Date: Mon, 6 Mar 2006 18:11:05 -0800 (PST)
From: T. Chase McPhee <survivalgame@yahoo.com>
Subject: Buffalo Boys 01

The story below is a work of fiction, set in the
format of reality. Any resemblance to real people is
entirely coincidental in nature. It is not meant to
accurately reflect upon persons in towns, cities, or
governmental areas, in which the story is staged. If a
sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships
offends you, then you should not read this story.
Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in
most state and countries, you are not allowed to read
this story by law. Check with your local laws
regarding such. Sexual safety matters. This is
fiction. Use protection in real life. `Got condom?'

"Buffalo Boys" 01
wriTten by T. Chase McPhee

%

"Have any idea where we report?"

Nineteen year old Marat Saint-Marc questions his
friend, Jason Wragg III, in his heavy French accent,
after descending the slight flight of steps, hopping
off the last, of the bus that has transported them
from the small town airport, to Timber Creek Fitness
Camp.

"Dunno, sport," Jason returns the vague reply.

Unintentionally flaunting his British-Aussie accent,
it serves to enhance the handsome features of the
eighteen year old.

"I'd like to know where the fuck we are!" Hazard belts
out, sharply.

Some guys can deal out rougher languages than others,
as per their loose upbringing, however Douglass,
Dougie, Hazard, takes the cake, from the blunt,  more
boisterous demeanor, characteristic of his upbringing.

Dougie continues spewing forth, "They cram eight of us
into this fuckin' sardine can, then dump us in the
middle of `Gilligan's Island'... I want to see
somebody in charge and now!"

The Tennessee-an was about to be dealt a rude
awakening. The other seven conglomeration of eighteen
and nineteen year olds stood there, staring at the
giant of a man, directly behind Dougie.

"If I required your opinion, I would have asked for
it!"

Flipping around, on his heels, Dougie stands in the
exact same position of the uniformed counselor,
twenty-one year old, James Mieremet. Hands on hips,
each stare in the other's eyes.

A facsimile of an army officer, James wears a green,
fatigue-fashioned outfit. A brass plate, reflecting
the afternoon light, tells the world his identity.
Decorating the rest of the outfit, are words that
describe where - Timber Creek Fitness Camp, division -
Buffalo section and his rank, associate counselor.

Dougie picks up on the rank, immediately.

"I see you're some asshole's peewee. No, I want to
talk with the head honcho here. I got a thing or two
to bitch about!"

>From the start Dougie Hazard began on the wrong foot.

"That would be me."

The other seven camp-mates had seen the tall, six
foot, two inch, two hundred and fifteen pound, blonde
man standing behind the six foot tall youth. His eyes
came to about the bridge of Reinken Michaelis' nose.

"Yeah, well what kind of shoddy service is this,
fitting eight of us into this peewee-sized sardine can
and then dumping us off in the middle of..." Dougie
continued his onslaught of complaints.

Dougie got cut off short, by Reinken's fist, delivered
to his midsection.

"Bastard!" Dougie called out.

Disregarding the dull ache in his stomach, Dougie
pushes up from the ground, his fist ready to pound.
Smiling, the blonde counselor's massive palm is in
place to catch his aggressor's balled fist from doing
damage to his crotch.

"You will learn not to trick your superiors!"

"Superior jerks, yeah right," Dougie responds.

Standing there, the tough American boy, from the
Tennessee sticks, still touts his fist, clutched in
Reinken Michaelis' wide hand. As if a stalemate, they
freeze. That is, until the camouflaged camp officer
grins. It isn't to laugh at any joke.

"Jim?" Reinken called James.

"Yes, sir?"

"You?" Dougie continues to dig himself deeper into
deep enough shit. "Who put a worm like you in charge?"

Spitting, Dougie's phelgm lands right on Reinken's
bare chest, where the V of his uniform shirt, parts.

"I don't think you shoulda done that, Dougie," Dario
Parisi, from Miami, clues Dougie in.

However, Dougie should have read that by now, as the
two Timber Creek counselors stand close by, ready to
deliver the sentence.

"We will make an example of this one," Reinken
responds. "Take him."

"Hey, get your fuckin' hands off me!"

Before the nineteen year old could think, James was on
him, clenching both arms behind his back. Even though
James Mieremet stood an inch shorter, the strength in
his arms kept Dougie secured. His powerful legs made
his captive walk.

"Where the fuck are you taking me? I demand my
rights!"

Mieremet laughs, mocking Dougie, "Rights? Haa ha ha ha
haaa..."

"When my old man finds out what you're..."

"The rest of you Buffalo boys pick up your gear and
follow," the order came from Reinken.

It's the first of many times they would hear talk of
themselves as the `Buffalo boys'.

"You," Reinken nodded to an Asian camper.

"Yes, sir?" Scott Tsutsumi replied.

Right away, Reinken picked up on the respectful manner
in which Scott addressed him. It wasn't just the
polite aspect though. The man-in-charge detected
something stronger, touching him down to his crotch,
churning up some signal. He decided to test his
theory. The others stood around, watching the
interaction between counselor and camper, until
Reinken noticed.

"The rest of you boys, follow your superior," Reinken
referred to James, hauling Dougie away, arms pinned
behind the camper's back.

The now empty small scale bus, that had carried the
eight campers and their gear from the local airport,
to Timber Creek Fitness Camp, stood in the parking lot
of the administration building. Beside it, seven
campers of the Buffalo Lodge stood on their guard.
They knew by words exchanged that Dougie was in deep
shit.

"Hold up there, a minute," Reinken ordered James and
his captive.

With his mighty arm muscles, Mieremet swung Dougie
around, so that he faced the bus depot, from a yard
away.

"Heeeeeey, you fuck! You almost twisted my arm out of
my socket!"

"Oh, I'm capable of doing much more damage." the
counselor, just a coupla years older than Dougie,
threatened. Squeezing his shoulder blades tighter
together, he went on to say, "It's going to be such a
pleasure to work you over!"

Unknown to Dougie, what had crossed the minds of the
other seven, he indeed kept on the path to digging
himself deeper into trouble. As James Mieremet stood
there, with his captive's arms pinned behind his back,
he made it a point to make Dougie's hands fall almost
in his pubic region. With a small amount of hip
action, Mieremet could stimulate his own cock and
balls, at Dougie's expense, without anyone else
summising the pleasurable act, much to Dougie's
humiliation.

He whispered in Dougie's ear so that none one but the
two caught the object of the counselor's desires, "Oh
yeaaaah... stroke my cock, boy!"

"When I get outta this, I'm coming after you,
bastard!"

"Tsk! Tsk! Oh know. I'm gonna make sure you're gonna
be hurtin' for a long, long time!"

Dougie didn't like the choice of words bellowing from
Mieremet's mouth. His only thoughts were to turn the
situation around. Break free from his tormentor's
grip. Reverse the position, so he remained
`man-on-top'. However the twenty-one year old
counselor's grip remained firm. If that wasn't enough
humiliation, he bore witness to another humiliating
act of barbary.

"What's he doing?"

"Shhhhhh..." Ron Hastings warned the eighteen year old
peer, standing next to him, "don't give them an excuse
to go after us!"

Being hit from both angles, Dougie squirmed around
more than ever now, to break free. First, it had been
James Mieremet's threats of physical punishment and
now Reinken Michaelis offered up another threat.
Placing Dougie's backpack in front of the left tire of
the bus, his grip-bag under the right tire, he climbed
behind the seat of the steering column, turning the
key. With the whir of the bus motor, it began to seal
the fate of Dougie Hazard's gear.

"What the fuck? No! My Ipod.. my electric shaver...
he's insane!"

Dougie's efforts to break free only gave James
Mieremet the freedom to buck his hips, without drawing
attention to jambing his hard cock up against the
nineteen year old's ass. Dougie didn't cater much to
the feeling of having his ass `pounded'. In reality,
gay and a total top, any type of remote invasion of
his rear quadrant, would deem repulsive. Right now, it
didn't phase Dougie even half as much, as watching the
two bus tires roll over his baggage.

"Ai chiwowwa!" Dario Parisi, the half Italian-half
Hispanic immigrant from Miami sighed.

He, as well as the others gasped as they heard the
crackle of the contents become pulverized. Exited the
bus, Reinken pulled from underneath the two bags.
Turning to Scott Tsutsumi, the five foot, ten inch
tall, one hundred and ninety-six pound Japanese chub,
laden with his own two bags, Reinken threw them.

"Carry these!"

Mieremet got a jolt out of watching the two
tire-treaded bags hit Scott, full-frontal, knocking
him over onto his back.

It became another test for Scott. Reinken knew the
force of the gear, slamming against his chest, would
put stress on the kid's physique.

Timing him with his watch, Reinken ordered, "Up in
five seconds with the gear or I'll string you up, too,
fatboy!"

Ron Hastings bent down, saying, "Here, give me your
hand, Scott....Owwch! What tha?"

A slap came down onto the back of Ron's hand.

"Fall back in line, boy!" Reinken delivered, with a
sharp tongue.

"Yeah, okay," Ron replied, casually.

"What'd you say, boy?"

"Um.. yeah.. okay.. I mean sir," he followed the
return answer, seeing that Scott had gotten a
favorable rebuttal from the counselor, earlier on.

"Just in time, boy," Reinken quipped.

Something that Scott himself picked up on, as he
dragged all four gear bags, two of his own, as well as
Dougie's two, glancing to the space between Reinken's
legs, he noticed the adequate bulge. It only served to
make Scott's balls churn at the thought of his
counselor getting a charge out of his own
humiliation!"

Mieremet did an about face `dance' with Dougie,
setting him on course, in front of him. No slouch
himself, not from working out, but doing odd chores at
home which required physical stress, the nineteen year
old still couldn't match the muscular drive onwards of
his twenty-one year old counselor.

Heading Northwest, through the backyard of the Timber
Creek Fitness Camp administration building, they
paraded through the trees. One of the campers decided
to deviate from the line.

"And where the fuck do you think you're goin?" Reinken
barked.

"No place," Gil Elliot replied, immediately
backtracking from whence he came and turning back to
follow Maclyn Darragh, the original guy in front of
him.

As an act to educate all, Reinken shouted, "You'll
learn to stay on the brown path at all times!"

Looking down, nineteen year old Marat Saint-Marc
looked at the marble colored gravel, mouthing the
word, `brown'? While doing so, he almost careened into
the tree in front of him, with the brown trail marker.
He thought, `Oh, I get it!'

Nobody was more pooped than Scott Tsutsumi, hauling
his own gear, plus the mostly useless supplies of
Dougie Hazard. Coming into a small clearing, they
approached a group of two cabins. To the side, was
something like a tree trunk.

Jason Wragg III, softly whispered to his new friend,
Marat, "Looks like somebody scalped the tree!"

However, Marat didn't have the nerve to utter a peep.
It was bad enough that the boys witnessed the next
order of business, as Reinken approached James
Mieremet and Dougie Hazard.

"What the fuck?" Dougie went on with his perverse
slaying.

With quick precision, Mieremet released Dougie's arms,
only to be taken into custody by the two counselors.
Reinken took the left wrist, while James Mieremet
commandeered Dougie's right wrist. Together they
reached up and fastened the teen's wrists to a pair of
leather cuffs, hanging from the top of the tree trunk,
devoid of all branches, limbs and leaves.

Knowing it would humiliate the teen, Mieremet reached
in front and gave Dougie's balls a small squeeze,
saying, "It's gonna be such a pleasure taking care of
you, boy! Haa ha ha ha ha haaa.."

Backing away, Reinken went before the small assemblage
of the seven remaining `Buffalo Lodge' boys.

"Attention!"

All it took for the seven teens to adjust their
posture, was Rainken's harsh shout. They've all seen
war movies. They knew the drill.  Scared shit of the
consequences, they stood there, not daring to even
remove their gear, attached to their backs or under an
arm. Except one of the boys. He got a mean stare from
the six foot, two inch tall counselor.

"Did I tell you to drop those bags boy?"

Scott, his street clothes perspired through, went
about readjusting his load, to accomodate picking up
Dougie's gear.

"No, sir," Scott returned the order.

Again, his balls churned at the thought, coupled with
the scolding, turning him on tremendously. He hoped it
wasn't detected, what he was feeling between his legs!

All the time Reinken stood there, giving the boys a
pep talk about following rules and the consequences,
Dougie shouted out obscenities. He warned of his
father cutting off his tuition or funding, if he
wasn't released immediately. To himself, it was
obvious to Dougie that he faced something he never had
to endure in his lifetime; corporal punishment.

Trying not to show it too much, James Mieremet stood
there, his lips slightly upturned. However, inside his
warped mind, he was picturing carrying out Dougie's
punishment. Without being conspicuous, he had already
rearrnage his privates, so that his eight inches
pointed down his pants leg. One of his lifelong
fantasies was about to come true.

"Prepare him for punishment, Jim!"

James Mieremet, startled from his reverie, broke free
of his day dream. Turning his attention towards
Dougie, he walked over to the bound teen. Facing the
`Greenday' T-shirt, he took it in two hands. With a
massive tearing action, he separated the fabric across
Dougie's back.

"Heeeeey... I just bought that at the mall!"

For a moment, Dougie's more intent fears had opted out
for the lesser. With swift action, Mieremet pulled a
knife out, cutting the sleeves of the shirt and
separating the Greenday-emblazoned shirt from Dougie's
skin.

"Gather `round in a half circle," Reinken told the
boys.

Still holding their gear, the sweaty eighteen and
ninteen year olds formed a half circle, as ordered.
Scott puffed, having to tote two guys' wares. He felt
like his feet would buckle under him.

Scott got up enough gumtion to ask, "Mr. Michaelis,
sir, may I please put something down?"

"No!" Came the short and simple reply.

A little whiny, Scott answerered, "Yes, sir."

Reinken took a second glance at the Asian youth,
signaling the first positive look since they got off
the bus. It was the first inkling that Reinken
detected possibilities in the youth.

"Procede with the whipping, Jim."

"Whipping?" Circulated around the half circle of
teens, in whispered tones.

Maclyn, the red-haired Irish teen said, "My pa used to
do that to my older brother!"

Reinken payed them no mind, except to watch Mieremet
report to a waist-high cupboard. Taking off his
dogtags, he used a key to open the padlock.
Within seconds he had the double doors open and a
leather implement in his hands. Taking a position
behind Dougie, still full of his own threats to have
his father close the place down or personally, against
James Mieremet. At the same time that Mieremet took up
his footing, eyeing up the place where the belt should
make it's first mark, Reinken proceeded to stroll over
to the `whipping post'. Standing indirectly, facing
Dougie and the seven others, Reinken began to unbutton
his shirt.

"Now, there's the matter of discipline. Ten lashes to
be slowly dealt out, that is, unless..."

Drawing out the quality of the tense moments, Reinken
slowly unbuttoned his shirt to the beltline, pulling
it out. Each boy could pick out the taut abs and the
shiny sweat of his smooth, dotted with two creamy
nips. Separating his abs, a thin, defined blonde,
hardly recognizable trail ran the length, dipping into
his deep navel. A slightly darker trail covered the
inch to his belt.

"Except there's the matter of this."

All knew what Reinken spoke of, without further
explanation. A slightly discolored place, where Dougie
had spat, even though faintly visible, splotched the
German's chest, midway between nips.

"Lick it off and save yourself five lashes, boy!"

"What tha fuck?" Mieremet complained.

Doing the math, the twenty-one year old counselor felt
gypped.

Like writing on the wall, Reinken had already guessed
that Dougie would rather remain silent.

Much to Mieremet's pleasure, Reinken announced, "Begin
the punishment!"

Stepping to the rear of the semi-circle of teen
campers, Reinken took off his shirt. Afterall, it was
the kick off of a wickedly hot summer and he already
felt dirty and sweaty. Even though his crotch would
soon be churning, from watching Mieremet deliver the
punishment, he knew he would have felt much more
satisfaction of having Dougie lick his chest.

"One!"

"Akkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!" Dougie cried out,
as the leather strap crossed his shoulder blades.

At the second strike, Dougie's cry brought out
heroics. Reinken giggled, watching Mieremet fight off
Gil and Ron. One took a fist to the gut, as the other,
not so fortunate, suffered a knee to the balls.
Regardless, the act of defense enabled Mieremet to
carry out the sentence.

During the next eight lashes, the other boys gasped
and cringed at the sight and sounds of the punishing
whipping. The excitement of the punitive measures
didn't phase Reinken half as much as his eyes scanning
the taxed physique of Scott Tsutsumi. His mind still
lingered with intoxication at hearing those words,
`yes, Sir'. Unlike himself, Scott's more `beefy' body
figured in on the turn on. Reinken couldn't wait until
he could get a look at what lie underneath the
clothes!


%

01 Continued...

Copyright 2006  T. Chase McPhee
This story may not be sold or made part of any
collection without prior written permission.

"The more you stretch, the more you can fit in...
'spread' happiness!"
  T. Chase McPhee... circa 2005