MIKE HENNIGAN - 8, Rev.
Copyright 2008, 2012 by Carl Mason
All rights reserved. Other than downloading one copy for strictly personal enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without the written permission of the author. However based on real events and places, "Mike Hennigan" is strictly fictional. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. As in real life, sexual themes unfold gradually. Comments on the story are appreciated and may be addressed to the author at email@example.com.
If you would like to read additional stories by this author, please turn to the "Authors/Prolific Authors" link at the beginning of the Nifty Archive.
This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between males, both adults and teenagers. As such, it is homoerotic fiction designed for the personal enjoyment of legal, hopefully mature, adults. If you are not of legal age to read such material, if those in power and/or those whom you trust treat it as illegal, or if it would create unresolvable moral dilemmas in your life, please leave. Finally, remember that maturity generally demands safe sex.
(Revisiting Chapter 7)
"Hal's right," Mike said authoritatively. I think we can arrange for a few really cute 18 or 19 year olds for little more than the promise of some 'fun'. (It took a couple of phone calls and a drive down to a Dego motel where "interviews" identified four real beauties. Truth was, however, that everyone concerned always thought it had been well worth the trouble and the modest amount of money that was spent.) Settling quickly on the events planned for the evening, the meeting broke up.
As Mike and Hal settled down to sleep, the hunky fourteen year old rubbed his nose against the back of his hero's neck. "Very young and very innocent meat!" he insisted. "Doesn't exist!" Mike growled sleepily. Events of the next half hour proved that he should have been more diplomatic! As they say, payback's a bitch!
(Continuing Our Story: NAVY, NAVY, RAH! RAH! RAH!)
In days long past, McCreary's Bar had stood in Playa D'Oro's red-light district. In fact it had been a whorehouse! Part of the reason that the ceiling was so high was that there had been a second story, though most of the second floor interior had long since been demolished. At the rear of the back room, you could still see the remnants of a hallway that had probably led to the girls' cribs. Today, of course, it was a "bridge to nowhere". A rickety balustrade separated the dusty hallway from the back room below, giving some cover to the fourteen year old who flattened himself at one end and peered out intently through the remaining balusters. If Mike ever caught him...let alone the owner of McCreary's...or a cop!
Hal eagerly watched preparations for the event. (He was already aware of the rising noise from the bar at the front of the building. Clearly, the men were warming up!) Beer, liquor, and related equipment were trundled into the back room, followed by a mammoth post on a heavy stand that looked like nothing other than a railroad tie with hooks up towards the top. This was followed by two heavy steel A-frames connected by a heavy horizontal steel rod. Other gear, including rope, chains, oil, a lubricant, and instruction sheets were placed, as appropriate, at four "stations", i.e., the post, the A-frame, two heavy posts fairly close together that supported an interior portico over the door between the bar and the back room, and that which looked to be a large wrestling pad. The excited organizers - Bo, Mike, and Leo - appeared soon thereafter, placing finishing touches on the room, as well as a large number of candles and several braziers. Suddenly, a cheer arose from the bar. Shortly thereafter, four gobs, each a fresh-faced hunk of young manhood, were escorted into the back room. After greeting Mike, who introduced them to the others, they quickly stripped down to their Navy-issue cotton shorts. 'Man, oh man!' Hal thought. 'Maybe even WOO-EE!'
Giving the room one more detailed scrutiny, Mike ordered that the thick candles be lit and the eleven eager longshoremen (making twelve with Leo) allowed to enter the room. When they saw the equipment...and the handsome, virile young sailors...you will guess that the atmosphere inside the room became somewhat... electric! He then explained that there were four "stations". A single gob and three longshoremen would be assigned to each station. At the close of the event, after judging different bondage tasks, the longshoreman would rotate to a different station; the sailor to still another station. (Hence, both the longshore teams and the gobs would experience each station, but never together.)
Hal's eyes first gravitated to the A-frame. The men had the widely grinning, olive-skinned sailor down on the ground almost before the first whistle sounded. While one worker removed his shorts, another splashed a few drops of oil on his torso and lower body. All three were involved in burnishing his body...and quite a body it was! The information said that he was only eighteen, but that torso was a work of art. Heavy, defined, it quickly took on a soft glow that had guys from nearby stations sneaking a look! In like measure, his smooth thighs soon followed, as did a nearly hairless package that Leo brought to extreme arousal. By the time the men rolled the gob onto his side, he was panting with frustrated desire. Taking him to the limit, Leo continued manipulating his oily balls as another team member lashed his hands firmly together behind his back. They then fitted the boy with a strange assembly - used for safety reasons - that tightly (albeit safely and in relative comfort) held his ankles together. Upside down, the writhing sailor was then lifted until the hook that protruded from the assembly could be fastened firmly over the horizontal pipe. The men then took a moment to touch up hanging body - particularly the pecs, thighs, and equipment - before standing at attention. Hal thought the picture was "awesome," as he later said, "a perfect rendition of a side of beef ready for processing. (He could even imagine having a slice of that gorgeous rump roast at a barbecue!) One of the men gave two blasts of the whistle, whereupon a "judge," a grizzled old Chief Petty Officer who had retired to Playa, was sent over to their station. Hal noticed that he had already begun to take notes. Within minutes, he - and the other teams - were finished. The sound of the whistle, thrice repeated, send everyone scurrying to their next station, including the sailor who had been removed from his rack. (All of the men managed to give him a pat on the rump as they departed.)
Hal snickered as his favorite sailor sauntered over to the thick, vertical post. "Last, but sure as hell not least," he chortled, just under his breath. The youngster was tall, deadly thin, and just a tad "spooky" in his appearance. His nearly colorless skin coupled with gleaming black hair only advanced the impression! Quite frankly, in the right high school he could have "gone gothic" without half trying! After a little rubbing - for his hide had all the oil it could stand, the lad was led to the stake. Hal wondered if this would turn into what his history teacher had called an "auto da fey".
[Author's Note: During the days of the Spanish and Portugese Inquisitions, convicted heretics were frequently burned at the stake - ostensibly by secular authorities - once the sentences imposed by the Inquisition were publically announced. They had earlier been given a chance to recant their errors. If they did recant, by the way, they were permitted an "easier" death; viz., they were strangled with wire...and then burned!]
Almost professionally, the boy's arms were chained above his head to two hooks as his body was chained lashed to the great post at the chest, waist, and thighs. Hurriedly, two members of the team, began piling everything combustible that they could find around the base of the stake. The lad was still playing the game, lifting his head to the hills, looking mournfully about him as if resigned to his fate. Shades of Joan of Arc movies! Suddenly one of the men appeared with a blazing torch and moved as to get the burning underway. At that point, the youth clearly ceased being willing to be "part of the game". Enough of this realism! Badly shaken, he began shouting his fool head off - even after the longshoreman came to attention and whistled for their judge. Fr. Marty Brien from St. Mary's over by the docks trotted over to the station to a lot of kidding from the longshoremen. When he blessed the sailor before beginning his work, you can imagine how everyone just about broke up!
(The Main Course)
Eventually, the sailors' contribution to the evening drew to a close. Once again, Hal stretched stiffly. Though he had watched one event faced by each of the "teams", he would have liked to have watched all sixteen! Hold! Something was stirring down below. Maybe this was the surprise that Bo had hinted the longshoremen were planning for Mike. Dressed only in white briefs, T-shirt, and socks, the procession was led by Mike, who was escorted by two naked sailors. He appeared dazed. The remaining two sailors (also in the nude) and Bo, who was dressed in a hooded black cloak, followed behind. As they marched, other longshoreman quickly set up some thick, new candles on stands around an immense, heavy wooden chair. Incense burners were placed on either side. The chair, almost a simple throne, was occupied by the biggest (and, probably, the hairiest) human being they had ever seen...in every way a giant of the species. Dressed powerfully in a wide strap full body buckle harness of leather, his presence introduced a note of sexual terror into the entire scene. Buzzing, the longshoremen crowded around.
[Author's Note: One suspects that most of us have stories that have peculiar personal meaning. Your author is no different. In 1996, I read my very first erotic story on Nifty after "coming out" (at least to myself) not long before. Ass Abbey by Perseus remains one of my all-time favorites. The images burned into my mind by the author have never been extinguished. In truth, I frequently return to my copy for inspiration and...enjoyment. <grin> I have long hoped that the situation would arise where I could further indicate my appreciation.
The author has graciously allowed me to make use of his ideas. Indeed, this section of Mike Hennigan-8 is little more than a shameless retelling of the first part of Perseus' story titled Ass Abbey. (Believe, however, that it's far more inflammatory in the original!) Those readers who join me in frequently checking out Nifty's "Authoritarian" category and similar examples of erotic literature will undoubtedly enjoy dipping into his provocative stories on the Nifty Archive and (revised) on Perseus' own website. Please see: http://www.chained-rock.com. ]
Extinguishing many of the candles that had been burning, while lighting the new ones, intensified the contrast between the flaring light in the center of the room and the darkness beyond. Assistants also ignited the incense that had been placed in braziers on either side of the great chair. Slowly, tendrils of smoke began to rise and snake their way throughout the room. It was a strange scent, an alien scent...and, however inexplicable, a strikingly erotic scent! The sexual tension among the men who surrounded the circle became near palpable, and began to dominate the scene.
Bo opened the ceremony by announcing that after nearly two years Mike had decided to leave the docks. Shouts of disbelief sprang from many throats! For many, he had become something of a mascot, a symbol of how far one could advance given work and the right attitude. Hal, also in shock, joined in the hullabaloo. Fortunately, in the general confusion, he didn't seem to attract any notice. While he had felt that Mike had been preoccupied for some time, he hadn't heard a word about this decision! What did it mean, he wondered, for him?
Bo also announced that tonight's final event had been planned with the assistance of a "great friend of labor," Leland Bash, a man who had shown how far a man could go who had begun work as a casual worker on the docks. He was also a Playa D'orian who had served as "Executive Producer" of three films awarded "Best Picture" Oscars. Bo knew that Mike was planning to leave the docks because his friend told him that he had spoken with Bash about help needed to get into CSU/Playa [California State University, Playa de Oro] with a weak school record. (Bash had replied that he was quite willing to consider supporting him, but he felt Mike ought to leave the docks on a high note. (At the very least, it's probable that he also wanted to check out Mike's organizational abilities. <grin>) In essence he argued that the young man should take full part in the present program if he expected his assistance. It was Bash, by the way, who gave him a pill to take the edge off any pain. Unfortunately, its effect on Mike had turned out to be somewhat greater than he, or anyone else, had expected.)
[Author's Note: The "Producer" is the executive in charge of the business side of the production. In this case, "Executive Producer" was a basically honorary title given to Bash who had arranged money for the projects and, in one case, personally bankrolled a film. An older longshoreman watching the event snickered and said he guessed Lee Bash had enough money to play around with given his . . . connections! (One did not utter the word "mob" in public...then or now.]
Mike stood before the throne, albeit unsteadily, looking as if he might collapse at any moment. Ceremonially, his two escorts led him up several stairs to stand before the giant. On his signal, they helped him to sprawl across the dread figure's thighs that were spread open to the view of the onlookers below. Finally catching his breath, the muscular lad cried out in pain as a heavy hand began to pummel his buttocks. Twist and turn as best he could, he found it impossible to squirm free. The boy groaned loudly as his long, thick cock erected with a jolt that shook his entire body. If possible, his situation became even more difficult when his captor grabbed his waistband in back. As he struggled, his underwear was pulled deeper and deeper into his asscrack, exposing more and more of his cheeks. The blows seemed to intensify. Tightening, the fabric of his briefs quickly began to bunch his genitals and press against his anus. Instinctively, Mike pulled his hips back to lessen the pressure on his now inflexible rod. At exactly that instant, the creature that was manhandling him as if he were a two year old...or a rag doll...pushed a wad of the bunched fabric up into his anal canal. Painfully restricted, his rock-hard dick pointed straight down between his slightly spread thighs. The stink of the creature's sweat in his nostrils, Mike felt his captor's fingers playing with the front of his waistband, now pulled down well below his naval. He tried to raise his head, groaned deeply, and muttered, "Please... Please..." When the figure immediately locked the waistband in back of his balls, his relief was so intense that he almost came! In some ways, however, he was no better off. Yes. his cock was now free, but free only to pulse, and jerk, and leak precum - and ever more forcefully to demand that it be given what it wanted!
Only slowly did Mike become aware that the assault was slowing. The palm of the dark figure's hand was resting for additional seconds, cupping his buttocks for longer periods and, finally, sensually massaging the red-hot flesh that lay beneath the thin, cotton shield. Suddenly, he was aware that one of the sailors had come up the steps and knelt in front of the giant's spread thighs. Almost immediately, he sensed the air that the youngster was blowing on his crack, inner thighs, balls, and cock. Moaning and groaning, Mike squirmed his hips in slow, grinding circles as the sailor blew air up and down his rod.
After some minutes, a second sailor replaced his buddy by Mike's side. After thoroughly wetting the fabric that had been wadded up Mike's anus, he applied lips, tongue, and teeth to securing it and teasing it from the canal. He then prepared for his final role in the drama by inserting his tongue under the waistband and rolling Mike's underwear down over his ass. Still using only his tongue, he shoved the shorts down the boy's spread thighs as far as he could, leaving his ass completely naked. Then, moving his tongue in vigorous circles, he licked up the insides of Mike's thighs, pausing to suck on his ball sack before moving aggressively up, licking the sensitive ridge between his legs all the way up to his anus and plunging right in. Mike was bucking wildly by the time he got there, but the giant figure held him still so that the sailor could administer a passionate, wet rim job.
In the minutes that followed, Mike lost control of his body. The sweat was pouring down him to the point that his flesh appeared to be gleaming in the flaring light of the large candles. His cock was so hard that each throb sent spasms through his body, as well as waves of goose bumps. As Mike continued to writhe, the incense seemed to grow stronger. Both he and the audience felt themselves being sucked into a great vortex of heat, and light, and passion. Mike, for instance, never knew that the last sailor had departed, in part because the giant replaced a tongue with a heavily greased finger. There wasn't the slightest interruption! With a skill, a delicacy utterly at odds with his great size and bestial appearance, the giant opened him up. By the time that four of his great fingers were working deep within the youth's bowels, every part of the lad's body was quivering with passion. He repeatedly begged the giant to make him cum as fingers and progressively larger dildos prepared him for the climax that was close at hand.
Suddenly, without uttering a word, the terrible figure placed one enormous hand under his chest, another under a thigh, and jerked him horizontally into the air. As if on a wire, Bo came forward and cut the briefs and T-shirt from his body. Removing his socks left the youth as naked as he was born. The front side of his body that faced the onlookers left no doubt about his extreme arousal or the giant's complete dominance. Spasming muscles, his open mouth gasping for air, his brown curls flying in every direction, his gleaming skin...reddened and dripping sweat, his wild eyes all testified to his ordeal. Itself out of control, the crowd howled for more!
Treating Mike as if he had the size and weight of a newborn, the giant abruptly lifted him to a vertical position, still facing the onlookers. Grunting something - which, given the tumult, no one could make out - led to Mike raising his legs into an "L" position. The crowd gasped. Slowly, in front of their eyes, the giant's cock rose to a vertical position. No one had ever seen anything like it...rough, rocklike, gnarled, heavily veined, discolored! First cousin to a baseball bat? The heaviest wooden dowel on which to hang clothes in the closet? A bodybuilder's forearm? To renewed gasps, he began slowly lowering Mike towards his cock. The crowd could see every movement, every grimace on Mike's face as he slowly sank onto the shaft. Once his buttocks touched the giant's pubic hair, he immediately felt hands being inserted under his arms. Slowly and then faster and faster, harder and harder, he was lifted and dropped on that cruel pillar. After not too long a time, the crowd could see Mike's muscles tighten and then turn into steel. With a piercing cry, he propelled long streams of cum that actually reached the nearest onlookers.
As the giant lifted Mike onto his shoulders and disappeared from the circle of light, Bo moved up to the platform, calling participants and supporters forward for some well-earned applause. Leland Bash, Fr. Brien, and the other judges received their due, as did Leo. The four sailors, of course, received a little more! At that point, everything had to halt, for the giant - still clad in leather - and a widely-grinning Mike appeared arm in arm and joined those on the platform. The house came down!
"Where in the world did you get that giant?" Leland Bash asked Mike. "Oh," chuckled the curly-haired one, "he's one of those longshoreman." "I'd hate to get him mad at me," Bash added. "Me, too," agreed Mike, wryly. "Seriously, Mike," the white-haired entrepreneur said, settling back comfortably into his chair, "you did a fantastic job making your leave-taking from the union a positive rather than a negative event. Believe me, that could help you later on. I'll be happy to give you any help possible with University Admissions. In all honesty, though, I would have in any case. Are you still thinking of entering the film industry, my young friend?" "Yes, sir," replied Mike, "and I know from your example that I need a much wider background than I have to make it. One of the problems, of course, is that all I have is a GED. That got me a look-see as a casual at the docks, but I don't think it's going to cut much ice in terms of getting the movie moguls to look at me seriously." "Perhaps," responded one of the most influential men in Southern California - as well as one of the most wealthy. "Nevertheless, you shouldn't underestimate the number of ways things can be made to work. On the other hand, formal, collegiate-level education need not be the only path to your dreams, Mike Let's see... You're nearly twenty-one, the year when most men finish their undergraduate degree. That need not be a problem, but it could be for some.
"I wonder if you would consider working with me as my Personal Assistant for the summer ahead. I think I can show you a number of ways to get into the game during that time. If you still find yourself wanting CSU/Playa...well...I'll be talking to the Director of Admissions. You, on the other hand, will be able to tell yourself that you made one of the most important decisions of your life in an orderly manner rather than impulsively. Make sense?" (Pause.) "Do remember, Michael, that serving as my Personal Assistant is relatively safe. After all, however impressive, your...gifts don't meet my requirements for ALL activities! Got it?" "Got it, sir, and thanks," Mike responded, coloring ever so slightly. "I'm grateful! May I get back to you in...say...forty-eight hours?"
At home Mike held a trembling, weeping fourteen year old in his arms. "Red," he said firmly, "I told you a while back that you had a home with me. As we grow up, we may both have to make some adjustments, but know this. What I told you is not going to change until you tell me that you want it to change! Hear?" The boy looked up at him with relief... and a devotion that was just a bit scary.
(To Be Continued)