Date: Sun, 8 Oct 2017 12:52:54 +0300 From: Ben Coolen Subject: Serving Casey Serving Casey By Ben Coolen bencoolen1212@gmail.com This story contains sexual acts (domination, submission, oral sex, masturbation) between young males. If you don't like it, or it is illegal in your country, state or community, please stop reading it immediately. This story is 100% fiction. Please keep in mind that Nifty needs our donations to keep this great free service running. Thanks to Naughty Bard for proofreading the text. Chapter 1 Hi guys! My name is Randy. I'm pretty much your regular teenager: blond, skinny, insecure -- well, you know. I'm also gay, which is not unusual either. So, I'm attracted to boys. It makes a young man's life a bit difficult, that's for sure. Our town is definitely not liberal and neither are my parents. So, when I, at the tender age of 14, finally admitted to myself that I was gay, coming out of the closet was no option. And the closet door has stayed closed ever since. My parents have guessed the truth long ago, but they don't want to face it. My sister guessed too, and she is too understanding to ask her little brother embarrassing questions. My best friend Casey hasn't asked too many embarrassing questions either. He is not thoughtful or considerate at all but we are good friends, and I guess he wanted to keep it that way. I would later learn that Casey has known the truth all along, and later he would use it for his own benefit. And that's what this story is all about. ------- I love Casey's company. He is outgoing, funny, daring, popular -- and very good-looking. That's why his company means both joy and torture for me. The Casey I am now telling you about is 17, just like me. He is now exactly six feet tall -- two and a half inches taller than me -- and weighs 152 pounds. His body contains just 8 percent fat. I know these figures precisely, because Casey measures them at least twice a week and keeps me informed about his development. What else should I tell you about Casey? He keeps his black hair longer on the top and closely cropped on the sides. His shoe size is 11 and he wears 30" pants. He has a slightly tanned, flawless skin and almond eyes. Oh yes, and his smile melts my heart and always makes me forgive him whatever he has done to make me angry. When we play video games in my room, we always sit side by side on the bed in his or my room. I can sense Casey's presence, smell his cologne, feel the heat of his body when our arms or shoulders occasionally touch, or when he leans over to playfully rub my scalp with his knuckles. And if I happen to be horny -- always, that is -- just sitting next to him means the necessity to cover a boner in my pants. Just looking at his firm and muscular legs, whether they are partly exposed when he is wearing shorts or hidden under a pair of jeans, or his tanned biceps, has a hardening effect on my young dick. Everything in Casey is a source of lust for me, even the odor that gets up to my nostrils when he decides to kick off his sneakers. Casey loves to fight and wrestle and he especially loves to win, and when he hasn't got a stronger opponent around, I will have to do. Our wrestling always ends with Casey getting his way of course. Once when I had really kicked his ass in a video game, he threw his arm around my neck and held my head tightly in a vice. "Admit you won by cheating! I won't let you go until you confess," he growled. His iron grip hurt my neck, but having my face practically pressed in his armpit felt heavenly. He was wearing a tank top and I could feel the moisture of his skin against my cheek and the odor of his deodorant -- mixed with young summer sweat -- filled my nostrils. I held out for long as I could until finally making the "confession" he wanted. Casey let go of my head, and I saw him glance at my crotch. I blushed as I followed his gaze because my boner was clearly visible. Casey smirked but didn't say anything. ------ Casey had not always been like that. He has always been more athletic than me, but he is also lazy by nature, so he didn't excel in any sports that required hard training and strict self-control. He also used to be easygoing and modest, but that was in the past. One day when we were high school freshmen, everything changed. Casey had been having a beef with another guy for a while, and things got gradually more serious, until on that faithful day they agreed to fight it out after school. I begged him to back down because the other guy was known as a vicious fighter and he was bigger than Casey. But news of their upcoming fight had already been circling in our school, and Casey said it was too late to back down. It was painful to watch. Casey did his best, but after a few rounds of punches he was on the ground with a split lip, bleeding nose and a black eye. The bruises healed of course, but the damage done to Casey's pride did not. As soon as his face was presentable again, he joined a local kickboxing club. The club had strict rules for their trainees: practice was three times a week, and in between the guys were expected to hit the gym or go for a run every day except Sundays. Luckily the manager had also warned the guys: if someone is caught fighting outside the gym, he is out of the club, no second changes. Casey had to bury his plans for revenge, and his nemesis, who was already aware of Casey's new hobby, looked the other way every time they met. The club also expected the guys to follow a strict athletic diet. Pizzas and fries, sugared drinks and candy were all history. Alcohol and cigarettes were banned. Breakfast cereals were replaced by fruit and rye bread. The trainees' menu consisted mainly of oven-baked chicken, fish and vegetables. Casey moaned about it at first, because he loved everything greasy and sweet. But when he started to see the changes in his body, his motivation went sky-high. The changes, yes. Casey already had a natural athletic build, but the years of laziness and unhealthy nutrition showed as softness and small layers of fat here and there. But he was young, and the hard work and the new diet soon did their magic. Already after two weeks of training the fat was gone, and was gradually replaced by muscular tissue. And that was two years ago. Now Casey's body was all muscle -- not buff, because oversized muscles would only be dead weight in the ring. He had muscles where they were needed in a fight: in his broad shoulders, arms and legs, and a tight six-pack protected his abdomen from lethal punches and kicks. With his strong but flexible legs he could launch fierce kicks so high that they could easily knock out a grown man. To sum it up: the new Casey was built like a kickboxer. I loved that change in Casey. He often stripped his shirt off and admired his body in the mirror, while I drooled over the sight. Sometimes he told me to feel his biceps or his shoulder muscles. Needless to say I never refused. A couple of times he even let me feel his abs to hear my compliments about their firmness. Feeling out his warm, rock-hard abdomen with my hand felt heavenly. I didn't like the change in Casey's attitude that much. His swagger became bigger and bigger, and he became cockier and cockier, and started to look down on weaker guys. I felt that his attitude towards me had changed too. He had become more than a little condescending, and he often spoke to me like he was my boss. Well, I had always been the follower in our friendship, and I didn't really mind making him small favors or running some of his errands. To tell the truth, already as a young boy I had noticed a stir in my pants every time some other kid bluntly told me what to do and I complied. But Casey didn't try to hide the fact the he had a personal servant. Sometimes when we were sitting at the school cafeteria with a large entourage of other kids, he suddenly told me to go and get him something to eat or drink from the counter. The other kids snickered when I returned with Casey's order, and I saw a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Naturally he also expected me to pick up his trash when we left the table. The change in Casey's appearance had also been increasingly noticed by girls. I felt jealous when I saw him talking and laughing with some pretty girls while I had to stand back and wait for him. He also started to tease me because I never dated a girl, and never tried to hit on any of them. I knew that Casey hadn't really done anything with a girl yet, but that didn't stop him from bragging about his achievements with me. Casey made his interest in girls and my lack of it another brick in the foundation of his superiority to me: he was hot, popular, daring and straight, and we both knew I had none of those qualities, although the latter factor was never openly mentioned. He made the difference in our qualities very clear to me one evening, when we were hanging in the living room of a kid called Larry. Larry's parents were away for the weekend, and he had the house to himself. We had been playing videogames and watching a movie, when Casey and Larry somehow got the idea to invite some female company. They were surprised but thrilled when after a few phone calls two chicks took the bait. It was embarrassing for me from the minute they arrived. No more games and no more movies, just Casey and Larry sweet-talking to the girls and the girls giggling and little by little giving in. Soon enough, Larry and Betty were making out on the couch and Casey and Maggie were doing the same on the big two-seater right in front of me. I knew that the best move for me would have been to make an excuse and get the hell out of there. But I couldn't stop staring at the sight right in front of me, because my innocent eyes had never seen anything like that before. Casey and Maggie were exchanging wet kisses, and he was holding her in his arms so that his fingers pressed her breasts through her top. He had taken his shirt off as soon as possible, of course, and her hand was feeling his strong back, sliding lower until her fingers met the waistband of his boxers. Then she slipped her hand inside the back pocket of Casey's jeans. Casey's hand was already under Maggie's top, trying to find its way to the mounds that most teen boys dream of every night. Then Casey noticed me staring at them, and he turned around. I saw that he had a bulging boner in his jeans. He gave me a patronizing smile and said so that everyone in the room heard it loud and clear: "Randy, are you still here? Well, now's a good time for you to take a walk." That said, he turned to Maggie again, but Larry, Betty and Maggie laughed aloud. And worst of all: I saw a self-satisfied grin on Casey's lips when he leaned down to press them on Maggie's neck. Casey never apologized me the way he behaved that night, and I was too ashamed to tell him how I had felt about it. He just told me in painful details how he had taken her bra off and even slipped his fingers in her panties. Nothing more had really happened, but Casey showed me with pride the hickeys on his neck and shoulders. He knew exactly how I felt when I inspected them and tried to mutter suitable words to compliment him. It was much later that I understood how much he really had changed. By repeatedly embarrassing me publicly he was showing me my place and teaching me obedience. Casey was in the process of making me his bitch. But those humiliating experiences were next to nothing compared to what was about to come. A month later came the day when Casey sent me to pick up his gear from the locker room of their kickboxing gym. I swear, I will never forget that day as long as I live. But I'll tell you about that later. Want this story to continue? Then please drop me a line: bencoolen1212@gmail.com