Date: Sat, 20 Oct 2007 10:22:45 -0700 (PDT)
From: T. Chase McPhee <survivalgame@yahoo.com>
Subject: ROAD TRIP  ego

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, in towns, cities, nor governmental areas,
which the story is stages. If a sexual scene involving
male-to-male relationships offences 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.

ROAD TRIP  egotistical
wriTten by T. Chase McPhee

%

Anthony had the upper hand, in the no-holds-barred
wrestling match, the fan's yelling, "C'mon you
faggot!" from the perimeter of a boxing ring. However,
Anthony didn't count on Juan's academy-award
performance of playing `passed out'. Gloating over
himself, all it took was a few seconds for Anthony to
turn his back. A fast crawl towards a corner, Juan
easily tagged Alfredo's hand, the six foot, two
hundred and twenty-two pounder, stretching his size
fourteen boot, inside the ropes.

The yard erupted in laughter as Miguel's friends saw
it coming, Anthony's back to Alfredo, almost breathing
down his neck.

"Now you're mine, boy!"

Like a drop in the stock market, Anthony's proud,
happy side took the plunge, as he turned around.
Waiting, was Alfredo's fist. The first gutpunch
struck, knocking the wind out of Anthony.

Laughing his ass off, Alfredo shouted out, "Oh man,
did that feel fuckin' good!" His cock surged, swelling
when he scooped up Anthony's hair, pulled him to a
straight-standing positon and tucked in his gut for
the second time.

"Need some help?" Juan asks, standing to Alfredo's
right.

"Yeah. Stretch him out. I've only just started to cave
in his gut!"

Neither of the Latino's picked up on how easy it was
for Juan to circle behind Anthony, weave his hands up
and around the coach's biceps, putting him in a full
nelson, stretching his abs to the max.

First, placing his big fist up to Anthony's gut, right
above his navel, hiding a round portion of his
dark-haired stomach trail, Alfredo tested the
resilience of the nicely defined six pack.

Drawing his arm way back, Alfredo made a sound,
yelling, "Yeah," heaving his fist forwards. "Oh shit!"
he cried out too late, as Anthony maneuvered himself
out of the way, to his far right, making Juan's big
stomach a vulnerable target.

"Uggggggggggggggggggghh!" Juan belched out long and
loud, releasing Anthony, holding his belly as he fell
against the ropes.

However, unlike Alfredo's attention, diverted to Juan,
Anthony kept a cool head, watching the hulk of a man
fall prey to Juan's rapid breathing and groans of
pain.

"Hey, sorry amigo...." Alfredo said to Juan, half
bending over.

Still man-on-top, Anthony saw Miguel almost ready to
sound the bell. Walking over to the far side of the
ring, he steals the wooden mallet out of his hand,
reaches for the red, circular piece of metal the
bell-like tone would sound from, like a frisbee,
tossing both over the rock wall.

With a renewed source of energy, Anthony shouts, "Now
we play by my rules!"

However, it was the biggest mistake on his part, being
over confident, plus a bit pompous. His main
objective, to put Alfredo out of commission, he went
at him hastily, not leaving time to think, as he put
him into a wrestling hold, turning him around, pushing
him face forward into the mat. It seemed like the
ground shook, when, with arms over his head and behind
him, Alfredo's chest, stomach and pubes took on the
burden of a frontal assault, slamming into the mat.

All around the roped in corral was heard a canon of
`Oh shits'! Not paying a deal of attention to Juan,
Anthony didn't see a couple of his friends dousing him
with water, having him drink, refeshing the chubby
fighter, as if he experienced timeout in a corner of
the ring. Arms behind Alfredo's back, Anthony carried
a smile on his face, as he leaned a knee in the small
of Alfredo's back, bringing the behemoth fighter's
elbows together.

As Juan got up to his feet, using the rope for
support, he spotted a flogger hanging from one of his
comrade's belt. Instead of accusing him of stealing,
the owner of the flogger was more than happy to see
Juan, gripping the whipping tool in his hand, shaking
out the leather fronds. Anthony had no idea of
impending disaster, Juan holding the flogger way
behind himself, training it on the target of Anthony's
shoulderblades.

"Akkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!" Anthony screamed,
when the eight or ten fronds slapped against his back.
As a reflex, he let go of Alfredo's arms. It hadn't
been Anthony's first encounter with an instrument of
whipping. He knew if he didn't react, the second lash
would spell the beginning of the end, each strike of
the whip dragging him down. Taking two lashes across
his chest and one to the sides of his ribs, he managed
to wrestle Juan, using several fronds of the flogger
to reel Juan in. Pulling on the flogger, Anthony's
hand plunged into the Latino's big belly. "Take that!"
Anthony replied to the heavy belch.

"Take this, you little shit!" Alfredo countered
Anthony's assault with first a slap across his cheek,
to grab his attention. With both hands on Anthony's
shoulders, Alfredo lifts his knee, right into
Anthony's pubes.

Falling forward, it was the direction Alfredo had
intended. This time, it was Anthony's turn to be
pinned to the mat. More powerful than Anthony, Alfredo
held both of the twenty-seven year old's arms in one
of his. Reaching between Anthony's legs, his hand dove
under his bod, grabbing for soft flesh.

Gritting his teeth, Anthony had worse problems to
worry about, rather than keep his attention on Miguel.
When he felt his balls being gently squeezed, he knew
he was finished, at least until he passed out.

With the shriek of a whistle, cutting through the
excitement, Alfredo knew he better stop, freeze the
action. What a shame... just as Juan once again
commanded the flogger.

"Okay, it's over," Miguel told them all.

Letting Anthony's body slack off, his arms falling to
the mat while he regained control of his muscles, an
arm disappearing under his bod, reaching to the place
between his legs, where it ached, he moaned, but still
followed the words being slung around between Miguel
and Alfredo.

"What the fuck is this Miguel? You promised me a good
time. I've only just begun to hurt this cocksucker."

One thing all of them knew and maybe it had slipped
Alfredo's mind, being the heated state he was in, but
nobody crosses Miguel. By being onery one day, you
might just wake up the next and find your car
dismantled, on your front lawn!

In the back of Miguel's mind, he keenly focused on his
promise to his brother, but in the front lobe of his
brain, he still had the memory stabbing at him, when
he almost got caught in a drug sting... in the wrong
place at the wrong time. Hauling him out before the
feds busted in the door, Alfredo and he made their
getaway, rather than the possibility of facing prison
time. Little had Miguel realized an innocent game of
poker would be the front for a notorious drug
operation.

"Well, you gonna welch on me, Miguel" Alfredo's faced
Miguel, inches from each other, leading him on, "or
what?"

He looked to Anthony, then back to Alfredo.

"Just give me two minutes with the son-of-a-bitch!"

With no damage to his body, it was his ego which fired
Alfredo up.

"A minute and I'm timing you to the second," Miguel
gave in.

"Oh fuckin' yeah!" Alfredo yelled out, throwing the
knuckles of his right hand into his left, making a
hard, slapping sound. Alternating, his right palm
couldn't contain the size of his left fist.

Walking over to the tree, Miguel tore the all-weather
clock from it's perch, where it had been hand-screwed
to the upper trunk.

Unaware of his fate, Anthony was just starting to
recover, falling once, as his arms, from being held
behind him, wouldn't forklift his body up.

Walking over to Alfredo, Juan, his attitude softened,
"Amigo, I think this gringo has had enough."

"You disappoint me, Juan. But... I don't mind you
`not' sharing in the fun!"

Alfredo had a hidden agenda even before Miguel called
out `start'. When the go ahead was given, he went at
Anthony with a vengeance. `The man who hurt his ego'
was going to pay. Getting Anthony to his feet, Alfredo
heaved his fist into Anthony's gut two times. It was
enough to keep Alfredo's victim searching for breath
to fill his lungs. Doubling over, Alfredo counted
every second of the minute. "Well, if you're not going
to use this," Alfredo says to Juan, stealing the
flogger from his hand.

The first lash, Anthony still on his knees, doubled
over, coiled around his bod, the extension of
Alfredo's retaliatory revenge, severely lacerating
Anthony's back. With the second hurl of the whip, the
swish through the air didn't materialize, as Miguel
stood behind the torturer, fist around Alfredo's
wrist, tightly connected. With all his muscles in his
shoulder and arm flexed, the five foot ten inch host
held the sturdy inplement in midair, his muscles vying
for domination over Alfredo's.

"What tha..." Alfredo cursed, his head zooming to the
left, staring for a second at his left hand, then
slipping down his hand, like a melting ice cream cone,
seeing a hand clasped around his wrist, the retrainer
gripping him as snug as a leather cuff.

"New rule... no toys allowed!"

At first, Alfredo squinted, knowing he was losing
options for working Anthony over.
Then, an equally, if not more, smile showed off his
white teeth, he spelled out, "No problem, `bud',"
enunciating the friendly term, but hinting the break
in their relationship. Throwing the flogger to the
mat, the leather tool of torture half crossing
Miguel's boot, Miguel followed with release, snatching
it up.

"No problem," Alfredo said, with glee, "no problem
at-tall," said he, standing in the ring, the big bully
grabbing Anthony under his pits, hefting him up.
Throwing Anthony's back against the ropes, Alfredo
caught him on the rebound, again attacking Anthony's
gut, but this time stomping his heel into the coach's
abs, propelling him backwards.

By now, Anthony was breathing heavily, moaning in
pain, sweating profusely, as the sun baked the earth.
His legs like jelly, stomach red, though his abs still
strong, he couldn't do anything to defend himself, as
Alfredo wound rope around each arm, binding Anthony to
the side of the ring, saying loudly so all could hear,
"What the fuck I need a flogger, when I got `built in'
toys to play with." Before stepping away, he kicked
Anthony's legs apart.

Even though he felt pain in his gut, out of breath,
knowing a solid workover was ahead, Anthony couldn't
help but sense the excitement of the moment. He
couldn't comprehend how, sore, aching,  and fatigued,
his churning balls and stiff cock sent out signals to
his brain, something of an enjoyable nature, something
he would later try to figure out.

"Fifteen seconds!" Miguel shouted out, with the
addition of seconds, Alfredo's partner watched over
Miguel's shoulder, making sure tag-team member number
two didn't get short-changed.

"Shit!" the tall, muscled Latino called out, as the
seconds ticked away.

Alfredo's plan had been to use up a few seconds,
`mentally' torturing Anthony, as he stood over the
beaten coach, grinding his big fist into his abs,
twisting and turning it. As Anthony's bod sloped down,
Alfredo's knee was there, under Anthony's balls, to
boost him up. The pain was excruiating. Maybe to
Miguel, he was worried out of his mind, but to
Anthony, between the pain, he could still feel that
tingling sensation in his crotch.

"Ten seconds!"

At the sound of Miguel announcing the whittling away
of time, Alfredo stood up. Then, bending over a tad,
he aligned his fist up with Anthony's stomach. "Time
to finish you off, boy!"

It suddenly became a burden to Juan's mind,
remembering the connection between Miguel's brother
and the bound man, ready to endure more abs torture.
To him, it wasn't the `game' it set out to be.

As Alfredo bent over, making sure he was on target.
His fist pounded Anthony's abs, the impact so great,
causing Anthony's bod to lurch backwards, then
forwards, doubling over, even though the ropes
restrained him.

"Oh man did that feel so fuckin' good!" Alfredo called
out, again the inner ankle of his leg, using Anthony's
balls to get him into position, for the next bout.

However, Alfredo was about to get a `fucking' good
jolt himself, as Juan stood behind him. Retrieving the
flogger from the mat, sitting right in front of
Miguel, Juan turned the flogger around in his hand,
kneeling down on one knee. Leaning back as far as
possible, he knew he had only one shot. When he saw
Alfredo's elbow stretched back, it became the signal,
knowing he had to make his move.

Just before the pain response kicked in, a look of
total surprise showed on Alfredo's face, his right arm
molded, frozen in place. Then, as he screamed out in
pain, from the butt end of the flogger entering his
ass canal, Juan pushing it in deeper and deeper,
Alfredo took a nose dive, his head missing Anthony's
crotch by a foot.

"What a little woosy!" One of the sideliners said,
standing right in front of the passed out bod of
Alfredo, his gut hanging over the lower rope, his arms
flung forwards, lifeless in appearance. Next, instead
of pity, Miguel's buds began making fun of Alfredo,
his `horse tail' coming out of his butt.

Jumping into the ring, Miguel directed to Juan, "I owe
you one," as he attended to Anthony's limp bod.

Juan helped too, as Miguel complained, "Shit! Roberto
is going to kill me with his bare hands!" A hand
passed over a series of dark pink welts crossing
Anthony's chest, then bruises accenting his six pack.
He sighed, exhaling, saying to himself, `At least
there's no blood.'

Taking Anthony inside, Alfredo left out there to rot,
four men lifted Anthony up on the makeshift bondage
table. The hose Miguel used to spray down the mechanic
bays, became a revival tool, spraying the cool mist
over Anthony's bod.

"Ah, Tino, you want to come take a look?"

Tall, tanned, good looking, glasses, twenty-four, the
med student pushed his way through the barrage of
leathermen.

"You want to step back? Give the poor guy some air to
breathe?" Tino dictated to those gathered round. His
first leather party, invited by a regular, Tino
Desaguadero stood over Anthony, feeling him up and
down, especially around his sixpack, which more
resembled five and a half.

"I need a bag with some ice," Tino ordered up, more in
a dominant manner, currently out of sync with the
leather game.

Returning with a zipbag of ice, Miguel gave it to
Tino, who reported to Anthony, leaning over, changing
his tone, as from day to night, whispering in his ear,
"This may hurt a little."

Anthony just moaned.

After instructing Miguel to keep the ice in motion,
slowly, Tino gravitated to Anthony's thighs. More than
a doctor's attention, Tino carefully inspected the
pubic region. The other's attention on Anthony's bod,
Miguel doing a good job of icing down his abs, no one
noticed the tiny smile at the sides of Tino's lips, as
he carefully rolled Anthony's balls around in his
hand, as if tumbling dice. Not seeing anything
suspicious, not even a bruise, Tino thought to
himself, `This sure would have been good to play
with!' He was smiling for another reason, too,
Anthony's shaft, standing at attention. Or was it for
`more' attention?

After telling Miguel Anthony's abs had enough ice
therapy, instead of requesting it from Anthony, nor
doing it himself, he instructed a few men, standing
nearby, to `carefully' turn Anthony over.

"I need some antibiotic for the welts," Tino
confronted Miguel.

Feeling helpless, Miguel stood there.

"Hand sanitizer gel. Do you have some?"

"Upstairs. Be right back!" Miguel said.

With Juan on his tail, the two jumped from station to
house and back, in less than a minute. Dumping on the
table, between Anthony's legs, five little blue
bottles spun around. Taking the top off one, Tino
first cleansed his own hands. Then, emptying the same
one, he said to Anthony, "I'm sorry, but this is going
to hurt real bad." Before he applied it, Anthony's
head turned to the side, his eyes closing.

"Wha....what's happened to him?"

After taking Anthony's pulse, carefully checking his
eyes, Tino says, "You can cool your jets. He's passed
out. Maybe for the better."

"Passed out? Oh shit! Roberto's going to have me by
the balls!" Miguel exclaimed.

"Um, it's getting kind of..." Tino looked around at
the sweating bods, bodyhair slick as if showered,
"stuffy in here. Could..."

On it before Tino finished, Miguel announced, "Party's
over."

As usual, there would have been hemming and hawing,
but they knew the guy on the table wasn't any ordinary
victim. Prompted to give Anthony a good time, things
weren't supposed to go out of whack.

"Maybe we can get together next weekend," Miguel tried
smoothing it over, knowing the disappointment, even it
wasn't being expressed. Having an idea, he was sure to
make them feel better. "Why don't you guys get rid of
the piece of shit out in the backyard?"

"I thought he was your friend, Miguel?" One of them
asked.

"I was thinking about that. Nah, friends don't ask to
be repaid for a favor. At least I've never called in a
favor. Nope, I wouldn't call him a friend."

"What do we do with him?"

"Yeah, where does he live?"

Miguel responded to their questions, "Alfredo is from
out of town... but.. hmm.. why don't you boys have
some fun with him. Being the animal he is, why don't
just sneak into the animal shelter and stuff him in a
cage?"

Happily, but sympathetic over Miguel's plight, the lot
of them left, Tino staying behind, as well as Juan.

"You sure you don't want to go with them, Juan?"

"Nah. I'll wait for the gringo to wake up."

"Thanks," Miguel said, giving Juan a friendly slap on
his stomach, a peck on his cheek.

As Miguel stepped back over to the bondage table,
Juan's fingers traveled over his lips, as if reading
the sweet endeavor. As he watched Tino and Miguel
interacting, with conversation, he thought about
Miguel's gesture of thanks. Being the two went back,
to grade school days, Juan thought about the phrase,
`I owe you one'.  Ever since those golden days, it had
been Miguel who stood up for the chubby boy, watching
him grow into a chubby teen, then manhood. In Juan's
mind, he was erasing the slate clean.

%

Copyright 2007 T. Chase McPhee
This story may not be sold, nor made part of any
collection without prior written permission, by the
author.