Date: Sun, 25 Jul 2004 22:04:29 EDT
From: ArtHill579@aol.com
Subject: "Carried Away" Part 1    [Authoritarian]

Disclaimer: This story is basically a fantasy involving humiliation, mild
violence, and sexual activity between young men. If you find such material
offensive or in violation of the laws of your state/country, please don't
read any further.

(c) Art M. Hill ArtHill579@aol.com All rights reserved (2004).
If you enjoy this story, please email me.

**********************************************

I'm not sure when it first started. I think it was shortly after I got into
college. As I was driving back and forth to school every day, there were lots
of hunky guys with their thumbs out looking for a ride to class or a ride home.
I was just in the middle of discovering my sexual identity at the time (I was
a late bloomer!), and all I knew was that all those virile, young studs with
their muscular arms extended and their thumbs sticking out had a strange, but
very pleasant effect on me. Almost every time I saw one of those guys I felt a
tightening in the pit of my stomach, which always preceded a boner.

I was 18 years old at the time. Like lots of other guys my age, I really didn'
t know what I wanted to do. My folks said I should go to community college
for a couple of years, try out some courses, and get some kind of idea about
where I wanted to go. That's what my older brother Bob had done. They also
reminded me that, since they were footing the bill, community college was way
cheaper than a private school.

I had gotten a job my junior year in high school as a stock boy in a local
supermarket, but the pay wouldn't even keep me in pencils and paper. Besides,
after graduation I quit when I had an argument with the assistant manager. My
parents weren't at all happy about what I had done, and kept bugging me to find
a new job to help pay for expenses. I promised them I would.

Community college is like a revolving door since many student enter or leave,
depending on how they feel when they roll of bed in the morning. I was
determined, though, to make a go of it, and took a full load of 15 credits that
first semester. I had been a good student in high school and had--at least I thought
--the discipline and the intelligence to handle all those college classes. You
would think that with all that work to do that I wouldn't have time to think
about anything much but school, but I soon became deeply involved with
something that had started out as just a pleasant pastime.

My name, by the way, is Dave Stanton. I am about 5'10", weigh in at about
150 lbs. I have brown, medium length hair, and green eyes. I am slim but in
fairly good shape physically from playing tennis during high school. I also liked
to swim, and usually was in the drink almost every day, although I never
joined a team.

I felt pretty good about my appearance. The only downer was my damn eyes. I
was badly nearsighted so I needed to wear glasses--something I hated because
they made me look like a geek. I'd been after my folks to get me contacts, but
dad had recently been laid off from his job and still hadn't found another. They
thought the contacts could wait.

There's not a lot of social life around community college (at least not the
one I went to) since almost everyone commuted, and lots of `em held jobs on the
side. I dated a couple of girls I had met in class, but nothing serious came
out of it. We never got beyond the usual "dinner and a movie" and maybe a
little fondling and kissing--kinda the same thing that had happened in high
school. The guys who dated and were already fucking chicks used to tease me and ask
if I was going to be a hermit or something. Some hinted that I might be gay,
although the teasing remained just that. I was never picked on or excluded, and
had many friends, even though I wouldn't exactly have called myself popular.

 Funny thing was, those short and boring high school dates seemed to be
enough for me. I really wasn't turned on by those chicks and never put any moves on
them, even though a couple of them made it very clear they wouldn't mind
going to bed with me. Those propositions made my ego more happy than my cock.
Maybe I was just putting up a front--for the other guys AND for myself!

At the same time, I was almost always horny, and my left hand (yeah, I'm a
south paw) and the old cum-rag saw plenty of use. As time went on, though, I
began to think more about the cute guys I saw in class than the chicks, and found
myself getting to be something of a crotch gazer. Although the fashion at the
time was baggy jeans and loose fitting shirts that hung down over your ass, I
was much more turned on by the form-fitting look: those tight jeans and
muscle shirts that show off a guy's body development, most especially his biceps,
ass, and package.

Freshman classes in college were often large and were held in those
auditoriums with rising rows of seats like in the movies. Many times when I came into
class I would deliberately sit in front of some stud whose jean-clad knees
(because of the incline of the chairs) would be directly behind my head. I could
feel the heat coming from his body and, sometimes even smell the odor of his
crotch if he opened his legs. Sometimes the stud would even put his sneakers up
on the back of my chair on either side of my head. Although I pretended not to
notice, I was inwardly going crazy, and would often give myself a stiff neck
trying to look at those grimy shoes with dirty laces that were so close to my
face.

I remember once one of those hunky students put up his feet on my chair and
brushed his sneaker along the side of my face.

"Sorry, dude" he said in a deep masculine voice, which only made me more
horny. I hoped he hadn't seen the tent in my pants, but he did look kinda funny
at me when I turned around to accept his apology.

The guy (whose name I found out later was Nick) was really hot, and I found
myself looking for him, and again sitting in front of him the next time we had
class together. It was an English class and we were supposed to watch  "
Shakespeare in Love" and than do a critique on it.

Nick must have figured something was up with me because as soon as the
teacher turned down the lights (we were only watching the first part today) he put
his feet up on the back of my chair. This time, however, he pushed his feet
slowly forward so that his sneakers were actually resting lightly on my
shoulders. He also brought them slowly together so they were getting closer and closer
to my face. I was beginning to smell the odor of his sneakers and even of his
apparently unwashed feet. He wore a pair of white leather Nikes which were
scuffed up from lots of use.

I didn't know what to do. I was sure he was testing me, and knew that I
should tell him to get his feet off of me, but something stopped me. For one thing
my cock was going crazy. I could feel a damp spot, my precum, forming rapidly
in my crotch. Luckily since the auditorium was dark, no one saw it. But what
about when the lights came back on?

Meanwhile, the stud was bringing his feet closer and closer to my face. I
could feel the touch of his jeans on my ears. He had bent his feet so that now
they now only made contact with my shoulders but with the top part of my pecs as
well, inching down toward my nipples. I could hear him softly laughing as he
saw that he could have his way with me, and that I was actually willing to be
humiliated by him. This obviously encouraged him to get even bolder.

Finally his sneakers were pressing against the sides of my head as if I were
in a vise. He didn't apply pressure, but just waited to see what I would do. I
couldn't help myself and became totally shameless. I rubbed my cheeks against
his denim covered legs. He pulled up further so that I could feel the musty
warmth of his athletic socks and even lick the tops of his sneakers. The moment
I did that I trembled as I had one of the most powerful orgasms of my life.
The front of my pants were totally soaked with  jizz. He laughed again.

After another ten minutes the lights came on and Nick quickly took his feet
off my chair. "Like that, huh, faggot?" he asked with a knowing smile as he
started down the row toward the aisle. Then he turned around. "Make sure you
stay out of my way, freak, or I'll kick your ass so hard you'll be wearin' it
around your balls." He whispered something to a buddy up in the next row, and
they both looked at me and started laughing loudly. My face was hot and I'm sure
I blushed all shades of red. I determined never to sit in front of Nick
again, realizing that now he would be out to humiliate me again and maybe even
start beating on me.

Duh! What exactly was I doing here? All of a sudden I was gawking at guys and
getting my jollies from looking at `em, and even at their crotches and dirty
sneaks. Did that mean I was gay or at least bi? Did I, maybe, even have a foot
fetish?! I never really thought about those possibility before, but I guess
it was about time I did, especially since I began to think more and more about
hitchhikers--not girls but guys!

****************************************

For a long time I was not comfortable picking up any of those guys. I had
heard all the stories about how hitchhikers can rob, and assault, and even kill
you, and I didn't want to take the chance of becoming a statistic. My dad had
even warned me when I got my first car: "Now that you're a driver, I want you
to remember never to pick up hitchhikers. They're always bad news. I don't
mind if you take your friends to the mall or the movies, but I don't want you
letting any strangers into the car--especially when you're alone.

"Dad," I said, "did you ever pick up a hitchhiker? I know that some of my
friends hitch rides and they would never hurt anyone."

"Dave it can work both ways," dad said, avoiding my question. "If you pick
up a hitchhiker you can get hurt, and the other way around too. A hitchhiker
never knows who may pick him up: it could be a psycho or a pervert. So it's much
better to just avoid the whole thing. Just use the car to get where you're
going and let everybody else take care of themselves. And another thing..."

Of course, I had already tuned out this lecture. I usually got them at least
once a week and they could go on for an hour or more. Dad felt it was
important for us to `communicate' but the way I saw it, he did all the talking and I
did all the listening.

Shaking me out of my day dreams dad said: "By the way, Dave, why are you so
interested in hitchhikers?"

Caught! "Uh, dad, I'm not," I said innocently. "I just don't think it's a
big deal, especially if it's like somebody from college that I've seen before.
"

Well, that was the wrong answer. I think our `dialogue' broke all records
that night!

*****************************************

 Actually I think I may have been more embarrassed than afraid to pick some
guy up. What if one of those hitchhikers accused me of cruising for sex or of
being a perv? Then my parents would find out, and I might even be expelled from
school. Besides, my folks were real conservative, and wouldn't even think
about the possibility of having a son who was gay. For that reason I simply rode
past those young studs with their thumbs stuck out.

I think some of them knew that I wanted to pick them up. My eye contact with
them was just a bit too long. They may even have realized that I was getting
off by seeing them. Very often they spread their legs wide or changed the
finger they had stuck out at me. And sometimes when I would pass the same guy more
than once (if the guy was really hot, I would double back) he would smirk at
me and even grab his crotch as if he knew exactly what I was doing and why.

As time went on, however, the urge became stronger and stronger. When I would
masturbate at night, it was not a fantasy about fucking some chick, but about
picking up some hitchhiker, being physically close to him, and feasting on
the sight of his lean but muscular body. I thought about him taking control,
telling me where to take him, ordering me to buy him beer or cigarettes or food
or give him money. Of course these arousing fantasy, which always led to a very
pleasurable orgasm, took place in the safety of my bed where there were no
dangers or consequences to be faced.

But it was becoming an obsession, and, like any obsession, the more you think
about it the more you really want to do it. Besides my cock was taking charge
and making me forget about my former fears and embarrassment. My very first
pick-up, though, gave me far more than I bargained for, and I was not even
alone at the time . . .

*******************************************

What had finally broken the ice was the morning I got a frantic call from my
friend, Allen Colm, to please come and pick him up. His car had broken down
and he was late for classes. Besides, it was pouring rain.

"No prob, Allen" I said, "I'll be there in about fifteen minutes."

 We took off with the rain coming down so hard I could hardly see out the
wind shield. Then, about half way to school, we saw a figure standing by the side
of the road ahead of us. As we drew closer it became obvious that it was a
young guy hitchhiking, probably going to college.

"Hey, Dave," said Allen, "stop for that guy, he's getting drenched!"

 "Allen," I lectured like dad, "it's not a good idea to pick up a
hitchhiker. He could be dangerous."

"Cut the bull shit, Stanton," Allen shot back. "Look at that guy. He looks
like a drown rat. Besides, I think he's somebody in my class. Now don't be an
asshole; stop for the guy!"

I pulled over to the side of the road, feeling that familiar pressure
building inside me--only this time it was for real. I watched the guy run through the
teeming ran in the rear view mirror. I didn't know if I was relieved or
resentful that Allen was in the car with me.

"Hey, thanks for stopping, dudes," he panted, as he slid, dripping wet, into
the back seat. "I been standin' there for about fifteen minutes and none of
those motherfuckers would stop for me."

"Your Chris Foster, aren't you?" Allen said, as he craned his neck around. "
We're in the same class together--History 101, right?"

"Uh, yeah, you're right," Chris said. "I seen you there--Allen, ain't it?
By the way, who's your friend? He looks familiar too."

I introduced myself and said that I didn't think we had met. Chris confirmed
it after I rattled off my classes.

"Still," Chris insisted, "I'm sure I seen you somewhere. I'm pretty good at
remembering faces."

I felt a chill go through me. It dawned on me that Chris was one of the
hitchhikers I had checked out a couple of times on my way back and forth to school.
He had even given me the finger and spat at me once as I sped past him for
the third time.

"Don't really matter," Chris said to me, "but I'm sure it'll come to me.
Anyway, thanks for picking me up."

By that point, to my relief, we were already at school. "Drop me off at the
library before you park," Chris said.

It sounded more like an order than a request. I felt my cock start to stir as
I said, "Sure thing, Chris."

"Thanks," he said in a rather off-hand manner as he hopped out of the car
and made a run through the rain for the library.

"You want a drop off too?" I asked Allen.

"Nah," he said, "I'll walk with you once we park. I want to go over some of
that stuff we're supposed to have on the math quiz today...By the way, can you
give me a ride home with you later?" Allen asked. My cock stayed limp.
Apparently it preferred being ordered around rather than asked.

I saw Chris several more times hitchhiking, and each time now I would stop
for him. I would almost always bone up as I stopped. I hoped he didn't notice. I
asked him once if he had his own car. He told me he had a pickup, but it was
a piece of shit. He had decided to try his luck at hitching for awhile until
he could afford to get it fixed or buy a new one.

Chris was a jock who was on the football and baseball teams and showed it:
bulging biceps and a hulking chest that tapered down to a narrow waist,
perfectly setting off his faded Lee jeans. He had a killer smile, deep blue eyes, and
kept his blond hair in a military-style buzz.

I began to look forward to seeing Chris standing by the edge of the road and
found myself disappointed when he wasn't there. Once I was just ready to stop
and some blond pulled over just ahead of me. Apparently she was someone he
knew since he threw his arm around her and they kissed briefly. I felt an
unexpected twinge of jealousy and silently cursed her as I slowly passed by.

Each time I picked up Chris he seemed to get more demanding. It was as if he
sensed that he could order me around and that I wanted to please him.

Hey, dude," he said one day (turned out he never called me `Dave'), "stop
at that drug store for a minute. I have to pick up some shit for my little
brother. He's in bed with a fuckin' cold and I have to get his medicine."

 As I pulled into the parking lot Chris got out, giving me the opportunity to
see his hard butt encased in those tight jeans. He didn't even tell me how
long he'd be, and I didn't have a whole lot of time to waste before my first
class. In spite of that, my cock was loving it. All I could think about besides
Chris' hard bod was the self-assurance he had that I would wait for him so he
could take care of his business.

When Chris finally came out of the drug store about twenty minutes later he
jumped in the car and said: "Okay man, floor it or I'm gonna be late for
class. I had to wait for that damn medicine and now it's fucked up my whole morning.
" He lit up a cigarette and puffed away.

I was beginning to resent Chris' attitude. What about my morning? What about
my classes? I would probably be late for the first class, and at the very
least miss the attendance call. At that moment I made up my mind that Chris was on
his own from now on. I had done my share. Let somebody else put up with his
damn self-centeredness from now on!

For a couple of day I took a different road, trying to avoid Chris. But I
couldn't get him out of my mind. Did he end up walking all the way to school? Did
he find another regular pickup like that blond who stopped for him once? My
resolution was weakening as I thought about Chris' hot bod and superior
attitude. He had pretty much become the center of my masturbation fantasies and it
always involved him standing on the side of the road in a hitchhiker stance. He
would smile knowingly at me, his eyes commanding me to stop for him.
Inevitable in my fantasies I would brake and he would run up, slide in next to me with
his manly smell, light up a cigarette and casually tell me to get going. At
that point I would feel my cock quiver with delight and go into it's song and
dance.

Several days later with my cock throbbing and that tight feeling in my
stomach I decided to take the regular route to school and see if Chris was there.
Sure enough I could see him in the distance. His back was toward me as he walked
along the road with his thumb stuck out. As I braked and he slid in, he
grinned and said: "Hey, man, I missed you the last couple of days, what happened?"

"I, uh, was sick and didn't go to classes," I stammered.

"Funny," he said, "looking right at me. "I could have sworn that I saw you
walking across campus yesterday. But I guess maybe you're right. I can see
that you're really sweating," he said, still staring at me.

"Yeah," I think I got a fever," I said. My face was certainly red enough!

As we got to school, though, my resolve not to pick up Chris again weakened
further as he resumed his demanding attitude. This time he directed me to pick
him up after football practice that afternoon.

"Dude?" he said. "My buddies usually take me home after practice, but they'
re gonna stay late, and I gotta get home with that damn medicine. Pick me up
around 5:00 pm, will ya?"

I found myself agreeing with this hunky lineman, giving up my resolve in a
flash. "I'll be there Chris. See you at 5:00 pm."

"Great, dude," he said, "I knew that I could count on ya. See ya later."

(To be continued)