Date: Sun, 24 Oct 2010 18:40:37 -0700 (PDT)
From: T. Chase McPhee <survivalgame@yahoo.com>
Subject: PLaY FoR PaY 07

The story below is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any
resemblances to real people, alive or in the hereafter, is entirely
coincidental in nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons,
of continents or islands, in countries, counties, cities, towns, villages,
neighborhoods, streets, cul-de-sacs, nor governmental or non-governmental
areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male
relationships offends you, then why are you here? Seriously, if guy-to-guy
sex stuff makes you barf or is going to screw up your mind, you should not
read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most
states and countries, you are not allowed to read this story, by law. Check
with your local laws regarding such.

% Sexual safety matters. Remember guys, this is fiction. In real life, use
protection.

PLaY FoR PaY 07
WriTten by T. Chase McPhee

%

As it has evolved, Rick's services were usually needed for Friday or
Saturday nights, so Steve made sure Rick had the weekends off to
recuperate. Yesterday afternoon, into the early evening was an unusual
event, a chance happening, otherwise Rick would have found his own
entertainment. When he woke up early this morning, he had made a journey
down memory lane, then gone back to sleep. He was a little surprised, not
having remembered his trip to the shoebox. Turning over on his back, he lay
there with the clothespins still attached to his nips, one a little on a
tilt. He dared himself, picking up the gold chain to where it hung down in
a straight line. A little pull made Rick sigh, "Ooh-h," in a whistled
tone. A couple of more pulls, extending his nip meat beyond his hairy chest
and he was into it, his other hand pleasuring his cock. His favorite way of
masturbation, Rick's hand traveled up his shaft, but in the down phase Rick
made it a point to crush
 his balls as much as possible. Soon it got beyond the point of no return,
stretching his nips, bashing his own balls over and over and just like in
the olden days, as he was about to come, Rick rips the clothespins off his
nips. "Oh fuckin' shit!" he exclaims, torn between pleasure and pain. Done,
he used his own semen to calm his sore nips, rubbing the liquid gel over
his hairy pec, his thumbs massaging the man-oil into each nip. Every now
and then he would savor the salty manseed. He lay there for the longest
time and as he gloated over pulling off such a fantastic jerk-off, he
thought about Justin and tried to recall if it was ever this good!

Laying there, recuperating from the fantastic feeling, his cell phone
rings. "Oh shit!" he complains because his hands are still gummy. As such
is the case, he handles his cell like it was something forbidden to pick
up, handling it around the edges. Come to find out, it was Steve. The
message was short, asking Rick if he wanted to earn five hundred bucks
tonight. The deal done, no small talk on the side, Rick is given the time,
place and other particulars. He wasn't sure about it, Steve mentioning two
guys on one, but after saying there was a guaranteed tip in it, plus
possibilities of future meet ups, Rick took the job.

Like he had found out late last night, after Wali and Hans had worked his
back and stomach over, he felt hardly any residuals while in the shower. At
first there was a slight sting where Wali had lay the leather on his back,
but as for his taut abs their neither show signs of being gut-punched, nor
had any sensation of being pummeled. Rick was amazed himself, considering
Hans packed quite a wallop and didn't hold back, really heaving his fist
deep into his abs. Rick determined it enough 'shower', when the hot water
runs out.

Leaving the jon with a towel around his waist, Rick wondered what to put on
his agenda for today. Backtracking, he started at the time he was to meet
his clients, eight o'clock, and with each finger counted off dinner, which
he knew would have to be light, since he didn't want to be upchucking
anything in case there was some heavy gut-work. Normally on a Saturday he
would pay a visit to the campus gym, and looking at the clock on wall
determined it to be as soon as he could get ready.

Slightly in a dizz, Rick spun around and then went for the bowl, cereal and
milk. He didn't drink coffee, so opted for orange juice, of which he drank
out of the carton. Afterward he shaved with an electric shaver, wondering
if his pubes were due for a trimming. Checking, they did but Rick didn't
feel like it now. Besides, in order to smooth up his stubbly balls he would
have to shower again.

Choosing briefs, Rick slipped on his jeans, grabbing a tee shirt. Where
some places in Rick's life he could be a slob, he was the opposite
elsewhere. As he prepared his gym bag, he carefully folded his jock pants
and tank top. In a side compartment he placed deodorant and after shave,
even though he rarely shaved at the gym.

He sat there on the bed a moment, thinking. A smile came to his lips when
he thought of one of the patrons he saw there last time he was in. Thinking
of him around his age, twenty-nine, his shape as well as features made him
the most beautiful man on the planet! So deep in thought was he over this
dude, Rick says out loud, "Sure would be nice if you were my man!"
Realizing he was in a dream state, he woke up to reality and headed out the
door. Maybe wishful thinking, always leaving, Rick says to his existence,
"See ya later alligator!"

This particular morning he turned, did a complete 360, realizing, "I better
not leave 'you' hanging around!" From waking up this morning, finding one
of the clothespins pulled off, from his right nip, the whole works left
dangling from his left pec, Rick had thought it comical, allowing it to
swing back and forth as he walked into the jon, took a leak, then to the
kitchen to make coffee. At this point it wasn't funny anymore and when he
unclipped his left nip, not without the price of pain as blood flow back
in, he had stashed the homemade contraption on the kitchen counter. Like
any other kitchen gadget, Rick pulled open the drawer and slid the gold
chain and clothespins right off the surface and in with the pancake turner
and other utensils.

%

On the other side of town, Steve was just stirring awake and as usual,
stretch his arms up to the headboard, yawned and look down upon his
beautiful, hairy bod. Like yesterday, the day and the day before, into
infinity, something specific caught his eye. With sight, came feeling and
soon he was gently feeling himself up between the legs, wishing, "Oh man I
could sure use 'ass'!"

Then suddenly a grin came to his face upon hearing the revving up of garden
tools, a lawn mower and weed whacker. He giggles to himself, picking the
delicacy from an international pallet, "What will it be today? Mexican?
Colombian? Peruvian? Costa Rican?" Too, Steve was thinking in the teen to
twenty-something range?

Usually he had to dance his wares in a nonchalantly manner, at the window,
but this morning was different. As he got up, his hand was right on the
blind pull and as he gave a tug, it was like the two strings were attached
to the door bell. "Oh fuck," he cast the downer, thinking it a major
distraction to his life. Too, many a time Steve could be quite the
exhibitionist, thinking it a major laugh-off, appearing at the door devoid
of clothing, except a skimpy pair of briefs. Many a time he howled after
opening the door to Jehovah Witnesses and would advise his 'method' for
anyone needing a deterrent to advertising. So, opening the door, Steve was
'major prepared', especially since the state of his morning wood more than
filled up his cotton basket.

"What's up?" Steve asks. He wasn't exactly thrilled, it not being one of
the landscapers or even some of those religious fanatics aiming to weasel a
quarter out of him, but still not a total disappointment, a guy around his
age or a little older.

Of course it didn't flit by as a total waste, the guy proclaiming, "Hey,
I'm Davide Rivera and my boss, he's sending me around to all the
apartments... he wants to show his appreciation to all the tenants?"

Steve thought it highly irregular. In the ten or so years since he has
resided in the townhouses, never has this been a factor in his residency,
especially from 'the landscaper'? He had a little doubt in his mind, but
being male, especially with his usual morning desire, he cast the ounce of
doubt away. "I see," Steve said more as provocation.

Impressing upon Steve his boss' generosity, Davide lifts up a six-pack,
having withdrawn one of the lot, saying, "Compliments of the landscaping
company?"

At the sight of the five bottles in the hand-carried container and the one
in Davide's hand, plus the smile attached, Steve didn't think the fellow
too bad after all. 'Nah', he thought as he opened the door, tight or loose,
he would still be ass to fuck!

But what a rude awakening. Entering, Rick closed the door and as he turned
to face Davide. Davide, with quick precision had flipped the bottle in his
hand, from holding the bottom, to the top. Using it as a weapon he made
sure it had a powerful impact. Lifting it from down under he brought the
butt of the beer bottle up, connecting with Steve's balls.

Whether his cum-laden cock did anything to cushion his replenished sacs,
didn't seem to play a part in what Steve felt, the worst pain in his life
as his legs caved in on him.

"You're gonna fuckin' pay for what you did to my nephew," Davide
said. Being a mechanic by trade, Davide was a strong thirty-five year old
and it took nothing out of him to pull Steve up by his head of hair
one-handedly. "You're nothing but a piece of shit!"

"No wait..." Steve breathed heavy, still pangs between the legs, "we gotta
talk about this...."

"Action first... talk later... first I'm gonna screw you up like you did
Jose!"

As Davide said, came true for Steve, a fist to his gut, knocking the wind
out of him. That wasn't the end of his torment, picking Rick up, it was
like a wrestling move, his aggressor flinging him completely over, like a
ragdoll, Steve's back crashing down on his living room coffee table. Like
out of a movie, the impact of his bod of the flimsy table sent it crashing
to the floor in pieces.

"Ak-k-k-k-k-k-k-k!" Steve cried out in pain. Fortunately, the only thing on
the table top were a few kernels of popcorn from one night last
week. Feeling like it, Steve cried out, "Oh shit! I... I think... I think
you broke my back!"

"Let's see, shall we?"

Tight knit community, what was happening to Steve could have been detected
in the normal lull of things, except this particular part of the week was
Saturday and on this day the immediately area was surrounded in noise from
the landscaping company. So, nobody, except the two involved could hear the
sounds of Steve's cries after being punched in the balls by the butt of
Davide's beer bottle, nor the followup, Davide's sturdy fist knocking the
wind out of Steve's lungs, via his taut midsection. Too, from the
surrounding few feet, the break down of Steve's coffee table by his back
slamming into it and now, Davide turning Steve over onto his front,
lassoing his behind-the-back-wrists with a prepared rope, all rose to a
dull nothingness compared to the rotary machines outdoors.

"What tha fuck you doing? You'll never get away with this!"

"Like you thought you were going to get away with torturing Jose?"

Still feeling like his back was broken, though it wasn't, Steve lay there
on his front, lifting his head to try to reason, especially since he didn't
seem to be the end of the man's revenge, at least this was what Steve was
thinking. Too, he didn't have much choice but to fight with words since his
wrists were now tied behind his back, in the process, the feeling of rope
being tied to his ankles. "I swear. I never tortured anyone!" For the most
part Steve was telling the truth. He didn't torture any guy unless he
wanted to be tortured, or if he helped one of his clients along by wordy
suggestions. Regardless, either way, the guy being tortured was either
accepting on his own free will or being paid for it. Then things really
began to dim for Steve, a rubbery, black bag being placed over his
head. Protests became deadened with the sound of machinery when Steve was
lifted off the floor. From his aching balls and gut, worn out from being
the projectile for
 his coffee table, tied up to incapacitate him, he didn't have a lot of
mobility to thrash about as Davide carried him over his shoulder. Too,
outside it was more so noisy and even though he could hear talking through
the rubber mask, it seemed this 'Davide' had accomplices. For now escape
seemed futile, but he hoped there would be another opportunity to
straighten this mess out.

%

Together, Jac and John had come to the conclusion since it was a bright,
sunny day, with more on its way, they would hop in the car and head on down
to the beach. For now John was keeping the location a secret of which Jac
didn't have a clue, so he wasn't mentioning it.

Putting a few things into his 4x4, first Jac says, "Looks like we're going
on vacation."

Smiling, John replies, "Why, you in a hurry to come back here?"

"I'm not saying," Jac tells him, "but do you think it's going to be okay
with Mike, taking all his stuff?"

"The guy never eats at home. What we take, he's never going to miss."

"Oh?" Jac says as John cleans the fridge of all the rest of the beer,
"Mike's not going to miss that?"

Carting it out to John's truck, he thinks all is about set when Jac says,
"Uh-oh! We got trouble!"

At first John feared a flat tire, but then looked at things as minor, the
guys showing up in a truck, laden with surfboards, accompanied by a jeep.

"Hey coach!" They hear Austin yell out.

Not only Austin, the vehicles were packed with team members, Blake Babcock,
a freshman who already achieved the name Blake-Bigcock, because his pants
always looked like he had the hots for a guy, then there were the others,
Rico, Anthony, Jake, Tom, Ronaldo, Kevin, Jean-Michel, Kellan, Mark and
Thierry. In essence, the make up of the whole team was there, plus a couple
from Mike Brat's Soccer squad. The only two missing were Hans Baasch and
Wali Boudouani, whom were most likely two exhausted from working Rick over
last night.

Last to show was a bright blue 4x4. After it parked, John says in passing
to Jac, "Mike! Now how the hell did he know?"

Jac was beet red, explaining, "Um, I kinda like, well hope you're not livid
at me, but I kinda said something about you and me going on a picnic?"

"You did, did you?" John replies, folding his arms across the creasing of
his polo shirt, tapping a foot on the floor. Being his colleague, only Mike
Brat would have knowledge of his rather large, former-family beach house
out on the cape. And no wonder members from both the football and soccer
teams show up, probably Mike shooting his mouth off about enough room to
sleep an army, swimming pool, sauna and a playroom complete with pool
table.

"You're not made at me, are you John?" Jac asks.

Instead of being mad at Jac, John shoves the fault off onto his colleague,
"Mike, what the hell is this?"

Overlooking John's attitude, Mike says, "Hey, look!" he throws back a tarp,
"I've got like enough food here for an army!"

True, as compared to what Mike had left in his refrigerator, this like at
least quadrupled the amount of sustenance.

Geoff yells out, "Yeah and we got ya covered where the refreshments are
concerned coach!"

In one hand was a bottle of Jack Daniels, other hand some brand of vodka.

Sulking over it, John says for Jac's benefit, "There goes our quiet
weekend!"

Too, Jac has realized, "I didn't know we were going to the cape?"

Being John new to the college, but not to the area, he figured it would be
a good time to get to know the players on his team, so a dozen or so extra
guys along for the weekend wasn't such a bad thing after all.

Then, as they were about to leave, who pulls up but Rick Beltran. Stepping
out of his car, he walks up to John car window, saying, "I'm sorry to
bother you on your Saturday, but I was supposed to pass these knew keys
onto you yesterday and surely you will need them Monday morning."

Rick had a feeling somebody was breathing down his neck and sure enough,
when he stood up from John's window, he almost bumped bods with Mike Brat.

"Hey there handsome!"

Rick, decked out in his shorts and a tank top, looks over his shoulder to
check out the perimeter, then confronts Mike, "Who, me?"

Dropping his head from looking at Rick eye to eye, he noticeably scans the
off duty security guard, saying, "Hell, I'd really like to lick every inch
of your steamy, hot bod!"

Inside the car, John says to Jac, "Should I back out and chance running
over their toes?"  They laughed, giving the two option of a few more
minutes while deciding on which CD to plug into John's car.

"I better go," Rick replies.

"What's your rush?" Mike holds him up with a palm plastered to his
chest. "You busy?"

"Not right now," Rick replies. In fact, the twenty-nine year old wasn't
busy now, today or tomorrow, not until he showed up for work Monday
morning.

"We're all headed out to John's place on the cape for the weekend. How
about coming with us?" And again, after dropping his hand, more wiping it
down Rick's stomach, Mike checks him out.

"Uh, like I don't have any clothes but these and...."

"By coincidence thems all the clothes you need. In fact, none of us are
going to be wearing much all weekend, ain't that right John?"

Jac had to tell him, "John, Mike's talking to you."

"Yeah, what Mike?" John called out his window.

He got answered, "Nothin', John!"

But John had something to say, revving up his engine and backing up at a
snail's pace.

Right away Mike stopped leaning on the car and like taking the hint,
pressured Rick, "C'mon. You don't even need to lock your car. You can bum a
ride with me!"

Rick knew he was supposed to be sitting home this evening, just in case he
got a call from Steve to show up at a quickly arranged s&m party, but
because of what happened earlier, given the brushoff, the only thing held
in the balance of affection between himself and Steve, being his ass, he
decides to fuck it and exclaims, "Yeah, I think I will take you up on it!"

%

Copyright 2010 T. Chase McPhee

`PLaY FoR PaY' may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without
prior consent from the author.

The more you stretch, the more you can fit in... 'spread' happiness!
TCMcP.....