Date: Wed, 28 Nov 2007 16:36:52 +1300 (NZDT) From: Nick Cramer Subject: Cool Karl vs the jocks, part 3 This story features bullying and fighting and some masturbation and oral sex among high-school-age males. I visualize the character 'Karl Spivak' as looking like a model called Karl at boyfun.com. Comments welcome, to antinous48@yahoo.co.nz. ______ In part 1, Karl told how he and his slave Nicky were kidnapped by Robby and three other jocks. In part 2, Nicky began to explain how he came to be Karl's slave. This is how part 2 ended: "We reached a storage shed which I was sure hadn't been used for years. To my surprise, Karl produced a key and unlocked the door. I followed him into the dusty dim room. I noticed some stacked school chairs, some desks, a broken-down sofa. Once we were inside, Karl locked the door. Then he turned to face me, grabbed me by the shoulders, and rammed my back against the wall ..." In part 3, Karl takes up the story again. ______ Thoughout the class, I had been fuming. Thanks to the little nerd Nicholas, all those snooty middle-class kids had laughed at me falling over! And one thing I don't tolerate is being laughed at. In my part of town, if word gets around that people can laugh at a guy and get away with it -- well, that guy's reputation is in shreds. Every little twerp who can call on any kind of support -- maybe his brother-in-law is handy with a knife, or his sister has a girl friend whose uncle is a goon providing security for a P lab -- even the feeblest little twerp with that kind of insurance won't feel the need to show you respect any more. And without respect, your life ain't worth living. You might as well curl up and die. I was still fuming when I got little Nicky into the storage shed at lunchtime, but I hadn't got any clear idea about what to do with him. Or do TO him. I slammed his back against the wall a few times, not hard, just to let him know I was still angry as hell. But he just looked at me, white and terrified, saying nothing, putting up no resistance. I was puzzled. In my part of town, a guy in Nicky's situation would do SOMETHING! If he couldn't muscle his way out, he would try to talk his way out. But Nicky just stood there like a sack of potatoes, his mouth open, gawping at me through his spectacles. So I stopped and scratched my head. And we had this weird conversation which kinda set the stage for everything that happened after that. 'You know what happened the last time a guy tripped me like you did? You know what happened to him, shitface?' 'No sir, no, Karl, sir, I don't know.' 'But you'd like to know, wouldn't ya?' 'Yessir!' 'NO, shitface, that's the wrong answer!' I slapped his cheek -- quite gently, but he sort of yelped and crumpled sideways anyway, putting his hand up to his cheek and looking like he was about to burst into tears. 'You DON'T want to know! Because that guy landed up in hospital with a broken nose and two broken ribs! I was only sixteen and this guy, he was bigger than me, he musta been about twenty-five, he was tryin' to be smart, showin' off in Bert's diner with his buddies. And I was on my own. So it was no pushover for me, with all his friends out there on the sidewalk cheerin' him on. The guy hit me hard. I went down. His mates all yelled and cheered. But I got up again and hit him back. He got angry. And careless. And after a minute or two, his friends weren't yellin' any more. In fact, they went all quiet. I decked the guy. He got up. I decked him again. He got up again, but kinda slowly. I backed off, just to make my point, waiting until the guy was good and ready. Then I blasted him. He was still unconscious when the ambulance arrived. He's OK now, that guy, but he sure as hell respects me. So does everyone in my neighborhood. You get my drift?' 'Yes, Karl, I respect you too, I ...' 'But those fucking creeps in the class -- they laughed when I fell over! How am I supposed to feel? What've you done to my reputation in this shitty school, you little creep? Not to mention my ankle, which is twisted. And my sore knee. But I can't beat the crap out of you, like I did that other guy, because you're such a weak, feeble little twerp! It'd be like fighting a little baby! So what have you got to suggest, shitface?' 'Well, uh, you're ankle, at least I could ... massage it a bit, make it feel better. I'm good at that. My mother showed me how.' 'You wanna massage my ankle? For Chrissake ...' I was at a loss for words. I just stared at the little creep, cowering there in his neat striped shirt with the button-down collar, and his nice clean slacks with the neat crease down the front. If only he weren't so utterly feeble ...! It sounds ridiculous, but his defencelessness had me defeated. So in desperation I slumped down on the old sofa and stuck my right leg out. 'OK, you little creep, this had better be good. I won't beat you to a pulp, but instead you must be my SLAVE. Got it? Massaging my ankle can be your first task. Then I'll think up other ways for you to serve me. So, you ready to be obedient to your master, shitface?' 'Yes, sir, yes master Karl, I'll do whatever you want ...' 'So get on with it! Show me what your mother taught you.' He got down on his knees in front of me, all nervous, untying my laces and trying to get my sneaker off. He pulled a bit too hard, so I felt a pang in my sore ankle and winced. 'Oh I'm sorry, master Karl, I didn't mean to hurt you, I was careless ...' He looked up at me so terrified I almost had to laugh. But I restrained myself and forced myself to look severe. 'Be careful, slave! I am a merciful master, but even so you should not rashly risk my displeasure.' Yup, believe it or not, that's what I actually said. I was warming to this master-slave thing. 'I understand, master. I appreciate what an honor it is to serve you -- to serve ... such a brave and strong fighter as you are. It was a privilege to hear what you just told me, about how you punished that guy who showed you disrespect.' So Nicky too was getting into the part! Now, I got to admit, his massage was nice. My ankle was swollen a little, but it hurt less when he stroked it with gentle pressure from his little soft hands. Then he began to do something else that felt really nice: he held my foot in both hands and pressed up in the middle of the arch with his fingers, pushing down with his thumbs at the sides, like trying gently to fold it in two lengthways. Then he took hold of each toe individually and pulled it and wiggled it. I know it sounds soppy, but it felt really soothing and relaxing. 'That's good, slave! Now you can do the other foot.' After he had done the foot massage for ten minues or so, he looked up at me. This time he was smiling. He wasn't looking frightened any more. In fact he was looking almost cocky. 'Watch it, little Nicholas,' I thought to myself. 'You enjoyed serving me like that, did you, slave Nicholas?' 'Yes, I enjoy doing it. People always like it, because ...' 'WRONG ANSWER! You're not supposed to enjoy being a slave, you creep! If you enjoyed it, then it wasn't a punishment! Do you think that guy who I beat up for tripping me enjoyed getting cracked ribs? Huh?' At once Nick looked gratifyingly terrified again. 'N-no, I am sure he didn't enjoy it, master Karl! I'm sorry, master! It's not for me to enjoy ... to enjoy the tasks you set for me!' 'No, it sure as hell isn't! So what are you goin' to do to make amends for your disrespect?' 'To make amends? Uuuh ... I crave the privilege of serving you -- of saving my brave and strong master Karl -- in some task that I WON'T enjoy! The humble slave Nicholas craves some ... some unpleasant and humiliating task!' What task would be suitable? I had a brainwave ... [to be continued]