Date: Sun, 5 Mar 2017 04:59:07 +0100 From: Sam Bodine Subject: The Guide: Chapter 2 This work is a collaboration. Sir Jef tells me what He wants in each chapter, and I write the story for Him. He is in complete control of my orgasms as I write and determines if and how I am allowed to cum throughout the writing process. He is keeping me horny and unsatisfied until I complete the story. All feedback to sambodine@gmx.com is read by both of us. Sir Jef is always interested to hear all types of feedback, ideas for devious things to do to Sydney, or what you think of my situation. - Sam Though several locations are taken from the real world, this story and its characters are fictional. As such, they participate in activities that can be dangerous in your life. Please practice safer sex, set up safe calls, and set up first meetings in public. Also, if you can all avoid it, don't let your love life be written by a stranger on the internet. Legal disclaimer: This work of fiction is copyright 2017 by Sir Jef and Sam Bodine. Some rights reserved. Content is made available to specified sites under CC-BY-NC-ND 4.0 license. Free porn isn't free! Please support this site by donating here: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Sydney stood, blinking, naked, chained in some sort of metal frame in the spread-eagle position. An intense spotlight shone in his eyes, making it impossible for him to see anything more than a few feet in front of him. He could hear murmurs, shuffling, and the other sounds that people made while keeping quiet, coming from all around him. A voice rang out, louder than humanly possible but not obviously amplified. "Preeeeesenting... Little Sydney Leighton!" Polite applause followed the announcement. A long pointer suddenly appeared out of the darkness. "Behold his muscles, his thick chest hair, his large, manly ballsack!" The pointer tapped on each area as it was mentioned. "But what's this here?" The pointer smacked his penis. There was a collective gasp from the crowd. "Who could ever want such a weak, tiny little thing? Especially when you could have... this!" Another spotlight snapped on, illuminating a figure to Sydney's left. It seemed very familiar... "Preeeeeeeesenting... Doug Leighton! Get this, he's Little Sydney's twin brother!" The crowd applauded and laughed. "He's got the same muscles, but look at how balanced his body is! He's got chest hair but you can actually see his skin! And, of course, ladies and gentlemen, he's got an actual, man-sized cock!" The crowd burst into applause, and Doug smiled his familiar smile. Sydney hung his head. He'd never been able to measure up to his twin brother. Doug was only a half inch taller, but his legs were a full 2 inches longer. Sydney was powerfully built and undeniably more muscular, but Douglas was proportional and defined. Doug's hair had a knack for returning to place, whereas Sydney had a perpetual case of bedhead. Doug's body hair accented his physique, Sydney's colonized his and hid it from view. For as long as Syd could remember, the only things he ever got -- good or bad -- were things that Doug had already turned down or worn out. Whack! Sydney abruptly lurched forward in his chains as something painful hit him in the backside. He placed the voice -- it was his tennis coach from high school, Mr. Mellins. The man who could never be satisfied. He slowly walked in front of the two men, bouncing an enormous racquet off of his palm. Somehow he still towered over the twins just as he did when they were freshmen, wearing his signature sweatbands and all-white tennis outfit. "Good work out there, Doug," Coach Mellins' voice echoed. "You're just what a man should be. Good effort. Good hustle. You got a lot done today. I'm sure your luck will change next tournament." Doug grinned and nodded, managing to flex a little as the unseen audience clapped for him. Sydney rolled his eyes. Doug had never put in a full hour's work on the court in his life. He spent all period, every period talking to his friends and trying to impress the girls, and yet he somehow managed to look like he was following instructions any time the coach looked his way. Sydney prided himself on working on every shot every practice, trying to get a little bit better every way he could, every day. It never made an impression. "But YOU, little Sydney," the giant man turned to advance on him. "You're never working. You're always off in the corners picking up balls like a little kid instead of hitting them like a man. You never take a line shot when it's there, and you serve like a pussy." Sydney seethed inside. He played a defensive game. He returned serves no one else could reach. He controlled the volley game and lulled his opponents into mistakes. He was good, damn it, and his record proved it. Why couldn't this man ever see that? Why couldn't anyone? "As a matter of fact, Little Sydney," the coach-thing continued, "I'm so upset with your weak play I'm kicking you off the team. You're not good enough for us, and you're sure not good enough to play for a college team. You'll never amount to anything, little boy! You're done!" "No!" Sydney's voice echoed around the room as he bolted upright in bed. Slowly the familiar details of his rented room revealed themselves in the dimness of the morning light. He tapped his phone on the nightstand -- not even six AM yet. He groaned and settled back into bed, hoping for a quick return to sleep, but soon realized his sheets and his bed were soaked in sweat, and he was rock hard. Throwing back the covers, Syd stumbled towards a hamper to grab a towel. The last remnants of his dream flickered in his memory as he dried himself off -- what about that dream was so different? His right hand idly dropped to his crotch and he began rubbing himself while he thought. A shot of guilt jerked him fully awake as he suddenly remembered his orders from the night before -- no touching. He quickly pulled his hand away, like a child from a cookie jar. "There you go again," he addressed his penis, doing its best to look up at him, "causing me trouble." A drop of clear fluid appeared at the tip. As if in response to his admonishment, a surge of hormones pulsed through his body, causing him immense pleasure. Pleasure he was forbidden from continuing on his own. He lay down on the dry side of the bed, trying to empty his mind of distractions so he could get his rest. There was only desire now -- that primal urge to shoot, pent up within him, begging for just a little bit of relief. It was nearly six thirty by the time he closed his eyes for good. Just over an hour later, his phone's alarm roused him again. After a quick protein bar, tooth brushing, and shave, he pulled on a t-shirt, jeans, and hoodie, threw his gym clothes and a shake in his bag, and was out the door into the misty Los Angeles morning. As usual, his well-worn Corolla started right up. He let the little engine idle until the revs smoothed out, plugged his phone in, and drove off to the studio's gym. He tried to ignore the questions that kept coming up in his mind -- "Why did you go looking for a guy last night?" "Why are you following these weird orders?" "Why are you so turned on by this?" -- and concentrate on the short drive. Sydney flashed his badge to get on the lot, then clipped it to his gym bag for access to the facility. The studio's gym had been a real boon to him -- cheaper than any of the other options, and had enough equipment to really expand his workouts. Over the years he'd put on quite a lot of muscle, transforming himself from the lithe tennis player he was at UCLA to finally fill out his frame. He knew from experience that the gym was likely to be sparsely populated on weekends, and today was no exception. Good. As proud as Syd was of his muscles, his bulk made his penis seem even smaller than it actually was, and he felt uncomfortable when there were other men around him while he changed. He quickly exchanged his street clothes for a well-worn jock, black nylon shorts, and a sleeveless white shirt, locked up his bag, and headed into the weight room. Saturday was an upper body day -- arms, shoulders, chest, abs. As usual, he lost himself in his power playlist while doing his reps, focusing on the familiar music and the burn in each muscle group rather than the outside world. Sweat gradually began to soak through his shirt, sticking it to the ringlets of chest and back hair and highlighting his hard nipples with each chest press. 10 AM found Sydney back in front of his locker, drinking the protein shake to let his muscles rebuild themselves while he cooled down. He froze a bit when he recognized the unmistakable voice of his new boss, Ford Turnbull, echoing in the hallway that led to the indoor courts. There was no way he could handle Ford today. He quickly shucked his clothes, wrapped himself in a towel, and snuck away to the showers. Syd waited in the (thankfully) empty shower room until he heard his boss enter another part of the locker room -- the sauna or the steam room, maybe -- and he quickly raced to get cleaned up before the other group of men noticed him. Back at his locker, he had just pulled on his jockstrap when he discovered he had been wrong. "Leighton, right?" Mr. Turnbull came around the corner, nude, sweat dripping down his ample frame. He dabbed at his face with the corner of the gym towel hanging over his shoulder. "Y-yes, sir," Sydney stammered, unable to stop himself from taking in the sight of his boss. His height and bulk had been obvious in his normal suit, but now... gray hair dusted his chest and belly, darkening as it trailed below his belt to that enormous cock he'd seen the outline of the day before. It swung gently as he walked down the row of lockers, seemingly six or more inches long and impossibly thick even limp, with a smooth head at the tip. Its base nestled in thick fur that spread over a large set of low-hanging balls, shifting position as they cooled off in the air. He forced his gaze back up to eye level, hoping his boss' towel would still be obscuring his view, but instead looked directly into his eyes, resting above a bemused smirk. He began to panic a little. "Don't worry about it, kid," the older man reassured him. "Oscar here" -- he shook the base of his penis for emphasis -- "draws a lot of attention. After all," he chuckled, "who in this town doesn't want to take one home?" Sydney forced himself to laugh. "I guess you're right, Sir. That's quite the, um, trophy." Feeling his face redden, he turned his back to his boss to pull on his shorts. Now it was Ford's turn to stare, as the younger man's muscular ass, framed by the jockstrap, flexed in front of him. Kid was hairier than a goat and probably just as randy, he suspected. This one was gonna be fun. He willed Oscar to stay down, though -- didn't wanna spook the colt just yet. "That's for racquetball, right?" He pointed at a handle sticking out of the kid's gym bag. "Huh?" Sydney finished pulling up his shorts, suddenly wishing he'd worn longer ones. "Oh, um, yeah, it is. I used to play a lot more here, but most of the guys moved on." He reached for his shirt. "I play tennis, too, but it's even harder to find good partners for that." Ford's smile stayed in place. "Well, shoot, boy. Shoulda told me before. I keep trying to find somebody that's gonna actually challenge me on the court but everybody's too chickenshit to play me for real." Forgetting himself, Sydney smiled, too. He'd never be a pro, but he'd been good enough to keep his scholarship at the D-I level, and he never lost his drive to prove himself to anyone who'd watch. "Well, as long as you really want a game..." "I do, son," said Ford, sticking his hand out. "You've got a deal." Sydney grasped the older man's hand, expecting a quick shake and release. He didn't get one. He found his hand engulfed in his boss' mitt -- not tightly, not painfully, but with a very definite sense of control. His bravado immediately faltered. What had he just agreed to? This was Ford's favorite part of the game. He had his prey trapped but the kid had no idea what was coming. He let Oscar swell a bit, knowing the kid's eyes would be drawn in sooner or later. "Mornings are good, right?" He continued making small talk, drawing out the moment. "Sure, um." Syd suddenly couldn't look anywhere else. Was that cock getting thicker? It was already enormous... and with that, he felt himself swelling up, thankfully, hopefully, suppressed by his jockstrap. He forced himself to try to think of the logistics, to get his mind somewhere, anywhere else. "I normally get here about 7 for cardio, Monday-Wednesday-Friday. That OK for you?" His hand, still grasped by the older man, started sweating. "Sounds fine, kid. I'll see you here Monday." Ford stepped closer and his left hand came down on Sydney's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. He was so close that Sydney's right hand was brushing his belly fur. "Here's hoping for a real good workout, huh?" With a second squeeze of the kid's shoulder, he finally let his right hand drop within inches of Oscar. "Yeah. I, uh, yes, sir," came the answer. Sydney had no idea why, but the simple hand on his shoulder seemed to be flooding him with hormones. He felt his cheeks flush again as he reached his full hardness in the jockstrap. His knees started trembling. And that cock kept getting thicker and longer -- it wasn't even standing out yet! "All right, kid," Ford said, slapping his shoulder as he set him free from the spell. "I gotta go wash up. I probably smell like a buffalo. See ya Monday morning at seven." He spun on his heel, letting Oscar slap against his thigh as he set off towards the showers. Best to leave the kid with a little bit of mystery. Sydney gathered his things and his senses, put on his running shoes, and hefted his bag back to his car. He plugged the phone in to charge, pulled up the address from last night's text, and set Waze to direct him. He'd probably be really early, but if he'd learned anything in the past 12 years, it was to never trust the roads in Los Angeles to be free of traffic. "You have reached your destination," the app insisted, as Syd's dusty Corolla pulled off the road. This was a -- lake? Hollywood had lakes? He pulled up his map to check. It was 11:36 AM and he was by the Hollywood Reservoir, with no other cars to be seen. Well, he WAS early. He parked in the shade and rolled his window down to wait. His phone buzzed, finally, just before noon. It was a text message: "I see you. Green Corolla. Good work, boy. Turn around, turn left just after exiting the lot, and follow the road for just over a mile. I'll be waiting in the black convertible." "What the hell? Does he have binoculars or something?" Sydney grumbled and began following the directions. It was quite the sight, actually -- he'd never been here, and following the curves of the lake's perimeter road he saw birds he'd never seen in LA before. He recognized some different kinds of ducks, and the ones with long legs -- herrings or something like that. Finally, at the tip of a peninsula, his unknown controller came in to view. Jonah Gordon stood six feet, two inches tall, and was leaning on the driver's side door of a black Mercedes AMG with the top down. His blue eyes were hidden behind expensive sunglasses, his dark hair splashed with gray at his temples and sprinkled in his mustache and beard. He was dressed in a light suit, no tie, and an open necked shirt. His head followed Sydney's movements, but aside from that he didn't acknowledge him. Sydney got out of his car, a bit unsteadily, and walked around to the other side. "Nice to meet you, Sir, I'm--" He was cut off with a shake of the older man's head. "Quiet, boy. You will wait until I address you to speak. Now, take off your shirt and give it to me." Part of Sydney's head was already spinning -- "What's going on here? How does he get off ordering me around? Who does he think he is?" -- but his balls were already churning, his penis was instantly hard, and he felt... right... as he pulled his sleeveless shirt over his head and handed it to the stranger. Jonah took the shirt and casually dropped it in the back seat of his convertible. He looked the younger man up and down. He was certainly muscular, far better built than most men, and shockingly hairy. There was a healthy growth of stubble on his face and it was merely noon. "Why did you obey me, Boy?" Sydney froze. "I'm not... I don't understand, sir." "You don't know me, Boy. You don't owe me anything. You didn't have to obey me, but you did. Think about it." He crossed his arms again. "Why are you here? Why are you obeying me?" This was a tough one. Sydney rarely gave any thought to things like this. "Well... it's exciting, Sir. And... it feels good to make you happy." He looked down at his feet. "I don't know. It just feels like I need to do what you say. Uh, Sir." Jonah nodded. "That's a good start. Now, your shorts, Boy. No hesitation." Syd hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts. He wanted this, he thought. This was exciting, even a bit dangerous. He slid the shorts down, over his muscular thighs, and off. He took a deep breath and handed them to the man in front of him. He stood up straight, and somehow proud, clad only in his jockstrap. He felt his erection expanding as the wind caressed him. The man allowed himself a brief smile. "Good boy. Now, stand where you are. I want a good look at you." He slowly walked around the younger man, his eyes flashing from detail to detail. The erect nipples. The back and ass hair, being blown by the breeze. The strong quads and calves, his powerful arms. He stood back. There was something... off about the boy's proportions, though. His legs were too short, his torso too long. He had a strong jawline, but no cheekbones to back it up. And so on. As handsome as his individual parts might be, they formed an ungraceful whole. Still, though, he wasn't without his attractions. Time for the real test. "Your jockstrap, boy, now." Both men were surprised by the speed of Sydney's nearly instant obedience. He slid the garment off and handed it over, then clasped his hands together in front of his rock-hard erection, heart pounding, chest heaving, but having never been more intensely excited than he felt at that moment. "Good work, Boy. I'm pleased. Now, you need to learn a position. Place your feet apart, at shoulder width." He watched Sydney obey. "Now clasp your hands behind your neck. Eyes on the ground. This is what I call the slave rest position. Remember it. Now stay in this position until I tell you to move." Syd stood as he was directed, trembling. He heard the other man's slow footsteps crunch in the gravel as he circled him, but kept his eyes downwards as directed. He concentrated on watching the head of his own penis as it throbbed with every heartbeat. A bead of precum emerged from his slit and hung in the sun before slowly dripping to the ground. Jonah maintained a constant, slow pace walking around the trembling figure in front of him. This was better than he had expected. The boy's package continued his body's mismatch theme. His nuts were quite large, hanging low in their hairy sack despite the day's soft breeze. Any man would be proud of that set, he thought, except that it was paired with the smallest cock he'd ever seen in person. It was obviously rock hard, but maybe would compare to the length of a credit card at best. It wasn't especially thick or narrow. Even the circumcised head was unremarkable in almost every way, aside from the continuous drips of seminal fluid that were streaming from it now. He stepped up directly behind his subject, placing his hands on the boy's hips and pulling them slightly back to press their bodies together. "You're enjoying this, Boy." It wasn't a question. "You've wanted this for longer than you know." He slowly began to rub his hands upwards, over the hairy abs, and brushed his fingers over the younger man's nipples. He felt him gasp and lean backwards into the embrace. His fingers resumed their light stroking of Syd's chest, triggering further soft moans and grinding. His voice dropped to just above a whisper. "I can give you what you want, Boy," The fingers stopped, then suddenly clamped down on the rigid nubs. "and I can give you what you need." Sydney's back arched with the sudden pain, hips thrusting forward as the sensations rushed through him. The agony was undeniable, intractable, and yet exhilarating. He found himself grinding back into the taller man's grasp as his body convulsed. Waves of pleasure and pain crashed within him, gradually concentrating in his hips. "Please, sir," he gasped. Jonah relinquished his clutch on the younger man's nipples and stepped back, ending the moment. "Breathe, Boy," he instructed as he walked around to face him. "You've got untapped potential within you, but no control. It's obvious you need someone to guide you through the experience of yourself." He gently lifted Sydney's chin to look into his eyes, then unclasped his hands and guided the boy's arms down to his sides. His hands remained on the boy's wrists, gently but firmly holding them in place as he calmed down. "I can be your guide, Boy. But it's not an easy journey. I'll need your complete trust. I'm going to unearth aspects of you that you can't even conceive of right now. It's going to be the hardest hill you'll ever climb. But..." he slid his hands up to rest on the younger man's shoulders. "if you can endure the journey, Boy, you'll reach a level of self-actualization that few men ever reach." He broke eye contact and motioned toward his car. "But before you make that decision, get dressed. I owe you that lunch I promised." Dazed, aroused, and still out of breath, Sydney obeyed. He gathered his workout gear from the back seat and put it back on. "Should I follow you, Sir, or do you have an address for me to meet you?" "Just lock your car, Boy, it'll be fine here. I'm driving." Jonah sat down in the driver's seat and watched his new boy walk around to lock his driver's side door. "Just bring your keys and your phone," he called out. "You won't need your wallet or anything else until we're done." Syd unplugged his phone, locked the driver's door, took a breath, and forced himself to walk around to the passenger side of Jonah's car. He thumped ungracefully into the unusually low seat and buckled himself in. "Good boy, you've passed another test," Jonah informed him, patting his muscular thigh. "You're about to discover the answers to questions you never knew you had." The big V8 roared into life. "But first I want to show you one of my favorite places." He reversed out of the gravel pull-out they had met in and began following the perimeter road around the reservoir. "I didn't realize that was a test, Sir." Sydney was more lost than he could ever remember. "Everything's a test, Boy," Jonah replied. "Not just with me. Every situation you enter, every decision you make, every action you take is a test of who you are and how you mean to accomplish your goals." "I guess so," Syd replied, not guessing so. "But can that really happen all the time? Like, when you're just sitting at home, is that a test?" "Why are you at home? What else could you be doing? It might be that you need the time to sit and think, or it might be that you could serve yourself better by accomplishing something in that time instead. But, for now, your job is to enjoy yourself." Both men were pressed back in their seats as the Mercedes accelerated up a freeway on-ramp. Sydney tried to answer, but the wind noise at freeway speed drowned him out. He sat back in the seat and tried to focus on the sights around him as his driver snaked through traffic. He'd worked out they were heading towards Malibu when he felt a hand stroking his balls. He gently tried to guide the hand, but was rebuffed with a quick slap. The hand didn't resume its stroking until both of Syd's returned to his sides. Jonah kept his eyes ahead as he let his right hand explore his new property. He enjoyed the thick, full balls and the way they moved in his hands. He enjoyed feeling the little boy penis, especially comparing it to the muscled man it was attached to. He could feel wetness spreading into the pouch of the jock as the excited boy pumped out precum. He carefully avoided giving it too much contact in his explorations. As long as he was in control, there would be no accidents.