Date: Wed, 18 Jun 2008 23:13:34 -0500
From: George Gauthier <georgegauthier@verizonmail.com>
Subject: Track and Field 1

					Track and Field 1
					by GGDC

Author's Note: This is a futuristic tale of a young man's near idyllic
existence gone awry. It is set seven or eight decades in the future where
STDs are completely under control, nudity taboos are largely absent from
social life, and medical advances have extended the human life span to
several centuries. The USA is fully on the metric system.

It contains graphic descriptions of the male human body, of consensual and
non-consensual sexual activity between adult males, the youngest of whom is
seventeen years old, i.e. above the age of consent, with scenes with heavy
bondage and pronounced sado-masochistic themes and even forced sex with
animals.

If any of this would offend a reader, read no further. This is not intended
for persons younger than an age where they may freely and legally select
their reading matter in whatever jurisdiction that applies.

It is offered for entertainment. If it manages to both entertain and to
provoke prurient interest, it will have succeeded in its aim. Writing this
tale has been the most fun the author has had wearing clothes in a very
long time.

It is entirely fictional, with no resemblance intended to any person living
or dead. If the story strikes you as a bit unrealistic, even over the top,
well okay. I am exaggerating for a purpose. That is why it is set in the
future. Wait till you read the sexy sequel.

Comments are welcome.

				Chapter 1. A College Idyll

Kyle charged down the home stretch, straining to reach the finish line. He
was making a maximum effort this afternoon, ignoring the hot red clay soil
under his bare feet. This was not just any training run. At a full 25
kilometers (15 miles), it was a qualifier for the team that would represent
Colby College for Men at the Georgia state finals.

Never a front runner, Kyle tended to linger behind the leaders till late in
the race. He would normally delight at the sight of the bare backsides of
the competition, but now was no time for distractions. Coming up to the
tree he had marked with a ribbon on practice runs, he poured it on really
burning up the track with his final kick. The naked youth ignored the way
his unsupported dangly bits bounced about. That came with the
territory. All competitors -- males anyway -- went naked and barefoot these
days in track and field and in aquatic sports, soccer too.

Kyle's second place finish was quite respectable given that he was a year
or two younger than his classmates. Seventeen was young for a college
student almost at the end of his freshman year. Though legally of age, he
was yet to attain his adult musculature though clearly he would never be
taller than his current stature: only 168 centimeters (five and one half
feet). He had flagged a bit there at the end. It can be hard to pack away
energy in a frame that carried only 56 kilos (122 pounds), especially for a
runner with a surprisingly strong upper storey. If he got by so light it
was because his body fat percentage had to be in the single digits. All
muscle, and tendon and bone. Not that Kyle was actually skinny, but he was
definitely on the slender side, boyishly so.

He trotted over to the outdoor shower stand, soaped up, and let the rush of
water wash the sweat and dust off his lean, evenly tanned frame. His short
blond hair flattened to his head and rivulets ran down and off his small
body. The rush of water felt so good as it cleansed and cooled him
off. Afterwards, it was time to stretch.  Standing feet apart, arms
overhead and fingers interlocked, he reached for the sky. Then he
wind-milled his arms slowly, getting the kinks out of his lats. Next he
leaned against a rail seting one foot well behind him, holding the pose to
stretch the Achilles tendon, then switched to the other. Finally Kyle went
on to ham-string stretches. With a foot propped on a rail, he bent forward
bringing to touch his ankle; the tanned torso glistened with water droplets
highlighting the sensuous curves of of his youthful body from shoulders and
deltoids, down to the waist and narrow hips and on to the taut globes
below. Like all distance runners he was lean. The tracery of veins on arms
and legs testifying that his frame carried no excess flesh. All this was
complemented by a fine-boned face and pretty-boy good looks. (Think Mitch
Hewer of "Skins")

Bent over and concentrating on how good that stretch felt up there in his
groin and thigh, Kyle was surprised by the friendly slap on his ass landed
by a tall red-head.

"Just hold that pose, Kyle me lad".

"Get you Irish paws back where they belong," he retorted with mock
severity.

Tommy Houlihan was his best friend and roommate at the residential college,
though not southern born like Kyle. It had taken him a while to fall in
with the casual public nudity common in this section of the country, so
much affected by global warming. Kyle wore clothing as seldom as possible
and, when he had to, as little as practicable. Why bother in this heat?
Besides, as he himself would admit, Kyle was a bit of an exhibitionist. He
was glad for the chance to run around naked, not just on the track but much
of the rest of the time. Not at a restaurant or the movies or the post
office of course. And on campus at the refectory and for classes indoors,
sure, he slipped on a sarong although usually without a top. Sometimes he
wore flip flops, but he mostly went barefoot. All that running had
toughened his feet aided by a topical ointment that promoted the growth of
calluses.

As Tommy knew so well the blond boy he shared a bed with had a beautiful
body, slender yet muscular, tanned, taut and toned with strong shoulders,
well defined abdominal muscles, and narrow hips. His hands were small and
his legs well muscled with veins prominent under the skin because of his
low body fat. No hair interrupted the flow of its faultless lines. His sex
was in proportion with a smooth cock, foreskin concealing the head and
extending a bit beyond, the scrotum the size of a large peach but with the
divided curvature of a plum and held close to the belly.

"OK, boys let's not scandalize the public" the coach remarked with a
grin. "We'll go over the pictures tomorrow after an easy jog in the
morning. See you at nine."

Kyle wondered how he could shock the public after years of running around
nude and hairless, utterly exposed to view. At sports grounds, beaches,
parks, in high school athletics, and in back yards across the country, the
undraped male physique was a common sight. No surprise then that at their
meets fans always wanted to snap post-race pictures with Kyle wearing
nothing more than his bright smile. Fans loved shots of the runner all hot
and sweaty, looking as he might just after wild sex. His youth and
slenderness was emphasized by a smooth and utterly hairless physique. Like
many young males these days, he had used the permanent depilatory cream
which meant a lifetime of never having to shave his face or anywhere else
including down there.

You needed a considerable degree of sang-froid to chat amiably with a group
of fellow students most fully dressed, and all focussing their attention of
your bare physique. Kyle suspected most of the female spectators were there
to watch the runners, not the competition itself.  Even girls who knew Kyle
wasn't interested, wanted pictures of him bare-ass with closeups of his
impossibly pretty face with its dreamy sea green eyes and, more
surreptitiously, his firm buttocks and the handsome manhood at the fork of
his legs.

Kyle had never made a secret of his preference for his own gender. In the
milling around before the team photo, his teammates' hands might brush
against him "accidentally" in front, cupping and weighing, or in back
slipping into his cleavage, leaving the teen acutely self conscious,
especially on those occasions when his cock started to plump up and visibly
lift off. Of course everyone was too polite to notice, but Kyle could see a
mischievous twinkle in the eyes of several of the boys he had been with in
the past.

The coach liked his job and he thought the team was a fine bunch of boys
but he couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. Barely thirty himself,
he could look forward to maybe another 70 or 80 years, life expectancy
being what it was, but he had been born just a decade too soon. Boys Kyle's
age would spend the next three or four centuries perpetually youthful,
their aging arrested at their late teens, thanks to expensive gene tweaking
before birth, a benefit of their social class. Kyle's folks were not super
rich, but they were more than comfortable, and Kyle was a member of the
first generation to fully benefit from advances in the understanding of
obscure structures called telomeres in chromosomes; the gene therapy also
protected him against all forms of cancer.

Too bad about the proletariat, but nothing kids like those on his team
could do about it. Currently only a quarter of the population could afford
extended life treatment, though costs were dropping fast. Everyone was
worried about the demographic, social, and political fallout of these
trends as the end of the twenty-first century approached.

The two boys chatted a bit as they rested after their race and agreed to
meet at the swimming pool after Kyle's conversational French class. In nice
weather, classes were often held outdoors in the shade of a big chestnut
tree. No need for texts or audio-visual equipment. Just bring
yourself. That is just what the boy did and all he did. Monsieur Le Blanc
was not surprised to see the blond boy and several others show up entirely
bare, or 'ˆ poil' (in his birthday suit). The first time had even led to
gentle joshing by those who pointed out with relentless Cartesian logic
that boys like Kyle 'un mec ˆ poil' weren't just bare down to their body
hair (poil means hair) but even less.

"OK," Kevin had retorted, "let's apply some of that famous French logic to
the language itself. Why do the inhabitants of the so-called Hexagone count
from seventy to ninety nine in so silly a fashion."

In fact the French said the equivalent of sixty-ten and sixty-eleven
instead of seventy and seventy-one; four-twenties and four-twenties-two
instead of eighty and eighty-two; and four-twenties-ten and four
twenties-thirteen instead of ninety and ninety three. Early Modern French
actually had words for seventy, eighty, and ninety. Some were used today in
Belgium or French-speaking Switzerland and in Africa.

"Whatever happened to vaunted Cartesian rationalism?"

>From then on Kyle deliberately used septante, huitante, and nonante when
speaking French. Prenez-garde!

Actually, Le Blanc mused, his own Cartesian logic told him that the boy was
perfectly right about counting in French. You couldn't get away with such
nonsense in Italian or Spanish. Oui, convention rules in language, but
where was the French Academy and the famously centralizing French state? At
least much of French speaking Africa had made the switch. Africa had been
the saving of Francophone cultural influence around the world, with strong
growth in speakers during the twenty-first century as half the continent
developed and educated its youth in French. The language now counted well
over three hundred million first or second language speakers on five of the
six inhabited continents with nearly half again as many cultural
speakers. Good news for the employment prospects of teachers like him.

The teacher smiled at this remembered exchange among his students. Nothing
like getting the students excited and interested in what the were saying
and worrying less about the how of it. Fluency comes from talking even if
you made mistakes. He liked his students, even shameless little Kyle,
sitting over there legs stretched out and ankles crossed, supporting
himself on arms locked behind and to the side. Was the pose just practical
to prop up his torso or was it chosen to show off those muscled legs and
deltoids, the nice cleavage between his firm pectorals with those tiny red
nipples, and the channel down the belly, not to mention sculpted eight-pack
abs. The only thing he was wearing was a sheen of sweat, quite flattering
really. He positively glowed with good health and sex appeal.

Oops, he realized Kyle must have divined his thoughts for the boy tucked
his sex between his thighs making it disappear then smiled sweetly at the
prof: an innocent sexless creature, that's what he was. Bien sžr. Le
Blanc knew for a fact that Kyle had been with at least two other students
in this class alone, and probably with both of his roommates. They all
slept naked in one bed, no?

Most boys from the upper classes shared genetically engineered health and
good looks, so in the heat few bothered with anything above the waist and
little below. A loincloth passed through the legs or lightweight silken
shorts covered little and concealed hardly at all. A loincloth might put
two layers in front of a boy's manhood, unless the wind lifts it away, but
bares the boy's sides entirely. Low rise silken shorts outlined as much as
they concealed and allowed glimpses up loose leg openings.

As the instructor knew only too well, over a third of the boys here were
oriented toward their own gender either entirely or as a change of
pace. Men's colleges these days were like the gymnasiums of the ancient
world where boys exercised and often studied in the nude, though sexual
relationships between males in today's gymnasia were between persons of the
same age not between a grown man and a boy.

The progress of gay liberation over the last century had made straight guys
comfortable sharing social spaces with their gay contemporaries. No wonder
field sports went back to the ancient ideal of nude competition. It also
put all competitors on the same footing. They could bring only original
equipment to the contest. No more technological arms races like body length
swim suits that helped a swimmer float and reduced turbulence and drag or
running shoes equipped with sensors and actuators. Who wants to see a body
suit on a swimmer anyway? Everyone wants to ogle their sexy bodies, and yes
why not fully naked instead of in skimpy racers that did little to hide the
genitals anyway.

Looking at Kyle, the prof conceded it was hard to be critical of such a
nice kid as the little blond. A good student in all his classes, a
voracious reader with an insatiable curiosity, and an incessant chatterbox,
he really was a treasure as a student and a delightful young person -- so
bright and cheery and also so very pretty. Le Blanc might have kissed him
himself, ladies' man though he was, had Kyle not been a student.

By the time Kyle reached the swimming pool, his red head roommate was
already churning up the water. The recreational pool was a natural wide
spot in the creek with the near bank shored up with field stone along the
deepest stretch where kids could dive. Laughing, Kyle cannonballed into the
pool and swam over to Tommy and grappled with the bigger boy. They wrestled
and thrashed around, sinking to the bottom briefly then pushed back up to
the surface laughing and slapping at each other. Tommy pushed the smaller
youth to the side of the pool and held him there, victorious. A leg slipped
through the fork of Tommy's legs, and they suddenly found themselves
embracing, chests and hips touching.  Kevin felt a rush of heat, his pulse
pounded and he started to get hard. As much as he liked the close contact
with his attractive friend, he let his arms fall away, afraid Tommy wasn't
ready for intimacy.

Tommy kept his arms around the little blond and locked his gaze into Kyle's
green eyes, his hands sliding down to the curve of his buttocks. He leaned
forward and murmured.

"Kyle, you're prettier than any girl around. I'm almost sorry I don't go
for guys, but if I ever made an exception, it would be for you. I don't
mind your holding me though. It's actually feels kind of nice."

He leaned forward and kissed the blond boy full on the lips, then slipped
his tongue into Kyle's mouth. Kyle returned the embrace and the kiss for a
long moment then pulled back.

"Yeah, I'd sure like it, Tommy, if we could go all the way. I mean we share
a bed already. How about a blow job for starters?" He ducked under the
water and took Tommy's cock into his mouth.

"Whoa there. Wouldn't want you to drown on me" Tommy said tugging his
friend back up.

Tommy backed away then hiked his backside onto the edge of the pool. Kyle
resumed his efforts. Tommy really liked blow jobs and had to admit that
guys did it better than girls. They really knew what turned another guy
on. So straight boy though (he thought) he was, he willingly let his pal
blow him when they got together. Kyle pleasured Tommy's cock with lips and
tongue, then tried to get it down his throat.  Kevin was very young and
still working on his technique, so sometimes his gag reflex got in the
way. Tommy actually liked the fact that it wasn't easy for Kevin to take
his cock. Something about it made him feel dominant and powerful, with the
smaller lad between his knees, struggling submissively to accept another
male's fully engorged penis. He used Kyle's hair to pull his face back and
forth; the smaller boy kept his locks just long enough for a good grab. He
liked to looked down the boy's slender torso, to the split buns at the
end. Not that he had any plans for exploring that aspect of Kyle's
sexuality, mind you.

"Arrgh, here I come" he said loosing his load into the smaller lad.

Kyle swallowed each spurt as best he could, but with a thick cock blocking
his throat, he could not keep all the cum in his mouth, and some of it
dribbled down his chin. Tommy pulled out for the final two spurts, letting
it hit Kyle's finely drawn features, a male marking his territory. Kyle
slurped it up the best he could. Tommy never reciprocated the favor with a
blow job of his own, but he did not mind helping his friend out. After all
Kyle was his friend and so very pretty. So when Kyle hopped out of the pool
next to him working his own cock Tommy kissed Kyle and stroked his friend's
ribs and flanks and the inside of his thighs.

For a guy his size, Kyle was quite respectably endowed; it took both of his
small hands to cover his erection, but only one when it was soft. Tommy had
the blond lie back propping himself on his elbows as he took over. Kyle
submitted as another male took complete control of his arousal and of the
action at the fork of his legs, watching submissively as his friend took
control of his sexuality.

Tommy toyed with Kevin's tiny nipples, pulling and twisting and pinching
them hard with his finger nails. Something about the pain turned Kyle on no
end. He suddenly wondered what it would be like to be really helpless, tied
up or shackled and force to accept sexual torture at the hands of a
stronger guy.  He never would say anything to Tommy about such perverse
desires. Tommy's limit in boy to boy sex was letting Kyle suck his cock and
a hand job in return and maybe French kissing.

The blond boy felt his climax build, his belly all aflutter. As Tommy
playfully shoved a finger into his boy hole, he came all over his chest and
belly then sighed with satisfaction. Tommy, still in control of his
sexuality, rubbed the ejaculate into his skin with careful attention to
Kyle's belly and nips, gently drawing his softening cock and ball sac
through his big hands to coat all the surfaces of the orbs and the shaft
with the boy's very own male essence. Kyle lay back all the way, satisfied
and drained. The two boys drew a patter of applause from a couple of male
students who had watched interestedly from a little ways downstream.  Life
was good.

After a quick shower and then his yoga class, still naked, Kyle returned to
their dorm. He always admired how architects like his dad managed to
combine comfort with energy saving features like passive solar cooling from
thick walls, green roofs covered with plants instead of tile or tarpaper,
and those egg-beater windmills to generate electric power. With fossil
fuels reserved for chemical feedstock, marine and air transport or the
military these days, renewable sources and conservation were a
necessity. Like most dormitories, his had no frigid air conditioning but
was still quite comfortable. Windcatcher towers supplied naturally cooled
air, exchanging the hot outside air without pumps for cooled air drawn from
underground aqueducts fed from the creek upstream. The room he shared with
his two roommates was airy and comfortable with cross ventilation where
both ceiling and floor fans turned quietly stirring the air to
life. Windows had awnings and trees shaded any south facing walls.

Students lived quite simply. In their rooms each student had a desk with a
swivel chair though Kyle's was really a stool on casters that fit under his
desk. Each had a small chest of drawers and they shared a single
wardrobe--no closets. They wore little clothing normally and that mostly
lightweight and virtually never in their rooms, and seldom anywhere in or
about the dorm. They did not need much storage space for belongings. Indeed
they had very few possessions, typical of the generation imbued with the
end of century zeitgeist scornful of material accumulation. They didn't
even need bookshelves since paper books were obsolete. All you needed was a
single book reader.

The padded bench on one side of the room supplied seating for guests and
also stored the long roll-out futon all three boys shared. In the daytime
it was out of sight and out of the way. At night the futon kept them low to
the floor where the air was cooler.

Except of course when Kyle and dark haired Jean-Michel heated the room up
with their energetic couplings. Kyle's French had improved dramatically
thanks to the tall French-Canadian student who insisted that, to help his
new friend perfect his French, they must always speak it in their room,
even or especially in bed. Tommy had to improve his French too just to keep
up and so they couldn't pull pranks on him. A couple of years older,
Jean-Michel also taught the younger boy love making techniques. Sometimes
Kyle got two lessons at once as when Jean-Michel put him on his knees and
bent him over and slapped his ass with a lusty "Žcarte-toi". Kyle had
better figure out that meant 'spread 'em'. The blond also learned words
seldom used in polite conversation for parts of the body. There were many
words for the naughty parts of the body of course, but Kyle appreciated the
simplicity of 'le sexe'. It made up a little for the silly way Frenchmen
counted.

Tommy didn't mind sharing a bed with his two romantic roommates as long as
they didn't keep him up too late or kick him too hard. He would even help
get Kyle in the mood playing with his nipples, stroking his ribs, or
kissing him while Jean-Michel probed the blond boy's firm ass. While
sleeping, Tommy liked to spoon himself to Kyle's smaller frame, enjoying
their physical closeness. So did Jean-Michel, but he didn't mind
sharing. Tommy got a tingly feeling listening to the younger boy breathe,
feeling his pulse and body heat, nuzzling Kyle's ears and his hair. He
would take a deep breathe to draw in the combination of smells from the
soap Kyle used, his subtle cologne, traces of sweat and all those lingering
aromas that made up the smell of a healthy boy. Tommy got a bit more than
he bargained for one day when he woke to find that his blond roommate had
pushed his hips back in his sleep and actually mounted Tommy's morning
wood.

Naturally Jean-Michel just had to take a photo of their unconscious
coupling. Only the most dire threats kept them from publishing it! As for
Kyle, Tommy put the smaller boy through a tickle torture that lasted off
and on for an hour. After all their time together, Tommy knew just where to
attack. But wasn't tickling yet another kind of physical intimacy, Tommy
asked himself. His cock had actually felt pretty good up in there -- so
warm and slick and tight. He did enjoy their sweet kisses, especially three
way kisses with Jean-Michel when the saucy foreigner had offered Tommy a
taste of Kyle's precum and he had taken it. Suddenly they were all tasting
and kissing each other. Jean-Michel was very nice looking and sexy in his
own right.

Tommy sometimes wondered whether he shouldn't explore boy-boy sex
further. Kyle had taken his cock in his mouth and swallowed his
seed. Should he reciprocate? Maybe he was a switch hitter after all. Did
their increasing physical intimacy mean that he was actually falling in
love with a boy?

Out of bed too Tommy and his roommates got along famously. They helped each
other with their homework, library research, and writing assignments. Tommy
laughed at how unself-consiously the boys, himself included now, could sit
before their screens writing, running simulations, taking practice quizzes,
looking things up, all so intellectual and earnest yet all three of them
stark naked. Kyle shrugged at the thought and said

"It's clothing that's artificial. Naked is natural, the default
status. When you see me naked you see the real Kyle. When you see me
dressed, what you see is my clothing." And hang what those silly nudists
said. Naked wasn't just natural, it was too sexy. Nudists were just in
denial about that. Casual nudity was also part of the zeitgeist, a reaction
against generations inexplicably focussed on clothing of all things. Why
not just go naked and cut out all that one-ups manship and posturing.  Show
yourself as you really were.

Tommy suspected the reason Kyle used that stool of his rather than a desk
chair was because it displayed more of his sexy body. An artist would
surely appreciate the sensuous curves from shoulder to small of the back,
to the flare of narrow hips, and the split curvature of the buttocks. So
could passersby in the hallway with the door left open as it often was. The
boys were gregarious and liked for friends to drop in. If they looked too
busy, their friends could just walk on by, leaving the roommates to their
lessons.

Naturally the boys also pitched in for the housekeeping chores around the
dorm. Employers couldn't hire cheap workers anymore now that the borders
were effectively patrolled by drones. A population over 400 million was
starting to make Americans feel crowded. Making a virtue of necessity, the
college insisted that ding humble chores was good for building character
and comradeship. Indeed it was hard to maintain a snobbish attitude mopping
the floors or cleaning the bathrooms, or raking leaves.

Tommy had made a video of Kyle on hands and knees scrubbing the tile around
a commode. Naked except for rubber gloves and pads for his knees, he looked
like nothing so much as a light brown short-haired doggy with no tail, with
its tanned haunches closest to the camera, dangly bits swaying between his
slender thighs, crinkly brown anal ring visible as he scrubbed the brush
back and forth. Kyle had realized he was on camera and turned to flash a
dazzling smile and then a finger at the photographer.

No, whatever his faults, this kid was the genuine article: intelligent,
hardworking, cooperative, funny, and certainly not too full of himself
despite his many gifts. Of all his chores Kyle prefered to work in the
communal vegetable garden which provided them all with the freshest
possible produce. Kyle had found that he genuinely liked farm chores:
planting, seeding, hoeing, weeding, pruning, staking, watering,
whatever. It was deeply satisfying to tend to plants, to make things grow,
to grub his hands in the soil piling dirt around celery stalks so they
would turn white. Tommy had video of that too: the blond boy kneeling on
the ground, brown cheeks resting on bare feet, lithe torso bent over, ribs
and spinal bumps prominent as, trowel in hand, he worked at his mundane
task firm muscles playing under the skin. He looked so alive, a fine
specimen of the human animal.

Hence Kyle was well regarded by his fellow students. Way oversexed many
allowed but in a charming way. He was definitely one of the good
guys. Quite a few were glad the little blond was the way he was. He was a
boy who loved to be naked and not just so for people to see him, to admire
him, but also to run their hands over his belly, to caress his buttocks or
slip the blade of a hand in between, and to touch him intimately. Kyle was
very tactile: ticklish yes but he also like to be fussed over, stroked,
petted, and fondled. Some dismissed him as a boy toy -- a label he wore as
an honor.

He loved to let his lovers and friends share his physicality and his
maleness with all their senses: sight and touch yes, but his sounds, his
bodily fragrance, and even his taste. So while they hung out together he
let guys rest their heads on his chest or his belly, the better to hear his
heartbeat, his respiration, or his inner borborygmus (what a wonderful
word), the rumbling or gurgling noise made by the movement of fluid and gas
in the intestines. Let them taste his salty sweat out of the pool collected
in his navel or even the clear pre-cum that their attentions could
stimulate from his generative organs. Let them smell the clean odor of
healthy boy in his arm pits, in his groin, in his hair. Let them take his
breath into their mouths and let them breathe theirs into his nostrils. Let
them taste each other's sweet kisses. Then they would know 'Boy' in the
true meaning of that wonderful word.

He encouraged guys to sit on a bench next to him, to put an arm over his
shoulder or around his waist.  They could talk quietly about their
interests getting to know each other better. Even straight students thought
it unremarkable to sit on a bench next to a naked youth chatting with him,
rubbing his back, stroking his smooth hide from shoulder to ass. A small
slender lad with delicate features was more approachable, less
threateningly male. He didn't have a man's wiry bush at the fork of his
legs. He was also much prettier than their own girl friends and much less
standoffish.

Perhaps his fellow males sensed that Kyle's physique was, in an
evolutionary sense, an ideal, the build of man the primitive hunter who
stalked or ran his prey down on the open savannah. Primitive man was a
natural runner but with enough upper body strength to drive a spear into
the heart of a two ton beast.

You just had to watch Kyle tossing a frisbee. Kyle was quick and nimble as
a squirrel. The sport could have been designed to show off the male
physique with all the running, bending, reaching, throwing, jumping, and
stooping. Guys like Kyle loved clowning around. bending over to throw the
frisbee between their legs calling attention to their pert rumps.

				Chapter 2. Town and Gown

The college was just outside of the town of Colby a county seat in rural
north east Georgia and an agricultural center for specialty crops like
pearl onions, avocados, and berries. Though transport was available, most
students, faculty, and staff simply walked to town. The high cost of fuels
had been a boon to public health and to the fortunes of small towns. Their
compact size made it easy to walk to services and stores instead of
driving.

Renewable energy sources like wind, wave power, solar electric and heating,
geothermal, and cogeneration to capture waste heat and steam, and other
techniques kept the economy going along nicely, but the old days of sprawl
and crawl were done with. Older developments used small cars, busses, and
delivery vans, powered by fuels made from gas hydrates. Many residents
stuck in the old suburbs found jobs where they could telecommute over the
web.

Otherwise walkable developments were flourishing up everywhere. Sidewalks
led residents from their town houses to close-by services: barber shop,
convenience store, drug store, liquor store, pizza parlor,
whatever. Clusters of such neighborhoods of houses and services surrounded
the main shopping district with supermarket, movie theaters, post office,
public library, police sub-station, and so forth.  There were no cars
parked on the street or in driveways. Indeed there were no driveways on the
pedestrian streets, just the occasional robot cart trailing behind, loaded
with heavy packages. Residents parked cars in the center of the large
housing blocks in a lot, carport or garage. It was a place built for
people, not for cars. And the people were healthier from walking there.

Even so, with such far reaching changes, there were winners and losers and
political fallout from all that.  People were still getting richer just in
different ways, especially in health and education, and extended
life-spans. Kyle knew a lot about such things because his dad was an
architect and city planner. His mother was a medical doctor, an
endocrinologist.

Kyle, Jean-Michel and Tommy walked to town one Sunday afternoon for brunch
at a new restaurant. The boys were in their second best sarongs and flip
flops chatting obliviously. The trio usually drew admiring looks, but a few
older men, strangers in town, glared at them resentfully. A guy with a
belly on him spit on the ground calling them "Damn Eloi".

"Eloi pansies" his pal corrected him.

So that was it. The 'Morlocks' were a new political movement allegedly
speaking for the downtrodden working classes and against the idle Eloi or
lotus eaters as in the classic tale 'The Time Machine' by H.G. Wells. They
envied the upper classes their longevity. Some people were always looking
to blame others for their problems.

"Hey pretty boys! What's with the skirts? What you got under them, huh."

"Is there a problem here?"

The cop who suddenly appeared was the biggest man Kyle had ever seen,
almost two meters tall and solidly built. He and his partner gave the
bullies a challenging look so they backed down and drifted off.

"Sorry about that kids. Just riff-raff. You know we don't have any real
problems here in Colby with you folks at the college."

Indeed relations between town and gown were friendly. Kyle and his two
friends talked a bit with Sergeant Harris who turned out to be an alumnus
himself. In his day, boys did not run around in sarongs, but he admitted
the three of them did look good in the colorful garments. Indeed a sarong
drapes close to the body and doesn't flare out. So it emphasizes the
slenderness of the boy below the waist and hips and directs attention to
the roundness of the rump and the flatness of the bare chest and
belly. That and the huge variety of color and pattern made them popular
these days with young men especially with the heat. Why bother with boring
jeans or chinos when you could sport a beautiful sarong? And it was so easy
to get off; just pull the velcro fastener and let it fall. Just great when
you were in the mood for frolic or for sports like tossing a frisbee or
swimming or running.

The trio also liked visit the gay bars in town. Not that any of them drank
very much. They had excellent health habits: no drugs, lots of exercise and
fresh air, a diet rich in fresh foods, etc. They did like to spend at least
part of Saturday afternoons in the patio behind Jake's Place a popular
watering hole. There they could meet townies they had befriended and enjoy
a couple of mimosas and crudites or light munchies. If you were really
hungry you could have a platter with scrambled eggs, hash browns, sausage
or bacon, pancakes or waffles with syrup and fruit. Delicious! You could
hang out near the shade of the tall hedge or around the delightful fountain
in the center. Since they were nude anyway in the patio, the boys would
duck under the spray to cool off.

Jake also maintained a grassy area beyond the hedge as a public
amenity. Neighbors as well as patrons were welcome to join in games of
volleyball or badminton or both, since there were two courts. Both games
were almost as good for displaying the wonder of the youthful male physique
as frisbee tossing, so the bar owner had put out a couple of benches for
spectators. Sadly, some of the older townies disapproved of such blatant
display of naked gay youth.

These days the government actively promoted the gay life style as just as
productive and useful as any other choice. Indeed gay males like Kyle were
a godsend to economic development and government finances. Their
potentially long working lives as healthy young men meant they would
contribute for over thirty decades to retirement and medical trust funds
before drawing on them for their own needs. The public investment in their
education would be paid many times over. True they would go back to school
for training and reeducation from time to time for new careers, and they
would take periodic paid sabbaticals, but the overall balance was very much
to the benefit of society.

Few of them would have children that needed expensive education, nor would
their offspring compete for places in college and other venues with those
of other citizens. It was a win-win situation like few before it. Most of
the other segments of society were supportive of the increasingly visible
gay cohort in its midst.

Sexual mores were changing, becoming more like the days of ancient Rome
when no one thought the less of a virile male who occasionally enjoyed a
tryst with a charming and pretty boy. There was little stigma among
straight males nowadays over dalliances with boys as long as they were of
age. The active partner had the male role after all. Their women and the
girls at Colby's sister institution down the road knew that gay boys were
no threat to their own positions as wives, girlfriends, or
mistresses. Their only objection were that those so many of these cute boys
with their taut buns were hopelessly singleminded in orientation. Otherwise
they would have liked to give a boy like Kyle a tumble themselves. Why
couldn't more of them be bi. What a waste.

As for the easing of nudity taboos, social historians gave some credit to
the boys in low saggers early in the century who pioneered public displays
of rear cleavage and bellies bared to the groin. Their successor
generations gave up their pointlessly hot and baggy pants and shorts in
favor of short shorts so-called hot pants worn low on the hips. Soon the
boys started peeling even those brief garments off for frisbee tossing or
nude volley ball in the park, swimming at clothing optional beaches, of
just bull sessions in the basement or out back, at least when their female
relations weren't around.

The movement snowballed from there, with the clothing optional fad for
young guys sweeping away the old rules and becoming the new norm. Nowadays
all competition in aquatic sports as well as track and field was in the
nude, just like in the original Greek Olympics. Athletes trained as they
competed on the track, cross country trails, in the parks. And to think
athletes had once thought they needed elastic supporters as if their dangly
bits would tear off during a run around the track or a workout on the
parallel bars. Such quaint notions folks had back then, this said with the
typical condescension of the younger for the older generation.

Young males like to be naked with each other regardless of sexual
attraction. Same goes with same, and naked young men like to flock together
and play their grab ass games. No wonder then, that as the end of the
century approached so many of them welcomed the chance to join their gay
brothers in rejecting clothing unless really necessary. Virtually all
sports were carried out in the nude: track and field, aquatic sports, net
sports like volley ball, badminton, and tennis, plus soccer. Only American
football (and winter sports) held out for uniforms and padding.

All young men like to show off their sexy bodies, to strut their stuff, to
moon the older generation, to wear clothes slung so low you wondered how
their garments did not just fall to their ankles at the slightest
movement. Males have always liked social spaces where they could mix freely
among themselves without conventional accouterments especially
clothing. Whether at camp, in the dorm, in the barracks, at the swimming
hole, at sea, the nudie beach, men's clubs, wherever they could get away
from conventional fussiness and female inspired standards of deportment.

Among the high school crowd, gatherings of young bucks, often athletes who
trained and competed in the nude, straight boys mostly, could sometimes be
seen hanging at corners, standing, slouching, or squatting entirely bare,
happy for a chance to shock their elders while exercising their civil
rights. Why should college boys have all the fun?

Cops had to leave them alone. Many officers took it philosophically. The
nude and often hairless boys at these occasional gatherings were the least
likely to commit an offense. They certainly couldn't conceal a weapon on
their persons. They were also unlikely to become a crime victim. Who would
try to hold them up for money or for a fancy jacket or pair of running
shoes. Some of the athletes like to get a temporary tattoo of their varsity
letter on their shoulder or bare ass. And if persons of the opposite sex
happened to get a chance to check them out, what could be wrong with that,
these cock proud boys might ask.

The big difference in the high schools was that teachers could exercised
the pedagogical right 'in loco parentis' to paddle or cane obstreperous or
lazy high school students The boys had to strip off right in front of the
whole class then bend over a desk. After punishment, they had to spend the
rest of the period facing the corner, displaying their fiery red butt
cheeks to their classmates. Fortunately for their male pride, classes were
gender separated though the schools as a whole were coed, to allow social
interaction between girls and boys. Gender separate classes were a
pedagogical change that got started decades earlier with science and math
classes.

Actually some of the boys learned to like the kiss of the birch or switch
on their asses and would act up deliberately, courting punishment. Others
took pride in being able to take a caning or paddling better than other
boys, without whimpering or pleading. Kyle had been one of this
group. Bending over hands on knees, genitals dangling between slender
thighs, high school boys had only their pride left. So no sniffles or tears
though gasps, flinches, and moans were only to be expected as the strap or
cane connected with the tender flesh of the buttocks. Some few would even
earn a little pocket money after school letting certain gentlemen paddle or
switch their pretty boy butts. Such attitudes carried over into
college. Needless to say college students were full adults and no longer
had to worry about corporal punishment.

M. Le Blanc's class was caught out in the rain the next day but the
students hardly took notice. The professor put up an umbrella, the
students, either scantily clad or entirely nude actually welcomed the
gentle soothing shower. Again Kyle tucked himself between his thighs
smiling shyly at the teacher and looking up at the sky to suggest that of
course he was just protecting his assets. Le Blanc hoped the rush of lust
he felt was because of the little blond exhibitionist's sudden resemblance
to a very pretty flat-chested girl.

The next day Kyle worked at the large communal garden. This was his
favorite chore. If he had to he would even trade two for one with other
students to take their shift at the 'farm' as they called it. It was sited
all the way on the other side of the college property, beyond the low wall
encircling the grounds of the college proper and reached through a gate
that was always open. It was very large for a garden since it had to
provide produce for a student body of over five hundred plus faculty,
staff, and their dependents. Passersby on the dirt road just beyond were
infrequent but those that did pass were likely to pull over to watch the
naked young farmhands industriously at work.

The college had put in a gravel area where a few cars could pull over, and
the publicity department had set up interpretive panels to explain the
techniques used like drip irrigation. In their own small way, Kyle and the
other farmhands were a tourist attraction. Kyle suspected it had more with
their being all young, good looking, healthy, and perpetually nude than
anything else. A straw hat was the only thing you ever saw on one of the
farm hands. They didn't have to worry about skin cancer despite their
outdoor lifestyle because of their telomere tweaking, but the sun was hot
and strong. Today he felt more like a plumber as he and two other students
wrestled drip hoses in place in a field where the earth had just been
turned and planted. Crop rotation required relaying hoses because each crop
had a different distance between plants and often between rows.

Another attraction was the locally famous outhouse built in the style of
the ancient Romans. This far from the main road, the farm did not have
access to water mains, so they could not have flush toilets. Actually it
wasn't so bad. Several years ago an enthusiastic coalition of classics and
engineering students had built a Roman style outhouse.

Quite ingenious really. The Roman design was sheltered from wind and rain,
drew no flies and had no smell. Stream fed and gravity powered, it was a
two-holer with a constant flow under the seat. A smaller flow ran in a
small trough behind the footrest. You did your business and wiped your ass
with a sponge on a stick. Then you washed the sponge in the trough and hung
it up for the next user. The outhouse had four walls, but the sloping roof
covered only two thirds of the space enclosed. You were out of the rain but
air could circulate freely. Hence no odors and no flies; the waste flushed
by gravity into the stream lower down. All very biodegradable. No need to
dig out new pits and fill in the old holes every few years like with old
fashioned outhouses. An interpretative panel explained all this for
tourists.

Sometimes visitors liked to talk to the boys themselves about their farm
chores and what college life was like with so many gay boys on campus. Two
farmers in their thirties, brothers obviously, chatted Kyle up. They
smirked at the boys' nudity and asked for one of the lovely boys to give a
demonstration of the outhouse,and please leave the door open. Right. Take a
test drive on your own, thank you. They chuckled and mentioned that they
worked a real farm some twelve kilometers away. Yes, this communal garden
was all very interesting, and the farmers appreciated the virtues of
working the land, but weren't the students really just gentlemen
farmers. They didn't make a living off the land.

Maybe not, but the acreage at the college was quite respectable, and the
time the student volunteers put in annually added up to several man years
of work. They didn't seem convinced. Kyle also did not like the the
contemptuous look on the faces of the farmers. He especially disliked the
possessive way the older brother Larry reached out entirely uninvited to
stroke his bare flank. When he circled Kyle's manhood in a big hand rough
with calluses, Kyle backed away, his face showing his displeasure at the
unwelcome intimacy. The brothers drove off laughing.

What a bummer those two were. Here he had been so much as ease before those
two showed up. Yes he was hot and sweaty and dusty. He had dirt on his
knees and feet and hands. He certainly did not look like a member of a
social elite, in fact more like a slave boy of ancient times working the
land in the nude. None of that excused such rudeness from the farmers.


				Chapter 3. The Idyll Shattered

A few days later Kyle went on a training run through the countryside. He
loped along at an easy pace, the sun beating down on bare skin as he ran a
circuit of mostly dirt roads which were easier on the feet than
pavement. By now the farmers in the area were used to the sight of nude
students from the college. Still they paused to watch the slender blond run
past, utterly naked and hairless.  Another one eh, evenly tanned too, so he
must be one of those exhibitionist gay boys that were running around all
over these days. Still they could admired his fine lines: like a young colt
with a long stride, deep chest, strong legs, and from what they could see
between those legs, good breeding potential, unlikely though he was to use
it.

A farmer watering the plantings in his circular driveway held the hose up
to Kyle. A drink? Sure. As his coach had said so many times "Don't drink
when you're thirsty. Drink before you're thirsty."

Kyle ducked under the garden hose and let it run over him flushing the
sweat away. The water was potable, so he pointed the hose at his mouth and
drank deeply. He would just let himself air dry, but he did wipe his feet
off on the grass. No point picking up mud.

At the fork he took a road that led away from the college to lengthen the
run a bit and to explore new country. At first the farms looked prosperous,
but the last few looked more hard scrabble or even abandoned. Maybe the
soil was poorer here. Suddenly he heard a dog bark loudly as it took off
after him. Damn, a dog, the one problem he had no answer for. Usually when
he was in a tight spot he played the charm card with his looks and his
outgoing personality. The Irish Wolfhound on his tail was not interested in
charm. It quickly caught up with him growling and baring its teeth. Then it
began herding him up a long driveway past a screen of trees. He didn't even
see the farm buildings till they went past a bend in the drive. Why was the
damn dog being so territorial. Just let him go.

A second Irish Wolfhound got off its belly and began sniffing at the
frightened boy. These beasts each outweighed him. On their hind legs they
would overtop him considerably. He felt very small and vulnerable. One dog
jumped at his back and pushed him onto his hands and knees. He stayed there
in a huddle trying to shield himself, head to the ground and hands on his
head. Would they tear his throat out. Where were the owners? Then one dog
began licking his behind, slurping its tongue over his ass and into his
crack then down to his balls and shriveled cock. Kyle was petrified with
fear. Please don't let it bite him, not there. He whimpered absolutely
terrified. Here he was a small naked boy on all fours circled by two huge
canines.

Suddenly one dog climbed up on his back, forepaws scrabbling for
purchase. Its dewclaws scratched his back. Its powerful muzzle dripped
drool on the back of his neck. Kyle felt something poking at his ass. No,
not that. He tried crawling out from under but a low growl warned him
against it. This couldn't be happening, he told himself. He was getting
raped by an Irish Wolfhound, an animal. But it was happening. With mounting
excitement, the dog's penis found the boy's hole and forced its way
in. Dogs are not very much into foreplay. Gods, it felt huge and got
thicker the deeper it went. Now it felt like the dog was trying to push a
navel orange through his ass ring. It would never fit.

It did fit. Suffering more pain in those moments than he could recall from
his entire life, the boy felt the dog force his sphincters open and push
its knot all the way into his guts. He was now just a bitch tied to its
mate. As was the way with canines, the Irish Wolfhound pumped his seed in
steadily. After a while the dog turned his body and lifted one rear leg
over the boy's backside to face in the other direction. The two young male
animals were now ass to ass but still tied by the dog's knot. Dogs may stay
tied for a quarter hour or more.

Suddenly Kyle heard a screen door swing open followed by a sharp
whistle. The big dog took off dragging the frightened boy behind. He
scrabbled at the dirt and kicked ineffectually against the gravel but got
no purchase on the bare ground. They stopped suddenly before a big pair of
boots. How could he explain this: here he was a naked kid all sweaty and
dusty, sprawled in the dirt, dragged to the farmer's door by a dog's knot
up his ass.

"For cryin' out loud. What a sorry sight you are. Whaddaya mean coming onto
our property? Shaking your booty at my Sam here. Don't you college fags get
enough cock up your butts?" The boy was confused and embarassed, especially
when the farmer went inside and brought out a camera and another guy who
looked a lot like him.

"Look what Sam drug home, Ed. Can you believe it?"

It was those farmers from a few days ago. Kyle appealed to them for help to
get the dog off him, to get the dog out of him, but they just told him to
shut up. He had to play the hand that was dealt to him. Finally done
cumming, the dog pulled out of the boy who slumped to the ground in
relief. This proved short lived as the second monster dog replaced the
first in his ass. His knees and elbows were scraped against the ground as
the second hound took him. The two farmers thought that just
hilarious. This'll teach those college pansies. Run around buck nekkid all
the time would they? Just asking for it, from man or dog, a bitch boy if
the truth were known. Kyle couldn't help it, he burst into tears only to
find himself taunted as a crybaby.

Finally it was over as the boy sobbed on the ground, his ass on fire and
totally humiliated. The farmer raised his face toward him. He wiped his
thumb over Kyle's tear stained cheek.

"My my, but you sure are a pretty one, even when you cry.  Bring him inside
the barn, Ed."

They laid him unresisting over two bales of hay, tying his wrists behind
him. For the next two hours they fucked the lad raw. They took him front
and back together or separately. They were big men and big there too. Not
so big around as the dogs but longer and they could slap his ass while they
pronged him or take a strap to it between fucks. They seemed to enjoy his
howls but slapped his face if he tried to articulate a protest. After a
while they flipped him onto his back. A wild kick from Kyle caught Ed in
the chest, so the two farmers jerked Kyle to his feet and punched him hard
in the belly four of five times. They then slapped his face one two. Kyle
got the message: resistance would be punished. There was nothing he could
do against even of of these tough farmers much less both of them and their
dogs and the ropes that bound him. These dominant males would use him as
their punching bag and fuck toy, and Kyle just had to take it....

Ed took his ass with Kyle's slender legs propped on his shoulders. Larry
lunged into his mouth and throat practically suffocating him. Then they
traded. Larry liked to pinch the youth's tiny red nipples and pull them out
from his chest. He taunted Kyle's erection claiming it showed he liked
being raped. He wanted it. He was just begging for it, wasn't he: boy bitch
and bitch boy that's he was. Kyle lost count of how many times they mounted
him.

When they were through, they put him on the floor of the barn and let the
dogs have him again. Only later did they give him some water to drink and
dragged him to a stall. Around his left ankle, Ed locked a chain fixed to
the heavy post by a strong staple. No sense letting the new livestock
wander off now he muttered. The battered boy sank to the straw utterly
exhausted, cum both canine and human seeping from his badly abused nether
hole.

The next morning they had him wash up under a hose. Although not fettered
he knew better than to try to outrun the dogs who stayed close to Ed and
Larry. They gave him a halfway decent breakfast of scrambled eggs and hash
browns with a bit of sliced fruit for desert and cranberry juice to
drink. Of course they fed him like a dog. He had to eat the food without
using his hands out of a bowl set on the ground. He knew they were talking
about him on the phone, but he couldn't hear what they said. It wouldn't be
good news -- he knew that much.

Larry commented that they wouldn't want him to get out of shape while he
was with them, and dragged an old exercycle out to the barn for him to
peddle on. It sounded to Kyle like they planned to keep him
indefinitely. The farmers were making it up as they went along, playing for
time. They knew they couldn't just set Kyle free now. He would go to the
police. With long hours on the exercycle, fatigue would help keep their
captive in line, and they got to watch his sexy body pedal away. A chain
locked around his neck meant he wasn't going anywhere, and he even got to
work on his tan. Of course the boy got his ass slapped or strapped and his
back too as he pedaled away.  Afterwards they forced him to dig a long slit
trench he would use as an outdoor latrine. Just do his business then throw
dirt on the mess to keep down the smell and the flies. They kept him on a
leash while he squatted, and the dogs were always nearby. on his nice
slender physique and dragged an old fan type exercycle out of the barn for
him to peddle on

In the afternoon more men showed up. It was those trouble makers from town
a week or so ago. The Morlocks they called themselves. The two brothers
were sympathizers though not members. These men were delighted to work over
one of their class enemies, an Eloi and what an example of his class he was
too: a small, slender, blond pretty-boy, habitually nude and hairless to
flaunt his homosexuality, and a coward to boot: look how easily he had been
broken, without much of a fight, if the truth were known. This was the
privileged punk who actually looked down on straight men like themselves
who had to work for a living. That was bad enough, but it really galled
them that Kyle would be youthful and healthy for three or four centuries
while they would be lucky to reach the normal life expectancy of just about
a single century, aging all the time.

They would show him, and they did. At least Ed and Larry abused him only
for their own perverse enjoyment. They were not especially angry at the
unlucky kid who had fallen into their hands. A great fuck sure and prettier
than any girl they had ever had, but go easy on the politics. A piece of
tail is a piece of tail, isn't it. The Morlocks were not only mean, they
were self-righteous about it. This was no more than the bitch boy deserved:
whippings and endless mountings. Maybe they should keep him like that
forever, a slave serving generations of Morlocks as a whipping boy and for
sexual release. Why not do that to others like him, make their families
fear for their pansy boy sons.

The next few days were a living hell for the college youth. He lost
whatever lingering faith he might have had in a benevolent deity. Who with
the power to save him could look on his plight and do nothing? Either the
gods were uncaring fiends or they were figments of the imagination and
humanities existential fears. Kyle knew he was no saint, but at his age he
had never had the chance to commit great sins. What horrible sins were
charged to his account that would justify his being tortured and sexually
enslaved. Yes, he was perhaps a little too proud of his good looks. Yes he
freely explored his sexuality with those of his own gender. Maybe he didn't
need to run around naked quite as much as he did. Did the world wide web
really need yet another set of pictures and holograms of a randy youth's
arousal, his butt hole and ass, and explicit photos of his performance in
bed? He didn't have that much on the plus side either. No, he was not
pious, hadn't made a scientific discovery, written a great novel, nor he
had sacrificed for the betterment of mankind.

Well, he was only a seventeen year old boy. If he was a bit vain and
over-sexed, his faults were minor and those of youth. Kyle knew that
basically he was a good kid, someone who had never ever really hurt anyone
except by disappointing would-be sex partners he had turned down. Gods he
couldn't go to bed with everyone who wanted him.

What right did these men have to string him up by the wrists and take a
whip to him day after day, marking his flesh with welts and bruises? What
right did they have to fuck him as he hung from a rafter: first from
behind, then from the front, then simultaneously with two cocks shoved up
his tiny orifice? How had he earned the penance of five kilos of steel
weights hung on his balls, set swinging and jiggling by his writhing under
the whip? How did snapping alligator clamps on his tits and pulling on the
chain between them somehow make the world a better place? No, his abused
cock would never be used to plant his seed in a female, but did that mean
it was OK to slap his erection, hit it with a tause, drip hot wax on it,
even shove acupuncture pins into the head and the shaft and take bets on
which wound would drip his life's blood to the floor first? What sins of
his had earned him the electrical tortures they used on him, chortling as
they did so? Were electric currents passed through a steel cock ring around
his genitals, the metal probe up his rectum, or the stainless steel sound
forced through his urethra somehow a just punishment for his use or misuse
of these organs for perverse sexual pleasure?

Who gave them the right to treat him like a dog, put a collar on him, keep
him chained and on all fours, forced to follow the leash and to heel on
command. What right did they have to throw a human boy to the Irish
Wolfhounds literally as their bitch? Did his helplessness before six grown
men and the easy way they beat the fight out of him really deserve
punishment as craven cowardice? Was a small youth supposed to simply beat
the crap out of the men, like in the movies, and outrun the huge dogs? Did
the way he had sobbed and bawled from his whippings, beatings, and endless
mountings by man and beast really mean he was a crybaby? Was his light
tenor voice really improved by the screams and howls that had reduced it to
a hoarse whisper?

					Chapter 4. End Game

Finally the two brothers called things to a halt. Their sex toy needed his
rest so he would look good at the big annual pow-wow being held the next
evening in their barn. The boy would be a sort of party favor for the
leaders of the movement. They would decide his fate.

The next day the brothers fed their captive, washing him off with a hose,
and put him to work setting things up for the meeting. The principals would
sit on benches made of three bales of hay stacked two high in back and a
single bale in front.

Larry pointed out the hay shed out back.  Kyle was to move twenty-one of
the huge brick shaped bales of hay to the barn and arrange them just so
along two walls. The bales were much too big to lift and carry. They did
not trust the boy with a hand hook to drag them in place. So the slightly
built youth had to roll each bale along, standing it on end then pushing it
over in the direction of travel. The strain on his belly as he lifted the
bale often made his butt hole sputter wetly.  He had been fucked so much
his hole was loose. Their scorn and laughter at his problem with anal
continence was yet another humiliation. The embarrassment caused a flutter
in his belly. He felt his hole pucker and a moment later he let loose a
long, loud, and smelly fart.

The farmers smiled at these further sounds and smells from his boy hole. It
reminded them of the uninhibited behavior of the farm animals they worked
with. Animals have no shame. This boy didn't either running around the
countryside in the nude, coupling with dogs, dumping his bodily wastes into
a hole in the ground. That didn't make him a farm animal exactly, but he
had a bare hide and nothing to cover his genitalia or his orifices of
excretion. Also he had been put to work like a beast of burden. Finally,
his onerous task done, they put their captive back in his stall, chain
locked around his ankle to get some beauty rest.

The meeting got started just after dark, over a dozen regional chiefs and
the big man himself, a tall lean man with an intelligent face, Vincent
Marko. After finishing regular business, they watched video of Kyle's utter
degradation over the last few days. They examined him themselves, poking
and prodding, weighing and yanking, pinching and slapping as he stood
helpless handcuffed between two guards. One man stuck his thumb up the butt
hole and then gave it to Kyle to clean with his mouth hole. Several asked
for a live performance so two of the Morlocks took the boy front and back,
clubbing his face with their heavy cocks, beating his rump with them before
thrusting inside, then switched places, afterwards giving everyone a good
look at the obedient youth submissively cleaning his own ass juices off
both cocks.

Then they watched a demonstration of boy whipping, the slender body
upright, stretched out in an X to the rafter overhead, watching the leather
hit the rib cage and wrap around, hearing the sharp report as it slashed
his buttocks, chortling at his howl as the end circled around his hips to
cut his limp cock, laughing at how Kyle's ass cheeks trembled in
anticipation between the heavy cuts of the whip. Kyle hung there afterwards
sobbing softly, a totally broken boy. Finally the leader Marko opened the
discussion of what they should do with this lovely creature at their
disposal.

Some wanted to keep him as a mascot for the movement, pass him around to
deserving members to use for a few months at a time. Others wanted him
tortured to death as a demonstration of the fate the Eloi would
face. Another option was to sell them to foreigners, to Arabs maybe, still
resentful over the loss of their geopolitical influence as their oil ran
out. An American boy you could torture for decades on end would bring quite
a premium on the market.

Finally Kyle could stand it no more and finding some last measure of
courage and defiance within himself, surprising himself actually, told them
all to go to hell. A Morlock slapped the boy's face for his effrontery, but
Marko held up his hand to stop the abuse.

"A man on trial has the right to speak in his own defense." he said mildly,
then added:

"No, my young friend. It is you who will go to hell, whatever we decide to
do with you. You must pay for your crimes."

"What crimes, I'm just a kid, only seventeen years old. I'm still in
school. I haven't gotten around to committing crimes yet."

"Your very existence is a crime. Why should you have centuries of youth
while we have only a single lifetime, aging every day?"

Kyle pointed out that genetic manipulation was none of his doing. Doctors
and scientists tweaked his parents' gametes before they even joined as a
zygote implanted in his mother's womb. He reminded his captors that costs
were coming down all the time. Eventually everyone in America could afford
it for their kids.

"Yes, the next generation, but what about us. It's too late for us." Marko
countered.

Kyle was an abomination and an enemy of the people. His genetic gifts were
an unearned privilege for a child of privilege. That's what Eloi were:
idlers and sons of idlers.

"Wrong. My parents both work hard. My dad designs and builds whole
towns. My mom treats and cures disease."

"You have never worked an hour in your life kid, never got your hands
dirty."

"And never worked the land either," Larry added.

"Wrong, wrong, wrong." Kyle insisted and described his chores at the dorm
scrubbing bath room tile on hands and knees, mopping, chipping and
painting. He told of his work in the communal vegetable garden raising
produce for their table.

"That's just playing at work. You don't do it for a living. Then there's
your looks, obviously genetically enhanced, but why did they not make you
taller? You're just a little guy."

Kyle countered that his good looks were entirely natural, as a glance at
his parents would confirm. He was their son in that respect as well as his
height. Sure they could have made him taller artificially, but they
didn't. That actually helped other people since it kept Kyle's carbon
footprint smaller. He occupied a smaller niche in the biosphere. Even his
homosexuality, not exactly a surprise to his parents, reduced the burden on
the ecosystem. Kyle would not sire children over the centuries. His genetic
gifts were limited to perpetual youth, good health, quick healing, and just
a little extra stamina, strength, and speed.

Marko had to admire the boy's grit and feistiness after all he had just
been through, but they all knew this trial would result in a
conviction. This was really just the penalty phase of a trial. His guilt
was a given. Ultimately they decided Kyle would be sold abroad. That would
help finance their cause. Let the Arabs display his endless tortures on the
web as an object lesson. This solution combined two of the other proposals
and neatly sidestepped all the security issues of perpetual enslavement of
a mascot. Let him be sent away to the covert slave markets of the East.

"No one is going anywhere" a loud voice declared seemingly out of the air.

Then the barn was swarming with armed police including Sergeant Harris and
the FBI. Harris explained that they had traced Kyle to the farmer who had
given him a drink of water the day he disappeared. Law enforcement
canvassed the area but had no reason to suspect the brothers. No, Larry and
Ed said; they hadn't seen Kyle. They would have remembered a naked
boy. Quite a beauty isn't he, but their farm buildings were blocked from
sight of the road by trees. Sorry.

Electronic surveillance and intercepts of phone conversations and emails
between residents of the area and outsiders about the pow-wow yielded
enough clues for a warrant. Hence the successful raid that had freed
him. Harris took Kyle to the clinic at the college where his roommates met
him after an exam pronounced him battered but OK. His parents were still
stuck on their anniversary cruise, their ship had been weathering a
hurricane. It might make port tonight. Then his folks would take a high
speed train to Atlanta and drive to Colby.

Jean-Michel and Tommy greeted him with hugs and kisses their hands roaming
over his still naked form. Kyle had turned down an offer of clothing. Tommy
confessed how Kyle's disappearance made him realize how much he was in love
with Kyle just like Jean-Michel was. He wanted to make love to Kyle fully
and to share him with the other boy. Sure he still liked girls and would
get married someday, but he had centuries to start a family. Could they all
three be lovers together and spend their first youth as a trio, in college
and maybe beyond?

Kyle went from feelings of relief to deliriously happy. Free once again and
now both his best friends were his lovers. Now they would never wear
clothes again so they could always be naked for each other! Oops, gotta
wear sarongs tomorrow for mom and dad. Best anyway they both give the blond
boy a few days to heal. Then would come a night to remember. On second
thought, better get started in the afternoon!