FRICTION FICTION: BOY TOY by Derek Adams (1995)

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Boy Toy
by Derek Adams

Scanned by Jay Cee @ Yahoo! gaymagazinefiction group


It was one of those deep August days, a day so hot that if you could find the strength
to make a fist, you could squeeze tepid water right out of the air. I was in my room,
in bed, resting. I seemed always to be resting that summer. Mother had convinced herself
that I was consumptive and, without consulting any expert beyond her own intuition, had
ordered me to bed. I, being a good son and thoroughly in awe of her, had gone up to my
room at the top of the big old house and dutifully concentrated upon dying. My father,
if he had even noticed my absence, had not thought it worth his time to question Mother's
decision, and so my days had passed in a slow succession of dazing sameness until this
day when I begin my confessional.

I had felt many things that long, solitary summer, but never illness of mind or body.
I was too slender—more from lack of exercise and a bland, restricted diet than from
any genetic cause—and too pale from lack of sun, but nothing was wrong with my body
or its functions. I had borne it all until this day, but there was a restlessness in
the air, a madness born of the humid heat perhaps, that left me pacing back and forth
in my large, high-ceilinged room. For eighteen long years, I had been a lap-cat,
dreaming of tigers. Today, more than other days, I longed to shake myself awake.

I stopped my pacing in mid-stride, caught in the age-blotched reflection from the
mirrored doors of the ancient armoire that stood sentinel at the foot of my bed. How
I had feared that crouching beast as a child, imagining that the gargoyles and leering
monks carved upon its intricate sides might break free at night and carry me away to
frightful torments. I had cowered, screaming, in my bed until my father came to me
and shamed me into silence. I learned from that never to show my fear, and so my
fear had gone away.

Now there was no fear, only a vague sense of dissatisfaction as I stared at my
nakedness. Nothing was wrong, missing, or out of place, but I seemed so unfinished for
an individual now considered a man, at least by the world. I felt like an insubstantial
mist, pale and weak, waiting only for the sun's rays to melt it all away. I had never
seemed to come together, to coalesce like other men.

Other men, that was all of it. How I longed to see other men, real men, not just
flickering images on the television screen or the glossy pages of the magazines. And
it was men, although certainly I knew that women were considered to be the proper
object of my desires. No, it was the men. Something about the texture of the skin, the
veined surface of an arm, the ripple of a belly, the fine hairs prickling around the
aureole of a nipple, the seductive lump between a pair of muscled legs. The men, it
was always the men that I thought of, longed for, dreamed of, all alone in my large
room at the top of the big old house.

I was alone in body, but never in my mind. Night after night I paraded my sexual phantoms
before me as I pumped my aching cock for hour after hour. A boy-man of eighteen, confined
to his bed, alone, must somehow flesh out the night. My only pleasure was my prick, and
what pleasure I took in it. No sooner would my eyes flutter shut, than it would rise,
tingling, making my whole body shiver in anticipation of the first caressing touch. My
fingers would hover, close as close can come without touching flesh to flesh, the heat
from my surging prick warming my fingers till they melted, curled around the shaft,
began stroking, summoning my harem.

They came to me, swirled around me, tempted my fancy, made me spurt come high in the
air by just imagining pouting lips, a perfect smile, a neck, a pulsing muscle in the
crook of a bare arm. Other times they were more bold, standing, sitting, sprawling on
back or belly, lying naked on floors or chairs or against the foot of my bed. These men
were wild and wanton, huge-cocked, randy, dripping passion out their deep-gouged comeholes,
staining the carpets and the sheets. They would writhe and moan and groan, muscles
straining, dripping sweat as they pumped out their passion in great streaming rivers
of thick white.

Today, in the steamy silence of mid-afternoon, I waited for my harem to come, to rescue
me from the oppressive heat, but none marched in at my command. I closed my eyes and
all was blackness. Nothing, not a curve of calf, sprinkled with hair the color of
tarnished pennies; not an armpit fanned with sweat-stinking black tendrils plastered
against pale skin; not a brawny expanse of chest, furred or smooth, crowned with the
hard, meaty point of a nipple, sensitive as the nubs on my own pale chest. Nothing.

I walked to the window in despair, lost in my absolute solitude. The heat was visible
across the broad lawns, hanging in the trees like a shimmering gauze curtain. Staring
out at the dazed landscape, I could easily imagine that it was under water, flooded,
and that I was the only being living in the world. Not a breath of air stirred the
scene as I observed, watching roses and lilies and leprous white gardenias wilting in
the cruel heat.

And then I saw him. He even had a name—Jeffers— a name I'd once overheard and cherished
for my nighttime hours. Jeffers: a strong, simple name for a strong and simple man.
He was the man in charge of the lawns and gardens that spread out around our home,
lawns and gardens that none of the occupants of the house ever entered. I, kept away
from plant life because of my imagined allergies— I'd never sneezed at anything to my
knowledge—went there daily in my mind, savoring the scent and texture of everything that
grew, coaxed from the black soil by Jeffers' strong, sure hand.

I don't think he even knew of my existence, but I was acutelv aware of him. So aware
that just the sight of him, lumbering across my field of vision, made my heart pound
against my ribs. He had hair the color of the bark on the shaggy redwoods that grew to
the north, blocking off the horizon with their wide-flung branches. Jeffers' hair was
shaggy also, falling across his forehead and curling on his thick neck. His eyes, wide-
set and intense, were pale blue, almost gray—animal eyes, like a wolf. His teeth, white
and straight, gleamed against his full red lips when he smiled.

A pale, red-blond down curled damply at the hollow of his throat, and more wispy silk
feathered across his mighty forearms, softening the network of thick veins under his
sunburned skin. His thick chest strained against the buttons on his shirt and his strong
legs threatened daily to split the seams of his faded, dirt-streaked pants.

I knew all of this about Jeffers, even though I had never been closer to him than I was
at this moment. My father had bought me a telescope so that I could probe the stars,
but my interests lay closer to the earth. I trained my lens on Jeffers as he stepped
off the lawn and into a long alley lined with tall trees. He stooped over, fumbled in
the shrubs, then rose up again, a garden hose like a long green snake clutched in his
right hand, spouting a silvery trickle of water.

As I watched him, I rubbed my hand between my legs, making my balls tingle and my cock
begin to rise. I wanted his image burned into my brain before he walked out of sight,
so I could jerk myself off to thoughts of his perfect, imagined body. But today was not
to be like other days—today was to change my life forever.

Jeffers stopped, laid the hose on the ground beside him, raised his arms high above his
head, and stretched. The motion pulled his shirt out of his pants, baring a strip of flat,
washboard gut, pale as ivory, split by a fine inlaid copper line of hair. Hands still
straining toward the sky, his hips began to twitch and gyrate as Jeffers began humping
the humid, summer air.

I watched, transfixed, as he lowered his arms and began to unbutton his shirt, baring
first a thin strip of flesh from throat to navel, then the torso, the shoulders, and
finally the mighty, muscle-corded arms as the old, sweat-stained shirt fluttered to the
grass. His body was paler than his arms, nearly innocent of the sun, lightly freckled
across the shoulders, more copper fuzz licking like flames between the thick mounds of
his pecs.

My heart thudded faster as his wandering hands popped the button at the waistband of his
pants, then coaxed the zipper down. I watched, breath held, as the pants slid down his
thighs, baring them, then his calves to the heat of the August sun. He wore no underwear,
and his pink prick and balls nested in a patch of curls the color of an autumn flame,
seeming almost small between the immensity of his muscle-swollen thighs. He bent at the
waist, slowly, sensually; untied his shoes, kicked them aside, peeled away his earth-
stained socks, and then stood naked on the grass.

I had never been capable of dreaming a man like Jeffers, the gardener, not even in my
most fevered moments. His body was perfect to me in every detail-muscle flowing into
muscle, planes and angles merging, corded tendons and pulsing veins all wrapping and
twisting into something so male, so beautiful, it made my heart ache to look at him.
Head thrown back, eyes closed, Jeffers was worshipping his body with his hands, fingers
stroking, cupping every curve, lingering at the hollow of his throat, the thick tits
jutting from his chest, the tender flesh of his inner thighs. He loved himself, the
touch of himself against his own skin, showing his approval in the spike of flesh that
slowly rose up to curve back against his hard, flat gut.

When he was full aroused, his dick tingling and jerking like my own, he thrust his hand
down to the ground, grabbed the spouting snake of hose and held it high. The silven-
water slithered down his brawny arm, making it gleam as though encased in glass. It
poured across his shoulders, down over the jutting shelf of his hard chest, cascading
over his concave gut, then splashing to the ground at his feet. I gripped my tingling
cock, nearly falling, I was so overcome with lust at the sight of a real man enjoying
his body, like me, all alone.

As I watched, his big hand lowered and he began to wash himself, the expressions flitting
across his handsome face a testimony to the pleasure the waters gave him. A slight smile
brushed his lips as it poured over his shoulders; a wider grin when he directed the
stream against the thick nubs of his tits; an open-mouthed, silent roar as the water
gushed out against his balls, battering them against his thickly muscled thighs.

Jeffers held the stream against his nuts long enough for me to pump my prick to
stickiness. Watching, I wanted to reach out, to touch his hardness, but I was far
away. And then I saw the other, the one who was near to Jeffers, lurking in the trees,
still hidden, watching just as I was watching.

This newcomer was another of those men who was employed by my father to make our lives
go smoothly. His name was Lefkos, our chauffeur, a tall and slender man with a ready
smile. Him I had seen up close, ridden in the car behind him, staring at the back of
his neck, the blue-black, curly hair, the olive-toned skin. Him I had smelled, the
citrus cologne, the acrid hint of sweat when he held the door open and I dodged close
enough to sniff at his black uniform.

Lefkos always winked at me when I stepped into the car, was always kind as he transported
me from one clinic to another as my mother sought confirmation of the list of imagined
ailments I suffered from. When she would give instruction on how to drive—which lane,
how fast—I'd watch his eyes in the rearview mirror, see the little crease between his
charcoal brows, the wrinkle of distaste. Then he'd see me and his face would clear and
I would see the sparkle in his black eyes.

I watched, amazed, as he crept up behind the gardener, behind Jeffers, across the open
lawn between the shelter of the rows of trees. He was startlingly, gloriously naked,
his brown, slender body cutting like a knife across the grass. His build was not heroic
like Jeffers', but you could tell that he was strong. Tendon, muscle, and vein shifted
and knotted under the skin—his physique like a whippet's, not a bull's, every muscle
shaped to its function.

The function of Lefkos' life, judging by his cock, was sex. It hung between his legs,
long and heavy, like a dark brown, veiny club. I'd never seen or even imagined a cock
such as his, hanging halfway to his knees, the head lapped over with a droopy cowl of
skin, slapping lazily against his lean, hard thighs as he crept closer and closer to
the gardener, to his prey. His balls, fat as ripe plums, hung heavy, dragging their
hair-spiked bag down low between his legs. The sight of him tensed my belly, made me
squirt clear juice against the legs of the telescope's tripod.

As Lefkos approached, Jeffers' big hand, clutching the hose, slipped back further
between his mighty legs. He spread them wider, tensed his thighs, knotted the muscles
in his arm, then his eyes flew open and the veins corded in his neck as the water
stopped flowing. The big man's eyelids fluttered and his lips pulled back from his
teeth. I saw his belly tense in ridges and the muscles in his calves flex as he rose
up on his toes. Then the water began to flow again, pouring over his fist and down
onto the ground.

And then, in slow motion, Jeffers the gardener leaned forward, hands braced on the
ground, forehead crushing his knuckles. His legs bent at the knee and a glittering
stream of water began pumping out of his ass, a trickle at first, then arcing high
into the sun-drenched air as all his muscles tensed and forced his bowels to empty.
My own bowels fluttered as I watched in fascination, pinned there by the purest lust
I'd ever felt. Lefkos saw it too, eyes narrowing, his massive dick beginning to twitch.

Once emptied, Jeffers pushed the hose end back up into his ass and held it there until
the water began to flow down the insides of his thighs. Lefkos had come closer, stopped,
eyes focused on Jeffers' marble ass. The little stream began again, splattering first
at Lefkos' feet, then splashing a clear stream against his massive prick. He jerked
around like he'd been shocked, and then the wrist-thick piece of manhood began to stretch
awake, growing longer and thicker as it filled with his hot blood.

My eyes caressed Jeffers' body, running the telescoping view along his flanks, down to
his toes—now curled tight in the grass—then back along the bulging legs, up to his ass.
He reached back to fill himself again, but Lefkos stepped in behind and took the hose
from his hand. He wrapped it slowly around Jeffers' narrow hips and up around his
sculpted torso, draping it across the big man's wide shoulders and down his back.
Then, stepping close behind and pressing a hand against the gardener's hard belly, he
pushed the gushing end of the hose back up inside.

He held it there for such a long time that I expected the gardener to begin spouting
water from his ears and nose, but he didn't. Instead, his hand fluttered to Lefkos'
furry wrist, touching but not pushing him away. Lefkos held his position a second
longer, then pulled the hose away. He stepped back, just in time for the stream from
the gardener's bowels to spray against the head of his cock. It twitched and jerked
and began to rise, until, when Jeffers' big body was drained dry, it arced up into
the air, the veins snaking across the broad back standing out like little cables.

I had to approach, see clearer, sniff the air around them, see the beads of sweat on
their hard bodies real, not filtered through the lens. And so, disobeying all the rules.
I pulled on my robe and slippers and crept from my room, down the stairs, and to the
doors that opened onto the broad terrace that ran across the rear of the house. No one
saw me, noticed me, tried to stop me as I hurried from the house and to my awakening.

Jeffers and Lefkos were entwined when I slipped beneath the branches of the trees to
their hiding place. I kicked aside my slippers, feeling the soft grass beneath my feet
for the first time. Inspired, I shrugged my robe off my shoulders and approached their
pure male, sex-drenched beauty, naked myself, wanting to be like them, to be with them,
even hidden among the sheltering trees.

I winced as Lefkos twined his fingers in Jeffers' hair and snapped his head back. Then,
Lefkos' hand rose up and came crashing down on Jeffers' gorgeous, rounded, sweat-slick
butt, the sound ringing out like the shot of a hunter's rifle. Jeffers' muscles tensed
and his eyes squeezed shut, but he made no move to defend himself. I waited for him to
turn in a rage and snap his tormentor into pieces—he was big enough and strong enough
for that—but he did nothing. Even when Lefkos struck him again and again, making his ass
glow fiery red, he failed to move, to raise a fist in threat.

And then I saw Lefkos lean forward and touch his lips to Jeffers' earlobe, like a fawn
nibbling at spring moss. Jeffers' hand slipped back, stroked the other man's hairy thigh,
up over his ass and side, coming finally to rest on his long neck. Then Jeffers turned
his big head and they began to kiss, lips brushing, tongues flickering, thrusting into
each other's mouths. I raised my hand to my face, touched my lube-slick fingers to my
lips, imagining how another man's hot tongue must taste, must feel. To judge by the
twitching and bouncing of the two men's rigid pricks, it felt and tasted very good indeed.

I inched closer as Lefkos dropped to his knees and began licking Jeffers' bare behind.
Jeffers leaned forward, bracing his hands on his knees, pushing his ass back, shivering
and wriggling as the handsome Greek knelt behind him, worshipping his hole. While lapping
at the little pucker of flesh, Lefkos stroked his own big cock, milking clear jewels out
the tip and smearing the gooey ooze along the bloated, vein-gnarled surface of the massive
shaft. With his other hand, he stroked Jeffers' cock and balls, pulling the big man back,
smacking his lips against his muscle-slabbed ass.

I was so horny I could hardly breathe, barely daring to touch my prick for fear of exploding
too soon. I had determined to wait for them, come along with them, share with them the
incredible feelings I knew they had in store. I was panting in anticipation when Lefkos
stood, kissed Jeffers tenderly on the spine, then mounted him, pressing his huge cock
against his asshole, watching as it slowly disappeared into Jeffers' straining guts.

Neither man moved a muscle as the big prick of the one slipped into the steamy, hidden
softness of the other. The gardener's big hands gripped the chauffeur's ass, holding him
tight as he gasped in great gulps of air, adjusting to the massive organ buried up inside
of him. I groaned myself, my asshole clenching tight at the thought of the agony that the
big man must be feeling.

Then, within minutes, I knew that I was wrong. There was no pain, or if there was, it
was of a very pleasant sort. Jeffers was groaning, his muscles straining, rocking and
quaking under the force of Lefkos' gut-pounding assault. And yet, in spite of his great
strength, he never tried to move away. Instead, when Lefkos would pull out until his
whole enormous cock-shaft was exposed, gleaming in the sun, Jeffers would snarl impatiently,
grab the man by his heavy-hanging balls and pull him back in to the hilt.

As they continued, humping and sweating in the stifling heat, I began to feel it myself,
deep in my gut, a new heat I'd never felt when writhing on my bed, all alone up in my
tower room. God, how I ached to touch those men. Oh, not to join in—I didn't dare dream
that—but just to touch them, hold my hand against the gardener's belly to feel the other's
cock shaft churning up inside of him, or touch the chauffeur's flexing ass, or cup his
balls at the very second he squirted deep up his companion's ass.

They were both coming up to it—I'd watched my own body in the mirror at the foot of the
bed for long enough to recognize the signs. Faces flushed, nostrils flaring, balls
drawing up out of sight—even the hair on Lefkos' furry ass standing on end—they were
moving to the point of no return. I was with them, jerking my stiff cock, every nerve
in my body screaming for release.

Then Jeffers reared up like a stallion, thick ropes of white spouting out of the
gaping hole in the tip of his cock. Sweat was streaming off of him, and he grunted
noisily every time Lefkos rammed his prick in deep. Lefkos wrapped a hand around his
companion's cock and held it tight, come oozing out over his knuckles as he battered
out his last gut-wrenching thrusts, then stopped and trembled, his face buried in
Jeffers' thick neck.

I had to do it then myself, fall to my knees as my orgasm hit me in the gut like a
clenched fist. Never had I felt anything like this—the intensity, the passion, the
sheer physical release as my pent-up load shot out in front of me, festooning the
grass like long strings of liquid pearls. It felt so good I couldn't stop, kept
pumping my hand along the tingling shaft, threw back my head and howled like a wild
beast, as I came all over again, my toes still curled from the first time.

Their heads came up like wary beasts of prey. They scanned the surroundings as I
crouched down, trying to become invisible in the shrubbery surrounding me. They
separated and I saw them disconnect, Lefkos' huge dick slipping out of Jeffers,
slapping heavily against his thigh. Then they began to circle, one east, the other
west, cutting off my line of escape. Escape! I was too terrified to even move. Besides,
I longed to see their naked bodies once again even more than I wanted to get away to
hide my shame.

"Shit, man, it's young Brendan. You know, the invalid." Jeffers' whispered voice
floated across to me. "Now what the fuckin' hell do we do?"

"Quiet," Lefkos hissed. "He's not so bad. I've driven him around for two years. There's
nothing wrong with the boy that getting him away from his mother wouldn't cure. He's not
so hard to look at—if you fancy pretty young men." They said more, but that was all I
heard—the pounding of my heart blotted out the rest. I liked the sound of what he'd
said—"pretty young man!" I'd gladly settle for that evaluation from a man like that!

"You're not going to tell, are you, Brendan?" Lefkos asked, stepping over to my hiding
place, hands on hips. "It's not very nice to spy on people who aren't hurting anyone."

"I...I...I'm sorry," I stammered, rising slowly to my feet, hands cupped over my groin,
trying to hide my nakedness. The men were both so solid, so handsome, so totally male.
Christ, all I wanted was to touch them both, then die.

"Why the fuck are you here?" Jeffers snarled, gripping my arm and shaking me. I stumbled
and my face smacked against his slippery, sex-stained chest. I could smell the sweat and
spit and jizz of both men, mingled on his hot skin. I breathed deep, ready now to meet
my doom.

"Because you're both so fantastically hot," I blurted, shocked by my own honesty. "And
because I was so horny, trapped up in my tower, that I hurt. I dream about you, both of
you, all the time. I only thought it would hurt less if I was out here with you, watching.
I swear I'll never say anything to anyone. Never. I'd never betray you."

"See, man, he likes us," Lefkos chuckled, turning back to me. "There's nothing wrong with
you that couldn't be easily cured, young buck. Your plumbing works well enough. Point
that thing at Jeffers and see what happens."

"Fuck off," Jeffers snapped, looking at my cock anyway. I'd popped another hard-on, just
being so close to them. I started to push it down between my legs, but Lefkos gripped my
wrists and pulled them up to the level of my chest.

"Keep on pointing it at him. He's a pig for any cock that points his way. Aren't you,
Jeffers?"

"Fuck you," Jeffers growled, only now he was beginning to smile. I stood there, unable to
believe what was happening. Lefkos' forearms were pressed against me—one on my chest, the
other on my back— the long, curly hairs that grew on him tickling me. When I shifted my
leg, I felt his prick against my thigh, hot and slippery. He didn't move away—and neither
did I.

I was still staring at Jeffers, mesmerized by his raw sexuality and beauty. He stalked
over to me, cupped my chin in his hand and pulled my head up roughly. "Kiss me, pretty
boy," he rumbled huskily, his face coming closer and closer. I opened my mouth as though
to speak, but his hot, rough tongue got in the way. leaving me with no time for speech.

I had never kissed a man—or even seen men kiss until today—but it felt perfectly natural,
that hot, wriggling thing in my mouth. The roughness of stubble on his chin and upper lip
crushing against my face felt good to me. I gripped his biceps, like hot stones, and
squeezed, holding onto him with all my strength so he would not go away.

And Lefkos, when he pulled my head around to him—I kissed him too. His tongue was sweeter,
and his lips more soft against my mouth as he cradled my head in his hands and pushed
me back against the solid wall of Jeffers' hard body. His arms slithered around me,
then Jeffers' mighty arms were circling me as well, and I was wedged between the two,
secure and safe.

The two men turned me back and forth between them, kissing and prodding and rubbing me
until I was ready to faint from the overwhelming feelings washing over me. Then Lefkos
whispered in my ear, and my heart damn near exploded in my chest!

"Do you want to fuck Jeffers' ass?" he cooed into my ear as he rubbed his hands across
my belly. "He loves to take it up the ass and for all that bulging muscle, he's soft
as silk inside, like popping your pud into a long, warm, silky sausage casing. Go on,
boy, ask him. Ask if you can fuck his tight ass. Go on, now. Do it! Ask if you can pack
your hot little sausage up inside of him."

"Can...can I...can I fuck your ass?" I squeaked, my voice sounding like it belonged to
someone else.

Jeffers looked down at me and his lip curled back from his teeth in a cruel snarl.
"Kiss my hole," he growled, turning his back on me, spreading his legs and thrusting
his sculpted ass toward me. "Go on, pretty boy, kiss it. Make me want your cock up in
me. Make me want to beg for it."

"Go on, man, kiss it," Lefkos seconded, pushing me down onto my knees. "You know you
want it, I know you want it—and we all know how bad Jeffers wants it all the time."
He chuckled and smacked the gardener soundly on the ass, His butt flexed and it looked
as though his asshole winked at me. I wanted to see that little ring of muscle wink
again and so I raised my hand and brought it down on his other cheek with all my strength.
My palm stung, leaving a livid print to mark my aim. Jeffers snorted and the bull's-eye
winked at me again.

"Kiss it," he whimpered. "Please, kiss it. Make the sting go away." I leaned forward,
sniffing him, drinking in the scents of dried jizz and sweat and spittle that wafted
out of his crack. Lefkos' hand cupped the back of my head and pushed me forward,
smacking my mouth against what I most desired.

Christ, the taste! The heat of him! The dizzying sensation of that slippery rosebud
pressed against my mouth. I kissed him, rubbed my cheeks against his hard cheeks,
my hands gripping his strong thighs all my strength. I never would have stopped if
Lefkos hadn't twined his strong fingers in my hair and pulled me back. Out of the corner
of my eye I saw his mighty cock curving down, resting against my shoulder, the cowl of
foreskin as smooth and soft as heated silk against my skin.

"Kiss it," the man whispered, twitching his hips a little, making the hot weight roll
against my collarbone to my neck. I turned my head and pressed my lips against the
wrinkled skin, sniffing, savoring the bittersweet aftertaste of their fuck. I raised
my right hand, placed it against Lefkos' hard gut, trapping his prick between my shoulder
and my chin.

As I licked him all along his vein-gnarled shaft, he took my other hand, sucked the middle
finger wet, and pressed it against that tiny little hole at the base of Jeffers' smooth
crack. There was a second of resistance, then my finger slipped up into the raging fire
of his steamy bowels. I shivered, my mouth opening to a moan—a moan soon stifled because
once again, my mouth was full.

Until that very moment, I had hardly dared to dream of a man's prick lolling on my tongue.
My fantasies of sex had been peopled with ghosts, fleeting forms, curved muscles, patches
of silky hair, but no substance. Now, in an instant, I was thrust into the middle of it,
mouth full of rank cock, fingers wiggling in the heat of a strong man's funky asshole.
My body tingled, my prick jerked and twitched, spurting crystal drops down on my bare
legs and on the grass.

We rocked, us three, for what seemed like hours, me gently suckling the tip of the Greek
chauffeur's great, bloated cock, Jeffers wiggling his butt and groaning, pushing his hard
dick back between his thighs, rubbing it against my wrist. I knew then that life could
get no better—but again, they proved me wrong.

Just as I was so close to coming I could feel it in my toes, Lefkos hauled me to my feet,
draped me over Jeffers' solid back, pried my prong down and crammed it up the gardener's
tight behind. Galvanized, I wrapped my arms around his mighty chest and began to buck,
hunching my hips, spearing him as deep as I could go.

And then, and then, there was a heaviness against my spine, a sticky wetness drizzling
down my crack, a hairy chest against my back, a sharp, stabbing pain— and I was mounted,
penetrated, being fucked. My heart stopped for an instant, waiting for an agony as my
insides were ripped out, but the pain, after that first wrenching instant, never came.
My cock did not go soft, but got harder and thicker as it churned the gardener's guts,
and as my own guts were churned.

I reached back, unable to believe without a touch that he really was in me. I felt his
pubes, wet with sweat and spit, coarse against my fingers. Then the mighty shaft, rigid
and hot, the veins throbbing with his pulse. I inched along the length until I came to
my asslips, grabbing at the shaft as he poked me with the head and first few inches.

"More," I gasped. "I want more." I felt cheated, wanting to feel him, all of him, as the
gardener had felt him, kneeling in the sun-struck grass. He tightened his grip on me and
pulled me back. I, fighting to keep myself deep inside of Jeffers, held fiercely on to
him, my hips pumping in, then back, impaling then impaled. Every thrust from behind me
intensified the feelings if the thrusting up ahead of me, as though his cock had slipped
inside the skin of mine, making it bigger, thicker, harder, pushing it deeper up into
the huge, muscle-knotted man bending before me, giving me my way with him, forcing him
to surrender his power to my throbbing cock.

And it was power I felt when I slipped my hand between his legs and gripped his prick
and squeezed it and felt his jism oozing down over my knuckles, heard him moan, then saw
him sway, his head drooping down, knees buckling as he fell to the ground, trembling and
weak. I fell on top of him and Lefkos on top of me, all three writhing and bucking as we
shot out our passion, me filling him as he had filled my palm, and Lefkos filling me.

And so that day, I did become a man, turned myself to manly things, gave up my fantasy
life in the tower and crept out to the grass, to cocks, sweat, balls, assholes, and rough
desire, grinding out my lust on butts and backs and bellies in the heat of August's sun.
The two men seemed to welcome me, to wait for me to join them, to complete the randy
circle of their lust. And I, my cock and balls making me bold, never hesitated to go to
them—morning, noon, night, any time at all that they could have me, singly or together—
defying all my mother's wishes. I knew what I needed to live, and it was there, in the
hard, warm bodies of those men.

The heat haze of August gave way slowly to the glorious hues of autumn as we three—
Jeffers and Lefkos and I—worked our manly passions to an art. Every day the urges
became stronger, never dulled or blunted by excesses of our lust. When I wasn't with
them, I dreamed of them—day and night. My life was lived only to sneak away from my
room high atop the house, down into the orchards and fields and alleyways of the
garden. Jeffers joked that the garden grew like magic, fertilized by our pungent lust.
And it was true—everywhere we went, we left behind rivers of jism and sweat, soaking
the matted grass. I, too, began to grow, growing stronger from the exertions of our
frantic couplings. My skin was bronzed by the sun, my muscles swelled by the humping
and pounding of our enthusiastic, wanton fucks.

They would chase me, or I them, running passionately through the fields and trees, the
wind caressing my skin, the high grass tickling my calves. We three would stalk one
another, crouching behind hedges, slipping through arbors heavy with grapes and roses,
hiding, teasing, panting to be found. And then, once found, we would laugh and pant more,
all hands free to go everywhere, no place sacred or forbidden.

I never knew which I liked best, rough aggressor or trembling prey—ready to take or be
taken in my turn. But no, that is a lie—I do know what I longed for more than anything,
what I dreamed about at night, alone in my bed, hard cock gripped firmly in my hand.

There would be days when Lefkos and I would turn on Jeffers, make him our prey. We would
stand shoulder to shoulder, Lefkos and I, grinning wolfishly at the hapless gardener. He
would curse bitterly, the muscles in his mighty shoulders knotting, his eyes glittering
in lustful apprehension. Lefkos would bare his teeth and growl, deep in his chest, and I
would follow him, snarling like a hungry, sex-crazed beast.

Jeffers would stand poised as we circled closer and closer, then he would break and run,
crashing through the undergrowth and into the cover of the trees. Lefkos and I, intent
on running him to ground, worked in tandem like ravenous beasts, communicating without
speech, dashing after him in hot pursuit. Animal-like, I sniffed the air, caught the
spicy scent of Jeffers, his sweat splashed on the leaves, tiny, glistening drops of
honey oozing out of him, dripping on the ground, gleaming in the tall grasses. He knew
his fate and ran, cock hard, balls drawn up tight between his legs, doomed before he
started.

We'd run him hard, Lefkos and I, driving him in ever tighter circles. We would crouch
among the undergrowth, watching, waiting until the big man lumbered by, chest heaving,
sweat streaming off his heroic body. We would wait until he dared to stop for breath,
then leap out at him, teasing, threatening, our bulging hard-ins pointing at him like
doom. Jeffers would tense, biceps flexing, thick pecs knotting in empty threat, then
stagger on, the sight of his straining body making us even hornier.

And then, at last, he would stumble, drop to his snees, head hanging, shoulders slumped
in defeat. And we were on him, pushing him to the ground, whooping our savage triumph.
Together we flipped him over onto his back, and I dropped down at his head, digging my
kneees into the thick mounds of his biceps, pinning his arms. Lefkos grabbed Jeffers
by the ankles, scissoring his mighty legs wide, lifting his ass high in the air.

Once trapped, Jeffers would obey every command, no matter how difficult. Once Lefkos
had the gardener's ass in position, he released the man's ankles, but the position was
held, even though Jeffers' body trembled with the strain. Lefkos stood above him then,
drizzling gobs of spit down onto the quivering pink pucker tucked in behind Jeffers'
come-bloated balls. The little mouth flexed tight, then slowly gaped, blooming to show
glimpses of his glistening, blood pink interior.

I sat back on Jeffers' face, ass wiggling in an agony of horny delight as his long tongue
snaked up into me, driving past my asslips and up my musky chute. My balls dangled
against his stubbled chin and my cock rose high, tingling, aching, drooling with
anticipation. I reached down and grabbed the tender nubs of his big tits, pulled and
twisted then till his chest swelled up hard and tight. I worked the fleshy points,
kneaded them, tortured them, driven on by Jeffers' hot breath snorting in my crack
and the insistent probing of his long tongue.

Lefkos still stood there looking, nostrils flaring, slowly stroking his meat to hardness.
When it was ready, juicy, throbbing, he looked at me and I reached up and wrapped my hand
around his hot, veiny stalk. I nuzzled my lips against the snout, lapping up his salty
juice. I pulled my hand forward, shucking the skin up as far as possible, watching while
it drooped, loose and silky, beyond the tip. I pressed my teeth against it, bit down
gently, shook my head from side to side. His cock flexed, jerking against my palm, and
his big balls rose briefly then sank back down, sagging heavily between his thighs.

After I had sucked the honey off his skin, dug deep into it and cleaned away all the
spicy gunk that had collected around the thick rim of his crown, I leaned back on my
haunches. And then I bared it, slowly peeling his big knob, exposing it to the sun.
It glowed like a beacon, shiny and purple-red, the slit gouged in the tip already filling
with more clear goo. I fought the urge to lap it up, aimed it at Jeffers' gaping hole
and began milking the throbbing shaft. A clear stream began to flow, fast as piss but
thicker, pouring into Jeffers' crack, slicking his asslips and coating the tender wall
of his tunnel of fuck.

Unable and unwilling to wait any longer, I pulled harder on Lefkos' cock, urging him
down to make connection, sink deep into our victim, impale him, stab him to the heart.
His cock knob kissed the bull's-eye, and then Lefkos dropped to his knees, his manhood
sliding into its sheath. Jeffers' high-pitched squeal sounded like a rabbit caught in a
trap. His belly ridged and his mighty thighs bulged as he was breached and penetrated
to the center of his being.

Lefkos never stopped till his pubes were clustered around Jeffers' tightly knotted
balls, his own nuts rolling against the gardener's back. Jeffers' strong legs snaked
around the waist of Lefkos, locking the big man in place, imprisoning his prick in a
steamy, tight paradise. The gardener shrugged me off, grabbed me and drove my face into
his crotch. I swallowed Jeffers whole and began sucking him, working with my throat,
lips, and tongue to help relieve the pressure on his aching balls. He capped my piece
as well, and we were plugged at all essential points, rocking in sweaty, heavy-breathing
ecstasy.

As we grappled with one another, I thought I heard a noise, an alien snapping sound—not
from us or our surroundings. I came up off of Jeffers, licked my lips and looked around,
but I saw nothing. I strained to see, but soon my attention was drawn to Lefkos cock,
pistoning in and out of Jeffers. The finger-thick vein running along the broad back
tempted my tongue beyond all reason. And so I forgot about the sound and began lapping
the slippery surface of Lefkos' cock, pungent with assjuice and lube.

Jeffers began to shake beneath me and I knew that he had reached his time. I burrowed
back between his legs, swallowing him just in time to catch the first dribbles of the
salty flood beginning to pump from his heaving loins. And then Lefkos collapsed, draping
himself on top of me, hips pumping frantically, arms locked around my waist, kissing my
ass as he unleashed his pent-up s into Jeffers' spasming bowels. I shivered and shot,
feeding Jeffers as he was feeding me.

Afterwards, the three of us sprawled out in the grass, heads together, soaking up the
afternoon sun. Twice, in an excess of adolescent horniness, I rolled over and sucked
my companions off, one after the other, going slow and gentle, savoring every twitch
of muscle and pulse of vein. Then we returned to the place where we had piled our
clothes and made our way back toward the prison of the house.

Just before we parted, me to my room, they to the servants' wing, I turned to Lefkos
and kissed him. His arms slipped around me, he returned the kiss, then tousled my hair
and smacked my ass. Jeffers, who generally just growled when I left him, pulled me to
him and squeezed me tight. "Get lost, you skinny little fucker," he snarled, pushing
me roughly away. I blew him a kiss and ran, laughing, back toward the house. When I
reached the end of the rose arbor, I turned and waved. I never spoke to either man
again.

At about eight o'clock that evening, my father sent for me. I knew that it had to be
serious, because my father was not a man to summon me for idle chatter. When I knocked
on the door to his study, it was opened by Hendricks, the man in charge of the running
of the house. Hendricks looked at me with distaste and stepped aside for me to pass.
He had been here for as long as I could remember, and I had always disliked and feared
him.

"Sit down, Brendan," my father said, looking up from the papers on his desk. His tone
made it clear that this was very serious, indeed. I perched uneasily on the edge of
a hard wooden chair in front of my father's desk and waited for him to speak further.

As I waited, I became aware of another person in the room. He was standing in the far
corner, away from the fireplace, his dull brown uniform blending almost seamlessly with
the dark mahogany paneling of the room. When I saw the light flash from the badge pinned
to his chest, my heart began to thud sickeningly against my ribs.

"Hendricks," my father said, looking beyond my right shoulder.

"Sir?" My father nodded and Hendricks' bony hand slipped into my range of vision. He was
holding a photograph, barely gripping the corner, as if he feared contagion. It was a
shot of the three of us, hard at it in the woods. That explained the noise I had heard,
that alien sound out in the woods that wasn't a part of our lust. Hendricks had been
spying, making our carefree romp something dirty and obscene. I glanced briefly, then
snocked the glossy piece of paper from his hand.

"Explain." My father's attention was directed at me. Waiting. Implacable. I looked
directly at him, but remained silent.

"Tell the officer that those men forced you to this. Corrupted you. Tell him you feared
them and so agreed to be debauched. Tell him and they will be arrested. Tell him and
you will not be punished." I continued to look at him, continued to remain silent.

"Tell him!" My father's voice was raised, an edge of anger cutting through his tone.
All I had to do was speak what he wished to hear. All I had to do was to betray Lefkos
and Jeffers, lay the blame on them, make them the villains. Betray the two men who had
awakened me, brought me to life, made me real. Simple. Denounce them, deny my life,
and retreat into the protective shadows of my family. I raised my head high, met my
father's stony gaze. I remained silent.

"Sir," the officer drawled, stepping in out of the shadows. "The boy's terrified. These
stinking perverts have probably threatened his life if he tells on them. They've
confused the boy. Maybe even given him drugs." The officer turned to me and smiled.
His teeth were crooked, stained yellow. "Isn't that the way it happened, son?"

"Tell!" My father again, voice hard, eyes harder, rigid in his chair. Leaning forward,
hands balling into fists on the polished wooden surface of his desk. A vein in his left
temple throbbing—with anger, not with life like the snaking veins in Lefkos' mighty
cock. This vein, blue, erratic, pounding death, not life. Again my father's voice,
rising, shrill. "Tell!"

"The truth, father?" My voice surprised me, coming deep and calm, not sounding like my
voice as I remembered it. "The truth." I looked from side to side, from Hendricks to
the officer, dismissing both. I turned them to my father, stood, put my hands behind
my back. And then I spoke the truth—my truth.

"I alone am responsible, sir." His eyes widened, glittered with anger. The vein beat
out his rapid pulse, beat out danger, both to him and to me. "I forced them to do those
things that that man"—I refused Hendricks the dignity of a name—"has captured in his
dirty little photographs. I bribed them and then I threatened them with exposure if
they stopped. I alone am guilty for what they did. I alone should bear the punishment."

"Sir?" The officer again, looking at me but talking to my father. He was no longer
smiling. "The boy's eighteen?"

"Yes." My father's voice was a strangled rattle in his chest.

"Then there's nothing I can do."

"Get out!" My father rose from his chair, his shoulders hunched, his whole body
trembling with rage. "Get out I say!" He was speaking only to me.

I sat in my room for the next three days. The door was locked. Food was brought up
on a tray. No one sent for me and I made no attempts to communicate with anyone. I
watched from the window on the morning after my interview with my father, keeping a
vigil as Jeffers and Lefkos left the house. I knew it would go hard for them, sent
away without references. Rumor would spread and there would be no work for them in
this area. I stood with my hand raised in farewell until they rounded the corner of
the long drive and disappeared from view.

On the evening of the fourth day, Hendricks came for me. He unlocked my door and
indicated that I should prepare to meet with my father. In the past, this would
have sent me scrambling to the closet in search of a suit and tie. Tonight, however,
I was feeling rebellious, so I merely tucked my undershirt into the faded jeans I
was wearing. These clothes were a legacy of my time with Lefkos and Jeffers. Lefkos
had given me the jeans from his own closet and Jefters had supplied the undershirt.
It was too large for me, leaving more of my slender torso bare than it covered. Both
men had told me that with my newly tanned skin the shirt made me look sexy. I had
very much wanted to believe that.

I had worn the clothes since the night of my confrontation with my father and had
felt no need to I change. I knew that nothing I did now would please my father and
so I made no effort. Hendricks glared his disapproval but I brushed past him and
stepped into the hall. Hendricks hurried after me and attempted to grab my arm as
though he feared that I would run away. I turned to him and bared my teeth. I was
gratified to see him flinch and draw his hand back as though he had been burned.
Head held high, I marched down the broad staircase, ready to meet my fate.

When I entered my father's study, he and another man were engaged in conversation.
They broke off when they heard the door open and looked over at me. My father's
face was crimson with rage when he saw my appearance, but the other man appeared
calm enough. He stared at me intently, his eyes flickering as he scanned me from
the crown of my head to my toes, then back again. When our eyes locked, he smiled
at me and walked toward me, hand outstretched.

"Brendan, is it?" he boomed heartily.

"Yes, sir," I nodded.

"Doctor Martin Vandeveer," he intoned, his big hand engulfing mine. His hand was warm,
his grip was firm. He clapped his left hand on my shoulder. Whoever he was, at least
he didn't appear to share my father's disgust at the very sight of me.

"Excellent." He winked at me conspiratorially. "Excellent, indeed. I feel confident
that you will thrive in the specialized environment that Brentwood Academy provides.
The Academy offers guidance for a number of...shall we say high-spirited young men
like yourself." The man cupped my chin and raised my head. His eyes were intense, but
the emotion behind them was unreadable. And, yet, I didn't fear him.

Doctor Vandeveer appeared to be near my father's age, but they were totally unlike
one another. My father was pale, attenuated, a scholar, and maker of money. Doctor
Vandeveer had the confident air of the athlete about him. His shoulders under his
suit jacket were wide, more from muscle than from padding. His chest pushed against
the starched front of his expensive shirt and the inch or so of wrist that stuck
beyond his cuff was thick, webbed with dark, gleaming hairs. His face was unlined,
full, jaw and cheeks shadowed by dark stubble. His eyes were a clear, piercing blue.
There was no trace of gray in his thick, dark hair. The doctor was all vigor and
solidity and restrained power— yet there was nothing of youth about him.

I looked down at his big hand as it slipped from my shoulder, down along my upper arm.
In his grip, my arm looked like a poor stick, but I flexed instinctively. The doctor's
brows arced high above his eyes. Then, his thumb stretched over toward my torso and
traced the slight curve of my chest. When he reached my exposed nipple, he pressed
against the sensitive point of flesh and I groaned softly. His eyelids fluttered
slightly and I saw the tip of his pink tongue flicker against his lower lip.

"We will take you tonight, if you're ready" the doctor said.

"He is ready," my father replied, behaving as though I weren't even in the room. "He
will go with you. It has all been settled." The doctor looked at me and I nodded.
Nothing had been discussed with me, but there was nothing unusual in that. If my father
said it had been settled, then it was settled.

"I'll go pack," I said.

"That won't be necessary," Doctor Vandeveer replied, not releasing his hold on me.
"All your needs will be provided for." I nodded. There was nothing in this house
that I wished to take away with me. Nothing.

My father and Doctor Vandeveer exchanged a few more words, then I was led out into the
hall. There were no good-byes or good wishes, just the door opening, then closing behind
me. I must admit that my main sensation was one of relief when I was left standing on
the broad front steps, alone with Doctor Vandeveer.

There was a large van parked in the drive, black, with no lettering to announce its
origin. A man sat behind the wheel and as we descended the steps, the doors at the rear
of the van swung open and two big men in white coveralls jumped out onto the gravel of
the drive. Doctor Vandeveer put his hand on my shoulder and pushed me toward them.

Both men tensed as though they feared I might try and make a break for it. There was no
place to run to, so I approached them and jumped up into the back of the van. They
followed close behind, closing the doors softly. Doctor Vandeveer got in beside the
driver and the van roared to life and began to roll down the drive toward the entrance
gates.

I felt no need to look back at the house where I grew up, so I turned my attention to
the men in the van with me. I sat on a bench facing the rear of the van and they sat on
the benches that ran along the sides. The man to my left was dark, Hispanic looking,
with black, curly hair and chiseled features. He saw me staring and smiled, displaying
perfect, sparkling white teeth. I smiled back shyly, totally dazzled by his stunning
good looks.

A slight sound coming from the other side of the van made me turn my eyes away from the
dark-haired vision. The blond man to my right wasn't as handsome as his companion,
but I didn't spend too much time looking at the flattened bridge of his nose or the
scar in his jaw. The sound had been the noise made by the zipper on his coveralls as
he slowly tugged it down.

His pale torso was lean and hard, the muscles of his belly etched deep. He shrugged the
fabric off of powerful shoulders, gradually revealing the knotted mass of his biceps and
his muscle-corded forearms. He winked lewdly as he reached into his crotch and scooped
out a fistful of cock and balls. He pulled them clear of the fabric, then let them flop.
His hairy balls drooped low, the fat orbs netted with tiny blue and purple veins. The
stalk of his cock was also gnarled with bigger veins that snaked from his pubes down
to the dusky red cap of his manhood. The man leaned back and stared at me, rubbing his
belly, his thighs spread wide apart.

I felt the familiar tingling sensation in the pit of my stomach, that same feeling I
had always gotten when I saw Jeffers or Lefkos naked. If this was a test, I feared that
I was doomed to fail it. The power of cock had me under its spell in an instant, leaving
me with nothing put the desire to worship at the pulsing shrine.

I glanced nervously back to the dark god opposite. His coveralls were now down around
his knees and he was crouched on the bench, his perfect ass thrust out, his fuzzy balls
dangling temptingly below the sleek bulge of his thighs. He was holding onto two wide-
spaced supports on the side of the van, the muscles in his back dancing under his bronzed
skin. He turned to me, his full lips pursed in a little O of desire.

This was all too strange! I had been driven from my home by my father for the sin of
having sex with men. Now, the man he had delivered me to for rehabilitation had thrown
me in temptation's way immediately upon our departure. I glanced forward. If Doctor
Vandeveer saw what was going on behind the glass screen that separated the front of
the van from the rear, he gave no sign. If he wanted confirmation of my condition, I
feared I would be powerless to withhold the proof.

"Come wrap your pretty lips around my dick," the blond growled, flexing his belly muscles,
making his big meat swing back and forth. "Come chew on it. Suck the life out of me." As
I watched, it grew longer and thicker, slowly rising up and standing at attention against
his gut.

"Eat my ass," the dark one murmured. "Lick my hot hole. Stick your tongue up in me." He
pointed his ass at me. His asspucker was ringed by lush, full lips, as perfect as those
that ringed his mouth. As I stared at him, he reached between his legs and pushed his
prick down and back, pointing it at the floor. The bulging head was clearly outlined under
the cowl of skin that was bunched over the tip.

I looked from man to man, trembling with fear and desire. I could feel the sweat trickling
down my sides, feel my cock straining against the confines of my pants.

I looked away, stared at the floor, tried to think of something else, but the sweet smell
of sex was in the air. I threw myself to my knees with a little cry and crawled between
the two men, unsure where I should turn.

My task was eased when the blond man moved to the other side, slipping onto the bench
between the dark man's outspread thighs, bringing cock and asshole both within easy reach.
I sniffed the funk-spiced air greedily, sucking the smells of them into my nostrils before
I began.

I braced my hands against the blond man's hard thighs and leaned forward, letting my
tongue flicker out of my mouth, unsure where to strike first. I bent my head and began
with the blond man's big balls, letting my tongue come up under them, cupping their heavy
heat. The first touch of tongue on flesh was electric, shooting sparks of pleasure to my
groin, igniting a flame in my belly. His balls stirred slightly, the left rolling up on
top of its companion, then drooping heavily again as I licked up the bag to the base of
the bulging cock stalk.

I could taste the man's acrid sweat and traces of dried piss and come. His juice tube
was thick, distended, bulging, ready to pump his seed when the trigger was tripped. I
worked my way up, inch by inch, caressing every vein, coating every surface with my
spit. I followed close behind with the ball of my thumb, pressing, stroking, milking
the throbbing shaft so that when I was near the top, clear juice was bubbling out the
tip, quivering on the rim of his bloated crown.

I lapped his honey greedily, slicking lips and tongue with it. Then I tipped my head
back and thrust my tongue out like a spear, impaling the dark man on its blunted point.
His asshole quivered, tensed, then gaped for me. I pressed my lips to his and jammed
my tongue deep into his musky channel. I swabbed my tongue around, just as Lefkos had
taught me as we crouched, faces pressed together in the cleft of Jeffers' muscled ass.

After I had sucked the dark man's asslips up into a swollen pout, I leaned back and
licked my chops. The dark man's cock was still held straight down, his overhang brushing
the tip of the blond man's cock. Every time contact was made, the glans on the blond
man's dick would puff up and little drops of honey would ooze out. I fisted the dark
man's throbbing shaft and shucked his skin down tight, drawing his balls down with it.
I then tucked the blond man's knob inside the sticky cowl and smoothed the silky skin
down along his flexing cock.

Once I had the men securely joined, I started licking them, beginning with the blond
man's balls, moving up the shaft, across the splice, over the lump of the dark man's
nuts, and on to his twitching hole. Up and down I went, not resting until I had forced
soft moans of pleasure from both men.

Now it was time to meet my own needs. I stood up and pushed my jeans down around my
knees, freeing my throbbing cock from its captivity. I was so horny I ached. My prick
curved up tight against my belly and my balls had drawn up snug against the base of
the shaft. I leaned against the dark man's broad back and kissed his neck. A trickle
of sweat was running from his hairline down his spine. I lapped up the salty water,
trailing my tongue up to his ear.

When I reached around and gripped his hard pecs, his nipples sprang up to greet me,
pressing against my palms. I began tugging on them, twisting them, and flicking them
with my nails. After humping his crack till I was almost ready to spew, I slipped my
knob down to his slimy little hole and drove up into him, impaling him on my hard cock.
His muscles knotted, his biceps dancing under his bronzed hide. I pressed my hands
tight against his belly and began fucking him, just as I had fucked Jeffers on those
glorious days in the garden.

The man responded to my every thrust, letting his channel gape loosely when I pumped
forward, then tightening it like a hot, moist fist when I began to pull out, grabbing
me, teasing me, making my blood boil. I humped him madly, passionately, losing control,
all sensation centered in my tingling prick. I wanted to hold back, to make it last,
but I was beyond that in a heartbeat. All I could do was hold tight and let my orgasm
run its course. I felt the contractions in my gut push the hot jism up along my cock.
Then an almost unbearable pleasure swept through me and my hot load gushed up into the
dark man's strong body.

I staggered back from him, cock still oozing, body still burning with desire. I looked
at the men—they hadn't moved a muscle, still sat and crouched, sex organs inflamed,
hard and swollen. I moved back to them, wriggled up between them, slipped between
their sweat and spit-slick bodies. I pressed the blond man's cock against my asshole
and moaned as he breached me, slid up into me to the balls. I capped the dark man's
juicy dick and ground my narrow hips around the axis of the hard cock driven up into
my clutching bowels.

I sucked and squirmed, frantically flogging my own tool, bringing myself off a second
time and then a third as I worked to coax the come out of both these men and into my
willing mouth and ass. The blond man came first, signaled by a flexing, a swelling of
the cock-knob, followed by a primal gush of heat that curled my toes. I sucked
frantically as he spewed his seed up into me, pounding my forehead against the dark
man's rippled gut. His balls rolled up on top of the shaft and he began to shake. His
cock swelled, going so hard it arced the shaft like a bow. His juicetube bulged and
then my mouth was flooded with his spicy brew. I gulped and swallowed, greedily
devouring every drop as it spouted out the tip of his dick.

I didn't move a muscle until their pricks went soft, popping out of the holes at either
end of me. Then I slipped down onto the floor, panting, satisfied for the moment at
least. The dark man and the blond returned to their places, pulled on their coveralls
and sat silently, their expressions unreadable. I turned and looked to the front of
the van. Doctor Vandeveer was looking at me from behind the glass partition. Our eyes
locked and a hint of a smile flickered across his lips. It never reached his eyes.

I fell fast asleep after my exertions and did not wake until the van turned off the
highway. The dawn was lighting up the eastern sky and I began to watch my surroundings,
trying to determine where I might be. The narrow road was lined with tall fir and
cedar trees that rose high on either side. After about half an hour, the van stopped
at wrought-iron gates, flanked by stone pillars surmounted by elaborately carved
lions. A man stepped out of a small cottage tucked just inside the gates. He studied
the van briefly, nodded, and approached the gates. He turned a key in the massive
lock and pulled the gates back to allow us to pass.

Once inside, the van wound up through more trees as we climbed steeply. I saw a stream
off to the left, crashing down through rocks and fallen timbers and more than once saw
deer feeding by its banks. The incline gradually leveled off and we began to cross a
broad, treeless plateau tucked into the heart of the mountains. As the sun rose over
the peaks, I got my first glimpse of the Brentwood Academy.

It was a huge, Gothic pile, constructed of stone the same color as the surrounding
mountain peaks. With its spires and towers, it appeared to have grown out of the rock
it stood on. As we approached, several things struck me as peculiar about the place.
There was no landscaping near the big house, not a tree, a bush or a clump of flowers.
In fact, there was nothing growing higher than a few inches over the entire expanse
of the plain. I had seen enough alpine meadows in books and on the television to
realize that this was not a natural state. Then, there were the bars on all the tall
narrow windows of the house. These were not delicate flights of Victorian Gothic fancy,
but thick, strong steel bars—prison bars.

The last, and most disturbing, discovery was made when we stopped at a distance of about
five hundred feet from the front door of the Academy. Our way was blocked by what I at
first took to be a natural crevasse. Closer inspection revealed that this crevasse
ringed the building, cutting into the rocky earth in a large, regular arc. The walls
of this moat—it could be nothing else, really—were perpendicular, curving in slightly
at the top, making escape impossible for anything—or anyone?—who was unlucky enough
to fall in.

I heard a faint whirring sound and discovered what we were waiting for. What appeared
to be a steel shelf was bridging the moat, pushing out from just below the rim of rock.
I heard a sharp clang as the bridge slipped into its niche on the opposite side of the
moat and the van rolled forward. Once we were across, the bridge began to retract
again, leaving us isolated on our remote stone island.

The van pulled up to the doors of the house and stopped. Doctor Vandeveer got out and
the dark man opened the rear of the van, motioning me out as well. I stepped out onto
the drive and looked around. No cover for as far as the eye could see; no other
habitation; no signs of life of any kind. Nothing but gray rock, moss, and sparse
clumps of mountain grass.

"Come, Brendan," Doctor Vandeveer said, putting his big hand on my shoulder. "I know
you will do very well here." He turned me toward him and stared for a long time at my
face. "Very well. Excellent. Yes." His hand slipped down to the small of my back and
he pushed me gently toward the steps.

As we waited for the door to be opened-—even the doctor couldn't enter without permission,
it seemed—a wind blew around the corner of the old house, bringing with it a bitter
chill. I shivered, my near-naked torso popping out in goose bumps. Doctor Vandeveer
saw me and pulled me toward him, covering my shoulders with his suit coat. I huddled
close, my arms wrapping instinctively around his waist for warmth. The man's waist
was narrow and his belly was like a wall of rock. It was not what I had expected of
a man near my father's age. But then, my experience was very much limited. I longed
to touch more of him, run my hand up his chest and down along his thighs, but I did
not dare. If my presence stirred him, he gave no sign, just stood there silently until
the door opened slowly inward.

"Welcome home. Doctor Vandeveer," the man at the door said, his voice a deep-chested
rumble.

"Mr. Black," the doctor replied, nodding at him. "This is Brendan. Mr. Black is one
of our instructors." I looked up at the big man, awestruck. He was naked, except for
a band of white linen wrapped around his narrow hips that passed between his legs to
cup the bulging knot of his genitals, leaving his muscular, hairy ass bare. His torso
flared from his small waist, up to a chest of massive proportions and shoulders a yard
wide. His arms bulged obscenely, the triceps and biceps twitching and jerking every
time he moved. A tattooed dragon twined around his left arm, wrist to shoulder, its
jewel colors somewhat obscured by the dense black silk that curled on the mass of his
forearm. More of the luxuriant black growth feathered over his collarbones, swirled
around his nipples, and spilled down the concave washboard of his belly. His thick
thighs and bulging calves were similarly, sexily obscured. As I stared at him, I
couldn't help wondering what sort of teacher he might be.

Mr. Black looked back at me, his expression skeptical. "You have your work cut out
for you, Doctor Vandeveer."

"As do you, Mr. Black. As do you." The teacher shrugged, turned on his heel and stalked
away from us. As he crossed the large, paneled room, his gorgeous ass flexed temptingly,
two perfectly muscled globes of flesh, festooned with springy curls like dark, soft
moss. The man who dared to touch his ass would be fortunate indeed.

Doctor Vandeveer led me across the hall and opened a door for me. "Do as you are told,
Brendan. Goodbye." The door shut behind me and I was alone in a large, empty room.
Everything was white—the walls, ceiling, carpets, the drapes covering the tall windows.
The only contrast was a small, ornately carved wooden chair that stood between two of
the windows. I sat down to wait.

I didn't have to wait long. A door opened opposite me and a man—like Mr. Black, naked
except for the strip of linen—appeared and motioned for me to approach. He had flaming
red hair, his pale, tightly muscled torso sprinkled liberally with freckles. The man's
pale nipples were enormous, standing out from the sleek curve of his chest like pink
candy kisses. His fat cock was outlined behind the thin fabric covering it, appearing
to be coiled like a snake. The thick rim of the crown was clearly visible, as were the
fat lumps of his balls. Evidently, all the teachers at the Academy were cocked like
stud bulls.

"Brendan?" He smiled at me, immediately putting me at ease.

"Sir?"

"Come with me, please." I followed him through a door and into a large tiled room.
He motioned me over to a desk in an area that was set up like a doctor's office. I
stood beside the desk, hands clasped over my groin, waiting for instruction.

"Take off your clothes, Brendan." He watched while I stripped, his expression betraying
nothing. When I was naked, he began taking measurements—chest, arms, hips, thighs,
calves—carefully noting the data in a manila file. After he had completed his survey
of my body, right down to the length of my cock and the cirference of my balls,
he sent me to the opposite side of the room to shower. As I soaped myself, I saw that
the red-haired man was leaning against the front of his desk, observing me. I couldn't
help but wish that there was more of me for him to look at, but there was very little
meat on my bones, as Jeffers had often noted. At least I still had some of the sun's
color on my skin, which made me look a little less like a garden slug.

When I had washed and dried myself, the man motioned me back over to him. As I stood
in front of him, hands at my sides, he opened one of the desk drawers and removed a
strip of linen. He passed it around my waist and through my legs, tucking the ends
together in the back. This, obviously, was the school uniform. A very strange sort
of school, indeed.

Once my loins were girded up to the man's satisfaction, he went to a small refrigerator
in the corner and removed a beaker of cloudy, gray-green liquid. "Drink this," the man
said, holding it out to me.

"What is it?" I asked, eyeing it apprehensively.

"An herbal concoction of mine," he replied. "Drink it. It's good for you. Builds your
strength." I took the beaker from him and sniffed at it. My nose wrinkled at the smell.
I held the beaker, looking at it, not drinking.

"Come, Brendan." The man took the beaker and drank from it. "You see. I have no wish
to harm you. No one here does." I tried again, but the bitter brew-gagged me. The man
smiled at me patiently and stepped so close that I could feel the heat rising off his
body. He tipped back the beaker and filled his mouth, then slipped one arm around my
waist. Our bellies slapped together, the fat knot between his legs pressed against my
groin and his thick chest brushed mine. He inclined his head and our lips touched. I
understood and eagerly opened my mouth. He pressed forward and the bitter liquid began
to trickle from his mouth.

Almost immediately, I felt dizzy. I couldn't judge if it was caused by the liquid or
the touch of the man's body, so I continued to swallow the bitter brew as he spit it
into my mouth. He broke our kiss only to refill his mouth, continuing to feed it to
me until the beaker was empty. When I had licked the last drops from his lips, his
hand slipped away from my waist. I didn't move away.

"There, Brendan. That wasn't so bad, was it?" I nodded, too dazed to speak. I was
beginning to distinguish the effects of his concoction. My body was tingling from
head to toe, warming, buzzing as the herbs did their work. "You will drink twelve
ounces of this three times a day, Brendan. I promise you will be pleased with the
result." I nodded again, wondering if the red-haired man would administer them in
the same fashion every time.

Once he had finished with me, the man led me into another room, this one paneled in
dark wood, furnished with plush couches and chairs, clustered in small conversational
groupings. The man told me to wait, that someone would come for me and show me to my
dormitory. I chose a couch near the blazing fireplace, sinking into its cozy softness.

A few minutes later, I heard a door open and close softly behind me. I turned and
grunted in surprise. The man standing at the far end of the room didn't appear to
be a teacher. Judging by his face, he was no older than I. His cheeks were rosy and
his brown hair curled softly over his forehead. With his full, pouty lips and his long
lashes, he looked like a choirboy.

The eyes were not those of an innocent choirboy, however. There was a predatory look
about his pale blue eyes that reminded me of the watchful eyes of a beast of prey.
They locked on me where I sat beside the fire and he licked his lips.

Although he had the face of a boy, his body was a man's. His shoulders were heavy with
muscle and his arms were as big as Mr. Black's, the teacher I had met upon my arrival.
Thick veins snaked up his forearms and over the massive curve of his biceps, swollen
almost to the bursting point. His chest jutted out aggressively, the bulging mounds
of his pecs capped by thick brown nubs. The hollow of his chest was clustered with
soft brown ringlets like those on his head, long and luxurious.

When the fellow stepped to the center of the room, I gasped audibly. Hanging between
his muscle-knotted, hairy thighs were the biggest balls I'd ever seen. They were the
size of large lemons, sagging heavily, pulling his scrotum down toward his knees. More
long, silky curls clustered on his bag, making it appear even more massive.

The most enormous hard-on I had ever seen rose from his crotch. He was bigger than the
mighty Lefkos, my benchmark for big dicks. It appeared to be thicker than my wrist,
the juicetube running along the underbelly as big as my thumb. It towered far beyond
his navel, the flaring crimson cap almost brushing his sternum. He saw me staring at
it and thrust his hips forward. He ran his fingertips up the sides of the shaft and
gleaming, sticky drops of cock honey oozed out the tip and slowly drooled down the
long, bloated tube of flesh.

"I'm Brendan," I said, feeling the need to say something. The fellow walked toward
me, his balls smacking heavily against his thighs. As he rounded the end of the sofa
where I sat, I stood up and stuck my hand out to him. Instead of shaking it, he gripped
my wrist and pulled my hand down toward the fat knob perched on the end of his prick.
I cupped my palm around it, feeling the sticky heat pump out onto my skin. The man
made a sound that resembled purring.

"Do you have a name?" I queried, my fingers curling around the pulsing stalk of his
mammoth erection. "I'm Brendan." I repeated my name, hoping he'd take the hint. The
was something far from normal about him.

"Joel," he said hoarsely. "Joel." I looked up and smiled. He licked his lips, his
nostrils flaring. "Fuck?" I shook my head, startled. "Fuck!" This time it wasn't a
question.

I tried to step away, but his arms shot out and locked me in a Herculean embrace.
The lush curls on his chest tickled me and his hard-on seared the flesh of my belly.
I gripped his arms—they were like warm rocks. I rubbed my cheek against the hard
curve of his chest— he smelled like sex to me, musky and rich—then looked into his
eyes.

"Joel, please," I whispered, "don't hurt me." He looked at me, that shy boyish look
again, and shook his head. His big hands slipped down my back to my ass. He impatiently
tugged at the linen strip and it fluttered to the floor. Then he began pulling my
asscheeks apart, his fingers probing my asspucker. The feeling made me groan, reminded
me of the long hot days in the garden at my home. I pressed my face against Joel's
thick chest and my cock sprang to life, pushing up alongside his own stupendous schlong.
He felt it rubbing against his belly and we both looked down at the hard sticky things
pressed between our bellies like boys who were discovering sex for the first time.

Suddenly, Joel's hips stopped pumping and his eyes flew open wide. I felt his cock
flex against my belly and looked down. The head swelled, the comehole gaped and jism
started gushing out of him like hot lava. The first blast caught in the cluster of
curls in the center of his chest and hung there like a liquid rope. The next shot
arced high above our heads, spattering down on my shoulders like hot rain.

Joel's hands dropped to his sides and I stepped back to watch him come. His muscular
body contracted as he pumped another gusher of cream high in the air. It hit his chin
and dripped down his neck. He went limp for a brief instant, then his biceps flexed,
swelling like cannonballs as another mighty contraction shook him, sending another
spout of white goo pumping high in the air. He'd been squirting for more than a minute,
and the jism was still bubbling out of him, rolling down the column of his cock in thick
white streams.

He held his thick arms open and I stepped back over to him and leaned against him. My
tongue shot out and I began licking at the white drops that quivered on his neck and
shoulder. His come tasted sweet, making me instantly hungry for more. I dragged my
tongue over the curve of his chest and sucked the spicy gunk out of the curls that
split his mighty torso in half. When I had swabbed his belly clean, I began licking
his cock, milking his juicetube, coaxing yet more hot sperm out of him. I sucked him
clean, and he showed no signs of losing his hard-on.

"Fuck!" he said coaxingly, pulling me to my feet. I nodded, suddenly overcome with
lust and he pushed me against the back of the sofa. I leaned forward and Joel began
licking my crack, driving his hot tongue up my hole. I gripped the plush cushions and
spread my legs, willing to risk being split open by him so that I could feel his mighty
hardness plunging deep into my bowels. The sensation of having his tongue in my hole
and his hot, snorting breath on my cheeks, coupled with the smell of him, was driving
me beyond the bounds of reason.

"Fuck Brendan," he murmured, standing up and pulling me back against him. I could feel
his dick pressed against my spine, halfway to my shoulder blades, and those huge, come-
bloated balls slapping against the backs of my thighs.

"Fuck easy," I groaned, trembling as his muscle-corded forearms pressed against my belly.
He kissed my neck. I felt his dick sliding down my spine and between the cheeks of my
ass. Then the blunt, sticky tip slipped into place against the quivering, tightly puckered
lips of my asshole. He began stroking my belly, his hips pumping slowly and tentatively.
I strained to open my channel for him, grunting when his fat knob popped through my
sphincter. Joel growled softly and licked my neck.

He slipped one hand down along the back of my left thigh and coaxed me to hook my leg
over the back of the sofa. I did so and he began to sink into me. I reached back and
pressed my fingertips against the shaft of his cock, mentally counting off the inches
of his cock, ready to tell him when he began to hurt me. I waited as inch after inch
slipped up inside me, but there was never any pain. I felt incredibly full, and the
heat that radiated through me made me sweat, but I never had the least sensation of
discomfort. It was with some shock that I felt my fingers tangling in the silky floss
of his pubes. Reaching down, I cupped his balls and realized that he had impaled me to
the hilt.

"Good?" he whispered. By way of answer, I gripped his wrist and pushed his hand down
along my belly to my rigid prick. He wrapped his fingers around the shaft and squeezed
tight. "Joel fuck now," he muttered, seeming to have difficulty stringing the words
together. I craned my neck around and kissed him on the jaw. He pressed his cheek
against my shoulder and started to fuck me.

Feeling his enormous, rigid manhood sliding in and out of me made me hot all over. I
could sense the fullness when his hips were pressed tight against my ass, then the
gradual emptying of my channel, allowing the stretched-out tissue to collapse in on
itself. I flexed my asshole, gripping his spike, making him whimper. In and out he
plunged, his strokes punctuated by the slapping of his heavy balls against my leg.

I felt him come the first time, shortly after he started. There was a flexing deep in
my gut and his hard chest pressed against my back. Judging from the intensity of the
heat in my ass, he was shooting as heavily as he had done just minutes before. The
mere thought of all that hot goo pumped into me made me shiver in excitement. Joel
didn't even slow down, just kept riding me, fucking my ass with long, steady strokes.

By the third time he had unleashed his sticky flood up into me, 1 was full to over-
flowing. I could feel the jism oozing out of my ass and running down my leg. I reached
down and pressed my fingertips against my asshole. His dick was still pistoning, still
hard, almost hot enough to burn. His bulging knob battered against something tucked
up in my ass that caused me to quake with pleasure. He drew out and thrust forward,
battering it again, and then again.

I beat my fists against his thighs as I let fly, shooting jism out over the sofa onto
the hearth beyond. Joel held me, his cock pistoning in my guts, prolonging the sensations
of orgasm till they were almost painful. Once drained, I collapsed against the cushions,
kept from falling only by Joel's mighty spike, driven up into me like a second spine.

He had come again when I did—I had felt it gushing into me—but still he would not stop.
I struggled to break free, but his grip tightened and he began babbling that he would
be gentle, would be still, wouldn't hurt me. He was gentle—as gentle as a man his size
could be—but my poor bruised ass channel needed rest from his relentless pummeling.

I laid there, taking deep breaths, trying to relax my muscles, but the discomfort
increased until his horny attentions seemed less like sex than punishment. Finally,
in desperation, I balled my hand into a fist and lashed out at him, striking him on
the hip. It was like beating a brick wall and had about the same effect. His grip
tightened and his breathing became increasingly harsh as he continued fucking me.

"Aaahh!" I screamed in desperation, frantic to get through to Joel that he had to stop.
The shrill sound was still echoing in the big room when I heard a door open and the
mutter of voices. Joel's incessant pumping stopped instantly and he climbed off of me.
He uttered a shrill squeal of fear, ran to the far corner, and cowered against the paneled
wall. I turned and saw two men, big men, moving rapidly across the room.

They were tall and muscular—as everyone here seemed to be—wearing skin-tight black leather
pants and heavy, knee-high boots, molded to fit their bulging calves. They were naked
from the waist up, except for leather harnesses that criss-crossed their chests and
wide leather armbands that cinched their right biceps. Each man carried a thick black
club in his right hand. They glanced at me contemptuously, then bore down on Joel.

"Want to fuck?" the blond one snarled, waving his club menacingly in Joel's face. Joel
shook his head, obviously terrified by the two men. His big shoulders were hunched and
he was cupping his balls in his hands protectively. His hard-on had wilted for the first
time since I had seen him and hung limply between his thighs. "I asked you if you wanted
to fuck," the blond barked, pressing the end of his club against Joel's right biceps.

"No!" Joel cried. Then his body jerked convulsively and he staggered away, holding his
arm. The other man approached from the opposite side and pressed his club against Joel's
left thigh. Joel looked at him pleadingly, shaking his head. The man laughed cruelly
and Joel dropped to his knees. I saw the spark arcing on his bare thigh and realized
that the men were attacking him with cattle prods.

"Stop!" I cried. "Don't hurt him. I'm alright." They didn't even acknowledge my existence,
just closed in on Joel, touching the prod to various parts of his body. The setting
seemed designed less to stun than to cause pain. After a jolt to the tip of his big
dick, Joel broke through the men and dashed across the room. They leaped after him,
raising their clubs and beating him about the head and shoulders until he dropped to
the ground. Then they began prodding him again until he staggered to his feet and stood
passively between them.

"Fuck?" the blond roared. Joel nodded his head miserably. He bent forward and spread his
cheeks. The blond guard smacked his ass with the club, then crammed half its length up
into him with one brutal thrust. Joel moaned but didn't move. The other guard grabbed
Joel's hair and pulled his head up. He pressed the tip of his club to Joel's lips and
his mouth opened. He gagged as the guard pushed the club down his throat, but still
made no effort to get away. Then the guards began thrusting the clubs in and out of
his body, gradually increasing the current until Joel was jerking around in agony. His
muscles were all knotted and the sweat was pouring off of him.

At last, in desperation, he spat out the stick in his mouth and stood up, his arms high
above his head, fists clenched. The guard who had been pounding his throat with the
club began beating him about the rib cage with it, the blows landing with sickening
thuds against his muscle-slabbed sides. Joel jammed his elbow into the ribs of the man
standing behind him and the guard let go of the club. It popped out of Joel's ass and
rolled under a chair. The man he had struck roared out his rage and lunged at Joel,
knocking him to the floor.

Before he could rise again, the two men were on him. One pinned his arms behind him and
the other repeatedly smashed his fists into Joel's face and body. After a brief struggle,
Joel slumped into unconsciousness. They dropped his lifeless body to the floor, kicked
him a few times, then began dragging him away by the arms. I looked on in horror, power-
less to stop them, wondering yet again what sort of place it was that I had come to.

I sat on the sofa for the next half hour, pondering the implications of the scene I had
just been witness to. What had brought Joel to the state he was in? Why had the guards
taken such delight in beating him when I had not been harmed and he had presented no
real threat to them? Would I, too, be beaten for my part in what had taken place? What
was this place, and what was really going on?

I already knew that this was no ordinary boarding school—yet I couldn't quite determine
what it was. It appeared to be a cross between a clinic and a male brothel, based upon
what I had seen so far. Mr. Black and the red-haired man who had examined me were hardly
my idea of what teachers should be—unless, of course, I didn't yet understand the
curriculum of private schools.

And then there was Joel. His body seemed highly improbable for a man of his age—I was
still convinced that he was no older than I. Such mass and definition would, I was
certain, take a man years of constant effort to acquire. And there was the matter of
his sex drive, which seemed insatiable. Surely, all the students couldn't be as sexually
charged as he. Or could they?

I was still brooding over all of this when I suddenly sensed that I was no longer alone.
I looked up and gasped out loud. A man had materialized, standing no more than five feet
from me. He appeared to be a man in charge. In the first instance, he was clothed— dressed
in white pants, a white T-shirt and a white lab coat. He carried a clipboard and had a
stethoscope around his neck. The baggy pants and the flowing coat obscured most of his
body, but the torso under the tight shirt outlined the physique of a man in good, but
not awesome physical shape.

I looked into his eyes and my apprehension abated somewhat. The man's smile and the
warmth in his brown eyes were reassuring to me. His hair was an unruly mop of chestnut
curls, falling down over a high forehead. His strongly sculpted jaw was rough with dark
stubble and he had a small scar on his left cheekbone. As our eyes met his smile broadened.

"Brendan Callan?"

"Yes, sir," I replied, my voice slightly shaky.

"I am Doctor Marriot. I will be in charge of your regimen while you are here."

"My regimen?" I looked at him curiously. He put a hand on my shoulder. It was warm.

"Yes. I'll be in charge of your health and well-being, Brendan. I will administer
your injections and work with your instructors to suggest the best programs to achieve
our goals for your mental and physical perfection. I will monitor your progress while
you are with us. If anything troubles you, please confide in me, Brendan."

"But...but, Doctor Marriot. I don't understand. Perfection? Injections? I...I..." I
broke off, fearing that I was going to burst into tears. For the first time since I
had arrived. I was afraid.

Doctor Marriot sensed my fear immediately. He knelt in front of me and cupped my face
in both hands. "Don't be afraid, Brendan. I'll watch over you. My techniques have been
perfected. You are all mine, Brendan. You will be my masterpiece." He leaned forward
and kissed me gently on the mouth. Many questions remained unanswered, but in that
moment, my fear evaporated.

Doctor Marriot took me by the hand and led me out of the room and down a long corridor
that led to his office at the rear of the huge house. He ushered me inside and closed
the door, locking it behind us. The room was in sharp contrast to what I had seen of
the academy up to this point. The walls were lined with bookcases piled high with books,
magazines, loose papers, and various rock and plant specimens. The floor was covered
with an Oriental carpet, much stained and worn. There were two leather armchairs in
front of the fireplace. Unlike the rest of the great house, the heat here was much less
than tropical. I shivered involuntarily and the doctor looked at me with concern.

"You are cold, Brendan?"

"A little, sir," I replied, my shivers caused more by the way my name rolled off his
tongue than the air. He knelt and lighted the fire that had been laid in the grate. He
motioned me over to him and I stood in front of him, facing the fire as he began stroking
my torso.

The doctor's hands were huge, the backs corded with tendon and veins, sprinkled with
short, crisply-curling brown hairs. As he rubbed my chest and belly, I pressed back
against him, feeling the muscles in his own body flex and shift as he chafed the warmth
back into me. Within minutes, with the help of the doctor and the fire, my skin was
glowing a ruddy pink.

"There. That's better, isn't it?" I turned around and smiled at him, my hands touching
lightly against his chest. He smiled back and didn't push me away. "Come, Brendan. We
will begin."

I followed him across the room to an examining table in front of a bank of three high
windows. He drew back the drapes and the sunlight flooded down onto the worn leather
surface of the table. I sat perched on the edge while he tested my reflexes and examined
my ears and throat. Then he had me lay back and began a thorough examination of my body
from head to toe.

"Perfect skin," he muttered, rubbing his hand on my belly. "Soft as silk and not a trace
of hair. We'll keep it that way, Brendan," he continued, his hand splayed on my chest.
"When I have finished, you will be irresistible. Total and complete perfection." I
looked into his eyes. They were gleaming with inspiration—or madness. Still, I had to
trust someone in this strange place, and the doctor was so kind, so understanding—so
handsome.

He walked over to a tall cabinet at the end of the table. When he turned around, he held
a syringe in his hand, needle pointing up. He pushed the plunger until a few drops
spurted out the tip of the needle, then walked over to me.

"Do you fear the needle, Brendan?" I shook my head in the negative. He smiled at me.
"Make a fist." I did as he asked and he stuck the needle painlessly into my arm. No
sooner was the needle withdrawn than I began to feel a prickling sensation along my
arm that soon spread to the rest of my body.

"I...I feel strange, Doctor Marriot."

"Nothing to worry about, Brendan. Just the drug entering your system. No harm will
come to you. Remember, I promised. Just relax now." I laid there while he injected
another syringe in my other arm. The prickly sensation increased and I felt incredibly
energized. The doctor stood beside me and stroked my body until I purred.

"No!" I shouted, sitting up abruptly and covering my crotch with my hands. "What are
you doing?"

"Brendan, please be calm. I promised not to hurt you."

"No shots there," I replied, looking at him apprehensively. He had been preparing to
inject something into the shaft of my cock—some pale blue liquid in the syringe he held
in his right hand. Instead of becoming angry, Doctor Marriot merely shook his head and
put the syringe back on a tray at the foot of the examining table.

"Let me show you something," he said, standing near the table and unfastening his pants.
They slipped down over his lean, tightly muscled thighs and my eyes grew wide. "I was
the same size as you before I began treating myself, Brendan. You see, I wouldn't use
anything on you that I feared to use on myself." He had the most beautiful cock, a long,
thick cylinder of flesh that hung heavily between his legs. The shaft was easily twice
the width of mine, and twice as long as well. A fat vein shot down the center of it,
splitting in two near the head, one branching into his foreskin, the other curving
around the massive tube and out of sight. A pair of fat balls dangled behind it, drooping
almost to the tip.

"You did that with your drugs?" I asked, amazed. He nodded and leaned forward slightly,
the back of his dick brushing lightly against my thigh. "Yes, Brendan."

"Can I touch it?" He nodded and I reached down and traced the vein from his bush down
to his come-hole. The doctor groaned and his eyelids fluttered shut. He reached down,
scooped his massive tool up in nis hand and let it flop on my thigh. It landed heavily,
pulsing hot against my flesh.

"Let me show you how easy it is," he murmured. He picked up the syringe and injected its
contents into the fat vein pulsing along the back of his piece. It twitched and began to
stiffen, growing thicker as the blood rushed into it, making it rockhard in seconds.
Now will you let me inject you?"

"Yes," I gasped, watching, fascinated as the crimson head began pushing out of its
cover, pressing hot and sticky against my skin. I felt a slight prick, and then my
groin was flooded with warmth. My dick began to go hard and was soon hovering above
my belly, swollen full and tight.

"The erection is the only side effect," Doctor Marriot explained, his voice suddenly
hoarse. "It only lists until you ejaculate."

"I can help you," I offered eagerly, suddenly overcome by my lust. The doctor nodded
and I scrambled into my hands and knees, swallowing his mammoth hard-on in one gulp.
He thrust his hips forward and began stroking my head and shoulders as I sucked
frantically on his cock.

The doctor shrugged his lab coat off and peeled out of his T-shirt, revealing a
sculpted torso with no body hair to hide any of the exquisite detail. He was muscular
without the bulk of the other men I had encountered, his faintly bronzed skin gleaming
with vitality. Veins ran up across his forearms, over his biceps and up onto his squared
shoulders. Another pulsed over the rippled wall of his washboard abs. I traced it with
my fingers, from his glossy pubes up to the rise of his chest. I brushed the thick point
of his left tit and the doctor's cock knob swelled so big it almost choked me. I came up
off of him and looked up into his face. His eyes were closed and his mouth was open,
obviously savoring every little wiggle of my tongue.

"Doctor," I asked after I had licked my way over every surface of his throbbing mantool.
"Will you fuck me?" I blushed when I spoke the words, but the mere thought made my
asshole tingle in anticipation.

"Whatever would please you, Brendan," he replied, scooping me up off the table in his
arms and carrying me across the room. He tossed a pillow off one of the chairs and laid
me down on the carpet. I rolled over and thrust my ass up, frantic to feel him pistoning
his prick inside of me. The doctor got down on the floor with me, straddled me and braced
his hands on either side of my head. I reached back and grabbed his stiffer, guiding it
to the target.

I peeled his knob bare and pressed it against my hole. The doctor sighed softly as he sank
deep into me. He hesitated more than once to skewer me to the hilt, but I kept thrusting
my ass up, impaling myself deeper and deeper until his bush was scratching my asscheeks
and his huge nuts were rolling against mine.

"You're so tight and deep," the doctor whispered, nuzzling my ear. "You will conquer any
man who comes in your path, Brendan. Any man." He pressed his lips to my neck and began
pumping, fucking me with long, slow thrusts, plumbing the depths of my channel, then
pulling out till I was gaping and empty, whimpering for him to put it back in me and fill
me up.

I lay there passively, staring into the fire's glowing coals, savoring his weight on top
of me and the delicious friction in my ass. I wasn't just feeling it in my bowels or in
my cock and balls—I felt it all over. My whole body tingled, thrilling with the ecstatic
little rushes that shot through me whenever his big dick raked against something up in
me, something that curled my toes.

"What is it, doctor?" I groaned, trembling as his crown raked the spot again. "I feel
it all over when you jo that."

"Your prostate, Brendan. A man's pleasure spot, guaranteed to be connected to every
nerve in your body." He chuckled softly and began battering the place he'd named, making
me jerk and twitch under him. At one point I reared up under him, lifting him up onto
his haunches, leaning back against him, and pulling his arms tight around me. My own
strength surprised me.

Then I fisted my cock and felt another surge of surprise. Perhaps it was my imagination,
but it felt bigger to me, the shaft thicker, harder, filling my palm, making me squeeze
tight to get my fingers to meet on the other side. I began jerking it, matching his rhythm
inside of me.

He was pumping faster now, deep, jarring thrusts that lifted me up onto my knees. I pushed
my ass back, wanting to feel all of him up in me, not wasting even one throbbing inch of
his power.

The doctor began groaning, squeezing me so tight I could hardly breathe. His breath was
hot on my back, the slapping of his pelvis against my asscheeks becoming louder and more
frantic as he pushed himself over the top. His big balls slapped against mine one last
time and I felt the heat shooting out of him, pumping his potency up my hole in thick,
hot waves. I started shooting as well, striping the carpet with my jism. It seemed to
pump out of me faster and longer than it had ever done before. I laid at least six lines
on the rug before I started to dribble, the last of my spunk puddling between my tensed
thighs.

When we were done, the doctor just held me, rocking slightly, his dick still thrust in me
to the hilt. My head rolled back against his shoulder and I closed my eyes, perfectly
content, feeling no need to be anywhere but in his strong, comforting arms. For this moment,
at least, the Brentwood Academy seemed a much less frightening place.

After we had finally, reluctantly, uncoupled, Doctor Marriot escorted me to my
quarters. We climbed the broad staircase in the entry hall to the second floor,
then took a second, enclosed stairway up to the third rloor, which had obviously
once served as quarters for the servants. I assumed we had arrived at our destination,
but the doctor motioned for me to follow through yet another door. This revealed a
narrow winding stairway that led up into the attics of the great house.

"I hope this suits you, Brendan," Doctor Marriot said, stroking my shoulders gently.
"Rather spartan, but the beds are comfortable enough. Besides, you will spend the
majority of your time in the...uh, shall we say, classrooms." I looked up at him
sharply, but could not determine his meaning from his guarded expression.

"Everything is satisfactory, sir," I replied, looking around the single large room
that occupied the area under the rafters. Originally intended only for storage, the
space had been rough-plastered and bare pine planks covered the floor. The narrow
windows set into the roof dormers were, I noticed, barred as heavily as the windows
on the lower floors. No one would be likely to break into the Brentwood Academy—or
out of it.

There were a dozen narrow iron bedsteads placed around the room, with an equal number
of chairs drawn up around a large table that stood in the far corner from the staircase.
That was all. There were no closets, no drawers, no shelves for personal possessions.
Of course, I had come to the Academy with nothing, so perhaps it was the same for all
the others.

"Where do I sleep, Doctor Marriot?" I asked, looking around at the identical beds.

"Come on, then, Brendan. Let's have a look." His arm tightened around my shoulders and
he led me over to the row of beds. As we approached, I noticed that there were small
plaques above each bed with carefully lettered pieces of pasteboard tucked into the
slots. Beginning on the left, I read the names of Rick, Patrice, Marcus, Hugh, Jack,
Juan...and finally Brendan. The plaques above the remaining five beds were blank.

"What about Joel?" I blurted impulsively, still wondering about the fate of that poor
fellow.

"There are alternate accommodations for some of the more troubled students," Doctor
Marriot admitted, looking troubled himself. His grip on my shoulder tightened again,
becoming almost painful. He pulled me around until I was pressed tight against his
hard body and looked me in the eyes. "You have nothing to worry about, Brendan. I am
in complete charge of your regimen here and I promise you that you will be perfect.
I won't let anything bad happen to you. You must believe that, Brendan." His hand
slipped up to my neck and his fingers tangled in my hair. "You are so handsome,
Brendan. God, you are handsome." The doctor's lips closed over mine and my tongue
shot instinctively into his hot mouth. His tongue twined around mine and I felt the
heat of lust start churning in my gut.

I slipped my arms around his waist and began humping his belly, but he stiffened and
pushed me away abruptly. "No, Brendan," he gasped, his big cock twitching around in
the leg of his trousers like a wild thing. "Not now. Not here. I must leave you now."

"When will I see you?" I asked, suddenly pained by the idea that he was planning to
go away.

"Every day, Brendan," he replied, smiling reassuringly. "I will be monitoring your
progress and giving you your vitamin injections everyday. You'll soon grow tired of
seeing me, Brendan."

"No, doctor," I retorted, shaking my head vehemently. "No, I don't think so." He
touched my cheek with his fingertips and hurried from the room.

After the doctor left me, I began pacing around the room, trying to sort out my
feelings. Although the episode with Joel and the leather-clad guards had upset me,
fear wasn't my overriding emotion. Perhaps it was the injections the doctor had
given me, or perhaps it was the overheated atmosphere of the place—the temperature
had been set so high that this room resembled a hothouse—but I was feeling almost
euphoric.

Just thinking about the impressive Mr. Black, the red-haired man in the examination
room, and especially about Doctor Marriot had given me a raging stiffer. My cock
thrust up from between my legs, the bloated knob on the end pointing high in the
air. I touched it and my whole body shook with pleasure. Perhaps it was only my
imagination, but when I stroked it from tip to balls and back, it seemed slightly
longer or thicker. I had doubted the doctor when he had told me that his prick was
once the size of mine, but maybe he had been telling the truth.

After what must have been my fifteenth circuit of the attic room, I threw myself
down on my bed and began jerking off. I closed my eyes and tried to conjure up
visions of Jeffers and Lefkos, but Doctor Marriot's face kept creeping into my
fantasy. I finally gave up and let my imagination take its own course, fantasizing
a torrid scene in a humid, tropic place, the good doctor kneeling between my out-
spread thighs, his throbbing cock firmly anchored in my ass.

I woke up when I heard voices in the stairwell. I barely had time to wrap myself
in my scanty strip of linen before a group of men began to file into the room.
There were six of them—one redhead, two blonds, a pale fellow with coal-black hair,
a Hispanic, and a tall black man, his gleaming skin as dark as the night that
pressed against the windows. All six of them were pumped up almost to the point
of absurdity, their pecs and biceps so massive they seemed ready to split the skin
stretched so tautly over them. The huge lumps in their groins were confined by the
same type of linen strip that I wore, the straining fabric barely able to contain
their cocks and balls.

"Well, what have we here?" the bigger of the two blond men said, swaggering over
to me and grabbing me by the arm. "Who are you, little Beauty?"

"Brendan Callan," I replied, trying not to cry out from the pain he was causing me.
"You're hurting my arm."

"Well, now, that's just too bad, pretty boy. I'm Hugh. I'm bigger and stronger and
meaner than anyone else around here, so I do just exactly what I want. Understand?"
He pulled me so close that I could smell his acrid, musky scent and feel the pale
gold fur on his chest tickling my cheek. I reached out and put my hand on his right
biceps. It was like a hot rock, yielding nothing.

Hugh abruptly released me and turned on the other men who stood a little behind him.
He reached out and grabbed the russet-furred one and the pale one with the dark hair
by the balls, slamming them together, back to back and lifting them off the floor.
"Who's the strongest stud here?" Hugh roared.

"You are!" they shrieked, their faces masks of agony. Hugh laughed cruelly and let
go of them. They slumped to the floor, groaning and cupping their bruised testicles.

Hugh then turned on the other blond fellow—a little shorter, not so heavily muscled,
and much handsomer—smashed his fists into his belly, then kicked him viciously in the
ribs when he fell to his knees. Hugh then snapped his fingers and the black man and
the Hispanic grabbed the blond's arms and dragged him over to one of the beds. They
threw him across it, face down, and Hugh strutted over to him, pulling off his linen
thong as he walked.

His enormous prick rose quickly to full erection as he looked down at the fallen blond.
The man on the bed looked over his shoulder at the fat, dripping sex weapon and moaned
fearfully. Hugh snarled at him and climbed on top of him, forcing his legs apart with
his knees.

"No! Please!" the blond screamed, but Hugh silenced him with a heavy fist in the ribs.
He grabbed his hard-on and began shoving it up the blond's tightly clenched little pink
asspucker, ignoring the young man's pleas for mercy. Hugh fucked the man brutally,
cramming in to the balls, then drawing out all the way, waiting until the gaping hole
had begun to close, then driving back in to the hilt again. The blond's hands clawed at
the bed covers, and his muscles knotted at every punishing stab up into his guts, but
he made no further protests.

In the meantime, the black man and the Hispanic had chosen their own victims. The black
man had claimed the redhead as his prize, grabbing him by the balls, dragging him across
to the table, and shoving him on it on his back. The man's head hung over the edge, his
mouth gaping. The black man freed his massive meat from his thong and began rubbing it
against the redhead's full lips. The redhead had one hand down between his legs, clutching
his enormous, ravaged testicles, but his tongue flickered out of his mouth and he began
licking the hooded knob on the black man's thick, heavily veined dick.

The black man raised his hands high over his head and brought them down on the redhead's
big chest. The sound of flesh smacking flesh rang out in the room like a shot and the
redhead let out a muffled cry. The black man latched onto his victim's nipples, pulling
and twisting them viciously. I could see the redhead's pecs flex as he began to writhe
on the table. Much to my surprise, I also saw his huge red prick begin to stretch up
along the washboard ridges of his gut. He gripped his cock in both hands and began
pumping it frantically, milking out big gobs of clear honey that hung in his belly hair
like gleaming dew.

The Hispanic knelt beside the pale, dark-haired man and began jamming his fingers up the
man's ass. He added finger after finger, finally slipping his thumb up into him as well.
Then he began making little punching motions, sinking his fist in deeper and deeper until
his entire hand disappeared. He continued pushing, not stopping until a good portion of
his muscle-corded forearm was buried deep in the pale man's body. The pale man lay
absolutely still, his fingers tugging at the points of his meaty tits. The Hispanic
began rubbing his vein-gnarled shaft against the inside of the other man's thigh, head
thrown back, his big dark eyes glazed with lust.

At first, I thought of running to get help, to do something to stop the carnage taking
place around me, but I soon discovered that there was no need. The Hispanic moved to
one side and I saw the pale one's hard-on, impossibly long, stretching up almost to the
deep valley between his massive, fuzz-dusted pecs. He put his hands behind his head and
forced his head and shoulders up off the floor. Then he began sucking on his own cock,
slurping away noisily as the Hispanic continued to plunder his ass with his fist and arm.

The redhead was now deep-throating the black man's mammoth organ, gurgling contentedly
as the long, black cylinder of flesh pumped in and out of his throat. His own prick, now
all fat and puffy, netted with blue and scarlet veins, lay against the lube-soaked mat
of copper fur on his concave gut, flopping around as the table rocked under the force of
the black man's thrusting. The black man looked at me, then leaned forward and began
licking the redhead's juicy man-thing, his long pink tongue curling around it like a
little snake.

I heard passionate groans and looked back to the bed where Hugh was still fucking the
smaller blond man. Hugh locked eyes with me, then reached under the other man and pulled
him up off the bed, his cock still deep in him. The smaller blond's dick was obviously
ready to explode. He winked at me and touched himself, letting fly with an enormous
stream of jism that splattered my chest and ran down over my belly. Another shot
followed, and then another, until I was criss-crossed with hot, white, ropy strands.

Suddenly the whole room was filled with moans and groans of ecstasy and the pungent
smell of come filled the air. It shot out of the black man, the redhead, the pale one,
the two blonds, the Hispanic man—all of them pumping out incredible quantities of the
stuff, blasting it out in high arcs that splattered the walls and shimmered on the rough
floor.

I didn't know what to make of any of it. Hadn't they all just been fighting? Beating
each other, the weaker submitting to the stronger? None of it made any sense to me.
Then again, nothing had made any real sense to me since the night I had been banished
from my father's house and turned over to Doctor Vandeveer.

My musings were cut short when the six men all stood up and began moving in on me,
quickly cornering me. I stood with my back to the wall, doing my best not to let
them see my terror. In spite of the fact that traces of their recent orgasms were
still bubbling out the tips of their cocks, not one of them had begun to go soft.
Their hard-ons all still bulged, pointing at me menacingly.

"Now it's your turn, Beauty," Hugh said, leering at me, licking his full lips.

"I have a name," I snapped back at him, irritated by being called "Beauty." "My name
is Brendan. Brendan Callan. If you're going to kill me, then you could at least call
me by name while you're doing it." It was a stupid thing to insist on, under the
cirstances, but something about the big blond—about Hugh—moved me to defiance.

Hugh stared at me intently for a few seconds, then his face broke into a big grin. He
bowed his head, as if in submission. "Very well, Brendan, please permit me to introduce
my merry little band. This is Rick..." The redhead stepped over to me and licked my
neck. I gasped in shock, although the sensation wasn't at all unpleasant. He rubbed
his hard body up against me and I could smell his powerful, musky scent. It tickled
in my nostrils and made my cock throb excitedly.

"This is Patrice." The black man grinned lewdly and flexed his pecs, making them dance
under his gleaming ebony skin. He stepped forward and my hands instinctively reached
out for him. His skin was hot and silky against my fingertips as I stroked his belly,
then down along the insides of his thighs. My knuckles brushed against the shaft of
his prick and before I could stop myself I had both hands on it, pulling back his
foreskin to bare the delicate pink knob on the end. Patrice pinched my left tit,
then stepped back out of reach.

Hugh licked his lips and gestured to another of my new companions. "This little fox
is Jack." Jack, the smaller blond came over, grabbed me by the waist and began humping
my belly. His big cock got even stiffer—just as mine was doing—and almost immediately
began leaking sticky liquid that drooled down into my pubes. I put my hands on his
shoulders to steady myself and his deltoids popped up like rocks. Our lips brushed
together and his tongue snaked into my mouth.

"Come, come," Hugh protested, pulling Jack away from me. "There'll be plenty of time
to sample all of us soon. I haven't finished my introductions yet, Brendan." He
grabbed the Hispanic's balls and pulled them out in front of the man in a shiny brown
knot. "Come on, Brendan, take them. Juan loves having his balls played with." I obeyed,
gripping the fat, heavy orbs in my fist and squeezing them gently. Juan bared his perfect
teeth and growled at me like a cat in heat.

"And last, but certainly not least, this is Marcus." The pale man nodded and spun around.
He bent over, planted his hands on the full globes of his firm ass and pulled them wide
apart. His dusky brown pucker winked at me, then began to dilate, expanding until I could
see the rich damask pink of his ass channel. "Stick a finger in him, Brendan. See what
happens." I blushed, but inserted my forefinger up to the webbing. Marcus' hole clamped
down on me like a vise, squeezing my finger tight.

"So, Brendan, you can see we're not such a bad crew. Which of these gorgeous pricks do you
want to have punched up your hot little shithole first?" I scanned the group warily. All
their dicks were wet and throbbing, ready for action. I had no hope of escape and no doubt
that Hugh had been dead serious with his most recent question. I was obviously going to be
fucked by all six men—and I realized that I wanted them all desperately. To be perfectly
honest, I was aching for sex. My asshole twitched at the thought and my prick was so hard
that it was poking me in the gut.

My eyes swept the circle of flesh for the third or forth time, then I stepped over to
Hugh and tangled my fingers in the golden silk that covered his pecs. My thumbs found
the swollen points of his pink tits and I began rubbing gently. "I'll take you, Golden
Boy." I growled, looking deep into his cobalt eyes.

"Excellent choice," Hugh rumbled, cupping my asscheeks in his big hands. One of his
fingers grazed the pucker of my hole and he worked it up inside of me. "You think you
can take it?" I reached down between his and took a quick measure of his equipment.
He was massive, but after the mighty Lefkos, Joel, and Doctor Marriot, big cocks held
no terrors for me.

"I can take it," I boasted. "The question is, can you use it properly?" Hugh's cheeks
flushed and he picked me up and tossed me over his shoulder.

"I'll show you how it's done," he snarled, striding over to one of the beds and dumping
me on it. I landed on my hands and knees and Hugh climbed in behind me, forcing my legs
apart with his thick thighs. The dense fuzz on his legs tickled me and I shivered giddily.
I looked over my shoulder at Hugh. He was staring at my ass, licking his lips. I wiggled
my butt and his mammoth hard-on rose up and slapped his muscle-knotted torso. The cherry
red knob on the end stretched high above his navel. The slit in the tip gaped and honey
burbled out, then began drooling down along the veiny shaft. My ass channel tingled in
anticipation of the imminent invasion.

He hawked a wad of spit on my hole and smeared it across the quivering flesh, then gripped
his cock and choked it. The head flared and the shaft got even thicker. I braced my hands
out in front of me on the bed and waited for him to mount. He smacked my cheeks with his
hot poker and rubbed it up and down in my crack until I couldn't take it any more.

"Fuck me!" I begged. "Put it in me, damn you. I want it now!" Hugh chuckled throatily
and I felt his hot knob pulsing against my chute lips. He applied a little pressure and
his knob popped into me, stretching me wide. I dropped my head and looked back along my
torso. Beyond my stiff cock and tightly knotted balls, I could see Hugh's nuts, big as
tennis balls, hanging heavy, haloed by golden down. He shifted his knees and the fat orbs
swayed lazily back and forth between his thighs.

I waited for his first powerful thrust, but Hugh didn't move. Maybe he was teasing me, or
perhaps he just liked the sensation of my ass muscle spasming against his dick trigger.
Whatever his reason, I was too hungry to wait for it any longer. I tensed my body and
pushed back. Our mingled cries filled the air as his hard-on began pushing into me,
filling my channel, warming me to the very core. I bit my lip and kept pushing, not
stopping until my ass smacked against his narrow hips. I could feel him deep up in me,
his knob throbbing near my pounding heart.

"Good man. Brendan," Hugh grunted, smacking me on both cheeks with his big hands. "You
were born to ride cock. Jesus!" He started humping, his huge knob mashing that thing up
in me that Doctor Marriot had called my prostate. Every touch sent thrills of pleasure
from my head to my toes.

I looked up and saw that the others had all crowded around my head, hip to hip, their
raging hard-ons all touching, knob to knob. I looked from man to man, awed by their
bodies. They were all packed with tight, hard muscle, networked by prominent veins
that throbbed in unison with their bouncing pricks. Was it possible that the herbal
drinks and vitamins that I had hegun taking earlier would have the same results on my
slender frame? I doubted it, but what a thing to hope for!

"Suck us, man," Juan coaxed, thrusting his hips forward slightly. The tip of his prick
burned against my cheek, leaving a sticky wet spot behind.

"Yeah, Brendan, show us what you can do with this hole," Marcus teased, rubbing his
fingertip across my lips. I nodded, the intense feelings that Hugh's churning dick
was generating making it impossible for me to speak.

All five men crowded closer and I took a swipe at them, my tongue sliding over five hot
cock knobs, two of them hooded. Juan was on the far left and I capped his piece first,
nipping the big, spongy glans, making his strong thighs tense. He ran his fist down the
shaft, milking himself, flooding my mouth with his salty lube.

I ran my tongue around the ridge of his crown a few times, then moved to the next man.
This was Jack, the other blond. His head was smaller than Juan's blunt snout, a delicate
pink arrowhead perched on a shaft as thick as my wrist. My tongue curled along the
underbelly of his meat and I felt his juicetube bulge as he, too, poured his juice into
my mouth. He tasted sweeter than Juan, like some wild, sexy honey was being produced by
the nuts swinging between his legs.

I was enjoying his taste so much—not to mention being so totally blissed out by the
pounding my ass was taking—that Marcus had to twine his fingers in my hair and pull me
over to his own vein-gnarled stalk. Juice was pouring out of him, puddling on the floor
beside the bed. His knob was big and flattish, like a large mushroom. When I kissed his
comehole, he lunged forward, sheathing the entire bulging length of his meat deep in my
throat.

My hands shot out and I grabbed his hips, not to push him away, but to keep him where he
was, his prick throbbing mightily. I gripped his hard ass and began digging my fingers
into his crack, remembering how good it had felt the first time I had invaded his channel.
He grunted and began stroking my neck.

Hugh's humping had become frantic, losing its rhythm. Suddenly he stopped and waves of
heat began flowing into my fuckhole as he pumped his jism up my ass channel. It gushed
up into me like water out of a hose, oozing out around the plug of his cock and running
down the insides of my thighs. I ground my butt against him, savoring the raunchy intimacy.

Hugh sank back on his haunches, his dick sliding out of me. I felt empty, but only for an
instant. Juan left the little crowd at my head and quickly took his place, sliding easily
up my well-lubed chute. He fucked in short jabbing strokes, pumping a few times, drawing
out till his knob pulsed against my ring, then slamming back into me up to the hilt.

I came up off of Marcus and turned my attention to Patrice. The shaft of his big black
dick curved up, arced like a bow, giving his hooded knob the look of a cobra poised to
strike. I strained forward, tongued his big balls, then began licking up along the
bloated underbelly of his piece. As I traced a big vein that ran alongside his juicetube,
his meat got harder and the curve in it became more pronounced. When I was back at the
tip, it had grown at least another inch, peeling the cowl back and baring the head. It
perched there like a shiny pink helmet, a strong contrast to the dusky shaft, obviously
aching to be sucked.

Just as I began tonguing the tender flesh, Juan's balls banged against mine a final time
and he jerked his dick out of me, spewing his thick white ball cream all over Patrice's
ebony torso. The come drooled down in pale ivory rivulets which Marcus and Rick licked
away greedily. Cheated of that load, I went to work on Patrice, pumping my head back and
forth as I began blowing him.

Marcus mounted me before my gaping asshole had managed to clench down again. The tip of
his dick tickled my asslips, then he plugged me deep and fell on top of me, wrapping his
arms around my chest as he started fucking me. His balls swung up and smacked my cock
on every stroke. I loved the feeling so much that I pushed one hand back between my legs
and grabbed them, pulling the hot hairy bag of eggs up and rubbing it against my aching
dick. The harder I stretched the long cords his bails hung on, the harder he pumped, so
I pulled on them with all my strength.

Patrice's hips were slamming against my face, driving his hard-on down my throat, then
slipping it out till his knob rested against my quivering lips. Rick, the big redhead,
was getting impatient, but Patrice wouldn't move, so Rick wedged in and began humping my
face alongside Patrice. I watched the two cocks—one black, the other scarlet—as they
alternately slid down my throat, then pulled back, waiting while the other probed deep.
Keeping one hand tight on Marcus' balls, I reached up with the other and latched onto
Rick's tangled russet belly fur. The wall of muscle beneath it flexed into hard ridges
every time he crammed his meat down my throat, then relaxed as he pulled back into the
clear.

Another wave of come laved my bowels, then Patrice left Rick in sole possession of my
throat so that he could take his turn fucking my aching ass. The others crowded in all
around me, Marcus, Juan, and Jack humping their hard-ons against my sides while Hugh
began spanking me, his hard hand raining heavy blows down on my sweat-slick ass.

I thought Rick was going to come in my mouth, judging by the way his cock flexed in my
throat, but Patrice blew his load up my chute and stepped away just in time for Rick to
plow my ass a dozen strokes before he, too, dumped the scorching contents of his nuts up
my hole. After he had stopped shooting, he scooped me up in his arms, buried his face
in my crotch and swallowed my cock and my balls. His hot tongue swirled around the tender
swollen flesh and I stiffened in his arms and came hard, my whole body shaking with the
intensity of my orgasm.

"Well done, Brendan," Hugh said afterwards, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "You
show real promise."

"Thanks," I groaned, barely able to speak. Rick was still holding me in his arms and I
nuzzled against his bulging pecs. His thick pink tit brushed my lips and I began suckling
it like a hungry baby. It was mad, but his smell and taste made me horny all over again.

"Brendan!" I looked over at Hugh. "In honor of your first night here, you can choose the
bottom for our next round." He scratched at his crotch and I saw he was still fully erect,
his prick drooling.

Rick put me down and I stood there, studying them. "I choose...you, Hugh. You can be the
bottom." Hugh glared at me angrily, but the others closed in on him. Patrice slipped his
arm around Hugh's neck and pinned him while Marcus and Juan began slamming their fists
into Hugh's belly. The big blond struggled, but Jack got him by the balls and pulled him
roughly to his knees. The men wrestled him to the floor and he finally gave in, screaming
curses, his golden-furred ass sticking high in the air. I sat on the edge of a bed and
watched as Patrice mounted him, spearing him to the hilt in one brutal thrust. I could
feel my cock jerk against my palm as it began to stiffen in my hand.

Chapter 5​

Too many characters in length for posting - -- please download the ZIP

Several disturbing occurrences during the next two weeks weighed heavily on my
mind. Within two days of his arrival, Warren's treatments were taken over by
Doctor Vandeveer. By the end of the first week, Warren's muscles were developing
at a remarkable rate and his chest and belly were covered with a downy mat of dark
fur. His cock had grown rapidly as well, his six-inch handle stretching to ten
inches in less than a week. He had lost his aversion to the other men and was
constantly begging to be fucked. At night, after the lights were out, he whimpered
and moaned like a cat in heat until Hugh stole an enormous, battery-powered dildo
from Mr. Black and crammed it deep in Warren's insatiable ass.

Rick, who had become increasingly irrational, even having difficulty speaking,
simply failed to return to the room one evening. No one had heard chat he was
scheduled to leave us and Juan whispered that he had been taken to the dungeon.
When I questioned him, he could only tell me that he had overheard two guards
talking about a disturbance in the gymnasium. From what the men had said, Juan
suspected that there were others locked away as well. He knew nothing about the
location of this alleged dungeon, so Rick's actual fate remained a mystery.

Most disturbing to me was the behavior of Doctor Marriot. He still saw me everyday,
but he was distracted. He denied that anything was troubling him when I questioned
him about it, but I could sense his anxiety. He rarelv left his office and seemed
to be afraid for me when I wasn't with him. Our lovemaking became increasingly
frantic and he watched my body and my vital signs obsessively, examining me thoroughly
every day. When I asked the reason for this, he wouldn't talk about it.

Then one evening after my martial arts class had ended, I was called to Doctor Vandeveer's
office. Since our initial meeting, I had seen very little of the director of Brentwood
Academy. He had left me in Doctor Marriot's care and had shown no interest in my progress.
It was with some trepidation, then, that I walked down the long hallway to his office
and laboratory, accompanied by three prod-wielding guards. They didn't follow me inside
the office, but I had a strong suspicion that they would remain on call outside the door.

Doctor Vandeveer was seated at a huge oak desk with a marble copy of Michelangelo's
David on one corner. I glanced at the manila folder that was open in front of him and
spied my name on the upper corner of the paper he was scanning. He saw me looking and
quickly closed the folder.

There were two men seated across the desk from him. The elder of the two—a silver-haired
bureaucratic type in his mid-fifties—turned and looked at me appraisingly. His eyes scanned
my nearly naked frame, then he turned back to Doctor Vandeveer.

"This is Brendan Callan," the doctor said, not so much introducing me as identifying me.
The man made no move to acknowledge me, so I didn't speak.

"A handsome specimen," the silver-haired man admitted. "I assume he is fully functional?
His brain has not been adversely affected?"

"Of course not." Doctor Vandeveer said, a bit nervously, I thought. "No problems at all."

"That is what you claimed about the others," the silver-haired man retorted. "They were
totally useless for our purposes." He turned and looked at me again. His eyes were cold
and dead. He frightened me. "This one looks more normal than the others. You appear to
have avoided the excesses in the anatomical development of this one. Quite unlike the
others, I might add."

"I assure you, Mr...."

"Please!" The man held up his hand and his name died in Vandeveer's mouth.

"Yes. Of course," Vandeveer continued, flushing at the man's implied rebuke. "Absolute
discretion." He stood and retrieved a small case from the cabinet behind his desk. "You
will, of course, desire a small demonstration?"

"That's why we're here, Vandeveer," the silver-haired man retorted, somewhat contemptuously,
I thought. "I sincerely hope you aren't wasting our valuable time. There won't be another
opportunity, I can assure you of that."

"Brendan, come here please." Doctor Vandeveer turned his attention back to me. I saw the
syringe in his right hand, the needle dripping a clear fluid, and my chest tightened.

"Doctor Marriot monitors all of the injections," I protested. The truth was, I didn't trust
Vandeveer. I had seen what happened to the men under his care and had no desire to end up
like them.

"My dear boy." Doctor Vandeveer approached me, smiling with his mouth only. There was cold
fury glinting in his eyes. He put his left hand on my shoulder and dropped his voice to a
whisper. "If you don't cooperate with me fully, I'll have to send you out for a little
session with the guards. Do you have any idea of the pain they can inflict on your exquisite
body, Callan?" I nodded. I knew all too well what they could do. "I'm not going to hurt you.
I just want to demonstrate to our guests a drug I've been perfecting. Don't worry, it won't
spoil your beautiful face or your physique. The effects are temporary, if quite dramatic.
I promise you, you'll feel nothing but intense pleasure and a heightening of your senses."

"Yes," I muttered, my voice shaky and strained.

"Excellent. Turn around please." I obeyed and turned my back to the doctor. He swabbed
my left ass-cheek with a piece of alcohol-soaked cotton, then smacked it with his open
palm, making the muscle flex. "A beautiful piece of work, is he not?" the doctor said,
jabbing me with the needle. I looked over my shoulder and saw him push the plunger,
pumping his mysterious drug into me.

I felt nothing at first. Then my skin began to tingle slightly and my limbs were flooded
with warmth. I was aware of a faint buzzing in my ears, like a lazy fly droning in the
summer sun, but noticed no other ill effects. To the contrary, I felt good, almost
euphoric—and incredibly horny. I turned back around and put my hands on my hips. I
tensed my muscles, exhilarated by the size and power of my body. My nostrils flared as
I became aware of a pungent, musky scent, distinctively male. It seemed to come from me,
reeking of raw sexuality I sniffed the air, trembling in anticipation.

"Carter!" The silver-haired man had turned to his companion. Until now. I had seen nothing
of this one but a pair of legs. When he stood and faced his superior, my groin began to burn
with desire. He was a tall man with auburn hair and open, boyish features. His eyes were
blue and his prominent beak of a nose jutted out over full, sensual, pale pink lips. His
jaw was strong and his neck was thick. Even under the boxy suit he wore, I sensed a power
in him. He looked at me and sneered, then turned back to the silver-haired man.

"What do you want, sir?" he asked, his deep voice deferential, but wary.

"I want you to accompany this young man into the doctor's observation room."

"I...I'd rather not do that, sir," Carter replied, glancing over at me again. "This kind of
thing doesn't interest me."

"I'm not concerned with your interests, Carter," the silver-haired man snapped acidly. "I
only want you to do your job. Your job is to do exactly as I tell you. You aren't afraid of
him, are you? After all, you are a grown man, fully capable of protecting yourself. He's a
mere boy of eighteen."

"He doesn't look it," Carter objected. "He's some genetically engineered freak, and I..."

"Carter!" The silver-haired man's tone was harsh. "Do as you are told. Now!"

"Yes, sir." Carter glared at me again. He picked up a heavy brass ashtray from a table near
his chair and calmly folded it in half. He set it back down carefully and followed Doctor
Vandeveer over to a door behind the desk. The doctor motioned to me and I walked across the
room, every muscle in my body quivering with power and energy. I was also intensely aware
of my cock and balls, could feel them hanging heavy and potent between my thighs. I stared
at Carter's broad back, wanting to see him naked, wanting to have him, wanting him to want
me.

The room Doctor Vandeveer put us in was small— no more than ten by twelve feet—and bare.
There was a large mirror on the wall adjoining his office which I suspected was a one-way
glass to allow Vandeveer and the silver-haired man to watch what transpired. The walls were
padded, covered in canvas. The floor was similarly padded—somewhat like a cell for the
hopelessly, violently insane. The lights were concealed behind opaque glass panels in the
ceiling. When the door closed behind us, I noticed that there was no handle on the inside.

Carter stood in one corner, staring sullenly at the floor. I stood opposite him, leaning
back against the wall, waiting. The room was hot, the air humid like a tropical jungle.
Even standing without exerting myself, sweat was beginning to bead up on my skin, running
rivulets down my neck and sides. I stretched my arms high over my head and flexed my muscles,
reveling in the barely controlled power pulsing beneath my skin.

When I looked at Carter, I saw that he was watching me. He sniffed the air and his nose
seemed to twitch. The scent rising off my body was stronger now, almost overpowering in
the confines of the stuffy room. I had no doubt that Carter could smell it and I wondered
what his reaction would be.

He was feeling the heat as well. Sweat was beading on his forehead and his pale blue shirt
was rapidly darkening around the bright red strip of his tie. He stuck a finger in his
collar and tugged at it impatiently. After dabbing at his face with a handkerchief for a
few minutes, he irritably shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it on the floor.

"Hot," I commiserated. "I'm burning up, and I'm naked. You must be stifling."

"Unh," he grunted, still not looking at me—at least not when I looked at him. I had caught
him staring at me more than once. Was it out of interest or apprehension?

We stood, facing off from our opposite corners, for another period of time, during which
Carter shed his tie, his shoes and socks, then finally his shirt. His body-was impressive—
hard and tight like mine—dusted with a delectable layer of copper-colored fur. He had the
type of body that could have been skinny if he hadn't spent long hours working on it,
refining the hard planes and angles until he had brought it all under his control. His pecs
were tight and squared, not massive, but obviously pumped to their maximum capacity. His
belly ridges were cut as deeply as mine and his lats flared from his narrow waist to his
armpits, clearly outlined under his pale skin. His arms, although not as massive as mine,
were knotted with muscle, the biceps curving out full and thick even when his arms hung
loose at his sides. I had seen his display of strength in the doctor's office. I knew what
he could do with those arms and those large, thick-fingered hands. And yet, I was curious
as to what he might still do with them once he was conquered and under my power. And I
sensed that he would soon be in my power, even if he didn't know it yet himself.

Finally he broke the silence, "Uh...you got good arms, kid." I looked Carter in the eyes
and smiled at him. I flexed my right arm and his eyelids fluttered slightly. "What the hell
did they do to you anyway?"

"Exercise and vitamins," I replied, turning my head and languidly licking a trickle of
sweat off the curve of my biceps. "You can touch me, if you like. I don't bite. Mr. Carter."

"I...I...hell, I don't know if I want to get that close. You...you're supposed to be
dangerous."

"More vulnerable than dangerous," I replied, shifting my feet and spreading my legs
slightly. My balls swayed heavily between my thighs. "I saw the ashtray. I think you're
more dangerous than I am."

"I just didn't want you to get any funny ideas. I'm straight. I don't want some fucking
freak trying to have sex with me. I've been here before and weird shit goes down here."

"I'm not a freak," I protested, stung by his words. "I'm not."

"Hey, I'm sorry. No, you're not a freak." Carter had left his corner and was walking
across to me. "You're a good-looking dude. Not like the others I saw."

"Touch me," I sighed when he stood in front of me. He hesitated, his hand hovering in
the air between us. I knotted my biceps with all my strength, popping veins out over
the surface. He reached for me and his fingertips brushed my skin.

"Christ! It's hard as a rock." His fingers slipped up over the swollen curve, tightening
like a vise. His hand bristled with pale, reddish blond hairs. His grip loosened and his
hand moved over my shoulder, across my bulging deltoid and down to the rise of my chest.

"Oh, yes," I moaned when his calloused thumb grazed my nipple. It sprang up in a hard
point at his touch. He pinched it firmly and tugged, making my body jolt with pleasure.

"I...I shouldn't be doing this." Carter eyed me, licking his lips nervously.

"Why not?" I countered. "It feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yeah. I...I guess so." He shook his head, but didn't take his hand away.

"That feels so good," I whispered as his knuckles trailed down over my belly. I looked at
the man. He was staring intently at my pecs. "Lick me," I urged. "Suck my tits. Please."
His jaw tightened, then he leaned forward and his pink tongue flickered out like a snake's.
The point of it made contact for just an instant and I heard the man groan. "Suck it," I
whispered. "Suck it."

His mouth closed over my nipple and I shivered with pleasure when I felt the gentle suction.
The fire in my gut blazed up and my balls shifted in their pouch. I bit my lower lip,
willing myself not to go hard.

I wanted him to make me hard—to bring my prick to throbbing life with his hands. I wanted
this heterosexual male to seduce me, to crouch down and suck my dick, then beg me to push
it up inside of his hot unplumbed asshole and fuck the come out of him.

When I touched his belt, his hands clamped down on my wrists, but he didn't prevent me
from unbuckling the belt and tugging down the zipper. His pants fell around his ankles
and he kicked them aside. I pushed his briefs down onto his thighs and cupped his bare
ass in both hands. His cheeks were firm and slightly furry, knotting like rocks as I
stroked them. I pulled him close, feeling his cock hot against my thigh.

Carter gasped when I slipped a hand between his legs and cupped his balls. His dick
pressed against the skin on my wrist, twitching slightly when I squeezed his nuts. I
rubbed his fuzzy gut with my other hand, tracing the ridges of his abs with my fingers.

"Touch my cock," I whispered, tugging playfully at the fur curling around his navel.
Carter stepped away from me and wiped his mouth on his forearm. His blue eyes were
glittering and his face was flushed.

"You're hung. I'll give you that. I've never touched another man's dick before."

"Or licked him, or sucked his tits?" I smiled at him lasciviously. "Go on, Carter.
Touch it. Make it hard. Then we can play with it. I know you want to. See how big you
can make it."

"Fucker!" he snapped. He stared at my prick, then got a firm two-handed grip on it.
It stiffened instantly, the blood rushing into it so fast it made me dizzy. "It's
fucking huge!" he muttered to himself, squeezing so tight that I winced. Honey bubbled
out the tip, coating his knuckles. He raised his hand to his lips, lapping at the clear
goo I had pumped out.

"Shit!" he groaned, his Adam's apple bobbing convulsively. "I...I can't...oh God!" He
dropped to his knees and began jacking me off with both hands, eagerly gobbling the
viscous lube that poured out of me. I thrust my hips forward, content to stand there
and let him worship my manhood.

Instinct made up for lack of experience—if, as he claimed, he really had never touched
another man. His hot tongue curled around my cock knob and slithered along the sides
of my shaft from crown ridge to pubes. When he finally released his grip on me, my cock
slapped up against my belly and stayed there, head flared, veins bulging like cables.

"My balls," I groaned. "Lick my balls, man." He obeyed, soaking the bag with spit,
then opening wide and sucking one of the come-bloated orbs into his mouth. My thighs
and calves tensed as I rose up onto my toes, transported by the heat and silky pressure
of his mouth. He sucked hard, stretching my ballcord till I felt a dull ache in my groin.

I was clawing at the padded walls by the time he let my nut pop free and went after my
prick again. He licked it up to the tip, then capped it and began sucking, forcing inch
after inch of the rigid horn of flesh down his tight throat. His teeth scraped the broad
back of the shaft at first, then he learned to cover his teeth with his lips and his
blowjob became a paradise of moist heat.

When he finally came up off me, his eyes were watering, his nose was running, and strands
of spit and lube hung from his chin. He was mine now, to do with as I chose. I pulled him
to his feet, then sank down on my haunches to service him. His prick was at the rubbery
stage—full-grown but not quite hard. I nuzzled the hooded tip, teasing his knob till it
began to swell and peek out of his foreskin. I nipped the loose skin with my teeth and
shook my head back and forth. Carter's thighs tensed and his furry balls began climbing
the cords.

After I had coaxed his knob out into the clear, I lunged forward, taking him to the hilt.
His fat piece plugged my throat nice and tight, flexing and twitching eagerly. I began
tickling his balls, gradually moving back over the perineal area to the lips of his
manhole. He groaned when I touched the funky little pucker and the pouty lips guarding
it snapped tightly shut.

"No," he whimpered, his hands fluttering back to protect his asshole, to keep it virgin.
I merely sucked harder, using my free hand to stroke his inner thighs and the tender
flesh of his belly and sides as I continued to poke at his rear entry. When I put my
hand in the crook of his knee and began raising his leg, he made no protest.

With his cheeks pulled apart. Carter was defenseless. I spat out his hard-on and burrowed
between his legs, cramming my tongue deep up into him before he knew what was happening.
His fists crashed against my shoulders, but the blow was not repeated. Instead his hands
clasped behind my neck and he pulled me closer, urging me to wedge into him even deeper.

"What do you want?" I asked, looking up along his sweat-streaked torso. His chest was
heaving and a branching vein was spread out like a fan over his concave gut. "Tell me
what you want."

"I don't know what you mean," Carter panted, his head rolling from side to side as I
began sticking fingers up his slippery bung. First one, then two, three and four digits
punched through his ring, wiggling around in the tight little tunnel, stretching his
sphincter.

"Tell me," I insisted, pushing my hand up until he rose on his toes. All four fingers
were in him up to the webbing, and his ring was spasming. I pumped my hand again. "Tell
me."

"I...I want..." Carter looked down at the bloated column of flesh rising up against my
belly, the flaring knob extending inches beyond my navel. I grinned at him and flexed,
shooting a line of lube up onto his thigh. He groaned and shut his eyes. "I want...I
want your dick in me, damn you. I want you to...to fuck me. Jesus, yes! Fuck me with
that big cock. All of it. Split me open with it. Skewer my bowels. Oh, please, fuck me.
Fuck me!"

I let my fingers slip out of his sluice, one by one. then stood in front of him. I kissed
him for the first time, slow and easy, like I was afraid that I might still scare him.
His tongue twined around mine and he was on me, leg hooked behind my knee, dick humping
frantically against my washboard abs. I leaned into him, letting him claw at my back
with his blunt fingertips, even standing still as he beat my chest with his fists,
cursing me for making him into my dick whore.

When he stopped struggling and leaned against me, panting raggedly, I gripped his narrow
waist and coaxed him to turn around. He was beautiful from behind— well-developed back,
knots of muscle ridging along his spine, full, firm asscheeks, leanly muscled thighs and
bulging calves—a perfect man, strong and straight and desperate to be fucked.

"Carter," I cooed, licking a trail of sweat off his spine, "reach back and pull your
cheeks apart. Bare your little beauty for me. Make me want it, Carter. Make me ache for
it." He smacked his ass with both hands and pried the hard orbs of flesh wide apart,
revealing the sweaty line of russet fur in his crack and the swollen lips of his asshole,
tucked in just above his dangling balls. "Push it back closer for me, Carter. Open your
hole."

"Unh!" He grunted and strained as his hole began to dilate, blooming slowly open as I
watched. I reached between his legs and gripped his dick, then pressed my knob against
the moist, hot lips of his hole.

"Ready?" I thrust forward without waiting for an answer.

"Aaaahhh!" Carter's scream pounded against my eardrums. I had breached him and driven
my cock into him up to the balls in one fierce, uncontrollable stroke. His hands were
still on his ass, his face and chest pressed tight against the padded wall.

"You alright, buddy?"

"If I don't die," he gasped. "I feel like the man with two spines."

"You aren't dying," I chuckled, frigging his hard-on till it spit honey. I dragged my
dick out of him till my knob bumped his prostate. I started jabbing at it with the spongy
snout of my cock. "Ready for serious fucking, man to man?"

"Unh-huh," he moaned, planting his feet a little wider apart. I clamped my hands on his
shoulders and started to fuck, all the way out, then all the way in, building up the
friction till my toes were starting to curl. I changed strokes then, keeping it buried
deep in his channel, concentrating on fucking him with that last inch of dick, the one
that pokes a man in the diaphragm, the inch he feels in his tits and balls and deep in
the center of his brain.

Carter clawed the walls and growled like a wild beast while I pummeled him, his dick
hard as a steel bar against my palm. "Go deep," he begged me. "Go jeep." I obliged,
thrusting up hard, lifting him off his feet with the force of my pumping. I was flogging
his prick frantically, willing him to shoot along with me. I was close and so was he.
I had just pumped my last when I felt his balls roll up tight against the base of my
wrist and his cock started flexing. His load began to flow, pouring out over my knuckles
like hot wax. The smell of him assailed my nostrils and I buried my face against his
neck and let it go, pumping my jism deep into his bowels.

Carter went limp and I dropped to my knees under his weight, panting with my exertions.
After a few minutes of gasping for air, Carter turned to look at me. "My turn," he wheezed.
"Roll over for me and take it like a man." I obeyed, sticking my hungry ass high in the
air.

Our frantic coupling went on and on, both of us wildly anxious to plug every orifice and
touch every body surface with our hard cocks. He fucked me, sucked me, humped my belly
and chest, and I did the same, matching him orgasm for orgasm. Even when his balls had
been drained, Carter still kept at it, shivering and shaking through dry orgasms,
comehole gaping in the center of his big, spongy cockhead, but nothing coming out. My
balls, by contrast, could never be drained completely, and Carter howled lustily as I
pumped load after load in him and on him, smearing it over his muscled torso, licking
his fingers clean.

And then it stopped. I felt a little jolt and then it was as though the fire went out.
My dick wilted in my fist and I slumped to the floor. Carter knelt in front of me, a
dazed expression on his face. He looked at me. then at his naked jizz-streaked body.
He gingerly touched his raw prick and come-covered asshole, then struggled to his feet
and staggered unsteadily toward the door.

"You keep away from me!" he cried when I stood and began to approach. "Let me out of
here!" he hollered, pounding frantically on the padded door. "Help!"

"I'm not going to hurt you," I said softly, picking up his trousers and holding them
out to him. He grabbed them from me and began to put them on. In his haste, his foot
got tangled in the leg and he fell clumsily to the floor. I knelt and reached out to
help him.

"Keep away from me, you monster," he babbled, his eyes wild with fear. "What did you
do to me?"

"Nothing you didn't ask for," I retorted, stung by his tone. "Don't you get it?" He
shook his head dully. "It was that damned drug that Vandeveer injected me with."

"What was it?"

"How the hell should I know? Ask your boss. He seems to be following the doctor's
progress with it very closely."

"I said don't touch me!" he snarled, pushing my hand away from him. I had absentmindedly
wiped a little gob of jism off his shoulder.

"Jesus, don't be angry with me. Your boss is the man who put you in here with me. Used
you like a guinea pig, just the way Vandeveer is using me. I don't know what's going
on, but I do know that I'm scared. You should be scared too. If I were you, when I got
away from here, I'd just keep going. Whoever you work for, they're obviously plotting
something. Probably something illegal, at best."

"I don't..." He didn't say more because the door opened suddenly. Vandeveer and the
silver-haired man were standing in the doorway, both looking quite pleased with
themselves. Carter pushed angrily past them, muttering.

"Excellent, Brendan. Excellent." Doctor Vandeveer smiled at me and put a hand on my
shoulder. "You see? I told you he would perform magnificently." The silver-haired man
nodded.

"We can use more like him. You have other specimens ready to put in place?"

"Oh...yes, yes, of course we do. It's just a matter of finishing their training. I have
perfected the method now. I will have several volunteers for you by the end of the month.
Yes. The end of the month."

"Excellent, Doctor Vandeveer. The end of the month. Excellent. Don't disappoint me."
The silver-haired man looked at me appraisingly, then turned and left the room.

"Christ!" Vandeveer muttered, hurrying from the room and following the silver-haired man
into the hall, leaving me alone. He picked up the phone in his private office and barked
out orders to several people in rapid succession. Then he grabbed the suit jacket that
was hanging on the back of his chair and rushed out into the hall.

I waited until his footsteps had receded down the hallway, then I walked over to the desk.
The folder with my name had disappeared. I tried the desk drawers—all locked. The same
for the cabinets that lined the room. Nothing to look at but a series of dry medical
texts and journals. It was clear that I would find no information here about what was
going on at the Brentwood Academy,

I left Doctor Vandeveer's office and started back to my quarters. That was when I saw
the door ajar at the far end of the corridor. I had heard rumors from the other occupants
of this place about a secret laboratory—the dungeon as Hugh had termed it—but I had never
been at leisure to snoop around. The temptation was irresistible.

I slipped through the door, careful to leave it exactly as I had found it. There were
two doors directly in front of me, both locked, and a staircase leading down to the
lower levels of the house. I hesitated for only an instant before I began my descent.

At the end of the fifth flight of stairs, I found myself in a low-ceilinged, stone
corridor, lit by bare bulbs. I stood there, listening. At first I heard nothing, then
there was a faint sound, like a sigh or a groan. I crept along the corridor until I
came to a doorway, cut into the solid stone. The door itself was of reinforced steel
with a small, barred window near the top. There was a sliding partition, heavily pad-
locked, near the bottom, obviously meant to allow the passage of food through to
whomever—or whatever—was on the other side.

As I stood there. I heard the sound again, a low, whimpering moan, like an animal in
pain. I approached the door, heart pounding, and whispered through the barred window.
"Is anybody there?'' Siience, then a soft scraping, like the sound of a dog's claws
on cement. "Who's there?" I asked, straining to see inside.

"Raarghhh!" I sprang back, my heart in my throat. Whatever was hidden behind the door
had obviously leapt against it, uttering an anguished cry. I cringed against the opposite
wall, paralyzed with horror, struggling to believe what I saw—two eyes, glinting red in
the light cast by the bare buib overhead. Then, as I watched, a hand and arm reached
through the bars.

The arm, heavy with muscle, was covered by a dense coating of hair that grew from wrist
to shoulder, obscuring the skin. The hand was what gave the creature away as human. The
fingers, long and thick, were those of a man. The nails, however, had grown out long,
and were thick and scaly, curving like claws. The arm stretched toward me, then dropped
against the door. The nails scraped the steel surface, leaving scratches in the paint.

"Who are you?" I asked, my voice thick with fear. "What are you doing here?" I heard the
thing behind the door moan again, like a lost child's sob. Then something that almost
sounded like a word. I strained to listen—and then the sound was repeated.

"Help me," the creature begged mournfully. "Please help me." I stood there in an agony
of indecision. What, after all, could I do? I had no key, and besides, I had no idea of
what lurked behind that door, although I suspected that it was one of Doctor Vandeveer's
failed experiments. So, the rumors I had heard whispered had been true. Doctor Vandeveer
really was some sort of a mad scientist, and all of us were his experiments. Experiments
which didn't always appear to be wholly successful.

And what of me? I leaned against the cold stone wall, feeling sick and dizzy. Would this
happen to me as well? So far there were no signs of any deterioration—but what guarantee
did I have that I wouldn't soon begin declining into whatever madness this poor caged
creature represented? And then I thought of Doctor Marriot and my spirits lifted slightly.
Surely he wouldn't allow this to happen to me. He was so meticulous about monitoring my
body's growth, refining the injections he gave me on an almost daily basis. He had often
said that he wanted me to be perfect. But perfect for what, I couldn't help but wonder.

The comfort I took from thinking of Doctor Marriot wras short-lived, however. It was
Doctor Vandeveer whom I had to fear—and he was the man in charge of the place. Doctor
Marriot hadn't been there tonight when I was given the mysterious injection that had
had such a remarkable effect on Carter. I didn't notice any lingering after-effects from
it—had hardly even felt anything at the time, besides a slight increase in my already
ferocious level of sexual desire. I was no hairier, or hung any bigger, or changed in
any way that I could currently identify. So what had been the point?

Carter. Carter had been the point, of course. Whatever the doctor had injected into me
had been designed to turn a stalwart heterosexual male into a sexual dynamo with no
desire in the world but to service and be serviced by me. I didn't understand it,
although the mysterious silver-haired man had been pleased enough. He and Vandeveer
were obviously in league, and I suspected that their intent was not to do good.

I shook myself out of my contemplation. Now was not the time to ponder the meaning of
this place of ghastly experiments. I could decide about that later. Now I felt an over-
powering urge to at least plumb the mysteries of the place, to get to the bottom of
what Vandeveer and the others were doing, if not to discover why.

About a hundred feet farther along the corridor, there was another door. This one neither
barred nor padlocked. I turned the knob and the door opened quietly. I reached inside,
found a switch, and the room flooded with light. I knew instinctively what the place
was, even though I had never been in such a place before. Perhaps it was the chill,
or perhaps the acrid, medicinal smell—whatever the reason, I realized immediately
that this was a morgue and that I was in the presence of death.

There was a large steel table in the center of the room, under a cluster of lights. A
shallow trough ran around all sides of the table and there was a drain in the floor
below. One wall was covered with glass-doored cabinets, filled with what appeared to
be medical supplies. Anatomical charts filled a second wall, and books lined a third.
My attention was drawn to the wail opposite me. It consisted of a series of doors, each
about three feet square, doors that formed a ghostly, gray checkerboard from floor to
ceiling.

Morgue drawers, each fitted with a steel tray to hold a body. Steeling myself, I crossed
the room and pulled open the first drawer. An overwhelming nausea overwhelmed me as the
rank smell of formaldehyde assailed my nostrils. I fought back the urge to vomit, but
the bile burned in my throat. I lifted the corner of the sheet and looked down.

I didn't recognize the pale face that stared up at me, eyes open, dull and filmy like a
fish too long out of water. He had been handsome once, and young and blond. His face was
that of a nightmare choirboy, his body that of a thickly muscled man. He showed the same
premature development of muscle—and overdevelopment of genitals—that all students ar the
Academy exhibited. I lowered the sheet gently and closed the drawer.

! don't know why, but I felt the need to open every drawer in that ghastly wall of death,
to acknowledge all of my fallen comrades. One after the other, nameless faces, sculpted
bodies, flesh pale as marble. Three doors from the end of my grisly odyssey I shivered
as I looked down on the corpse inside. It was Joel, the man who had accosted me upon my
arrival. So this is what had happened to him. I pulled the sheet back all the way and
gasped.

He had been cut open from his throat to the base of his cock. The skin had been peeled
back from the muscle beneath it, folded carefully back against his sides. I dropped the
sheet and staggered back, retching violently. Poor Joel! The last two doors revealed two
more anonymous corpses, both of which appeared to have been dissected. This was worse
than anything I had imagined—when I had dared to let myself imagine anything about this
place. Doctor Vandeveer was not only mad—he was bloodthirsty as well.

I left the morgue and looked up and down the hallway. I wanted to run and hide, but
there was no place to go. The Academy was as secure from the inside as it was from the
outside. The bars on the windows made them useless as avenues of escape. None of the
exterior doors had handles and all of the locks were keyed. To get out, you would have
to convince a guard or a doctor to let you go.

A doctor! I still wanted to trust Doctor Marriot, hoped that he wasn't in league with
all of Vandeveer's crazy schemes. He always seemed so genuinely concerned when he was
with me and I believed that he felt a real affection for me. As far as I knew, he slept
with none of the other occupants of the Academy. I suspected that he and Doctor Vandeveer
were not on the best of terms. Yet if he didn't approve of what went on here, why didn't
he leave?

There was a final set of double doors at the far end of the hall. As I approached, I heard
noises. I pressed my ear against the metal panel and strained to hear. There was a voice—
voices, rather—and they were engaged in heated discussion. The sounds were a meaningless
jumble at first, but as they grew louder, I began to pick out the words.

"...care what you think. There's no choice. They want more like him and they want them
now."

"But it's madness to do what you suggest. He's perfect. What could you possibly hope to
learn?"

"I need to examine him. Study the chemical compositions in the thyroid and the pituitary
gland. I have to know why he's so successful."

"Because I'm conservative, damn it. I don't just go injecting him with massive quantities
of hormones to see how big I can make him. It's a matter of refinement."

"Oh, well, you're a fine one to talk about refinement. Do you want to talk about
refinement? Excellent. We'll talk about Boston. Explain your refinements during that
rather spectacularly unsuccessful surgery. Perhaps you can convince me. I may be more
understanding than the medical board that pulled your license."

"Shut up, Vandeveer. You know what I mean."

"I know that he holds the secret, locked up in that perfect body and I mean to have it."

"No. I won't let you do it."

"Won't let me do it? Don't tell me what you'll let me do. I'll tell you this, Marriot.
I'll let you live here in comfort for as long as you perform and it suits my needs to
have you here. If that doesn't suit you, then I can arrange to have you put so deep in
a cell that you'll never even see the light of day. Now, I want to begin the experiments
tomorrow morning. You have your little beauty there in my laboratory and you have him
ready to cooperate. If all goes well, we can keep him alive. Otherwise, you'll put him
down and you'll perform the autopsy."

"You..." The voices continued but I heard no more. I knew they were discussing me and
that Doctor Marriot was losing. Whatever Vandeveer knew about him was obviously bad
enough to keep him in line. I didn't want to believe that Doctor Marriot would hurt me,
not after the tenderness he had shown me. But, on the other hand, I doubted if he was
willing to risk prison, or worse, to protect a guinea pig.

I ran along the hallway, careening off the walls, my thoughts scrambled, my heart
slamming painfully against my ribs. I was so frightened. So frightened that I thought
of my home and my room high in the tower of the old house with a sense of real longing.
I would trade everything—my body, my cock, my exhilarating sexual prowess—all of it
I would have gladly exchanged for that bleak, lonely room and the safety it now
represented to me.

That, of course, wasn't possible. I had left that world and was now deep in this one.
And, I feared, I was lost. I came to the stairs and stumbled up them, half running, half
crawling. Once on the main floor, I ran up and down the wide, paneled central hall like
some wild animal, boxed in a trap. Where could I turn for help? My companions were as
powerless as I, and the guards and instructors were hardly likely to escort me out to
the gates of the estate.

I finally realized that there was only one hope for me. I went to Doctor Marriot's office
door and turned the knob. It was unlocked. I slipped inside and huddled miserably in one
of the big chairs in front of the fireplace, determined to wait until he returned. If he
was, indeed, willing to allow Vandeveer to kill me, I wanted to hear it from his own lips.

I didn't have long to wait. A few minutes after I had entered, I heard footsteps and the
door opened. The overhead lights blazed and we were face to face.

"Brendan!" He started to smile, but the expression was fleeting. "My God, you're in
danger. I have to tell you..."

"I was in the underground corridor. I know about what Doctor Vandeveer wishes to do,"
I interrupted. I stood and faced him, hands held out beseechingly. "Please, if I mean
anything to you at all, help me."

"Christ, this is a nightmare." He frantically scanned the walls of the room as though
he expected to find the answer to our conundrum written on the paneling. "You must get
away from here. There isn't much time."

"Where will I go?" It occurred to me for the first time that I had no idea of what to
do. I knew I couldn't go home—and I had never been anyplace else in my entire life,
with the exception of the offices of fashionably expensive specialists of my mother's
choosing. I was literally at a total loss.

"It doesn't matter, Brendan. Just go far away from here. I can get you out the door
and give you a few dollars, but I can't help you beyond that. I have no family or
friends that I can trust well enough to send you to them. I'm sorry, Brendan, you're
on your own."

"But what will happen to you when they discover I'm gone? Vandeveer threatened to have
you arrested. He might even kill you."

"No, Brendan. Vandeveer underestimates me. If he threatens any trouble, I have a little
surprise for him. I have copies of the Academy records, including some revealing
photographs, tucked away in a safety deposit box. If anything happens to me, the good
doctor will be up to his asshole in hot water."

"I'll need something to wear."

"You'll have to take my clothes." He began unbuttoning his shirt. Within a minute,
he was naked. "Now, you're going to have to beat me up, Brendan."

"But...," I began. Doctor Marriot held up his hand.

"Brendan, just do as I say. I don't know if you stayed until the end of our...discussion."
I shook my head back and forth. "Well, I left Vandeveer believing that I had agreed to
do as he said. I needed time to think. If I had refused outright, I was afraid that he
would have you taken to the lab immediately. If you use your fists on me convincingly
enough, Vandeveer may just believe that you got the better of me. Don't worry about me.
If, for some reason, he won't believe me, I'll just have to tell him about my secret bank
depository. I'll be fine. Now, start hitting me, damn it. We don't have much time."

I took a halfhearted swipe at him, my fist grazing his shoulder. He scowled at me and
slapped me across the face, hard enough to bring the tears to my eyes. "Harder, Brendan.
For Christ's sake. I won't break. If this doesn't look authentic, Vandeveer might just
decide to turn me over to his goon squad for questioning. I have a feeling Black would
love to preside over that questioning session."

Thinking of Black and the animosity between him and Doctor Marriot galvanized me into
action. I began pounding him with clenched fists, raining blows down on his body and
head. It was like pounding a stone wall at first, but then he began to weaken, uttering
little cries of pain as my fists bruised his flesh. I brought him to his knees with a
blow to the side of the head, then followed my advantage, kicking him in the belly
until he began to crumple, then slamming my fists into his jaw. His eyes rolled back
in his head and he collapsed, his head hitting the floor with a dull thud.

I pulled on his trousers and shirt, then slipped my feet into his shoes. I checked
the pants pocket for money and keys, then started to leave. I was almost to the door
when I returned to look at him one last time. Dark bruises were already beginning to
form on the skin of his belly and around his eyes. Blood trickled from his lip, split
by one of my blows. I knelt and kissed him gently on the forehead, the eyes, the mouth,
and on the chest just above his heart. Then I crossed the room, traversed the hall,
unbolted the door, and fled out into the starry night.

I was instantly shocked by the cold. In the tropical confines of the Academy, I had
lost track of time. A quick calculation put the date somewhere in late November.
There was a light layer of snow on the rocky ground and the air was icy. Doctor
Marriot's shirt and suit jacket provided little protection against the chill. I
turned the collar of the jacket up around my neck and crossed my arms over my chest,
shivering as I contemplated my next move.

The moat gaped before me, a wide black gash in the moonlight. The bridge had, of
course, been retracted, and my one view of the moat upon my arrival had made it
clear that it was impossible to scramble down into it and then climb back up. My
one chance was to attempt to leap across it. I walked down the steps of the Academy
and assumed a runner's stance at the starting block. I had never been a runner and my
recent training had all been for strength and bulk, not for speed. Still, I could
feel the power in my thighs and knew that this was my only chance for escape.

I scanned the ground in front of me—there were a few loose rocks, but then, they
were strewn everywhere. I would just have to do my best to dodge them. I looked
beyond the moat, thinking of freedom and safety as I sprang forward. The doctor's
shoes were leather soled and not the best for sprinting. I slipped a couple of
times, but kept pushing forward, not wanting to lose my nerve.

At the edge of the moat, my foot hit a rock and I began to lose my balance. It was
too late to stop, so I leapt forward, kicking my legs back with all my strength.
I sailed across the void, arms outstretched, holding my breath and praying that I
would land safely. I thought I had succeeded, but my trajectory was a little short.
I smashed against the far rim of the moat at the level of my rib cage, knocking the
wind out of myself. I was stunned, seeing stars on the ground now as well as in the
sky. I clawed at the rim, desperately seeking a handhold, but my fingers touched
only-smooth rock.

I slipped down until I finally was able to grip the thin outcropping of stone that
hung over the precipice. I clenched my hands with all my might and fought to breathe.
The painful gasping finally subsided and I began gulping in the cold air. I reached
out with my feet, looking for toeholds, but the overhang was too wide and my legs
churned empty air. I knew I had the strength in my arms and shoulders to pull myself
up, if only I could do it without losing my tenuous hold on the rock. My fingers were
rapidly growing numb from the cold and the pressure of my grip, so I had no idea of
the security of my grip or of how long I could maintain it.

I took a deep breath and tensed my arms, slowly, carefully raising my head to the
level of the rim. At that point, it was possible to raise my left leg and hook my
knee over the edge as well. I heaved myself up and forward and rolled onto my back,
safely on the other side.

I could have laid there, staring at the brilliant stars and congratulating myself
on my luck and prowess, but I was still far from safe. I got to my feet and loped
across the frozen ground, heading toward the drive. I knew from staring out the
narrow window up in my quarters, and from Doctor Marriot's warnings, that the plateau
upon which the Academy was situated had only one point of exit. All other directions
led either to precipices or to high, frozen mountains that could not be crossed
without rock-climbing gear. I also knew that the perimeter near the gates to the
drive were protected by a high, electrified fence. I would have to leave the way I
had come—down the drive and past the gate house.

I approached the house quietly, careful to avoid the beams of light that poured out
of the windows. I crouched by the edge of the structure and made my way over to one
of the windows. There were two men inside, sitting in front of a blazing fire that
reminded me of just how cold I was. They were drinking beer and talking. I held my
breath and listened.

"Shit!" the man on the left growled, setting his bottle down. "That was the last of
the fucking beer. I'm gonna go into town and pick up some more."

"Hey, man, you know you shouldn't bug out in the middle of your shift. What if that
crazy Vandeveer fucker or one of his goons catches wind of it?"

"I don't figure any of them are gonna be waltzing down here to check up on us on a
night like this. It's too fucking cold."

"Do what you want. I'm not moving away from this fire." The man leaned forward and
I recognized the dark, curly-haired guard who had come for Marcus when he had been
taken away. He pushed himself out of his chair and added another log to the fire. He
wasn't wearing his coveralls tonight and his faded jeans hugged his full, rounded butt.
His upper body formed a V from shoulders to waist and the muscles of his thighs bulged
against his tight pants. He turned around and stretched and I saw the way his chest
pressed against the front of his shirt. The man was built for sex and I felt a tingling
warmth spreading through my groin—the only part of my body that was warm at that point.

"I'll be back," the other man said, putting on a heavy coat and gloves.

"Don't get lost," the dark one joked.

"Hell, I may stop off to take a poke at Amy, but I won't get lost. I may even stop and
see about giving your old lady a little thrill." The man leered at his buddy.

"Fuck off, Preston. Julie's got all she can handle right here." He grabbed his crotch
and gave it a squeeze.

"Careful the freaks don't get out, Frank," Preston said, making a face and lurching
clumsily around the room. "Those butt pirates'll jump you if they get the chance.
Fucker's will wear the hair right off that big old fat ass of yours."

"Get lost, Preston," Frank snapped, obviously not amused by his buddy's humor. "I can
take care of myself." His companion shook his head and left. I shrank back against the
wall, watching as the man got into a jeep and drove down to the gate. He got out and
unlocked it, drove through, and closed the gate behind him.

I scanned the outline of the high, spiked doors. There were no footholds and the sharp
points at the top curved in both directions. There was no climbing them. After I had
determined that there was no escape without a key, I made my decision. I would attempt
to convince Frank to open the gates for me. I had seen the electric prods propped up
against the wall beside the fireplace and there was also a gun on the mantel, so I would
not be able to overpower him. I had also watched the other man lock the door to the gate
house, making a surprise attack impossible.

I finally chose the simplest, most direct course—I knocked on the door. I heard the key
turn and the door opened inward, revealing Frank, the gun glinting in his hand. "Help
me," I said softly, my hands held up at shoulder level.

"What the fuck? Jesus, it's one of the freaks."

"I'm not a freak," I protested, unwilling to let those words pass, even now.

"Oh, it's you, the beauty." He stood aside and motioned me inside. I stepped across the
threshold and the door was shut and locked behind me. "Stop right there," Frank growled,
circling back to stand in front of me. "Strip."

"I...."

"Shut up and strip. Now." I did as he said, laying the clothes on the floor beside me.
When I was naked, I stood there, shivering uncontrollably.

"I'm so cold."
"Get over by the fire, then. But don't try anything, I'll blow your fucking head off."
I crouched by the fire, rubbing my arms and shoulders, trying to chafe some warmth back
into my limbs. The heat of the fire enveloped me, quickly restoring me. I looked up at
Frank. His cobalt eyes were locked on me, a little furrow of worry creasing his brow.
I smiled at him, hoping to win him over.

"Thank you," I said. I remained kneeling, but squared my shoulders and dropped my arms
to my sides. My thighs also spread out just a little. I felt that there was no harm in
giving the man something to look at.

"What the holy hell are you doing here?" he asked. "I mean, how the fuck did you get out
of that fortress in the first place?"

"I beat up one of the doctors and stole his keys," I told him, hoping it would perhaps
help to strengthen the tale that Doctor Marriot was going to tell in his defense. "I
jumped the moat and got this far. Please open the gates for me," I pleaded. "If I don't
get away from here, they're going to kill me."

"Right!"

"I'm not lying. I overheard them talking. I wouldn't be the first." The memory of the
morgue made me shudder.

"Why the hell would they kill you? As far as I know, you're the only one who ever worked
out right. All the others look like something out of some sort of horror movie. Not you, though.
You look...not too bad." He shrugged and I smiled up at him.

"That's why Doctor Vandeveer wants to kill me. He said he was going to dissect me to try
and discover why I turned out the way I did. Please, sir, don't let them cut me open." I
held out my hands in supplication and forced a tear from the corner of my eye.

"Jesus. This whole place is fucked. I gotta find me a new job." He was still staring at
me, obviously deciding whether or not to do something for me. "You don't look so dangerous."

"Me? I'm not dangerous. I'm not crazy and I'm not a freak. I'm just a guy who got caught
up in this nightmare. I don't want to die. I'm only eighteen."

"Eighteen? Shit. A body like that and only eighteen. Man, I don't believe this place. What
the hell do they pump you full of anyway? Steroids?"

"I don't think so. It's something worse than that. Steroids couldn't do what I've seen in
that place."

"Yeah. I guess steroids don't exactly make your cock and balls grow, do they? Was you hung
like that when they brought you here?"

"No. Not even close." I followed his gaze. He was eyeing my crotch with a flicker of what
appeared to be interest. I let my thighs gape a little wider.

"Looks normal. Big, but normal. Thing work for you?"

"Works great," I whispered, licking my lips with the tip of my tongue. "Better than normal."

"Yeah? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that I shoot a big load when I come. That's all."

"Hell, I shoot a big load, man. That don't mean shit."

"Can I stand up?" I asked. "My knees are cramping."

"Come up slow and keep your hands in sight." I flexed my legs and rose slowly to my full
height. I raised my hands up to shoulder level, then draped my arms over the mantel,
facing him, spread-eagled and vulnerable.

"Damn, man, you're really a piece of work. Got a good pair of arms on you. Got more ridges
in that belly than a washboard."

"You have a good body too... Frank."

"Hey, how'd you know my name?"

"I heard your friend use it before he left."

"You spying on us?"

"Not spying, Frank. I was just looking through the window, hoping you'd be here."

"Why me?"

"Because you're the only guard at this place who's ever looked at me and smiled. That's
all."

"I didn't smile at you."

"The other night. You were up at the Academy to pick up Marcus. You looked at me and I
didn't get the feeling that you thought I was disgusting. I thought you smiled."

"Yeah. I don't know." He cleared his throat, glanced around the room nervously, then
looked back at me like he couldn't help himself. "You as solid as you look? Or is that
all just air and fat — or some of that silicon stuff they use to pump up women's titties?"

"Oh, I'm real, Frank." He was showing interest. I could feel it, sense the electricity in
the air. "You can touch me."

"Nah. I don't know. I...I don't think so, buddy."

"I don't mind. I'm not poison. I'm just human." I smiled shyly. "Touch me, Frank. Please
touch me."

His hand hung at his side for a long moment, then began to rise. He looked at it like he
was puzzled. Like maybe it wasn't really his hand—or that he wasn't controlling it. His
hand rose high in the air, then swept down in an arc and smacked against my left pec. My
body tensed and my chest swelled as I gasped air into my lungs. The area where his hand
lay stung like hell, then began to feel good as his heat penetrated to my nerve endings,
making them tingle.

"Like a rock," Frank muttered, squeezing the big slab of muscle. His palm rubbed my nipple
and it rose up into a thick knot. I looked deep into his eyes. God, they were blue! Crisp
black hairs curled in the open neck of his shirt, lying flat and glossy against his swarthy
skin.

"Skin's soft, too," he muttered, more to himself than to me. He stroked along my side,
fingers curving against the ridge of my lats, thumb running along the center of my gut.
He stopped abruptly when he got to my bush, but didn't pull his hand away.

"Could I touch you," I asked, looking down at his big hand, then back up into his eyes.
The man's bare forearm was as thick as mine, shaggy with black hair.

"I...," he paused, then shrugged. "What the hell?" he snapped. "Just remember, I've still
got the gun. Don't try anything."

"Just a touch." I reached down and stroked his arm, tangling my fingers in his fur. When
I raised my palm to my face and sniffed, I could smell his musk clinging to my palm. My
nostrils quivered and I felt the blood begin to pump into my cock.

Without asking further permission, I began to unbutton his shirt, baring his solid,
quintessentially male torso. Pecs like rocks, heavily furred, with big nipples peeking
out of the silky curls. Belly curving slightly out, split with a thin line of hair and
coated with a fine, dark down. He was warm to the touch. Electric.

I ran a fingertip around his fuzzy navel, then continued south. When I touched his belt,
I began to unbuckle it. His hand ringed my wrist like a steel cuff; the gun in the other
hand pressed against the tender point of my left nipple.

"Please," I murmured. "You have seen me." I looked down. My prick was beginning to arc
out from my body, the heavy, bulbous head still drooping toward the floor. Frank didn't
speak, but he released my wrist, although he kept the cold, hard barrel of the gun poking
against my ribs.

I unbuttoned his fly, tangling my fingers in his thick, coarse pubes, touching the soft,
sweaty lump of his cock. I tugged his pants down over his hips, cupped his full, furry
ass in both hands, and knelt in front of him. I pressed my face against him and kissed
the shaft of his cock,

"Please, Frank, let me suck you." I looked up at him briefly, then brushed my lips against
his wrinkled shaft again. "I'm good, Frank. Really good." His cock was swelling, and he
was beginning to sweat, little beads glittering on his upper lip and beginning to trickle
down his sides. I knew I had him.

"What the fuck?" he blustered, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice. "Only
remember—you even act like you got teeth, I'll blow your fucking brains out, boy. I
don't care how young and pretty you are." He held the gun against my temple and I winced.
He shook his head in disgust and let the gun hand drop against his thick hairy thigh.

I licked the thick back of his shaft, all the way down to his dusky, crinkled foreskin.
I ducked down and came up under him, my tongue barely making contact with the velvety
cowl that hooded his knob. I poked and licked and tickled, gradually coaxing a shiny
crimson bulb out of hiding as his thick shaft swelled to life.

"Suck it, pussy boy," Frank snarled, grabbing me by the hair and jerking my head back.
His snout, funky with piss, sweat, and stale jizz, bounced against my lips. I hesitated
for an instant before opening my mouth and the big man slapped me. "Open up your fucking
mouth. You wanted to suck my hairy dick. Now fucking suck it."

I obeyed, letting my mouth gape and coming up under him fast, swallowing him to the root
in one lunge. He grunted in surprise and his balls jiggled against my chin. My own cock
rose up and rubbed against the hairy, knotted mass of his calf. I humped my hips, savoring
the short curly fur tickling against my juicetube.

Within minutes I had Frank totally in my power. I suspected he hadn't had his dick sucked
often in his life—and certainly never with such skill and enthusiasm. He had a beautiful
dick—long and straight, thicker right behind the knob, then tapering slightly back to the
base. I curled my tongue around it and began bobbing my head back and forth, ramming him
deep into my throat, then pulling back so I could polish the gleaming crimson helmet that
capped his piece.

I kept on crouching lower and lower, getting him to follow me down until he finally sat on
the floor. I untied his shoes and tugged them off, then removed his wadded pants and slithered
between his outspread legs on my belly, ready to lick his balls. The poor bastard couldn't
believe his luck. He grunted and groaned his pleasure, writhing around on the floor helplessly
as I assaulted every nerve ending in his furry crotch. Balls, cock, inner thigh—and finally
down to his fur-ringed manhole. He snorted when I tongued the musky little pucker the first
time, but the pleasure it brought him quickly outweighed any scruples he may have had about
a strange man sniffing around his crack. I plugged my tongue up inside of him and started
wriggling it around, my hands pumping his prick and teasing his nuts the whole time.

While I was doing this, I slowly and carefully moved into place. I pulled my knees under
my body and crouched over his crotch. From there, it was easy to insinuate my knees under
the firm, sweaty mounds of his ass and then to hook his heavy legs over my shoulders.
Frank's eyes were closed and his whole body was flushed with the intense pleasure of sex
as he had never experienced it before.

I was hard and leaking like crazy, so it was easy to milk my dick and mingle my lube with
spit. I worked the gooey ooze in and around his hole, sucking and licking the whole time.
His fingers had long ago loosened from the butt of the gun so it was easy to quietly push
it aside, out of his reach. Then I began massaging his big biceps—sucking, always sucking—
all the while pulling his ass higher off the floor, pushing all his weight back on his
shoulders.

Then my swollen knob touched his bung, my hands clamped down on his arms, and I rolled
up onto him, pinning his knees to his chest. Then my hips plunged forward and I sank
into his fiery virgin chute.

"Aaahh! What the fuck are you doing? Stop it! Arrghhb!"

"I'm fucking you, Frank," I grunted, grinning down at him. "I'm pounding your hot man's
ass the way you like to plug pussy. That's what you are now, Frank. My pussy." I drew my
dick out about halfway and slammed back into him. His face clenched in a mask of pain
and anger and he struggled to break free. I was the stronger however, and I had the upper
hand. Frank wasn't going anywhere I didn't want him to be.

"I'll kill you. you bastard!" he howled, hands clawing ineffectually at the air. "You can't
do this."

"I am doing it, Frank. There, how is that?" I felt the knot of his prostate with my knob
and started poking at it. His angry grunts changed character and soon his hard-on returned,
full force.

"What the shit are you doing? Jesus, stop it. Don't do it. Stop...oh, Jesus!"

"You don't want me to stop now, Frank. That little thing—" I punched at it several times
in rapid succession and his toes started to curl back toward his heels. "—that thing is a
guy's answer to a clit. Feels real hot, doesn't it, Frankie?"

"Unh. Jesus!" Frank was still twitching, but the rhythm was different. He was now wiggling
his ass in an attempt to get me to poke his boy-button again, to give him that thrill that
runs from head to toe then back down to a man's cock trigger. It was one of the many little
tricks I had learned at the Academy.

I pressed my advantage, fucking him harder and faster, watching his responses, doing what
he liked, drawing his balls up tight on his cockshaft, then piling into him even faster.

"Aaaahhh!" Frank's roar started deep in his chest, growing louder as his body shook with
the urgent contractions of his orgasm. His first shot got him right between the eyes,
splattering up into his hair and drooling down the sides of his nose. The next blast
festooned his chest with a white, glistening rope of jism, then another left its white
scar on his shoulder. Come dripped out of him for a long time, hanging in his belly fur
like little seed pearls.

His asshole loosened and his muscles went slack and I kept right on fucking him, forcing
him to come again, and then again. Sweat was pouring off him and he was babbling incoherently,
trying to grab at his hard-on and pump it. I didn't trust him, so I kept his arms pinned,
ducking my head occasionally to give his fat dick a good lick.

"Sorry, Frank," I said when he was on the verge of his fourth orgasm. I raised my fist
and brought it down on the side of his head, knocking him cold. His big body went limp—
with the exception of his spasming ass channel and his cock, which was starting to spit
come again. I humped him a few more times, shot my load deep into his well-fucked bowels,
and drew out.

I checked his pulse and looked at his eyes. He would be out for a while, but I hadn't
really hurt him. I laid him out in front of the fire, tucked a blanket around him, and
tossed another log on the embers. That done, I put on his clothes, savoring their musky
fragrance as I buttoned his shirt and pants. Socks, boots, jacket, hat, gloves—I took it
all, leaving behind only the gun. I was afraid of guns and had no use for one.

I went through Frank's pockets—the keys were in the jacket—turned up my collar and, for
the second time that night, stepped out into the darkness.



I made it to the main highway shortly before sunrise. I didn't know exactly where I was
or where the road would take me. I suspected that my home lay to the north—and so I
crossed the highway, determined to go as far south as I could manage. At first it didn't
appear that I was going to get very far. There was little traffic on the road, and
every time I saw headlights approaching from the direction of the Academy, my heart
leapt into my throat and I cowered in the ditch beside the road.

No one pursued me, and, finally, after I had walked until the sun was above the level
of the hills on the horizon, an old pickup truck stopped for me. I ran along the weedy
shoulder of the highway and looked through the grime-encrusted passenger window.

"Morning," the man behind the wheel drawled, cranking the window down. "Where you headed?"

"California," I said without hesitation.

"Well, shit," the man chuckled, "I ain't goin' quite that far, but I can take you a few
miles on your way. Jump on in." I opened the door and slipped onto the seat beside him.
"What's your name?"

"Uh, Ben."

He looked at me curiously. "Good to meet you, uh, Ben. Name's Andy." He stuck out his
hand and we shook. His calloused grip was firm. He stuck his head out of his window to
check for traffic, then eased back onto the highway.

Andy was a big man, a laborer judging by the dirt ground into his hands and caked under
his fingernails. His jacket was unzipped and his white T-shirt was stretched tight over
a thick chest. His nipples pressed against the fabric like two pebbles. His oil-stained
work pants were straining against the bulk of his thighs and there was an unmistakable
bulge snaking along the inside of his right leg.

He wasn't a handsome man, but he was sexy. His light brown hair was cropped close to his
skull—the stubble on his cheeks and chin was damn near as long as his hair. Thick bushy
brows bristled over his brown eyes, resembling fuzzy caterpillars. The nose was flattened
across the bridge, like he'd run into something that hadn't moved, and his big ears stuck
out from his skull. While I was studying him, he looked over at me and grinned. He had a
great smile.

"I gotta stop off up the road here. Buddy of mine is out of town for a few days and I'm
feeding his dog. Hope you don't mind."

"Not at all, Andy. You're driving."

"So I am," he chuckled, tugging at his crotch, like maybe there wasn't quite enough room
for his equipment. The lump in his pants appeared to be growing. I could now make out the
rim of his knob under the fabric.

"Jeez," he muttered a few minutes later, tugging at his crotch again. By now, a full-fledged
hard-on pulsed against his leg. A tiny dark spot appeared at the tip, quickly growing to the
size of a quarter. He looked over at me again, then dropped his hand in his lap, trying to
cover himself. He was blushing. "Shit, this is weird." The knuckles on the hand gripping the
steering wheel were turning white.

"What's the problem?" I asked innocently, turning toward him, leaning back against the truck
door, spreading my legs so he could see the state of my crotch. I reached up and began
unbuttoning my shirt. "Hot in here," I commented, pulling the flaps of flannel apart,
baring my torso.

"Sure is," Andy gulped. He reached out, like he was going to adjust the truck's heater, but
his hand gripped my knee instead. He looked down at it like it wasn't his hand. A horn
blared and Andy swerved back into his own lane. "I...I don't know what's wrong with me
this morning," he said, his Adam's apple bobbing furiously. "I...I'm not...I mean...shit."

"Hey, don't worry." I laughed casually. "Must be something about this mountain air." My
hand inched across the seat until it rested on his thigh. His muscles tensed, but he
neither moved nor spoke when I began rubbing the hot, throbbing cylinder of flesh that
strained to reach his knee.

The wet spot on his trousers had doubled in size by the time Andy turned off the highway
and we began bouncing along a rutted mountain track. Sweat was beading on his forehead
and his breathing was audible in the cab of the old truck. We pulled up in front of a
rustic cabin and Andy killed the engine.

"I...I want...," he stammered, his eyes wild.

"I know," I murmured, smiling seductively. His body tensed, as though he were trying to
resist, then he whimpered and lunged toward me, pinning me to the seat. He was as strong
as he looked, his brawny arms pinning my arms to my sides as he embraced me fiercely. His
mouth was crushed against mine and I yielded to the insistent probing of his tongue.

I could feel his heart thudding against my ribs as he held me close. His hands were pressed
tight against my back, slipping lower and lower, his fingers worming between fabric and
bare skin. I raised my hips up off the seat and his hand pushed down over the curve of
my left buttocks, his fingers slipping into my crack.

I wriggled around and freed my arms, then began pawing at his shirt, desperate to touch
him. I grabbed at the neck of his T-shirt, ripping the fabric. His chest was hairy, short
fur growing flat against the pale skin. I tore the shirt open down to his belt and began
stroking him, feeling the muscles shift under his hot skin.

He fingered my ass pucker and my back arched when he breached me, his calloused digit
sinking in deep. My assring clenched as he wiggled his finger around in my tight channel,
shooting bolts of raunchy pleasure through my frame. I worked frantically at his belt,
but was unable to coax the heavy leather through the buckle. Thwarted, I unzipped his
pants and tried to get at his cock that way. My fingers tangled in his pubes and touched
the veiny shaft, but it was too stiff and jammed too far down his pants leg to pull it
free.

"Come," he growled, reaching behind him and opening the door of the truck. He crawled
out, dragging me along with him. He stood just outside the door, nostrils flaring, his
bare chest heaving with passion. I scrambled out and he grabbed me, tossing me over his
shoulder like a sack of flour.

Andy took the steps up to the porch of the cabin two at a time, kicked open the door, and
carried me inside. He set me down beside the bed and clothes flew in all directions. We
stood facing one another, naked, hard, dripping. Andy took a good look at my body and his
cock slapped up against his belly and stayed there.

"Man, you are incredible," he whispered throatily. "Face like an angel, body like fucking
hercules."

"All for you," I moaned, falling back onto the bed, hands on my belly, legs spread. Andy
jumped in on top of me, his big dick rubbing against mine as he humped my belly. I wrapped
my arms around him and began licking the sweat off his neck.

He was all over me, squeezing my biceps, licking my chest and belly. Then he started massaging
my thighs, his hands moving higher and higher, till his thumbs hovered just a fraction from
my hole. I scooped my balls up onto my belly and spread my legs wider, crooking my knees and
raising my ass. To me, the message was clear—I was inviting him to do whatever he wanted.
He stared at my ass hungrily, but didn't move a muscle—except for the dripping wand that
flexed and throbbed, glowing crimson against his pale gut.

"Fuck me," I moaned, grabbing his cock and pulling it down till the snout brushed against
my hole. His eyes flashed and his hips thrust forward. He penetrated me, his knob punching
through my sphincter, shooting a delicious twinge of pain along all my nerves.

"Unh!" I grunted, my eyes widening.

"Sorry, buddy," he said, looking down at me, crestfallen. "Am I hurting you?"

"Sweet pain," I groaned, running a finger along the broad back of his prick, from the sweaty
tangle of his pubes to where my asslips gripped him behind the rim of his crown. He planted
his hands on my hips and began pulling me toward him. I lay there, rubbing my belly, savoring
the feeling as his knob pulsed deeper and deeper along my ass channel. When he was buried to
the hilt, I wrapped my legs around his waist and started rocking under him.

The poor guy was so far gone with lust that he didn't last more than a dozen jabbing strokes
before he unloaded his balls up into me. He bucked and howled, his face pressed against my
neck, his stubbled chin digging into my shoulder. I held him tight until the last tremors
had subsided, then began rocking again, flexing my assring around the base of his big cock.
He was still hard and I planned to keep him that way.

After he had dumped his second load of seed up my chute, I coaxed him to suck my cock. He
was kneeling between my thighs and I still had my legs locked firmly around his waist. He
resisted at first, then bent his head, pulled my prick straight up in the air and licked at
my sticky knob timidly.

"Don't have to bend over very far," he muttered, looking at me intently. "You've got the
biggest damn dick I ever did see."

"Just lucky, I guess," I retorted, flexing my abs and squeezing his impaled stiffer.

"Yeah, I guess you are."

"Suck me," I coaxed, reaching up and pinching his hard tits. He was all teeth at first,
scraping painfully against the tender skin of my dick. He learned quickly, though, and was
soon making my toes curl. When my trigger got tripped and my piece bubbled over, he grunted
in surprise, gagging as my first shot filled his mouth. He leaned back, jacking my dick
slowly as he watched the come gush out of me.

"Holy shit," he muttered after I had hit the low ceiling above the bed three times in
succession. "You're fucking unreal."

"I'm real enough," I gasped, my body tensing as another contraction racked my frame. "Man,
that feels so good." I scooped jism up off my belly and smeared it on my tits, the sensation
jolting me like an electric shock. Another spout of sperm pumped out of me, flying high over
my head and hitting the wall behind the bed. Andy watched in awe as the thick white fluid
continued to pump out of the tip of my prick.

When both our dicks started to droop, Andy got up to feed his buddy's dog and to make coffee
for us. I watched him as he moved naked around the little cabin, stretching, bending, reaching,
his every move emphasizing the tight planes and full curves of his hard body. And he thought
that I was unreal!

He fucked me again while the coffee was brewing, then we sat at the small table under the
front window and drank coffee while I told him an edited version of my perilous tale. I had
to trust someone if I was going to get away—and Andy was the only man I knew in the outside
world. He listened to my tale without comment, only shaking his head from time to time.

"You mean those fuckers used you like some damned lab rat?" I flushed and lowered my eyes.
"Hey, Ben, I didn't mean you was a rat." He reached across the table and cupped my chin in
his palm.

"I'm sorry, Andy. It's just that I feel like such a freak."

"You ain't no freak. You're something, but it ain't a freak. I'm gonna help you out because
I know you're unusual. What I mean is, I ain't a queer and I ain't never wanted to plug
some dude up the shitter before, but if you stayed around here, I'd wear myself down to a
nub in nothing flat. So I guess I'm saying that I'm buying your wild-ass story and want to
help you get away from these shit-heels. Oh, hell, I don't know what I mean. I'm just saying
you can use my old beater of a truck out back here."

"I thought that was your buddy's truck."

"Oh, yeah, well I guess I told a tale. This is my place, only maybe I didn't want you to
know that. Not at first anyhow. Right now the truth's so crazy there ain't much use confusing
the issue with a bunch of lies." Andy got up and brought the coffee pot over from the stove.
"Man, this is wild." He filled our cups and sat down again. "I'll give you some clothes,
just in case somebody's looking for a plaid shirt and an orange hunting jacket. I don't
know how far that truck'll take you, but you're welcome to it."

"Thanks, Andy. I'll try to bring it back, or at least come back and give you some money
some day."

"No! No, Ben, don't do that. I don't think you oughtta come back. I'm fucked up enough as
it is. You better get out of here and go on about your business before I lose my mind
completely."

"Sure, Andy, whatever you say." I got up from the table, ready to get dressed. I noticed
that he had a hard-on again, the ruddy crimson head gleaming in the shadows under the
table. "You want me to help out with that?" I whispered, my hand touching his shoulder.

"No...yes...oh hell, I don't know." He looked up at me, his expression anguished. I knelt
beside him and lowered my head to his groin. My lips closed tenderly over his knob and his
calloused hand began stroking my shoulders. I sucked him off, slowly, without urgency. My
tongue curled around the underbelly of his dick, chafing against his juicetube, making him
groan softly and rock back and forth in his chair.

I swallowed him to the hilt, then stuck out my tongue and lapped at the hairy balls that
were cupped in my palm. His thigh tightened against my chest and a soft sobbing sigh
escaped him. My head pumped up and down languidly, teasing him, bringing him to the brink,
then backing off till his knotted balls began to sag a little. I wanted him to remember
me, perhaps—or perhaps I just liked sucking his spicy cock. Whatever the reason, I had
him panting before I finally bore down and sucked the sweet, thick cream out of him.

Dressed in the clothes he had pointed out to me earlier. I left him slumped in the chair.
"Good-bye," I said, my hand on the door knob. "Thanks for everything."

"Good-bye," he muttered. "Good luck."

As I walked down to the truck, I heard the lock slip into place. I now knew what I had
sensed as I was blowing him. It was fear—pure and simple fear.

The rusty old truck that Andy had so generously supplied wasn't much to look at, but it
ran. As I rolled across the country, I couldn't help but marvel at the changes I had
undergone in the past few months. From being a rich, skinny sickly kid, I had become
a sexual dynamo with a body straight out of a horny man's wildest sexual fantasy. From
being a virtual prisoner in my own home, I had gone on to be a real prisoner in Vandeveer's
crazed genetics lab. Now I had broken free and couldn't go running home. I was, for the
first time in my life, on my own.

Hell, I hadn't even known how to drive a car until about two hours ago, when I pulled out
onto the highway after I left Andy. Thank God the truck had an automatic transmission! I
got the hang of it quickly— steering held no mysteries—and was able to glance at the
surrounding countryside from time to time. The trees were bare and there was a dusting of
snow on the tops of the distant hills. I shivered and cranked up the heat in the truck.
I hated winter. I had told Andy that I was heading to California, and the thought of
that sunny, mild climate made me smile. California it would be, then. I had no idea of
what the future held, but I could hardly imagine that it could be any more bizarre than
my recent past.

I had been on the road for less than half a day when I noticed the red and blue lights
flashing in my rearview mirror. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the motorcycle cop.
My heart sank. I had no identification—no driver's license to be specific—and the lack
of other cars on the road left no doubt that the lights were flashing for me. I pulled
off onto the grassy shoulder and started to sweat.

I could see the cop approaching in the side mirror of the truck. He was a big man, decked
out in full bike-cop regalia—black leather jacket, black shirt and tie, black trousers
and knee-high, calf-hugging, black leather biker boots. The helmet and dark glasses totally
obscured his face, but no amount of leather and fabric could hide his body. He was tall,
his broad shoulders making his hips appear even narrower than they were. He walked with
a slight swagger, arms swinging, legs slightly bowed from straddling the bike all day
long. He reached between his legs and gave his balls a good scratch, then passed out of
range of the mirror. I took a deep breath and swallowed hard.

"In a bit of a hurry, aren't you, son?" His voice was deep, but not threatening. A ghost
of a smile played around his full lips.

"I...I'm sorry, sir," I muttered, eyes downcast. I looked up through my lashes and smiled
weakly. "I...I guess I wasn't checking the speedometer." To tell the truth, I had never
even thought about how fast I was going. I was too preoccupied by my thoughts and by the
growing sense of freedom that I felt. "I'm really very sorry sir. It won't happen again."

"May I see your driver's license, son?" He rested his hand on the window well of the truck.
His long fingers were huge—thick like sausages—the knuckles sprinkled with coarse black
hairs.

"Of course, sir." I fumbled around in my pants pockets, then looked up at him, trying to
appear startled. I hoped I didn't look as terrified as I was feeling. "I...I must've left
my wallet at home, sir."

"Get out of the truck, son." His voice lost some of its warmth. I watched as he removed
the billy club from its holder on his belt. I was reminded of the prods used by the guards
at the academy. My stomach lurched sickeningly "Please keep both hands in sight."

"Yes...," The "sir" died on my tongue. I immediately held both hands up at shoulder level,
afraid to so much as breathe. He looked at me for a long moment, then opened the door of
the truck, that ghost of a smile seeming to hover around his mouth again. I stepped out
of the truck and stood there, looking up at the cop, my heart in my throat.

"I'm going to frisk you, son. Turn around please." As I turned, I caught my foot on a rock
and lost my balance. I was too frightened to have the wit to put out my hands, and my head
thudded dully against the cab. My knees wobbled and I groaned softly. The big cop put his
hands on my waist and kept me from falling.

"Careful, son. Next thing I know, you'll be hauling me into court for police brutality."

"Oh, no, sir. No. I wouldn't do that." I was babbling now and felt on the verge of bursting
into tears. Police, jail, courts, lawyers, parents, the Academy. The very thought made my
head spin.

"Just relax and put your hands down on the hood of the truck. Spread your legs and bring your
feet back from the side of the truck as far as you can." I obeyed him, leaning forward, my
body angling in toward the truck as he began patting me down.

I had never been frisked before. In spite of my worries about what was to come when he
inevitably hauled me in, I enjoyed it. He stepped up between my outspread legs and put
his hands on my arms. He worked his way down my forearms, then to my biceps, which he
squeezed more than once, perhaps just checking to see if the bulges were muscle or
contraband. His hands slipped down my sides, across my back, then forward. My coat was
unzipped, the flaps gaping open. When his hands splayed out across my belly, I could feel
their heat through the fabric of my shirt. Up they went, molding the bulge of my pecs,
onto my collarbones, his fingertips grazing the bare flesh of my throat.

The cop's big hands made the return trip to my belt even more slowly than they had gone
up. He seemed to pause on my chest, his thumbs exploring the hollows of my armpits. Then
it was back over my belly, ridge by ridge of my abs traced, as though he were counting
them or something.

He knelt behind me, his helmet bumping my ass. I looked down and saw his hands at my ankles,
then felt their pressure as he came up over the calf and thigh of my right leg. He knelt
again and began to repeat the process on my left leg. When he encountered the bulge of my
cock which I had tucked down into my pants leg, his hand fluttered away, then clamped back
down tight, making me gasp. He worked his way up the shaft, inch by inch, gently prodded
the lump of my balls and ended with his hands clasped on my belly again. I felt his crotch
against my ass and thrust my hips back slightly. The pressure increased, but he didn't pull
away.

When he did finally release me, I almost fell again, only not because of fear this time. I
leaned against the truck, looking down apprehensively at my crotch. My prick had gone stiff
and was already leaking. There was a small wet spot the size of a dime marking the tip of
my dick. My cock throbbed and the circle quickly grew to the size of a quarter.

"You can turn around, son," the cop said, sounding a little breathless. I took a deep breath
and turned around, my hands still held at shoulder level. "You can put your hands down now,
son," he said, chuckling. "I don't think you're likely to do anything stupid."

"I'll do anything you want, sir," I blurted, the words tumbling out before I could shut my
mouth. Instead of sneering at me or telling me to shut up, he just stood there, his arms at
his sides. Then he took off his sunglasses, folded his arms, and tucked them into the pocket
of his jacket.

"Anything?" he asked, his tone totally serious, I looked up at him and nodded. He had bedroom
eyes—large, deep-set, brown, and heavy-lidded. His brows arched over them, slightly peaked
at the center, giving him a quizzical look. He had obviously shaved that morning, but his
jaw was already dark with the purplish shadow of his beard.

"Please don't arrest me, sir. I'm sorry I forgot my wallet, but I can't go home to get it."

"Family problems?"

"Yes, sir. I...I'm afraid that if I go back there, they might kill me." It sounded absurd,
but it was the honest truth—if you substituted "Academy" for "home." I had begun to think
it was wise to keep quiet about that phase of my life altogether. It seemed to trouble
people.

"Come with me, son," he said, motioning for me to follow. I pocketed the keys of the truck
and trudged back to his bike. He got on and kicked the starter. The gleaming machine roared
to life between his legs. I got on behind him and slipped my arms around his waist. He pulled
onto the highway and opened the throttle.

I tightened my grip as the bike picked up speed, pressing my face against his back to protect
it from the cold air that whipped at me. My fingers worked between the bottom of his jacket
and his belt and touched the fabric of his shirt. A little more burrowing brought my
fingertips into contact with hot bare skin. I popped a button on the shirt and my palms
pressed tightly against the luxuriantly furred curve of his belly.


I loved the feel of him—strong and solid and male. After rubbing his gut till my cock ached,
I pushed between belly and belt and continued my explorations. The heavy leather girding his
waist impeded my progress, but the cop took care of that. I felt him tugging at the buckle,
then the pressure was released and my fingers tangled in the longer growth of his crotch. A
little lower and I was touching cockflesh, spongy and heavily veined. I dug deeper, he lifted
his ass off the seat, and I unearthed my prize.

Even soft, his cock was thick, barely yielding to my efforts to squeeze it till my fingers
met around the fleshy cylinder. I pulled it straight up, using both hands now to take its
measure. The broad snout that capped it was flattish, mushroom shaped, covered by a floppy
overhang of unclipped manskin. I touched the tender, velvety softness and the big bike
revved between my thighs. I touched it again, digging my finger into the little sleeve
and the bike screamed with power.

The knob tucked in the hood was sticky and moist, getting stickier as I played with it,
running my forefinger between crown rim and skin, going around and around until his glans
was bulging. The shaft was bulging as well, throbbing against my palm, ramrod hard, the
cometube running up the underbelly as thick as one of his huge fingers.

I began jacking the big cop off, pumping his dick with one hand, rubbing up under his
shirt with the other, exploring the bulk of his muscled torso. The hair that coated his
belly grew in even lusher profusion on his chest, long and silky strands that tickled my
fingers. It was so thick in the middle of his chest that I couldn't even feel the skin.
I longed to rub my cock in that deep furry valley, watching the hairs close over the
fleshy stalk until it disappeared from view.

I worked his dick till it was so hard and fat that I couldn't even get the skin back up
to cover his bloated glans. Then, suddenly and without warning, the big bike began to
slow and the cop pulled over onto the shoulder again. He put out his feet to steady the
bike and turned to me.

"Get up here, quick," he shouted over the throbbing of the engine. "Drop your pants.
Hurry up!" I fumbled with belt and zipper, pulling my pants down onto my thighs. My
hard-on, freed from my pants leg, swung up and pointed at the cop. He reached out and
gave the knob a pinch, then grabbed the shaft and pulled me over to him. I managed to
get onto the bike, in spite of the fabric bunched around my knees. My legs were drawn
up and my ass was thrust back. I could feel the bike vibrating against my balls, shooting
little shivers of pleasure all through me.

The cop's bike had mud and water guards that curved back around his legs. When he pushed
me down against the fuel tank, I was practically invisible to any oncoming traffic. I
gripped the shaft of the handlebars and laid there passively as he pushed his cockhead
against my asshole and thrust deep into me. I wiggled and bucked, my toes curling as he
filled my channel, wide and deep. He reached between my legs and pulled my dick back,
using it like a handle to adjust my ass to his liking.

Then the cop pulled the bike back onto the highway and resumed our wild ride. I quickly
figured the moves the big man liked and he stopped using my cock to jerk me around and
settled into stroking it, pumping up and down, his thumb mashed tight against my juicetube.
I humped back and forth on his rigid prong, keeping my asshole clenched down nice and tight.

He could only sit still for so long before instinct made his hips start pumping. I found
his rhythm and matched it, smacking my ass back hard every time he thrust forward. His big
fuzzy balls swayed back and forth, slapping lazily against mine on every stroke.

I only glanced up at the controls once—he was doing ninety and he hadn't even settled
into the fuck at that point. I was afraid to look now, but I loved the power rumbling
under me, felt it vibrating throughout my body, enhancing the delectable friction he
was creating down where we were plugged together. The road under the tires was a blur,
a gray ribbon unwinding under us as we raced to fulfillment.

He came first. I could sense it deep in my bowels as his knob swelled and his straining
prick pushed upwards, making me want to rear back and rub up against him. I didn't dare
move, however, fearing the consequences if I shifted our tenuous balance. His pistoning
action stopped and his thighs tightened against my hips as his load spewed into me,
warming my belly, making me gasp with pleasure. Then he started jacking me hard, his
fist squeezed to the point of pain. I clenched my fists on the wheel struts and let it
flow, pouring my jism back onto his booted foot and onto the indifferent highway.

The bike gradually slowed and the roaring in my ears subsided. The cop arced across the
centerline and turned the bike around. His cock stayed hard and he kept it tight up in
me. He released my dick and put his big hand on my ass, petting it like I was a good dog
all the way back to my truck.

"Watch the speed, son," he said, standing beside my truck as I started the engine.

"I will, sir," I assured him. "Thank you."

"Thank you, son." He swaggered back to his bike, kicked it to life, and roared off down
the highway.



The remainder of that day, and the next, were uneventful. I avoided the interstate,
partly because the traffic made me nervous, but mainly because I was fascinated by the
countryside. I had seen nothing of the world except through the television and books,
so traveling the back roads through the small towns was fascinating to me. People were
very nice to me everywhere I went, seeming to be drawn to me to talk, whether I had
stopped to eat or just to get gas for the truck.

By the end of the third day, someplace in northern California, I pulled into a truck
stop for gas. While I was waiting in line, the old truck coughed, rattled— then died.
I couldn't get it started again and the mechanic at the truck stop informed me after
a quick glance under the hood that the entire electrical system was shot. I had no
idea what that meant, but he assured me that the truck wasn't worth saving. He helped
me push it over to the side of the garage and I went into the restaurant to consider
my next move.

I dug through my pockets and took an inventory of my finances—thirty-seven dollars and
a small handful of change. Not even enough to purchase a bus ticket to Los Angeles,
which I had chosen as my destination. I sat dejectedly at the counter, trying to decide
what I should do next.

"This seat taken?" I looked up into the startlingly green eyes of a big redheaded trucker.
I shook my head and he sat down beside me. "Truck break down?"

"How did you know that?" I asked.

"Saw you pushing it over around the garage a minute ago. Hell of a thing to have your wheels
go tits-up on you."

"Especially when you don't have the money to fix it," I agreed. "I was just sitting here,
trying to figure out what to do next."

"A man could always hitch a ride," the redhead suggested. "Tell you what. I don't generally
pick up dudes on the road, but I got a good feeling about you for some reason." I smiled at
him encouragingly. He was staring at me intently, perhaps trying to decide why he had such
a good feeling. I looked him up and down and decided something for myself—I would take great
pleasure in giving him reason to feel even better.

He wasn't handsome—except for his eyes which were quite beautiful—but he had the look of
an uninhibited animal about him. Not too tall, thick through the shoulders and chest, bit
of a paunch, steely muscled arms, and legs that strained against the old pants he wore
like they were tights. His eyes raked up and down my frame one final time, then he turned
his attention to the young blond waitress behind the counter.

"Hell of a piece," he whispered, nudging me in the ribs. "I'd really like to get my old
sausage up into..." His voice trailed off and he looked back at me again. "Man, I'm so
horny all of a sudden I hurt. Shit, I fee! like a friggin' teenager." I smiled again and
turned on the stool until my knee brushed against his thigh. The muscles in his leg tensed,
but he didn't move away. The man licked his lips and began pawing at his crotch, trying
to adjust the big lump that was starting to jerk around under the fabric.

"Hey, Luke." My new friend looked around and waved at a man seated at a booth near the
front door. The guy stood up and walked over, standing directly behind me.

"How's it hanging, Jim?" Luke shook hands with the man. I turned further around on the
stool, my knee raking up along Luke's thigh. Jim, the fellow behind me, was tall, his
lean body hidden under baggy clothes. He had a handsome, sculpted face, lined around the
eyes from years of squinting into the sun. His dark hair was cropped close to his round
skull and he was in need of a shave. "Who's your handsome young friend?"

"Uh..." Luke looked over at me and shrugged. "Hadn't got that far, Jim."

"Ben," I supplied, pumping the man's outstretched hand.

"Pleased to meet you, Ben. Watch out for my buddy Luke. He's liable to get you into trouble
if you don't take care."

"Piss off, Jim. This one's already in trouble. Car trouble, that is. Truck up and died on
him. I was figuring on offering him a ride."

"Well, that'd be a switch for you." Jim looked back at me. "Old Luke here don't usually
give rides to nobody but young gals with big firm tits. Ain't that right, Luke?"

"Yeah? Well, maybe I'm making an exception this time." The two men looked at one another
and Luke blushed guiltily. I caught Jim's eye and smiled at him. He put his hand on my
shoulder, then looked at it like he wasn't sure how it had gotten there.

"I need to get back on the road," Luke said, standing up and cupping his hands in front of
him in an attempt to hide his burgeoning hard-on. "First, though, I gotta take a shower."
He looked at me. "How about you, hot stuff? Want to wash off the road dirt?"

"Sure," I agreed, getting up to follow him. I'd been sleeping in the bed of the truck at
rest stops and the idea of getting clean appealed to me. I was also curious to see what
Luke might do when we were alone.

I followed him through a door and down a long hallway. I was expecting to be taken back
to a motel room, but instead, we ended up in a large room, lined with benches, that opened
into a large tiled communal shower. Two of the jets were already occupied, one by a man
with a dynamite body and gray hair, the other by a young blond not much older than myself.
They were deep in conversation and paid no attention to us.

I stripped out of my clothes and waited for Luke. He got out of shirt, shoes and socks
quickly enough, but seemed hesitant to remove his pants. The reason was obvious and he
finally gave up, perhaps knowing that it wasn't going to go away.

"Fuck, I'm horny!" he groused, making a halfhearted attempt to hide himself. The trouble
was, there was too much to hide. His meat was long and thick, glowing like it was red hot.
He finally gave up trying for modesty and I got a really good look at it. The ruddy shaft
was traced with delicate blue veins, and the fat little helmet perched out on the end was
all swollen and shiny. His fat balls were bright pink, spiked with long hairs like thin
copper wires.

By contrast, the rest of Luke's brawny body was pale as snow, with the exception of his
face, neck, and forearms. These had been burned to the color of bricks by the sun. His
pecs were massive, capped with fat pink tits that stuck out like little knobs. He saw me
looking at him and instinctively sucked his belly in. I winked at him and stepped into
the shower room.

The blond man in the shower glanced my way and whispered something to his companion, who
looked over his shoulder. The blond was tight and lean with a bubble butt and good legs,
but it was the older man who captured my attention. The gray-haired man could have been
anywhere from thirty-five to fifty, but he was obviously in his prime. None of the other
hair on his body had lost its pigment—arms, legs, chest, and belly were dusted with long
black silk, silk that the shower jet was making ever-changing patterns in. Every muscle
was carved clearly, perfectly formed and proportioned. Veins like cables ran from wrist
to shoulder, snaking over the full curve of his biceps. Another vein meandered down over
his belly, split somewhere in his pubes, then shot down the sides of his formidable prick.

He was the only man I had ever seen—outside of the genetically engineered pupils at the
academy— who had a bigger cock than mine. It hung down heavily between his thighs,
curving out slightly over a huge pair of nuts. Water streamed off the tip like he was
taking a leak and splattered on the floor at his feet. As I looked closer, I could see
that the veins that ran along the sides branched again into his foreskin like tiny
fingers that were caressing the hidden knob on the end. It was the sort of dick that
made my mouth water and my asshole twitch.

I noticed that he was watching me with as much interest as I was feeling. His eyes
traced over my torso, then centered in on my own oversized meat. I began washing myself,
tensing my abs as I rubbed my soapy hands from my sternum to the base of my dick. Within
seconds the man's prick was beginning to grow. Unlike Luke, he made no effort to cover
himself or turn away.

When I glanced back at the blond, he was glaring at me angrily. Obviously he had had plans
for the silver fox himself. I shrugged my shoulders and winked at him. He didn't wink
back. I tensed slightly when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Can...can I wash your back for you?" I turned and looked into Luke's green eyes. His
hard-on was pointing straight up now and he almost looked like he was in pain. "You got
you a hell of a body, Ben," he continued, the words coming out clipped and hoarse, like
they were being spoken against his will. I wondered whether he had ever had the hots
for another man before. I doubted it.

I handed him the soap and clasped my hands on top of my head. Luke's big calloused paws
felt good on my skin as he ran them up and down along my spine. His cock knob bounced
off my asscheek and I edged back a bit, just to let him know that I wasn't offended.
He snorted and the hot tip of his prick poked me harder.

The silver fox was still looking my way, his eyes at the level of my crotch. The heat
of his gaze—not to mention Luke's hands on my ass—sent the blood surging to my cock. It
lengthened and thickened, then rose slowly until it curved up against my rippling abs.
The blond had a restraining hand on his friend's arm, but the man shook him off and
stepped over to me.

"This a private bath?" he asked ironically, his eyes crinkling with suppressed mirth.
I got a feeling that the man was no trucker. He seemed too well cared for to be at the
mercy of the road. His haircut looked expensive and his tan was too uniform, bronzing
all of his body except for a narrow strip around his sleek hips. When he reached out
and pinched my tit, I was sure of it. His nails were manicured and his strong fingers
were soft.

Nothing else about him had that distinction. When I nodded my welcome, he took a step
forward and our bellies slapped together, pinning my prick between two hot, solid walls
of muscle. I could feel the thick shaft of his dick against my inner thigh, rising
heartbeat by heartbeat until it pressed against my sagging balls.

I unlaced my fingers and dropped my hands onto his pecs. They were as hard as mine,
getting even harder as my thumbs traced along the full curve where they cut back into
his rib cage. When I grazed his firm nipples, he bared his perfect teeth and growled
at me sexily. Encouraged, I bent my head forward and bit the right one, sinking my
teeth into the rubbery nub, flicking my tongue back and forth over the captive point
of nerve endings. His dick responded, getting harder, pressing tighter up between my
legs. He grabbed my waist, his hands quickly moving back to the full curves of my ass.

I glanced around when I heard another man enter the room. It was Jim, Luke's trucker
buddy. He looked at the scene in front of him and shook his head, but he didn't leave
the room. Instead he approached us, crowded in behind me next to his buddy, and began
humping my asscheek. I felt more hands on my body and saw that the blond guy had joined
in the fray, not pissed enough to get left out. Then, other hands that I couldn't account
for—and other cocks—began to materialize all around me.

By the time I knelt to take stock of the available meat, there were an even half dozen
hard-ons bobbing in the steamy air. The last two who had joined were mid-twenties, both
brunet, one wildly hairy, both wearing wedding bands. The smoother of the two had an
enormous dick on him—a foot at least, the shaft just behind his knob very thick, tapering
slightly as it stretched back into his bush.

I went from man to man, licking, nipping, teasing, making every dick I did vibrate before
I finally relented and went down on it, taking it to the hilt in one gulp. I worked each
man till his balls started climbing and he leaked for me, then went on to the next, peeling
back skin, polishing knobs, sucking juicetubes, and digging deep in comeholes till my lips
were slick and honey was drooling off my chin.

Then the men picked me up and carried me out into the drying area. They pulled a bench out
to the center of the room and laid me on it, flat on my back. Luke looked down at me and
I licked my lips. He straddled the bench and pushed down on his dick, bumping his knob
against my lips. I opened wide and swallowed him, grabbing his balls and pulling him
down my throat. I felt hands in the crooks behind my knees, then my legs were spread and
lifted high, bringing my ass up in the air.

I felt something warm and wriggly against my hole and looked down along my torso. The
silver fox had taken his position between my legs and was kissing my asshole, swabbing
it with his tongue, testing the resiliency of my tightly clenched ring. I made him work
for it, probe and poke and slobber till his perfect hair was tousled and sweat was beading
on his broad forehead. Then I opened up and he drove his tongue deep up into my ass, his
handsome face pressed tight between my legs.

Once he had me all nice and wet, the fox mounted me, sliding his massive piece into my
channel, not stopping till his balls slapped against my tailbone. I kicked free of the
hands holding my legs and wrapped them around the fox's hips. I started humping, grinding
around his throbbing spike, putting all my muscles into play to fuck his cock good. He
rubbed his taut belly and a look of bliss settled over his features.

I reached out and grabbed at the pricks still waving in the air around me. I caught Luke's
friend, Jim, whose stiffer was long, slender and slightly curved. It slid easily in my
fist as he began pumping his hips. My other hand wrapped around the hairy brunet's dick
and he moaned with pleasure, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned way over and started
sucking my tits.

I heard a squeal of protest and looked around Luke's dick just in time to see the blond
lifted high in the air and put down on top of me. There was a hand on my dick, then
something hot against the tip, then a loud squeal as the blond was forced down onto me.
His asshole was tight as a clenched fist, but there was no way it could deter the iron
bar that my prick had become. My knob popped in, then the heat of his bowels began to
envelop me as the silver fox grabbed him by the shoulders and impaled him to the hilt.

The poor guy was really hurting, judging by the anguished look on his face, and he was
howling like a banshee, but the silver fox wouldn't let up. It was like he was intent
on making him take all of my long dick, whether he wanted it or not. The hairy brunet
must have finally tired of the noise, because he pulled away from my hand, swung his
leg over my prone form and jammed his juicy prick in the blonde's open mouth.

It got quiet after that, except for the sloshing sound of dicks churning around in mouths
and assholes. The fox was not only a fox—he was a genius with his meat. He twitched his
hips from side to side as he pumped, rubbing against my insides from all different angles.
He'd go after my prostate with a series of punching jabs, working it till I was jerking
around like a puppet on a string, then he'd ease off, his cock slipping in and out of me,
nice and easy. The minute I'd relax a little and try to concentrate on sucking the dick
in my mouth or punishing the blond's tight ass, he'd start up again, quickly centering
all my attention on a point deep in my gut.

Luke surprised me with the suddenness and intensity of his orgasm. One minute I was
swirling my tongue around his knob, the next I was drowning in a sea of thick, bitter-
sweet ball froth. His first shot blasted down my open throat, quickly followed by wave
after creamy wave, filling my mouth faster than I could swallow and running out the
corners of my mouth.

Luke staggered back and Jim took his place, slipping his wand down my gullet, his hairy
nuts resting in my eye sockets. Just as he got started fucking my face, the blond went
off. shooting a hot line up the middle of my torso. The guy he was sucking started to
growl and they quickly joined Luke on the sidelines. Then Jim popped off in my mouth
and the silver fox and I were left alone.

The man winked at me, rolled me up onto my shoulders and tore into my ass again with a
force that threatened to splinter the old bench under us. He screwed with the whole
length of his dick, drawing out till I could see his bared knob, swollen and shiny,
the deep-cut comehole gaping, then lunging forward with all his weight and strength,
spearing me to the hilt.

I felt my orgasm approaching from the tips of my toes. I unlocked my ankles and pressed
my feet against his waist, opening myself wide to his urgent thrusts. I clasped my hands
behind his neck and began pulling his head down. He resisted at first, then relented and
kissed me, hard and deep. The kiss closed the circuit and my belly began to churn. My cock
flexed, the juicetube bulging like a plugged hose, my comehole gaped, and my toes curled
back toward my heels. Every muscle in my body went rigid and I howled my relief as the
come started gushing out of me.

I came like a geyser, spout after spout raining down onto my sweat-slicked torso and the
floor all around the bench. After the first four powerful blasts, the men all began to
crowd around, grunting and cursing as I spasmed again and again, my dick spewing with
every ecstatic contraction. Even the silver fox seemed impressed. He stopped humping
my ass and began tugging on my balls, his big chest rising and falling as he gasped for
air.

When I was finally drained and limp on the bench, he finished himself off, fucking till
he started coming, then pulling out of my ass and aiming his cock at the wall. Jism shot
out of him like a bullet, soared a good ten feet, then splattered against a rusted locker
door. His eyes closed and he bore down hard, his muscles swelling till it looked like his
skin would split open. Another gush of hot stuff went high and wide, then a third and a
fourth. He pumped his prick frantically for a few seconds, then got me right between the
eyes. After that, his shoulders sagged and spunk dripped out of him and onto my sweaty
balls.

"I want you to come with me," the fox said when we were getting dressed after another,
much needed shower.

"I've already got a ride," I said, regretting that I had made other arrangements.

"I really think you should come with me," the man insisted. "I want to offer you a job.
A good job. A guy like you could easily make five grand a week."

"What?" I couldn't believe I'd heard him correctly.

"I didn't stutter. That's your share, after expenses. If a young man with your qualifications
is successfully marketed, he can do very well."

"And you could market me?"

"I'm the best," I believed him.

I made my excuses to Luke, who seemed to be somewhat relieved that I wasn't going to be
along to tempt him further.

The blonde was to accompany us. His name was Robbie and he had also been recruited by the
silver fox. Riding my rod had improved his attitude somewhat, but he obviously wasn't too
pleased when he heard that I would be joining him on the trip to Los Angeles. When we got
out to the fox's gleaming silver Mercedes and he motioned for me to sit in the front seat
with him, Robbie was obviously pissed. He didn't say anything, but he slammed the door
harder than necessary when he got into the back and sulked for the entire trip. I, for
my part, sat beside the silver fox, my hand curled loosely on his thigh, wondering what
I was getting into now.

The man who had offered me a ride and a job had a name—Rod Sykes—but I continued to think
of him as the Silver Fox. He was, as I soon found out, a high-class pimp, although he
preferred being called an entrepreneur. His clientele was strictly top-of-the-line—men
willing to part with upwards of twenty-five hundred dollars for a perfect evening.

That was where I came in. Rod scoured the country looking for young men to keep his
clients clamoring for more. His stable was full of California types, so he had been
traveling, seeking variety. He refused to use any of the guys who performed in the
X-rated videos, trying to create the illusion that we were all innocent and unspoiled.

Actually, I wasn't at all the type he'd had in mind this time out. He had recruited
several Midwest farm boy types, the last of whom had been Robbie, the pouty blond I'd
fucked at the truck stop. I certainly didn't look like a farm boy, but he told me that
my incredible physique, big cock, and sexual stamina would make a lot of money for both
of us. He was right.

Once in Los Angeles, the Fox set me up in a penthouse in West Hollywood, bought me a
membership at an upscale health club, gave me use of a cherry red Porsche, and provided
me with a generous supply of cash. In return, all I had to do was attend certain
exclusive parties and make myself agreeable. It was, for the most part, an easy way
to earn a living. Most of my clients seemed in awe of me, and, as a result, were
easily pleased. My only problem after the first few weeks was boredom. I was forbidden
to go out and meet men on my own—the Fox didn't want the faces in his stable to become
too familiar before he had recouped his investment in them.

Tonight was a working night, an intimate gathering in Malibu. The Fox himself had
dropped by earlier in the day to tell me about it and to give me a new shirt for
the occasion. That meant that the party was very important and very discreet—
otherwise he would just have passed the message through my service. He hadn't
intended to come in at first—had left the Mercedes idling in the drive, but it
was easy to entice him into the cool, dark entry. He had rules against sampling
his own merchandise, but I was in the mood to break his rule.

I had spent the past five days working out and reading, waiting for a call from him.
I remembered the Fox's big dick and what he had done with it and the memory made me
incredibly horny. Never mind that I had a job that evening—I wanted him and I wasn't
willing to deny myself.

Once inside, I had him. A smile, a hand on his chest, a knee pressed between his hard
thighs, a kiss—soon he was ripping off my skimpy black shorts, pawing my ass, his hard-
on throbbing in the confines of his pants. I pawed back, hauled his mighty erection out
into the open and dropped to my knees. I pursed my lips and began sucking on the tip,
not licking him, not going down on him, just concentrating all my skill on his gaping
comehole and the trigger tucked behind the rim of his cock crown.

I had him leaking in minutes, balls drawn up, every vein in the thick stalk of his
manhood bulging dangerously. He was panting, his hairy chest heaving, his belly sucked
back tight. He reached down and pulled me to my feet. After a brief kiss, he turned me
around and pushed me up against the cool, smooth plaster wall.

"I don't do this, you sexy bastard," he moaned, his knob pressing between my cheeks,
seeking shelter. I pushed my ass back, he found his target, thrust his hips forward,
and breached me. He took me fast and rough, like he was trying to punish me for seducing
him. It was the punishment I craved, and I clawed at the wall as he slammed into me,
penetrating deep.

He licked my neck, hips pounding, his fat balls bouncing up against my own. I clenched
my asshole tight, squeezing him, making him whimper with pleasure. I felt his knob swell,
getting bigger and bigger, the heat of it making me sweat. Suddenly he spasmed against
me, his muscles contracting as he began to shoot his load. I braced my hands against
the wall and pushed my ass back, my own prick discharging spontaneously as I felt his
come gush up into me. He twitched and bucked until the last blast had been wrenched out
of him, then sagged against me, panting hard.

"Tonight's very important," he said as he zipped up his pants and moved toward the door.
"I'm counting on you, Ben."

"Don't worry," I replied, stretching luxuriantly. "You've sharpened my appetite."

"I hope so. I have a lot riding on tonight."

"Oh?" I was intrigued.

"A little wager with a friend that you'll manage the impossible." He scanned my naked
body. "If any man can, you're the one."

"Which man?"

"It wouldn't be fair to tell you, Ben. You'll know." He winked at me and left me alone
to puzzle over his words.



I arrived at the address he had given me shortly after nine o'clock that evening, still
not sure what to expect. The door was opened by a handsome young man who ushered me into
a huge living room that overlooked the ocean. A group of about thirty men stood around
in groups, drinking and talking. Heads turned, I smiled and nodded, then I made my way
across to a bar in the far corner, near doors that led to a terrace and the swimming pool
beyond.

The bartender gave me a soda with lime and I stepped outside, still trying to figure the
import of the Fox's words. It looked like the usual gathering— wealthy, well-maintained
men who responded to my smiles and nods with eager glances. I saw several who might prove
interesting for a night or two, but nothing to challenge me or to justify whatever wager
the Fox had made.

I saw him a few seconds later, down by the pool, on a stone bench, all alone. He had to
be the one. Dark, handsome, his face clouded by a scowl, he was the only man who might
qualify as a challenge—although I wasn't sure what the challenge was. He was crouching
rather than sitting at his ease—looking as though he might spring up and run away with
the slightest provocation. Even covered by a loose shirt and trousers, the power of his
body couldn't be disguised. The shirt sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, baring thick,
hairy forearms, corded with muscle. His hands were huge, dangling loose between his knees,
fingers like sausages. The curve of thigh and calf and shoulder against his clothing
promised physical perfection to any man who could get beneath the cloth.

A spectacular blond with bubble butt and honey-golden tan approached him and began to talk.
The man looked up, his eyes glittering. Full lips pulled back from perfect teeth, he said
something, and the blond scurried away, cheeks burning. The man watched him go, then settled
back onto the bench.

I waited a few minutes, then sauntered down to the pool. I stood at the end opposite the
man, not acknowledging him. He made no move, but I felt his eyes on me, watching me. Up
close, he was a formidable presence. I sensed a sexual energy in the air, obviously
emanating from him. It was so potent that I could practically smell it. My nostrils
quivered as I began to unbutton my shirt.

I folded mv clothes and laid them on a chair by the edge of the pool. Naked, except for
a scarlet swim suit that bared most of my ass and could barely contain my cock and balls,
I stood poised beside the pool, then dived in. I swam laps, cutting through the water,
making barely a ripple. I didn't look at the man on the bench, but I knew he was watching
me. Back and forth I went, intent on nothing but the resistance of the water to my powerful
muscles. When I had made my last circuit and climbed up the ladder, the man loomed in front
of me.

"Come," he said, his tone daring me to disobey. I shook the water out of my hair, splashing
tiny crystal droplets on the long hairs that curled on his arms. He turned on his heel and
stalked away. I followed him.

The man entered the house through a side door that led to a room on the lower level of the
house. The party had moved out of the living room and the men were now clustering around
the edges of a large, cavernous space that was obviously an esoteric SM playroom. The bare
concrete walls sprouted chains in several places, and there were leather straps, suspended
from more chains in the center of the room. There was a table set up on one side, covered
with toys of various descriptions, including an impressive array of dildos in all shapes
and sizes. Two men stood near the table, dressed in full leather. One beckoned me over to
him. The man I had followed into the room walked over to the other man.

I watched as my quarry stood there and let the leatherman undress him. The physique was
as impressive as I had imagined—magnificently developed pectorals, abdominals like a
washboard, pumped arms, and long, perfectly muscled legs. Glossy black fur grew in lush
profusion on his chest, streamed down the center of his belly and curled around the base
of his huge dick. The man was hung like a horse, a thick, cruel club of a cock, the blunt
snout like a battering ram. Massive balls dangled heavily between his muscled thighs,
swaying temptingly every time he moved.

The leatherman who had motioned to me peeled me out of my wet trunks and put a thick black
leather collar around my neck. He cuffed my left wrist as well, fastening it with heavy
steel buckles. Then he knelt and began winding a narrow strip of rawhide around my genitals,
looping it under my balls and around the base of my dick. He twined it around my scrotum
until my balls were pushed out in a tight, shiny knot. I could feel them rubbing against
my inner thigh and my cock began to stiffen immediately. By the time he was finished,
my prick was jutting high in the air, a big drop of pre-jizz quivering in the piss slit.

The dark man's hard-on thrust out from his hips menacingly. Fully erect, it looked like
a deadly weapon. The head of it was enormous and the shaft bulged frighteningly behind
the swollen crown rim, then tapered slightly back toward the dense cluster of his pubes.
He spit in his palm and caressed the purplish knob on the end. It bulged even bigger and
slapped against his belly. I licked my lips, wondering what was going to happen next.

A chain was fastened to the cuff on my arm, the other end of it clamped to the dark man's
wrist. No one spoke or signaled, but the man began looping the chain around his forearm,
pulling me into close range. I saw his huge hand clench into a fist and I ducked at the
last moment, hearing the man grunt with the force of his thrust. My arm shot out and I
managed to connect, my knuckles thudding against the knotted mass of his right pec. He
lashed out at me again, and again I ducked, avoiding the blow while landing one of my own.

He obviously wasn't used to this treatment. I suspected that his former victims had trembled
like rabbits before him, making themselves sitting ducks. I had no intention of behaving
like any man he had ever encountered before. Everything about him bespoke dominance and
power—and I was instantly determined to dominate him, to turn the tables and get the upper
hand. The very thought made my belly burn with passion.

The big man quickly lost his cool air of detachment. Doctor Marriot's meticulous attention
to detail while I was under his care had made me agile as well as strong and I had no
trouble keeping out of range of his fists. On the other hand, once he got angry, it was
easy to land blows almost anywhere on his body at a whim. My fists crashed against his
chest and arms and belly, each blow forcing a pained grunt from him.

The crowd was with me, applauding every time my fist connected with a resounding thud.
The dark man's chest was heaving and the sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead and
trickle down his sculpted sides. His eyes were wild with fury and when he suddenly charged
me, I saw my opening. I clasped my hands and dropped to one knee, driving my fists up into
his solar plexus, connecting right at the midpoint between his navel and his bush. He
stopped dead, clawed at his belly, and fell flat on his face. I stood over him and put
my foot on his neck. He didn't move a muscle.

I had won the battle and now the fun would begin. I looked down at the man, at his broad,
muscular back, his tight ass, his cock and balls, pressed against the floor, pointing
down toward his toes. The men in leather looked at me expectantly. I nodded, letting
them dictate what came next. They pulled the man to his feet, removed the chain that
had bound us together and reached for the cuffs that dangled from the ceiling. They
bound his hands and then signaled. The chains clanked and the man's hands were drawn
high over his head, until his feet barely touched the floor. He hung there, totally
limp, head down, eyes closed.

I stepped over to the table full of toys and surveyed them. I selected a long, thick
razor strap and wrapped one end of it around my hand. I slapped it against my thigh
and several of the men around the perimeter of the room winced. The man hanging in the
middle of the room didn't look around, but his asscheeks flexed involuntarily. I walked
back over to him and dragged the cool leather across the hard mounds of his butt.

Every muscle in his body knotted when I smacked his gorgeous, hairy butt with the strap.
A red welt appeared on the pale flesh. I spun around and the strap wrapped around his
narrow waist, almost like a belt. I smacked his defenseless ass again, then brought the
strap down hard across the mass of his big chest. The chains rattled, but the man didn't
utter a sound.

I finally got a reaction when I brought the leather in contact with the backs of his
bare thighs. He roared, his legs drawing up, leaving him dangling helplessly. I brought
the strap up quickly, landing a blow right on his tight, furry asshole. The belt curled
up between his legs, caressing his cock and balls with wicked force.

There was a low roar of approval from the men standing around us in the shadows. I drew
back the belt and flicked it back toward the same goal. The dark man twisted and turned
on the chains, struggling to avoid the blows, but he was powerless to get out of the way.

When I tired of using the strap on him, I snapped my fingers and the two leathermen appeared
at my sides. "I want his legs in the air," I barked. Two chains dropped and the men quickly
wrapped cuffs around my slave's ankles. Then he was hoisted up till his ass was slightly
above his head, the bloated knob of his prick pointing at his mouth.

The guy had a pretty hole, brown and pouty, ringed with damp curls. I licked my middle
finger, then plunged it into his chute, right up to the webbing. The heat inside of him
was intense, burning my finger. I screwed a second digit into him and stood there,
savoring the flexing throb of his springy assring.

Keeping my fingers firmly in his hole, I grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his
head forward till his cockhead was butting against his lips. "Suck yourself," I snapped,
stuffing a third finger in his hole. "Lick your own dick, cocksucker." The man's tongue
shot out, curling around the sticky rim of his crown. I folded him together tighter and
his knob disappeared, followed by the first few inches of his meat. His eyes bugged out
and his lips were stretched taut, but I could distinctly hear the hungry little sucking
noises he was making.

I finger-fucked him till he was good and loose, then stepped around between his widespread
legs and looked down at him. Even when I had let go of his hair, he had continued to blow
himself, the veins in his neck standing out like cords as he strained forward. I left him
alone for a moment, nursing on his own pud, and took stock of the toys on the table.

I selected what I wanted, whispered instructions to the leathermen, and stood back to
wait, arms crossed over my chest. The leathermen let the man down, bound his arms behind
his back at wrist and elbow, tied a thong around his already leather-wrapped balls and
handed the end to me. They positioned the stool and the dildo, then stepped back into
the shadows.

The plastic cock was huge—the biggest on the table. It towered over a foot above the seat
of the stool, glistening with lube, bigger around than a beer can. I tugged the cord and
the man lumbered reluctantly toward the stool. He looked warily at the dildo, then at me.
I nodded. He straddled the stool resignedly, head hanging. I stepped over to him, put my
hand on his shoulder and pushed him down. His knees flexed until the tip of the plastic
cock kissed his hole, then he resisted. I pulled relentlessly on the cord attached to his
nuts, ignoring his groans and whimpers. After half of the dildo had disappeared, I released
the cord and bore down on his shoulders with all my strength. His muscles stiffened, but
within seconds his hard ass-cheeks smacked the wooden stool.

I knew what I wanted now, but I wasn't quite ready to give myself—or the man—that final
pleasure. Instead, I knelt between his long, hairy legs and examined his dick. I rubbed
the swollen juicetube and pungent honey bubbled out, dripping onto my fingertips. I
smeared the thick goo over my nipples, making them stand out like little brown pebbles.
Then, I leaned forward and rubbed up against the bound man, bringing our tits together,
savoring the electric pulse that shot straight to my groin. He felt it too—his cock rose
up and smacked his belly, webbing his belly hair with sticky lines of lube.

I snapped my fingers and a leatherman delivered the tool I had specified next. The bound
man's eyes got huge and a little moan of fear escaped him. I turned the razor from side
to side, watching the long blade glitter. First, I dragged the blade across the tightly
wound rawhide thong around the base of his cock. The strands of leather parted and fell
to the floor. The swollen veins running up and down his shaft subsided slightly, but
he showed no signs of losing his hard-on.

The release of pressure deflated his knob just enough for me to notice the foreskin that
had been previously stretched back along the shaft. I pinched it tight and pulled it
forward beyond the tip of his dick. I kept tugging until the skin was taut, then I pressed
the blade of the razor against the long, glossy curls that clustered in his groin. His
belly ridged like a washboard and his eyes locked on the long, wicked blade. I pulled
the blade toward me, shearing away his pubes, leaving a wide strip of bare skin. I
pulled his prick to the left, and then to the right, repeating the motion with the
razor until he was shaved clean.

Another two inches of rock-hard meat was revealed, along with the ligaments that anchored
his dick to his pubic bone and the big pulsing veins that fed his monster. I grabbed his
bag and popped his nuts into a knot, quickly eliminating the spiky growth there as well.
When his groin was as naked as a baby's butt, I pulled his prick down toward the floor
and licked him from knob to navel.

The bound man looked at me and licked his lips.

"Thirsty?" I asked mockingly. His eyes flickered and his tongue shot out again, caressing
the full curve of his lower lip. Inspired, I strutted back to my leather-clad minions
and nodded. I felt the fist of one of them against my ass, then a long nozzle was inserted
up my anus. I braced my hands on my knees and leaned forward, taking deep breaths as the
cool water pumped up into my bowels. I let him fill me until my belly was distended, then
I straightened up and walked back to the bound man, my asshole clenched tight.

The chains that had held him suspended earlier still dangled directly above his head. I
grasped them and slowly raised my body off the floor until my arms were fully extended
in the classic Iron Cross formation. I raised my legs and spread them, then looked down
at the bound man. His head was tilted back, mouth gaping. I sneered at him and let my
sphincter relax, forcing out a thin stream of water. He lunged forward, head between my
legs, lapping greedily at the spray. The water trickled out the corners of his mouth and
dripped down onto his chest.

The man swam eagerly against the current, tonguing my asshole, forcing the hot, slippery
muscle up inside of me, sucking the last of the water out of me. His tongue plunged in
and out long after I was empty, swabbing my hole with spit. I felt his teeth nipping
the lips of my manhole as he ate me out, then chewing the thick perineal ridge that
ran from my hole to my knotted balls.

I lowered myself slightly, letting the man suck my balls and lick along the shaft of
my throbbing cock. He was hungry for cock, lunging up and down below me, fucking his
ass with the dildo as he struggled to suck my dick. I finally let him cap the knob,
then let myself down, punching deep into his throat, savoring the feel of his muscles
as they spasmed against the aching stalk.

I was ready to fuck. I released the chains and stood in front of the bound man, my back
to him. He strained forward, nuzzling my crack, licking my cheeks in a frantic effort
to get at my hot hole. I pulled my cheeks apart and he burrowed in, the frantic intensity
of his tongue thrusts making me groan. I crouched lower and lower, coming closer and
closer to his gleaming, bloated cock knob. I grasped the shaft and pressed it against
my hole, watching between my legs as he bent double, licking the tender spot where we
were about to join together. I reached back and pushed his head further down. His long
tongue curved around his snout, then I pushed down, engulfing his knob and his tongue.
The sensation was unbelievable, making me spout honey in a high arc across the bare
floor.

I hovered right where I was, assring flexing, the muscles in my thighs bulging as the
bound man did double duty on me. I longed to feel him spear me deep, but couldn't bear
to move. I held my position, sweat sheening on my body, tremors shooting through me
like thousands of tiny orgasms.

"Get down on it, you fucking bastard!" the bound man snarled, every muscle tensed, the
hairs on his chest and belly bristling. I pulled away from him, turned around, and shook
my head. I scanned the room—every man was leaning forward, eyes glazed, the heavy smell
of sex making their nostrils quiver. I motioned for three of them to approach. The came
running, the outlines of their hard-ons clearly visible in their pants.

The men stripped and I straddled the bound man, my dick jutting up mockingly at the level
of his lips. "Fuck me, boys," I commanded. I felt the first pair of hands around my waist,
then a cock eased up inside of me.

I kept my eyes on the bound man while the man humped my ass, depositing his load after
no more than a dozen frantic strokes. Then another man was behind me—longer and thicker,
his hairy belly tickling my ass as he mounted me and started to screw. The bound man's
face was a mask of frustration and fury. I sneered at him and braced my hands on his
broad shoulders as the man behind me plowed in deep.

I took his load, then that of the third man. When he was done, I called out for volunteers,
heard footsteps on the floor, felt more cocks nudging their way in past my sticky assring.
I was ready to shoot, needed it, wanted it. Finally, a man bumped my backside with something
truly majestic, humped my crack with it, then drove it home.

I winced at the sheer size of it, looking down at the thick forearms wrapped around my
torso. I thought I recognized the color and texture of the luxuriant fur, the pattern
of the veins beneath the skin. I craned my neck and the Silver Fox winked at me. I leaned
back against him and let fly, jism arcing out of me in copious bursts that splattered
on the floor and glistened on the torso of the bound man. The Fox's every thrust found
its mark, battering my pleasure button, forcing more and more come out of me until my
balls felt hollow.

The bound man had streaks of jizz all over him, clotting in the hairs on his chest,
glistening on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, sticking his long thick lashes
together like glue. I nodded and the leathermen stepped forward. They cuffed the man's
wrists and ankles again and suspended him, spread-eagled, above the floor. As the men
filed out, the man howled and cursed, his swollen prick curved up tight against his
belly. I turned to take a final look. Our eyes locked and his chains rattled as he
thrashed around impotently.


Unfortunately, that encounter proved to be the exception, rather than the rule. As a
result of my boredom, I became careless. I took to wandering the streets of West Hollywood,
looking for whatever trouble I could get myself into. Trouble—in the form of hot anonymous
sex—was easy to come by, especially when I cruised the neighborhood in black spandex shorts.
My body was still developing, responding spectacularly to my daily assaults on the weights.
I stopped working on bulk and concentrated on refining the form and proportion of my physique.
By the end of six weeks, I could barely imagine the skinny kid who had once stood hopelessly
in front of the mirror in his solitary room.

I was sunning one afternoon when a man's shadow passed over me. I looked up and admired
his sculpted form. I had seen him before today, had admired the bulge of his pecs, the
concave curve of his belly, the tight, shapely mass of his ass. Until today, he had never
stopped or looked my way. Today, however, he smiled at me. I grinned up at him and motioned
him over.

"Nice day."

"And getting better," I quipped, looking deep into his green eyes. He was stunningly handsome,
a natural, masculine face, large featured, a little rough, made rougher by the dark stubble
on his chin and cheeks and the triangular white scar just beneath his right eye. The anchor,
entwined with hearts and flowers on the curve of his left biceps, only added to his raunchy
appeal.

"That thing as big as it looks?" He was staring at my crotch, the bulge of my dick and balls
mounding the fabric like a small mountain. I spread my thighs and leaned back on the grass,
stretching the fabric tighter, making the mountain grow.

"Any chance of getting a private viewing?" He leaned back beside me, his hairy arm brushing
against my side. I nodded and smiled, realizing full well that it was against all the rules
as laid down by the Fox. Still, I was horny for a real man, not just an over-groomed executive
with money to burn. Besides, he smelled so good, reeking of sweat and manly funk.

As we stood up to go, he turned toward me and our chests rubbed together. Neither of us moved
for a long time, the rise and fall of our ribs as we breathed pressing flesh to flesh. Our
nipples touched and the man's green eyes opened wide. His hips pushed forward and the pulsing
lumps in our groins touched as well, adding to the tension between us.

"Let's go," he said finally. We fell into step together, his fingers slipping beneath the
waistband of my shorts, curling against the hot, bare skin. I draped a hand over his shoulder
and followed him to a cheap boarding house up a side street. Neither of us spoke as we climbed
the narrow, creaking stairs, but the sexual tension between us was palpable. We took the last
flight of stairs two at a time and ran down the hall to his room. He fumbled with the key in
the lock, threw open the door and pulled me inside.

Once behind closed doors we fell against each other, arms twining around sweaty, muscled
bodies, tongues thrusting, crotches grinding in the throes of a primal manly lust. He grabbed
my ass and started humping me. I gripped his bulging pecs, twisting his tits roughly, tugging
hard at the rubbery points.

We separated just long enough to discard clothing, then embraced again. Freed from the confines
of his jeans, the man's fat prick burned against the skin of my belly. My own throbbing hard-on
towered alongside his, both trapped between two solid walls of muscle. I felt his fingers
probing my crack and shifted my feet apart. The man grunted and thrust his tongue ever deeper
into my mouth.

"Let me look at your ass," he growled hoarsely, pushing me roughly away from him. I pulled a
chair over from the rickety table under the single window and crouched down on it, thrusting
my butt back at him. He knelt behind me and began stroking the firm globes of my ass.

"Beautiful," he murmured, running a finger along my crack. When he touched the tightly puckered
lips of my hole, I shivered eagerly. "Oh man, that's hot. Open it for me, buddy. Show me some
pink."

"You open it up," I retorted coyly, looking back over my shoulder at him. He grinned up at
me wolfishly and licked his chops. He wasn't the handsomest man I'd seen on the streets
around the neighborhood, but he had to be one of the sexiest. It was etched in the lines
of his face, the set of his mouth, the piercing eyes—an undefinable something that screamed
"SEX."

My body was definitely answering his call. My dick-head was rubbing my belly, making a sticky
spot, and my balls were already drawn up in a tingling knot between my legs. I was so turned
on that I felt I would come if he even touched me. He leaned forward and his forehead pressed
against my ass. He blew a puff of warm breath against my pucker and although I didn't shoot
my wad, I did let out a deep, ball-rattling sigh of pleasure.

I could feel the bristles of his close-cropped hair prickling my skin as he pressed even
closer, using his tongue as a crowbar to prize my asshole open. There wasn't even a second
of resistance when that warm wiggling tip of flesh touched its target for the first time.
I felt my hole gape, begging him to stuff it with some body part, anything, just to fill
it with his hot, rigid flesh.

He licked me for what seemed like hours—long sweet hours of torture—although it could only
have been minutes at the most. Then he leaned back and began fingering me. One finger on
the first thrust, then two, three and four. He screwed my asshole full of fingers, punching
deep, using his thumb to tease my sensitive balls and massage the thick ridge that ran
down between my legs. He wasn't exactly jacking my cock, but when he moved his thumb,
the skin on my cock stretched tight against the bundle of nerves tucked just under my
crown. I felt it down in my toes.

"You like that, don't you?" he chuckled, driving his fingers deep into me.

"I love it," I moaned. "You're driving me crazy."

"Oh yeah," he muttered, licking the tender skin all around the wriggling plug of his
fingers. I gripped the back of the chair hard enough to make the wood crack and dropped
my head down on my white knuckles.

"Come with me, you horny little fucker," he barked, standing but not removing his hand
from my fuckhole. I put my feet on the floor and straightened up. He fingered me roughly
as we staggered over toward the narrow bed in the corner near the door. He knelt on the
foot of the bed and I climbed in beside him. sprawling on my right side, facing away from
him.

He put his hand behind my left knee and crooked my leg, spreading my stuffed ass wide.
I looked at my reflection in the mirror across from us. I could see his hairy fist,
then the knot of my balls and the bulging shaft of my big dick, stretching up beyond
my navel, glowing crimson against my golden belly. He was propped on one arm, his torso
torqued in a way that made his muscles ripple. I reached back and grabbed at the lush
point crowning his left pec and pinched it hard. His lips pulled back from his teeth
and the plug of fingers jammed even deeper into my ass.

"Fuck me," I begged, frantic to get the friction going that would relieve the pressure
that was building up in my balls. I rubbed my hand down over his belly, tangled my
fingers in his pubes, then latched onto the prize. It was thick and hot, too big around
to let my thumb and fingers meet on the opposite side. I yanked on it and his balls
bounced up against my fist. I fingered the flaring head and hot honey squirted up along
the inside of my wrist. "Put it in me and fuck me!"

He laid down behind me and I felt his knob butt against the fingerplug already in my ass.
He thrust his hips forward, pushing against the already stuffed opening. One finger slipped
out and he thrust forward again.

He still had two fingers up my chute when he breached me, stretching my ring wide. Lube
shot out of me, splattering against my chest and throat. The last of the fingers wriggled
into the clear and I felt his thick heat plunging in to the root.

I laid there gasping, watching as his fat dick began plunging in and out of me. I could
no longer see his face, just his furry groin, his balls, the curve of a hairy thigh
draped over my own leg and two thick forearms, twined around my torso. His fingers
scrabbled around on my chest, found my swollen nipples, and began twisting them. My
body tensed as he pulled on the tender tabs of flesh, tugging them out from the mounds
of my pecs, then letting go and smacking them hard with his open palms.

I could hardly breathe, the sensations were so intense. I had clear juice shooting out
of me with even-beat of my heart and I could barely make a fist as I grabbed for my
flexing cock.

"Not yet, buddy," he growled, gripping my wrist and pinning it to my belly. "I like you
just the way you are, all worked up and ready to juice. I'll squeeze the juice out of you
when I say its time." He barely touched my gaping comehole and my whole body convulsed.
"That's nice," he chuckled, touching me again. "Feels real good on my big meat. Oh yeah."

"Feel real good right here," I groaned, pressing his hand against my belly. He pulled out
of me real slow till nothing but the knob was still in me, then slammed forward, rocking
the bed, bashing my prostate hard. I howled, clawing at the sweaty sheets, feeling his
thrust in every fiber of my being. He tightened his arms around me and did it again.

The man screwed me until the small square of window went from golden to indigo. He kept
me teetering on the edge throughout the afternoon and evening, never letting me slide
the slope to ecstasy. I just kept leaking, soaking the sheets and making my body glisten
like it had been oiled. The man got off on all that lube, rubbing it on me and on himself,
plastering the hairs on his body flat against the lush curves of his muscles.

"Jesus!" I moaned piteously. "Please let me come. I can't stand it any more."

"Almost," he grunted, nuzzling my ear. "I don't want this to end." Nevertheless, he picked
up speed, his slow, lazy humping transforming into deep, hard, ball-jarring thrusts. I felt
like I was burning up inside, flames of lust churning my gut and shooting through my veins.
I felt his cock flex and thrash in my channel, then the heat as he began to pump. It flowed
into me in powerful gushing waves, soothing the battered, clutching tube he was plugged into.
Then, at last, the man gripped my dick and started pumping it.

"Aieeee!" I squealed, feeling the jism push along the length of my juicetube. A big dollop
of white plopped down on my heaving belly, then there was come everywhere. He had primed
the pump for so long that I had built up the load of a lifetime. Come hit the walls and
floor, gushed up along my torso and across the ridged wall of my gut. He kept pumping,
growling sexily, his eyes glued to the gaping comehole gash in the tip of my cock.

When it was finally over, I lay there trembling, unable to move. The man reached behind
him, pulled a towe! down off the shelf above the bed, and unfolded it. "You're really
something, Brendan. Just like they said you'd be." I tensed, tried to move. He knew my
name. Then I felt it, just a slight prick in my left ass-cheek. I looked down and saw him
plunge the hypo needle into the muscle, inject the clear fluid. "I'm sorry, buddy," he
whispered, pulling the needle out of my flesh.

"You bastard!" I groaned, struggling weakly in his grip. I couldn't seem to control my
muscles, make them move for me. I raised my hand and it flopped heavily against my chest.
The reflection of the room in the mirror grew dim. My last memory was of the man stroking
my shoulder. His dick was still plugged deep in my ass.

I woke up with a splitting headache, my ears ringing. I opened my eyes and a barren
white-tiled room gradually came into focus around me. The light in the ceiling hurt
my eyes. I closed them and tried to remember what had happened. There had been that
man, the incredible sex—and then, nothing. The hypo! That fucker had injected me with
something. But why? Who was behind it? It was too much for my drug-fogged brain to
contemplate.

I must have slept again, because my next memory was of voices, corming to me from a
great distance away. I opened my eyes and saw a familiar face floating above me.
There were other faces as well, anonymous, uninteresting. My eyes focused on the one
face and I racked my brain, searching for connections.

"Carter?" My voice was hoarse, my throat dry as cotton. The red hair and strong,
masculine features. The scowl around the mouth. It had to be him, the man I had
tangled with at the Brentwood Academy the night Vandeveer had sent for me. I tried
to sit up but I couldn't move. I looked down and saw the broad leather restraints
pulled tight across my chest and arms. My legs were similarly pinned.

"We had a hell of a time finding you, Callan," Carter said, looking down at me intently.

"What do you want?" I tensed against the restraints— they were strong.

"He's agitated," one of the anonymous faces muttered. "Shall I inject him again?"
The hypo loomed threateningly, approaching my arm.

"No!" I shouted. "Please, Carter, I won't fight you." I looked at him pleadingly.
"Please."

"That won't be necessary, doctor," Carter said softly.

"But we've seen Vandeveer's work before. They've all been unpredictable, at best."
The needle hovered closer.

"Please," I repeated, my eyes still on Carter. "I'm not like the others. You wouldn't
have gone to the trouble to find me if I were." Carter considered that for a moment,
his expression softening slightly. "I didn't hurt you," I concluded, my voice a whisper,
directed only to Carter.

"Leave us," he snapped, motioning for the others to go.

"I really don't think the chief will approve of this action," the man with the hypo
blustered, obviously itching to plunge the long needle into me.

"I really don't care what you think, doctor," Carter retorted icily. "Leave us." His
tone brooked no dissent.

The doctor and his assistants filed quietly out of the room and I heard the sound of a
door closing. Carter still stood looking down at me, his expression unreadable. "I'm
going to remove the restraints," he said finally. "You're in the middle of a heavily
guarded complex, so if you try to escape, you won't get far. Besides, the doctor is
more than anxious to dope you up again."

"You can trust me," I assured him. I felt his fingers against my skin as he unbuckled
the straps. I sat up when he was finished, my head spinning. "Why am I here?" I asked
thickly.

"We have an important job for you, Callan. No one else seems to be qualified."

"Who's we?"

"That needn't concern you. Just do as you're told and you have nothing to fear."

"Why don't I believe that?" I asked, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed and
trying to stand. My legs were like rubber. Carter reached out and caught me in his
arms. I could feel his body under his clothes. He was hot, almost fevered. His cock
was a hard knot in his trousers. He held me for a moment, then eased me back onto the
edge of the bed.

"You must do as you're told. You have no choice."

"Thirsty." I muttered, starting to cough. Carter filled a glass with water and held it
to my lips. I drank thirstily, "I don't feel so good," I muttered, licking my dry lips.

"Here, take this." I looked warily at the pill in the palm of his hand. "It's okay,
Brendan." When I still hesitated, he continued. "You have to trust someone." I looked
at him and nodded. His palm pressed against my lips, and I swallowed the pill. The
dizziness began to subside almost at once.

"What...what must I do?"

"Later, Brendan. When you're feeling better." He turned to go.

"You...you'll be back?" I held my hand out to him, suddenly afraid he would disappear
and leave me at the mercy of the doctor and his assistants. "I'm afraid, Carter."

"I'll be back," he said, looking at my hand on his forearm like it was something strange
and foreign.

"Please, don't let them hurt me," I wailed, my fear rising like a cold wave. I remembered
Vandeveer's plans for me and scenes from his dungeon laboratory came back in vivid detail.
"Don't let them cut me up, Carter. Oh, please."

"Trust me, Brendan," he muttered. His fingers brushed my cheek, then he was gone.

Well, nobody attempted to cut me up during the course of the following week, although
a team of doctors poked and prodded every square inch of my body. I don't know what they
hoped to find, and if they did find anything interesting, they never told me about it.
Much of the attention centered around my genitals— their size, weight, texture, and stamina.
I had to jerk off for them morning and night. They carried away the sperm samples in test
tubes and pored over them in the laboratory.

When I wasn't whacking off in test tubes, I was free to use the fully equipped gymnasium
in the complex where they were holding me. I still had no idea of where I was being held.
There were no windows in the place, so I wasn't even sure whether it was day or night.
I once saw Carter wearing a heavy coat, so I assumed we were someplace where winter held
meaning. I gave up trying to guess my whereabouts and confined my attention to perfecting
the swollen curves of my biceps, determined to add an inch of bulk to them.

Carter came to see me almost every day. He usually wasn't very talkative, but I enjoyed
his familiar presence. He would come to me in my room after my dinner hour and sit on a
chair across from me, sometimes looking at me, sometimes staring doggedly at the floor.
There were faint dark circles under his eyes and fine lines above the bridge of his nose,
etched deep, like pain.

I liked Carter, felt comfortable with him, which was odd, considering he was holding me
prisoner. Still, I felt that he was concerned about me. I also sensed that he was strongly
attracted to me, although he never indicated this by word or gesture. It was much more
subtle than that, like a faint electric pulse that tingled through my veins when he was
in the room.

"Hi," I said, smiling as he opened the door to my room. "Come on in." I grabbed the damp
towel draped over the foot of the bed and wrapped it around my hips. My prison was warm
and they had given me no clothes to wear. I generally gave it little thought, but Carter
made me feel shy for some reason. I tucked the loose end of the towel in at my waist and
sat on the bed.

"I just came to bring you this." He held out a small sack. I took it from him and opened
it. Chocolate chip cookies. Forbidden, of course, by the faceless dietician who piled
my tray with vegetables and pasta. I grabbed two and handed him the bag.

"Thanks," I said, spitting crumbs. "I'm...I'm glad you're here."

"Why? Do you need something?"

"No. I...I just get lonely here. They all treat me like a lab rat. When you're around I
feel human."

"Oh." He looked at me briefly, clasped his hands, and stared down at the floor. I looked
at the clusters of auburn curls on his head, noticing pale scalp showing through a
slightly thinning patch near the crown. I was tempted to lean over and kiss it. I didn't.

Poor Carter looked miserable, although I suppose I would have been justified in thinking
that it served him right. He was, after all, at least indirectly responsible for my current
plight. Still, I bore him no ill will. I remembered clearly the night we had met and the
events that had transpired in Vandeveer's office. Strong resistance at first, then a total
surrender to me. There had been something exhilarating—a sense of total power, perhaps?—
about seducing a straight man, making him beg me to fuck him. I put my hands in my lap to
hide my burgeoning erection.

I sat there and waited, but Carter never looked up at me. I could see the tension in his
shoulders, deltoids knotted unnaturally beneath the pale blue fabric of his shirt. He
raised his hands and pressed them to his forehead, his eyes shut tight. I stood and
padded across the tiled floor on bare feet. I stood behind his chair, looking at the
man's powerful body. From the back, his torso tapered sharply from his shoulders to
his waist. Even seated, the tempting curve of his pale, freckled, fuzzy ass was visible.
Soft pale hairs grew in the center of his neck, following the slight indentation of the
vertebras.

When I put my hands on his shoulders, Carter grabbed at my wrists, his fingers encircling
them like iron bands. "What the fuck are you doing?" he snarled, his body tensed, ready
to spring.

"You're so tense," I murmured softly, digging my thumbs gently into the knotted tissue.
"I was going to rub your neck." His hands dropped into his lap, but he didn't relax.

"You've ruined me," he muttered, speaking so softly that I wasn't sure the words were
even meant for me. "Ruined my life."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I queried, my knuckles pressing into the strong column
of his neck. The muscle wouldn't yield. "How have I ruined your life? It seems to me that
you're ruining my life at the moment—or running it, at any rate." I laughed softly, contem-
plating the shitty state of my life.

"You think it's funny?" he snapped, jumping up and beginning to pace up and down beside
my narrow bed. "Ever since that night at Vandeveer's lab, I haven't been the same."

"Did I hurt you? I didn't mean to. Please believe that."

"Hurt me? Not exactly. Not physically in any case. That would have been simple—heal and
go on about my life. You're in here." He pointed at his head, the lines between his eyebrows
deepening. "I go to fuck my girlfriend, and you know what I see?" I shook my head. "You."
He spat out the word. "I see you." He began to walk faster, gnawing on his knuckles. He
stopped suddenly and stared at me, chest heaving, voice hoarse. "I wake up in the night
in a cold sweat and jerk off. I close my eyes and all I can see is you—your face, your
body, your ass, your cock. I'm losing my mind, Brendan. I...I...I..." His voice trailed
off to silence. He stood there, rocking slightly, his fists clenched at his sides. I
watched his eyes mist with tears, saw a single droplet trickle down over his cheek. I
stepped over to him.

"Carter?" I put my hand on his chest. His heart was pounding. He raised his arm, fist
still clenched, as though he might hit me. I made no move to protect myself. The fist
gradually loosened and his fingers brushed my cheek, slipped down to my bare shoulder.

"Aaahh!" The sigh was the sound of a man in pain. He looked at me, then he leaned slowly
forward, as though against his will, and kissed me. I kissed him back, our tongues touching,
then twining together.

It was like a dam had burst. He wrapped his arms around me, hands on my back and ass,
fingers digging painfully into my flesh. I held him, felt his hard body through his
clothes, let him push me back toward the bed. I fell back onto the rumpled sheets.
Carter ripped my towel away, then tore off his own clothes. Buttons popped, rolling to
all corners as he literally ripped his shirt off his back. He impatiently kicked his
shoes off his feet and let his pants drop around his ankles.

Naked, hard-on jutting, Carter fell on top of me, grinding against me frantically. His
cock pistoned against my belly, the soft hairs on his gut tickling at the shaft of my
stiffer. He had my hands pinned above my head, kissing my neck and chest, licking at my
nipples, chewing them into points.

I writhed under him, his intensity permeating me, as though it soaked into my skin
along with his sweat. He licked lower and lower, along my sternum, down my belly, to
my groin. Kneeling between my outspread thighs, he lifted my knees and draped my legs
over his shoulders. I gasped when he began licking my balls, his full lips planting
sloppy little kisses on my bag and in the tender insides of my thighs.

"Yes!" I sighed when I felt the knob of his hard cock against my hole. He fell forward
on top of me, penetrating me, driving his throbbing dick deep up into me. His hips began
pumping frantically, his cock moving in and out, stabbing at me, his balls banging against
my ass. He pulled my cock back against his belly and held it there. The friction he was
creating curled my toes, made me lose control, come all over myself before he'd been on
me for more than a minute. He scooped my jism up off my chest and belly, rubbed it over
the mat on his chest, spiking it into little russet points. He looked down at me wildly,
licking his fingers clean, then pinned my knees to my chest and began riding again.

Carter fucked like a maniac. I know he came twice because I felt it inside of me, squirting
deep into my bowels. I sensed it in the way his muscles tensed, the dazed look in his eyes,
the rate of his pulse, pounding out in the veins on his neck. I came when he did, his belly
fur rubbing my dick, coupled with the driving urgency of his need driving me over the cliffs
of desire.

When he finally stopped, he held me for a long time, nuzzling my neck, his hands tangled
in my hair. I rubbed his back, noting that the tension had drained out of him, temporarily
at least. When he finally raised his head and looked into my eyes, I smiled at him.

"Tomorrow, Brendan. Tomorrow we go outside." He didn't return my smile.

I was still dripping from the shower when Carter came to me the following evening. I had
been anticipating his arrival all day, my heart skipping beats whenever I thought about
him. Not the handsomest man, nor the most muscular, or even the best endowed, Carter was
by far the sexiest that I had ever encountered. Perhaps this was because the fire that
burned in his loins was brought on by something more elemental than chemical compounds,
or even by the rapacious vanity of a horny male. I could feel it when he fucked me, a raw,
jagged need so primal that it couldn't be denied. When the door opened and I saw him, my
belly flip-flopped and I felt my cheeks burn. He looked somber and withdrawn, but the
blood tinged his cheeks as well when our eyes locked.

"Are you ready?" His voice was flat, unreadable.

"For a night on the town with you? You better believe it." I stepped over to touch him,
make some physical contact, however fleeting, but Carter stepped back. My hand dropped
to my side. "Is that for me?" I asked, gesturing at the suit bag he was carrying.

"I hope it fits," he muttered, looking everywhere but at me.

I took the bag from him and unzipped it. "Looks formal," I said, holding up the pleated
tux shirt and the black dinner jacket with its narrow satin lapels.

"Very." There was anger in Carter's voice. "Reception at the Italian Embassy." I looked
at him, hoping for further information. I got none.

I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on the thin black socks. Then I stood and stepped
into the pale blue silk boxer shorts. They hugged my ass like a glove and felt very sexy
against the sensitive skin of my cock and balls. "You rented these?" I asked, rubbing
my hands sensually across the bulging lump of my crotch.

"I bought those," Carter replied, still staring doggedly at the floor. "Hurry, Brendan.
Please."

I finished dressing and turned back to him. "How do I look?"

"You look...perfect." His voice rang with conviction. "Now, come on, let's get going."

"Who tied your tie?" I asked, suddenly focusing on the lopsided bow at this neck.

"I did," he shot back defensively. "What's the matter with it?"

"Nothing that 1 can't fix," I chuckled. "Come over here."

"It's fine," he protested, shaking his head stubbornly.

"It's great, for a senior prom in Hicksville, Iowa. It isn't going to work for a reception
at an embassy. Come on. Carter. I know how to tie a tie."

He nodded sullenly and I stood in front of him, trying to adjust the black bow of the tie.
"This isn't going to work," I announced after fussing with it for several moments. "You've
got it all wrong. Come over to the mirror." Carter followed me over to the mirror and planted
himself in front of it, looking like a naughty-schoolboy who'd been caught in the act. "I
can only do this in the mirror," I explained, stepping behind him and grasping the loose
ends of the tie.

I looped and knotted the tie, making a perfect bow on my first attempt. I liked the feeling
of Carter's back pressing against my chest and the strong line of his shoulders against my
arms, so I jerked the ends of the tie and began all over again.

"It's perfect, damn it!" he snapped after I had reworked the bow five times. I twisted it
to perfection and pressed my chin against his shoulder. I decided that our auburn and
chestnut heads looked quite handsome together. Carter was watching the mirror intently
as well. I couldn't help but wonder what his thoughts would be on that subject. I knew
better than to ask— right now, at least.

"You're hopeless," I murmured, slipping my hands into the crisp front of his starched shirt
to fasten one of the little ebony studs that was dangling loose. My fingers touched bare
skin and the familiar electric pulse buzzed against my skin. I snapped the stud into place,
then reached to straighten the merbund at his waist that was half skewed around, the
straps and buckles showing. "Can't have people thinking you're a slob, can we now?"

Carter wriggled free of my encircling arms. "Nobody'll be looking at me, Brendan."

"I will, Carter."

"Let's go." I smiled and followed him docilely out of the room.

My good mood was dimmed somewhat when Carter steered me into one of the labs that lined
the corridor of the complex I was being held captive in. The technician who greeted us
instructed me to take off my jacket and roll up my sleeve. I looked warily at Carter but
he nodded and I sat down beside the technician's desk. Carter stood behind me, his hands
on my shoulders, thumbs barely brushing the skin on the back of my neck. It was a simple
gesture, but I loved him for it. There was a slight pricking in my arm, then my body
flooded with warmth. I was suddenly aware of every muscle and nerve in my body, and the
silk shorts felt like a soft, oiled hand on my genitals. I stiffened, awaiting some other,
more violent reaction to the drug, but there was none.

"We can go now, Brendan," Carter said, his thumbs still against my skin. His hands moved
away and I stood up, following his broad back as he hurried down the long, brightly lit
corridor.

A door opened when he pushed a plastic card into the slot above the lock, and we were in
an underground garage. Carter steered me to a large black limousine and the chauffeur
opened the door for us. I climbed into the plush interior and the door was closed behind
me. I felt a little pang when Carter got up in front, next to the driver, leaving me all
alone in back.

The car pulled out into traffic and I gazed through the tinted windows at my surroundings.
We were in Washington, D.C. I recognized the monumental government buildings, the dome
of the Capitol, and the various memorials to past presidents. The car maneuvered through
the traffic until we came to a neighborhood of stately homes set back from the street.
The car glided through the wrought iron gates of a Georgian brick mansion and pulled up
at the foot of wide stone stairs. Carter got out and opened the back door for me. For the
first time, I saw that there were no handles on the inside of the doors.

"Do you feel alright, Brendan?" Carter's voice was soft, his words obviously not meant for
the ears of the tall, impassive chauffeur who hovered at our side, obviously ready to tackle
me if I tried to break away.

"Just a little nervous." I replied. "And incredibly horny." We began ascending the stairs,
moving up to broad double doors, flanked by Italian soldiers in dress uniform. "Just exactly
what am I supposed to do?" I whispered. "I'm not very clear on that point."

"I'll point out the ambassador, Brendan. Watch, smile, listen. Get close to him."

"And then?"

"And then you just do what you do." I looked at Carter curiously. His nostrils were quivering
and he looked like he was within inches of jumping my bones, right on the embassy stairs.
I would have let him do it if he had tried. He averted his eyes and hurried on up the stairs.

Our invitations were checked by an obsequious man standing just inside the door, then we
were ushered inside. We climbed the ornate marble staircase to a large reception room on
the second floor of the mansion and Carter pointed out the ambassador. He was a tall,
handsome man with steel gray, curly hair, and the ramrod stiff bearing of a military man.
He was talking to a statuesque blonde woman, openly eyeing her rather spectacular cleavage.
In fact, the man was surrounded by women, all vying for his attention. I got the distinct
impression that the randy old stallion was only interested in mares. This would be a true
test of Vandeveer's chemical stew.

I ordered a soda from one of the waiters who constantly circulated through the crowd and
took up my position in a doorway that led out onto a terrace. I was perhaps ten feet from
the Italian ambassador, all of my attention and sexual energy focused on the impressive
tuxedoed figure.

He glanced at me once, without displaying any more than a casual interest. I nodded and
smiled. Over the course of the next half hour, his looks became more frequent, the gaze
translating as lust in any language. Finally, he disengaged himself from the coterie of
women flocking around him and made his way over to me.

"Are you enjoying yourself," he asked, his voice deep, the accent lilting.

"Very much," I replied.

"Why would such a young man spend his evening like this?" He gestured dismissively at the
glittering throng that was chattering noisily around us. I gave him the story that Carter
had outlined for me on the way to the embassy. "So. then you are a student of international
relations? Congratulations on your scholarship and your prize." I had told him that I had
won a school-sponsored trip to Washington to see the inner workings of government.

"Thank you. I feel very honored to be here. I had no idea that ambassadors were so...
handsome." I smiled at him innocently. He looked for an instant as though he might turn
and walk away. He didn't.

"You are a strong young man," he said huskily, putting his hand on my shoulder. "You are
an athlete as well as a scholar?"

"I believe the development of the body is as important as the exercise of the mind," I
replied.

"My friend's son Georgio plays football. He is staying with me in this country because
he hopes to play the game professionally when he is finished with his studies. He is
also strong—and quite clever." He smiled proudly.

"Is he here tonight?" I asked, looking around the room.

"Georgio has no interest in these affairs. He is up in his room, preparing for quarterly
examinations."

"I would like to meet him. I play football myself."

"I...we could...could go up to him."

"But I don't wish to take you away from your guests."

"Please," the ambassador protested, his dark eyes glittering as he looked at me. "They
will survive without my attention for a few minutes. Come. Follow me."

I crossed the huge room in his wake. I caught sight of Carter as I left the room. He saw
me, but gave no sign of recognition. We climbed the stairs to the third floor of the house.
The private quarters of the ambassador and his family. There were several dark-suited men
who bowed deferentially when the ambassador passed them. I felt their eyes on me, studying
me. perhaps wondering what I was doing here. Perhaps not.

I felt a jolt when a man stepped out into the hall from behind one of the closed doors.
I looked at him, but he gave no hint of recognizing me. It was the man from Los Angeles.
The one who had picked me up, fucked me all afternoon, then injected me. The one who had
been responsible for capturing me and bringing me back here. He bowed respectfully to the
ambassador, but didn't look my way at all.

I stepped through the door that the ambassador held open for me. "Georgio," he called in
his dusky baritone. "I want you to meet someone." I looked around the large bedroom, but
saw no one. Then I heard a chair scraping against the floor and Georgio appeared in the
doorway of an alcove on the other side of the room.

"What is it, sir?" His voice was deep, musical, sexy. He looked at me and smiled.

"Georgio, this is Brendan. He plays football." Georgio walked across to me and shook
my hand. He was naked except for a pair of white briefs that contrasted deliciously with
his olive skin. His upper body was lean and tight, pecs squared, lats pushing his arms
out slightly from his sides. He had the legs of a football player—thick, hard thighs,
muscle bulging from hip to knee, then tucking in around his kneecaps. His calves were
knotted, unnaturally swollen from running across the field. Georgio had the ass of a
man who spent his life running and jumping as well—two full, rounded mounds, pushing
against the thin fabric of his underwear. He was on the verge of being very hairy, a
fine down on chest, belly and legs that was beginning to lengthen and darken. Gorgeous.

"I will get us something to drink," the ambassador said, leaving us alone in the room.
Georgio was still clasping my hand, his grip strong, his forefinger rubbing against the
inside of my wrist. He was starting to get a hard-on. He looked slightly dazed as he
stood there, looking deep into my eyes.

"Undress me," I whispered, tracing a line from his sternum to his navel. His belly
muscles tightened and his cock jerked in his briefs. His hands were trembling as he
tugged at my tie and unfastened the studs in my shirt front. When he had my shirt and
jacket pushed down off my shoulders, he stepped forward and began rubbing up against me.
I bent my head and kissed him on the mouth.

When he had me peeled naked, I stripped him of his briefs and led him over to the big
bed. I climbed into the center and leaned back against the tall headboard, legs spread
wide, my throbbing cock lying up against my belly.

"Come," I murmured, holding out my hand. He took it and crawled into the bed with me,
kneeling between my legs, staring at my prick, mesmerized like a bird confronted by a
snake. "Touch it," I urged, hooking a finger around the base and pushing it down,
pointing the sticky knob at his belly.

There was an instant of hesitation, then Georgio hunkered down between my thighs and
gripped my dick with both hands. He rubbed his lips against the tip, then touched it
with his tongue, probably tasting another man's cock for the first time. He groaned
softly and his own hard-on smacked him in the belly. I put my hand on his curly head
and pushed him down.

I pulled his hands off my cock and smacked them down against my chest. His fingers
scrabbled over the thick curve of muscle, seeking out my tits. He found the swollen
points and pinched them, twisting hard. I forced his head further down, cramming my
knob down his throat. He sputtered and choked, but I didn't let him come off me. He
settled down and began sucking eagerly, his tongue rasping the bundle of nerves tucked
at the end of my juicetube.

I rubbed my feet up and down his muscular legs, feeling rather than seeing the luxuriant
mossy growth that coated the full, hard curves. I sat forward and put my hands on his
ass. It was as smooth as silk, hairless, flawless. I pried the globes of muscle apart
and looked at his crack. The moss there was darkening already, curls clustering around
the springy little pucker tucked in at the base. I ran a finger over the moist lips and
another inch of my cock slid down his throat.

I looked up when the door opened. The ambassador was carrying a tray with bottles and
glasses. He stopped short as he entered the room. "What the hell?" he snapped, his eyes
bugging as he took in the scene—his sweet Georgio nursing hungrily on my fat prick. I
winked at him and pulled Georgio's asscheeks wide. I pressed a fingertip to the pouty
entrance to secret delights and plunged it into him, up to the knuckle. Georgio snorted
and bucked, lifting his ass high as I made contact with the swollen pleasure spot tucked
inside of him.

"Join us," I said conversationally, pumping my finger vigorously. "Come."

The ambassador set the tray down with a clatter and approached the bed. Was his expression
horrified or fascinated? It teetered between the two, the room silent except for Georgio's
noisy slurping. Fascination—or horniness, or the essence of the chemical brew pulsing in
my veins—won the day and the ambassador began to strip.

He was in excellent shape. The silver on his head hadn't yet frosted the thick mat covering
his chest and belly. It gleamed like a raven's wing in the soft light of the room. The
dark triangle of his pubes framed a fat, uncut cock, veiny and well-used, already beginning
to rise up into fucking stance.

"Come on," I taunted, petting Georgio's sleek ass like he was a domestic animal. "Take him.
You want him, don't you? I can feel it." I flexed my pecs as Georgio jerked on my nipples,
stretching them raut. "He's tight and hot inside. Like pussy. But tighter and sweeter." I
pulled my finger out of his ass and licked it. Empty now, Georgio's asscheeks flexed
maddeningly, dimpling on the sides as the muscles knotted under the pale skin.

The ambassador knelt on the edge of the bed, prick bouncing, his eyes fixed on Georgio's
twitching asshole. I reached for his balls, grasped the hairy orbs in my fist and pulled
him forward. The hot shaft of his manhood bumped Georgio's cheek, then slipped into the
deep mossy cleft. I peeled the hooded snout bare, guided it to the target. The pale brown
lips kissed the blunt invader, puckering enticingly around the glistening spear.

"Take him!" I barked, pulling the ambassador by the balls. His muscles tensed, then he
thrust forward mightily, the thickly veined shaft disappearing into the secret heat of
young Georgio. Georgio jolted forward, swallowing the rest of my cock. Plugged firmly
at both ends, he was like a wild animal, twisting and writhing on the bed as he got his
cherry popped at both ends. I locked lips with the ambassador and we both began to fuck.

The ambassador blew first, pushed over the edge by the forbidden heat. He shuddered and
shook, his eyes flashing as he spewed the contents of his jiggling balls up young Georgio's
hot ass. His eyes opened wide in astonishment, whether at what he had just done or the
way it had felt I couldn't say. He withdrew and sat back on his haunches, the last thick
globs still hanging off the tip of his prick.

I grabbed Georgio by the hair and pulled his head up. My glistening cock rose up and smacked
against my belly. Georgio s face was smeared with spit and snot and lube. He wiped his arm
across his mouth and stared at my prick hungrily. His own meat was curved up tight against
the silky down on his belly. I scooted down on the bed and pointed my cock straight up.

"Put him on it," I ordered. The ambassador grabbed Georgio under the arms and moved him
into position. My knob pressed in tight against his sticky hole, chafed to fever heat by
the older man's frantic fucking. "Push him down," I snapped, holding my dick steady. The
ambassador's hands shifted to Georgio's broad shoulders and he thrust him down brutally.
His asshole, slick and defenseless, gave way easily and I speared him to the balls. Georgio's
eyelids fluttered shut and the muscles in his thighs swelled impressively.

"Now, fuck him with it," I purred. "Make him ride it." The ambassador's big hands clamped
Georgio around the waist and he began bouncing Georgio up and down, raising him high, then
forcing him down till his sweaty ass smacked my hips. After the first few ball-jarring
thrusts, Georgio's thick thighs took over, flexing and relaxing as he bucked blissfully
on my hard, fleshy stake.

"Stand up," I said to the ambassador, a sudden inspiration striking me. The older man
rose and stood behind Georgio, his heavy dick dangling above the young man's curly
head. "Suck your daddy's friend," I taunted Georgio, grabbing his balls and squeezing
them. Georgio threw his head back and his mouth opened in a pouty little O. The ambassador
flexed his knees and the head of his cock disappeared. He got hard almost instantly,
inflamed by the feel of the young man's soft lips and his thrashing tongue. Young
Georgio curled his arms back around the ambassador's lean thighs and began sucking
him, the muscles in his throat flexing, his Adam's apple bobbing frantically.

The sight of the two of them, the young man greedily sucking the older man's dick,
hungry for his thick seed, inflamed me. I lay back against the pillows, playing with
my tits, thrusting my hips up off the bed, into the steamy bliss of Georgio. His uncut
cock, the mirror image of the ambassador's older, more experienced piece, glowed against
his gut like a sexual beacon. I scooped a finger full of drool off the tip and rubbed
it over my nipples, groaning at the intensity of the pleasure it sent shooting through
me.

Suddenly, Georgio's movements became rough and jerky. The ridges of his abs tightened
and the muscles in his thighs bulged, clenching his asshole down on me like a vise.
The ambassador moaned softly and began to exhibit the same physical symptoms. Georgio's
hot come shot up along my torso in a thick, wide band of creamy white. His mouth opened
in a howl of relief from so much pleasure and the ambassador's cock popped free, adding
another generation of jism to that already pooling on my sweat-streaked skin. I pumped
my hips one final time and began filling Georgio's clutching manhole with my load.
Georgio collapsed against me, moaning, and the ambassador knelt over both of us, his
breath rough and unsteady, clutching his friend's son in a fiercely protective embrace.

Chapter 11

I woke up the next morning with a pounding headache. I didn't remember leaving the
ambassador's residence or much of anything after my last orgasm. I got up, showered,
ate breakfast, then walked to the gym for my daily workout. The workout didn't go
well—I was clumsy, dropping things, almost falling more than once. By the time I
had finished up with my routines, I was feeling better, although the headache persisted.

I thought of complaining to one of the doctors or technicians in the complex, but I
didn't even know any of them by name. I suspected that the drug they had injected me
with had been the culprit, but I couldn't remember who had administered it. Besides,
they all treated me like I was a lab animal, and I suspected that they weren't too
concerned about potential side effects, just so long as the drug worked.

I had no idea, really, about what had happened the previous night. Oh, I knew what I
had done well enough. I had seduced the ambassador and his friend's son, making them
do things that they would probably never have done without me as a catalyst. Even if
the ambassador had harbored a secret desire to fuck his handsome young guest, I doubted
whether he would have followed through on it. Since I couldn't imagine that this whole
laboratory complex had been set up to promote old man/young man relations, I was left
wondering just what its—and my—purpose was.

While I was puzzling over this, the door to my room swung open. Carter walked in and I
felt like a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. "Carter," I said, jumping up
off my bed and approaching him. "I'm so glad you're here." I was going to hug him, but
he put his hand against my chest and pushed me away. My smile faded and I began to feel
apprehensive again.

"There's another job tonight," he said gruffly, staring off over my shoulder as though
I wasn't there. "Get dressed." He handed me another suit bag, then started to leave.

"No, don't go." I pleaded, suddenly afraid to be alone. "I need to talk to you."

"So talk." Carter's hand slipped from the doorknob and he leaned up against the wall,
still refusing to meet my gaze.

"What was going on last night? I mean why was it happening?"

"You were doing your job. We're in a hurry; Brendan. Get dressed." I opened the garment
bag and pulled out a navy tanktop and a pair of shorts. No embassy party tonight, from
the looks of it.

"What is my job, Carter?" I watched his face as I stripped out of my workout shorts and
wriggled into the tight white shorts from the bag. Carter looked down at the floor, his
brow furrowed as though he was in great pain. He didn't speak. "Carter. Carter!" He
shuddered and forced himself to look at me. He looked so miserable that I wanted to go
over to him. I wanted to touch him, hold him. maybe massage his neck and shoulders until
that pained look disappeared. The memory of his recent rebuff kept me where I was.

"Your job. Brendan, is to do as you're told. Follow orders, just like I do."

"We're not doing this for world peace, are we?" I said, pulling the tanktop over my head.
It was silk, cut to reveal the maximum amount of flesh. I tucked it into the shorts and
glanced at the mirror. I could hardly have been more exposed if I had been naked. I sat
on the side of the bed and put on white socks and tennis shoes. "Please talk to me, Carter.
I'm so alone here."

"We're all alone, Brendan. Get used to it."

"You've got your girlfriend, at least," I retorted, suddenly very angry.

"Not any more," he snapped. "Thanks to you."

"I'm sorry." I don't even know why I said that, except that it was the conventional thing
to say. The very thought that I had caused Carter to give up his woman made my stomach
flutter with nervous butterflies. Maybe that meant he'd be spending more time with me.

"Don't be," he muttered. "It had nothing...nothing to do with you." He didn't sound
convinced.

"Well, you've got your friends outside this place. Damn it. Carter, I've got nobody. I
stay here all the time, staring at these bare walls with nothing to do. I want to be able
to go outside, Carter. Maybe take a walk in a park or go for a burger someplace. Take a
ride in the country. I'm a real person, Carter. I'm not just some experiment that maniac
Vandeveer dreamed up. I'm real." I held my hands out to him, tears burning my cheeks.

"Oh, Christ!" Carter's voice was angry, but his hand was gentle as he dabbed at my tears
with his handkerchief. When I pressed my face against his hard belly, he didn't pull away.
Not immediately in any case. "Pull yourself together, Brendan. We can't be late."

I splashed water on my face and followed him along the corridor. When he turned into the
lab, I drew back, paralyzed by a sudden wave of stark terror. "No, please," I whimpered.

"Jesus, Brendan. Now what?" I told him about my headache and the trouble I'd had with my
grip earlier in the day.

"Mention it to the man when we go to the lab."

"But I don't need a shot to attract a man. Christ. Carter, you should know that well enough."
I should have kept quiet. Carter's eyes glittered with suppressed rage.

"I have my orders," he said tersely. "Let's go!"

We walked in silence to the lab. The technician wasn't quite ready and after snapping at
him to hurry up. Carter stalked off to check on the car.

"I reacted badly to the drugs last night," I told the technician, "I had this really bad
headache and trouble with holding on to things today."

"Oh?" The man sounded unconcerned. "Well, I'm sure there's nothing to worry about." He
approached the desk where I was seated, two syringes in his right hand.

"Why two?" I asked, eyeing the syringes nervously.

"Orders," he replied, neither voice nor expression giving anything away. "Make a fist."

"I don't want a double dose," I protested, shrinking away from the man.

"Don't give me any trouble," the man warned, gripping my wrist firmly.

"No!" I pulled away from him. I didn't even see the prod, didn't know where it came from.
All I knew was that it had materialized in his hand. He jabbed it into my groin and I felt
an excruciating pain as the prod discharged. The man got an evil grin on his face and
punched me again.

"Aieee!" I screamed in anguish and crumpled to the floor, trying to protect my burning
balls. I rolled into a fetal position, but he crammed the stick up between my legs,
jolting me yet again. Another scream was ripped from my throat when he brought the prod
down across my shoulders, then jammed it into my ribs.

"Stop!" I begged. "Please. I won't—" My words were cut short when the prod came into contact
with my bare nipple. He crammed the prod into the mass of my pectoral muscle and another
horrible pain seared me. "Aaaahhhh!! Please. Please stop it. I'm sorry. I...aaaahhh!!"

I heard a roar piercing the noise of my own scream, then the lab technician was literally
flying through the air. His body slammed against the far wall and the man collapsed into a
heap. Carter leapt after the man, grabbed him by the throat, and hauled him to his feet.

"If.. .you.. .ever.. .touch.. .him.. .again.. .I'll.. .kill.. .you. Understood?" His every
word was punctuated by a dull thud as he banged the technician's head against the wall. The
man gurgled unintelligibly and Carter let him go. He sank back to the floor, blood gushing
from his nose.

Carter knelt beside me, slipped an arm under my shoulders and held me tight. I wrapped my
arms around him and pressed my face against his chest, crying like a baby. He rocked me
gently back and forth until I pulled myself together. Once my sobbing had subsided to a
series of quiet sniffles, Carter cupped my chin in his hand and pulled my face up.

"I'm sorry, Brendan," he said, his expression anguished. "I shouldn't have left you alone
with him. Those bastards! Can you get up?"

"I...I think so. I'm okay. Really I am. It was just such a shock—literally and figuratively.
I was trying to tell him about my reaction and he informed me he was doubling up on the
dosage. Carter, I'm afraid of that stuff. Please don't make me take it. I promise I'll
do whatever you want me to do. I'll seduce anyone you tell me, just don't..."

"What the hell's going on in here?" The room was suddenly crowded with security men and
the silver-haired man whom I had first seen at the Brentwood Academy in Doctor Vandeveer's
office. Carter stiffened and pulled away from my embrace. He rose and helped me to my feet.

"Carter?"

"I'm sorry sir. This man attacked Callan for no reason. Callan was trying to describe a
reaction he'd had to the injections and the man went after him with a cattle prod." He
looked to where the man was still lying, groaning piteously. "I did that to him, sir.
It wasn't Callan."

"Come, son. Tell me what the problem is." The silver-haired man turned to me, smiling.
It wasn't a warm smile, but I smiled back. He put a hand on my arm and guided me to a
chair. It was probably intended as a fatherly gesture, but it reminded me of an executioner
taking a condemned man to the electric chair. I sat and told my story.

"I'm sure there won't be trouble this time," he reassured me. "We've been experimenting to
perfect the compound. This is different than the injection you were given before. It just
arrived today. Come, Brendan, put your arm out on the table. We do have a schedule to
keep." I did as he said, eyeing the security goons, realizing that I was totally defeated.

"Carter." The silver-haired man spoke and the man I'd come to think of as my only friend
and protector snapped to attention. "Come, Carter. I would like you to administer the
injection to young Brendan. I think he trusts you to do nothing to harm him."

Carter approached with measured steps, like a man in a trance—or an automaton. He took
the cotton swab that the silver-haired man handed him and rubbed it in the crook of my
left arm. Then he picked up one of the syringes and popped the plunger until liquid
squirted out the tip of the needle. He stood there in front of me, the needle poised
above the bulging vein pulsing under my skin.

"Carter." The silver-haired man's voice was louder. "Now, Carter." I was watching Carter's
face. His eyes flickered for an instant, then he plunged the needle into my arm. "All
of it, Carter. Inject all of the liquid." Carter hit the plunger and I felt the warmth
in my veins. He removed the first needle and quickly stabbed me with the second one. By
the time the last of the liquid was in me, my whole body was throbbing, flushed with an
incredible heat. The room spun slightly, then righted itself. I rose out of the chair and
stretched, flexing my muscles for anyone who wanted to look. The security men were already
leaving the room, their nostrils quivering, like they would jump me if given the chance.

"Good night, Brendan," the silver-haired man said, stepping out of the room as well. "I'm
counting on you."

"Yes." My voice sounded far away.

"Come on, Brendan." I knew that voice. It was Carter. My friend. He took me by the arm and
led me out into the hall. He looked close to tears. I didn't understand. I didn't understand
at all.

The car whisked us to the airport. I stared out the window at the dirty drifts of snow,
wondering why I was dressed the way I was. It was only after we were on the luxuriously
appointed private jet that Carter told me that we were flying down to Miami. There was a
man there that I was to meet. Carter wouldn't say what I had to do—he only indicated that
it was very important that everything go according to plan. I was shown a picture of the
man—young, dark, Latin, his eyes as cold as a corpse's.

I looked at Carter. His face was a mask of rage. It frightened me to see him so angry, but
I felt instinctively that the rage wasn't directed at me. I slipped my hand across the cool
leather of the seat and put it on his thigh. The muscle was swollen like a rock with pent-up
tension, but he didn't slap my hand away. I nestled my fingers in the warmth of his crotch
and closed my eyes, fantasizing that we were on our way, alone, to some tropical retreat,
someplace where we could walk the beach naked and lie under palms to make slow, passionate
love to one another. It was a lovely fantasy.

I was so horny on board the jet, I was twitching. My skin had become so sensitive that the
touch of my own hand sent shivers racing up and down my spine. I looked across at Carter
who was sitting in the seat facing me. We were alone in the cabin. The pilot and copilot
were safely locked away in the cockpit. Carter was staring at me hungrily, his eyes heavy-
lidded, nostrils slightly flared, as though he could smell my musk. The injection was
having its desired effect—on him as well as on me. I glanced down at his crotch. His
cock was jerking around under the fabric of his trousers.

"Carter." I leaned forward and covered his erection with my hand.

"Oh, no, Brendan. I...I can't."

"Please," I cooed, kneeling in front of him. He groaned but made no move to resist as
I began unbuttoning his shirt. I pulled the flaps of fabric aside and pressed my face
to his bare torso. I loved the smell of him and the silky softness of the fur on him.
I began sucking on a nipple, pressing my belly in tight against his crotch. I felt his
hands on my shoulders, stroking me like a big cat.

I licked a trail down over Carter's belly, plugging my tongue into his navel as I fought
with belt and zipper. I pulled his pants and briefs down over his hips and dived into
his crotch, swallowing him hungrily. I loved his cock, loved the size, shape and texture,
the slight curve that angled the big knob down my throat, the throbbing hardness of it.
I pushed forward, forcing it down my throat, savoring the sensation of his pubes tickling
my lips.

I began sucking it, slow and easy, my tongue caressing the veiny shaft, swirling around
the rim of the crown. I captured it in both my hands, leaning back, staring at the crimson
helmet perched on the end, raking my teeth across the tenderness, watching it bulge then
start to leak. Carter oozed sweet honey, thick and clear as crystal. I rubbed my lips
across the slit in the tip until they were slick as glass, constantly working the shaft,
keeping up the flow.

Carter's eyes were closed, his mouth gaping slightly. I could see his straight, white
teeth and the tip of his pink tongue. I rubbed one hand up through his russet fur, up
the strong column of his neck, touched his lips. He licked my finger, then began to suck
it when I pushed it into his mouth.

I pulled off his shoes and got his pants and shorts off as well. Then I draped his legs
over my shoulders and began licking his balls. They drew up against the base of his
cockshaft, two hot, furry lumps, dusky red like big, sun-ripened plums.

Carter had such strong legs, the thighs lean but hard as rock. I ran my hands along them,
not quite touching skin to skin, but just close enough to make contact with the shiny
copper hairs. His belly ridged and his bloated cock flopped heavily against it. I turned
my head and kissed the inside of Carter's right knee, then licked along the massive bulge
of his calf. By the time I had begun tonguing his ankle, his toes were curled like little
pink talons. I kissed the sole of his foot and began the journey back to his crotch.

I kissed his cock, licked down the swollen jizztube, over his knotted balls, down along
the hard ridge behind his balls, and plugged my tongue into his asshole. He grunted and
the little ring of muscle contracted, spitting my tongue back out.

"No!" he moaned softly. Unconvinced, I stabbed at the springy ring again. He resisted
briefly, then let me slip up into his musky heat until my lips were pressed tight against
his steamy little manpucker. I wiggled my tongue and his body jerked in the seat.

I tongued his hole, aware of every response his body made. The next time I rubbed his
belly, I could slip my fingers between the concave wall of his gut and his hard-on without
even brushing the pulsing shaft with my fingers. He was so turned on, it was levitating a
good two inches up in the air. When I fisted it and tried to pull it back to suck on it,
it was too hard to bend, even a little bit.

I pressed my advantage, pushing my shorts down around my knees and slowly raising up
until my cock was on a level with his fuzzy backside. I straightened my back and gazed
at him. His eyes were still closed, his big hands curled limply against his chest. His
breathing was slow and steady, his entire body relaxed, ready, waiting.

"Ohhhh!" The sound he made when I breached him was more like a long exhalation of breath
than a sigh. His assring squeezed my invading dick, but there was no stiffening of muscles,
cries of pain, protests of any kind as I slid up into his hot bowels. I watched his body
for any sign of discomfort, determined not to do anything to hurt him, to bring him nothing
but the most exquisite pleasure. Slowly, inch after inch I penetrated him, sliding deeper
and deeper into the silken sleeve of his asshole. When my hips were pressed tight against
his ass, I kissed him. He kissed back, his hands coming to life, latching onto the swollen
points of my tits. He pinched them and my hips slammed forward, bouncing him in the seat.
His eyes flew open and he winked at me. "Fuck me!" he growled, the sound carrying the
urgency of his need.

I began to fuck, driving in deep, pulling out slowly, savoring the clutching softness of
his insides. His legs were locked around my hips now, flexing, pulling me in deep, then
relaxing, letting me pull back, ready for my next thrust. Carter never lost his hard-on—
in fact, it kept swelling, getting redder, the veins more pronounced as I fucked him.
Then, he tensed up and looked at me, a look of almost comical surprise on his handsome
face.

"I'm coming," he gasped, as though I could have missed it. His body spasmed and I felt
the contractions of orgasm from deep within him. His belly drew back tight, his muscles
tensed, and I could feel the flexing of his cock from inside of him as his load began
the long journey along the length of his cock, till it finally began spewing out on his
chest and belly like strings of liquid pearls.

Carter came like a fountain, snorting in surprise when he blasted himself in the face.
I watched the cream pump out, fascinated by the beauty and power of his orgasm. Every
muscle bulged, every vein jumped under his skin, his tits stood up like little erasers—
even the hairs on his chest stood on end. His balls were jiggling and his cock was
puffed to majestic proportions from its spitting tip to where it ran between his legs
and then disappeared back up inside of him. I touched his balls tenderly. Total power—
total vulnerability.

I waited until he went limp, then began pumping again. His dick showed no signs of
deflating, and I sensed that he had no desire for me to stop. I didn't want to stop,
didn't even really want to come, although I was so full of jism my balls were swollen.
All I wanted was to watch Carter's body as I fucked him to orgasm. His eyes fluttered
open for an instant, and he smiled at me. I bent my head and kissed his hard cock.

By the time the plane landed in Miami, Carter was weak in the knees, but at least he was
smiling at me when I looked at him. I had fucked four loads of come out of him, savoring
every second of the process. I hadn't let myself come—I only wanted his pleasure, I
also sensed that I was supposed to be spectacular when I met my man in Miami. Whoever
finally tripped my trigger this time would be a very surprised man.

"Are you conning with me?" I asked as we rode into the city.

"Not this time, Brendan," he said, stroking my cheek. "You'll be on your own." I looked at
him, full of questions. Before I could ask any of them, the car pulled up in front of what
appeared to be an exclusive club. The chauffeur came around to open my door and I stepped
out into the balmy tropical evening.

I presented my invitation to the man at the door. He eyed me like a hungry mongrel confronted
by a big sirloin, then motioned me inside. I could see my reflection from all sides as I
crossed the mirrored lobby. My cock had deflated just enough to pack it back into my shorts,
but the skimpy garment was hardly concealing anything. My nipples rose up from my pecs
like big candy kisses and the veins in my arms stood out sharply. I ran my fingers through
my hair and my biceps swelled up like a bloated grapefruit. I looked like sex, pure and
unadorned.

A body builder wearing nothing but a pair of skintight leather shorts and gold hoops through
his prominent tits opened the door for me, scanning my frame. He zeroed in on my crotch,
his expression making it clear he didn't believe it was all me. I tensed the muscles in
my groin and my cock pressed out, ballooning the front of the shorts. The man's eyes got
wide and his fingers twitched, but he didn't touch. I winked at him and stepped through
into the club.

The room was an enormous cube, lined with mirrors. Music pounded out of speakers suspended
above the floor and pin-spots made small, tidy circles of light on the polished wooden
floor. There were no tables and there was only one tiny service bar discreetly tucked
into the far corner of the room.

It wasn't at all what I had imagined. I expected a room full of laughing, chattering men,
some dancing, some engaged in cruising or conversation. Instead, the two dozen or so
occupants of the room danced or lounged around the edges of the floor—alone. All of the
men were spectacular—perfect bodies, perfect faces—stripped down to show their stuff.
There were stunning examples of every type of man—some tall, some blond, some short,
smooth, hairy, slender, bulked—all perfectly muscled, all achingly handsome.

No one seemed to pay even the slightest attention to anyone else in the room, but they
were all obviously there for someone. Every step, every move on the dance floor, every
pose—all was carefully judged to display each individual man in his best form. I quickly
determined that none of them were for me—and that we were all in a fierce competition
for some unseen man or men.

I sauntered across the floor and paused under one of the unoccupied spotlights. I stood
there, watching the men gyrating on the floor and the others who stood around in other
circles of light, wondering what I was to do. I scanned the room, wall by wall, but
could see no place where people might be watching the group of which I was now a part.
No man in the place was playing to a particular corner or area, no one appeared to look
at anything, save their reflections in the dusky mirrors. I would have asked, but no man
ever came near enough to another to even shout a question over the pounding din of the
music.

I had never learned to dance, although I had seen people dancing on the television in
my solitary room at home. I avoided the floor at first, unsure of what to do. I watched
the dancers, observed the stretching and twisting of their muscular bodies, saw how they
gyrated to display their perfection in motion. Every time a man left the floor, one of
those around the sidelines took his place. There were no unoccupied pools of light, so
that when one man moved, another man had to move as well.

My heart tripped when I saw that the man who had just vacated a pool of light near the
center of the floor was walking toward me. He didn't nod or speak, he just approached
my spot as though it was his right to do so. I stepped out of the way just as he put
his foot into the gleaming pool and was suddenly in the darkness. It was clear that I
would have to remove myself to the recently vacated spot on the dance floor. I took a
deep breath and walked out onto the floor.

I stood there awkwardly at first, then let the pulse of the music take me. I felt clumsy
at first, unaccustomed to moving in this way, but soon I lost my reserve and began to
gyrate in time with the booming beat. I began to sweat almost at once, and thought to
remove my tight outer skin of silk, but I didn't. All the other torsos were bare, and
my sweat soon made the fabric translucent, clinging to every ridge of muscle in my
belly, drawing attention, making me seem more exposed than the other men. My shorts
did the same, the sweat molding them to the mighty bulge between my legs, clearly
outlining the shaft of my cock, the thick ridge of the crown—even the separate, egg-
sized lumps of my testicles.

I threw my head back and raised my arms high, tensing them, snapping every muscle into
sharp relief beneath my slippery skin. I lowered them slowly, cupped my hands over the
full curves of my chest and touched my nipples. The flesh was so sensitized that I
felt it everywhere, shooting through me like a white hot light. I played with them
until my cock was on the verge of ripping my shorts, let my hands glide down my belly,
then back to the full hard curve of my ass.

I don't know how long I danced, only that I quickly began to enjoy it, to enjoy the
awareness of the muscles in my body, feeling them stretch and contract as I moved. I
ran my fingers through my hair, plastering it against my skull, shivering with pleasure
as the salty water trickled down the hollow of my spine.

I might never have stopped if I hadn't been touched on the shoulder. I spun around to
face a man in a dark suit. He looked nervous, out of place, somehow offended at being
in the midst of so much perfectly developed male flesh.

"Come with me," he hissed in my ear, his voice cutting through the sounds pouring out
of the speakers. I stopped and followed him off the floor, through the solitary dancers,
and over to a small door near the bar that I had not seen before. I was aware of all
the others, looking at me finally, their expressions uniform. It was instantly obvious
that they were all quite shocked. They had stopped dancing and stood around, suddenly
almost clumsy, their routines disrupted, concentration broken. This was obviously not
a normal part of the evening's festivities.

The man led me through a labyrinth of corridors, up a flight of stairs, and into a small
room where three more men in dark suits were conferring in a foreign language. It had the
lilt of Spanish, but I didn't understand the words. I settled on Portuguese as a likely
choice. I could hardly imagine that someone had come here from Portugal to enjoy an evening
in this rather unusual place. Then I remembered that this language was also spoken widely
in Brazil. The man whose picture I had seen could have been Brazilian—or a resident of half
a dozen other countries. I still failed to understand.

"Please, your name." I looked over at the group of men. They were now all staring intently
at me.

"David Wilson," I replied, using the name Carter had supplied me with on the plane.

"He wishes to meet with YOU."

"Oh?" No name. Just "he." I assumed that "he" was important. Important enough to have an
entourage of well-tailored men along with him at any rate. Armed men, I added to myself,
noting telltale bulges under their suit jackets. "I would be delighted to meet him as well."

"Yes. Well, then, come here, please." They surrounded me. Holding metal detectors about a
foot from my body and scanning me from head to toe. I was hardly dressed to conceal weapons,
but they didn't seem to notice. Once they determined that I didn't have a gun or a hand
grenade stuffed up my ass, the youngest of the men began frisking me. He ran his hands
down my arms, along my sides, over my back and belly, then knelt and repeated the process
on each leg. He spent a long time prodding at my crotch, squeezing and poking me, feeling
me up thoroughly without actually taking my shorts off. He looked up at his companions and
said something. The men all laughed appreciatively and he fondled my crotch one last time.

"In here, please." The man who had summoned me from the dance floor opened a door and I
stepped through. It shut quietly behind me and I heard a key turn in the lock. I looked
around me apprehensively, but there wasn't much to see. The room appeared to be cavernous,
perhaps even as large as the dance hall, but it was so dimly lighted that I couldn't
discern if it was imagination or reality that made it seem so huge. As my eyes adjusted
to the gloom, I saw a raised wooden platform several yards in front of me. A shadowy form
appeared to be sitting in a chair on the opposite side of the platform, but it was too
dark to determine if he was real or merely an agglomeration of shadows. As I walked across
the room, the shadowy form rose and became a man.

He was tall—taller than I—and lean. As he stepped into the light, I could see that the
leanness was that of economical strength. His definition was startling, almost obscene,
but there was no bulk about him, with the exception of his upper arms which bulged with
thick and veiny knots of muscle. Each biceps was cinched with a wide leather band which
cut into his flesh. Two more straps, studded, criss-crossed his torso. His legs were
encased to the knee in black leather cycle boots. His thighs were lean, like the rest
of him, the hardness softened somewhat by a growth of long black hairs. His face was
obscured by a black leather cycle cap, pulled low, and by mirrored glasses that showed
me nothing but a double reflection of myself. A thick moustache drooped beyond the
corners of his mouth and his heavy chin was shadowed by stubble.

I hadn't seen his cock when I first glanced, but then he took another step and I saw
nothing else. It hadn't been hanging down, waiting for stimulation. It was already stiff,
jutting out from the dense nest of black hairs between his legs, long and thick and
dangerous. Another black strap cinched tight around the base kept the man perpetually
hard, flared the knob, and caused every vein to bulge against the dark, leathery skin.
His balls, also strapped, were pushed out into a thick purplish knot, spiked with long,
coarse hairs.

I didn't move a muscle as he walked around me, looking but not speaking. Then he stood
in front of me, reached up, big hands hot against my skin, and ripped the filmy silk
from my torso. My shorts followed and I was naked except for my socks and tennis shoes.

"You will submit." It wasn't a question, but I nodded and lowered my gaze. He put a hand
on my neck, the fingers digging into the column of flesh like steel claws. I followed
meekly to the center of the platform. Two leather cuffs, attached to heavy steel chains
descended from the void above us. The man strapped the cuffs tightly around my wrists
and the chains rose back up, pulling my hands over my head, lifting my feet six inches
off the floor. Then they moved to the sides, forcing my arms apart, lifting me even
higher. He took off my shoes and socks, untying the shoes carefully and tucking the
socks inside, then cuffed my ankles. The chains tightened, pulling my legs wide until
my body was splayed out in a wide X formation.

I tried my strength against the chains, flexing my muscles till they bulged. The man
watched my muscles dance under the skin, but said nothing. When I relaxed again, the
chains didn't so much as rattle. I looked down and saw that my cock was beginning to
rise high in the air, little drops of clear goo drooling out the slit in the tip.

He grabbed my balls and squeezed them tight in his fist. I felt an ache shoot up along
my spine, but I didn't make a sound. He stared at me—or at least his mirrored glasses
did—for a long time, then he slipped a complicated looking strap around my bag and
tightened it. He drew a strap up between my nuts and fastened it through a loop in the
first strap, separating my balls. The strap tightened and my nuts were forced wide
apart.

When he opened his fist, a small silver chain appeared, as if by magic. There was a
weight fastened to one end, and the other was connected to the harness encircling my
bag. He turned his hand slowly, a barely perceptible motion which made my stomach
churn with apprehension. I had time to study the lines in his palm as it continued to
tilt to the side. Then the weight fell and the silver chain glittered as it uncoiled.

My whole body flexed when the chain reached its limit. My balls were pulled down—one,
two, three inches, stretching the cords to the limit of their endurance. I had never
felt an agony so intense, at least not until he taught it to me. When the chain had
stopped swinging and my balls were once again motionless, the man curved his middle
finger against the pad of his thumb. His hand drew near the shiny globes between my
legs, then the finger tensed and hit my right nut with a dull thud.

I screamed, the exquisite pain shooting all through me, making even my fingertips
ache with the sickening intensity of the blow. He waited until I was silent, then
flicked the left orb. A whole new world of pain opened for me in that instant, searing
my body like a branding iron. He repeated the process until I had learned that my
balls were, indeed, separate entities, each connected to its own private network of
nerves.

When he finally stopped, I was so grateful that I wanted to kiss the man. He reached
into his boot and I quickly saw that he was going to begin testing the endurance of
another part of my anatomy. The clips gleamed in his palm, the teeth sharp, cruel. I
looked from his palm to his face, then back again at the two shiny little monsters.
He stood there, waiting, his only motion the steady rise and fall of his chest.

I kept looking back at the clips. They were strong— the springs were oversized, and
no doubt their bite would be ferocious. I shifted my gaze to the curve of my pecs.
My nipples were swollen, puffed up full and tight, the points standing high. The flesh
was so sensitive, so delicate, so responsive to the slightest touch. The pain would be
excruciating, but what of its aftermath? Would the clips enhance the pleasure as well
as the pain? Would the nerves, rooted in my groin, transmit intensified sensations to
my cock, my belly, my poor aching balls? Could I bear to find out? Could I bear not to?

Still the man didn't move or speak. And then I felt his touch. My cock, made limp by the
ordeal I had just gone through, was alive again, full of blood, pulsing and throbbing as
it rose up high into the air. The broad back of my dick made contact with the heavy,
bulging underbelly of his organ. The heat of it seared me, rushed into my belly, made
me want to know all that he could teach me.

"Ask," he said, his voice deep, gruff, authoritative.

"Please," I groaned. "Show me."

He surprised me then. He bent his head and kissed my tits, his soft lips and the tickling
brush of his moustache making my back arch, thrusting my chest out to him, offering
myself up for his pleasure. He rubbed the traces of spit into the flesh, swelling the
tender points even fuller. Then, as I watched, barely daring to breathe, he took both
clips in his hands, opened the jaws, and put them against my chest.

The pain was no less shattering for being expected. The sharp teeth bit cruelly, sinking
deep into the exposed, defenseless tabs of flesh. My chest heaved and I strained against
my bonds, but the clips were firmly, expertly seated and no amount of writhing on my part
would ever shake them off.

When I opened my eyes again, the man hadn't moved. He still stood close, his cock rubbing
against mine. This time I hadn't lost my hard-on. Instead, it appeared even fuller, the
veins more pronounced, pressing eagerly against my tormentor's mighty member. He stroked
my belly and my cock rose even higher, slipping out from beneath his and rubbing against
the side of his hard shaft. He pulled an enormous dildo from the shadows around us and
held it just under the slit in the tip of my cock. Then he began milking me, squeezing
my prick rhythmically, coaxing the lube out of me. After my session in the plane with
Carter, I was full of it. It gushed out of me and drizzled down the thick shaft of the
plastic phallus, making it gleam in the single light that poured down around us. When he
could squeeze no more juice out of me. he stepped behind me and I felt the head of it
pressed against my bared, defenseless hole.

It was a huge thing, bigger than my own cock, bigger than Lefkos or the Silver Fox or
any of the many men I'd been fucked by since my first arrival at the Academy. Still,
I knew that he would force me to take it all—and that thought curled my toes. I heard
his sharp intake of breath, felt the pressure increase slightly, then he thrust up and
it was in me to the hilt. My head fell against my chest and my breath came in ragged
sobs, but it was in me. I was impaled, my asshole clenching the tapered base of it,
holding it deep inside. Waiting.

"Do you want to come now?" he asked, his voice a purr.

"Yes!" I gasped.

"Then I will teach YOU the way," he assured me, turning and walking away from me. He
went almost to the edge of the platform, standing, staring, totally impassive. And
then his hand rose high and I heard a swishing sound. I gasped, saw the tip of the
lash before I felt it lick the soft skin on my hip. It caressed me and was gone. I
watched as the tiny red welt rose up to mark its passage. His arm rose again and a
fine red line appeared on my rib cage, just below the rise of my left pec.

I watched my sweat-streaked torso as more red marks sprang up, my body's response to
his teaching. The line between pleasure and pain had blurred for me, and I anticipated
the lash like a lover's gentle kiss. I felt a little bee sting on the tip of my dick
and when it rose to slap my striped gut, I saw the man's mark there as well, quickly
coated by the ooze bubbling out of my comehole.

I twisted and writhed in the chains that bound me, every move grinding the dildo
against my prostate. The weight attached to my balls swung back and forth, stretching
the tortured cords ever further. By then I could no longer say with any certainty
whether I was trying to avoid the blows or to push my body out to meet them. All I
knew was that my entire universe was concentrated in the fine leather tongue of the
man's whip.

"No," I whimpered when the whip fell to the floor. He knelt and picked up another and
I knew that my fears of a premature end to this had been unjustified. This whip,
comprising nine thin, tightly woven tails, was shorter, bringing the man closer to
me. He was clearly in the light now. I could see the muscles in his arm knot as he
raised the whip high, could see the tails descend to bite mv flesh.

The whip swished through the air and the tails wound around my narrow waist. Then
my right thigh was welted, then my left calf. I flexed the muscles in my arms, hoping
to draw his attention, anxious that no surface of my body lack his firm ministrations.
He lashed my ass, my back, my shoulders, every blow-like the mighty thrusting of a
cock deep into my bowels.

When the thongs wrapped around the shaft of my swollen prick, I howled like a dog.
My muscles swelled, nearly splitting the skin, the veins networking my arms looking
ready to explode. The thongs unwound slowly and slipped away like a whisper, leaving
only a series of tiny parallel lines around the tingling cylinder of flesh that
thrust out from my groin.

"Now!" the man barked, dropping the whip and standing in front of me, just out of reach,
the tip of his prick within inches of mine. "I want you to come now."

"Please!" I begged, wanting his touch, another blow, anything to relieve this unbearable
pressure, this tension that threatened to annihilate me. "Help me!" He stood there,
doing nothing, hands at his sides.

I watched his cock, saw it swell, the head flare like a striking cobra. It rose up,
angled high in the air, then he shuddered. His comehole gaped, filled with a pearly
drop, then a spout of jism arced out of him and splattered on my belly. I howled in
ecstasy as another thick ribbon of white curled around the curve of my upper thigh.
And then his cock rose a third time and my own agonized hard-on was seared by another
gushing spout of his seed. It drooled around the sides of the shaft, hanging in quivering
beads that tickled the flesh beyond endurance.

My fingers and toes curled, knees flexed, lips drew back from my teeth. I thrashed
against my bonds a final time and I was there, teetering on the brink, balanced on
the precipice. He watched and waited, saw my struggle, then finally took mercy on
me. He reached out and flicked his finger hard against my trigger. My cock pointed
straight up in the air and a blast of jism shot out of me with such force that it
flew high above our heads. I saw the man bare his teeth when my s fell back to
earth, splattering over his left shoulder. I fired off again and again, every hot
blast arcing high, then raining down on him as he stood there, not moving, not making
a sound. As my contractions decreased in intensity, he took a step closer, standing
with his belly pressed against my comehole when the final drops were oozing out.

I remember nothing but the incredible feeling of orgasmic release for the longest time.
Then, as my eyes began to focus again, I saw that the man hadn't moved from his position
in front of me. I looked up at him and, much to my surprise, he kissed me. He placed a
hand on my belly and began pushing gently, his other hand grasping the base of the dildo.
I braced myself for the pain of having it ripped out of me, but he eased it out slowly
and with infinite gentleness. He removed the clamps from my tits and pressed his lips
against the throbbing tissue. Then he knelt and removed the weights and straps from
my balls. That done, he touched every mark that he had made on my body with his lips,
their pressure burning hot against the skin.

He unchained my ankles, then lowered me and unfastened my wrists as well. Mv limbs were
numb and I started to fall, but he caught me, picked me up in his arms and carried me
to a soft couch in the deep shadows. He sat beside me, not speaking, his hand on my
forehead, until I fell into a deep sleep.

Chapter 12

No real memory remains of what happened after the man unchained me. I had confused
dreams of wandering naked through unfamiliar streets; of people staring at me,
touching me; a vision of Carter, anxiously calling for me. I remember that I turned
at the sound of his voice, and that my head kept spinning—spinning out of control
like a top. After that, there were only vague flashes—visions of cars, airplanes,
a bed, and warm covers over me. That—and the continued, comforting presence of Carter—
was all.

"Brendan. Brendan." I tried to answer, fell into a whirlpool of glittering lights
instead. "Brendan!"' I was swimming underwater, tried to surface, failed and sank
back down among the seashells. "Brendan!" My eyes fluttered, the harsh light above
me piercing my skull. I forced my lids to open, saw a shadowy form hovering above
me. "Brendan?"

"Carter?" The face moved closer and I focused on my friend.

"Can you see me, Brendan?"

"I see something big and ugly up there," I retorted, chuckling wanly. I reached up
and touched his cheek. It was bristly with stubble. "You need a shave."

"I've been a little busy," he snorted, a tightness creeping into his voice. I fumbled
for his hand and pulled it to my mouth. I kissed the tender skin on the inside of his
wrist. His fingers curled against my jaw.

I tried to sit up, but my muscles didn't want to respond. Carter put his arms around
me and pulled me up, then tucked pillows in behind me. The sheet fell down around my
waist. I looked down at my body in alarm. My nipples were bruised and swollen and
there were tiny lash marks all over my skin. As I looked at the marks, memories of
my bizarre evening began to surface. Forcing my legs to act, I kicked off the sheets
and stared at my legs and genitals in dismay. The marks of the lash were everywhere,
beginning to fade in places, but still giving fair testimony to my ordeal.

"I'm sorry about what happened, Brendan. I...I didn't want them to allow it, but I
couldn't stop them. I'm sorry."

"Who are 'they', Carter?" He glared stonily at the floor. "I know who the man was.
The man who did this to me. I read, Carter. I'm not simply a genetically engineered
sexual freak, you know. Before I was turned into this, I read and studied and followed
the news of the world. That man, when he's not fulfilling his sadistic fantasies, is
the leading presidential candidate of Brazil." Carter shook his head. "Don't lie to me,
damn it. I know who he is. Now tell me, what the hell is going on here? W'hat am I
really a part of?"

"Government," Carter said tersely.

"What part of the government, Carter?"

"The less you know, the safer you'll be, Brendan. Don't ask too many questions."

"I only have one more question, Carter. Are you safe?"

"Brendan, I..."

"Answer me, Carter. Are you in danger? Is this FBI or CIA or whatever the hell it is
going to grind you up?"

"It doesn't matter what happens to me. I'm more concerned about you."

I grabbed his arm and squeezed it hard. "It's important to me, Carter. Very important."

"I'm safe enough, Brendan. It's you I'm worried about. I don't trust these people I
work for. I don't believe in it any more."

"Then why don't you just leave? They can't stop you."

"I plan to do just that, Brendan." He reached over and pushed my hair off my forehead.
"Don't worry, though. I won't do anything until I know you're safe."

"Thanks," I murmured, feeling more secure than I had for a long time. "Carter?"

"Hmm?"

"Carter, I—" I broke off when the door swung open. A technician, gowned and masked,
wearing rubber gloves, entered the room.

"What do you want?" Carter asked, his tone icy.

"I've got a special salve for this." He jerked his head at me. "It'll take care of those
marks. Got to get it up and running again, you know."

When the technician approached the bed, Carter blocked his path, glowering. "Don't touch
him," he growled, his face flushing.

"But I've got my orders," the technician protested, grabbing my ankle and pulling my leg
to the side.

"Get your hands off of him," Carter snapped. "Don't touch him. Don't come near him."

"But the salve..."

"I'll do it." Carter snatched the jar from the man and pushed him out the door, locking
it behind him. "Bastards!" he muttered, his chest heaving.

"It's okay," I said, shrugging my shoulders. "None of them think I'm human. Sometimes I'm
not too sure about that myself."

"You're human," Carter said, looking at me fiercely. "Don't forget that, Brendan. I'll
get you out of this. I promise you that."

"Thanks, Carter."

"Roll over. We'll see if this stuff does any good." I flipped onto my belly and tucked my
hands under my head, turning so I could look at him. He touched me and I shivered.

"Is it too cold?"

"It wasn't the salve that made me shiver. It was the applicator." Carter blushed as he
flashed me a smile.

He rubbed the salve gently onto the backs of my legs. I loved his touch, those strong
hands as gentle as a baby's. My skin began to tingle and the stinging sensation quickly
faded.

"I don't know what the hell this is, but it's working," Carter said, coating the hard
mounds of my ass with it. I thrust my butt up off the bed and his fingers trailed down
into my crack. I flexed my asscheeks, trapping his fingers. "Knock it off," he said,
trying to sound cross. "You're distracting me."

"I hope so," I murmured as he began rubbing the small of my back. "I really hope so."

"Turn over," he said, caressing my shoulder. I rolled over onto my back. "I see you're
feeling better," he chuckled.

"I can't help it." I felt my hard-on lying heavily against my belly. "There's this
really sexy guy, and he can't keep his hands off of me. It isn't really my fault at
all." Carter applied the salve to my front. When he touched my tits, my pecs knotted.

"I'm sorry, Brendan," he said, his touch becoming even more gentle.

"It doesn't hurt," I assured him. "It doesn't hurt at all." He continued to rub the
ointment into my skin, coating every inch of me, with one notable exception. "I think
you forgot something," I said coyly.

"I didn't forget, but there's something I have to do first."

"Such as?"

"I'm worried about the swelling. The tissue really looks inflamed." He ran a finger down
the length of my bulging juicetube. My dick rose up and slapped down like a felled tree.
"I think I should try to get the poison out. Relieve the pressure."

"How do you plan to go about doing that?"

"I seem to remember from first aid that you need to make a small cut and suck it out.
Since there already seems to be a little gash here..." He touched my comehole. My toes
curled. "...I'll skip the cutting and go right for the sucking."

Carter knelt beside the bed and pressed his cheek against my abs. I felt his hot breath
on my skin, then his hot lips pressed against the tip of my dick. The head was engulfed,
his tongue swabbed my knob, and he began sucking. His lips pursed tight around the rim
of my crown, the soft skin inside his cheeks against the shaft of my cock creating a
sensation of purest bliss. I ran my fingers through his hair, petting him as he sucked me
off. He slipped one hand under me, against the small of my back. The other curled around
the base of my cockshaft, not moving.

I laid there in total silence, hearing nothing but Carter's soft slurping gurgle. I was
surprised at how quickly I found myself teetering on the edge. There had been no roughhouse,
no frantic flogging of my shaft, no fingers punched up inside of me to poke at my prostate.
It was just the tender, unhurried pressure of the man's lips and tongue that had taken
control of me and was moving my sex to his desires.

"Aaahhhh!" I tumbled over the precipice, falling into a warm sea of purest pleasure.
Carter's lips tightened, as did his strong hands. His sucking became more urgent, pulling
the fluid out of my balls and up along the throbbing length of my cock. I heard him moan,
then closed my eyes as a white light exploded behind them. The heat in my belly spread
through my arms and legs as I came and came and came. Carter never moved his mouth away,
swallowing all of my salty, bittersweet juice.

"Oh, Carter," I groaned, coming slowly down to earth again. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," he replied, raising his head and licking the gooey foam from his pink
lips. As he sat up, he belched. "I think I overate," he said, covering his mouth primly.

"Come here," I said, holding my arms out to him, laughing giddily. "Oh, Carter. I..."
He stopped my words with the sticky plug of his hot tongue. Perhaps he was afraid to hear
what I was going to say.

By the next morning, all traces of the lash had disappeared. My nipples, although still
tender, exhibited no signs of the torture they had undergone. My balls seemed to hang a
little lower than they had before, but there were no other ill effects. I spent the next
few days mainly in the gym with a personal trainer who watched me work out, taking notes,
directing the exercises as though he were a sculptor, putting the finishing touches on
his masterpiece. On the fourth day, a barber came and cut my hair in a conservative,
schoolboy fashion. I was fitted with steel-rimmed glasses, although my vision was perfect.
Tailors came, took measurements, then scurried on their way.

Something was afoot, but I could get no explanations from anyone. I sat in my room at night,
waiting for Carter, but he never came. He had said nothing about being away the last time
we had parted. At first, I just thought his work was keeping him too busy to visit me, but
by the evening of the third day, I was seriously concerned. I wanted to know what had happened
to him, but feared asking. If they knew how I felt about him—and how, I fervently hoped, he
felt about me—it could be very dangerous for him. And so, I waited in silence, but he never
came.

And then I was told that there would soon be a mission for me. Mission. They actually used
the word. As though I were a spy. But a spy for what? And to what purpose? As usual, no
explanation was offered, and so, I didn't ask.

That night, after I had pumped weights until my muscles ached, I lay in bed, unable to
sleep. I was not only nervous, I was ravenously hungry. I knew that there was a kitchen
in the complex where food was prepared for me and the employees of the place. I got out
of bed and opened my door. There was no one in the long corridor and so I began to explore,
opening door after door in my quest for a midnight snack.

I had looked into several offices and labs, all empty. I already had my hand on the knob of
the next door along the corridor when I stopped. I heard laughter and voices. I listened
but couldn't make out what was being said. There was no light showing under the door. I
opened it cautiously. Two men were sitting in the dark with their backs to the door, watching
a video screen.

I looked at the flickering screen. I was there, full frontal nude, chained into the form of
a human cross. The camera panned down over my body, focused tight on my bulging hard-on,
then panned across to the man who had held the whip. The camera panned slowly up his body,
giving me time to register every detail of his physique. The clarity of the image was
startling— almost more real than my memory of the event.

"Too bad about the fucking glasses," one man said, leaning over to his companion.

"Yeah. Still, there's enough detail to pin him as the man. Shit, you can see every hair
on his balls. Not to mention the appendix scar and that mole below his left nipple. We've
got the pervert right where we want him. After he takes office, he'll agree to anything
the chief suggests."

"What if he doesn't get elected?"

"He'll get elected. Our operatives down there have been plenty busy seeing to that. He'll
get in and he'll be our boy."

"Hell of a way to make a living," the first man said. The camera had panned back to me.
The whip flicked against the end of my cock and it flared obscenely. You could see the
red mark left by the whip and a drop of clear liquid oozing out of my comehole.

"With the drug stew he was on, the bastard probably didn't even feel it. Shit, man, he's
hung like a fucking donkey. My old lady'd sit up and take notice if I had a honker like
that."

"He seems like a nice kid," the first man mused.

"Don't get attached to the lab animals, man. It makes for bad research." I closed the
door softly and returned to my room, no longer hungry.

At least I knew what I was doing. Blackmail, pure and simple. Still, I didn't understand
why. Surely the government didn't run foreign policy based on things like that. And if not
the government, then who? The group holding me captive obviously had significant funding
and access to high places. Maybe it was the government and all the conspiracy theorists
and other far-out types were right. If it was the government and they could control the
future leaders of the world, then what chance did I ever have of getting away? After what
I had done, I couldn't see them just cutting me a fat check and giving me a retirement
party. What happened to lab animals after the research project was completed? Weren't
they destroyed?

I lay back on my bed and stared at the ceiling. Where was Carter? Why hadn't he come
around to see me, even for a minute? I was lonely and frightened and afraid to be alone.
Carter would know what to do. He would take me away from all of this. But, of course, he
was a part of all of this. He worked for these people, had delivered me to play my part
in their schemes. A wave of utter misery swept over me. I wanted to go home—only I didn't
have a home. I was all alone, trapped, doomed to play my part to the bitter end. Tears
of self-pity and frustration welled up in my eyes. I cried myself to sleep.

This time I was ready for them. I had been told after breakfast that I was required for
my mission that evening. I went about my routine, doing nothing to arouse suspicion. I
knew Carter would come to me now. He always came when I was sent out. I would talk to
him, plead with him, convince him that he had to help me get away. I knew he cared for
me and believed that he wouldn't refuse to help me.

My door opened and I looked up expectantly. It wasn't Carter, just one of the faceless
men who worked in the complex. He looked at me contemptuously. "Get ready," he snapped,
tossing a suit bag on my bed. "Be quick about it. The chief's going to see you off on
this one."

I unzipped the bag and went through the mechanics of dressing. Why wasn't Carter here?
Why was the chief—that nameless man with the silver hair and the sardonic smile—coming
to see me? I had an uneasy sense that this was to be my most important conquest. Was it
also to be my last?

I was knotting my tie when the door swung open and two armed men entered the room. They
took up their stance on either side of the door, effectively blocking my escape. A man
in a white lab coat entered, carrying a tray loaded with syringes. Behind him came the
silver-haired man, the man referred to as the chief.

"Are you ready, Brendan?" the chief asked, smiling his corpse's smile at me.

"I have a few questions before I go anywhere," I said boldly, hoping that my voice didn't
sound as shaky as I felt.

"Questions?"

"Just what am I supposed to be doing? More to the point, why am I seducing heads of state,
and why are you videotaping it?"

"How clever of you to discover that," he said unpleasantly. "Careful, young Callan. You
may prove to be too clever for your own health."

"What do you hope to gain by all this?"

"Power, dear boy. Power."

"What kind of power? You can make men want to fuck me, but what does that prove? What's
the good of it?"

"The good of it is to put powerful men under my control. The mere threat of a scandal of
this sort is enough to make them agree to almost anything. You have successfully completed
all of the tests. Now, I am ready to use you for a really important task."

"Tests? What tests?"

"Nothing that you have done up until now has been to any purpose, except perhaps to prove
my point. I had to convince my colleagues that my current scheme would work. You're a very
convincing young man."

"Then the Italian ambassador wasn't a target of yours?"

"No. He was merely a pompous fool who once offended me."

"Offended you?" And then I was told that there would soon be a mission for me. Mission.
They actually used the word. As though I were a spy. But a spy for what? And to what purpose?
As usual, no explanation was offered, and so, I didn't ask. "Yes. He married the woman I
had chosen for myself. It would have been the perfect choice for me—socially as well as
physically—but the idiot moved in on me and grabbed the prize. I think I exacted a rather
perfect revenge on the both of them, wouldn't you agree?"

"You're crazy!" I snapped, suddenly disgusted by what I had been a party to.

"Not crazy, just vicious. You would be wise not to forget that, Callan. Anyone who crosses
me pays dearly for it."

"I suppose the Brazilian presidential candidate offended you in some way?"

"Oh, that. Oh, no, Callan. That was to prove your own mettle. We already had all the
information on that one that we needed. He is quite notorious in some circles in his
own country. Still, he is rich and well connected. He has a lovely wife and eight
children—all of whom play to the public much more successfully than you and he could
do. Although I must admit you were splendid. Your friend Carter thought so as well.
I've played the tape for him. several times. He was fascinated, to say the least."

"Where is he?" I blurted, betraying the intensity of mv interest in him.

"He's safely here with us," the man said casually. "We've been discussing his recent
behavior. I'm terribly disappointed with Carter. He was a promising operative."

"What have you done with him?" I cried, my throat constricting with unmentionable fears.

"He's safe, Callan. I told you that. He's agreed to stay here as a sort of insurance
policy. As a guarantee that you'll do your job as planned." I opened my mouth to speak,
but the man raised his hand for silence. "I don't have time for any more stupid questions.
We have a deadline to meet. I've planned this with the utmost care and you will play your
part perfectly. Now, roll up your sleeve."

"Not until I see Carter," I replied adamantly. The armed men pointed their guns, but I
didn't flinch. "You need me," I taunted. "You won't kill me. Not yet in any case. I want
to see Carter."

"Very well." The chief was livid, but he realized the truth of what I said. I knew he
had no replacement waiting in the wings for whatever madness he had in mind. I folded
my arms across my chest and stared at him stonily. He gestured and one of the guards
left the room, returning quickly.

"Carter!" I moved toward him but the guard's gun at his temple stopped me dead.

"I have no need to keep him alive, unless you wish it, Callan," the chief snapped. "Do
as I say and he lives. Otherwise...have you ever watched a man being shot in the head,
Callan? It's quite unpleasant. Very messy. Sometimes the body twitches for minutes
afterwards. Something to do with electrical impulses in the brain stem, I believe."

"What have they done to you?" I wailed.

"We were merely talking," the chief said blandly. Carter's left eye was swollen shut and
there was a blood-caked cut on his chin. There were streaks of blood on the front of his
torn shirt and he was barely-able to stand. His arms were bound behind his back, the ropes
cutting into his arms. Through a rip in his trousers, I saw what looked like more blood—or
a livid bruise—on his knee.

"Roll up your sleeve, Callan. Unless you want to see us talk some more."

"No!" I cried. "I'll do what you want."

"Don't, Brendan!" The words were barely out of Carter's battered mouth when one of the men
flanking him drew up his arm and rammed his elbow into Carter's stomach. Carter wheezed
like an old bellows and his knees buckled. A little string of spit drooled from the corner
of his mouth, pink with his blood.

I rolled up my sleeve and held my arm out to the technician. He plunged the needle of the
first syringe into my arm and the familiar tingling began. Only-tonight, it was different.
There were four syringes, each with a different substance. As more and more chemicals were
introduced into my system, the room and the men around me began to recede, grow more and
more distant. I passed away from them and deep into my own nightmare world of fantasy,
pain, and unbridled lust.

The chief rode in the limo with me, his instructions buzzing like a fly in my ear. All I
could think of was what this bastard had done to Carter. If there hadn't been two armed
men in the car with us, I would have gladly strangled the man. But I couldn't do that. I
couldn't do anything that would put Carter in anymore danger than he was already in. I had
to help him, rescue him from these shadowy maniacs. But what could I do?

Even through my drug-induced haze, I realized that the man I was talking to was quite out
of his mind. The more he talked to me, the more evident it became. I was being taken to a
reception for the recipients of some nationally distributed scholarships. The President
would be there, giving the keynote speech. My assignment was to pretend to be one of the
scholars whose excellence was being rewarded. I had the necessary credentials, the invitation
in my hand. I was to approach the President, lure him upstairs to a suite, the key to which
I had in my pocket. Once I had him there—I was to do what I did so well. Madness. Insanity.
And the chief was deadly serious.

By the time I stepped out of the limo, I was fighting off the urge to howl, to scream at
the top of my lungs and reveal the whole mad scheme. Yet I couldn't. I had to at least
pretend to go along with the chief's plan. I knew there would be eyes watching my every
move. If I tried to talk to anyone in the Secret Service, I was certain that I would be
stopped. Besides, who could possibly believe that I was anything but a lunatic if I gave
voice to the plot that was afoot? That was part of the beauty of it all—if I did try- to
tell, I would be taken away and put into a psych ward, or worse. Besides, I had to help
Carter. I couldn't leave him to the tender mercies of the chief and his associates. They
would kill him, just as they would surely kill me, once this bizarre evening had come to
a close. I was coherent enough to realize that even the successful completion of such a
lunatic scheme was no guarantee of my safety. Quite the opposite, in fact.

I waited at the entrance to the ballroom while my invitation was checked by a tall,
solidly built man, probably Secret Service. Such strong hands! The backs corded with
tendons, sprinkled with fine, sandy-colored hairs. Christ, I was horny! The drugs,
combined with my own adrenaline, seemed to intensify every feeling. I was aware of
the weight of my suit jacket on my shoulders, of the rough texture of my white shirt
rasping against my nipples. I could feet every hair on my balls prickling against the
soft cotton of my briefs. I could feel the blood pumping in the shaft of my cock,
slowly, inexorably swelling it, pushing the long tube of flesh down the leg of my
trousers.

I smiled at the man when he handed me the invitation and motioned for me to enter.
A lascivious smile, full of raunchy promise. He looked at me strangely, licked his
lips, unconsciously adjusted his crotch. I could feel my power. I could have had him,
right there on the floor of the elegant lobby. I took the card from him, touching his
wrist with my fingers. He shivered and blushed, probably frightened by his own unorthodox
thoughts.

I walked into the ballroom, my cock fully erect now, bulging against the inside of my
right thigh. People looked at me, at my crotch, but I didn't care. I pulled back my
lips in a feral smile and sauntered into the room. I made my way through the crowd,
pushing up against the innocent young scholars, unapologetic, letting a hand rest on
an arm, a shoulder, an ass, enjoying the confused, frightened looks on their faces.

I found my seat at a table near the podium—the chief arranged things well—and sat down.
Within minutes, the crowd quieted and the speeches of welcome and congratulation began.
I heard little, understood less, clawing at the tablecloth in an agony of raw, animal
lust. My balls tingled, my cock throbbed, dripping a sticky wetness that soaked through
the leg of my pants in a widening dark stain. I watched the others at my table, saw
their noses twitch, the surreptitious glances, the sweat beading on the brow of a
handsome young blond across from me. I could have snapped my fingers and had him on
the floor in front of me, licking me, sucking me, worshipping my power. I sneered at
him and turned my attention to the podium.

The last speech of introduction had been given and the orchestra beside the stage struck
up "Hail to the Chief." The crowd stood as the President entered the room, smiling his
bland politician's smile. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered, boyishly handsome. Five
minutes alone with him and I could have brought him to his knees. But no, that was
impossible, that would play into the mad chiefs hand, giving him the power he sought.
I knew I wouldn't do that, use my power to achieve his evil goal.

The President spoke, people applauded, then he left the podium, shaking hands with all
in his path. I stood back, let the others crowd around him. Our eyes locked momentarily
and I felt the shock of recognition. Recognition of something so primal it needed no
words. I looked away, and his bland smile returned, he pressed through the crowd.

There was to be an individual meeting with the man for all the scholars, an exchange of
pleasantries, a shake of the hand, a photograph. That was my moment. I took my place in
line. Time passed, the young men around me twitching, staring, licking their lips nervously.
I was at the door. It was opened, and then I was inside. Alone, except for the Secret
Service, who stood alert around the room, safely out of whispered earshot. I smiled and
approached.

A few words of congratulation. A strained silence. And then, after the photographer's
flash his whispered word. "Where?" I gave the number of the suite, let it slip in a
voice so soft that only he could hear. A nod, barely perceptible, and then I was back
outside, as though it had never taken place.

I pushed through the crowd, into the lobby. Past the press, the Secret Service, all
those who made this place run like a silent clock, to the bank of elevators. The rest
was simple. Flash the key, push the button, enter the elevator. I stepped into an empty
hall, plushly carpeted, hung with mirrors and paintings. I walked along to the door of
the suite, saw my reflection, stopped to stare.

It was me—not what I wanted, but what I had become. I looked too perfect, degenerate,
evil. My eyes were cold and dead, as though I had become a shell, animated by drugs
and my libido. I was gone from myself, all except for some tiny flickering part that
fought desperately to remain awake, to stop the nightmare, to keep me and Carter safe.

I heard a noise and spun around. A room-service waiter, not much older than me, stepped
off the elevator. He carried his tray along the hall toward me, whistling softly. He
was handsome, filling the tailored uniform well enough to insure good tips from anyone
who appreciated young, succulent male flesh. He looked up when he noticed me, smiled,
then stopped, his cheeks flushing.

"Come," I said softly. I wanted him, had to have him. Couldn't wait for it.

"Sir?"

"Come." My voice was harsh now, urgent, demanding. His eyelids fluttered, brushing his
cheeks with long, coal-black lashes.

"But, sir..." I moved to him, touched him. I had watched his approach, seen every detail,
noticed the flash of bare flesh between trousers and jacket as he held the tray, expertly
balanced, above his left shoulder. I grasped the silky black curl of hair on his exposed
belly and pulled him toward me. The glassware on the tray clinked musically. I took his
free hand, pulled it down between my legs, pressed it against my hard-on.

"Come." He nodded, docile, aroused, trapped. We walked along to the suite for which I had
the key. I opened the door and pulled the waiter inside. The tray teetered, crashed to the
floor. I kicked it aside, looked at the waiter, pale now, put my hands at the throat of his
uniform jacket. I ripped it open, buttons flying, exposing his bare torso. Fine black hairs
covered his pecs, a line of the same shade curling along the center of his belly.

I ripped open his pants, pulled them down around his knees, spun him around, and pinned
him to the wall. I dropped my own trousers, let my cock slap against his back, let him
feel the length and power of it, measured out against his spine. His ass was hard and
warm, pale and furry, the cheeks clenched tight.

"Sir! No. I..." But it was too late. I needed his body, needed to feel the yielding warmth
of his ass channel, needed to fuck him. Keeping his hands firmly pinned against the wall,
I humped his crack, letting my cock slide lower and lower until my knob pressed against
the hot, quivering rosebud of flesh that marked the entrance to his ass, his manhole, his
fuck tunnel, that silky vulnerable place where I could bury myself and find release for
just an instant at least.

"Aieeee!" He howled like a dog when I thrust forward, breaching him, stretching him open
as I burrowed deep into his steamy heat. He twisted and writhed against me, his attempts
to escape merely feeding the frenzy of my desire, his tight channel becoming even more
irresistible as he tried to resist. I plowed forward until my balls were banging against
his and his assring was spasming around the hilt of my meat.

Once he realized that resistance was futile, he went limp. With one hand, I pinned his
hands against his heaving belly. With the other, I groped down between his legs, began
jerking the flaccid stalk of his cock to life. His moans continued, but the tone of them
shifted subtly as my big knob worked its magic on his prostate. Within seconds he was
rigid against my palm, his asshole now spasming in rhythm to the pumping of my fist.

I licked his strong neck, savoring the salty sweat that was trickling out of his hairline.
His wrists still pinned in my steely grip, I pushed his hands up to his nipple, put his
fingers against the swollen point. He pinched and his body jolted, shooting sparks of
purest pleasure from the tip of my cock to the top of my head.

I pumped harder, bringing him up onto his toes, driving deep into him, scratching the
lewd itch that tortured my cock and made my come-bloated balls ache.

"Aaahhhhh!" He erupted unexpectedly, his asshole clenched, and my hand was sticky with his
jism. I leaned against him, driving, pumping, pounding into him, coming closer to the edge,
then tumbling over, shooting thick white ribbons of come deep up into his sweaty ass. I
thrust until the last wave had washed over me, then let him go. He slid slowly down the
wall, his panting sobs assailing my ears. I helped him to his feet, pulled up his pants,
and tucked his sticky dick away. Too many buttons were missing to fasten his jacket, but
I pulled it together across the flushed expanse of his chest, kissed him, then pushed him
out of the room.

He staggered down the hall, hit a pier table under a gilt-framed mirror, knocked a vase
of lilies to the floor. He turned and looked at me, his eyes wide with fear, then pushed
open the door to the stairwell and was gone.

I went back into the room. My foot kicked against the waiter's tray. I knelt to pick it
up, then hurled it across the room in a rage. It smashed against the far wall, leaving
a gash in the pale green plastered surface. This had to end! I couldn't go on like this,
like an experimental beast, used to entrap and harm and give madmen power. My head was
throbbing, the ringing in my ears driving me to violence. I raced into the sitting room,
tripping against a delicate chair upholstered in silk the same shade of pale green as
the walls. I picked it up, threw it at the mirror above the fireplace, listened as the
crash of broken glass and splintered wood blotted out the incessant ringing for an
instant.

My fingers curled around a cloisonne urn, one of a pair on a table against the wall. I
hurled it through a window, saw glass shatter as the urn sailed to the street below. I
was mad—in both senses of the word—and the destruction of the perfect room gave me great
satisfaction. I hurled the companion to the first urn against a landscape oil above a desk,
watched the canvas split and tiny flecks of paint shower down on the exquisite inlay of
the desk.

Around the room I raced, breaking everything that I could touch. The furniture destroyed,
I began slamming my fists into the walls, smashing through the fine glazed surface,
battering holes in the plaster beneath. And still the insects buzzed in my ears. And
the bells! Christ, the bells! They were so loud and insistent and they hurt so much.
I had to stop them.

Through the din, I heard voices, a key in the door, the sound of footsteps, bodies
crowding into the wrecked sitting room, the horrified faces. There were many of them,
men, big men, beautiful men, men for me to fuck. I turned on them, ripped open my
shirt, baring my torso. I tore at my trousers, ripping out the zipper, letting my
mighty cock dangle like a talisman to draw them to me.

The bells! They were louder now. And the pressure of the vise on my temples. How had
they gotten my head into a vise? I didn't understand. I still stood in the center of
the garden, in the garden with Lefkos and Jeffers. But I couldn't see them. They were
hiding from me. But then I saw Carter, through the trees, his hands outstretched. He
came nearer and I saw that he was nailed to a rough cross, nails piercing his hands
and feet. He looked at me and then turned his head away.

I looked down. Carter's blood was on my hands, the hammer in my hands. I hadn't done
it. Wouldn't do it to him. No. I loved him. Oh, how I loved him, wanted him, ached for
him. The bells were so loud. The faces were speaking, lips moving. I couldn't hear
them, only saw the silver crosses glittering in their hands, little silver crosses,
pointed at my chest.

"Oh, Carter. Please help me. Carter!" My own voice rose above the din crashing against
my skull. "Carter. Carter! Carter!" I raised my hands into the void, screaming. And
then the vise split my skull in two and everything was absorbed in a blinding white
light.

Chapter 13

"Stop it, Carter! That tickles." We were in bed together. He was teasing me, stroking
my torso, his fingers barely touching the skin, arousing me. I felt his fingertips graze
my nipples and arched my back, pressing up against them. He made a strange little purring
sound, his hand sliding up over the curve of my pec, to my shoulder.

"Carter!" Something cold and wet dragged along the center of my body, from my Adam's
apple to my navel. Not Carter's tongue, not the tip of his sticky cock—those would have
been warm, not clammy and, oh, so cold. My nose twitched, sniffing at the air. It wasn't
Carter's sweet male musk filling my nostrils. No. It was.. .was what? Not Carter. Not
cologne. Sickly, antiseptic, reminding me of visits to the doctor when I was a child.

"Carter!"' He had me pinned, wouldn't let me move. Not my arms. Not my legs. Not even
my head. My body was pinned firmly to the bed. Yet still his hands were on me, touching
me, prodding me, stroking me. And again, that cold, unpleasant wetness, this time across
my iower belly, side to side. The wet trickled down my sides. I shivered, writhed,
twisted, yet still couldn't break free of his steely grasp.

"Carter!" My eyes flew open, blinded by harsh lights glaring down on me. Slowly the light
took form, coalesced into a large glaring circle directly over my body. I tried to turn
my head, couldn't move. Tried to lift a hand. Impossible. Where was he? Why was he holding
me. And then, I saw him, coming to me from the side, all white, something gleaming in his
hand. "You!"

"Yes, Brendan. We meet again."

"But how?"

"With great difficulty, Brendan. I was forced into the most humiliating negotiations
with a very unpleasant, overbearing man. Still, I had to get you back. I had to find
out about you. Why you were such a success when all of my other experiments have ended
in such miserable failure. I've followed your career from a distance, Brendan. You were
unstoppable. If that fool hadn't over-medicated you, you could have brought his plan to
fruition. Still, it doesn't matter. You're here with me now. Together, we'll discover
the secret that makes you what you are. Then, I will be able to share my gift with others."

"What are you going to do?" Doctor Vandeveer's eyes were wild, distant, dark-circled.
His voice was tinged with the faraway, singsong quality of madness. I struggled to sit up,
strained until the veins in my arms swelled, but to no avail.

"Don't struggle, Brendan," Vandeveer chuckled, his hand on my belly making my skin crawl.
"You won't break free. I made the bonds strong. For you, Brendan. Strong for you." His
right hand arced across my line of vision. The glittering object resolved into a scalpel.
He looked at it and smiled.

"What...what are you going to do to me?" I wailed, panic clouding my mind. I strained to
look down along my torso. There was a red cross painted on my body, marked in iodine.

"I must examine you, Brendan. I must discover the secret you hold within yourself. To
help the others, Brendan. Think of the others."

"You...you're going to cut me up?" I couldn't believe the words, even as I spoke them.
Surely I was still unconscious, lost in a nightmare.

"Please, Brendan. I'm not a butcher hacking out chops for a customer. I must examine you,
observe, take notes. I must complete my research. Please understand, Brendan. This is all
for the greater good. For science. For humanity." He lowered the scalpel, pressed it against
the muscled wall of my belly. I sucked my stomach back, drew away from the blade a fraction.

"But, I'm awake," I gasped. "You wouldn't. You can't."

"Oh, but I must. You have to be awake. I've waited for days until the drugs were out of your
system. You've been unconscious for almost a week, Brendan. I had to wait until you were awake.
I must monitor your responses. Your tolerance. Your endurance. You must be awake, Brendan.
Awake."

"You're mad!" I screamed, straining against the straps that bound me to the table. "Fucking
crazy!"

"Silence!" His hand moved with remarkable swiftness, striking hard against my mouth. I clenched
my teeth. Vandeveer's face was flushed, the anger he felt clearly visible. He hadn't liked
my remark, hadn't liked it at all. Perhaps he felt the truth of what I said.

"You demented pervert! Don't touch me. Help me! Somebody, please help me!" Vandeveer's face
contorted with rage, the scalpel shaking in his hand, catching the light, glittering eerily
above my taut abdomen. He pressed a hand to his forehead, breathed deeply. The trembling
in his hand gradually subsided, the color drained from his face. He looked down at me and
smiled unpleasantly.

"No one will come, Brendan. You're back with me now. At the Brentwood Academy. There's no one
here to help you."

"Doctor Marriot!" I cried. "Doctor Marriot. Don't let him do this to me. Please!"

"Doctor Marriot won't be able to subvert me. Not this time." Vandeveer's face darkened again.
"He betrayed me once. He won't betray me again."

"Doctor Marriot! What have you done with him? Did you kill him?"

"Oh, no, Brendan. My revenge was more sophisticated than that. Much more." Vandeveer smiled,
an evil twist of his features that made him look, more than ever, totally mad. I cried out
again, my voice reverberating against the tiled walls of the room. "Scream your lungs out,
Brendan. No help will come. No help at all, I'm afraid. You're all mine now. All mine."

"No!" I struggled desperately against the straps. Vandeveer reached back and I heard a soft
click.

"Monday, March 17th," he began, evidently dictating into a tape recorder. His hand lowered,
and I felt the scalpel, its razor edge cold against my skin. A tiny bead of blood blossomed
around the tip.

There was a crash from deep within the bowels of the underground labyrinth of the Academy.
Vandeveer wheeled around, tense, listening. I heard another crash, then an unearthly howl.
There was a sound in the corridor, claws clicking against the cement floor.

Vandeveer rushed to the door of the operating room. Just before his hand touched the lock
on the heavy steel door, there was another howl and the door crashed open. A figure, tall,
matted hair hanging to the shoulders, eyes glittering, filled the opening. Vandeveer cursed,
his hand slashed through the air, the figure howled again. A long line of blood appeared
across the creature's—it was not a man—chest. Vandeveer's arm arced up again, but the
creature lunged at him, grabbed him, lifted him high in the air. Vandeveer's body crashed
against a lab table, glass splintered, the acrid stench of chemicals filled the air.

And then, the creature was beside me, grotesque claws ripping at the straps that bound me.
I stared up in horror and disbelief. This was far worse than any of Vandeveer's former mad
experiments. The creature's muscles were deformed, swollen, misshapen. The fingers of what
once must have been large hands were twisted into claws, the nails long, thick, yellowed.
The creature's skin was dry, cracked, split and inflamed at all the joints. As it severed
the band that held my head, spittle dripped from its misshapen mouth, splattered against
my neck. I shuddered and closed my eyes.

"Go!" The voice. Rough, barely distinguishable from an animal's wordless growl. A painful
sound. "Brendan. Go now."

"Oh, God. Doctor Marriot!" The creature flinched, turned its misshapen head, held up a hand
to hide its face. "What has he done to you?" I struggled to sit up, felt a wave of dizziness
wash over me. The creature— the handsome, sensual, gentle Doctor Marriot—gripped my shoulders
to keep me from falling to the floor.

"You must leave, Brendan." Doctor Marriot struggled to form the words, his animal tongue
pushing clumsily against his jagged teeth. "Please. Go now!"

"But what about you?"

"Go!" He pulled me to my feet, held me against him for a brief instant. I slipped my arms
around him, held him close, remembering the man who had saved me from this hell once before.

"I can't leave you here," I protested. He briefly returned the pressure of my embrace, then
pushed me away.

"I'm finished. Just go. I must..." There was a sound, a shoe crunching against glass, then
the arc of Vandeveer's white arm. The scalpel plunged into Doctor Marriot's shoulder and
blood sprayed, tiny hot drops gleaming on my skin. Doctor Marriot pushed me toward the door
and turned to grapple with Vandeveer. I watched in terror as they swayed back and forth,
locked in each other's deadly embrace. Vandeveer stumbled back, crashed against another
laden table, sent more bottles of strange chemicals crashing to the floor. There was an
eerie blue flash, then flames licking across the floor as one volatile substance after
another began to ignite.

"Go, Brendan. This madhouse is filled with dangerous, explosive compounds."

"No!" Vandeveer shrieked, his voice pitched high with terror. He brought his fist down
against the side of Doctor Marriot's ravaged face.

"Yes," Doctor Marriot spat back, gripping his throat, reducing Vandeveer's breath to a
hissing rattle. "Together, you and I, we will destroy this place. Bring it all down around
our heads. End this obscenity." Doctor Marriot turned back to me, a vestige of his former
beauty still visible around his deep-set eyes. "Go now! Save yourself."

The two men renewed their struggle. The flames in the room flickered, lapping hungrily
at the varnished surface of the wooden cabinets. I stumbled from the room and made my
way to the stairs.

I had been down here only once before and I was soon disoriented, lost in the maze of
corridors. I turned, backtracked, turned again, never certain of my path. The chemical
fumes grew stronger, burning my eyes and throat. I crouched down, tried to get below the
noxious cloud, pushed myself along.

I saw the stairs at last, raced toward them. There was a deep roar, a flash of light.
The explosion roared through the corridor, threw me to the floor. The cloud of gas above
me ignited, an instant of intense, searing heat. The fireball roared up the stairwell,
then was gone.

I got back on my feet and hurried up the stairs. There was a dull rumbling coming from
below me, growing louder by the second. I felt the heat, gasped as the choking fumes
burned my lungs. Tiny fires licked the varnished paneling and danced on the banister.
When, finally, I reached the top of the stairwell and pushed open the door, the hallway
was silent.

I closed the door, leaned against it, looked around me. There was no one, no sound.
The Academy appeared to be deserted, uninhabited. I listened intently, still heard
nothing, then became aware of another dull, hoarse roaring sound. The building shuddered
violently, dislodging large chunks of ornate plaster from the high ceiling. A mirror,
hanging above a pier table to my left, pulled free from the wall and crashed noisily
to the floor. Smoke billowed from under the door behind me. I began to walk, making
my way to the front door.

I reached the entry foyer just as another huge explosion shook the old house. I looked
back to see the floor of the hallway I had just traversed collapse into the void. Flames
belched up, their greedy tongues licking the oiled woodwork of the door frame. I turned
and ran to the front door, then stood looking at it in dismay. As before, there was no
knob on the inside and the door itself was locked and bolted.

I grabbed a heavy wooden chair, hoisted it above my head and threw it at the beveled
glass in the door with all my strength. The chair crashed against the glass, sending
shards flying. Oblivious to the sharp fragments littering the heavy Oriental carpet,
I threw myself against the bars bolted over the opening. I pulled with all my strength,
but the steel would not bend. The door frame was solid, the bolts holding wood to metal
impervious to my panicked assault.

Leaving the door, I ran to the reception room where I had waited the day I had first
arrived at the Brentwood Academy. I beat against one of the tall windows. The glass gave
way before the power of my fists, but here the bars were also invincible. The gaps between
them were too narrow for any but a very skinny youth to squeeze through. A youth such as
I had been upon my arrival many months ago—but no longer. All of the bulk and power that
I had gained in the interim now worked against me, trapping me in the flaming pyre of
Brentwood.

I sank dejectedly to the floor, listening to the roar of the flames, resigned to my fate.
Tears—caused by self-pity and the acrid black smoke that was rapidly filling the room—welled
up in my eyes. I was going to die here, after all. At least I wouldn't expire under the
knife of the mad doctor. Small comfort.

Another explosion shook the house, buckling the floor under me, sending more plaster falling
from the ceiling. I jumped to my feet, ran to the front door. I didn't want to die. I wanted
to be alive. I wanted to get away from this nightmare, to live like any normal man. The
smoke was blinding now, the light of the inferno rising up all around me, searing my flesh.
I gripped the bars on the front door, shaking them like a beast, trapped in a cage.

"Help me!" I shouted, crying out to the empty night sky. A gust of coolness rushed through
the bars, clearing the smoke for an instant. I rubbed my eyes, scanned the barren expanse
beyond the Academy's doors, indulging in one final, futile hope of rescue.

"Help me! Please. Carter, help me!" The death throes of the burning house were deafening,
yet I heard something. My name? Or just the hellish screaming of the flames?

"Brendan!" There. I had heard it. Was it real? Could it be what I had willed it to be.

"Carter! Help me!" There was a shudder, a wailing groan, and then, relentless, the
Brentwood Academy began to fall around my head. I turned, watched the wide stairway
shake, fall, disappear. The floor dropped from beneath me, the doors on either side
fell from their frames, walls shattered, the furnishings behind them tilting, falling,
sliding into the immense black hole below me. I held the bars of the door, clutched
them, holding on, clinging desperately to life. And then, this too broke free, teetered
sickeningly, lurched, pulled me along with it toward my doom...

"Carter!"

I awoke with a start, my heart pounding. I opened my eyes cautiously, saw the small dingy
room with its battered bureau, a small, equally battered television perched on its top.
To the left, a door led to an equally-dingy bathroom. Faint light seeped in around the
corners of the shade drawn down over the room's single window.

I tried to sit up, but was bound, confined by something hot and hard that snaked around
my waist. Looking down, I saw two brawny, russet-furred forearms clamped around my waist.
I touched the crisp, springy hairs, felt the heat, the texture of the skin, the hardness
of the muscle beneath. I traced a vein, thick, prominent, that ran from the strong wrist
to the elbow, branching just before the joint. I gasped for breath, the scent of him
tickling my nostrils.

I twisted my head around and stared into the face of the man pressed so close behind me.
One blue eye regarded me, the other still swollen shut. His nose was puffy, slightly off
center in his face. A scabbed, jagged gash cut across the expanse of his forehead,
disappearing into his hairline. The bruised lips twisted in a painful attempt at a
smile. I wriggled around to face him, kissed the eye, the forehead, the nose, the
battered lips. It was the most beautiful face I had ever seen.

"Carter," I sighed, my hands pressed against his thick chest.

"Brendan." His hands slid along my back, one up to cradle my head, the other down to cup
my ass. He pulled me tight and his tongue probed my lips. They parted and our tongues
touched, jolting me like a raw electric current. My back arched, pushing my cock against
the hard furry wall of his belly. The heat of him, and his tickling fur, brought my prick
to hard throbbing life in an instant.

Carter was already fully aroused, his randy dick pressed against my gut. I thrust my belly
out, writhing lazily against him, feeling the stickiness ooze out of him. The hand planted
on my ass slipped lower, fingers wedging into my crack. I threw my right leg up across his
hips, groaning as he screwed two of his thick fingers deep into my channel.

"Oh, yes!" I sighed. "Please, Carter. Fuck me." The fingers plunged deeper, wiggled around,
then they were gone, replaced by something much harder and hotter, a thing that drove up
into me, penetrating my heart and soul. I began to come the instant he breached me, the
pleasure of his touch and the infinite relief of having him with me stripping me of all
control over my own bodv.

He held me tight, face against my neck as I squirted jism up between us, sticking our
bodies together with fertile glue. When the last spasm had racked through me, Carter
held me gently, his hips instinctively pumping. I rolled onto my back, pulling him along
with me, splaying my legs out wide, opening my body to his need. He braced his hands on
either side of my head, pushed himself up, looked down at me as he fucked me, slow and
sweet and gentle.

I looked up at him, not trusting myself to speak. Words seemed unnecessary now—hands were
enough. I touched him everywhere—arms, shoulders, chest, nipples, belly, balls, ass—
reassuring myself that he was real, here in the room with me, his cock spiking me,
pushed deep into my ass. I loved his weight on top of me, pushing me down against the
bed, the feeling of his hips slapping against me, the drops of sweat that dripped off
his neck and face as he fucked me into bliss.

"Aaahhh!" He touched me, just a finger laid against the tip of my dick and I let fly a
second time, shuddering and shaking as the ecstatic contractions of my orgasm tensed
my muscles. Carter dropped down onto me, humping frantically. He capped my cock, gobbled
my come.

"Should I stop?" he gasped, his chest heaving, the muscles in his arms bulging. His hips
were still now, only his flexing prick in my ass channel telling me of his urgency.

"No!" I shouted, locking my legs around his waist. "Don't. Don't stop. Fuck me, Carter.
Fuck me!" He winked at me, fell down on top of me, his arms wrapped around me like a vise,
his pistoning prick shooting thrills of almost unbearable pleasure through my body. I
rubbed his broad back, thrust my hips up to meet him, clenched the muscles in my ass
tight around his cock. He bucked and snorted, his breath hot and sweet against my face.

I felt his body change, felt the hairs on his chest bristle, felt the increasing girth
of his near-exploding prick, felt the knot of his balls as he slammed into me fiercely.
And then he was there. He went rigid, uttered a small, animal cry. His knob bulged,
pressed against my prostate. Then I felt it, felt the warm flood of his come as his
creamy potency gushed into my clutching bowels.

It seemed to go on forever, and then he stopped, went limp on top of me, melted against
me, the only sound in the room his rasping breath. I held him, wordless, as we both
drifted back into a calm, deep sleep.

I awoke the next time to the sound of Carter's horribly off-key voice, singing in the
bathroom. The steam poured out of the open door like a cloud. I sat up in bed, eyes on
the door, anxious to see him as he emerged from behind the plastic curtain. The water
stopped, the rings holding the curtain rattled, and Carter stepped out onto the bath
mat. I whistled and he turned to me, thrust his hips out, his soft prick flopping
lewdly against his powerful thighs.

"What? Where? How?" We were side by side on the bed. devouring the stale rolls and burnt
coffee that Carter had brought back from the cafe attached to the motel where we were
staying. I had showered while he was out of the room and now sat beside him, our shoulders
touching. I had made him strip as soon as he returned to the room, kept one hand firmly
on his hairy thigh, as though I feared he would disappear again if I let him go.

"I managed to escape from the headquarters," he began softly, eyes on the floor. "I
overpowered a careless guard, took his clothes, and just walked away. I wanted to kill
them all, Brendan. I thought you were dead. I thought they'd killed you. Then I saw an
article in the paper. You created quite a little scene at that hotel. No one seemed to
know where you had gone, only that you had been taken away—and not by the police.

"And then I thought of Vandeveer and his Academy. It seemed the most logical place for
them to have sent you. The chief is a very cautious man—mad as a hatter, but cautious.
It seemed to make sense that he would have returned you to the place you had come from.
I barely got there in time." I leaned against him, my head on his shoulder.

"Doctor Marriot saved me," I began, fighting to control my voice. "He was always kind
to me, kept me from becoming one of Vandeveer's monsters. Vandeveer was ready to dissect
me like a rat in biology class. Doctor Marriot gave his life to save mine. And then you
came and saved me a second time."

"You seem to require a lot of rescuing," Carter said dryly. "I'll have to keep a sharp
eye on you."

"I hope that's not all you keep on me," I retorted, my hand slipping between his legs.
I wrapped my fingers around the stalk of his prick. He didn't push me away. "Where are
we now, exactly?" I asked, squeezing him gently.

"Canada. My former colleagues might be looking for me, so I prefer to keep out of sight
for a while."

"Perfect," I sighed. "There's no one who's not currently in this room whom I have any
desire to see. Will we live out in the woods?"

"Maybe," Carter teased. "I have papers for both of us—and enough money to keep us
comfortable until people forget all about us. Have you ever been to Australia, Brendan?"

"Australia?"

"Sure. It's a big country. A man's country. Frontier if you like. Cities if you feel
the need of them. A man could get lost in Australia, Brendan."

"Don't say 'lost,' Carter. I don't want to lose you again."

"I won't be far enough away from you to get lost, young man. I have no plans of letting
you out of my sight. I'm...I'm what? Getting used to you, I guess."

"Getting used to me?"

"Okay, so I'm addicted to you. Totally and completely. Happy?"

"Deliriously. You?"

"Can't hide it."

"Well, you definitely can't hide that." I squeezed a very hard cock. "What am I going to
do with you, Carter?"

"You've got to keep me. You've spoiled me for anyone else in the world."

"How can I spoil you this time?" I murmured, stroking his hard-on, my other hand resting
against his neck.

"You caused it," he retorted, pushing me back on the bed. "You cure it."

"Deal." I slithered down between his legs and buried my face in his crotch. If ever I
found a cure for this, Carter would never learn of it. Never.

# # #

Well that's the end of this one -- all 13 chapters of debauched sin and raunchy sex...

All thanks and credit to Jay Cee @ Yahoo! gaymagazinefiction group!

good one, kept on reading til the end. It has some very creepy parts, that i think kind of turned me of, especially the part where he was hiding in, ill just call it the basement of the facility, so that i dont spoil it for anyone...
i will give it 7/10..., because its better than 4/6, but not quite good enough for 5/6

This story would be oh-so much better if there were better explanations to what was going on.