the neck with his left arm, Troy bent the guy’s body backward as he pushed forward into the handsome butt with his right.   Gabe spread his legs for support while Troy choked and finger-fucked him simultaneously.  The guy’s bowed-out body made a luscious sight.   Even his buddies liked seeing it. They didn’t seem to care now if he won the match or not:  his sexy struggling gave them a dick-hardening ex­perience that greatly overshadowed everything else.

           “Submit!” yelled Troy.

           The stud held out, somehow absorbing the punishment.   But when Troy started plunging the ass with more power, he couldn’t take it anymore.

           “No!   No!” shouted the stud.   “I give!   I submit!”

           Troy let him collapse to the mat, where he lay groaning on his back.  The winner held his butt-taming finger up in victory.  The onlookers shouted and whistled their congratulations.  But Troy, rather than gloat over his victory, dropped down onto one knee beside Gabe. 

           He stroked the guy’s chest and spoke to him quietly—although the cheering crowd didn’t allow anyone to hear him.

          “Great match, man.  Are you O.K?” 

          Gabe smiled as Troy massaged his abs, then his balls. 

          “Yeah, but you sure gave me a workout!”

          Troy pulled Gabe up to his feet and put his arms around him as the crowd cheered the two naked wrestlers.  Roth suddenly walked behind Troy and raised his arm in victory.  Troy turned to acknowledge him and his jaw fell open when he recognized Roth. 

           “Oh my god!” shouted Troy.  He immediately pressed his mouth against Roth’s and showed the audience one of the longest, most athletic kisses they’d ever seen.

           Adam walked next to them and addressed the crowd.  “As you can tell, this is a major reunion, boys, so let’s hear it for Roth and Troy!”  

          The onlookers exploded in another roar of approval.  During it, three handsome, naked youths from the audience joined the group and stood smiling beside Troy.   Troy put his arms around them and quieted the audience with a hand.

           “My three boys wanted to see this fight, and I’m sure glad they’re here with me!”  

          After more yelling and whistling from the crowd, Adam made another statement.   “It’s clear that these guys like each other a whole lot!  Let’s give ‘em some privacy!   Show’s over for tonight!”

           No one objected.  But many grinned at the sight of the seven tanned and naked studs on display in front of them as they filed out of the room.  When the last spectator had exited, Roth and Troy kissed again—and hugged, as only wrestlers know how to do.  Gabe grinned and stroked Troy’s ass.  Adam put his hand on Gabe’s butt it fondled the winner’s gorgeous ass.  But maybe happier than the others, Troy’s three radiant boys stood next to him, tall and proud of their adopted dad.

          Troy introduced each one of the boys to Roth, Adam and Gabe: Fletch the oldest, Slim the youngest, and Tally.  Tally seemed especially close to Troy emotionally and showed no hesitation about showing his love with countless aggressive kisses and pats on Troy’s ass.  

            After a few moments, Roth spoke to Troy, his voice choked with passion.  “I missed you so much.  Every day was hell without you.”  

           “Kane made it hard for me to get away, sir.  Then I worried that Kane might punish the boys if I left.”   Troy paused with a frown on his face.  “Will he come after us, sir?” 

           Roth smiled.  “No.  My buddy Adam and I took care of that—I’ll explain later.   But now, I have something for you.  Get down on your knees and close your eyes.”

          Troy complied, not knowing what to expect.   Roth opened his hand and grasped a cock ring.  He made Troy feel it with his tongue.  Troy kept his eyes closed, but tears started to run down his face as he recognized the feel of the metal object.  He ran his tongue over the letters R-O-T-H etched into its surface.

         The Master’s gift, once removed by Kane, had come back to him. 

          “Open your eyes,” instructed Roth.

          Troy looked up at the Master with yearning and thankful eyes.

    Roth slipped the ring onto Troy’s cock head, making the rod twitch excitedly.   Troy grunted in ecstasy, as though Roth had his cock trapped in an erotic submission hold that would surely make him cum.  Troy clutched his Master’s thigh.  Roth slid the saliva-coated ring down the shaft with painstaking slowness.   The lower the ring went, the more Troy’s pleasure increased.

           Adam, Gabe and the three boys got down on their knees alongside Troy as they witnessed Roth restoring the ring to its rightful owner.  Roth inched it lower, driving Troy crazy with pleasure and desire.

           “Yes!   Yes!” he whispered Troy, feeling the cock ring—and Roth—becoming part of his maleness again.

           When the ring at last came into contact with the top of Troy’s balls, the guy began to claw his lover’s thighs.   Troy spread his legs wide and grunted.   Roth examined the bulged-out balls with his fingers.  Troy gasped in pleasure as his Master hugged the swollen testicles one at a time.  Roth then he dropped onto his knees and enclosed as much of Troy’s huge shaft as possible into his mouth.   De­lirious pleasure attacked every inch of the pole.

           The guys around him stroked each other as they watched Troy deliver his primal essence into Roth—the seed that Troy had made solely for his partner.  The sight of Roth swallowing Troy’s loads pushed many of the guys to erupt in cum themselves.  

           After sucking Troy dry, Roth released the handsome, athletic shaft.  The Master then moved behind Troy, put his arms around him and pushed his boy down to the mat on his chest.  Troy groaned in pleasure as he felt Roth slide his cock into him—slowly, deeply, lovingly.   Pleasure consumed his ass and gradually his entire body.  Roth set his fucking at the slowest pace he could handle without shooting off.     

           “Troy, you’ve gone through a lot for me—and not just for me,” said Roth.  “In caring for these three beautiful boys, you also developed yourself into a Master—but not just any Master:  one of the highest order.   So now you and I are two Masters, three boys and one love.”

           Troy gasped at the words.  The faces of his boys glowed with boundless admiration and tears.  At the same time, Roth’s shaft sent ripples of pleasure throughout Troy’s ass.  Then the pleasure spread, flowing into every inch of his body.  All of his muscles began to flex, celebrating Roth.   And in that flash of a moment when only silence can speak, each communicated an identical message to the other:   “Forever.”

    (end)


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  • Yucatecan Adventure

    On one of many trips to the Yucatan to satisfy my interest in ruins of the Maya, my co-traveler friend and I found our way to Xpujil – then off the beaten track and barely excavated.

    The jungle was hot as anything that day.

    With us was a young Mayan we’d picked up (that being our bent) on the outskirts of Campeche. He stood about 5’5″ and possessed hairless skin the color of that in some Mayan murals.

    Friend Bill was in a snit about something and wandered away, climbing over some rough rocks and roots on the right to go off on his own. We two remained.

    To avoid Bill’s ill-temper, the Mayan and I decided to walk around the left tower (more ruined then than now) where, after clambering over piles of blocks in disarray we discovered a passage around on the tower’s leftmost side. Inside, we were astonished to find steps leading up inside to light. Know, please, that there are virtually no interior flights of steps inside Maya structures. The kid, eyes agleam with mystery, whispered that this must have been a Mayan secret. 

    In the stagnant, stifling humidity, he shed his T-shirt and tucked it in a pocket.

    Up the steps, we came into a small room with a crude window overlooking a walled space below (not visible from the facade) in the direction of the central tower. Two stones in the room’s center supported a third to form – unmistakably – an altar. We were so excited by this novelty because, as our horseplay determined, the altar top was not at the usual height but sufficiently low that he could be bent over it, his arms able to reach the other side.

    With a hand on his jeans, I managed in my broken Spanish to convey that it must have been reserved for secret ceremonies between a priest and his acolyte (chancing upon “acolito” – which was the right word!). He didn’t move, but gazed toward the light.

    It was easy to open and slip down his beltless pants to reveal the bare beauty of a hairless butt. With sweat and spit and without a word of protest from him, I made it in a few inches. His fingers were extending and retracting, so I waited until they weren’t. The next several, aided by more spit, were reflected in similar flexings of his hands.

    Not wanting to spoil my good fortune, I began what he later called privately “un momento sagrado” and managed bring us both off. Finished, we dripped perspiration.

    Bill’s voice came from a distance hollering that he was ready to go and for us to “get back here – now!”

    We scrambled down those steps and rounded the edge of the building to spot Bill standing in the clearing out front. “Where have you been?

    I was about to make up something, when the Mayan boy pointed up to the tower and said, clear as day, “Con les dioses.” [With the gods.]

    TRUE.


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  • Random Stories

    James and Travis

    James was now meeting me every morning in the small town weight room we had.  Almost no one was ever there early in the morning, so we made it a common habit to meet there at 7, giving us almost an hour of uninterrupted time alone together, unless of course he decided to bring someone else with him, which happened only every once in a while.  Depending on the day, that might mean I had already met with Elmer and Brent before Elmer headed off to work, but things were fairly regular, and I was enjoying James more and more with every passing day.

    I was still passed around a fair bit, but my hole was feeling more and more like it was made just for James, and I still melted almost every time we were together.  I assumed the marriage ceremony Tony had performed was probably not real, but I felt married to James in every way possible.

    But enough of that.  We’d pretend to meet to work out, but the goal every morning was to get his load deep in what he now routinely called my cunt or pussy.  That was fine by me, as his thick ten inches fit in tight and deep as he would unload, as well as let me suck him off, both before and after.  It was a great time together with just him.

    So one Tuesday morning as he finished and headed off, I was shocked a bit beyond surprise to bump into Travis, who had stopped by to do a bit of an early workout himself.  Travis and I had been friends since we were very young, so I tried my best to figure out how to deal with the whole situation.

    As luck would have it, Travis was so concerned that I didn’t really need to worry much: “Damn, man.  Are you ok?”

    I was lucky enough to guess that he thought James had just molested me, since Travis didn’t seem aware that James and I had ever really hung out much.  So after a bit of stumbling around, I admitted that it wasn’t exactly the first time that James had used me like that, hoping that Travis wouldn’t hold that against me, since I really had no idea whether he knew I had ever even been with a guy before.

    Travis’ reaction surprised me, as he grabbed his crotch and smiled a bit.  “Fuck, man.  I had no idea.  It looked like he was totally abusing the shit out of you.”

    I am sure I must have turned red, but I also noticed Travis grabbing his crotch, so I just decided to grab his hand myself, and gently squeeze what appeared to be his hardening dick together with him.  Now it was he who was embarrassed:  “Shit.  I’m sorry, but it did get me a bit horny.  But I really did just hang around to make sure you were ok.”

    Travis had always been a good friend, on top of being a sexy blond athletic guy with a big dick.  One more quiet guy in my little town.  “I know, man.  You’ve always been good to me.  I was embarrassed you caught us, to be honest.  But I’d be lying not to admit I’m also pleased that the whole thing got you a bit horny.”

    “A bit horny?  Damn.  I was holding on so I didn’t cum just watching.”  And Travis’ hand dropped, just leaving mine still holding on, to his even more hardened dick.

    I sat down on the bench and looked up at him.  “I’d be more than happy to take care of you, man.”  And Travis smiled as I undid his pants and pulled out his beautiful dick.

    It wasn’t as long or as thick as James’, but it was gorgeous.  Almost nine inches was my guess, and thick enough that I was happy to kiss his uncut dick head, and slowly work it entirely down my throat.

    Travis came almost immediately, as he rubbed his hands through my hair.  “This is crazy, but I don’t know that I’ve ever felt so damn good.”  And his dick exploded, and exploded, and exploded.

    I swallowed every last drop.  He pulled out, then slid it back in again, watching his thick white seed flow onto my tongue.  “Fuck.  I never even dreamed anything like this could feel so good.  You’re amazing.”

    “So are you, sexy man.  I’ve always thought you were gorgeous, on top of being a great friend.”

    “Damn.  You do this on some kind of regular basis with James?”

    I stammered.  “Uh.  We actually meet here almost every single day.”

    “Holy shit.  Serious?”

    “I actually love him, to be honest.”

    “Fuck.”

    And he went hard again, as I slowly pumped him, since I hadn’t let go yet, and since he was still leaking a bit.  I put my mouth on it again, and licked up the remaining cum.

    “Would you mind if I stopped by and watched you again?”

    “I’d be flattered, to be honest.”

    Now he really went hard again, and put his hand back in my hair.  “When you gonna meet him next?”

    I tried not to smile.  “Tomorrow.”

    “Shit.  You really mean that regularly?”

    “We can talk about that later.  We will be here tomorrow.  Just keep quiet, if that’s ok.”

    Travis smiled.  “Promise.  But I think I may cum again already.”

    That was all I needed to go back down on him.  I was getting so used to swallowing huge dicks that his was like a treat.  I knew I worked it well, and once again he was shocked at how soon he came.  And I worked hard to actually suck the cum right out of him, as I massaged his low hanging balls.  He even kept up the orgasm even after I drained him.

    He moaned.  “I’d be lying if I didn’t say I can’t wait until tomorrow.”

    “Thanks, Travis.  In every way possible.”


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  • My Football Daddy

    My name is Mike, but my friends call me little Mikey. I’m 21, 5’6 and 150 pounds. I have a cute smooth butt and mostly hairless, naturally. People have told me I remind them of a young Prince William, though I don’t see it. I look like an innocent young man. But on the contrary. I am a whore for a big, beefy, hairy daddy bears and cubs. This is the story of how I met my 50 year old football coach.

    I was at the bar with some of my (straight) guy friends. It’s no secret that I’m gay, but most people don’t know the type of man I like. My friends are so focused in on the Giants game. Yawn. Sports are a snoozer, except the sexy men who play them. I notice, out of my periphery, a tall, tan, handsome man. I decide I’m going to go get a drink from the bar, but mostly so I can check him out some more.

    I stand up and announce to my friends that I’ll be back. Nobody even cares. I walk up to the bar, passing this thick daddy. I look him up and down, and make eye contact ever-so-briefly with him. He gives me a smirk and I can see his pearly, white, perfect teeth. It surprised me to see such beautiful teeth on such a rugged man. He must be 6’7 and 350 pounds of beef. He’s got olive skin, maybe Italian or Greek. Clearly hairy, as his chest hair is poking out from under his collar. And his arms are full of brown and blonde hairs. My favorite…

    I get to the bar and order my drink. As I’m sitting and waiting I feel a presence from behind me, followed by a scent of man sweat and a hint of men’s shampoo. I turn around and I look up and it’s the same daddy I just checked out.

    “Hey boy, what are you drinking?” He asks.

    “Uh-uh ummm a mojito,” I stutter, embarrassed by my obvious intimidation and attraction to him.

    “That’s cute. Sweet drink for a sweet boy.”

    I look at his hand and notice a thick, platinum ring. I get discouraged because he’s married. I turn back towards the bartender and grab my drink. I go to pay the bartender and he calls out and says “put it on my tab.”

    I turn around and look back at him with a furrowed brow, unsure of why he did that or what to say but now I’m questioning his motive.

    “Sir, I appreciate you doing that. But why?” I ask

    He says, in a booming, masculine, deep voice, “I like to take care of my boys.”

    I hesitate, unsure of what to say, and also aware that he said that very loudly in front of A LOT of people. Plus, we aren’t in a gay bar, and straight culture can be weird about inter-generational relationships.

    I look at my friends to see if they’re watching… but as sports fanatics are, they were entranced by the game. So I figured, why not enjoy the attention? My friends don’t care if I’m here or not!

    “Well that’s mighty kind of you, Sir,” I state pushing my rear end out just a small bit, showing the top of my underwear. I’m wearing my usual jockstrap.

    “Anytime, boy. I’m Michael, but you can call me Mike.”

    “I’m also Mike! My friends call me Little Mikey,” I exclaim. I reach out and shake his hand. I notice they are rough, calloused, and huge. “Are you here with your wife?” I motion my head towards his ring finger. He looks at it, and puts it in his pocket.

    “No, the bitch left me yesterday for a younger man. Old habits die hard,” he says with a bit of sadness in his eyes.

    “I’m sorry Sir. That can’t be easy. Here sit with me and tell me more about you,” I say, pointing to the bench next to me.

    He sits his huge, towering body in the small barstool, his back and ass basically hiding the chair. He goes on to explain that he is a former college football player but never made it big. He started making money by flipping homes and selling them. That explains his rugged rough hands and his stocky physique. He told me he still plays football with a few of his friends on a small, informal team just for fun but they get together three times every week and play, and five times a week to workout.

    He asks, “so what about you, why are you here alone? Young and handsome lad like yourself must have a cute lady by his side… no?”

    I look down at my drink and say, “nope, it’s just me. My parents asked me to move out when they found out I was gay. They don’t talk to me anymore. My dad especially hates me, and we did everything together when I was growing up. I miss them…” I stop myself because I realize I’m rambling on and I turn red in the face and stand up to excuse myself due to embarrassment.

    Mike says, “Son sit down. I’ll order you another drink. You’re safe with me.” He smiles his pearly whites and winks at me, and grabs my thigh. I got a rush of pleasure mixed with anxiety. Is he into me? He can’t be. No way.

    “I’m sorry for over-sharing. Sorry to be a buzzkill,” I say, sadly. “I just have no one to tell these things to.”

    “Why don’t we get out of here? I have a nice pool in my yard and we can drink for free there. What do you say boy?” He asks me.

    I look at him and smile. “That sounds amazing. Let me tell my friends goodbye. I’ll meet you by the stop sign outside.”

    He stands up as I walk away towards my friends. “Hey guys I have to get going. Thanks for the invite! Text me later and we can meet up next weekend for the game!” (I knew my new daddy would be there.)

    I head outside. I see Big Mike standing by the stop sign smoking a cigarette. “Want one boy?”

    “I don’t smoke, Sir, but thank you,” I say gently. I can smell his sweat. I’m getting aroused. His bald head is shining, beading with sweat. I see his biceps and forearms rippling with every move he makes. I am staring… “Sorry Sir, I got … um … distracted.”

    “I was asking if you’re okay, Little Mikey. You look pale. Let’s go, I’ll take you home to my place. We will get you cooled down.”

    We get in his car, and it’s a damn good thing, because I may have had one too many to drive. I realize we just got into a brand new Ford F-250. It smells like man in here; a combination of Big Mike sweating, his work boots, and his gym bag. My head is spinning from all the pheromones. I look over at Big Mike and ask boldly, “Have you ever been with a man?”

    He smiles and chuckles. “Oh yes I have boy.”

    I realize I’m getting lucky tonight. We pull up to his house. And wow! What a beautiful place. He opens front door and we stand in his foyer. Big Mike welcomes me into the house, takes my coat and asks I remove my shoes. I oblige immediately. He shows me around. I notice we avoid one door, seemingly that leads to the basement. Hmm. I move on.

    We get to the yard and WOW what a pool. Big, blue and beautiful. He steps outside and I follow. He hands me a glass full of whisky and coke. “Drink up boy. We’re going for a swim!”

    Big Mike proceeds to remove his shirt. He is covered in thick brown and blond fur, head to toe. My heart is racing and I feel my cock throb and my hole twitch. “Well boy? Are you coming in?” He takes off his pants and I see his bare ass. He has a big beefy ass, also furry, but well maintained. I want to see his cock so bad. But he jumps in before I can.

    I’m mesmerized. I’ve been speechless since we got in his car. He doesn’t know it, but I swiped a jockstrap from his hamper when he was showing me the house. It’s in my pocket.

    “Come in boy the water is awesome!” He shouts. His body hair is matted to his chest now. I’m hard as a rock and I am nervous to take off my pants.

    “Sir I’m sorry I’m embarrassed,” I say, looking down.

    “Why are you embarrassed? You have nothing to be embarrassed about. You are a beautiful boy,” Big Mike says.

    “Well….” I pull my pants down and expose myself in just my jockstrap. His eyes widen as he sees my bare ass for the first time. I can tell he wants it, and I’m even more excited than ever. I remove my jockstrap and cup my cock and balls and jump in.

    He smiles big and says, “that’s my boy.” He swims over to me and hugs me from behind. “I just want to protect you. Your story broke my heart. A boy like you needs protection.” I feel something touching my ass. I realize it’s his bear cock. It’s BIG. I push back towards him a little bit.

    “This is nice, Sir. I love being here with you,” I say.

    He smiles again and turns me around. I straddle him, his cock is hard between my cheeks. He moves in for our first kiss. I taste his whisky, and his cigarette. But I love it. I melt into his arms.

    “Let’s go inside boy,” he commands.

    We get out of the pool and dry off. He points me to the bathroom so I can freshen up. I realized I left my pants outside on the patio. I worry that he’ll notice and see I stole his jock. I exit the bathroom and can’t find him anywhere. I go back outside to the patio and my pants are gone. “FUCK!” I say to myself.

    I go back inside and I walk into his room and I see my shorts on the foot of the bed folded. I look up and there is Big Mike wearing nothing but the jockstrap I stole and his football shoulder pads.

    “I see my boy found my football jockstrap!” He smirks at me. “You know you shouldn’t take without asking. But you can make it up to me,” he says with a strong seductive tone.

    “I’m so sorry Sir.”

    “Come here.” He points to the ground between his legs. He towers over me. He is a whole foot taller than me and probably close to three times my body weight. I kneel in front of Big Mike.

    “In here I am your Daddy. Got it boy?” He commands

    “Yes daddy. I understand,” I say submissively.

    “You know what to do boy,” he says with his beautiful smile. I’m totally infatuated with him.

    I start by smelling his crotch. I start breathing deep, inhaling his pheromones. I smell his sweat. My heart is racing. I look up at daddy and he smiles down at me. I pull the band down to expose his daddy cock. It is easily 8 inches long and 7 inches thick. I’m actually worried it won’t fit. His bush is beautiful. Dark, full, and natural, just how I like it.

    “You like boy?”

    I nod and I start licking his balls. His hands find the back of my head, and he gently strokes my hair as I begin servicing my new daddy.

    “Fuck yeah boy. How does daddy taste? Do you like my daddy scent? Mmmmm daddy loves that mouth.”

    I take his cock head into my mouth. I begin swirling my tongue around it, worshipping his beautiful thick helmet. He tastes so good.

    “Oh daddy,” I whimper.

    “Good boy.”

    I suck his cock gently forms few minutes before he stands me up and we make out for a few more minutes. I love his mouth. His body makes me look tiny. He is a giant and I love it.

    “Be a good boy for daddy. Lay down on the bed and lift your legs and show me your boy pussy.”

    I obey. I watch him crouch down and I can feel his tongue tracing my ass cheeks. He finds my balls and my cock and starts sucking. His mouth feels amazing. My cock is deep in his mouth and I’m in total bliss. He takes his jockstrap and lifts it to my nose and I inhale deep. His pheromones loosen me up like poppers. I’m lusting more over this man than any man I’ve ever been with. And he is old enough to be my dad. Somehow that turns me on even more.

    His mouth finds it’s way to my pussy. “Oh daddy,” I moan. He giggles deep and I feel him start licking my hole. His beard is tickling my ass and I’m in total ecstasy. He puts two fingers in my mouth and I start sucking. Every part of him tastes like man and I love it.

    “Daddy… I want you inside me. Please,” I beg.

    “Is this what you want boy?” He stands up towering over me, throwing my ankles over his shoulders. He shakes his huge cock and smacks my hole with it.

    “Yes Daddy please. I need it.”

    Daddy reaches into his night stand and grabs his lube, a condom, and a bottle of Amsterdam poppers.

    “Daddy… I don’t want you to use the condom. I wanna feel you bare inside of me. I want you to make me yours. Please daddy.”

    “Are you sure son?”

    I nod. He opens the bottle of lube and pours a glob onto his cock and rubs the rest into my hole. He opens the bottle of poppers and says, “you’re going to need these boy.” I inhale deep and enter a whole new level of horny I’ve never experienced before. I have completely submitted to my new daddy.

    He smiles at me. I run my hands through his chest hair and he leans over and kisses me. I can taste my hole on his tongue. He lines up his cock to my hole and pushes in. I can feel his head pop in. It stretches me like I’ve never been stretched before.

    “Breathe boy. Daddy is going to go slow so you can get used to it,” he says calmly. He opens his poppers and puts it to my nose again.

    “Hahaha,” he laughs in a sexy tone. “There it is. You’re loosening up for daddy. Good boy. You’re halfway there.”

    HALFWAY?! I’m feeling so full I have no idea how there’s more.

    “Breathe boy.” I inhale and smell his pits. He smells so fucking sexy. “Breathe. Open your second hole for Daddy. Gooooooooood boy….” he moans. I feel his bush on my smooth hole. I can feel him so far deep inside me. Something I’ve never experienced before.

    “Daddy please don’t move. Just for a minute.” I am in ecstasy. “Please daddy I’m ready.”

    “Good boy. You are such a good boy for daddy,” he says as he starts slowly sliding back and forth, grazing my prostate over, and over, and over. His bed is starting to squeak. Thankfully he has no neighbors nearby.

    “Fuck daddy!” I start to moan louder as he speeds up. I take another hit of poppers.

    “Take my cock boy. Take it.” He shoves the jockstrap in my mouth and muffles my moans. “You like daddy’s scent? You like how he fucks you? Dirty little pig boy…. fuck I knew I had to have you from the moment I saw you. Oh fuuuuck.”

    He speeds up to a rough pounding. He flips me over with ease. I’m on the bed doggy style watching myself get fucked by this massive daddy in the mirror. He’s sweating. I can feel it dripping on my back. His face is red. He’s really working my hole.

    All of a sudden he stops with his cock in my hole all the way to the root. I feel him start to grind into my ass with a slow sexy rhythm. We just went from fucking to love making. Daddy leans down and kisses me again. I can feel him probing my second hole again.

    “Fuck boy you have me so close. I love this hole. You are incredible,” he pants.

    “Breed me daddy.”

    He picks up the pace. He starts ravaging my hole again. He’s pulling it all the way out and shoving it in balls deep back and forth. I feel something happening. I start to tremble. I realize I’m cumming without him touching me.

    “Ohhhh fuck daddy don’t stop ohhhhhh….” I scream and he flips me over and fucks me in my back while he strokes my cock and I cum anally and from my cock at the same time. I hear him roar and he collapses on me.

    We laid there for at least 15 minutes. We kissed back and forth. He let me cuddle up in his arms. I can smell his sweat and I love it.

    “You are such a hot boy,” he says.

    I can feel his cum running out of my hole. I’m worried I’ll get it on his sheets. All of a sudden he flips me on my belly and felches his load from my ass and comes back up and feeds it to me. That’s when I knew, we needed to be together.

    “Thank you Daddy.”

    “You’re welcome my boy.”


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


  • Daddy Bears

    And she would pray – for hours she prayed. Lined up her children along the side of an old plastic-covered couch. They all knelt. Every night, “Burdens to my heart, they punish my soul with their wickedness…” Earnestly, she prayed, lifting her voice to the omniscient, “They lie, they steal, they are all hell-bound – coveting, lusting. Ungrateful worms…” Then, one by one, she announced the sins of her children as she imagined them to be.

    Along the row of bowed heads during this spiritually-instructive custom was a boy. Not a cute boy; a puny brown-haired boy; a boy who seldom spoke.

    “Loving father, they have lustful thoughts, their hands touch their filthy bodies in vile ways…”

    As guilt-inducing prayers continued the boy wondered why anyone needed to snitch on him, “If god knows everything already, why do this?” His young mind wandered, body holding a reverent pose. In his small brain, he saw a red AM radio – one he noticed in a catalogue. Mentally, his grimy fingers turned the dial on the radio and wonderous adventures tuned out the shaming. Adventures where he was strong, smart and delightfully handsome in worlds where he was a good boy.

    “Minds filled with the dirt of the damned. Slothfulness…”

    At first his imaginings were simple as his fingers turned on his red radio of adventures. He examined how he would feel as a kite – soaring and jumping against a brisk wind and then pop! The string broke and he flew higher, looking down on the earth, then settling in a treetop. So enjoyable.

    “Born sin-filled. Hateful, thankless, selfish…”

    Via red radio, the boy recreated himself as an ice skater, twisting and spinning, gliding smoothly in a spangled costume smiling widely. How high he could jump and he felt his muscles pull his arms close as he turned quickly until he was so turning so fast and so high, he didn’t return to the ice but flew above the rooftops. Whoosh!

    “Take these damned souls, wash them clean in your blood…”

    Weeks turned to months as the ritual continued and the boy’s mental journeys widened. From black and white photos in an old encyclopedia, the boy fancied running the world when he turned on the red radio. Coursing the streets of Hong Kong, Paris and Durban, feet flying, thighs pumping, arms swinging, he waved to crowds and continued without thirst or hunger – bursting with joy, feet barely touching earth.

    “Pitiful animals, these cursed beings – undeserving of your pure love…”

    Around the second year of this custom that boy had a peculiar thought. In school he learned of the solar system, the stars, planets, the never-ending place beyond the clouds. Seemed he was always hungry and he wondered how it would feel to swallow the entire universe – would his stomach be full forever? Pondering on it, he wondered if he might turn inside-out. Space was a sucking vacuum, that’s what the textbook said. Of course, the image of him standing in the shabby living room with all his internal organs on the outside of his body came to mind. He was sure no one would notice. With fingers entwined, drawing a silent, deep breath he drifted toward his celestial repast. Yes, he swallowed the cosmos and felt Venus and Mars scratching inside his stomach as they orbited the sun. The Milky Way lit his brain as it swirled and suddenly the boy felt enormous. In the next few moments his spirit soared free and wide. He became the universe – he became everything; all. It was only for a few seconds, and it felt wonderful – noiseless, tranquil.

    “I beseech you to take these soiled souls…”

    The boy was glad to pray, and he disciplined himself through red radio into a universe for that expansive escape every night.

    Intergalactic nourishment had a profound effect on the boy. It brought an unexpected benefit. He missed the obligatory prayers when they were replaced by theological differences between the adults of the house. A real hell visited his abode as domestic abuse began. Didn’t bother the boy, his imagined red radio tuned into the galaxy during distress.

    As he grew, he became more remote and often meandered along the streets of his town. Found his way to areas where chemically-induced universes were available. He tried that, yet unlike red radio, it didn’t have an on/off knob; not the same. He turned from drugs and found a room to rent and acquired a job selling bootleg CDs near busy bus stops. Got hauled in for not collecting sales tax and submitted quite willingly. Hunger offset shame those days.

    Incarcerated with other street hustlers wasn’t so bad. The young man had a full belly and sent himself back into the universe when disturbances occurred around him. When the disturbance was over him, the young man was ill-prepared to deal with the ruffians’ demands.

    “I can’t be your wife! That’s impossible.” His internal red radio did him couldn’t help as he lay unconscious after failing to fend off a personally invasive fracas.

    How unknowing he was.

    The young man served the first two weeks of his thirty days in the infirmary unable to use a chair. He often turned on his red radio to relieve the discomfort radiating from his rear.

    As required, a nurse came daily to record vital signs, check his healing. The nurse was a wide-chested, burly man famed for his brusque nature and professional efficiency. He became interested in the young man who didn’t seem prone to criminality and wasn’t even able to assert himself well. At first, the nurse considered the young man had mental issues and gave him several screenings to find nothing. Wisely, the nurse suggested a half-way house upon release. Pulling a few strings with a social worker, he made it happen as a gesture to reduce recidivism.

    * * * *

    The young man thrived in the ramshackle half-way house though the rules were strict. He gained some respect for himself, his mild nature and quiet presence as he continued his education. On the campus of a community college, he excelled. His electives included the arts – drawing and painting. The arts became his major. No one could understand why he had to begin his paintings on black backgrounds instead of white, yet he produced sensitive, expectant renderings of people. When local competitions were announced, he submitted his work with the assistance from his instructors and won several awards.

    Working on the campus in the evenings, the young man saved his money, bought a bike then found himself a small studio apartment over a garage. Typical starving-artist lifestyle, though it suited him. He loved painting and his canvasses became larger, life-size as his name circulated with photos of his work.

    A gallery owner took him under his wing to represent him. Life improved somewhat for the young man and through the struggles, he developed several strange habits along with his acclaim:

    His personal rituals now included sleeping with his face covered in a very specific cloth – an old scarf he found at a flea market. He relished the feel of rayon on his face. It filtered out the light from the street lamp and acted like an antenna for his imagined red radio.

    In an effort to avoid scrubbing too hard, the artist kept his hands covered in petroleum jelly – he applied it numerous times a day. The paint splatters and gauche washed off easily leaving him with the creamiest skin imaginable.

    * * * *

    One dry August, the gallery owner scheduled an exhibit feeling the young man was ready to be introduced to the public in a formal fashion. After several failed attempts, the gallery owner personally took the painter to a local salon and had his beard trimmed and his hair styled. Afterward, unable to even glance at the sudden changes about his face, he ran out of the salon leaving the gallery owner to foot the bill. His upcoming event brought anxiety.

    A number of beautiful, tender renditions of people sitting closely hung alongside portraits as the crowd began filling the gallery sipping wine and daintily nibbling from cheese platters. The gallery owner searched for the artist. People were asking to meet the man whose art was so touching, gentle to the eyes with just the right amount of tension. “Where is he?”

    Frustrated, the gallery owner called the painter, “Get down here, we got to make some money!”

    “My shirt. It’s my shirt, I have an extra button and button hole in the wrong places – “

    From years of working with creative sorts, “Leave it unbuttoned. Get down here now!”

    The artist showed up with his narrow, flat chest flashing. The gallery owner quickly tied the shirt at the artist’s waist. Keeping his grumbles to himself, the artist felt he was imitating an anemic calypso singer. The flappy ends of the knot compounded his nervousness.

    The evening went well with the gallery owner keeping a crowd from forming around the artist. Seems he could handle one or two without perspiring profusely and stuttering. The artist mostly nodded – he wasn’t experienced with stale chit-chat.

    Much later that night a group of three men came in, they noticed the crowded gallery as they passed. Wandering through the paintings, they gave short critiques and were impressed.

    The artist saw that group and his unease increased. They looked like brutes – men in jeans, leather strapping and head gear from a foreign military, tattoos and tight shirts. These large men in leather and numerous piercings strutted through the small show. The gallery owner greeted them heartily, he sensed another sale.

    Trying to disappear into a painting, the artist stood very still. He looked more closely at the men. One of them looked like the big nurse from the jail, and he looked like rough trade that night – trouble. Before the artist could vanish himself, the nurse saw him and approached.

    On weak knees, the artist shook his hand and was pulled into a quick hug, “You look great!” the nurse said, “So you’re the artist?”

    The artist’s mouth hung open. He nodded and for a split second, he noticed the word “Bears” tattooed on the nurse’s bicep. “I went to school while I was in a half-way house.” Was all that would peep out.

    “I’d like to hear about that. How about a drink next door?” The nurse wiggled his eyebrows, he considered an open shirt a form of invitation.

    “Drink?” The artist abhorred raucous crowds and never took alcohol.

    “Yeah, you pour the beer in your mouth and swallow.” One of the nurse’s companions teased, yanking the flappy tail of the knot.

    Wide-eyed and tense, the artist was on the edge of a faint. The nurse saw the artist’s face pale and his breathing became shallow and rapid; incoming panic attack. “You guys go on. I’ll meet you later.” He took the soft hand of the artist in his and smiled as his eyes wandered over the artist’s half-bared chest. He licked his lips. The artist stared at his feet. After several more compliments on the artist’s work, he shook the artist’s hand and rejoined his companions.

    All the way home, the artist wasn’t proud of the money he made, the compliments, admiration. He was disturbed about that word “Bears.” Dismissing the names of animals and sports teams, the artist thought of word as a verb. It distraught him.

    * * * *

    Perhaps intrigued by the artist’s work, the nurse contacted the gallery owner, got the phone number of the painter and called.

    The nurse began visiting the artist’s studio. Soon, he was recruited as a model. Before long there were numerous sketches, and several portraits of a heavy man in front of a window, in a chair with his legs stretched out in the afternoon sun, that big, bald man lounging on a loveseat twisting the corner of his moustache. The man in the paintings carried an air of sagacity haloing his huskiness.

    During this time, the two became casual friends. The nurse carefully approached the topic of sexuality with the artist, sensing something curious about the young man. That was difficult as the artist didn’t have the words to express himself well; his responses were clipped, hushed.

    * * * *

    After several months, the nurse finally persuaded the artist to visit his home. He was treated to a hearty dinner, music and toward the end of the evening the nurse asked if the artist wanted to watch videos. The artist was enjoying himself thoroughly; he agreed.

    The nurse showed the artist porn. At first, the artist turned away, curiosity overtook him and he asked about the all-male activities on the screen. “Are you queer, is that why you’re showing me this?”

    “I’m queer. Are you?”

    “Never thought about it.”

    “Do you get excited when you think about women?” The nurse’s eyes twinkled. “Excited in your boxers?”

    “Never thought about it.”

    The nurse thought these responses odd, “Well, what excites you? What flips your switch?”

    “Outer space.” By this time, the artist felt his friend wouldn’t be judgmental and he told the truth, “I swallow the universe.”

    After a long silence, the nurse nodded, staring at the artist. “Yeah? Is it good?”

    The artist stared back, “Of course.”

    The nurse dismissed that as some new fetish. “Epicurean space sex? That’s different.”

    * * * *

    Nurses are perpetually in an instructive mode. Steering the conversation to a more down-to-earth topic, he brought wine and a condom. “Share some wine and I’ll show you a secret.”

    The artist sipped the tart liquid though he didn’t like it, he did like the idea of sharing with a friend.

    The nurse handed him the condom and asked him to read the label. When the artist was finished reading, the nurse asked him to open it. “Now if you want to take your erect penis and put it in a woman, this will catch your sperm so she doesn’t get pregnant. If she has an infection, it’ll protect you.” He stopped and looked at the artist. “Get these at the corner store – they’re cheap.”

    The artist nodded, he felt uncomfortable, but took the condom and inspected it.

    “Want to try it on?” A subtle strategy.

    “No. They come in sizes?”

    “One size fits most.” Taking the offensive, “I’ll show you.” The nurse stood and dropped his jeans and briefs to reveal a hairy rear and thick thighs, then removed his shirt and sat. “Watch me.” Immediately the area was filled with nurse-musk and a twinge of antibacterial soap.

    Stroking himself, “Gotta get hard first.” His shaft filled as the artist watched silently and noticed that the tattooed word “Bears” was preceded by the word “Daddy.” The attention of the artist was drawn away as a proud, erect penis of generous proportions soon appeared with a glistening drop of liquid on the tip. The nurse swiped it and licked his fingertip. The artist drew a quick breath seeing that.

    “Don’t pull it tight over the top …” The nurse continued his class under the novice’s wide eyes. “Unroll it down your rod. See this? That’s where the semen goes when you ejaculate.” He pinched the end of the condom and looked at his student. “Understand?”

    The artist looked at the sleeved erection, nodded.

    Another glass of wine and another question from the artist: “The men on the video, they were having anal sex. Why make a video about that? It hurts.”

    Remembering the artist’s injuries in the jail, “It can hurt, and it’s very good with the right person.” The nurse tried explaining about prostate stimulation, but the artist wasn’t so sure.

    “Well, how do I know if I even have a prostate?”

    Baffled, the nurse instinctively countered with a humorous response – “You can always tell if a man has a prostate. Earlobes. If he’s got earlobes, he’s got a prostate to massage.” The artist’s hand went to his ear immediately.

    The nurse had a few more lessons in mind, “It’s late and you’ve had wine. Stay over?”

    “No.”

    “Why not? I make a great omelet.” Inducement with a coy smile.

    “Need my head rag.”

    “Head rag?”

    “I don’t want to explain it.” The artist was becoming defensive after realizing his ignorance about so many personal things. The nurse felt it was time to call it an evening – try again later.

    Through the following weeks, the nurse continued posing for the artist, and even got the artist to visit several other galleries. Still curious about the artist’s sexuality, the nurse observed his interactions with others. Didn’t garner much information; not much interaction. He decided that the artist must be asexual.

    * * * *

    Without realizing it, the nurse came to deeply appreciate the man who spoke eloquently with lines, colors, textures and shapes. He relished seeing the artist’s new paintings, many were of him.

    The lines, colors, textures and shapes of the artist evolved; brighter, bolder until strong, rousing images of the nurse appeared from his brush strokes. Their friendship changed them.

    * * * *

    The artist was so changed, he took a brave stance and asked the nurse to his studio for dinner.

    “Noodle soup and a pudding cup?” The nurse brought wine and apricot nectar which he found put the artist in a breezy mood.

    The artist anxiously awaited his dinner companion, his studio was spiffed-up and ready for a celebration; a surprise for his one, his only, his best and most trusted friend. Soon, the artist heard a soft whistle as the nurse came up the stairs.

    The nurse shuffled in the room to see something he’d never seen before: The artist stood in front of him with arms stretched wide asking to be hugged. Bag of wine in one hand, nectar in the other, the nurse grabbed the artist, embracing him warmly and slapped a loud kiss on the artist’s forehead, then stepped back to see the artist was smiling. Blushing and smiling.

    What a fine dinner. Warm companionship – an undefined delight lit their table as the two discussed their week. Afterward, they retired to the other side of the room to a loveseat. The artist made another bold move that he’d practiced for several days. Carefully putting his arm around his guest’s shoulder, “Show me kissing.”

    Testing the waters, he gave the artist a quick smack on his cheek.

    “Not that kind. Hard kisses, long kisses – real kisses.” The artist whispered; he was taking a very courageous step for a very reserved man. Didn’t take but a second for them to enjoy really long, hard kisses. Soon the men were enwrapped in each other’s arms, tongues in teasing play.

    Filled with elation, when his breathing slowed, “It’s late and you’ve had wine. Stay over?”

    The nurse looked around the small studio cluttered with canvasses and the tools of a painter, “Where?”

    The artist went to the window and moved a canvas revealing a narrow bed. The nurse looked at the width, and nodded. They would have to be extremely close to sleep or whatever else. In the dark, they undressed to their briefs; slowly, awkwardly, they embraced on the cot.

    Touching hesitantly until his confidence gained momentum, the artist silently explored the foreign universe of another man’s body. The furry bulk under his fingertips intrigued him. With an expertly smooth technique, the artist was quickly rendered naked. His breath jerked again and again with sensual schooling studded with kisses, moist lips sucking and his body suddenly broke free. For only a moment, his body, his entire figure shook with pleasure to depths he never knew existed. All his life he’d left his body for pleasure, now every nerve roared with overwhelming sensations. His palms, the soles of his feet tingled, and his toes curled with the blasts of complete release.

    After a long, soft moan, they settled close, the artist reached under his pillow and pulled out his face shroud, the hallowed head rag. He shook it out, and lay it over both their faces. The nurse knew that this was a tender act and only kissed his artist lightly, taking a deep sniff of courage from that old scarf.

    * * * *

    Daylight brought remorse. The artist had difficulty looking at the nurse. He was ashamed of his brazen, whorish behaviors the night before. Leaden clouds of guilt filled him.

    “You have beautiful earlobes.” The nurse grinned over a cup of coffee, feeling the discomfort of the artist. “Need a massage?” The big man wiggled his eyebrows as the artist’s face broke into a smile.

    Soon, the artist regained his calm and he glanced at the nurse, “What does that mean, ‘Daddy Bears?’” Smooth fingers stroked along the inked skin.

    “It’s an informal club of big, hairy men.” Partial explanation, “Why?”

    “The story goes that there was another man who bears…” The artist hesitated, “He bears our sins.” Confounded at his revelation, he looked away. He meant no proselytization – nothing like that. Never.

    There was a long silence between the men. From distant voices in his past, the nurse remarked, “What some call sin, others call praise for the body and life we’re given.” Sensing a difficult moment, “Giving thanks for a universe that kept us safe till we met.” Purposefully, he lifted the artist’s hand and kissed it and rubbed the smooth skin on his lips.

    The artist looked at the nurse considering the sins he committed the previous night as praise or thanks – that response turned all the concepts around on themselves. Could this radical perspective be true? He wanted it to be so; in its way, it made sense.

    “Daddy bears,” the artist thought. Perhaps this hairy, older man did bear something – something he needed – another view, a completed truth, salvation from perpetual shame. The artist sighed deeply and thought further. The story of the man bearing his sins also spoke of a great love from a heavenly father. Was this kind of praise and thanks how to worship his creator? What an incredible thought.

    Long moments of silence suspended between them. He kept his body still yet couldn’t stop the tears for this unexpected blessing. Praise. Thanks. Love. Peculiar way to phrase it but yes, this fatherly-looking man did bear goodness.

    * * * *

    Before the nurse left, the artist made a few charcoal sketches of him while they remained in a quiet mood. The nurse held his pose in a profoundly peaceful state after reminding himself of praise and thanks, and being kept safe, yes, kept safe. Deeply moving thoughts from a reinterpretation of his tattoo brought remembrances of catechism classes and several priests.

    Daddy bears. The meaning of two words on his arm changed after their exchange, and now their silence. He wanted nothing more than this tender man to stay close and continue this great, hushed exchange. Exchanges in an etheric place beyond superficialities of unresponsive maladies and maddening bureaucracy; presumed prowess and prowling bars. Beyond all that filled his life.

    Thanks. Praise. The essence of spiritual beliefs is naught until enacted, he recalled. His simplified explanation to the artist had come so easily from his lips without forethought. Too great to fathom, the grace with which that happened.

    As though he were called, the nurse went to the artist and took the charcoal stick from his fingers, “Take me.” Holding the artist’s smooth hand in his, he held him close offering himself as thanks for this exchange. On the bed, the old bear pulled the artist’s thin body on top of his, and opened his legs, bending one knee, “Take me.”

    The artist lay his head on the hairy chest. He sensed his member filling and took a deep breath. Being thrust into initiating intimate acts stopped him. Lust, sex, sin… filth, vile, soiled souls. The words screamed through him like distant alarms. He froze for a moment, then noticed the warm skin under his cheek, and heard the nurse’s heartbeat.

    Quickly, the artist grabbed his head rag and pressed it to his face, clicked on red radio and began devouring the universe quickly until he imagined his belly tight. He begged all the forces that pushed and pulled molecules through the vacuum of space to propel him toward praise for life, his body and to offer thanks. Squeezing his eyes shut tightly, “divine love,” he chanted to himself, took a deep breath and knelt between the nurse’s legs.

    The nurse’s hands caressed along the slender hips, and he glanced at the artist’s full shaft, dripping in anticipation.

    A moment of unsteadiness shook the artist again. “Divine love, thanks, praise…” He repeated as the nurse took the hesitant member of his lover and centered it on his hot anus.

    “Push.”

    The artist took his rod in hand. His first attempt resulted in an application of his readiness, a generous swath along the nurse’s cleft. Trying several different holds, the artist wasn’t able to gain traction for entry. Frustrated and unsure, he stopped, “I can’t.”

    The nurse pulled him to his chest pressing him hard against his own stimulated shaft. He’d never heard a sexual partner with an erect tool say those words. He simply rubbed the artist’s back and held him closely, not perplexed, not impatient or disappointed, he respected the humble candor.

    * * * *

    As the nurse returned to his home and began work, he felt an aching gap open inside his chest. The gap was the shape of the artist. A gift, he felt, was in order. The artist was particular about his supplies. A book? Gift card? Too impersonal. Scouring online for the right symbol of his appreciation, he ordered and shipped it to the artist. It would arrive Friday when they would dine together. In anticipation, he bought wine, apricot nectar and sang as he worked. “That’s the perfect gift.”

    When the nurse arrived, he was greeted with a warm hug. “Did you get a package?” The nurse asked.

    “It’s on the loveseat.”

    “You didn’t open it?”

    “I didn’t order anything. Must be a mistake.”

    The nurse picked up the box, “It’s addressed to you. Could be a gift.” He winked.

    A few struggles with the strapping tape, the artist sat beside the nurse on the loveseat removing the packing and came to the contents. With a questioning look on his face, he lifted a box-shaped piece wrapped in a white foam sleeve. A wire hung from it, neatly bundled. Removing the last lining, the artist turned it around, astounded at what he was holding. A red radio! A red radio very similar to the one he imagined.

    “My radio!” sneaked out in a wavering whisper. He stared at his gift as though it weren’t real.

    “You like it?” The nurse asked.

    “It’s perfect! How did you know?”

    “Thought you might like some music while you paint. Plug it in, we’ll dance tonight.”

    “Don’t plug it in.” The artist’s fingers caressed the buttons, and he kissed the radio, and immediately placed it on the windowsill near his bed. Now he had a real knob to turn and feel the click.

    Over dinner, “It won’t work if you don’t plug it in – doesn’t run on batteries.”

    “It works fine like it is.”

    That completely confused the nurse. For the next several hours he had to gently nudge the story from the artist who was reticent about explaining how a red radio calmed him. “When I feel weak and dirty…”

    The nurse hid his revulsion about the artist’s childhood yet understood much more. The situation became clearer as he recalled the strange comments from the artist. This tender man had suffered years of battering with the image of a red radio that allowed him to swallow the universe and slip away from pain. It’s how he coped with reconciling life with what he was taught. Strange survival strategy, very strange yet effective.

    * * * *

    A full moon lit their bed, skin warmed, bodies heated during long, hard kisses and the artist reached over to the knob on his still unplugged red radio.

    The nurse grabbed the artist’s hand. “No.” Searching for a tactful way to explain himself he paused, “You’re not weak or dirty. No swallowing the universe, no escape. I want the whole painter just as he is – body, mind and soul – all of him in my arms all night.”

    “But – “

    Immediately he was stopped from speaking by a kiss as the nurse held him closely. “The radio is for music, not for separating your mind from your body and leaving. Stay. The past is over.”

    They were caught in a situation where a difficult decision neared and they stared into each other’s eyes. Both hesitated saying anything until, “I want all of you. What do you want?” the nurse asked.

    No answer.

    The artist put his head rag over his face without the usual result. Long moments later, artist stood shakily, unbundled the wire on the radio and plugged it in. Soon, strains of Debussy filled the studio as the men held each other closely, rocking gently when the artist whispered softly, “It’s over.”

    “Finished. Done. Just you and me – right here, right now.”

    The artist breathed the gentle chords surrounding him. Small tendrils of relief sneaked into his mind along with the music when the nurse whispered, “C’mon.” He stood and grabbed the head rag in one hand and the artist’s hand with his other. “Let’s dance. Put your arms around my neck.”

    Wrapping the scarf around their hips, he tied them close and they danced, stepping slowly in the moonlight. They looked at each other assessing what happened. Not easy exchanges; hard-edged realizations, stinging truths and clear bravery.

    The artist stopped and looked in the eyes of the hairy, old bear. “I love you.”

    The nurse tensed, “Do you know what love is?”

    “I know it’s better than red radio – better than anything.” The artist squared his shoulders, rubbed his face in the bushy chest in front of him. “Love feels greater than the universe.” Again, he didn’t have enough words to explain himself.

    Being a cautious man, the artist knew his love might be rejected. To be dismissed, ignored was nothing new to him, except that tonight he took a big chance revealing his ardor to perhaps have some part of it returned. He had stepped away from his past and now held hope.

    With quick movements, the nurse untied the scarf, dressed and left. Nothing more said.

    * * * *

    As he drove away, the nurse was dumbfounded at his behaviors. Why did he leave like that? He’d only confessed his love – asked for nothing.

    “Love.” He muttered; he’d always hated the word; love is a flaw; a vulnerability. He didn’t allow any of that in his life. Love was a threat to his independent, strong persona; his freedom. Love would soften his swagger, lessen him.

    “Freedom,” he thought, “to manipulate naïve young men for a quick fuck? Momentary satisfaction as supreme alpha male, a wounding warrior?” Surely, he was bigger than that.

    He wasn’t though, and lost a respected friend; a valiant, tender man from his dread of that word. The precious body, mind and soul he wanted was gone in one fear-filled moment.

    Finished. Done.

    The nurse went to the bar where his friends often drank. Pushing aside all that happened earlier, he drank, laughed, danced and fixed his focus on another young man, a blonde with lusty eyes, tight clothes and a knowing look. Taking him home, the nurse was rough – bound and gagged him, and pounded into the slender body repeatedly, as though he were punishing the man. No satisfaction, no relief from the jagged, twisting pain in his chest came.

    * * * *

    Many months passed and the gallery owner scheduled another showing. This time, the artist was anxious yet more confident; poised. He’d learned much since his first showing – shake hands and smile often, especially to potential buyers. Hair trimmed neatly, clean shaven, a red shirt with all the buttons in the right holes, he arrived early to approve the final touches. The gallery owner was proud, serving two different kinds of wine that night.

    So many paintings, one was displayed along the sidewalk near the door. Large painting of a husky man in the afternoon sun, twisting the corner of his moustache, showing a bit of a smile at one corner of his lips.

    Music played softly as the clientele nibbled daintily from cheese platters. Several gathered around the artist. Again, stale chit-chat and he listened as they complimented, offering them a nod and a smile, his smooth hand to shake.

    As was their custom, three men were on their Friday night cruise and passed the gallery next to the bar. “Hey, the guy in that painting – he looks like you.” One of them noted.

    Yes, this was the pack of daddy bears who frequented the bar alongside the gallery. They went inside the gallery, again commenting and this time they were even more impressed with the large masculine form on several canvasses.

    Of all the paintings, the one where of the subject was twisting his moustache drew the nurse’s interest. He stood in front of it, seemed something changed, he couldn’t figure out what it was.

    The gallery owner came to his side, “Only twelve-hundred. Lot of interest in this one. Unbelievably rich rendering, wouldn’t you say?”

    “Twelve hundred….” The artist’s work was much more valuable now. By this time, the owner brought the artist to close the sale. The nurse and artist stood side by side, looking at the painting. “It’s different now, what did you change?”

    “Been living with you – I mean this canvas over a year; I had to add a smile.” The artist turned to glance at the other canvasses. “Could say you’ve been watching me work every day. Thanks for the radio – still on the same station.”

    “Mark this piece sold.” The nurse signaled to his friends to go on to the bar, “I’ll take it.” As he pulled out his wallet, “Want a ride home later?”

    “Are you sure?”

    “Yes.”

    The nurse concluded his transaction and left.

    * * * *

    Instead of waiting in the bar, the nurse walked to a nearby grocery for apricot nectar and box of imported chocolates. He waited in his car until he saw the gallery darken, the owner and the artist stand outside.

    Wasn’t long before they were in the artist’s studio – almost empty now. The narrow cot with the head rag peeking from under the pillow, and the red radio on the window sill looked like they were awaiting his return.

    “Got your nectar, chocolates. Let’s celebrate.” The nurse smiled, feeling slightly discomfited aside a more self-assured painter.

    The artist brought a crate, turned it over in front of the loveseat. “Thank you for everything.” He brought glasses of ice, a few paper towels and turned on his red radio to play music. When they were seated, glasses clinked in a toast, “To queers and their magazines.” The artist said.

    “What?”

    “A reporter came by the gallery, took photos, did an interview. My work will be in next week’s issue.”

    “People will start talking, saying you’re queer.”

    “Doesn’t matter.” He smiled, “Gossiping about my private life would become a discussion on astronomy.” The artist only smiled and looked away.

    The nurse sensed the distance across the chasm between them, a wide, aching split. Lacking the humble honesty of the artist, he wouldn’t apologize, instead: “Mean of me to leave like I did.” He looked at the artist from the corner of his eyes.

    “All forgiven. Done. Finished.” The artist said, inspecting the chocolates. “Model again sometime?”

    “When?” He hoped tonight.

    “During the day. Better light.” The artist found a fudgy block of nuts, bit a corner off then let it melt on his tongue. “I have a camera now. You don’t have to strain to stay in position.”

    As the artist picked up their glasses, took them to the sink, a clock started ticking; the nurse would be leaving soon unless he did something. Had to think quickly. He immediately rejected the idea of being forceful though he wanted to hold the hands with creamy skin, to feel them on his face, his neck.

    “I have an early day.” The artist stretched.

    “No. Please come sit with me.” It flew out of his mouth before he could stop it – “I missed you. Let me hold you.”

    The artist didn’t sit next to him but stood near the door, “Funniest thing… When I began painting, I painted people to love me – made the portraits just to have a someone who cared for me; someone I loved and cared for. You were the first to step through the paint and off the canvas…” Hand on doorknob, “I’m going to miss your portrait.”

    Still, the nurse was unable to express his love clearly, “One more dance.” The old bear stood and close and saw the beginnings of another portrait over the shoulder of the artist. It was half-finished but it resembled the artist himself.

    His eyes began to burn as the realization of their exchanges came to fullness—the sum total of all that had happened between them.

    Not waiting for an answer, he pulled the artist against him. A silent exchange ensued in an etheric place beyond superficialities, beyond all that filled their lives.

    “Take me.”


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


  • Bryan: In Tallahassee

    Sometimes a second job is needed to pay the bills that arrive unexpectedly. It is what Bryan had to do to meet that obligation. And sometimes, a job will cast a shadow over you. A looming presence. And doors will open.


    -1-

      The Time: Before ‘A Instruction.’

    He leans on the doorframe going into the office. His chest plastered hard against his arm, the weight of him bearing down on his five fingers and the frame. His feet are fidgety; unable to keep still, as he rocks back and forth, on the balls of his foot. He knows what is coming. He expects it. Jeffrey is that predictable.

    “Jeffrey, I am going to Tallahassee, again, this weekend.”

    “Again? You were there just last weekend,” Jeffrey says, the irritation in his voice, apparent, in his words.

    “I told you that I have an aunt, down there, that needs my help. She is not well. I told you that. I did. I told you that, Jeffrey.” He repeats.

    “I know, that is what you told me but you know you are only allowed to miss so much,” Jeffrey explains, “When you were hired by the State, you agreed to be ‘on call’ were any emergency that may arise on the State’s roads during the weekends.”

    “I know. I know,” he says, “I will see you Monday morning. Bye. Bye.”

    Typical. The man rides all over the county. Sipping his coffee. And basically, doing nothing and barks when the threat of possible work that he may have to do so work. Looms.

    He turns. Waving off Jeffrey, without showing his hand in a passive aggressive way.

    He does not wait to hear another rebuttal from his supervisor as he walks through the opened garage door of ‘the Barn’.

    The walk to his truck is short. Just a matter of a few steps before he is seated behind the steering wheel of his newly bought tan Toyota pick-up. On the seat next to him is his packed duffle bag, his preparation for the upcoming weekend’s activities.

    The exit is fast. The other men had already left the moment the hour struck five p.m.

    He heads south down the highway to the Florida line. But it will be an hour before he crosses into the city limits of the capitol city of Florida: Tallahassee.

    “Maggie, I am on my way,” he says into the cell, the one that stays in his glove compartment, which is used for this one specific purpose. Contact with Maggie.

    “Okay, Bryan,” says the woman’s voice on the other end of the cell, “did he give you any grief?”

    “Yep,” he answers, “He did. He is such an ass.”

    “I know. I know, okay, I’ll see you when you get here.”

    “Okay. Okay.”

    The conversation is quick. He has notified her of his eventual arrival. One of her rules.

    As he crosses over the state line, he lifts the soiled tee shirt over his head. The wind whips through the damp furred chest hairs that are there. The breeze dries the day’s sweat. He is ripe with ‘the stank’. They had shoveled three dump truck loads of asphalt along several state roads today, stopping the run-off from the deeply rutted roads. To the shoulders of whatever road that needed it.

    He cups his imprisoned cock and squeezes it. He squeezes tighter as he feels his cock grow in his equally dirty Levis. He unzips and fishes out his now fully erect cock. It does not take him long to get to his cock into the fresh air, as he has freeballed since freshman year of high school. The cool Florida air whisks over his cock as he turns onto Highway 90 and makes his way west to Tallahassee. It will be little less than an hour from here; he can feel his excitement build.

    He has been through this tiny town, many times. There is a bed and breakfast here that caters to men like him but that is not where he is going today. From here, it is a straight drive into the city.

    As he drives, he gently strokes his cock. Driving on the open road; it has become his custom, to fondle the God-Given toy that is between his legs. This is nothing new. He has been doing this when he discovered in his teens that the more you play with your cock; you are going to be rewarded with a creamy gooey prize, eventually. At the happy end.

    -2-

    Through the open gate he passes, the winding driveway up to ‘the House’ is a scant half mile. As he rounds the last curve, ‘the House’ sits among the tall pines and the humongous oaks that are scattered across the expansive property. It is a pre-Civil War mansion, built by a one-time Florida Senator. The area was once rocked by a scandal in a more recent time. Maggie bought the house from that family when they were in dire financial straits back in the late 1990s. After the scandal had been made public. That were fast to sell. The shame having been to grand. To explosive. The family had to move.

    Not wanting to be caught with his pants down, literally, he had stopped earlier on this winding driveway and tucked his hardened equipment back in his pants. He did not cum. He was just ‘readying’ himself, as you must be prepared. He was no Boy Scout, but preparation is always a plus. He did not bother with the shirt though, as he will shower once he gets into the house. He can feel the wetness in his jeans, as his pubes are drenched in his juices, both sweat and ball-juice. He does sniff his hands smelling his distinct masculinity. He likes what he smells.

    As he nears ‘the House’, he taps on his horn. One-time. Two-time. The sound carries through the area. He parks near the black shiny Mercedes-Benz sedan in the driveway. It is the car that he will drive out to his appointment.

    Maggie can see him from her second-floor office window as it overlooks the driveway. He knows she can see his approach. Maggie sees everything.

    He parks and gets out of his truck, leaning over and getting his large black athletic duffle bag in the passenger seat and pulls the strap over his head. To his shoulder. As he walks up the brick steps of the side door, there is a buzz sound that alerts ‘the House’ that someone has crossed over the threshold.

    “Auntie Maggie, I am here,” Bryan yells out and laughs too. At the same time.

    He plops his bag on the kitchen floor and scales the stairs, two steps at a time, until he comes face-to-face to the open door of Maggie’s second story office.

    “Auntie Mags!”

    He walks in. He plants a kiss on his dear Auntie, on her make-upped coated cheek.

    “So that is what you told your boss?”

    “Yep!”

    “So, do you have an Aunt Maggie, Bryan?”

    Bryan mouths ‘no.’

    “I didn’t think so,” Maggie says, “You gonna be ready for tonight?”

    “Of course, I am,” he says, “I am always ready.”

    They both snicker on the inside joke. He is.

    “Well, go get yourself a damned shower, you stink. Boy. You stink.”

    “I know,” Bryan, says, “I am a working man.”

    “That is why you are in such demand,” she says, “That is what the clients like about you. That you are a regular Joe. I told you that the day I met you.”

    “That I know. That I know.”

    “You need to shave that two-day old stubble, off, it needs to go,” Maggie says, “He likes his men, clean-cut. Or does he?”

    “Am I gonna have to pick him up at the airport?”

    “Yep.”

    She says, as she looks at her gold and diamond-studded Cartier watch.

    “You have two hours, maybe less. Till he arrives,” she explains, “Get a move on, now, Sweetie. Get a move on.”

    “Who is it?” Bryan asks.

    “Marks.”

    “The man from Los Angeles.”

    “Yes, it is him,” she says. “Be ready now. Now get that damned stink off you. He likes’m rough…but you know that. Doncha ya.”

    He winks at his ‘employer’.

    “Who is here?”

    “Eve, Jessa, and Abbott,” she explains.

    “That’s all.” He says. “The girls have clients, or are they just out, a swimmin’?”

    “Just swimming. Yep, it is gonna be one of those slow weekends,” she says, “Take your room next to Abbott, and do not play. I need both of you up to full strength. He has a party out in the woods tonight with that pipeline guy.”

    “Abbott is going to like that.” Bryan says. “He is going to really like that.”

    “I know,” she says. “He likes his ass filled to the brim with all the man-cum he can get.”

    He is not surprised by what Maggie says. She knows what they all have in common. Maggie included.

    Bryan smiles. He has filled Abbott’s ass many times. But Maggie thinks he has stopped.

    The senior from the State college in Tallahassee can take a pounding. But 23-year-olds, like Abbott, are made that way. He was, except he is the one ‘to fuck’ and not the ‘fuckee.’

    He scales the stairs, downward, in the same manner he went up them.

    As he picks up his bag from the kitchen floor, he hears the frantic water splashing in the pool just outside the kitchen window. He walks to the rear window and sees, Eve, Abbott, and Jessa frolicking in the oversized pool. All are naked, because who wants a farmer’s tan when you ply the trade in the way that they all do. No one. The women are not worried about Abbott ‘attacking’ them. He has never fucked a woman, and it is highly unlikely that he ever will. To look at the muscle-bound college Senior, you would think he would have women clawing at him. They do. But he is not interested. He never has been. He prefers cock. So, does he. So does Bryan.

    He waves at them and they wave back. Abbott is sporting his usual hard-on. The kid cannot help himself. He is quite the exhibitionist.

    Seven years ago, it was him too.

    Well nothing has changed. He gets hard when the wind blows up his pants leg.

    The clock dongs in the foyer on the half hour. He must get a move on. He has an hour and a half before he must be at the airport and get Marks when he arrives on his private jet. He must be on his way to Miami, for some big television executive meeting. Or about some movie. It is the only time; he travels to the east coast and takes a night or two over in Tallahassee. He stops over just to see him: Bryan. Only him.

    -3-

    His scuffed and well-worn boots reverberate through the hallway as he walks down the long wooden floored corridor that is off the main living room to the many bedrooms that are on the north side of ‘the House’. His bedroom, not among the spacious but it is only one on the weekends that he uses.

    He strips off his grubby clothes and dumps them into the hamper. He knows that Rose, the ever-present maid, will have them washed, folded, and waiting for him when he returns Sunday afternoon, before he heads back to Georgia.

    On his bed, she has neatly laid out, his black Armani suit, to wear, tonight, minus the tie. It is a formal night, well, maybe stylish, is a better word. A tie is not required. Maggie runs a tight ship. She has a certain image that she wants to project from ‘her staff.’ Maggie is not a slacker. She has been in this business for decades.

    He walks to the many mirror-covered bathroom. His surveys his naked 30-year-old body from every conceivable angle. As he is bombarded, by himself, from all angles. Like some amateur weightlifter before a competition. He needs a little color. A slight tan. He is paler than he would like to be. But he has seen the use of the orange spray-glow tan. He does not want to look like the ghastly plastic orange-skinned Halloween pumpkin basket meant to hold a kid’s bounty on that holiday. He will brown by Maggie’s pool in the backyard. (Along with Abbott and the girls.) His muscles are taunt. Pectorals. Dark trimmed chest hair among the musculature ridges. Abdominals nestled in a light sheen of naturally pigmented dark hair. Which accent his hard-work-come-musculature. Biceps. Triceps. Even his calves. Firm. Even his neck has muscled up. Like other parts of him. He turns and surveys his ass. His buttocks are getting into better shape. He flexes them. They roll with his added attention. Over them, too, is a faint whisper of dark hair. Looking much better. “Good.” (He grabs either side of his ass and bends. He can see a light dusting of dark fuzz as it originates there and creeps up from the crack. To his back. He likes this natural occurrence.) The gym has helped. He no longer has the white boy ‘no ass.’ An improvement. Maggie said it would happen. (But he knew too.) And it has. She was right. She was happy to pay for his membership in a gym back home. Even got him a trainer. But he did not want one. (But that had brought about some other opportunities too. Reed was fun in the locker room. His trainer.) But she would not take ‘no’ for an answer. She insisted. “It’s an investment.” She said. She was right about that too. “It won’t last forever. You need to enjoy yourself. While you can,” she said to him. Too. He did not like to hear that. All this ending. It was not something he liked to hear. But she was not one to dwell on such things for long. She has experience. He likes what he sees.

    He faces the mirror again. And thrust out his cock. His cock is surrounded by the dense fur of his masculinity. He needs to shave his balls. Do some trimming. Do some manscaping. But he does not have enough time. He says to himself, too. Grabbing his piece of manhood in his hands. It begins to, steadily, harden in his fingers. The curly-Q of the many hairs wrap themselves around his clasping fingers. This will last. He says to himself in his head. This will last. Repeating it like a mantra. As a drop of seed materializes out of his wee pee-hole. He wipes the juice over the helmet of his cock. And brings the remainder of the sweet-salty seed to his mouth, tasting the essence of himself. He comes a lot. Even when he is just looking at himself. He tastes good. But he has been told that since he was in his late teens.

                “Nope. Nope. That’s for later.” He tells himself. “That’s for later.” And withdraws his hand. But his cock points out from his furry groin looking like an arrow, readying, to pierce a target. Later. He tells himself. Later.

    He never thought he was particularly handsome. As a kid, he was the string bean, wiry and clumsy on his own feet but once he got into college, the one year that he went. There were changes. He thickened up, muscled.

    His return to the gym was a blessing. As he had once gone. In college. But he was to distracted then. He still has the narrow waist, but he came into it. The gym helped, along with his independence and much-needed separation from his overly devout evangelical family. And the weeks that Reed and he were an item. That was nice. Even though both kept it that to themselves. Reed would be fired from his position at the gym, were it be revealed he liked to be fucked in the shower.

    If his family knew what he did on certain weekends when they called. (Which was rare or almost non-existent.) They would curse him to the pits of hell for his fucking and sucking, on the amorous delights of the male body. Of course, they would be spewing their Christian love and quoting Bible verses while they did it but that is why he has not bothered to tell them. They know he is gay, he told them that news last year about for which they have yet to recover. Knowing that, he plies his wares for money would send them into monster spasms, even though he has been doing it for many years now. He keeps his mouth shut. Locked tight and to himself, his mom did not raise a dummy, but she did raise a gay man.

    He chuckles to himself. You must laugh at it, so he does.

    He found that people were looking at him, especially the girls. But he was not interested in them, the girls, that is, but he did not say anything.

    He played the game.

    He had to, what else was he to do?

    “You in there, Bryan?”

    It is Abbott. He knew it would be a matter of time before he showed up. Abbott has a thing for him. So does Eve and Jessa, but Eve and Jessa knows it is pointless. Abbott still holds out hope that something will happen. Between them. Bryan knows it will not, in any shape, or form. But Abbott is a ‘good fuck’ so he lets the kid fawn over him. Drool. And partake when he is in the mood.

    “Yeah, I am in here,” Bryan yells from the bathroom.

    Abbott comes in, and plops down in the chair and stares at him. Abbott’s cock, throbbing, and pulsing in its hardness. But the younger man does not touch it. He just let it be seen.

    “Who you seeing tonight, Bryan?”

    “Marks.”

    “Oh, lucky you,” Abbott says, “And I ain’t his type. Damn!”

    “I know.”

    “Yep, what are two bottoms to do?” Abbott interjects, sadness in his voice, “You gotta pick him up?”

    “Uh-huh.”

    Bryan can feel Abbott’s eyes as they sweep over him. If he were not already undressed, Abbott would have undressed him or helped to unclothe him. Bryan turns and waves his body at Abbott. His cock flops from one side of his thigh to the other.

    Abbott smiles at Bryan’s display.

    “You gotta shave?”

    “Yeah,” Bryan says, “You should not, the stubble suits you. I like it.”

    Abbott’s fingers go to his cock and plays with it.

    “But that is not what he wants. Or Maggie.” Bryan sighs.

    “…and you must give the clients what they want,” Abbott says, “Maggie’s number one rule.”

    “Uh-huh,” Bryan bemoans.

    Abbott stands and walks up to him. His cock waving like a pole between his legs. Bryan lets his fingers roam over him. Bryan does not stop him, as he needs to be primed before tonight, besides Abbott has talented fingers. As he grasps his hardening cock in his hand. Bryan does not stop him. He likes the warmth of the younger man’s grip. His fingers.

    Abbott squats and takes Bryan’s cock into his mouth. The sound of those wet machinations, from Abbott bobbing up and down on his cock. It is the only sound, heard, in the reflective bathroom.

    “I don’t want to cum.” Bryan says as he gently pushes Abbott from his cock. “Bring me to the brink. To the until.”

    “Uh-huh.” Abbott complies. Once he brought to that point.

    Abbott stands. Their cocks duel between their close thighs as both of their pubic bushes graze the other. Bryan leans in and kisses Abbott. Tasting his own pre-cum on Abbott’s lips.

    “That felt good. Thank you.”

    “I’ll get out of here. I know you are in a rush. See me before you leave, okay? By the way, I like that smell of you after a day at work. You smell wonderful.”

    Bryan turns to him and kisses the blonde surfer type, again, square on the lips.

    “Of course. Of course.”

    Abbott exits the room as he steps into the already steaming shower.

    Time is ticking away, thank God, the airport is close. Thank God.

    -4-

    He pulls up to the terminal right as Marks walks out of the automatic door. He has a black overnight bag slung over his shoulder. He sees me.

    Abbott had sucked on his cock, in the bathroom, before he left ‘the house’. He is primed for Marks.

    Marks bolts out of the terminal as soon as sees the car parked on the yellow curb.

    “Marks, how are you?”

    He smiles. He is fine.

    “I love that damned accent of yours.” Marks says.

    “Thanks.” Bryan says, reluctantly.

    His ‘s’ sound has that southern twang and drawls out. Apparently, he likes my South Georgia twang. At times, he hates it. Remember what Maggie said, ‘what the client wants, the client gets.’ Who am I to complain? I will happily comply.

    “It is one of the things I like about you,” he says, “one of the many things I like about you.”

    Marks winks at me.

    “You are at the same place as last time, aren’t you?”

    Marks nod his head, ‘yes’.

    I sling his bag in the backseat of the Benz.

    “You look good in that black coat and get-up. Is that for me? For my benefit?”

    “Yes.”

    “One time I would like you to show up in your torn pair of Levi’s and a ratty tee shirt and those work boots that you say you hate so much,” Marks says, “I would like to be greeted that way, just one time.”

    “I will,” I say, “…but I keep forgetting. Maybe you need to tell Maggie. I would forget to do so many things were she not in my ear. No. No, there is no need, next trip, you will see me that way. I promise.”

    “Good,” he says, “…and I want to see that truck I bought you. I want to see you in that gift I got you.”

    “I promise, you will see it, too.” Bryan says.

    Maggie’s words echo in my head, ‘give the client what they want’.

    Marks will be okay this time, but this is the third time he has made this comment. Mental note, jeans and my truck, next time.

    Before he can pull away from the terminal curb, Marks leans over from the passenger seat and kisses Bryan roughly across his lips. He can feel Marks tongue as it worms and squirms into his mouth. At the same time, he can feel pressure being applied to his cock. Marks is squeezing ‘him’.

    “Mmmm,” Marks says, “I do like country boy cock.”

    “Let’s get ourselves to the hotel suite.”

    Bryan puts the Benz in gear and pulls from the curb. Marks hand has not left his groin. The squeezing is getting tighter.

    From afar, you can see the tall white phallic-like structure that is the Florida capital building as they approach it. It is lit up in adoration of a gigantic dick. Marks suite is in the shadow of this building. All the buildings in Tallahassee are pale in comparison to this capital building.

    “So, are on your way to Miami?”

    “Yep,” Marks says, “there is another film in the works…I am to meet with a big star there.”

    “Who?” Bryan asks.

    “You know I can’t tell you that,” Marks says, “You know that. I can make you a star. At least in my eyes.”

    Bryan does not respond. Again.

    -5-

    The room fills half the top floor of where he takes up residence, while he is in town. Marks. It is cheaper than what he would be paying for a similar suite in California. The car is parked in the underground garage, before they go straight up to the elevator, to the floor. This specific floor.

    “Would you like a glass of wine, red or white,” Marks says, “They always stock the room with what I want. Money has a way of getting you whatever you want, even when you do not know what it is, that you want.”

    “Naw, I’m fine. I am fine,” Bryan says, “You always ask me that when we get here. You are predictable in that way.”

    Marks eyes roll over Bryan. He can feel himself being undressed. By Marks.

    “Get naked!” Marks demands, “Since you hate to wear them damned clothes so much.”

    That is true. He hates to wear them. Being naked is how he prefers to be, and it is how he met Maggie, too. Years ago.

    He was at a secluded nudist colony tucked away in the dense piney woods east of Tallahassee, just a wee bit north of Interstate 10. Off some less-traveled dirt road. He was laying on an oversized beach towel soaking up the rays of the high Florida sun. On a typical southern Saturday. He felt the shadow of her naked body loom over him casting her feminine shadow upon him. Pleasantries were exchanged, “hellos” and “hi,” as well as, the compliments. “You are a handsome man.” She said. And more. She asked to him to visit ‘the House’ that same day as if to see if he would be interested in some extra employment. He was 27 years-old at that time of her approach. He had noticed her watching him on a few visits he had made to the pond. Abbott was already working for her, then, when he was approached. He had already fucked Abbott on several occasions back in the secluded woods. On the paths in the woods. He would find out later that Abbott had mentioned him to Maggie. Apparently, Maggie found her talent wherever she would come across it. And she wanted him.

    “Whatcha thinking ‘bout Bryan?”

    “Oh, nothing, Marks. The past.” Bryan says. “The past. I can’t wait to get close to you.”

    “Me too. Me too.”

    They are both naked within seconds. The clothes are simply, a covering, a shield to what lies underneath.

     Now, they are exposed. You cannot tell which one is the rich one, the one who drives around in a battered yellow dump truck and tractor from 7 a.m. to 5 p.m. at work every weekday, or which one just arrived in Tallahassee on his personal Leer jet. It does not matter. They are both men. Their cocks prove that point. He is slightly taller than Marks, only by a half-inch or two or less. He does not know. Both have their hair in all the right places, on their chest, around their cocks and underneath their arms. They are muscled. Their cocks are throbbing as the blood rushes into the many tiny vessels that fill each cock. Making that appendage, grow and expand. It is there that differences are more apparent, as men are different in that way.

    Each man responds to ‘the swell’ that grows between his legs. It is instinctive if you are a man. You reach for what is there. Every man does it. Some deny it while others proudly show it off. Bryan and Marks proudly show theirs off.

    Both men are seated on the corner of the King-sized bed that fills the bedroom of the suite. Out the window, the looming capitol building fills their vision.

    “There you go again,” Marks says, “Off in that damned head of yours, again. What is on your mind, now, Bryan?”

    Marks pleads for an answer.

    “Just thinking.”

    “About what?” Marks ask.

    “This,” Bryan says, “That, a lot. You know how I tend to wander.”

    “This what? That what? Tell me more.”

    “Why do you like me? What about me make me so attractive to you?”

    “Have you looked at yourself in the mirror?”

    “Yes. Yes, I have,” Bryan, says, “I did when I showered at ‘the House ‘earlier. I did not see anything special.”

    “What did you see?” Marks asks.

    “A guy who did not finish college. A guy who does a job that makes himself feel vastly uncomfortable because he has trouble operating machinery. A guy who is has a secret that no one knows about.”

    “That’s not what I see,” Marks says, “I see a humble man, a self-reflective man, a man who has so much to offer and damn, that cock that dangles between your legs. It is quite an offering.”

    “You see me as an object? You see me as a sexual object, don’t you?”

    “No. No. That is not what I am saying. It is the part of you that I have seen more than anything else, you are one of the best lovers that I have ever experienced. The best, in my life, really,” Marks says. “Really. I mean it.”

    Bryan grimaces.

    “Before you, in all my travels. I have met many men, slept with many men who thought they were ‘the best’ at the fucking. At the sucking. at the rimming. At all of it…but they were not, they were not. Bryan, you outshine them all. You have a gift, a certain gift. You are unlike anyone that I ever met. Not only with that glorious cock of yours, or with your tongue, even when you have that little bit of stubble on the tip of your chin, you know how to use all of it. You know how to please the man that you are with at the time. You seem to be able to anticipate what a man wants, find it, and then deliver on what should be done. Haven’t you ever been told this?”

    “Really?” Bryan says, not believing what he is hearing from Marks.

    Other men have told him this, but he has always doubted, if it were true. It is that lack of self-esteem and the voice of his long dead father in his ear, telling him. He was worthless, it is what he hears.

    “Really,” Marks says, “I have tried to get you to leave ‘the South’ and come with me to LA but you said you cannot move.”

    “I can’t. I told you that.”

    “I know,” Marks, says, “I know. So I keep asking and you keep saying, ‘no’, but I will keep doing it because you mean a lot to me, not only for that cock between your legs but for the brain in your head and that beating compassionate and caring heart in your chest.”

    Marks has his right hand over Bryan’s heart.

    Marks leans into Bryan, their face melds them into one as they kiss.

    The kiss is long and…wet, and ever so full of passion.

    He can feel the static electricity between them, their hairs on their chest respond to their closeness. The sheets ruffle under them. Under their bare ass.

    “I want you to fuck me,” Marks says as they separate.

    He did not need to be asked.

    “I want you to do it without a condom.”

    “You know I can’t,” Bryan says, “You know Maggie’s rules. I know her rules.”

    “Maggie is not here,” Marks, explains, “You are. I am. I want all of you in me.”

    He can feel the anxiety in his head. He knows he should not fuck without a condom, but the condoms are too tight, they are not big enough to fit him, accommodate him, no matter what brand he uses.

    “Okay.”

    “Okay,” Marks says, a smile creeping across his 50-year-old face. Happy.

    “Okay.” Bryan concedes.

    Bryan falls back onto the soft plush of the cool cotton sheets while he feels all five fingers of Marks’ right-hand roam through the prickly hairs on his chest. Marks is gentle, letting his fingertips do their magic on some unseen roadmap that Marks is following with his fingertips trek. He wants to sigh as the tenderness that is being evoked on him. But he does not, he lets his leaking cock express how good it feels. Each pinprick of Marks’ fingers causes a delicate bubble of his pre-cum to be expelled. And coalesces on his cock.

    Marks sees his unspoken expression and lets the fingers on his left-hand trail to the slow steady flow of pre-cum from his cock, smearing that gob-juice over his delicate swollen head but he does not cry out. He holds his verbal expression in; and lets his body talk to Marks. Marks understands.

    This battle between will and control rages on in Bryan’s head, but he does not relent. He moans softly, barely audible.

    “Does it feel good?” Marks ask.

    He does not answer but he feels his face grow warm, (and red). That is his answer.

    Marks head darts to his groin as he swallows him. He is unable to take all his hardened cock into his mouth. He gags but that does not stop, Marks’ slobbers and the cum juices mingle in Marks’ mouth from Bryan’s cock

    Again, Bryan does not utter a word as Marks’ goes about the furious ‘milking’ of his cock with his mouth. The wet sound of the skill being applied to his cock does not burst the dam that is building.

    The sounds of the sucking fill the quiet room. The shadow of Tallahassee’s giant phallus looms over the city as Bryan’s sees it out the window. His phallus, like the skyscraper out the window points to a darkened night heaven. The more suction that Marks does to his cock, the more his full balls react to the wet-heated stimulation.

    He wants to moan but he holds off. He clenches both fists, tighter and still tighter, but he does not cry out. He endures. He finds the strength that he knows he has inside of him, that deeper inner strength that a man garners since the first day he walked the road of fucking. He learns. And takes another step of self-control.

    He bucks his hips on the bed. The sweat wells up over his body as the temperature rises between them both. The sheen of perspiration illuminates the younger man’s body in the dim light of the bedroom. He places his hands on both sides of Marks’ head and lifts him from his elongated cock.

    “It is my turn,” Bryan mumbles. “My turn.”

    Bryan’s cock remains fully extended, each pulse of his heart feeds more of the life-giving fluid to his cock. The pulsing fuels the desire locked deep in his genes.

    “Okay.”

    Marks find his place in the warm sweet spot where Bryan had heated it up. The scent of Bryan’s perspiration reeks from the damp sheets underneath his ass and back. Marks breathe is that overwhelming odor, those working-man exertions.

    Bryan lets his fingers dance along the soft tender flesh of the man that lay before him, the combination of the fictional Madison Avenue Ad Executive Don Draper-007 British spy-type look-alike older man. The image swirls in his head, to the actual man in the bed with him, now. Both are welcome. A man that he has longed for but held off from invoking his feelings for…one of Maggie’s most important rules, do not fall in love with the man you are fucking. He has held off for a long time in not doing it. He wants to tell Marks his feelings, but he says nothing.

    He travels up Marks’ well-muscled leg, through the dense hairs there. Feeling the heat emanate from Marks’ body, the closer he gets to Marks’ groin. In the center of Marks’ crotch, the tower that is Marks’ manhood rages like a quiet volcano. Waiting to erupt. As the pressure builds in the ‘cummie’ magma of his balls.

    Marks sighs and squirms.

    He puckers his ass in anticipation for what will come. Bryan’s cock buried to its hairy hilt there. Marks, in his fevered imagination of anticipation for Bryan’s cock mounts. It is why he traveled to Tallahassee. Bryan.

    As Bryan’s fingertips creep up Marks leg to the inside of his thigh.

    Marks lips quiver as the inside of his thigh is gently tickled by the deft fingered approach to the swollen loaded balls.

    “Ahhhh,” Marks sighs, as gentle stream of clear manly fluid escapes from the confines of his balls, “ahhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

    Marks quakes fill the room as the first fingers touch his tender ball-sacs.

    Bryan rubs Marks’ balls, squeezing them and then taking the pressure off. Each pause and stop feeds more sensation through Marks. And empties his spunk just a little more with the tease.

    Bryan turns Marks over. There is no fighting. No hesitation. Marks just does it.

    Bryan lets his right-hand wander to crack of Marks’ ass and sticks a wet finger at the entrance of this hairy-lined heavenly passage. Marks open his legs to allow greater access to the thick fingers of his lover. One goes in, then another.

    Bryan is readying himself for what he knows is coming. For what he wants. Marks’ ass.

    He bucks his hips as he accommodates the digits that are plunging into the well of ‘his ass.’

    “I want your cock!” Marks squeals. “I want your cock! I wannnn…”

    “Shhhh. Shhhh.” Bryan says, “In due time.”

    He removes his fingers and replaces them with his mouth, he lets his breathe rake over the hairy passage. A short breath, a burst of his heated air. Parts the tiny follicles of hair that are at the divine entrance.

    “I am going to fuck that ass till you scream,” Bryan whispers into the dense hairy hole that is at his nose. He is telling Marks’ ass what he is going to do.

    “What did you say?” Marks says, “You whispered.”

    “Shhh,” Bryan says again in a low whisper. “Shhhh, now.”

    His tongue darts out, tasting the sweet dew of sweat and exhilaration of Marks tender hole. Marks puckers tighter but Bryan prevails. He knows Marks’ ass better than Marks does. He licks at the tender button as he holds the hips of his mature lover. Each plunge of his tongue stirs an even greater reaction from Marks. The sighs. The moans. Carry through the four corners of the room.

    Bryan looks to the lights on the outside of the state capitol building. “I’ll give him something that he will never forget.” He says. He can see his ‘capitol building’ sliding into Marks’ ass.