Date: Mon, 30 Jan 2012 15:47:08 -0800 (PST) From: Tchase Mcphee Subject: STReNGTH FRoM WeaKNesS 04 The story below is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any resemblances to real people, alive or in the hereafter, is entirely coincidental in nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons, of continents or islands, in countries, counties, cities, towns, villages, neighborhoods, streets, cul-de-sacs, nor governmental or non-governmental areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then why are you here? Seriously, if guy-to-guy sex stuff makes you barf or is going to screw up your mind, you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most states and countries, you are not allowed to read this story, by law. Check with your local laws regarding such. % Sexual safety matters. Remember guys, this is fiction. In real life, use protection. % STReNGTH FRoM WeaKNesS 04 WriTten by T. Chase McPhee % "Need any help?" He should have been repelled by the overlapping layers of cum stretching far and wide over the surface of his chest, stomach and other areas, dripping down the sides and over his shoulder, but more important than the scented effect on his nose, Jean-Claude was more caught up in the only dude who had not come, he looks up from his lying position, quitting the strokes, "Yeah," he removes his hand, lubed by other guys' cockjuice. Stepping over, in between Jean-Claude's bent knees, straddling the chest press table, Louis grabs the eight inch horn of plenty, starts where Jean-Claude left off, but throws a new twist into the twenty-two year old trying to get off. "Oh-my-god, Louis!" he exclaims, Jean-Claude doing a modest crunch. "You had me entirely fooled." Pulling his mouth off, like the end of a tootsie roll pop, Louis asks, "How so?" Because the eighteen year old had a white drip going down the underside of his chin, Jean-Claude's finger wipes up from underside, depositing it on Louis' tongue. "Thanks!" Louis says, after a quick swallow. "Now, how did I surprise you?" "You could have fucked me three time, you know?" "Gerard was already inside you." "After him?" Jean-Claude said, after Gerard came pulled out and deposited his spunk on the lower back. "I guess Davide was tired of your weak blow job?" Louis made note of Davide pulling his long shaft out of Jean-Claude's throat, leaving an interval of seconds between Gerard's fucking, release and his own implantation, after Jean-Claude flipped back on his ass. "Weak? Is that what it looked like to you?" Louis fesses up, "Uh, maybe not. Tough to tell when Davide is fucking you hard like that. Your throat must be sore, huh?" Jean-Claude had to test himself, swallowing, replying, "Not too bad. I suppose you want to fuck me too?" "Well I hadn't thought about it," even though, after the third time he spent his jizz, Louis had thought about it! "Oh." "Besides, Jean-Claude, I thought you were a top?" "What I was thinking, except Davide turned on his cunning charm and... I had to admit, for the first time, even though it was rough, when it came to Gerard, his mild approach wasn't too bad?" "I wouldn't know. I never was fucked by Gerard. In fact, never did anything with him, but if I did, would not be..." Like, throughout his whole life, Louis Lafeet, it not being his true surname, but only a mental response to being recognized from his past as the kid who took it from the bullies for the simple reason of being almost the shortest kid in high school, for once felt accepted, for not such a simple explanation, whereas his height mattered then, right now, what mattered to the other models and `homosexual males', was size of the lower spike. Being a part of the supermodel-seeking group, he knew what the others thought of Jean-Claude, today only learning he was not a total top, still feeling out whether he was versatile. While the other models felt the need to go wash the cum off themselves, freshen up their pubes and maybe horse around a little, Louis did the quick approach, using one of the guys' briefs, without them knowing it, to wipe off and in their absence, dig up some more information about Jean-Claude. "Would not be?" Jean-Claude, maybe as curious as Louis, only about himself, looked for another opinion. Sitting up, even though much of the residue had dried on Jean-Claude's chest, a hand proved he was sticky as hell with cum, "Oh man am I a mess." "You want to shower now and talk later, maybe?" It was also means by which Louis might pick up a friendly ally. "Nah. I'll wait till they're all done." "Oh, okay." Jean-Claude, without intention of absurd or ridiculous, thought he had to keep explaining himself, all for the purpose of feeling embarrassment of allowing every man in the room to expel his pent up emotion onto his bare bod, "Y'know, don't want all this goo flowing to the floor at once and `heaven-forbid' go and have one of them slip and fall!" "I have an easy solution to that," Louis replies. "Really? How would that go?" "Instead of using the public shower, we could run back to my room?" It was a hasty decision, not one which Louis had dwelt on for minutes before, but after saying it, liked it very much! However, Jean-Claude did mull it over for a little less than a minute, foremost thinking if, he didn't want to shower publicly, he could have raced back to his own room. Instead, here he was presented, not only by Louis' brilliant notion, but also that eight inch prospect, "Y'know, that sounds like a good idea?" Around certain areas, like the gym, pool and the places where parties were held at the compound, the models did not mind flaunting their flesh, but certain unwritten rules were jotted down on the minds of the men, like dressing semi-appropriately for traveling in between and at other compound venues, like the tennis courts, basketball court and as Louis well knew, grabbed two towels, giving hint to Jean-Claude by wrapping one around his own waist. % "Looks like you're losing your boyfriend, Dean!" "Boyfriend? What boyfriend?" Dean questions Scott as they survey a rack of Quiksilver at the Surf Hut. They were on two different wavelengths, Scott speaking of Dean and Michael, whereas Dean not even thinking of boyfriends, especially since they had just met and more considered, if referring to it as a kind of relationship, would label it `friends'. "You and Michael. You're going out on a date right?" "Oh, I see where you're headed with this." "So," Scott thinking he had it in the bag, "you're going out and then afterwards `get it on' and then if thinks look good, maybe Michael and you could live together?" `Innocence', that's how Dean was looking at it! "Scott, `my son'," he presented it, referring to how Michael perceived their sibling-hood, "you have a lot to learn about meeting men." "How do you mean?" Scott turned very serious. "Listen, I like Michael..." "I thought so," Scott replies, a big smile on his face. "No, but not in the way you are thinking it, besides, because two men are gay, are talking to each other, getting along, it doesn't mean we are out to hook up, if I'm reading you right, like we're ready to hop out of bed and head for the altar!" `Altar'. That is a word Scott knew well, his aunt and uncle always dragging him off to church. For awhile there he wondered why, in regards to weddings, there were no men-men or women-women pair ups. Same with baptisms, though he knew male couples adopt children and had baptisms at other churches, none were performed at their church. But that one single word, he had an idea what Dean meant, "You mean like getting married?" "Like any other male-female relationship, it can take a lot of time and as far as Michael and I am concerned, at least for myself, I'm not ready in my life to take that leap of faith." "You're an Indiana Jones fan too?" Really, Dean didn't think Scott was evading the subject, "I've seen all four, wasn't too impressed with the last one, but yeah, I liked the one where he had to decide on taking the `leap of faith' or else say bye-bye to his father." Caught up in movie talk, Dean felt it refreshing to not talk about `guys', `gay' and the like. It's the one thing he liked when he, Scott and Michael were back at Abercrombie Kids, their threeway conversation, Michael taking the helm and talking about surfing. His thoughts led him back to the subject though, "There's so much about life, Scott. I hope you involve yourself in it and take my advice and not get caught up in a relationship before enjoying some of the things you like to do on an individual basis?" Scott thought on it. Dean didn't know whether Scott didn't like his explanation or just didn't fully understand, "Like Michael. Would you believe he's been surfing in Costa Rica?" "He could have surfed with someone else?" Dean didn't think about that, "Could be, but the thing is, he wasn't tied down to a relationship, a job, and whatever complicates getting away to be adventurous, instead of getting tied up in a mortgage and kids." Like it has already been established in Dean's mind, Scott's maturity for a fourteen year old and right now, with Scott rendering, "Why? Is that what happened to you?" Dean was floored as much as some dude sucker punching him in the gut, him responding in a way to throw off his own personal struggles of the past, "Maybe we should see if Michael has something for you to try on?" They walked over to where Michael and the salesclerk had been carrying on conversation, Scott knowing he was onto something! % Whenever seeing opportunity present itself, Aksel was never one to shy away from it. After leaving the Hansen compound, he went straight for the place which always helped his to iron out his problems, `Cafe Alvarez-Delgado', in the morning your usual coffee, donuts, eggs over easy place, come afternoon light lunch and cocktails, but night came into full swing as the local gay hangout. Right now, getting blown off by Gerard, Aksel was ready for more than finger foods. Yet, he was conscious of funds. Sure, he had in his pocket a `severance check' from Gerard, but he hoped to use this eventually to get out of town. Right now he needed consoling and for him, it came in the form of a bottle, possibility of strings attached, scoping out a hot guy for `right now'. He didn't have to look far. Sitting at the bar with his first martini in front of him, he spots a single figure over in the corner, a plate of fries and a burger, not sparing the ketchup, literally dipping his burger into it, sopping it up and then, like the slob he presented himself as, pushed as much as he could into his mouth. Even as a suggestion of what the form the dude's bod took, hidden behind the tabletop, gave Aksel palpitations on below. Oh how he had wished it were evening hours, as he knew it could be, the cafe turned into the gay club scene, it's usual night time facade, hardly a light lit from the ceiling, which gave guys the opportunity to rub what irked them on the most. Keeping up with his sightseeing, he kept glancing between sips, until he caught an eye from the one whom he spied upon. About to take another bite, the dude hesitated, then bit into his burger. He started chewing, looking, then chewing some more. After swallowing, he licked his lips. When he was sure he caught Aksel's wandering eyes, the dude looked around quick then nodded his head up and down once. Aksel uses the same head language, motioning for the guy to come join him at the bar. A ploy, he wanted to check out the goods before making any commitments. He watched as the dude wiped his whole face it seemed, with a swipe of his opened napkin. Aksel loved Gerard's tapered physique, but it didn't mean he didn't think a beefy guy wasn't a preserved specimen of male beauty. He cracked half a smile, watching the dude get up, grab his french fries and head towards the bar. "Oh nice," Aksel says to himself in a voice only he could hear, seeing the buttoned down shirt, slight tug at the gut. If he was lucky, underneath would be a deep, hairy gut-hole to sink his tongue into. Closer, he picks up on the pert nips showing against the pulled shirt. Right away he gets a pick line, discarding his own, "What's a hot guy like you doing here all alone?" Shopping the front of the dude's shirt, "Thought I'd stop in for lunch and maybe more?" "Got a name?" "Aksel," and thinking right away this could play into his game, "`sir'." Doing what Aksel just did, do a bod scan, starting from the `v' of the shirt, right down the line of buttons and back up, lest the other guy loses interest, "I think I can do something for you. Got a place?" But before he went any place with a stranger, "Got a name?" "`Sir' for starters. If you behave you might get more!" "I haven't a place. I'm from out of town. You have one?" Aksel coaxes. "Sure. As soon as you get us a room at a motel?" said in a manner if Aksel didn't, the deal was off. Yet, Dave was betting on his lucky stars this dude wanted it and needed it bad. Chugging the spit in the bottom of his martini glass, Aksel says, "Let's go then." Dave watches Aksel lead the way, picturing that ass. He could almost lick his lips, thinking of turning it red with his belt, before busting it wide open! % "I think..." Michael puts the finishing touches on securing Scott's wardrobe, refitted into tubs and securing them under a roped tarp, "that about does it." "Thanks for taking us and my stuff home, Michael," Scott says. Getting in the cab, of course Michael sat behind the wheel, Dean opening the door for Scott. "Don't you want to get in first, Dean?" "Just get your butt in there," Dean replies, knowing where Scott was going with his big bright ideas! Mostly the chat on the way back to the Hansen compound circled around surfing, Michael's friend, Buzz Kernel, whom he was offered a pad to crash at for the summer, all set off by Scott asking Michael where he got the bopping hula boy, attached to the dashboard. Dean wondered if the hula boy was anatomically structured under the lifelike grass skirt, but held his tongue! "Left or right?" Michael asks, after exiting the main roadway. Knowing the answer, even though new to the area, Scott says, "Roundtree Hallow is to the left." "You've picked up your sense of direction?" Dean says in a way which sounded like a compliment. To Scott, is sounded like Dean wanted to know how he developed such a skill, "When I was nine, I think I was nine, doesn't matter I guess, I lived in the mountains." "Which mountains?" Michael asks. "Tennessee Overhills. You know `em?" Scott stokes Michael's memory. "Sure. Cherokee country." Dean thought about it, sitting there and taking in the two conversing about the American history of the Blue Ridge Mountains. As he had gathered from Scott's interactions, plus previous opinion regarding him being more mature for fourteen years old, he proved to be refreshingly smart. It also showed something about himself. At one time he was more into education, but since coming to work for Gerard Hansen, being around the models almost 24/7, he had been swayed into their aura of conversation, settling around the sexual nature of the gay male. There wasn't much solitude available other than his own room, a modest, drab cubicle, which he was happy to wander out from. However, no matter where he sought to wander, there were at least two or three guys and with it being such, the conversation was about some dude getting sucked or another dude getting fucked. Nothing wrong with that, as long as you wanted to be hard all day, until you `had' to release the tension. "What about you?" Dean was suddenly jogged from his reverie. Pretending he was paying attention, "Nah, I don't know much about Indian history." While at the red light, Scott is the one to criticize, "We were talking about stopping for a burger, Dean!" "Oh! Right! Well, yeah," he tries covering up, "I was wondering about that, I mean probably lunch has been on the table and cleared, back at the compound." Dean waited, pausing, like he was wondering if they were going to buy his story. Helping him out, Scott knowing Dean was in deeper than he could climb out of, "Is there someplace in this dinky town where we can get a burger and some fries?" Michael just smiled. "Cafe Alvarez, two blocks up," Dean replies. Following Dean's easy directions, Michael pulls into the parking lot, amazed, "Wow! Big place for a `dinky' town!" The two adults having their little chit-chat, up pops from the center of the seat, "I'm like starving. Can we eat?" Both guys look to center seat after each other, Dean instigating a bread-basket tickle to the ribs, "Hungry? You're nothing but flab!" Jumping in, Michael helped, until Scott couldn't take it any longer, laughing his ass off and shouting, "Stop! Stop guys! C'mon!" They did, long enough to jack the handles of their doors open and scoot. "Heyy-y-y-y-y-y-y! Wait for me!" Scott shouts, kicking open Dean's door left ajar. He catches up with them and is like Michael, fascinated with the sign attached to a metal pole, "What's up?" he asks, poking his head in between the two. Dean already knew, Michael reading, "Cafe Alvarez-Delgado..." Acknowledging the time Scott butts in, "Darn! We missed the donuts!" "You don't need donuts, `flabby'!" While there between the two, Scott took inventory, Dean's waistline versus Michael, coming up with slim versus a slight muffin top. Then thinking, perhaps Dean wasn't interested in Michael enough to start up a relationship, maybe Scott should help, "Michael, you should get with Dean and workout at the gym." Michael had no objections. In fact, it was the reason he offered his truck up for delivery options, because he wasn't about to allow Dean to exit his life, chancing never seeing him again. "Scott, don't press the guy." Michael sticks up for Scott, "Oh, he's not pressing. In fact, I like pressing!" Scott was pretty sure what Michael meant, but in a nice way, because he said it upbeat and backed it up with a cocky smile. However, Dean erases the slate, "I thought your flabby stomach was so hungry, Scott?" Further reading of the sign, Michael states, "Oh, but breakfast is over and they are serving drinks. Do you think they will allow Scott in?" Edging towards the door, holding it open, Dean replies, "I got connections!" "Ami-i-i-i-igo!" Michael says to Scott, "Good to have connections!" as Dean is welcomed by open arms, a kiss to the cheek from the owner himself, Juan Alvarez Delgado de Fernandez. After brief introductions, the trio is left standing there for a moment. Seeing the rope across the entrance to the `morning room', Scott limbos under it, exclaiming, "Hey look guys!" Turning around, Dean says, "Um, Scott, there's a reason why the rope is there?" "Okay," he responds in a low tone, admitting he's in the wrong. About to bend backwards to play the `limbo' game again, Juan appears, a spruced up waiter accompanying him, contradicting Dean, "No, no stay there," he unlatches the rope. "My nephew, Miguel," he pats the twenty-one year old on the shoulder, "will be at your disposal." "Cool!" Scott says rushing into the room and picking out a table for them. "Hold it! Hold it! Hold it there, Scott!" Dean hikes after him. Whereas Dean wanted to pull at the reins, Juan complicated the issue, "It's okay. You pick anywhere you would like to sit." "Wonderful," Dean said to himself, thinking it the second time Juan answered contrary to his thinking, but he liked Juan and not only for how he could pleasure a man in bed! "Whe-e-e-e-e-et!" Juan made a whistling sound, calling attention to his nephew, still by the door with Michael. The two hustle over, Dean saying sarcastically, "Nice of you to join us!" "Sorry," Michael then revealing a tidbit of information, "Miguel here, he goes to the same college as me. Funny we never ran across each other!" Dean wishes he were back in college, especially the one Michael went to. Miguel was `gorgeous'! However he played it down, "That's nice." "Would you like to sit down?" Miguel offers a chair to Michael, seating him, Dean sitting next to Scott, Juan helping him scoot his chair in. Scott had helped himself to the picked out table. "Cocktails?" Scott blurts out, "Do you got any chocolate milkshakes?" "`Have', not `got'?" Dean sets the vocab straight. Juan says, "Oh, what does it matter, Dean?" Three strikes, Juan was out, Dean telling him, "Uh, Juan don't you have something to do, like fill up salt and pepper shakers?" As he says it, Juan holds up his pointer finger in the air, "I just remembered, I have to do something!" Dean smiled. Juan could be such a character. Since Miguel was explaining the menu to Michael, who questioned one of the dishes, Dean conferred with Scott, "Anything on the menu interest you?" "How come these french fries look orange?" "Because they are sweet potatoes. Every have them?" "Nope!" Scott replies. "According to this," Dean reads out of the menu, "they look to be hot'n'spicy." "Cool! I like hot'n'spicy." Almost simultaneously, a split second after Scott mentions it, Miguel asks, "Have you made a decision?" Scott rattled off what he would like to order. Dean only stare at Miguel, thinking about hot'n'spicy! Michael had dashed off to the jon, Dean not even noticing. "Where's Michael?" "Bano," Miguel preferred his language. "Hmm, maybe I should make sure he doesn't fall in!" When the two return, they find they have left Scott in good hands, Miguel sitting in the extra chair, carrying on conversation. "Where were you?" Scott asks. "I finished up my chocolate shake already." Miguel says, "We've got plenty more?" "Cool!" As the whole luncheon progressed, one of the peculiar circumstances, from Scott asking Miguel what `banyo' meant, he learned a few more Spanish words. Dean had admired Scott already for the mature attitude of a fourteen year old, but in particular now, found him to be quite receptive to education. It was Michael who became a proponent of the idea, "You should take some Spanish lessons from Miguel." "Can I?" Scott turns to Dean, as if he were his father. "It's not up to me. You would have to run that by Gerard." "Can you ask him?" Scott confronts him. "And," Michael adds, "that is, if Miguel would want to." Miguel had gone to order up their menu selections and was on his way back to the table, a tall chocolate shake in his hand. As he sets it in front of Scott, Scott asks, "Miguel, can you be my Spanish teacher?" Michael says, "Dean and Scott were talking about it." "Might be good for him to get a jump on a foreign language," Dean adds to it, "but only if you have the time for it and I suppose we should get his guardians permission, of course." Scott well knew the word, `guardian', having several over his past childhood, however as he looked upon Gerard as his latest, he didn't discount the fact as Dean being special to him, him offering up, "Dean is going to help me ask. Right Dean?" Smirking, Dean replies, "I'll take care of it. How much do you want for tutoring, Miguel?" Michael, drawing off his mall experience, knowing of Gerard's wealth, "Make it worth your while Miguel. His guardian's loaded, you know?" he winks. Pushing his chair back a little from Michael, like he had BO or something, Dean says in a ghastly manner, "I hope you're kidding, Michael!" "I am! Really!" Scott laughs. Dean mellows out as Miguel says, "He got you! As for me, I would really, really love to change living arrangements?" Pretty much having it in the bag, Dean asks lightheartedly, "Uncle Juan getting on your nerves, Miguel?" "Don't get me wrong," Miguel kneels on a chair, "I love Juan like he's my own papi, but..." "What's a poppy?" Scott butts in. Michael translates, "Like a father." Hitting a tender note, Scott says, "What happened to your father?" "Nothing. He lives in Spain and I have chosen to live here." It leads right back to Dean's question, "I shouldn't complain. Uncle Juan has really been good to me, it's just that..." "Let me guess," Dean cuts in, "he can mean well, but come across harsh, think he's right whether he is right or wrong, then stand by it, like you should apologize, um should I go on?" "Except for his corny jokes, that's good enough," Miguel replies. Scott comes up with a brilliant solution, "I bet Gerard has a room you can stay in!" Again, the fatherly figure kicks in, Dean replying, "Um, I don't think it's a good idea for you to volunteer Miguel a room without asking your cousin, Scott," then `cold turkey' switching his attention towards Miguel, "however, knowing the plight you are in Miguel, I'm sure, if you have some trade you can render, I can't speak for Gerard, but he may have a place for you to shack up." With that being the case, Michael extends the invitation to himself, "Uh, he wouldn't happen to have another spare room, would he, reason being it would be a shorter trip from his place to the shore everyday, than the college dorm?" Dean was about to say, Scott cutting in, "I thought you were going to stay with your friend Buzz Kernel?" He sat there with his mouth open, Michael suddenly lost for words, until he says, "Uh, yeah, um, uh, Buzz did offer, but it wasn't set in slate, like he wasn't really sure." Dean thought it was a pretty good alibi, considering Michael just finding out Miguel might be staying at the compound. Scott had put a buzz in his ear about dating Michael and while riding in his truck, thought about the reality of it all. However, the scene changed when Miguel came into the picture, but Dean wasn't perturbed about the outcome, thinking, `What would a twenty-eight year old man want, with a twenty-two year old college dude anyway!' "Of which," Dean gets up from the table, "if you gentlemen have filled your guts, I think Gerard might be wondering what happened to us?" For Miguel, it was left up in the air, him saying, "Would it be an imposition if I went along with you?" Doing the math real quick, four in a three man cab, someone would have to double up on someone else's lap to fit? Dean tells him, "Sure, if you don't mind sitting on my lap?" "I could!" Scott volunteers. "I'm smaller?" `Rats!' Dean thought about it, but accordingly it would be the ideal thing. When they arrived at the Hansen compound, Miguel and Michael piled out of the driver's side. However, it was a way in which it made Scott laugh his ass off, Michael stepping out first, because he was the driver, Miguel scooting his ass over, making like he was `falling' out, Michael catching him. "Those two clowns!" Dean said of them. Still sitting on Dean's lap, Scott says, "It's nice to feel someone hugging me." Dean wasn't feeling anything, not like in the sense of having a twenty-one year old sit on his lap. Scott was just a kid. He wasn't into kids, other than shooting basketball hoops or having chicken fights in the pool. Innocent stuff, he says to Scott, "No wonder, all that moving around from place to place!" "You know what, Dean?" Scott finally slides off his lap, right out the door of the truck. Looking down on Scott, "What?" he asks, hopping out and closing the door. "Out of all the families I lived with and all the people I knew, I never met anyone like you." "Is that good or bad?" he asks reaching into the back of the truck to untie ropes. "Good." "That's good. I was getting a little worried there," he laughs. "Did you ever think of having a family?" "I've got a family. Three brothers in San Diego, Seattle and London and a sister in Atlanta and a whole bunch of nieces and nephews," Dean replies. "I guess you don't have any sons?" He knew where Scott's money was riding on this one, "Nah, not yet, but maybe someday." Exhaling, "Nope, someday, when some man shows an interest in having a man like me!" He then deviates from family to foes, especially when there is a ton of stuff to be brough into the house, "I wonder what happened to our driver and his boyfriend?" "The clowns?" Scott questions. "You got it," Dean looks towards the main house. "Michael isn't Miguel's boyfriend. He's `your' boyfriend!" Launching into a sitting post, his back against the truck, Dean says, "Look, it's a tough thing for a kid your age to understand, or maybe be confused by two guys being friends, as opposed to boyfriends, but Michael and me are nothing more than friends. I mean," he says whimsically, "what if `I' thought you and Michael were boyfriends?" "We can't be boyfriends! He's lots older than me!" He didn't want to get into the `age difference' issue, but also rectified it all by asking, "Don't' you think Michael and Miguel look nice together?" "I don't know. I guess the thing is I just don't get it." "And there's no reason why, right now in your life, you need to," Dean thrusts upwards onto full footing. "I suppose." As he goes for the tubs, Dean says, "But promise me, if you ever need to know anything about `boys', you wouldn't hesitate to ask me?" "No, I won't," Scott replies, taking a bag of clothes, the one with `Surf Hut' written on the outside. However, Dean suddenly has a second thought, "Except maybe you should ask Gerard about it first!" Scott agreed, but right now, the only person who has been the superest, nicest in his whole life, was helping him bring his clothes inside. Opening the door, who was there to greet them, but... "Where have you two been? Jerric has been worried sick over you being gone so long!" Dean got even for Jerric abandoning them, handing the Jamaican the tub he held, which immediately sent Jerric's arms to the floor, almost casting him onto his ass and rubbing it in, "Well, if you hadn't abandoned us, hunney!" Picking the tub up, Dean carries it along, Scott asking, "You okay Jerric?" "Hunney, Jerric built like a tank!" he gets up and brushes himself off. "Yeah, right Jerric," Dean replies, "like the reason I almost knocked you on your ass!" Scott laughed all the way up stairs, Jerric going after Dean like a jackal, his tongue flapping a mile a minute. In a way, he thought of the two being much like Jerric would react with Gerard, not meaning half the bad remarks about each other, more like joking. On the top of the landing, having traversed about twenty-five stair steps, who should be coming in the opposite direction, but Michael, Miguel and Gerard. "Geesh!" Dean exclaims, "They didn't waste any time!" It was funny too, Scott laughing, calling Jerric a `fake', since Dean didn't hurry fast enough into his room, Jerric stealing the tub of clothing away from him, like it held feathers. "You were acting, Jerric?" "Did you like Jerric's act?" Jerric asks him. Scott had his reservations of Jerric's strength, asking, "But where's your muscles?" "Right under here, hunney!" He held up his long-sleeved arms and tried flexing. "I still don't see any muscle bumps?" Dean didn't come back for awhile, so Scott had a chance to chat up Jerric, finding out he has worked at the compound even before Gerard owned the place. It's like Jerric came with the deal, when Gerard bought the property for some cool millions. Jerric didn't mention amounts of dollars, but did say it in a way it cost a lot of money to buy. "Is Gerard rich?" Scott asks, even though he knew, in order for a person to own a house with a separate garage, two limos, some other fancy cars, a swimming pool, tennis court, basketball court and lots of room to run around on the grass, he had to have tons of dough. Wanting to ditch the subject, frankly because Jerric figured it was nobody's business how much money Gerard had in the bank and little boys have a tendency to sometimes surrender information under or pressure, or not realizing it so, asks, "You leave this to Jerric to hang up and you go find Dean?" "But this is a lot of clothes to put away. I can help?" "Here!" Jerric says, forcing a swimsuit into Scott's chest, "Go wear this in the pool!" "Okay," Scott surrenders, walking away. From the closet to the `roomy' part of his room, he had pushed down his pants, stepped out of them, holding the kid's swimshorts by the string, between his teeth. He agreed it tasted `dry and nasty'. After stripping the rest off, he stepped into the swim gear and sought out a drink. He wasn't sure, but thought there had to be a jon someplace, so stepped out into the hallway. "Chilly!" he said to himself, his little boy nips freezing up, feeling them do so as he hugged himself. Hearing something from the direction the stair steps, he figured Dean would be on the horizon of the hallway. Instead, it was Miguel and Michael. His first question was, "Where's Dean?" Toting clothes, Michael reports, "Talking with Gerard. Looks like Miguel will be earning his keep this summer teaching you Spanish!" "Comprende?" Miguel asks. "Huh?" "Do you understand?" Scott shoots back to Miguel, "Now I do!" It would stick by Scott all summer, whenever it arose, whereas he had to question, asking, `Comprende?', his first Spanish word! % "Oh shit David!" "It's `sir' to you, `boy!" David reminded Aksel, rubbing his red mounds as he lay faced down on the bed of the motel. For the past two hours it had been a mix of sex and David's fetish, bondage, coupled with deprivation, stroking Aksel up, his hard shaft standing tall, only to have David stop, causing Aksel to whine because he had such a strong urge to come. He wasn't sure it was a good idea, allowing David Hunt to tie him to the bed, faced down, but found it at first kind of invigorating, playing the game, whereas he had to take a belt across the ass in payment for release, a bribe as such. "Five more?" "You said five more, five ago... Ak-k-k-k-k-k-k-k-k-k-k-k-k-k-k-shit!" Aksel calls out, burying his face in the pillow, after another stinging blow from David's belt. Actually, it was his own belt, which David made sure Aksel knew, which purpose was to make it more humiliating. "Yeah, want a nice warm ass," his hand glided over the red-striped surfaces, "to fit my cock into!" At the church outing, with kids about, the former camp counselor used less force, such as them being kids, but with his twenty-seven year old captive, being a willing victim, he was less kind, dealing out the promised amount of lashes with the leather belt. Even though an adult, Aksel had tears in his eyes, masked by grinding his face against the pillow. "I think that about does it," the twenty-two year old whip-master says. Tethered to the bed, in four directions, David had taken ordinary clothesline rope, placing it strategically under each corner of the mattress and fastened Aksels wrists and ankles, binding him faced down. If David had had more time on his hands, instead of having to rush off to a frat party, he would have used some of his fat ass toys on Aksel. Instead, as a result of having fun whipping Aksel's ass, turning it a fire-red, he was nice and stoked up, all ready for penetration, saying, "Yep, got myself all primed up to bust your cherry-red ass!" In order to do so, he had to loosen the bindings of Aksel's ankles, an easy chore. His belt, along with his words, ordered, "Get that ass in the air, boy!" When he did, all David could do is laugh, seeing a whiny string of goo reach from the tip of Aksel's cock, to the sheet. "Oh-h-h-h-h!" Aksel moaned, David giving him one long stroke, from the hairy base to the flange, pulling a heap of gummy substance out of its cork. "Eat it!" he ordered, bringing it to Aksel's lips, which in David's mind served further to humiliate, a man eating his own cock-spit. As for Aksel, he licked David's fingers off with no shame. For him, the salty taste was a long-awaited treat. Without further hesitation, David proceeded without anymore prompting, since he was about an hour from where the party was being held, mounting Aksel and sinking right in, his 7c piercing right to where his pubes rubbed skin with Aksel's ass. It didn't take much for David to pump his primed cock until it was necessary to pull out, something he preferred, adding to the humiliation, by shooting his load on a guy's back, this case scenario, Aksel's lower back. After doing so, he advanced to the top of the bed, roughly fingered Aksel's mane and made him clean his cock off. Getting dressed, Aksel panics, "You're not going to leave me like this?" he pulled at the bindings of his wrists. "The manager's gay. I'll make sure he comes and releases you!" David laughs after zipping up. He left the room, a shirt over his shoulder. He laughed his ass off, knowing two facts. One, the motel manager wasn't gay, to his knowledge and two, he wasn't alerting anyone to the fact Aksel was tied to the bed. One thing he did know is, all Aksel had to is slip his arms one at a time off from under the mattress and with little sweat, free himself. "Dumb ass!" he called it, if Aksel could be so naive as to not realize it! However, Aksel did figure it out and when he turned over onto his back, flipped right back over onto his still hard junk, "Oh shit!" feeling his burning ass still `hot'! A little at a time he worked his way towards lying on his back and surprised himself, how good it felt, rubbing his ass against the bed as he jerked himself off. A minute before doing so, he had closed his eyes and pictured himself, not eagle-spread to the bed, but in some fictitious dungeon and being manhandled by a young, `college' master. When he came it soiled up not only his stomach, but a few cumshots dirtied up his hairy chest. However, he quickly stole one of the pillows, placing it over his messy pubes when he heard a key turn in the door! % As for Scott, looking for the jon in the hallway, Michael says, "Are you kidding? You got one right in your room!" "Where?" Scott asks. "Aqui!" Miguel says, holding open a door. "I thought it was another closet!" Scott says, skipping over his last recognition of a Spanish word spoken. "Looks like you're going swimming?" Michael asks. It was a hint, he would like to go to, Miguel picking up on it, "Me too!" After Scott tinkled, he came out into his bedroom, finding not Michael and Miguel, but, "Dean! Where did you go?" "To find out all the dirt form Gerard! I guess Miguel told you he was hired on as your tutor for the summer?" "Michael said." Moving on, Dean says, "Well it looks like Michael and Miguel will be sharing a room." Dean sat on the bed, Scott walking over, placing a caring hand on his shoulder, saying, "And you wish it was you and Michael? Dean, how can you forget about Michael like so instant? You were almost going to be boyfriends?" Scott says. "`Friends', get it? Not `boyfriends'." Accepting it, Scott says, "If you don't get a boyfriend by the time I turn eighteen, maybe you and me could be boyfriends?" "I hope I don't have to wait `that' long!" Dean exclaims, both laughing. "Oh, by the way, Gerard has invited me to be his guest for dinner tonight!" "Cool!" Scott quickly got over the Michael-Dean thing, "Are you going to some fancy restaurant?" "Nope! Just an ordinary dinner here at home with him, you and Michael and Miguel." "Don't other people live here?" Scott meant the `models'. "Uh, yeah, right, but usually we eat in a separate dining room. Gerard prefers eating in peace. Trust me, eating with that bunch is anything but peaceful!" There was a new scenario here to ponder, Scott thinking about Dean removed from the pack of models and others whom resided at the compound, transported to Gerard's dining hall. He hadn't a clue to how things worked around here, slowly getting educated. "So, Gerard has invited `you' to eat with `him'?" Scott rubs his hands together, as if thinking up a well-crafted plan. Intuitively, Dean replies, "And you're not to even think anything like what you're conjuring up in your brain right now, young man!" "But Gerard invited you to dinner. He must be thinking something?" "Right, he's thinking how nice it would be to have you, on your first night, dine with some of the friends you have just made, me, Michael and Miguel and nothing else, so don't go thinking up stuff in your mind of something that's not going to happen!" Dean replies. "Hmm," Scott pouted for a second, saying, "Hey! You want to go swimming with me!?" Unknown as yet to Scott, for the summer, Gerard has communicated to Dean, he would like to change up the staff at the compound, have Dean placed in a position where he could chaperone Scott, make sure he stays out of trouble, keep him busy and not allow his summer go to waste doing nothing. "Do you know how to swim, Dean?" Scott asks, as Dean gets up, heads for the door. "Of course I do. I've been swimming since I was two!" "Good!" Scott says, walking out the door, accompanying him in the hallway, "You can teach me!" "You don't know how to swim?" Scott exclaims, "Nope! Nobody bothered to show me!" It was one thing, in light of the fact, non-swimmer, Dean suddenly made up his mind to take Gerard up on his offer, being there wasn't any fence around the pool by which a person could not wander in. Deep down inside though, it was only an excuse. Really he liked Scott and it would make him feel good helping the kid, as Gerard reminded, had been passed around the family, like a bowl of broccoli around a dinner table! % Copyright 2012 T. Chase McPhee `STReNGTH FRoM WeaKNesS', may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author. The more you stretch, the more you can fit in... 'spread' happiness! TCMcP % Nifty needs monetary donations to host stories like those written by myself on the web. Please consider making a donation. Any amount would be appreciated; $5, $10 or more, it all adds up. Thanks! I freely publish to the Nifty Archives and `do not' receive a royalties paycheck at the end of the month! TCMcP :)