Date: Thu, 24 Dec 2015 15:18:20 +0000 From: TCHASE MCPHEE Subject: ?AGaiNSt thE GRoiN? 02 % 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, Santa's village, school campuses, crowded beaches, campgrounds, neighborhoods, streets, cul-de-sacs, dungeons, nor governmental or non-governmental areas, of 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 wanna barf or is going to screw up your mind, you should not read this story. % States and countries have various rules regarding reading or viewing `adult material'. It is up to you, the reader, to research this subject, abiding by their own laws and conscience. The pages of this story contain `adult material', intended for an `adult audience'. Bypass this warning at your own risk! % Sexual safety matters. Remember guys, this is fiction. In real life, use protection and I don't mean going out and hiring a security guard...unless he gives your nuts and bolt a jolt. Hey dudes, if you have enjoyed reading NiFTy stories as much as I have, over the years, consider adding some $upport for `internet $pace' or else I will have to start cutting steamy characters out of my stories. http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html ^o^ Concluding remarks ~ reading this story could make you stiff or gooey, so I would suggest not reading it in a public place...unless you're a breed apart from the rest, who likes to get noticed...just sayin'! :) % "AGaiNSt thE GRoiN" 02 WriTten by T. Chase McPhee ^o^ % "I dunno," Dooz was still unsure, the mixture of those behind the door to the custodial chamber, and two high school seniors, if it could work. It's not like Dooz hasn't made bad decisions, though right or wrong, his cock and balls really poured on the pressure! "You don't know what, Dooz?" Tom stood, confronting the custodian, same time taking advantage of the nip imprints showing through the uniform, acted like he didn't notice. Standing up for his protector, Scott shares, "Don't badger him Tom." "Really, Scott?" he looks from Dooz to his pal and back. Then, 5 seconds later, after hearing the same knock of 2-silence-1 rap, a gruff human knock, "Are you gonna open up Dooz, or what?" Tom says, looking at the door, then back at Dooz, "Tell me that's not..." then suddenly, like Dooz' nips weren't important, turns his head towards Scott. Scott, realizing not only missing classes for the whole day, that it was night and not daylight streaming through the top windows of the room, recognizes the voice at the door, "Oops! I guess I missed track today." Then a second recognizable voice, `bangs' at the door, "C'mon Dooz, I can hardly contain myself!" Since the security guards at the school were held in low regard, but could get ferocious on a guy, Tom gasps, "That Famigliari?" "We gotta get outta here," Scott reacts to the voice of one of the feared. Close allegiance to `the nun', security guards were either to be avoided or, act nice in front of them. They carried small pads, recording students' infractions, like sneezing at an assembly while the head nun was speaking. Small enrollment, they knew your face and name, so trying to fake it wasn't a good call. Not the only ones to get on with the after school activities, Dooz says, "Trust me, you have nothing to worry about," which also was the custodian's way of making up his mind, that he had decided to open the door. Following Dooz over to the door, both boys had faces imprinted on their minds, that of Ed Famigliari and the track coach, Raj Shah. When the door opens and the outer guests rush in, both sides are faced with astonishment. Immediately, Ed barks out, "What the hell are `they' doing here, Dooz?" Tom was a bit shaken, like the security man's voice were pounding on his chest, instead of a finger. It both scare and excited him. Scott recognize, 2 out of 5 security guards at the school, Famigliari, Shah, his track coach, and Jaime Sanchez, science teacher, whom immediately didn't want to mix with students, obviously making an about-face and hightailing it outta there. "I can explain, if you'll just cool your jets!" In steps Dirk Caulley, the other security man, older than Ed, in his forties, "It better be good, Dooz!" Yet, it went both ways, the boys staring at the men, the others staring back at Scott and Tom. "I know what I said," Dooz, `host` of the after school event, founder, if they had to point the finger walks over to face Dirk. Caulley's eyes were more on Tom, than Scott, but rather than have Dooz waste anymore time, Dirk steps in the teen's direction, "How old are you boy?" Tom smiles, thinking he's met his match. Not mentally slighting buddy for all those years of `coaching', Dirk Caulley more matches the image of a dude he hoped to connect with someday. Knowing some protocol, Tom responds, "Nineteen, sir." Now, to Dirk's recollection, high school seniors could fall between 17 and 18-years old, "Oh?" It's not the first time Tom had to explain himself, "I got pneumonia in the 4th grade. Out of school because of it, they said I had to stay back." One of the statutes, informally drawn up over the past few years, to participate in the after school activities, a guy had to be of legal age, 18 or older. Since Tom has met this requirement, Dirk rubs hands together, "Oh goody, looks like I found my entertainment for the evening!" Walking right down the middle, into the limelight, being noticed, Scott turns his attention from Dirk and his buddy. Before Scott could utter a word, this older dude says, "I guess you're up for grabs?" Neither of the teens knew what was happening, other than surrounded by 2 school security guards, the track coach, a college-aged dude, yet unnamed, and Dooz who steps in between Scott and Ed Famigliari. "Up for grabs? Like how would that go?" Mediator of sorts, Dooz `gets up on his soapbox', explaining as well as he could, without going into pages of details, "A refresher, we are here for good, clean fun. In exploring each others' wild fantasies, I caution," he smirks, "let's not get too wild!" Rather than confront Dooz, Scott says to the dude in front of him, "I still don't get it." Not at all like a threat, Scott didn't have any fears, not with Dooz there in the room with him. He had a strong feeling, he wasn't ratted on by the custodian, rather protected. Dooz was more than a protector, but friend. Scott would eventually find out, Dooz wasn't connected to either side of the playing, but more of a mediator, making sure things didn't get too out of hand. Coy, knowing the ropes of how this went, it was more than his first time with the morse code knock at the door, "I'm Stewart. If you're willing to play it out, I'd like to be your muscle-slave for the night?" Flexing, Stewart shows off, why he would make a good `muscle' candidate. According to Scott, it was certain Stewart was muscular, his tee shirt pulling in all the right spots, causing his chest to blow up, shirt hanging from the enormous pecs. When he did it, Stewart's tee rose up, above his belt, revealing a stripe down, over his deep innie, treasure trail leading to who-knows-where... "You certainly are impressive," Scott truly did not know what to say. "Yeah, I am !" `Oh great,' Scott thought, another vain-glorious muscle-head. Any second now he would kiss his bulging biceps! Didn't happen. Instead, what Scott would find out, Stewart lead him into a ball-throbbing fantasy, "Sometimes I over step my boundaries, which means I need to be put in my place," a smug smile creases his lips. "How do I do that?" Rather than turn to Dooz for all his answers, Stewart takes the tutorial route, "Whatever comes to you. Of course, if you haven't done this before..." "First time for me," Scott still sketchy on what happens, "I guess you'll need to show me the ropes?" The mention of `ropes' got Stewart tickin', "When do you want to get started?" Looking around, "Oh, wow!" Scott found out why that bookcase had legs which didn't sit flush to the floor, walking over to it. Instead of the books facing him, the back of the shelf was towards him, acting like a door to `wonderland.' Along with the others, Scott specifically notices, "Hey, where'd Tom go?" Ruffled-up a bit, Stewart was hot on Scott's trail, venturing into the unknown. When he first pushed into the territory Dooz occupied, Stewart's eyes picked Scott right out of the crowd as if he were a celebrity. The typical school uniform, white shirt, tie, unkempt below the first unfastened button, navy blue slacks, slight bulge in the right place, it made Stewart not want to waste a single moment and sink down to his knees. Scott was hot and Stewart wasn't about to allow the competition to get the edge. Like it usually went, in this setting, the more aggressive guy would eye up a newcomer like a slab of meat in a deli. Being a time of discovery for Scott, it was the other way around. Stewart knew how it went, here and other places where a man could step out of the doldrums of life and play out some wild stuff. Normally, he would wait around for a hot, dominant man to claim him. After scoping out the bookcase, Scott wonders, "Where are they? It's like all dark in here and..." There was Stewart, right at Scott's back, ready to show him the way, "Oh, this isn't the playroom. This here is where you leave your clothes behind and..." Lifting something off a hook, Stewart holds it under one of the spotlights, "Y'know, I bet you could fit into this?" "What is it?" Scott walks over. Inquisitively he first looks at the object of a curious nature, Stewart instructing, "You hold it like this and slip it over your head. Then, if it's the right size, these rings which bring the harness together fit..." he stutters. Looking at Scott, his lack of smartness, manhandle the harness himself, fitting it right over his shirt, "Uh, I think I might have gone and done something wrong?" Scott looks down upon himself, like a hotdog squirted mustard on his shirt. "Let me explain something," Stewart's hands are all over Scott, trying to remove the harness, "not which it didn't look hot on you, but it's not meant to be warn over clothing?" Hint, Scott takes it, "Oh, you mean I've gotta take this off?" Picking two places, already taking hint from Stewart, pulls his shirt free from the clenching belt. While doing so, Stewart swaps the harness out for something simpler to figure out. "Why don't you wear this?" Scott takes the one Stewart hung up. "Oh no," Stewart says, like it's forbidden, "only a master can wear this!" "Master?" it made Scott smile, losing all concern of his friend by now. Dooz was in charge...what could go wrong? Scott asks, "Then what do you wear?" "Well," Stewart puts the harness aside. "I could wear something skimpy like this," he pulls something less in volume off the rack, or only a pair of cuffs...and when I say only, I mean, `only!'" Then, in a grouping of plastic crates, stacked up on their sides, Scott takes notice, "Oh wow." "What?" Stewart turns around, Scott at his ass side. "This has got to be Tom's," he holds up a white shirt, tie, "you mean to tell me, Tom's in their without it on?" Smiling, not the first time Stewart has been here, "I would think much, much less!" he giggles, partially because of Scott's total innocence. Sure enough, there's Tom's other clothing. Scott, picking up the pants, a pair of briefs rolls out, falls on the floor. "Oh, nice," Stewart grabs them up before Scott even notices they've fallen out. In his hand, Stewart lifts them to his nose, "Mm-mm, love your friend's scent!" Not which he was jealous or anything, Scott says, "What's wrong with my scent?" Instead of the sniffy item, Stewart covers for himself, spreading the briefs out, from side to side, "Hmm, Nouguet's. Got a few pair of these myself. Closest thing to wearing nothing!" Scott zips down, opens his flaps, and by his own observation, "Am I the last guy in the world wearing tighty-whities?" "Not sure," Stewart says, eyes stuck on Scott's tighty-whities, "but does it matter, if you can pack'em!" Suddenly it clicked, whether nervous or humble, the reason Scott step from one world to the next, "Never mind about me. I'm here for Tom." Having seen another door, Scott heads for it. "Uh, we got a rule here," Stewart grabs Scott's arm. "What?" Scott halts in his steps. "Beyond that door, a dude can't wear street clothes. You gotta look right." In his haste, Scott, who managed to remove the white dress shirt, leaving the tie and refastened his pants, forgot to zip up. Against the dark dress slacks, the tighty-whities were prominent with a little bulge. On a roll since this morning, unintentionally he assumes a dominant attitude, "Fuck the rules." Surely Scott indeed did, fuck the rules, whipping open the door and going through. His first reaction could be understandable, not having any experience being in a dungeon-like setting, either a professional type, or amateur his eyes scan from east to west, "Wow, will you look at this place!" Stewart gave him a history lesson, "The shop teacher at the town high school helped assemble everything. He's in on it, but couldn't be here tonight." Scott was listening, but it all didn't process. His only concern was Tom, which he could see where he was, "Where's the rest of him?" Looking over to where the security guard was standing, Scott could make out Dirk's muscular figure. He had never seen Dirk without a shirt, let alone every other stitch of clothing. Closer Scott got, he notices Dirk wearing one of those outfits Stewart show him, draped over the chest. For a sec there, Scott forgot about his pal, sighing, `Oh what a chest!' At a distance, Scott hadn't realized Dirk's pants different from the patented security guard uniform. Closer and closer, Scott divided his attention between the shiny pants and harness, Dirk's hair pattern a background to metal and black. "Yep, that's them!" "Obviously," Scott replies, almost upon the scene. Stewart was more stalking Tom, wishing it were him, a subject of Dirk's attention, which became Scott's focus. Reason Scott could not make out it was Tom, he wore a black mask over his whole head. However, they have shared the bed enough times for Scott to memorize Tom's `hair pattern', medium-brown fibers from shoulders to waist...like in bed, he too had it imprinted on his brain, hair, how much of it surrounded Tom's cock and balls! "Wait," Scott had started walking, putting his arm out for Stewart to stop too, "there's something missing!" Indeed there was and as the two walk closer, Scott discovers, "His pubes...they're gone!" Stewart looked at Tom, arms up and to the sides, ropes tied to the loops in the leather cuffs. Scanning down Tom's naked bod, he didn't see anything amiss, cock and balls hanging down between Tom's outstretched legs, "What's gone?" Even though something minuscule, Scott marches up to Dirk. As if moose butting antlers, Scott barks, "What the hell did you do to Tom?" Strap in his hand, Dirk finds this revolting, yet comical. Before he even knew what Tom and Scott were there for, Dirk had his impressions of the two high schoolers. However, in this setting, it's revealed, the 2 different as day and night. He had discovered facts about Tom, the wanting to be submissive. Now, his knowledge defines Scott, "Nothing yet, but grab your cock and stick around. The best is yet to come!" Stewart's mouth drops open, when Dirk walks right past Scott. Making an about face, Scott grabs hold of the two intersecting loops of Dirk's harness, pulling him backwards. "What tha fuck?" Dirk, 46-year old, a self-proclaimed muscle bear, he could deck any man in the room. Surprised, he wasn't expecting the backlash, Scott saying, "I want to know what you did with Tom's pubes!" He looked over to Dooz, Dirk's look on his face asking questions. Dooz, shrugging his shoulders, arms out to side, yells back, "It's the kids first time. Cut him a break!" Stewart stood there, taking it all in. Hard, he didn't dare touch himself, not which it wouldn't please the master not to. For both their sakes, as it went, it was those churning balls, pulsing cock and the retention of the all that warm fluid which kept the oven fired up. Without heat, the dough would go flat! Turning back around, as much as his balls were driving him on, Dirk caved in to Dooz, "I'll cut you some slack this time, but you gotta learn, kid, you don't cut in on another man's action." After all this buildup, from Stewart, plus the little stuff he and Tom did, and Dirk himself adding some gasoline to the fire, Scott gets brave, saying, "If it involves Tom, I'll cut in as I damn well please!" `Oh my god!' Stewart thought, his balls pulsing with the sound of Scott's voice, `did I luck out or what!' Looking over to Dooz, Dirk sees him mouth, `be nice,' which he does, because the play room happened to be on school turf. Dooz, self-imposed ringmaster, slowly walks over, points to the floor, "Your friend's `pubes' are down there." Breaking from the tough facade, Scott's mouth drops open, after seeing the floor messy with Tom's pubic hair, "What'd ya do that for?" He really wanted to just get on with it, before the helium went out of his balloons, Dirk turning on Stewart, "What are you lookin' at?" "Me?" Stewart was surprised Dirk was addressing him. It then dawned on Scott, Dirk was trespassing on `his property', "Wow, I can't believe it Caulley?" Felt strange, even though that's how Scott and the student population called the tough security guard, given the surroundings. "Can't believe what?" he turns to Scott. "You just told me I shouldn't cut in on your scene and look what you just did?" Jaw dropping down, as he looks towards Dooz again, thinking, `like where the hell does this senior get off...' Scott looks too, Dooz giving him the thumbs up! "Um, y'know," Stewart treads lightly, "we could stand around all night and make sure Dirk don't do nothing bad to your friend, or we could get our own thing going?" Dirk had gone to pow-wow with Dooz. Scott says, "Hey, now's our chance. We can get Tom down!" It made Stewart laugh, "You're joking, right?" "No. I mean, I dunno...about what?" "You think Master Dirk had to fight Tom, to get him to stand up on the x-frame?" It made Scott laugh, the first time Tom thought of it, himself. Having talked about s&m stuff in the past, Tom show Scott how it went, standing on the bed, hovering over his naked mate, arms stretched out the the ceiling. Scott thought it kind of cool, lying between Tom's legs, looking up at cock and balls like two wrecking balls. So, in all respects, Scott didn't think Stewart too far-fetched, "Is that what they call it, an `x'?" "It's really called a St. Andrew's cross, but why bother. Looks like an `X', I call it what it is!" Though, with his friend cuffed at the wrists and ankles, following the `X' form, Scott very badly jokes, "How about `Tom-X'?" "Uh, yeah," Stewart is not following Scott's lead, "uh, you interested in `doing something' with me?" He hadn't really thought about it, Scott and Tom always together for anything they did man-to-man, regular or kinky, "You mean, you and me?" At first Stewart had thought Scott and Tom were boyfriends, maybe more, but with that notion out of the way, "If you're find this interesting?" he flings both arms out to the sides, which makes his hairy swimmer's chest narrow, an embedded trail taking Scott's eyes on a tour, to where it fans out over Stewart's bellyhole and further south. "Sure. Could be fun!" Both headed back to where they first entered, behind the bookcase. "So, are you up for this?" Scott knew he was definitely `up' for something, which could have been Stewart, without all the gizmos and gadgets. "Sure," Scott responds to the harness Stewart holds, "long as you show me how it goes?" "First, drop the pants?" "Oh. Right," Scott drops them. To fit a dude with a harness, whom never put one on, it took much hands-on feeling and touching. Scott didn't mind it a bit, Stewart helping him out of his tie, which felt like the first time Scott did it, like he was incapable of taking off his own necktie. When it was all tackled, Stewart arranging the leather and small circles of metal rings over Scott's chest, "You sure look awesome." For Scott, there wasn't enough enthusiasm, "Can't really tell without a mirror." Stewart figures, no time like the present to start up a fantasy, "I didn't want to mention it, risking punishment, but...I suppose I'll risk it, saying, uh, if you had more definition, like working out, the harness could fit better?" At least Tom was more direct when they play, saying, `I know I'm gonna get a lickin' for this,' which set in motion Scott's saying, "You better believe it..." almost forgot, "boy!" In the day, Tom liked being called `boy'. Stewart, at 20-years old had gotten into some light s&m, junior year of high school, meeting up with a business exec from out of town. Three years later, he was fairly experienced, "You don't know how good that makes me feel...um, Sir!" It made Scott giggle. If older than Stewart, he might have felt more credible. Though, with Tom, they came up with some highly intense scenes, himself playing the older cop, or when Tom wanted to be waterboarded, older interrogator. It didn't seem at all real to Scott, especially when the water boarding failed and Tom almost drowned...it was nice though, when CPR turned into kissing! "Now," Stewart stood there, right elbow perched on his left arm, across the middle, finger tapping on his lips, thinking, "about the bottom part?" Thinking about Tom and Dirk, Scott says, "Can't I just be like Dirk and let it all hang out?" A big smile comes on Stewart's face. "What?" Scott inquiries. "You know something I don't know?" "You know why Dirk works on a guy with it `all hanging out?" Honestly stumped, "No. Why?" Stewart makes like he's standing right in front of Tom's X-ed out bod, like he's grabbing up something huge, "Master Dirk, when he feels he's ready, will grab up a boy's junk, move it out of his way, shimmy himself right in between the boy's legs and...you've never seen Master Dirk when he's `big', have you?" Back to school code, Scott says, "No. He's never stopped me in the hallway pantless!" Having scoped out the security guard, Stewart made it his business to follow the contours of Dirk's pants, "Yeah, right, you really can't tell, unless..." However, having viewed Dirk without pants, his bigness hanging down, Scott says, "He's really big. I guess when he stabs a guy, it's gotta hurt, huh?" Smiling, Stewart says, "Only his victims know for sure!" Fooling around, Scott knows how Tom felt, 2 and then almost 3 fingers stuck up his ass, "Maybe we should go out there and..." Like Scott had done with Dirk, Stewart stops Scott in his tracks, grabbing from behind, "Hold it up a sec." Feeling his head rock, chin to chest and up, Scott complains, "Damn, Stewie, you almost put a dent in my chest!" `Stewie, he liked that!' "All I can say," like Stewie was fearful for his life, "is figure out how you would punish me for such a terrible infraction?" `Like, you don't want it!' Scott thought. Playing it safe, because he's done it to Tom, "How about a spanking?" He didn't mean to be uncool, Stewie smiling a toothy grin, "Uh, I was thinking more, instead of a hand, maybe..." he looks around, like he's taking the tour on his own. Scott's eyes following Stewie, shopping among racks of gear, "I'd like to see what I can take of this?" It looked like a belt, but no buckle, Scott guessing, "I'm sure that'll sting worse than my hand?" "Well," Stewie gulps, not wanting to scare Scott away, "I didn't mean exactly on my butt?" he stands there, leather strap fully extended between hands. All on his own, Scott comes up with, "Anywhere else and it's probably going to hurt like hell?" Now that they were into it, Scott not running a marathon out of the toy closet, "It'd be a real turn on, if you could give my back a good work over?" "I dunno," Scott says, walking over to Stewie, feeling up the leather strap. Allowing it to fall from his hands to Scott, Stewie says, "I don't know what I can take. It would be my first time. That should work for both of us?" The feel of the leather, a little heavy in his hands, longer than the size he wore around the waist, Scott renders, "What happens if it leaves a line?" Calling it like it is, Stewie sharpens up Scott's vocabulary, "If it leaves a welt, no problem. Sometimes you've got to expect the unexpected when you want what you want?" It was sketchy, to say the least, Scott now fully getting the gist of giving pain and getting it, but didn't want to feel like a dimwit, "I suppose." "Great," Stewie's balls were boiling, "did you decide on pants or no pants?" Even though both Tom and Dirk hadn't any on, Scott thought he would feel something, like embarrassment, "Can I just wear these?" still in briefs. He hadn't shown Scott the leather chaps, rushing over to the other side of the room, "I think you might like this?" Without regard to size, Stewie whips a pair of leather pants off a rack. He models it over his own waist. Still the strap in his left hand, Scott feels up the chaps with the other, "Hmm, same as the whip." Per se, it wasn't a whip, even though used for whipping, but Stewie wasn't getting too technical, especially since his loins were telling him to get on with it! "So, you want it?" "I dunno. I don't know who was wearing it before me. Might have...`stuff stuck on the inside, if you know what I mean?" The `drive' was getting too much for Stewie, "How big are you?" "Really?" Scott stood there. "It's not what you think, Scott." If not finding out how big he was, for fitting it up his ass for a bronco ride...Scott gives in, "Tom and me measured one time. If I haven't grown any since last year, he said I'm a size 9 and I have big balls, so I guess when I come, I have a ton of goo spurt out...that's what Tom says." Stewie wanted to laugh out loud, but didn't, thinking it would hurt Scott's feeling. That's all he needed tonight, back itching for a good whipping which he knew, in turn, it would provide the stimulation for a hot jerk off, "Not lying to you, that it would provide a hot fuck, just to be walking around the dungeon with a hefty endowment..." "Dungeon?" Scott gasps. "Is that where we are?" "I've seen better, but not bad for what they have here." He could see Scott ready to fire off another million questions, while he felt wetness already seeping down his balls, Stewie cutting to the chase, "So, you ready for some hot roleplay with me?" Scott took the chaps. If some other dude had soaked them up, he would deal with it, scrubbing off later. When dressed, he exclaims, "Oh no! There's a hole in it!" This made Stewie laugh his fuckin` ass off, "No, no, no," he admires the front of Scott's chaps, "you're right, there's a hole in it, but for all the right reasons!" Right at this moment, Scott's attention shifts, to Stewie's 2xist briefs, "Not so chintzy yourself, there Stewie!" Again, wanting it bad, Stewie replies, "I know you're going to want to punish me for the wet spots?" Easy to see, the shiny, black briefs, a little wet, Scott says, "Maybe we should get to it. You know, before Master Dirk and Tom are done before us?" "I hardly doubt that," Stewie looks around for a flap to seal up the wide `hole' in Scott's chaps. When he turns to walk away, Scott gets even, slipping a finger down the back of the black briefs. "Oh shit, Scott!" he turns around when Scott's finger slips out. Laughing, Scott remarks, "I hope I didn't strangle anything!" After all, according to Scott, Stewie's briefs looked as if they were ready to burst at the seams! "Hurt? That's what it's all about!" "Um," Scott was thinking Stewie confused, "I didn't mean your back?" Ahead of Scott in the thinking department, Stewie informs, "I meant my balls...can stand them to get a little firmed up, if you know what I mean?" Not knowing, Scott replies, "Um, not really. I'm more the novice at all this stuff. Think you can show me some stuff?" He wasn't really into being a dominant top's mentor, but Stewie was really into how Scott struck him, and was sure, with some work on the personality, gives in, "I think you have potential." "Sure you're not saying that because of my cock getting stiff?" Finding the flap which would catch up a guys cock and balls, forcing them back into the chaps like a pocket holding everything, Stewie says, "Why don't we go with my original idea?" Even though older than himself and Tom, Scott was finding Stewie fun to be with, "The one where I go out there and all the other guys go `ooh and ah', about me being big?" Thumb up with agreement, Stewie says, "You got it!" "Okay," Scott barters, "then you have to go out there with nothing on!" Not a stranger to parading around totally in the buff, Stewie comes right back with, "You got it...Sir!" While Stewie sheds the briefs, Scott stares, but also, "Isn't there something else you can call me? I don't really like being a `sir'." Age mattered. "How does, `Master Scott,' grab ya?" Scott had to repeat it a few times, till coming to the conclusion it sounded right for him. Next, used to his balls hanging down, cocks slicing the air in half. "Okay, how do you like my uniform, Master Scott?" Smiling, Scott replies, "Fits you perfect, uh...what do I call you?" "First derogatory word which comes to mind!" Being edged towards the door, in his proper place, behind Scott, "Okay if I call you boy?" Stewie rolls his eyes. He was much more used to walking into a scenario, being called, `bitch', `it' or nothing at all, for now, he says, "Fine." It used to be the old boiler room, but when they cleaned it out, there wasn't any purpose for it, except storage. One night Dooz and Dirk had gotten drunk and while Dirk hammered Dooz, they hatched a plan of how good the room could absorb the acoustics! When they walked out of the room, Scott was met with a howl, coming from where Tom was affixed to the `X'. Seeing his buddy, Dirk's closed hand around his nuts, clenching, pulling, it made Scott react. "Oh no you don't!" Stewie would deserve punishment, hand on Master Scott's leather `reins.' It wasn't like the first time, Scott's chin putting a dent in his chest, "I gotta stop Dirk." "Let me tell you something about Dirk. About Ed. About how we're going to do this." "What?" Scott felt better that Dirk had let up on stretching Tom's balls, but kept eyes in that direction. "We play safe here." "You call stretching the living daylights out of Tom's balls, safe?" "What if I told you to do the same to me?" Stewie spreads his legs. "You? You want me to stretch your balls?" Scott holds up 6 digits, with my hand? Holding up his own cock, Stewie takes Scott's hand, leading him to his own pubes, "Make a circle with your thumb and index finger. Place it around the place between my..." Stewie was relieved, when his co-worker, Ed Famigiliari shows up next to them, "Need some help with this boy?" At first, Scott thought Ed was speaking to Stewie, so said nothing. "He means you," Stewie had to tell him. "Oh, right. I knew that," and not sure, Scott goes along, "Yeah, having a ton of trouble with this boy." Very strange, Scott didn't know to call the other security guard, `Ed' or `Famigiliari', kept it silent. Ed, knowing Scott and Tom novices, could guess it too easily, "Is that so?" he stands there, arms folded along the bottom of his hairy pecs. "What's his offense?" Scott could have manufactured something, but was truthful, "He said he deserved punishment for talking at me." "Tsk, tsk, tsk," Ed made a click with his teeth. Then, Scott was like, `oh shit!', Ed grabbing Stewie by his full head of hair... "I'd say you're deserving of a minimum of 50 lashes," Ed turns to Scott, "what do you think?" Shrugging his shoulders, Scott says, "50 sounds good to me." He hadn't a clue to what 5, or 50 could do to a man's back! Then it was a two-way conversation, Stewie not included in it. He just walked behind Scott and Ed. "Have you decided a position?" Ed asks. "Yeah... I mean, no... I mean...what would you suggest?" Whichever it was, Stewie was hot, real hot, with two masters working him over? It's not which he hasn't been at the mercy of 3! "I myself like the `horse'." "The horse?" Scott questions. Then, there they were, standing right over what looked like an ordinary sawhorse, from an ordinary wood shop, which Scott said it's what he thought the case. "Right you are," Ed was very kind in his speaking to Scott. "Only difference, we have these cuffs riveted to each of the legs." Unlike Dirk, Ed loved educating a new master. If the novice fell for it, he would extract full payment. If not, his loss! Then his voice changes drastically, "Get that chest down on that beam, bitch!" Scott takes note, Ed preferring `bitch', "You like `bitch', compared to `boy'?" Ed was thinking, this guy really `green'. However, he also knew Scott was a high school senior. It had occurred to him though, for a high school guy, he sure had a hefty endowment and for certain, for himself, it would be a huge turn on, watching him fuck this bitch's ass, "Doesn't matter. They're all the same." "Okay," Scott accepts it. Scott didn't need to ask further, watching Ed visit each leg of the sawhorse, to batten Stewie's wrists and ankles down. "What's your weapon?" Ed laughs. "Weapon?" Scott questions. Then, getting it, "Oh, you mean this?" Taking the thick leather strap in his hand, Ed says, "This wimpy thing?" Walking away, Scott follows Ed, all the way back to the `toy' room, "What's the difference?" Unknown to Scott, Ed has not teamed up with Stewie, but has seen him at the club, under the control of another master, "This looks like what we need." Woven together, three pieces of leather, Scott asks, "Looks menacing!" "It's a good start," Ed says with lightheartedness. "Really?" Scott wasn't sure, but went with it. Security was a good profession for checking guys out. A guy could stare for the longest time and not feel like he was out of the ordinary. Ed never before realized how Scott could be, out of school uniform. Around school he hardly `noticed' the student. Studious type, tie tightened up to the collar, wearing the optional jacket, a load of books under an arm, or backpack over the shoulder, it's all Ed Famigliari pictured Scott as being, a little nerdy type, well knowing the senior opted out for a rugged sport, like football, to involve himself with the track team. In retrospect, Ed knew all the track team members. It was one of those sports, where after students got all sweatied-up, after some good sprinting, they stripped off shirts to wipe themselves down. It made him smile when they bent over to dab their legs, shorts hiking down the ass crack enough to give his shaft some palpitations! However, seeing Scott shirtless, in chaps, he wasn't that much interested in ass, more wondering what kept that codpiece bulging, which made him dive into another subject, "How about after we make his ass red, we'll plug his ass?" Scott wondered if he was perceiving Ed's thoughts as, "You mean fuck him?" It's not exactly what Ed meant, but Scott was on the right track, "I was thinking," he walks over to the HS senior, places a hand under the base of that codpiece, "lining out shafts up and really busting this boy's ass hole, wide open?" First, Scott thought Ed was too close for being a student at the school, but he allowed him to come closer out of weakness, the dark, furry front tingling his taste buds. Not for tasting, though Scott has tasted Tom's hairy chest, but fact remaining, except for Tom, no man has ever placed a hand on his basket, "Not right now, okay?" In school, out of school, wherever Ed play, at various locations throughout the community, a club or a tricks own home, no man would have dared done what Scott was doing now. Meant to communicate, `no way', Scott's hand was formed around Ed's wrist, pulling his `touch' away from the codpiece, "I don't think you should be going there." Ed's look on his face communicated something like, `Oh.' Like everyone, if you've never been confronted with a situation, you haven't reacted to it. That's what Scott was thinking. Excuse, a cover up, whatever it was, Ed bails himself out, "How about we start with a light whipping?" After all, these little s&m games guys played, weren't entirely about only themselves. Finding out what the other guy liked could be part of the stimulation. "No way. I'm not sitting comfortable using what you want to use. I want to use this," Scott walks over and picks up the original strap. To be young, good looking, fur in all the right teen spots, especially along the line where the chaps dropped a few inches below the navel, Ed was in heaven, at least that's what his churning balls were telling him. "One thing you've got to learn," Ed leads the way back, "if you want to develop a reputation, you've got to act the part." It didn't go blindly, Ed not totally aware of what Scott was packin' between the legs, "and of my observation, you're going to be known for packin' quite a punch!" That part Scott got, but didn't want to sound like a woosie, regarding the last step in humiliating a dude, fuckin' his tight hole, so deflected their thoughts to, "Already told you. I want to use this," Scott flexes the strap between both hands, "and not that?" Standing back at where Stewie is tethered, faced down, sweating, Ed accepts hot-Scott's decision, "Just think of it as a `discipliner' and this bitch really needs it bad!" Scott froze, Ed allowing the strap to trail from his hand, "Uh, I thought you were going to show me, uh...?" He didn't know how to address Ed, but Scott didn't need to think on it long, "When we're in this room, you call me, `Ed', but when we leave, things go back to normal. Got it?" the school security guard waited for feedback. Scott got it, but thought he'd kick in, "Does that include feeling up all that hot fur, Ed?" The tough exterior suddenly mellowed out, "Long as I get to do the same!" The it did occur to Scott, "Uh, you don't go around school, stalking students, do you?" Smiling, Ed says, "Nah, only one!" "Who?" "I ain't sayin'!" Though, Ed wondered why it took Scott stripping down and suited up, to take notice. Then, Scott didn't know whether it was good or bad, Ed's attention drawn to the entrance, "Oh goody...my tight ass has arrived!" Ed tosses the whip onto Stewie's back, like doing the same to a table. Scott wondered if Ed knew the dude walking in. He hadn't a stitch of clothing on, not even a mask, like Tom was wearing now. It's then, so tied up in what he was doing, he utters, "Tom?" Looking around, he didn't spot Tom, nor Dirk. Frantic, he went searching for Dooz. When he caught up with him, he was with Ed and his trick, `reading the guy his rights.' On the edge, Scott waited politely for Dooz to stop speaking. % Reason Scott didn't see Tom, Dirk and his trick were done for the evening. "I can't believe I came so quickly. I was expecting more. Much more," Tom says, in the closet, pulling his clothing out of a little cubby. "You'll get better at it," Dirk replies. "I suppose," Tom replies, pulling his briefs up over his abs. "Dammit!" Dirk says abruptly. "What's up?" Tom asks. His question was readily answered by Dirk, holding the empty spindle from the paper towel rack. Smiling, Tom says, "Need something to clean that mess up?" Casually, unlike minutes ago, Dirk asks, "Would you mind?" A glutton for nearly anything, Tom jokes, "I'd lick my own ass, if I could reach it!" What Dirk spoke about, the part of the dungeon scene Scott missed, is when Dirk let Tom down from being bound to the `X-frame'. Dirk still felt a little unsure about fucking a student from the school. The college boys he hadn't stuttered, just dove right in. Regardless, he lay down on a table, meant to tie a boy to, had Tom suck him off, almost. When he was ready to shoot his massive load, he instructed Tom he wanted boy-cum shot onto his own stomach, just the weird way he liked it to go. So now, like a pasty art project, there were no paper towels to clean off daddy's muscled abs! Tom was sure of it, reason why he offered, to lick every muscle on Dirk's stomach, "Why don't you get comfortable in that old chair?" Looked like some grandma's old chair, thrown out on the curb 50 years ago, Dirk saying, "Hmm, shame about the rule of not seeing boys outside the playroom?" Shrugging both shoulders, Tom says, "Rules. Weren't they made to be broken?" Dirk found it weird. Several times he had seen Tom around the school, doing his security officer job, checking guys out, but with his clothes off, the hardware hanging out, Tom looked much, much different, "I like your thinking." Though, Dirk hesitated, scratching his thin-crusted beard. Sending a message, maybe a hint as well, Tom asks, "Unless you're not man enough to take a student home for some more pec-stimulation?" Scrapping the rules, Dirk quickly dressed, goading Tom on to do the same, "Got some nice `stimulators' over at my place, if you're interested?" "Bring it on!" Tom replies, getting dressed as well. % Scott, he wasn't getting any satisfaction with Dooz. "Trust me, happens all the time. Two men come together, play around a little and hit it off." "Tom, he's a student. Caulley," Scott remembers they breakout of formalities, "Dirk, he's an employee?" However, with every question regarding, it all funneled back to Tom's wellbeing, "Tom will fine. Trust me. He walked out of here without any assistance whatsoever." Of concern mostly, Scott asks, "But what about Dirk, he's um," only way he could draw an assumption was placing a circle around an index finger, "`big,' you know?" Dozens of times Dooz has witnessed Dirk's shaft in fucking condition, "I know." Dooz knew, smiling, but reassures, "Nothing like that happened between the two," then explains the rest, how Dirk untied Tom, they did their thing, Tom sucking Dirk off, goo flinging all over Dirk's chest, stomach, "satisfied?" "I suppose, but tell me again why I shouldn't be leaving?" Instead of speaking, Dooz walks Scott back to where Stewie is fastened to the sawhorse. "Oh good, you're back!" Stewie spots Scott out of the corner of his eye. Scott was truthful, "I know I'm supposed to be punishing Stewie for speaking out, but as you can guess, Dooz, I really don't know what I'm doing?" "What about the strap?" Scott realizes, even though Ed cast the whip away, he was still clinging to the leathery device. "Ed said to use that whippy-thingy." Dooz picks up the entwined leather from Stewie's `table,' "I can picture Ed saying that. Purely sadistical!" "Something wrong with that?" Scott asks. "I mean, isn't that the whole reason for this place?" "Yes and no," Dooz replies. Dooz was getting a sadistic kick out of this, in a different sense than Ed, just knowing how a bound dude can feel. Even though some guys can jump into a role and play it like they've owned it all their life, for himself, Dooz thought in to get the gist of something, one had to try it out...like a pair of briefs, making sure it fit in all the right places! Dooz tosses the whip back onto `the table.' "Um, why not make yourself comfortable, while I'm boring you with my questions, Dooz?" Stewie wasn't minding it a bit, the two relaxing, butt against the side of his ass. Not even explaining himself, why Dooz leaned into a semi-sitting position, against the sawhorse victim, he moves over a tad, pats Stewie on the butt, "Come...sit." Scott thought it really weird, Dooz using Stewie as a piece of furniture, "You want me to sit on Stewie's ass?" Joking, Dooz says, "Or, lay on top of it? Faced down?" Standing there, over Stewie's arce, Scott did think it a pretty thing, each cheek caving in the middle, a little fuzzy. It did make Scott's balls tingle. Overall though, Scott was more interested in getting answers to questions, "Thanks, but I'll stand." "Have it your way," Dooz moves back, taking up the spot offered to Scott. Dooz could have an idea, but surely Scott did not know how much Stewie was enjoying this banter. From the time Dooz and Scott arrived back at the sawhorse, both words and touch got Stewie going. For the fact he was tethered by cuffs and hooks to the sawhorse, from the onset, his cock and balls hanging over the edge, on edge, just to be incapacitated, was driving him mad. Like an insatiable desire the sexual drive for want of more, sometimes it causes a captive dude to go against principles, Stewie complaining, "Can't we just get with the action and save question and answer period for later?" It made Dooz laugh out loud, Scott bending an arm, pointing his finger, "Is he supposed to be talking out like that?" Vacating his leaning spot, Dooz turns around and becomes Scott's mutual bystander, "First off, `it' is not a `he.'" "Now I'm really confused, Dooz." In his mind, Dooz agreed, throwing too much at Scott, "Okay. Forget that. Plenty of time to work on the vocabulary." "That's good," Scott says with attitude, "because since I came in here, I really haven't gotten the gist of anything, except Dirk going berserk on Tom, which...I hope he's okay?" Dooz sort of had a plan in the works, the evil wheels of his brain turning, but he had to admit Scott was right. His first time, in a dungeon, in Germany, he was equally confused, his mentor moving way too fast, "Tell you what we're going to do." Instructing Scott to follow his lead, Dooz began to unfasten Stewie's wrist cuffs, complaining at the same time, "I don't know why they screwed these into the wood. I would think it more convenient to just lift them off the hooks." Right now Scott didn't care either way. Squatting down at first, he stood right up, feeling the tip of his cock pounce off the cold, cement floor. Dooz noticed, but just kept on task. Scott did spy, to see if Dooz saw him pop up, like he had done something terribly wrong. Then he squat again, holding his tube, so as not to repeat. Realizing Scott far behind in the task, Dooz slowed his actions. Re-squatting, Scott realizes, by accident, leaning in to undo the cuff, his shoulder grazes Stewie's ballsac! "Ooo-yeah," Stewie reacts. Scott couldn't see it, Stewie staring Dooz right in the face, both smiling. Still on his mission, Scott was uneasy about unthreading the cuff, making sure his shoulder didn't venture into Stewie's ballsac-territory. Of course, it would not be much different from the familiar, all the times he's felt up Tom's cock and balls. Too many times to count, jerking Tom off, he could compare, it weird touching a `stranger.' Finally, on his second cuff, Dooz was getting bored, Tom putting him to sleep with slacking off, "Need some help there, Sir?" It broke Scott out of a trance, catching the calling, "Sir, Dooz? Like, you're so much older than me...you should be the `Sir'. Besides, I don't think I know what I'm doing, enough to be called a `Sir'!" >From this, Dooz knew he wasn't moving fast enough, seeing Scott lose some of that dominant aura he came in with. After unfastening the third cuff, Scott still on his first one, he gets up, walks over to the other side of Stewie's splayed out bod, "Here, let me handle that." "Sorry I'm so slow," Scott says. When Dooz knocked him out of the way, Scott's squatted stance was set off kilter. Falling to his right, Stewie's sacs broadsided him right across the top of the chest! It wasn't Dooz praising him, but Stewie, pressing on the beam with one arm, contorting his bod to see who it was, "Oh man, are you hot!" "For doing what?" Scott sat there on his ass, wondering. All done with the last cuff, Dooz says out loud, "Less talk," he turns his hand around, bringing his fingernails down the underside of Stewie's balls, "more action!" Stewie howled like a banshee! "Dayam!" Scott renders, eyes affixed to where Dooz flicked his five digits, red imprints on Stewie's sacs. Comical, Dooz says, "You ain't seen nothin' yet!" Y'see, backing up to when the lights went on, Scott and Stewie making their entrance, the plan was already set in motion. Dooz knew certain guys and what they liked. Either dominant or submissive, he had a little black book with names and cell numbers. In the front of his book were simple symbols, up-arrow for dominant tops, down-arrow for all-inclusive submissive bottoms. A line with an arrow facing both to the left and right, were guys who like to switch, depending on their mood. When a dude arrived at the secret place, they would inform the ringmaster, Dooz, if they had a hankering to top or bottom. Dooz had his book out, pen clicked, started writing. Sometimes they didn't have a choice, Dooz saying, `I hope you're in a submissive mood tonight!' Rarely did he get backtalk. When he did, he knew without asking to form an up-arrow! A rare case, Dooz had taken a special interest in Scott, happening just this morning. Having him back in his lair, Dooz had a chance to talk, study, dream a little, then sum up whether there could be `trust.' Age and the fact the playroom was on school grounds, made all the difference. Having Tom roped into it, Dooz figured being friends with Scott, that was good enough. Stewie was in `for life', knowing the drill, that to speak about stuff outside the circle, meant banishment. For several reasons, it was good to `keep the customer satisfied'. No one wanted the hassle of leaks, guys going outside their special community. Therefore, it was generally adopted, to keep the customer satisfied, you had to give them what they wanted, up to a point. Right now, Dooz sensed, without whipping out his little balck book, he was being much too lenient, "Okay, up boy!" Scott, still on his ass, sat there, jaw dropping open, wide, when Dooz grabs hold of Stewie's ballsacs and gives them a yank, "Oh shit, Dooz!" Before Stewie arrived, by chance a night when he was planning on going to a club, changing plans, Dooz had explained he had a rookie top, whom needed special treatment. To place things on a certain level, Dooz had instructed Stewie to make like it was his first night in `the dungeon'. Stewie had been around the bdsm scene since high school. His first really `professional' outing was when he met up with Dooz and gained his confidence. Also, by chance, it's the first time Stewie had gotten the notion a man's shaft was a thing more than wanting to pee, get sucked or fuck a dude. He learned there was more than placing a pair of lips over the tip and going down on it. He found out about something called, `foreplay,' in all aspects; not only general making out, but on licking balls, cock, ass, tantalizing, and how all this could make a man horny enough to want to fuck him...hard! "That's gotta hurt," Scott looks up at Stewie, standing there, tending to his `wounds.' Dooz, now looking like the `big man,' stands there like Mr. Clean, saying for both Stewie and Scott's sake, "There's penalties for a boy who touches himself without permission!" "Really?" Scott shifts off to Dooz. "So little time, so much to learn," Dooz replies, placing a foot next to Scott's foot, offering him a hand, up. A man with a plan, Dooz led them over to where Dirk had `stimulated' Tom, "Okay, hop up on there, lad!" Scott, having picked up on the lingo, contradicts, "I thought he was an `it'?" Covering himself, Dooz says, "We'll get to that later." Like Tom, Dooz has Stewie step up on the X-frame. Unlike the sawhorse, he's first fitted with cuffs and as the `horse should be, cuffs are lifted up over sturdy hooks. "Now," Dooz begins his lecture, "there's many variations, but we're going to keep it simple." It's then Scott notices, across the room, at his track coach, "Um, how come Coach Mills is just lying there?" Taking his eyes off Stewie, taking on the form of the `X', Dooz explains, "Sometimes a guy will show up and wait around for his `better half' to show up. Helps build the momentum!" He winked, signifying build up the hot creme reserves, but then in vain, didn't think Scott got it! "Funny looking waiting room!" With Stewie, here and not over there, full bod exposed, facing him, Scott says, "Okay, what are you going to do to him?" "Moi?" Dooz places a hand to his hairy pec, like saluting the flag. "Yeah, you were going to show me about the strap, Dooz, but now you can't, because it's back isn't towards us, now?" Right after, Scott wonders, "Y'know what?" "What?" Dooz acts annoyed, about ready to explain one of the mysteries of life. "Can't I just call Stewie, `Stewie'? I feel funny calling a person an it?" `Patience', Dooz exhales, "You're the master. You set the rules. You call him what you want!" Standing there right in front of the contoured slab, like a chum, Scott flicks the back of his hand against Stewie's abs, "Okay, you're Stewie!" "Cool," Stewie replies, flashing a tight-lip smile at his `aggressor.' Patient as a man in heat can be, Dooz calls, "You want to come over here a minute, Scott?" Feeling less agitated, a bit more playful, Scott reports over to a table of gadgets, saying, "I thought you're supposed to call me, `Sir', Dooz?" He could have come across as pissed, for all the banter that was taking away from the physical, but knew Scott was pulling his chain, "Call you Sir, huh?" Taking advantage of the pause in the conversation, Scott allows his mind to wander a little bit. Picturing this hairy man on his knees, an example of how to properly approach a man with lips and tongue... "Are you with me, Scott, or is it, `Sir'?" "Whatever you want, Dooz," Scott replies, caught off guard by picturing his mentor's mouth wide open. "Here," Dooz hands Scott a chain, with a clip attached to both ends. Dangling off one finger, Scott asks, "What's this for?" Turning around, facing Stewie, he says to Scott, "Oh boy! You don't know how much I love those!" Scott had to ask, "Are we still letting Stewie talk out loud?" "Are we?" Dooz throws it back into Scott's court. "He is kind of noisy." Then, holding up the chain, "Can we stop him with these?" "Now, there's a thought!" Dooz thinking he's never clamped lips together. "How about this?" he tosses a ball up in the air, it coming down awkward, due to the straps attached to each side, wobbling. Not totally out of the loop, Scott says, "You want to stuff that in his mouth?" "Whatever he can take," Dooz tosses it to Scott. Realizing Stewie stands about two feet high up, "Like, how do I get this, there?" "Those wedges he stands on, are not only for `his' feet?" This is where Dooz deviated from training his novice master. Along the back of the X-frame, one could stand equal to the tied victim and fasten the ball gag, but Dooz thought it a little erotic, watching Scott's balls mess with Stewie's lower anatomy! Somewhere in his teen years, Scott and Tom have gone to a birthday party, where they scaled a fake, indoor wall, "I've got this, Dooz." So did Dooz, feeling up his own pent up emotions! At first, Scott wonders though, "Where do I hold on?" Dooz and Stewie look to each other and smile. "Wherever you can grab onto!" Dooz replies. "Catch!" Scott says, tossing the ball gag to Dooz. I meant tearing his hand away from stimulating himself, but Dooz managing the toss. With one foot up, Scott, reluctant at first to attach himself, attaches hands to the sides of Stewie's thighs. Lifting himself up, Scott places his other foot on the small footy platform. "Oops!" Scott says, fully facing Stewie, feeling their cocks connect. "Just gotta tell ya, Sir, I'm lovin' the torture!" On the contrary, his loins set against Stewie, Scott is not feeling any pain, "Torture?" Allowing one hand to separate, Scott demands, "Toss the ball here, will ya Dooz?" His mistake was letting go with one hand, compromising the stability, "Oh shit!" "Mm-mm," Dooz says, having caught Scott in both arms, "I like your moves!" Scott could feel the impact, not so much arms around his midsection, but lower, "Thank God you have pants on, Dooz." Dooz wasn't thanking anyone, wishing his butt was bare-naked! "Can't you use a little more enthusiasm?" he disengages. Scott recovered, standing on his own, on the floor, now faces what he touched, manhood to manhood, "Okay, now that that's failed, what's your next plan, Dooz?" Secretly, Dooz is thinking about failure, that things had happened so fast, he hadn't had time to change from his uniformed pants, into chaps. "Forget this," Dooz tosses the ballgag over his shoulder. It makes Scott laugh, it bouncing away awkwardly. "Lets just get down to it," he produces the nip-clamps. "Give me a finger." "Huh?" Scott says. Not too stoopid, "I thought we were using them on Stewie?" Before Scott can realize, Dooz steals a finger, placing a clamp right over it. He thought it was going to hurt like hell, Scott not knowing there was a tension screw. Relieving the maximum pressure, Scott holds up his finger, shifting it around, the chain set free to fling around, "You call this pain?" "Glad you think so," Dooz takes it off. "Now, screw or unscrew the little screw, adjusting one to the other. Your choice to how you want to do it." Scott studies the length of chain, each end. If the clamp over his finger didn't feel like any pressure, the screw tightened, "So, if I screw this side in," he takes the one not over his finger, "and tighten it..." he does it, "it should make the..." "Jaw," Dooz defines the opening. "The jaw, wider?" Spirits lifting, having already spied a strand of sinewy goo leaking from Stewie's cock tip, Dooz informs, "Better hurry, before the tank runs on empty!" Two hands, 2 clamps, it was only natural to hold each in each hand, "Now what do I do?" `What' was not the real question, but `where,' "Here's the thing...what does the boy have 2 of?" Easy, with Stewie's bod following the frame of the X, Scott reporting, "Two arms and two legs?" "Moving inwardly?" Dooz provokes thought. "Armpits?" "Keep going." Scott already knew, but was afraid he would have to move his guesses in that direction, "Uh, nips and," looking down, "balls?" Fearful of one of the places, "I'm not putting these on Stewie's balls!" They should've capped his mouth, Stewie saying, "Oh c'mon, Scott. Don't be such a woosie!" All on his own, Scott deduces, "Now you're getting punished!" Half-serious, the other part feeling it kind of funny, again, without inhibition mounts the two leg-pegs. "Uh," Dooz was ready to tell Scott that wasn't necessary, that just moving up, placing his feet between the bottom legs, reaching up, would be distance enough to clamp down... This time, Scott held on, not by hands, because they were full, but by gravity and leaning, "You really want me to do this?" Showing Scott no love lost, Stewie gives Scott a peck on the lips. Dooz, he hung by in case of another catch. "I don't know if I can do it," Scott started to chicken out. Though, he wishes he didn't have that codpiece snapped on. His cock and balls started to feel a little cramped! "Even if I told you it was going to make me feel really good?" Stewie proposes. One of the things Scott notices, is their height. He knew he was 5 feet, 11-inches tall. Stewie, he wasn't much taller. With not more than an inch and half between them, Scott, guesses, the stretch of Stewie's arms brought with it, chest higher, which did not necessarily mean Stewie was taller than him. Maybe he was thinking scientifically, to stall for time... Then Scott discovers, thinking about statistics was drawing his mind away from his objective, "You really want these clamps on...`there?'" Stewie's nips already hard, it was for certain Scott was not going to pinch the tippy-tips, "Okay. I'm going to put them over the whole nip." His `coach' mumbles, "Don't tell him, dammit, just do it!" Dooz is taken aback, Scott feeling smug enough to bark at him, "Shut up, Dooz. I'll do it the way I want!" At first, the authority thing kicked in, but then Dooz lightened up, loving Scott's attitude. If things panned out, Scott liking this scene, it would look good for him, in future `hookups!' "Like Dooz says, just do it," Stewie added another `push', another peck on the lips. Stalling or just a general nervousness, Scott says, "I like your kisses." Stewie uses it as a bribe, "You get more if you clamp me?" Breaking out of another reverie, Scott says, "Oh yeah. The clamps. I almost forgot." Even through the leather codpiece, Scott could feel the edge growing. "Do it, Scott, for me?" "You really want this, huh?" Tight smile, Stewie nods his head, `yes'. Then, it's like it wasn't the first time for him. Perhaps not on this grand scale, in bed at home, Tom hovering above, wanting him to pinch his nips, "Okay. I'm gonna do this!" Dooz claps hands once, "Hallelujah!" Right now, Scott didn't hear anything, but the pitter patter of their own hearts, "Here goes..." At least it was in the starter stage, clamps open, moving towards Stewie's rigid nips. "Aren't ya gonna look, Stewie?" Closing his eyes, dropping head slightly back, Stewie replies, "Nah. Want it to be a total surprise." His hands were shaking, but Scott had this inner drive, propelled by Stewie, "Here goes." Applied, Stewie started howling. "Too tight?" Scott was concerned, yet amazed by his victim's perseverance, right there in Stewie's face. Rather than react, by removing the clamps, Scott's hands were as frozen as the rest of him. He broke out in a cold sweat. After the first reaction, rubber edges of the clamps biting down, Stewie opens his eyes. Scott stare him in the face, like waiting for word if it's a girl or a boy. Pressing his head forward, he's on Scott's lips. A normal reaction would be to lurch back. Instead, Scott grabs hold and with a pair of lips on his, reaches arms around both Stewie and the mid frame of the X, giving both a bearhug. Passion mixed with pain, Stewie gives in to the feeling. Scott, it was as natural as anything which seemed commonplace, reaching down and ripping the codpiece right off the chaps. Pressing bods together, Scott feels `wet' on his pubes. Fact, he could not let go, he pressed together their chests. He could feel the back side of the clamps pressing into his own chest, "Oh fuck!" "Oh yeah," Stewie reacts to the suggestive comment, "do it!" Unfortunately, Scott looses his footing. Instead of falling backwards, his hands slide down Stewie's bod, foot landing easily on the cement floor. Then, presented with it, Scott does something he didn't think he would ever do. Faced with Stewie's cock, right there in front of him, glistening with goo and sweat, he takes a lick. A lick leads to more mouth action and soon he's giving Stewie an all out blowjob! In all this time, Dooz has walked away, leaving the two to fend on their own. However, being the good mentor he is, returns. Grabbing hold of Scott's bushy haircut, Dooz pulls him off, "Hey, watcha doing there, Sir-Scott?" "Dammit, Dooz, that hurt!" Scott holds his scalp. Stewie, he was in heaven, until all went to hell! "You do realize, once your boy unloads, it's all over?" "He's right," Stewie says, partial to Dooz and his opinion! Studying the situation, Scott does realize one thing, lots of gooey creme, on Stewie, on himself, some still hanging out the hole of his cock, "I guess you're right," even though he hadn't shot off himself. "Thanks for your learned opinion." Dooz smiles. >From Scott's perspective, the obvious, Stewie with balls still loaded, "I better climb up and take them things off." "Nah. Leave'em," Dooz says of the chain hanging down between Stewie's pecs. "Next!" "There's more? Like, he already came?" "So," Dooz says casually, "we make him come again!" "Hell yeah!" Stewie is all for it. "Sure," Dooz continues, casually, like conversation would go, "we've still got his balls and..." picking up a small version of the `whippy-thingy', "why don't you flick this over his nips...or," changes opinion, "you might want to flog his balls?" "I don't think I can do that. I mean, we're talking about a man's...manhood?" "Would you feel better if I showed you?" Dooz exercises his wrist, flexing. "Maybe. What's that thing called. It looks like a miniature of the whip over there," Scott nods to the `horse. "It's called a quirt," Dooz flexes again. "For little jobs, but can pack quite a wallop!" Not at all tired, balls busting for relief, plainly getting high on Stewie's bod alone, beefy pecs, hairy, stretching out causing his abs to contract, forming ridges along every ab muscle, the muscleman's `V', caging in the swath of bellyhole hair, pubes, drippy cock, big balls, prompting Scott to say, "I think his balls are big enough. Isn't that `quirt' going to make them swell bigger?" "Now you're getting the idea!" Dooz laughs. "I think I've had enough for one night," Scott says. Stewie whimpers. "Really? We've just gotten started," Dooz acts disappointed. "Yeah," Scott says frankly, "I was thinking there would be...more sex?" Seeing Scott, for real, Dooz was sad, but glad. The night was young and there would be more dudes to contend with, "Of course. I understand fully." "You do? You're not mad?" Perhaps Stewie was, but more at Dooz, having set him up for an evening of thrills and chills, only coming once. Knowing he had to keep `the big man' happy, follows the conversation, because...what could he do but hang there and listen anyway? "Me? Mad? Why, I don't have an angry bone inside me!" "Unless provoked?" Scott lightens up, smiling at Dooz. "Now, that you've got right!" "So, what do we do about Stewie?" "Well," Dooz rubs his 6 o'clock shadow, snaps a finger, "Since he's your boy for the night, that's for you two to decide!" Walking away, not which Dooz had anywhere to go, Scott stands there, figuring, "What do you want to do?" Not which he was about to give up on Scott just yet himself, Stewie says, "You're the master, but may I strongly suggest, taking me home?" "Take you home?" Scott panics at the thought, walking in the door, a farfetched scenario, with chaps still clinging to his thighs, cock and balls hanging out, picturing his mother seeing Stewie, totally in the raw, clamps hanging from his nips, "Nah, that's definitely not a good plan!" "Well, okay. How about we go back to my place?" "You live in a dorm," Scott replies. "Yeah, so?" "Like, don't you have a room mate?" "Yeah, Grant," Stewie smiles with a smug look, "probably is there with his boyfriend, for all we know!" For one thing, Scott was not at all out to anyone but Tom, until admitting it to Dooz. He was now counting on one hand, who knew he was gay, saying, "I'm not out, you know?" Having it all explained to him, by Dooz, hours ago on the phone, Stewie knew more about Scott, than Scott knew about him, "Wouldn't make a difference, being on campus. Like, who cares if someone else is gay?" Thinking, back on the home front, "My mom would care." Not realizing they were being listened in on, Scott's track coach, lying there, tied eagle-spread to a rack, says, "Yeah, she would...would have plenty to say about it!" Walking over to where his coach, his mother's friend from church lay there, a little indimidated, "You're not gonna tell, are you?" Again, his knight in shining armor approaches, Dooz grabbing up Coach Mills' balls in one hand, "Nah, he's not gonna say anything, are you Sam?" Grabbing at the ropes with both hands, clenching fists, Sam yells out, "No, no, no, I'm not telling her anything!" In token, Dooz brings up another aspect, "Good. Then there's no need for Scott to mention any of this to the track team!" Before leaving them to chat, Dooz says to Scott, "That's how you control a man's mind!" He winks. "But what happens when you let him up? He can like go blab it all around town?" Dooz comes back, saying casually, everything under `his' control, "He could, but then again, why would a boy give up having this much fun?" `Fun,' Scott thought, `right,' thinking he's a victim of it himself! Then confirming, he addresses his coach, "So, you're not gonna tell my mom?" Since he wanted to make his point clear, Dooz didn't wait for Sam to answer. His cock, standing stiff from the squeeze on his balls, Dooz gives it a big whack!" "Arr-r-r-ggggh!" Sam clamps up again. "Just like I thought," Dooz smiles, "he ain't saying nothin'. Trust me. Not when he's getting what he needs from me!" Further humiliating, "Ain't that right, Sam?" "Uh, yeah," Sam admits in front of his track team member. Not satisfied, Dooz says, "Louder or I'll have to give them baseballs another squeeze!" Much, much louder, since ball torture wasn't one of Sam's favorite applications, "I'm not telling your mother anything!" On a roll, Dooz says, "Seal it with a kiss!" "Huh?" Scott looks to Dooz. Stewie was becoming inpatient, until he heard what was beginning to unfold. With a good imagination, he could picture himself in the high school coach's position. The two engaged, Stewie pictured himself tied to the rack, Scott climbing up on top of his chest, then kissing Scott's balls... However, a thwart in a perfect plan concocted by Dooz, Scott said he didn't feel comfortable with it. It's then Dooz realizes he's taking it a little too far, too soon. "Maybe next time!" % Copyright 2015 T. Chase McPhee "AGaiNSt thE GRoiN" and developing segments of this story, may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.