Date: Wed, 20 Mar 2024 21:49:26 +0000
From: TCHASE MCPHEE <survivalgame@outlook.com>
Subject: 'YoGA MaT' 21

% This work of fiction is set in the format of real-world situations.
Identifying details to real people, alive or dead, is entirely
coincidental in nature. If a character from this story happens to have
the same first name, use it to your advantage and put yourself in his
place. The author is not responsible for leakage.


% Countries have various rules regarding reading or viewing `adult
material'. It is up to you, the reader, to research this subject, abiding
by laws and conscience. The pages of this story contain 'adult material',
intended for an `adult audience.' Bypass this warning at your own risk!


% If sexual scenes involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then
why are you here? Seriously, if dude-to-dude sex & related stuff makes
you wanna barf or is gonna screw up your mind, you should not read this
story.


% Sexual safety matters. Guys, this is fiction. In real life, use
protection and I don't mean going out and hiring a security
guard...unless he gives your nuts and bolt a jolt!


% Hey dudes, if you have enjoyed reading NiFTy stories as much as I have
over the years, consider adding some $upport for `internet $pace' or else
I will have to start cutting handsome, hairy or steamy characters out of
my stories. Do you dare imagine a story without any tops?


http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html %

Give till it hurts...and if that's not enough, get with some s&m!


'YoGA MaT' 21

WriTten by T. Chase McPhee


%


So, that night, when good boys are tucked in at the nest, ready for the
long haul of a good night's sleep, there are some who suffer insomnia and
have their own homegrown remedies.


Such has been the case of Lance, who his brother has bore the brunt of
his absence.


"Now I'm getting worried," Logan says, nestled in the sack with Ritchie.


Quicker on the draw with the remarks, Donato, who lies in the pit of
Ritchie's left arm, says, "you trust Steven, don't you, Logan?"


"Yeah," there's doubt in Logan's return volley.


"I sense you're not sitting comfy with that right now?"


Certainly, Ritchie was comfortable with anything that transpired at this
moment, with Donato's every word hinged on the fact with enunciating
syllables, his hand play on the length of his thigh!


"I wish Steven were here right now."


Thinking of Steven, Donato didn't connect, but rather of his afternoon of
delights with Sherman, centering around their hot tub experience.


Steven happened to be one of those guys, who when reporting to bed, found
it empty. Even though he's been hitched to Jae for numerous years, lately
the glow of their lovelight has dimmed somewhat. Before bed he took to
the shower, somewhat of a fetish, needing to get the day's grime off his
bod. Included in that readiness was firming his tube up, a guarantee that
when Jae did a modified binding of his red-rope trick, he had the ability
to get-it-up.


Twice now, waiting for Jae to come home and work his bondage, Steven has
tossed, turned, ground his meat into the mattress, wishing it were Jae's
rear entrance. A twist to their relationship, whenever Jae had him bound
with the red rope, with role reversal, Jae would plow his field.


Lately though, Steven, who had psycho-analyzed himself, has been debating
options for a happy future. The psychiatric practice he had, connected
with the Thompson family, could probably go down in the history books as
the smallest clientele base on the planet. In his mind he could picture,
those sent to him by Tom, from the yoga studio. Having the 'office', a
two room facility on the Thompson house's home plate, had as many
patients he could count on less than two hands, including Lance and
Logan, some of those wayward boys, Randy, Daan, jailbirds, Ashton and
Phillip Foshay. The fact he can single out Phillip by his surname, he
remembers how he had to compromise ethics, giving into to Phil's whims on
the offering of a blowjob for payment. He was 'that' cute! Insurance
didn't cover evey psych session and Steven knew ahead of time a patient
couldn't always pay, by conventional means. Getting back to Jae,
occasionally he would throw suggestions his way, more disguised as hints.


Regardless, as Steven lay in bed on this night, he's taken to hands
roaming his own bod, one finding a stiff nip among the follicles of his
fuzzy chest, while the other tries maintaining an erection. It's then he
hears, from the recesses of what's been a silent household, a loud laugh.
Spawning the same emotion from his own psych-center, he smiles. It's then
Steven realizes his brain picking up on that laugh associated with his
ward, Logan, who all these years, since 'the accident', has given him
more than a share of uplifting scenarios. It's then he realizes 'wow',
being a caregiver to Logan, he's had more moments of happiness, sadness,
shared loneliness, with him, than his own life-partner.


Not laughter this time, but a male voice bellowing out in the night a
long 'no-o-o-o, don't go there!' Steven slaps his eight inch spike, "damn
it!" as if he were punishing himself. Hopping out of bed, he grabs the
handiest deco pillow, placing it over his pubes and goes in search of
that happiness which has created a longing in his heart and soul.


One thing he knows, it's kind of been protocol, for Logan to leave his
bedroom door ajar. On this one night that rule has been broken, finding
not only the door shut, sounds coming from within, emanating outward.


Standing there with the deco pillow clutched to his loins, slowly Steven
wedges the door open, till his bod can slip through, "well, isn't this a
pretty sight!"


Outright, Steven could tell why there's been so much giggling and
carrying on.


Donato lies there, faced down, in between both, half his bod acting as a
coverlet for Logan, while he smothers Ritchie's lips with his. He's being
a good sport, allowing Logan to pinch one of his nips and then quickly
retreat, as if trying to hide his actions.


Donato is outspoken, with laughter, "oh, are we keeping you awake,
Steven?"


"Somewhat. Um, like, got room for another dick?"


This is why Donato fitted in so well with the two, Logan saying,
"plenty, Steven," Ritchie inviting, "just don't stand there, hop in and
find a place."


Logan turns to his partner, having recovered from lip-locking, "oh my
god, Ritchie, can you believe what we just said?"


"Oh my god, Ritchie, we've got an orgy going!"


While the couple had their moment, Donato rallies to the call, "come,
Steven," he makes a spot for one extra bod, "plenty of room."


Said all bubbly-like, Steven didn't hesitate, stepping forward, but still
kept the pillow hiding his spike, sort of like a tease, "I couldn't sleep
and feeling a little daring, followed the trail of laughter."


For the thirty-four year old shrink to even think that his relationship
with Jae has been coming to a deadend for a long time now, he's rather
free and not hesitant to step towards the bed, knees knocking up against
it.


Reaching across Ritchie's bod, Donato pats Logan on the tummy, "welcome
to our lair, Steven."


Logan gets amazed by every moment of movement, with the ability to roll
over, this time onto Donato's pec, "yeah Steven," and hooked on a new
idea, "we've got ourselves an orgy!"


Ritchie smiles, not which he is bored with Logan calling this and that an
orgy, but with wonder of how it's all going to turn out, "yeah, let's get
this orgy going!"


Logan and Ritchie high-5 the palms of their hands.


Donato had to assist Logan on sliding over his bod to be with Ritchie,
but it didn't go without a cool stimulation, "hmm, Logan."


However, that's where Steven stops, "um, I don't know about this."


Logan gets the feeling too, "yeah, I know, Steven, but it's not like I
pictured it, that certain time when it feels right?"


Donato, a forty-one year old who has been around the sexual universe,
hopping in and out of a variety of situations, could write a manual on
all things gay-sexual, with a few straight men thrown in ala carte,
things of vanilla flavor, or whipped cream, bdsm+. There wasn't much
which could be thrown Donato's way which would be of a surprising nature,
as the time he witnessed an older man insert a thin piece of metal up a
young guy's prick. There wasn't much Donato was not into, or could get
his head around. He didn't think he could get into lying in a tub and
being rained upon by a gang of beer drinkers relieving themselves, but
added that to a growing list of what pleased him, based on whether it
propelled his dick to what lengths.


Steven shuffles his feet forward.


Donato takes the upper-alpha hand, shooing Ritchie out of his way, "here,
Ritchie needs your help."


"What the?" Logan says, watching Ritchie scoot sideways across the
sheeted mattress.


Both agree, with hugging each other, it wasn't such a bad move on
Donato's part.


"Yep and like if you think you're hiding anything, I'd like to be the
first to view it?" he eggs Steven on, in an effort to drop the deco
pillow.


Not immune to what lay behind the deco pillow clinging to Steven's pubic
center, Logan could get embarrassed of sorts, having lived under the same
roof, "I've only seen Steven's 'you-now-what', from a distance."


"Oh?" Steven says to what has been his patient over the past few years,
"is that so, Logan?"


"Yup," he's gullible to elaborate, Logan speaking freely, "remember that
pool party last year, to be exact?"


Not which Donato would claim to be an alpha male, but now, just as
curious as hell, "why don't you get comfortable and share your pool story
with us, Steven?"


Even though Logan had a queen sized bed, it looked crowded, "I'd love to,
but it looks like, soon as we all get comfortble, I'll be falling right
off the cliff?"


Logan pipes up, "no problem, Steven. You know the bedroom lay out,
right?"


Ritchie says, "like my mom used to say, 'where there's a way, there's a
will?'"


"I think she meant 'where there's a will, there's a way', Ritchie?" Logan
laughs.


While they friendly-fought, debating right from wrong, Donato has his own
idea, "actually," he says, knee-walking the bed, places the right knee
over Steven's bod and stands a foot on the floor, "I'm not like, sorry,
those two are kicking us out?"


The two lovers had thought about it, how and if an orgy came along, but
right now began defining their own lusts, Ritchie says, "now that you put
it that way, Donato."


Logan right there with the punch line, "yeah, we kind of are, giving you
the boot!"


The two laugh their asses off, then pick up where they left off, ignoring
Donato.


With the right foot on the carpet, knee strected over Steven's bod, his
balls hung in the balance, tip of the sacs touching human flesh. Steven
smiles, thinking how nice to scoop them up, either in a hand or...


"Well, you going to go, Steven?" Logan commands, with a hand shooing him
out of the bed.


Ritchie laughs and with a waving hand, "yeah. Shoo! Shoo!"


"Gee, you guys," Steven says, trying to get up, "you two really make a
guy feel wanted!"


However, for a few seconds there, Steven was being held hostage to the
bed by Donato's hanging anatomy, "hey, heads up, Don."


Steven then thought it funny, his own joke, "heads up, get it?"


Looking down on Steven, "yeah, I get it," he lifts his knee out of the
bed, aligning both feet on the floor, fluffing his balls in the bind of
both limbs.


Sitting on the edge of the bed, Donato is right there, in Steven's face,
"uh, it's not that I don't like the view, Don?"


Moving aside, Donato extends a hand, "trust me, Steven, I'd much rather
be the one with your junk in my face!"


Steven attributed not only his practice of psychology, but having lived a
life like many, there were experiences helping to mold their future,
experiencing the gay life from a 'top' or 'bottom' view, could adjust
cravings in an instant after meeting another man, "yeah, I could be up
for that."


Whereas some lovers may travel from room to room, sweetly kissing, orally
working away ever foot of the way, Steven takes Donato by the hand, "then
let's get on with it!"


"Or, get it on?"


It was an easy trek for Steven, passing out from one room, to another,
knowing the house floor plan like the back of his hand. They come to an
abrupt stop at the side of the bed, wrinkled by Steven having tossed and
turned a few hundred times, before youthful laughter had driven him out.


"Whichever fits," Donato says, peering down between them, "like I can see
you have a craving?"


In an instant, both had their hands on each other, stroking. While they
kissed, their hands found their own busyness.


%


Crosstown, there was another kind of craving, that shared between lovers.


"Oh now, pulling all the stops out tonight, Tom?"


Not different than many nights, when they returned home from a day at the
yoga studio, Mat and Tom would get comfortable, naked and which did not
necessarily begin in the bedroom.


Force of habit, Mat didn't eat a full meal during yoga hours, noshing
here and there, grabbing an energy bar, unwrapping a small portion,
taking a nibble, then wrapping it and stashing it in a pocket.


Tom, who has caught his lover rummaging through the refrigerator, digs a
hand in both pockets, "ewe, what's this?"


'Heat' has turned the remainder of the chewy bar into mush, which Mat
says of, "oh, I guess I forgot it was there."


However Mat, holding onto the upper corners of the double-door
refrigerator, much like eagle-spread in bondage, continues searching for
something of interest. He also knows, due to their years together, he has
to allow time for his lover to get his digs in.


"Well," as Mat predicts, "this has got to come off."


Mat smiles, having known what was going to transpire, "only the jacket,
honey?"


Sweeter than name-calling, was the pile of laundry Tom began stacking up
in front of the fridge.


"Ooh, chilly," Mat says, slamming the doors closed and turning around.


Tom says, looking upon Mat's naked bod, "nothing of interest?"


"I won't say that," Mat gazes at his honey, from face down to nuts.


Rather hinting, Tom says, "betcha if I turn around, you will find more of
an interest?"


This could leave Mat in a dilemma. Either Tom was hinting to have a
leather strap laid across his ass, or whipping his butt with his dick, a
prelude to slipping it deep inside.


Reading each others thoughts, not much thinking on Mat's part, hand
wrapped around his shaft, starting to make it swell, "why don't you get
the bubbly and I'll meet you upstairs?"


Tom didn't waste any time.


In an open relationship, wider open at certain times, Tom says, as he
approaches the bed with a chilled bottle of champagne, two glasses upside
down in the opposing hand, "and after you get me drunk, you can have your
way with me?"


"I don't need to be drunk to do that, Tom!"


"Hot-diggity!" Tom exclaims, setting the bottle and both glasses on the
dresser.


What drove him to a state of sexual anxiety, feeling the pulse in his
loins, is what's dangling from Mat's fingertip, a long chain, nip clamps
attached to each end.


"What'll it be," Mat moves his finger back and forth, "rubber-tipped or
crocs?"


"Why don't I leave it up to you?" he says, crawling on the bed till he's
straddling his lover's knees.


Tom's pointy nips, probably from sweet overuse, face downward, like
hanging off the edge of his bulbous pecs.


Dropping the nip clamps, Mat slides a hand under the pillow, "I think
we'll start with a warmup?"


Seeing what Mat has retrieved, Tom exclaims, "yum!"


Tom knew what that meant, both talking the language of foreplay, without
having to add verbal description. As what has been on his mind now, he's
stashed the 'squeezers' under a pillow, opting to use fingertips and
thumbs.


Reaching in, under Tom's chin, Mat latches on to the furry pecs,
pulverizing Tom's nips, all to sccolades of welcoming the sweet torture.


"Oh man, that feels so awesome!"


How could Mat not tell, Tom's shaft, hanging down and getting hard,
harder, super hard, second by second.


Turning into a monster, friendly at that, Mat demands, "okay then, get
your butt up here."


Tom was terribly disappointed, but knew what was to come. Like a finely
crafted juggling act, Mat scoots out from underneath, Tom moving forward
like a crawling animal, making way for his lover to find a place behind
him.


However, that's not how it was going to go this time!


"On second thought, I'm about ready to burst," Mat says.


As it has gone on, for years, no matter what transpires during business
hours, during private time, Mat is the master, Tom a slave to his every
whim. As it was working out, Mat keeping his tool firm as Tom juggles his
bod around till he's kneeling, legs jackknifed, ready to sit down on
Mat's tack.


"Coming, master," Tom says, keeping himself hard.


Nothing is set in stone, other than their roles, which has Tom dragging
the tip of his shaft across Mat's knee, then turning around, he sits on
Mat's pubes, offering both hands behind his back.


"Leather cuffs or rope?"


"Um, like," Tom giggles, "the red rope would be nice, but I don't think
I'm going to last that long?"


They weren't as crafty at bondage as their Asian friend, but knew the
ropes when it came to mixing sex and slavery, Mat saying in a pouty way,
"I guess I can dig some up, if you'll get your butt off my cock?"


He hated doing that, but Tom knew the night was young and being it
Friday, and they didn't have to get up for work the next day, having
recently awarded Randy with Saturday morning opening of the studio.


Pouting, Tom says in defense of his throbbing shaft, "but?"


Since Tom was acting more the alpha, Mat says, "unless you want to trade
off hand jobs?"


"No, no, no, no, no, of course not," Tom hastens to the will of Master
Mat.


Even though he sucked at it, Mat liked the idea of having Tom lay in the
bed and for the reason they picked out the wrought iron headboard, began
lacing the red rope around it, bringing it down to Tom's right wrist,
tying it, returning it to the iron railing, repeating the action on the
left wrist.


"Whew," Mat wipes the sweat from his forehead, "I don't know why I work
so hard for you."


"Um," Tom smiles as his wrists get tied to the iron bars, "could it be
because you love me?"


"Hm," Mat taps a finger to his upper lip.


Another twist, Tom says, "or is it because you're thinking up something
nice and 'torturous' for me?"


Upbeat, Mat says, "no pain, no gain, right?"


He was so right, not which Tom could not get a raging hard on at just
going at it with sex. To make their relationship work, which they learned
decades ago, it took giving in, playing the game, achieving balance.


Before Mat met Tom, way back in his college years, he already had a
passion for yoga. His mom was a hippy type who, Mat has no understanding
of how she fell for a businessman, other than his revenue, the catalyst
for them two being together for so long.


Born Mathieu Jean-Luc Gilles Norbert, he shortened it when not needing to
sign off on a deal, like the building he originally rented for a yoga
studio, which as a turn of fate, he now owns. In college people knew him
as Mat Gilles.


When Tom came along, he had actually stirred up the matter, after
learning 'Mat' was really 'Mathieu'. It was he who, after remarking that
it sounded like Mathieu should be followed by some flowery, French
surname.


When Tom repeated it, including a fluid-French dialect, it was Mat who
warned him, "but if I ever catch you using anything but Mat Gillies', I
swear, I'll tan your hide with your own belt!"


It was at a college reunion, Mat's, that Tom accidentally, on purpose,
dropped the full name, which he giggled, saying, "oops!"


Afterwards, whereas Mat was to drive Tom home, in the parking lot they
had it out, "didn't I say just two days ago, for you not to use my
extended name, that I'm trying to be known as 'Mat Gilles'?"


Tom was either fooled or didn't know the reality of the situation, "wait,
are you serious?"


"Just answer the question," Mat says, feeling a little horny, after so
many drinks.


Tom felt like a sap, explaining, "yeah, ya did." A serious apology is
followed by a frivolous, "I hope I don't incur your wrath?"


Mat was thinking it a shame, that he was beginning to like this guy, Tom,
handsome, nice, bulky bod, and since they had laid together in bed,
naked, he had a really good looking physique. Smooth himself, except for
the tiger trail pouring out of his navel, Mat was glad Tom didn't mind
that he twisted his hair around a finger.


Now, he was faced with a dilemma, which Mat plainly spells out, "I
thought I could trust you, Tom."


Okay, Tom tells himself, 'this is serious.'



Mat, fresh out of college, 24, Tom, 29, was finishing up in grad school,
tacking on a couple of extra courses. Both campuses intersected, so not
seeing each other could be an impossible task.


"You can. All you have to do is give me some more time to prove it."


Mat was about to achieve his degree in kinesiology, Tom, finishing up on
his business courses.


"What kind of business are you thinking of becoming an asset for?"


Tom thought on it, and because he wasn't used to dating men, especially
one who is five years younger than himself. Yet, it was that 'take
charge' attitude that was getting to him, both in heart, mind and
elsewhere, "I'm not really sure. I suppose I will eventually find an
interest in a business, but what kind, I'm neither sure of, nor do I have
a preference. It would have to definitely something I find an interest
in."


"Of course."


"How about yourself?"


"Kinesiology," Mat states, but waits it out, since not many people knew
what that is.


"I've got so many years of schooling behind me, but for the life of me,
don't have a clue to what that is?"


That first time they met, crossing campus, could be considered typical,
two guys on their cellphones, neither watching the straight path ahead.
It wasn't a major collision, not requiring medical assistance, but each
had forgotten about their call long enough, to check each other out.


Tom had said, "are you okay?"


To which Mat replied, "yeah. Fine. I gotta take this."


Even though they headed off in different directions, Mat traveled only a
few feet till a place where he knew he could park his ass and have a
panoramic view of the whole commons.


At first Tom headed off, minding his own business, which he was heading
in the direction of the parking lot, but stopped short of stepping off
the curb, saying to himself, 'damn that dude was hot!'


Heading back towards the commons, under the premise he had forgotten
something, Tom approaches the area, which had cleared out tremendously.
To his excitement, mainly his balls responding to seeing Mat still there,
he smiles. He lost it quickly though when another student walks up to
Mat, talks with him, then heads off, away from him, "dammit!"


He had acted too hastily though, Mat turning back, without the other
dude, heading back in Tom's direction.


Figuring this a God send, Tom heads straight for the sidewalk Mat is
traveling, makes a left turn and as they approach each other.


"Oh hi."


Tom was surprised it was the other guy confronting him, "hey. I'm Tom,
the guy who almost totalled you before?"


He could see Mat mouth the word, 'total...', "my fault, I suppose."


"Nah. It was me, too busy blabbing to my buddy."


Just the fact they had some major attraction to each other, dispelled the
need to seek out if one or the other were gay. Tom, that would be okay,
having had secret sex with married men.


"What are you doing tonight?"


Tom thought that was an awfully strong question, but was relieved the
undergrad answers, "I have no plans, why?"


"Miniature golf?"


Speaking his true feelings, Tom says, "I really suck at it, but sure."


They placed a mild bet, gambling that as they sunk the ball into a hole.
The one failed to deliver, had to put a dollar bill into the pot. Mat was
kind of entertained by the bulge near Tom's right pants pocket, "how
about we up the ante?"


Tom stood there analysing, before saying, "are we talking here about
sinking holes?"


Mat wasn't sure about this line of fire, "is that a trick question, Tom?"


"You don't go out a lot, do you, Mat?"


"Not since I started college." Mat leans on his golf club, "I thought
college would be different than high school."


"How so?"


"I really don't know much about being gay."


Tom snickers, "oh, you seem like a bright guy. I think you'll catch on
fast."


Seeming what he thought, a good proving ground for finding out what he
liked about being gay, Mat says, "sounds like you date a lot of guys," he
takes his shot.


He sinks it in the hole, which causes both to act with glee.


Tom says, "see, you said you were bad at this. Just goes to show, what
you can do if you put your mind to it!"


Mat had already put his mind to finding out why Tom's pants bulged, "mind
if I ask a question?"


"Yeah, but hold that thought. I never miss this hole."


Mat was standing there, mistaken it was his turn. Tom nuzzled himself
into the spot to shoot his ball from, which had him right in front of
Mat's zipper.


"Well, excuse me!" Mat says, laughing.


First thing to come to Tom, "oh, did I do something wrong, Mathieu?"


Swatting Tom in the ass, Mat says, "just keep going."


Tom went and then turned the course over to Mat. Watching from behind, he
sees Mat hit the ball, from right between the legs.


"Missed again. Told you I sucked!"


Going out on a limb, Tom says, "probably not as good as I do!"


Not that Mat wasn't feeling a little edgy, turns around and says, "I bet
you do, you horny little bitch!"


All giggly, Tom says, "works for me!"


Mat was slowly getting the message, but that's the game they were
playing.


"The horny little bitch part," Tom answers the question on Mat's face,
"like, to what extent would you go to get what you want?"


Two years earlier, Mat strongly tried to avoid some frat bro being
involved with the dungeon scene, but gave in over curiosity and the
promise of guys with big balls, fat dicks and pea-sized ass holes.


At the time, Mat thought it was all about sex, kind of flabberghasted
when he saw men tied up and being played with by other men. He sort of
turned it into a textbook study, without the text, some men on the alpha
plane, others far below. He couldn't believe guys allowed themselves to
be played as 'toys', bound naked, being whipped, some muscleheads having
their abs tested with boxing gloves or the fat end of a baseball bat.
Tapping a muscle guy's abs wasn't the only use, Mat was witness to a guy
bent over, two others guys taking turns trying to force the handle of a
baseball bat up his ass.


He wasn't sure about all that stuff, but certainly it was an education
and what better time to recall that experience than now, "about that,
'whip your butt', would you be up for it, I mean, for real?"


Tom, who not only witnessed other guys being the source of an alpha man's
rule, has participated himself, embarks on his own experiences, "I'd
really welcome it, except wouldn't mind if you worked it up and down my
whole back?"


He waited for it to sink in, mind set on pulling Tom's pants down and
working his hole over, "is there something about you I should know?"


Tom thought Mat was moving kind of fast, but was anxious to get laid,
after all this talk, "depends on what you're into?"


Mat was slowly making the connection. Thoughts of that baseball bat each
man trying to ram it past the rim of that poor college guy, "I've been
involved in some rough play."


Thinking of Mat's tube up his ass, Tom says, "oh, and what would that
entail?"


By now Mat was ready, able and willing, "you got a place?"


Tom was living off campus and from that first night, where they were
entertained by what each could give the other, was the last night Mat
slept in his dorm room.


Yet, over the years Mat has not been able to give Tom the degree of
sadism he requires, so agrees in outsourcing for the man who can bring
him the joy and orgasm he needs.


For himself, Mat has to ogle over the naked men in his yoga classes and
discreetly meets with a few, including one of the straight, married men.


They lead these separate sexual lives, coming together at the end of the
day, to rehash the day's events. Whether it's Mat, fucking that married
guy, or Tom, feeling sore from the next up in size buttplug, or sore nips
that have been clamped and stretched, they still have enough jizz stored
up for one last go around.


%


Next morning, the start of a beautiful day, there's more purpose in some
of those lives around town.


Sherman is there to open the gym, unofficially, working with staff, their
goal towards official opening day.


Daan has proven himself to be quite resourceful, knowing where all the
equipment is stashed, able to be a go-for, when it's needed. Something
quite by accident was discovered, Daan showing off, grabbing the side of
a machine with both hands and then with liftoff, planks his bod off
straight to the side.


"Wow, you're amazing," Sherman says. "Where in the heck did you learn to
do that?"


It then comes out, in his early to later teen aged years, Daan was
enrolled in a gym, whereas it could be the vehicle to propelling gifted
gymnasts into vying for the Olympics.


Daan didn't elaborate, that while attending a national camp to train for
the Olympics, not only did he excell at gymnastics, but also his bedding
skills, meeting a ton of guys who had the same sexual prefence as
himself.


Sherman says, taking his cell phone out of his pocket, "don't you go away
now. You stay right here."


Daan didn't leave the room, but went about his job, moving a wet vac over
the gym-matted floor.


It couldn't be more than ten minutes, Tom comes rushing in, Mat tailing,
"why didn't you tell us you were Olympic material, Daan?"


Daan looks towards his mentor, Sherman, then answers Mat, "I didn't think
it was important."


They got into discussion.


"Well, yeah, at first I didn't want to do it, but my dad said I had to,
that I had to find something I was good at and then just do it. I was
really no good at other sports."


They talked up the Olympics.


Daan reported he was doing really well, until his own father caught him
in the locker room with one of his coaches, naked, "it probably wouldn't
have been that bad if I didn't have coach pinned against the wall and my
cock up his ass!"


Tom says, "well we don't hold grudges here. Did you come?"


Mat jumps in here, "uh, Tom?"


"Strike that last question, Daan," Tom smiles.


"My father could care less about the sex, but the sexual act and the fact
his son was involved. I felt really bad, not for myself, but for coach,
the beating dad gave him. Soon as he caved in from being slugged in the
stomach, dad would pick him up by the scalp and plant another fist. It
was horrible. It took another coach, the janitor and a security guard to
subdue my father. Later on he accused the coach of misconduct, but I
couldn't stand to see an injustice being done, so right there at the
hearing, where I was supposed to be a witness against coach, saying I was
led into the indecent act, I suprised everyone and said it was my doing.
I'm afraid I was a little too graphic, saying I had been lusting after
coach for the longest time and finally got to the point I couldn't
contain myself any longer. I had to give in. I couldn't allow my dad to
bully me any longer," leaving them stunned, "plus, lie?"


"When we got home after the hearing, I was threatened with being pulled
from Olympic training and everything else that mattered to me. It's then
I got it. My dad was about power. This was his power with keeping me in
line. Maybe when I was younger, I bought it, but I got older, I realized
what he was doing."


Mat says, "I think we all go through that. For some it's earlier in life,
other guys after they've matured."


"I wish I was one of those who matured earlier in life. But after this
incident, it was a little too late before my dad reacted. He said he was
going out, like he usually does, drinking with his buddies from work.
When he came home, he wasn't alone like he usually is. He and his buddies
were drunk. His buddy had convinced him, there was only one way to
correct the behavior of a 'homo', that's the word he used, was to beat it
out of me.


"My dad was more drunk than his buddy, so became his puppet and
everything his buddy told him to do, he did. They not only stripped my
shirt, but pulled my pants off, tied me to the posts on the bed, then
gave me a whipping. I thought I would die, but the next morning I could
roll over, get out of bed and even though I fell to my knees three or
four times, I finally could get up and stand, bracing myself as I thought
all this out. It's then I realized how sore my ass was. I found the
baseball bat in my room, one end greased up with crisco. In between the
pain and them feeding me whiskey the night before, I began to reconnect
with what they used the baseball bat for."


"I hope," Mat says, "your decisions was to get out of Dodge?"


"Exactly and after packing my stuff, I took to the road, finding my way
to where I am now."


There was silence in the room, until Tom says, moving in for a hug,
"well, we're all very thankful you wound up on our doorstep, Daan."


Mat's mind was a little hooked on the baseball bat, trying to vision it
hanging out of Daan's ass, "and, I think we should have you checked out,
regarding what your dad and those hooligans did with the baseball bat, if
you're okay with it?"


Tears came to Daan's eyes, and walking over to give Mat a hug, "thank you
so much for caring about me."


That one hug led to others, Sherman grabbing Daan up in his huge embrace,
"you don't have to worry about any of that now, baby."


No one else could hear, Sherman whispering in Daan's ear, "and I hope you
saved up some spunk for later on."


Daan knew better than to answer, his balls signifying he was anticipating
getting with Sherman in bed.


"Well," Mat mulls it over, "this certainly changes things."


"How so?" Daan says, thinking 'sexually' or of the criminal past he's
left behind.


"Starting tomorrow we're enrolling you at Rutters, one of the best
colleges for sports medicine," he stutters, "that is, if you think it
might be something you want to dedicate a career to?"


"Being around here," Daan says, "I like what you're doing and right now
don't know much, but yeah, if I had that diploma, maybe I could be more
useful around here."


Sherman says, "but you are so useful. Nobody drives that wet vac around
the gym like you do, baby!"


They all had noticed, but didn't find it a problem, Sherman's endearing
name for Daan, but Tom sought to mock, "yeah, baby, you do a fine job of
sucking up!"


Sherman says, "no offense boss, but as long as he's sucking up to me and
not you!"


Mat steps in, "he better not be. There's consequences for those that do?"


Tom balls were tingling, thinking of what a hot scenario this could work
its way into during personal time!


In fact, Mat knew the friend of a friend, a way to get the ball moving
tonight. Always trying to please the main man in his life, he was willing
to leave his partner to the hands another man, "and I have just the man
for the job!"


"I hope you're thinking of that brut, Raoul?"


It was always the way, the man Tom mentions, Mat in agreement, "of
course. I wouldn't think of placing you under any other man's sadistic
care!"


%


Lance had dropped the hint twice now, "so, when do I get the tour of your
dungeon?"


Kip says, backing away from making love to Lance, "well, this is
certainly going nowhere," he springs up to his feet.


It didn't go unnoticed, Kip's rather large endowment, Lance saying, "not
that all that can't come afterwards?"


Maybe Kip was the big alpha master here, but if he wanted what he wanted,
he knew he would have to give. It was something of a debate at the bar a
few weeks ago. Who really owned the scene, the master or his bottom mate?
There were no conclusions, a talk that had already gone into the wee
hours, still with no final outcome.


However, one conclusion Kip had come to, Lance was this hairy beast,
which he had been attracted to since laying eyes on the V-neck of his
shirt.


Kip drops hint, "you might be sorry that you're waiting till later. I can
be a harsh bastard in the dungeon?"


He was hoping Lance would change his mind, that he didn't want to leave a
mark on that god of a bod.


"I was really looking forward to this, Kip. I mean, Terry had said you
were fair and, I hope that's what you are, because I've never done this
before and..." he wasn't sure this would turn Kip off, but went for it,
"if we hit it off, maybe this could be a regular thing, for both of us?"


He was hoping Kip was thinking of something he yearns for, mixing
partnership with sex, with the s&m thing, that occasionally they could
imbibe in that special part of pairing up, planted in good soil, watered
and nurtured, it could grow into a meaningful relationship.


Giving way to silence, it gave Lance time to dwell on himself, which in
no time he comes up with, "sorry. Probably I'm being selfish."


Kip wasn't sure he was getting the whole picture, but for what it was
worth, "you? No, more like me," then going totally against the rules, if
there was a code book to follow, "ready for some hot torture?"


"Only if you're doing it!"


Lance found that trust right from the start. For one thing, Kip didn't
tie him down, but rather formed loose bonds around his wrists and ankles,
with provision, "the only way they are going to get tight, is if you pull
on them."


"Good," was all Lance said. He didn't reveal he was nervous.


Kip really wanted this to all work out, so was super-keen on not cranking
it up.


"How about we start with a little nip work?"


"They are very sensitive."


Leaning on the table holding Lance's eagle-spread bod, Kip says, "now, if
it were anyone but me, it wouldn't be information I would be so willing
to share."


"Oh? Why not?"


"Because, knowing a handy little fact like that, it's like bragging. That
can draw attention to a mean and rough top."


"Are you mean and rough?"


Both dwell on it, Lance backing down on his opinion. Kip never really
thought about it, if he was tough or a simpleton, "neither, really. I
mean, I never really had to think about it. Guys just like to be turned
on and if they want what they want, I give it to them. Make sense?"


"Hm, you don't sound mean at all."


"Not to mention, part of what goes on behind the scenes is the work of an
actor."


"Well," Lance says, "I hope you're a good actor."


"Okay, so are you ready for some 'real' torture?"


That only peeked Lance's interest, "oh, I didn't know there were
different kinds. What kind of torture is real torture?"


Kip had only one answer for that, "experience is the best teacher, but
trust me, you don't want to experience that calibur of tit torture, now."


"How bad could it be?"


Kip rolled his eyes, but he didn't go for the croc clips, instead the
flat tip, rubbery-edged devices, with a chain connecting, "these will
give you quite a pinch!"


"Aren't you supposed to blindfold me?"


Taking it as it comes, Kip says, "I thought you'd never ask!"


Holding two black items over Lance's head, "hood or blindfold?"


"I don't know."


"Fair enough. We'll start with the blindfold and next time maybe you'll
be ready for the hood."


"Next time?" Lance says, looking up from his stretched-out position. "Is
there going to be a next time? I mean, am I keeping you entertained?"


"Why don't you save that question for two hours from now?"


"Two hours? I don't know as I can take two hours of torture?"


Kip smiles, looking down at Lance from his upside down standing over,
"that's why we use safewords."


"Oh? Like, how does that go?"


"Hm," Kip plants an elbow in the palm of his other hand, taps his lips,
"how about 'stop and kiss me'?"


"Sounds kind of dumb."


"You're right," Kip tries conjuring something up from previous customers,
"how about 'mercy, master'?"


"How about 'mercy, Master Kip'? Kind of has a nice right to it, ya
think?"


Any other guy might be having their balls whipped at this moment, but
Lance was getting away with it all, which sets Kip to thinking there's
more to this than a hot guy tied down to a bondage table, "I think you
might have stumbled onto something there, Lance."


"No, aren't you supposed to be calling me boy, or slave?"


He knew something of the real world, Kip saying, "ha, a title? You want
it all? Right now you're nothing of the sort. A title like 'boy' or
'slave', you have to earn. As it stands, now you're as lowly as dirt."


"So, you're going to call me 'dirt'?"


Not by which anything could compare Kip for this, Lance was growing on
him in a way he could only describe as the type of person he longed for
in his life.


"Dirt, it is," Kip says with confidence, as if it were his plan all
along.


"And you'll stop what you're doing?"


"Yup."


"Does that mean it's over and there's nothing afterwards?"


Surely, Kip was hoping not, "of course not. That's only stage...I don't
know what stage we're on, but whatever, that's just another stepping
stone to where we're going."


He made that up, but Lance thought he was for real, "oh, so there's a
stage for this too? How many stages are there till I pass your test?"


Rather than argue the point of have to instantaneously think up each
stage, Kip says, "until you reach the stage that you're in my bed!"


"Is your bed around here?" Lance tries scanning the room.


"Nah, it's upstairs, but don't worry, I'm a strong guy and can carry a
lifeless bod all the way up to the second floor!"


"Lifeless?"


First time meeting with a guy, Kip knew he had to be cautious, watch his
wording, "joking of course. There's some guys I want for repeat business,
if you know what I mean?"


Then Lance wanted to know how many guys Kip has keep coming back, how
many lifeless bods he's had to carry upstairs to the bedroom?


"Hm," Kip had to think on it, "come to think of it, you would be the
first dead weight I've had to carry up those stairs!"


Things were going so well for Lance, mesmerized by Kip's allure.
Regardless, it was that phone call that began to send things awry, "hold
that thought. I've gotta take this."


"Um, the others, they didn't like go out in a rectangular box?"


Then Lance gets a phone call, "oh, sorry. I thought I turned my phone
off." And, as he finds it a pocket of pants he's left on the floor."


Kip had to self-analyze, which was keeping him distracted, thinking why
he was giving Lance so many breaks. One could be an inner feeling of
likeness, that this one guy could be singled out of so many, to choose to
wanting more than a dungeon experience.


It also gave him time, as he gazes at Lance's gestures while chatting on
the phone, moves which gave him ideas dancing in his head, of how their
bedtime would be put together. As done in the past, when meeting up for a
guy for s&m and other stuff, 'sex' has always been the prize, hoisting a
pair of ankle cuffs up from the bondage table, climbing up, terrifying
the guy below with an aerial view of his hard nine inches. Kip made sure
he kept it in prime condition, one hand stroking it, while the other hand
and teeth dug into the foil package of a condom.


He was a little sad, Lance having a distraught look on his face, when off
the phone, "we've got a little problem. Maybe it's not as horrible as I'm
thinking it."


"Tell me. I'm sure we can iron things out?"


Kip couldn't believe he just said that. Normal, if there was such a
thing, he would never allow a guy to give an opinion. Fact is, if somehow
it were possible for a phone to follow a guy into the lower chambers of
the garage, when sounding off, he would torment the guy by threatening to
drop the cell phone into a bucket of water.


Trying to act discreet, Lance provides as little details as possible,
"while I was visiting someone at the hospital, I ran into this doctor,
'Pliars' is his name."


"Is that so," Kip assumes the position of arms folded across the middle,
making no attempt to hide his hanging loins.


"Anyhow, to make a long story short," smart, since it would keep things
simple, discreet, Lance furthers, "this Dr. Pliars and I struck up an
interest," and he wasn't sure he should, concerning discreetness, but
says, "that interest is not much different to why I am here today."


"Oh really? That wouldn't happen to be my dear friend, Dr. Jared Pliars?"


"You know him?" Lance was hoping, relieved he could abandon the acute
discreetness of conversation.


"We've supplied each others needs."


Lance didn't get it, "really. So, how could you both supply my needs?"


Moving to the extreme, which in s&m circles would not be considered
anything radical, Kip says, "you mean like, Dr. Pliars putting you in a
full nelson, leaving me to work you over?"


Lance stood, wishing, hoping it would come to be, feeling Dr. Pliars'
hairy bod caressing his bare back, bod racked out, open to whatever Kip
would have in store for him, "whatever you do to me, I know I will love
it."


Kip knew he was feeling it too, "well, why wait? Why don't we try that
abuse out, right now?"


Stepping forward, Kip's arms reach out, touching the sides of Lance's
bod. Burying his face in the center of Lance's hairy pecs, "I've longed
to get my tongue on this fur."


"Huh?" Lance looks down upon Kip, going all at it, joined at the waist,
slipping down as his tongue traces a line to his navel. "But I
thought..."


What he thought and what was happening were two entirely different
things.


"Quick, before Pliars gets here," Kip says, grabbing Lance by the hand
and leading him up that first flight of stairs.


At the ascent of a second set, Lance says, "wait a second."


"I know," Kip thinks he's got it all together, "I'm moving really fast
here."


"No, it's not that. Didn't you say you were going to carry me up the
stairs?"


Kip thinks on it, "yeah I did, but in reality, as opposed to fiction, I
don't think I could carry your limp bod all the way up to the bedroom
without you slipping out of my arms?"


"I know," Lance says, "I've been meaning to get to the gym."


Kip could go on a binge of informing a guy on how to slim down, muscle
up, but knew he was on a different mission, "what, without me along with
you, with my whip?"


"I'd love to do a forced workout fantasy with you sometime."


But first things first, "maybe later," Kip gets a move on, leading Lance
up to the bedroom.



As for Dr. Pliars, being one of the head chiefs at the hospital had its
moments, like when he's about to rush out for something sex-generated,
only to have his beeper go off.


It was a short time ago he met Lance. Only he and Kip knew the bonds that
kept them friends since college days.


Walking towards him was his 'excuse' to get away, which also hastened
Jared's pace forward, right to where the two men were speaking.


He was greeted by the hospital CEO, "oh Jared, just the man I wanted to
see," he rarely took breaths, "this is Dash Ledger-Ford. Dash, this is
Dr. Jared Pliars."


Before the CEO could tack on other accolades, Jared, who is already taken
by a closer up look, immediately gets amnesia over meeting up with Kip
and Lance, "it's so good to meet you, Dash," he takes the blond's hand in
both of his.


The CEO was quite taken himself, saying, "well okay then. I suppose I'll
leave Dash's tour of the hospital up to you, Jared."


"Yeah. No problem. I was going off the clock and have nothing better to
do anyhow."


Passing the main desk, Jared rattled off some other doctor's name, to
handle his pages.


"If you have something else important to do, Dr. Pliars, we can wait
until another time for the tour?"


Not on his watch, would Jared leave a hospital tour with such a young
hottie, "no problem whatsoever, Dash."


"I feel honored."


Jared was feeling more, "I take it today is your first day?"


"Yes, here at the hospital. I've had my resume out elsewhere, but when I
read that you were affiliated, I was really hoping I'd get a callback."


"Oh?" Jared says, as they wait for the front desk to get back to him, "my
reputation precedes me."


"Uh yeah, and I wasn't planning on mentioning this, at least not until I
got to know you better, but I've heard it said you were okay with
employees who are of the gay lifestyle?"


Jared smiles and not thinking it was going to be this easy, "I'd love for
you to have dinner with me tonight."


"Really?" Dash says, thinking, 'that was easy!'


"Well," Jared getting some vibes here, "I don't take everyone out to
dinner the first time I meet them."


"Oh, but that's not what I was thinking."


"Oh? Then just what are you driving at, Dash?"


It's then that Dash realizes he's backed himself into this corner, "um,
like, what kind of dessert you like?"


"If it involves whipped cream and a cherry, I know I'll find it quite
tasty."


%


At this point, Ritchie, who has been plagued his whole life with tripping
up, tripping over stuff, failure at supermarket work for always bringing
down castles of canned corn, and causing other failures, had finally met
his match when not working for a market, but being a shopper.


To this day, as they lay in bed, without Donato and Steven, Logan says,
"I'm sure glad you rescued me, Ritchie."


Steven was not always this bold and brazen. It took life and it's twists
and turns for him to learn how to be more aggressive a person. His
parents were the ones who instilled in him, if he wanted something, no
one could be responsible to get it for him, he had to act out on his own.


No situation could mean more for Steven, than right now, "I don't know of
a way to say this, Don,"


Grabbing Donato up in his arms, a hand to the back of the neck, Steven
pulverizes his lips!


"Wow!" Donato says as they back away from each other. "Either you're
crazy about me, or."


"Yeah," Steven says, dropping his hands, "I hope you don't mind my spur
of the moment way of doing things, and yeah, I am...crazy. About you."


Donato was never one to hide who he was, even if it weren't of a
conventional nature, "I was rather hoping you would have me tied to a
chair and not given the opportunity to refuse?"


"Really, Donato? Is that how you fight off a guy? Hm."


"Nah. I was just letting you have your way with me. I hope it turns you
on?"


Steven knew the signs, a guy trying to decipher the code of attraction,
"why wouldn't it," he starting to think like a shrink, conferring with a
patient.


Taking Steven's hand, Donato says, "because some guys are turned off by
what, why or how two people think and sometimes they might be appalled at
what the other person is trying to do or say?"


In conversing, Steven had taken the lead, pressing his bod against
Donato, "well, if you've followed the signs up until now, I'm not like,
hightailing it out of here?"


Their bods had once again become entwined, Steven rubbing a knee against
Donato's hairy balls.


Meanwhile, back in the other room, the bed started to get cold, Logan
saying, "I wonder what Steven is doing right now?"


"I'm sorry," Ritchie says.


"About you keeping an erection? Don't worry about it. I remember Donato
saying that pain killers can do that to a guy."


It didn't remove the glum look on Ritchie's face, "really? Did he say how
long that lasts?"


"I would think, long as you're taking the meds."


"Oh, so he didn't say it would permanent?"


Cuddling towards Ritchie, Logan says, "that's okay. If you can never get
hard again, we'll make the best of it."


Ritchie turns his head towards Logan, "you're such a sweetheart."


They kiss and then Logan says, "but then again, there's always
buttplugs?"


"No way. I'm going off the painkillers starting with the next time I have
to take it!"


That night everything went back to ordinary love-making, Ritchie and
Logan cuddling up, with maybe a little too much attention, Logan wanting
to test Ritchie's shaft to see if it could get hard.


Steven resorted to holding Donato in the bondage of two hands, his thighs
keeping legs divided as they experience some rough-riding sex.


Back at the garage, nothing materialized of a kinky sex scene, Kip
keeping it simple, but the animal when it came to plowing ass.


Dr. Pliars did make a call, but Lance had turned his phone off. Therefore
they didn't get the message, Jared not knowing where Kip lived, he would
have to miss out.


Terry, now that was a different situation. When he went to pick up his
'fare', there was more than one.


One was a young guy, late teens, maybe early college, the other an older
man.


"Uh, what's the meaning of this, Alan?"


When he said it, the older dude looks towards Terry, as if he called his
name, "oh, do you mean me, or junior?"


Acting, like he did in the dungeon environment, Terry says, "um, Alan? Do
we need to have a conference?"


Alan was 'repeat business', meeting with Terry his first year, first
semester at college.


Almost as adamant as he could be, the older guy says, "anything you have
to say to my son, you can say to me."


"Oh, so this is you're dad?"


"I can explain, sir."


Terry could tell Alan's father could be tough as nails, which after the
first dungeon experience, he could tell how things stood.


"Sir?" his dad says with a laugh, "in the twenty years my son has been a
part of our household, I'm the only one fit to where those boots."


Oh man, did Terry want to knock this guy down a peg or two. Yet, he
looked kind of fit and not knowing the true temperament of a person,
changes his demanor, "is that so?"


From Alan's first time, Terry learned his father was some sort of
laborer, either at the docks, construction, or other, he rightfully
didn't remember. Yet, the way he talked it's like he was foreman,
projecting that type of harrassing order.


"Well, I can see where your son gets his outspoken behavior from?"


"Junior? Outspoken?" the father laughs his ass off. "I could only wish."


That was one of Alan's thoughts to communicate last time, being the man
his father has wanted him to be, but not in the sense of having to
change. Having and the will to want something so bad, can make a man
change.


It gives Terry an idea, "so, why are you here, Alan, senior?"


Reverting to meekness, Alan says, "I'm sorry, Terry. I kinda told."


Terry cuts him off, but not out of his life, taking him in a shoulder
hug, "so, you


"I could report you for running the scam you are with Junior here," the
senior Alan says.


"Or", Terry always had something up his sleeve, or pants leg, "you could
come along and prove to Alan junior how tough a man you are."


For some reason, other than having run across a parental caregiver as
Alan senior, could deal, "that is, if you've got what it takes. I know
Alan 'junior', does."


Physical build, for a man in his forties, Terry thought he took good care
of himself. Actually, Terry started to get a few tremors in his balls,
thinking of how hot a time he could summon up.


"Exactly what would that entail?"


"What has Junior old you," Terry used the name for differentiation.


Again, Junior tries apologizing, "I'm really sorry, Terry."


"Sh-sh," he silences Junior with a hand, "it's water under the bridge."


"I guess that means I'm forgiven?"


It was, but then Alan senior had to put his two bits in, "forgiven? Ha,
the only way to teach a boy is with the belt!"


"Yeah, I saw how that looks on Junior's back, which if you take the
challenge, it might be something you'll be up against, Al, Senior?"


"Fuck that. I'm not letting you or anyone whip me!"


"Why not?" Junior defies his father, "if I can take it, if you are a man,
you can take it too."


"That's different. I haven't done anything wrong to warrant a whipping!"


Terry, of whom Junior has shared things that go on at the homefront, "so,
you don't think the son has anything of use to share with the father?"


"This whole thing is nonsense," Alan senior says.


"Is it?" Terry slowly takes a brown envelope from the seat of his car,
reaching in through the window and bringing it out into the open. "Here,
junior, why don't you and your father have a look at these photos. Might
be something you want to add to the family album?"


Originally, Terry was going to share the photos with Junior, in a more
private setting, whereas they could rationally talk things out.


"What are they?"


"You and your father take a look at them."


Alan senior started to get nervous, that maybe cheating on his wife was
about to hit the fan, "what is this?" he shouts out, grabbing the
envelope out of Junior's hand.


"That's okay," Terry says, "I've got copies," smiling, "lots of copies!"


Terry wasn't afraid to come closer, being an avid gym enthusiast, a bod
to show for all the hours he put in at the gym. He was beginning to get a
crush on Alan Jr, not only because he felt bad for the kid, but he was
great looking, had a nice size shaft, even when soft. And now, saw where
all those good looks came from!


Of course, his approach was assured, since he knew what the content of
the brown envelope beheld, "I have a friend on the police force, in the
detective division, who put this collection of photos together."


As Alan senior looks at the first photo, his face goes white as a ghost,
"you're shittin' me."


"I'll say," Alan junior looks over his dad's shoulder. "And I can't
believe, 'you', gave me a whipping because I was gay!"


By the time Alan senior had gotten to the sixth photo of himself with
another man, enjoying different positions, including fucking one of them,
his anger had him tearing them up.


"No problem," Terry says, "like I said, I've got plenty of copies."


What Terry thought could happen, happened, Alan senior moving in for the
attack. On his guard already, Terry catches the father off guard, moving
slightly to the side and planting a fist in his abs.


"Ugghhh!" he crumbles to his knees.


"Oh now, Alan-Senior, I thought you went to the gym six days a week."


Of course, after he met Alan-Junior, it was then Terry set a plan in
action, being his detective friend was one of Alan-Senior's bed mates,
meeting up at some seedy motel.


Just as they are speaking, a black car with flashing lights shows up.


"Oh shit," Alan-Senior says, finding enough stamina to put the gutpunch
behind him and get to his feet.


"No worries," Terry says in comfort.


When he steps out of his vehicle, Terry is there to greet, "Alton, old
friend. Come on over and meet one of your bed mates."


It's then the father sees who has made up the portfolio of pictures, torn
and thrown askew on the ground, "it's you!"


Leaning an arm on Alan-Junior's shoulder, Alton says, "yeah, it's me. I
guess you know now that the room we were in last time, was bugged?"


"That'll never stand up in a court of law. I was duped."


"Oh," Alton shares, "I'm sure it'll be just dandy when a box of jurors
take a look at how you bound me to the bed, put clamps on my nips and
then used your tongue to lick around them?"


Thinking he's smarter, Alan-Senior says, "photos don't show it all."


Taking his phone out, Alton says, "yeah. I know, but a video does. Even
has sound!"


Tapping a box on his phone, Alton plays back a video of their last meet
up, "I love the part when you call me 'junior'."


"What the fuck, dad?" Alan-Junior exclaims.


It's at this point, Junior, who had purposely kept himself from accepting
all this, steps up to view the video, "I can't believe you're yelling out
my name, like, do you hate me that much?"


Alton says, "one of the reasons I had to help Terry here. My own fault I
didn't take precautions on my first meetup with Alan-Senior here,
allowing him to tightly tie me to four corners of the bed, but there was
no call to rip those clamps off my nips."


At least there was a little sympathy given Alton, Junior saying, "do they
still hurt?"


Even with an older man such as Alton, Terry carried much weight, "um,
Alton, can we skip the dramatics?"


Rubbing a hand over his left pec, Alton says, "only looking for some
sympathy for my poor tweakers!"


"Tweakers?" both Alans say almost simutaneously.


"Yeah," Alton says, educating them, "you know, nips? Nipples?"


"Forget about that now, Alton. That's not why we're here."


Alan-Senior says, "and just why are we here, Terry?"


"First of all," Terry says, "you'll address me as sir."


"Sir? Ha! That's preposterous!"


It quickly wiped the smile off Alan-Senior's mug, Terry planting another
fist in his gut.


A little less subdued, he got up in a rage, lurching towards Terry.


"Oh no, that's not how it's gonna go, big boy," Alton reaches forward,
putting Junior's dad in a neck-lock, like his arm acting as a brace to
keep him at bay.


Wasting no further time, Terry says, "why not have Alan-senior ride with
you, Alton?"


Alan-Junior says, "should I take my dad's car?"


"Looks like nice wheels, but no, leave it here."


"Okay, let me just lock it, but oh, my dad's got the fob."


Terry smiles, thinking of it as an extension of getting even, more for
junior than himself, "leave it then. I'm sure he's got plenty of loot in
the bank to replace it."


"Wait."


Terry ignored Alan-Junior, "no time to wait. We don't want Alton getting
there before us."


"You know my father is a banker and not a dock worker?"


From the first, Alan has looked upon Terry as a mentor. Yeah, he was
there to satisfy his submissive side, but also to help him realize he
didn't always need to become the underdog.


"I guess I should have rehearsed my story a little more carefully."


Terry says, "or tell the truth?"


"Yeah, well the part about my dad beating me for being gay, that part is
real. You believe me, right?"


"I do, but the way I see it, it can't go on. There's a time when you've
got to stand up and become a man, Alan?"


There it was, 'Alan'. It sounded so nice and warm to Alan's ears.
Whenever anyone cloned his dad's way of referring to him, 'Junior', they
sounded just like the way he was treated, which made him try to ease out
of conversation without offending.


But now that Terry has spoken, "yeah, I guess you're right, but do you
treat all the guys nicely like this, that you bring to your secret
place?"


Terry's car was running, but before putting it in gear, lean's over,
"come here, I want to tell you a secret."


That secret was a peck on the cheek, of which Alan says, "wow, do you
like me or something?"


"Don't take it too much to heart, Alan," Terry puts his car in gear and
zooms out of there, "but don't mistake someone who cares, as someone who
is falling romanticly in love with you."


Too late, Alan was already on that train of thought!


After Terry pulls in the garage, Alton meets them there, "he was acting
kind of frisky, so I had to resort to putting the cuffs on him."


From Alton's car, black, but with some of the same features as a labeled
patrol car, bar door that didn't open unless he wanted it to, grilled
wiring between the backseat 'passenger' and front driver's seat.


Alton brings the senior Alan out from the back. Terry was surprised to
say the least. What he expected was a man who let himself go, chubby,
kind of a messy dresser, but instead he wore a tee shirt, looking like it
was ready to bust at the seams with muscle.


"Are you sure you can handle Alan, senior, Alton?"


"Who's got a cell phone?" Alan-senior grunts it out like an order.


"I do," Alan says to his father.


But doesn't move to pull it from a pocket.


"Well, get it out and get some real fuckin' police here!"


Right now they were in Alan-Junior's world, which to himself held a lot
of clout. Terry's words of wisdom were already sinking in, which had him
thinking for himself, "damn, dad, you look good with your hands behind
your back. You kind of look hot with all those bulging muscles!"


He laughed, but his father wasn't.


Laughing.


First, Alan-senior found it appalling he had to dodge Junior's fingers,
wanting to tweak his nips showing on his covered poundcakes, "what the
fuck you doing, Junior?"


Meant as a statement, but also a dig, Alan says to his dad, "aw, just
having some fun with ya, pop."


'Pop', it registers for a moment, Alan-senior remembering that's how
Junior used to call him, when they were younger, fishing together, having
an ice cream down at the soda shop, but right now he was too angry for
taking a walk down memory lane, "when I get out of this, you're all going
to get what's coming to you."


In the back recesses of his mind, that 'Junior' from long ago surfaces,
which makes Alan-senior more forgiving of his son. Also, that
nip-tweaking didn't feel half that bad, if only it had been one of the
other men and not flesh and blood.


Terry, using an arm to swipe Alan aside, says not with fear, but joking,
"ooh, now I'm really scared," he laughs out loud.


Alan felt a little something, not sure what it was, all because as Terry
was talking, his father was looking at him!


"Um," Alan than feels a little guilt setting in, "maybe we should cut him
some slack?"


"What," Terry responds to that, "and go back to having your old man bully
you?"


It's then things took a turn for the better, far as the father and son
were concerned, Alan-senior's attitude going full circle, "bully you? Is
that what you think, Junior?"


Alan, standing there was witness to all the fight go out of his father,
which made himself think twice about where they were in this father-son
relationship, "um, yeah." Then, to back himself up, takes to slowly
easing Terry out of the picture, "lots of times that's what I feel. It's
like, just because I am gay, you don't want me to be, gay, or something
like that?"


"That's not at all what I think. Sure, I'm concerned about you being gay,
but it's not like I'm hating you for it. I just want you to be safe."


Terry's presence began to fade, backing out on the conversation, allowing
the father and son to speak their peace. For now he acted as monitor, or
mediator, whichever pertained to the situation.


"That's not at all what I was thinking. Here I am, in college and you
treat me like I'm still a high school freshman."


Alan-senior reacts, calmly, "that's because, like when you entered high
school it was a big step and like college, the next step in your life, I
want you to do the right thing, son."


It made Alan crack a tiny smile at the corner of his lip, "I haven't
heard you call me that in a long time."


"Call you what?"


"Son?"


"Look, you get busy with school work, now a college load. I'm busy trying
to pay bills, put food on the table, pay your college tuition. When that
happens we tend not to connect with each other and when we do, we see
things as they immediately are. Remember when we used to go up to the
cabin on the lake, swim, fish and do other stuff, just you and me?"


At the time, Alan didn't have the nerve to tell his father he loved
seeing him in only a swim suit, even more so, running from the outside
shower to the house, wrapped in a skimpy towel, that it made his cock
tick.


Keeping it secret, but maybe with some of that same lust, seeing his
father tied with hands behind his back, "I wonder something."


"What's that?"


"If I came out to you then, would you still want to go up to the lake?
You had a lot of macho friends. What would they say or think about your
fairy-son?"


"That was a long time ago. Things have changed. I could see that as you
were growing up, but maybe I was growing up too."


"I never thought of it that way."

Frankly, Terry standing there with nothing to do but stimulate self,
never thought of things as such.


"Look, you're gay. I get it, but when a parent hears something like that,
it takes time for them to wrap their head around it. I'm okay with it,
really I am."


Terry reenters the father-son scene, "maybe so, but you might not be able
to wrap your head around a secret Alan has been keeping ever since those
times up at the cabin on the lake?"


Again, Alan-senior switches his attention to Junior, "secret? You can
tell me it or not, but if you want to get something off your chest, I'd
advise you to come out with it, Junior?"


Alan looks to Terry.


"I can't decide this one for you, Alan, but think of it, your father is
tied to the chair, so either way, he can't like, jump up and punch your
lights out!"


Alan-senior dwells on it, "is this what this is about? If it is, I never
meant to hit you, Junior. For me, it was like my father, rearing up a
child with the belt. You have to know, after that first time, I felt
horrible about myself."


"And?" Terry says.


Alan jumps in there, "is that why you never did it again?"


"That and I realized something."


"What's that?" Alan beats Terry to it.


"All my life I've wished I had someone to talk to about my own problem."


Nearing his father, Alan says, "I've told you my secret. No problem
learning about yours?"


He was silent for a few seconds, before telling, "I think they call it
bisexual?"


Terry had tied Alan-senior's wrists together, but they were not secured
to the chair. Sometimes he would do that, not tell a guy he was totally
incapacitated.


Alan moves towards his dad, "here, let me help you up?"


Cool, calm and collectively, the son helps the father out of the chair.


Since Alan-senior's arms were tethered behind his back, it was easy for
Alan-junior to do what was in his heart at this moment, weave in between
arms and sides, placing the side of his head on in an embrace. He didn't
say anything, just did it.


"If my hands weren't tied, I'd reciprocate."


"Um," Terry interrupts once again, "Alan, you want to share some more
data with your father?"


Alan backs away from his father, "yeah, about that," he hesitates.


"Go on," his father provokes.


"Probably it's better I've waited this long, since I couldn't understand
my feelings way back when I was a kid and didn't dare share it with
anyone, who would think I'm weird. Maybe I was weird, since I had no idea
if other guys felt the same, but dad," another hesitation, "since the
times we've gone to the cabin at the lake, every time I had the chance to
catch you without your shirt, I kind of had this lust for you."


Alan-senior reacts with a deep exhale, "wheeeew!"


He wasn't showing anger, but Alan checks, "does that mean you're angry?"


"What it means," his dad smiles, "is I tried to deal with the anxiety of
having feelings for a son that a father, doesn't occur between a father
and son."


Terry was getting bored. Walking over to Alan-senior, he says, "turn
around."


However, Alan steps over, saying, "I've got this Terry."


"Whatever you want, Alan."


To Terry, Alan says, "and you don't have to worry about dad doing
anything, right dad?"


His father jokes, "I might want to get a couple of gut punches in?"


Terry says, "I can take it, if you can!"


They smile at each other, as if looking into a mirror. With exception,
Alan-senior's hands are still at his back, Terry's right fist pounding
his left palm.


"Bring it on!"


On the sidelines, Alan-junior wasn't getting any pleasure out of this,
watching Terry take command of his father, "uh, hold it there a minute,"
he comes between them, "what about me? Where would I fit into all of
this?"


Just then the door busts open, Dr. Jared Pliars helping himself to entry,
"oh, you're busy, Terry. I'll check back later."


Terry has been there, done that, enjoying himself sexually along the way,
so knows something is up, more than his and Alan-senior's shafts at the
moment, but watching Alan-junior's line of vision depart from his, has a
sense this is not the first time Junior and the doc have met.


Turning around, dropping his gutpunch stance, Terry says, "never busy for
one of my best clients," he turns fully around and walks towards the
door.


"Hm," Jared says, closing the door behind him, having gazed upon one of
Terry's victims, sitting in a chair, arms pinned behind the back, "what's
his story?"


Terry felt safe to introduce, "guys, this is Jared," keping fine details
out of it, "one of my most long-standing customers."


Behind Alan, his father goes, "ps-s-s-st, junior, get out of the way!"


It's then Alan-junior realizes why he visually divides his dad and Terry
and not waiting around for someone else to make a play for this hot,
older man, "no problem, dad."


However, instead of stepping east or west, Alan heads head on, right up
to Jared's toes, "hi, I'm Alan. Good to meet you, Jared."


Usually Jared's mind reeled on only the physical facade, but something
warmer set course through his inner being and instead of the handshake
offered, "no, it's good to meet you!"


Alan couldn't believe it, would never have throught so, if it didn't
happen to him, his hand accepted, but instead of a cordial greeting of a
shake, right now his lips were being pressed into Jared's.


"Wow! Do you always greet guys like this the first time you meet them?"


Jared had to think about that himself, "uh, no. Not usually. I guess that
means one thing."


Staring down Jared, a look of wonder of his face, Alan says, "is that
supposed to mean I'm something special?"


Terry was getting bored, but not only that, right now his hand was
keeping him firm, "uh, you guys want to get a room?"


It was a cliche, but right now Jared was taking it to heart, "sure. You
got any empties?"


"I think Kip is using one of the bedrooms upstairs, but there's always
mine?"


Whistles and bells went off in the thirty-eight year old's head, "I think
yours should work for us."


Already his hand was out, but not for the purpose of connecting for a
kiss.


"But what about my dad?"


His father was ready to voice his opinion, when Terry does it for him,
"don't worry Alan, I won't work you're dad over too badly!"


Alan-senior first experiences worry in the pit of his stomach, but it
slowly dissipates with the preface that soon he will be connecting with
this young guy in a way which he's longed for, for what seems forever, "I
doubt that will ever happen," he challenges, "since I've got abs of
steel."


Since entering the underground room, and having looked at the face over
Terry's shoulder, he's been mesmerized about how his own story could turn
out, "well, we'll see you guys later."


"Yeah, later," Alan says, having Jared lead him out of the room.


Before closing the door, Jared says, "or maybe not!"


Tied to the chair, tight shirt showing off his poundcakes, Alan-senior
says, "how much do you trust this guy?"


"Forget Jared," Terry says. "The question is," he steps up to
Alan-senior, sitting with the incapacity to stand, "how much do you trust
'this' guy?"


Deep down inside Alan-senior knew he is straight, but lately there's been
some fascination with the bulging aspects of another guy's crotch, "um,
pretty much so I guess."


He ends his statement with staring Terry in the face.


"Well, until you're able to say that with strong conviction," Terry
reaches down, forward, rounds Alan-seniors shoulders, and with hands
behind his back, searches for the roped wrists, "I think you should learn
something about trust."


Right now, with the middle of Terry's pecs in his face, nose pressed into
all that sweet, golden chest fuzziness, "I um," he couldn't complete his
thoughts, rather enjoying the feeling of sweat up his nostrils.


That all comes to an end, Terry standing, holding the rope which bound
Alan-senior to the chair, "as you were saying?"


Rubbing each wrist with the opposite hand, Alan says, "uh, nothing. Not
important now." A pause, "so, how do you want me?"


Truthfully, Terry wanted Alan, pants down, briefs holding his balls
tightly to his crotch and bod slung over 'the horse', a modified build of
a sawhorse he had in the basement, whereas he affixed rings to all four
legs.


"This time, I think we'll do things a little different."


In his mind Terry was getting a changed vision of the usual working a guy
over, dungeon-style, then affixing the weary bod to 'the horse'.


His long term thinking had Alan Sr. saying, "well?"


"Hold on a sec. I'm thinking."


"Obviously," Alan Sr. says. "Uh, while you're thinking, would you want me
to strip?"

His hands were at the hem of his shirt, ready to peel it off overhead.


Terry hustles it up on the thought process, "what, and take the fun out
of it for me?"


It was as if Alan, on purpose, was putting the hurry on the situation,
"sure. Of course. That's what I thought."


They gravitate towards each other. Terry, already stripped to the waist
had the advantage of time on his side, whereas Alan needed to put on some
speed to catch up.


Terry had to work faster, getting the shirt off, before Alan's thumbs did
the job of lowering dungeon-boxers.


With it, as Alan goes to his knees, shirt coming off overhead without
effort, Terry had to say it, "for a straight man, you sure know how to go
about targeting a man's pubes?"


Peeling Terry's briefs, of which the younger man made no effort to stop,
Alan Sr. swoops lower than falling to knees could take him. Rather than
dilly-dally with explaining why a straight guy could be so adept at
forcing balls into his mouth, packing them in till no room was left to
move them about like marbles, when Alan pulls them out with a pop, "maybe
that's because you're not my first contender?"


%


As Donato became the one to build a kindling teepee, light the fire, get
it going into a raging inferno, Steven did his usual thing, 'pry'!


"Yeah, and even so we did the kind of stuff two gay guys do, we also
developed a relationship like two gay brothers don't do. I think,
anyway."


With the fire going, the chill in the room was taken over by warmth. Even
more so, the two huddling together. Steven and Donato confer, holding
each other. Whenever Donato alluded to something akin to physical or
mental pain, Steven would react and cuddle, kiss.


"But here's the thing, Steven, though my brother and his friends sought
to harm me physically, I wasn't feeling hate. Can you rationalize what
that's about?"


"You know, Donato," Steven searching for the right psychological term,
grabs a southwestern wall hanging, which in essence is a Navajo blanket,
he drapes it over Donato's shoulders. Then, when he sits down next to
him, steals half, "there's a lot here to take in and it's not that I'm
putting you off, but I'm also feeling kind, to put it to you simply, kind
of horny?"


"Of course," Donato agrees, smiling because it could've gone unsaid!


In secret, Donato had already been programmed in a sort of way, to accept
things as they are and go with it. He did for his brother and his
friends, even though trickery was used to get there. He would've done
anything Ritchie or Logan had told him to do.


Steven had picked up on this, thinking Donato had very little
self-esteem, other than to serve people, whether it was his job as a
nurse, or sexually motivated thinking.


"I promise, Donato," they huddle closer, "tomorrow I'll lie in bed all
day and listen to what you have to say."


"Really?" Donato surprises him, "isn't that kind of boring?"


"Okay," Steven probably agrees to some extent, "we'll mix it with some
sucking and fucking, if it'll make you happy!"


Like Steven wasn't going to feel the joy, too?


"What will make me really happy is, and I don't think you're going to run
out of your office because of it, is to tie me down to the bed and have
your way with me."


Donato was betting on this one, very sure of himself, that Steven might
be accepting.


"We'll have to talk about it," he knew he had to be cautious, "but I
might have some rope in your color!"


He didn't know what that meant, but Donato went with it, "okay, if you
say so, Steven."


"You know, I think we could do with a little background music?"


The blazing fireplace roar of flames began to subside, but certainly,
Donato didn't want the closeness of the Navajo blanket to ever leave his
shoulders.


When Steven comes back from Alexa providing some background music, he
says, "don't tell me you're still cold?"


Nope, the cold wasn't bothering him. The music wasn't sinking in yet.
What was holding Donato's attention is Steven's seven inches hanging
down. Then, suddenly, a hand reaches to give it a wank or two.


Accompanying that suddenness of a man, keeping his dick hard, is a laugh.


Donato was already snagged, for singling out Steven's anatomy, "what's
that for?"


"Well, this isn't how I expected it to go."


"Wait," Donato, who has been captivated by mainly one thing when he met
up with a guy, in order to get what he wants, "aren't you a top?"


Sitting down in a squat, taking care not to squash his big balls or
having them crushed under the weight of his raging hardon, Steven says,
"top? Bottom? I'd rather think along the lines of going with the flow and
not putting a tag on it like an auction or a yard sale."


"Sorry if I'm acting weird, Steven. It's just that, I don't really know
anything else than what I grew up with."


In Steven's line of work, that could wind up with a tale of how a guy
grew up, which is why he didn't lead in that direction, but not wanting
to turn a patient off, "and for that I don't find fault."


"But you don't know what happened to me. It wasn't about me, but more my
brother."


"I'm sure your brother had his moments, but it's your life, Donato and
what happened to you way back when you were growing up, might make you
feel like it had an affect on how you program your life, your thoughts,
everything you feel, but life doesn't have to be today, this week, this
month, the way it was back then."


"Now it sounds like you're using psychology on me?"


"One thing, Steven, that many people get wrong, psychology is not used on
a person, but for a person. It can be there to help people figure out
what went wrong long ago, sometimes making them the person they are
today, but not only can it be used for closure in certain circumstances,
but it's there to help us to be better people."


"Wow. What you said, Steven. I feel like I had my own peronal cable
channel and you were talking directly to me."


"Very insightful Donato, but tell me one thing?"


"Sure. Anything. What?"


"Does that cable channel include being X-rated?"


Donato smiles, thinking he's rambled on long enough, and given the hint,
"I'd like it to be. I'm yours for the taking, Steven and I'm not really
meaning it for everyone. Just you."


Hands all over Donato, feeling up the fuzzy chest, arm around the back,
bringing them together in a hug, Steven says, "suddenly I feel like being
the selfish kind."


Laying Donato back, Steven made sure the blanket was spread out.


"Oh, what about that colored rope you talked about, Steven?"


Steven already had Donato in the position he wanted, eagle-spread, a knee
between the thighs, hands pinning both wrists to the floor, "I have a
feeling we're not going to need it."


"Oh no," Donato cries out in a mediocre tone.


Steven had parted both knees and before he did anything else, bent over
and gobbled up Donato's shaft, wondering how much of a volume of jizz he
was going to have to swallow.


There's always a price to pay, not which Steven at all minded snacking!


In between moans, Donato spoils Steven's surprise, "just a friendly
warning, Steven, I hope you can swallow quickly, 'cause I tend to come a
lot?"


Steven's mouth was too full to respond. If he could, his lips would be
smiling!


"Oh, oh, oh," Donato says, "here it comes. I hope you're ready."


What a 'bucker', Steven doing all he could to keep Donato's shaft from
being extricated from his orifice, with shoving hips up, then down, up,
down, then worse than a hydroelectric dam ready to burst, his head
remains in one place.

But oh, his tonsils, did they get a workout!


It wasn't until minutes later, both lying with backs against the surface,
panting, puffing air in and out of lungs, they could compare the volume
of spunk spent, the amount going down the gullet.


"Oh man, you're the best," is what Steven could assess, never remembering
how he's swallowed that much, how fast and with no choice, on demand.


Moving to lying on his side, facing Steven, Donato says, "are you
kidding? I was certain I was going to choke you to death!"


They laugh it off, having put behind them the initial tabs of who was who
when it came to naming top and bottom.


"Choke? Uh, no, never. Never can get enough of the gooey stuff. Oh, but
who am I trying to tell?"


Still on his side, an elbow keeping his head from flopping to the pillow,
Donato says, as he rubs Steven's own jizz over his stomach, working it up
to the chest, "mind if I, um, indulge?"


Steven looks down upon himself, the slick slime covering his bod, "by all
means, help yourself."


He didn't mind lying there, relaxing, waiting for another buildup as
Donato lifts himself off the mattress, getting ready for another go
around.


However, as time passes, neither is able to get a rise. Instead, Steven,
seeing the way it is going to go, doesn't want time with Donato to fade,
"so, when did you begin to have thoughts of being gay?"


This is where role reversal set in, Donato mumbling as he lies down,
folding hands over his navel, "when did I have thought of being gay, hm?"
he exhales.


Usually, during counseling, Steven would be sitting in his leather chair,
listening to gripes, which seemed to prevail over joyful thoughts. He
shucked the discomforts away, his own slime covering stomach and chest,
beginning to dry now, and then there was the stale taste in his mouth,
but a new chapter in them lying together seemed to filter in, "well, you
don't have to be precise."


It went like a bedtime story, not which there was an interest, the two
cuddling, yawning, then closing eyes.


%


% Copyright 2024 T. Chase McPhee


Developing segments of ''YoGA MaT' may not be amended, distributed, sold,
used, quoted, paraphrased, chopped, sliced, diced, nor made part of any
collection, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the
author. Drones are prohibited from overhead viewing.

_ Check here that you are not a robot.