When a soon-to-be-married groom is sexually abused by his best man in a sinister plot, "The Studbusters" step in to make things right in this unique and dark piece by Jeff Kincaid with art by Cavelo.
Bachelors Party
by Jeff Kincaid
Art by Cavelo
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PART 1
Lt. Jakes was as good as his word: the next morning the old precinct house was swarming with lab technicians in smock coats carrying hand vacs and dusting kits, tweezers and magnifying glasses. They were into the curtains, under the rugs, they were powdering down the walls and the doorknobs and everything else, using cellophane tape to lift every last print up from its hiding place, carefully labeling one and all. "It takes a day," we were told when the team was packing up. "Maybe two." By Tuesday we'd be getting a call. "And if we find a match that doesn't belong to you or to people you invited in, well, at least you'll know who your man is."
It was all very professional, no Studbuster seeing even one eyebrow raised on the part of even one of the forensics guys, not even when they checked out the dungeon, dusting the collection of dildoes in ascending order of size hanging from the pegboard over the rack, next to the harnesses and handcuffs. The lieutenant had
briefed them well, and a scene we'd all expected to be frankly tense turned out to be rather mundane and workmanlike.
Two hours and out, and now we had to have enough patience for the "no news" we'd be receiving over the weekend. Perhaps the best thing might be just to get out of town, some backpacking up country, some sailing on the Sound. Something diverting, safe and middle-class.
"A plan if I ever heard one," said Harker, drawing Mario into mock imprisonment, the rock-solid biceps grinding the youth into an " 0." "If it gets boring we can tie the cousin up and do funky things to his naked body."
Mario wouldn't have actually minded; it had been some time since he'd played bottom and, the truth be known, the need for a little bondage and discipline was rising in his heart Just the thought of being forced (sic) out of his clothes, to be made to crawl and drink piss, to take cock after hard cock up his ass - that was one hell of a hot bulge we were seeing behind the buttons of those 501s, all right Even as the plans were being laid they were being scrubbed by a knock on the door. Our unexpected caller was one of the technicians from the police lab team, a young civilian employee of the department who now introduced himself as Kevin Asche. He was about 24, too trim and bespectacled to make any of us wonder about what goodies might be lurking under those conservative clothes, too nervous for his own good. "I-Is it true?" he wanted to know, stammering a little in his anxiety. "D-Do you guys r-really - I mean - do y-you really go out and -"
"It depends on the cause," I said, eyeing him. Nervous though he was, something was roiling him and it didn't seem anything less than real. "If someone did something bad to you we might be talked into getting on his case." Time was a factor. Location. And, yes, remuneration. "Which does not necessarily have to be in bucks."
Sometimes the kicks we got were more than enough payment "Who fucked your ass?" Ryan wanted to know, blunt The hell with the Emily Post here; if Asche had a job for us the less time he took explaining it the more time we'd have to take care of it. If we agreed that it needed our services.
"Oh," he gulped, the lenses of his glasses fogging. "It's not me, it's my brother Tim. My big brother Tim, you'd like him a lot more than me." He meant that Tim was not only the older sibling who looked after him in and after school while they were growing up, he was a hot 200 pounder "with muscles out to here; he models a little. Legitimate stuff, for stores. Clothing designers." We might have seen him on a couple of recent billboards and full-page magazine layouts; "he's the one stretched out on those boxes in those low-rise briefs?"
I remembered him from that, all right we all did. The truth be known, more than one hand job was inspired by that ad. Not every night can be ~ Studbuster Special and we do have our little fall-back position, don't we? If Tim was who Kevin said he was he was a sculptor's wet dream, with firm full thighs rising up into a powerpacked pelvis, a narrow flat waist veeing out into flaring lats enclosing a high-pec'd chest swirling with the most luscious-looking hair I have ever seen, and a pair of tits that looked like ripe red apricots.
Slurp.
It was all framed by the most perfectly squared shoulders any stud could want, and a face that made your heart stop dead in its tracks. Adonis had nothing on this boy, believe you me. This was the dude who needed some Studbuster assistance? How come? "What happened to him?"
"He was drugged, seduced raped sexually humiliated so badly he's had to go into hiding. Three days before he was supposed to get married." Kevin heroworshipped Tim and someone had brought the guy down, hard. Bad. Someone had destroyed Tim's self-confidence, his sense of worth. His soul, if not his body, "although that was given one - hell of a work-over, too."
Nancy - the fiancee - was shocked when she got the note Tim scrawled in a handwriting barely recognizable as his own. The wedding was off, Tim couldn't say why, but it was better this way, for her. She was lucky, in fact, that it happened before the ceremonies, not after. "Forgive me," the note continued, piteously. "Forget me."
They'd never see each other again and Gordy was there to help her pick up the pieces, good-looking Gordy who was to be Tim's best man, who loved Nancy as much as Tim did. Maybe more. "You marry Gordy, Nan. Have kids. Be happy." Followed by a barely legible "goodbye."
All out of the blue, the morning after the night that Tim and Gordy were going to the tailor to fit the tuxes. "Gordy said that Tim suddenly looked up at him and said, "shit, this isn't right, this isn't going to work, you marry Nan, Gordy, I'm bowing out I going away."' He'd ripped a piece of paper off a pad and wrote the note, " and then my brother was supposed to have disappeared out into the night before Gordy could catch up with him."
"You don't believe it" Spoken in the interests of verification, by Harker, who wanted to hear more about the drugging, the "seduction" and the raping.
"I did at first," Kevin had to confess, but in thinking about it later the following evening he remembered that when they were kids they'd had this hiding place they'd used off the flood control channel - one of the city's myriad drain tunnels, dangerous for the onrush of water only after a major rain. Would that be where Tim in his emotional upset had gone?
It was. Kevin's big brother was there, sobbing in the wreck of his clothes, covered with dirt and caked-on excrement of all kinds - leaves - he was disheveled, smelling like a stagnant scum-coated lagoon in the middle of a tropical dump.
Muscled as he was, handsome as he was, he tried to slither away from his brother. He didn't want anyone to see him like this, especially the hero-worshipping Kevin.
"He was all balled up, fetal position; I couldn't believe my eyes," the younger Asche told us, quivering at the memory, angry and more than a little empathetic.
"This was my big brother Tim, you have to understand, the stud who beat up the kids who wanted to beat up on me, the guy who stopped our dad from using his belt on my ass one night when he came home drunk. Seeing him so wiped out... God!" The head shook, amazed. Horrified.
Were it merely that, it could have been handled. People do have breakdowns, even strong people you look up to. But when Kevin finally forced his blubbering brother to open his arms, to accept his embrace, he saw the rest of it, and that was even less pretty than that which was already apparent.
"His pec was tattooed with the most obscene slogan you ever saw. His ass was branded!" The foreskin of his fat cock, the long puckering hood which used to roll back off that wide, helmet-shaped knob so manifest in outline beneath the tight-fitting stretch-cotton briefs in that ad, was gone. Cut away. Never again would the humpiest male model in the business show the world the unblemished skin of that chiseled chest, the sweet curve of that globular butt.
"And you were supposed to think he did all that to himself?" My own head was shaking now, in wonder.
"What difference does it make what anybody thinks now," Tim had said when Kevin asked the question. "The career's gone - Gordy's got Nancy in Holy Matrimony maybe I will go away like he suggested." His kid brother wasn't having any of that shit, though, and for once the roles were reversed, Kevin forcing Tim back to his apartment and locking him in. Tying him, in fact, to the bed. "He's not disappearing on me yet, not until he knows that I got you guys on the case."
"Oh," Harker nodded. "You got us, all right"
More importantly, this fucking scumbag liar Gordy's got us. "And if what we all think happened is what actually happened, he's going to have us good."
-----------------------------------------------
PART 2
"Dammit, Kev," Tim cursed, his hunky body writhing on the bed, the ropes holding him secure enough. "I told you, there's nothing anyone can do. I'm finished, man; let me up!"
Before Kev could say anything in his own defense Mario moved in and punched the face sideways, making Tim grunt in shock and surprise, the head snapping on the neck. "We'll tell you if you're 'finished' or not," he rasped. "You just tell us what really went down and we'll all get along a whole lot better, dig?"
Who the fuck were we? The Studbusters, that was who, and we had an idea that an old pal of Tim's by the name of Gordy needed a little straightening up. Did Tim want to verify that or did he just want to lie there full of self-pity and let the asshole get away with it?
"Look at me, man," the muscled jock exclaimed, wild. "You see this tattoo on my chest - 'Tim sucks dick, girls?' You see this brand on my behind - a hard cock dripping cum? You know what they're going to say, they see the damned things down at the modeling agency? What jobs can they send me on outside of some gay S&M magazines, huh?" Worse: "you think I could ever face Nancy again, this way?" Some wedding night it'd be, 'Tim sucks dick' staring her in the face even if she somehow didn't notice the brand on his gluteus maximus - but would she let the fact of his newly circumcised pecker go by without comment? Acid Comment?
"Just go through it from the beginning," said Ryan when the eruption subsided for lack of breath. "I want to know what kind of a crud we're going to be dealing with."
Did we think Tim even wanted to remember it? "In detail?" The stud was doing his best to blot it out of his singed mind, and it was fighting him. Refusing to go away.
"Damn right." The only way to make it go was to exorcise it. The only way to do that was to talk about it until the magic was sent packing. "Come on."
Silence, sullen pouting silence, followed by a "shit" filled with self-loathing and despair. It all happened after the fitting at the tailor shop, he began, rushing the words to get it over with. Gordy was his best friend as always, supportive and joking, happy that how did he put it? - "the best man won" and assuring the bridegroom that he and Nancy were really going to live "happily ever after," yeah. How about a little nightcap to celebrate over at Gordy's apartment, then, there were a few little bits of logistics that the two of them had to go over - the bachelor party, for example - what did Tim say?
Hey. What else would Tim say except, "sure?" He had no suspicions pertaining to Gordy whatsoever; the guy was his pal. His buddy. They'd hung around together since public school, done each other's homework and loaned each other money when times got tough. When Nancy went more for Tim than Gordy, Gordy laughed and patted the couple on the back. "I love you guys," he'd said.
There was no question but that Gordy'd be the best man. None. They loved him, too. Both of them. In fact, everybody was happy to agree, had Tim not been in the picture no doubt but that Nancy and Gordy would have been the couple. What a swell dude.
So there they were up at Gordy's bachelor pad, the hunky bridegroom and the good-looking best man, having themselves a few laughs and a six pack Soon the room began to get hot, very hot, and Gordy's laughter seemed to be coming from the end of a long hollow tube. Neon colors started to play around the edges of Tim's rolling eyes and it was all really funny. Hysterically funny, especially when Gordy clumsily spilled some of his beer onto Tim's new designer shirt "Oh, shit," he giggled, "I've got you wet"
"He got you pie-eyed is what he got you," I concluded. "A couple of drops in the can while you weren't looking, maybe a little powder - you got mickey'd, man."
It never could have entered the model's mind. Gordy was a good guy with Tim's interests as much at heart as his own, right? Tim took another swig, and another. And another.
Whoops. The legs got all entangled beneath his weight and he went boom! Sprawling onto the carpet. Whee.
"Whee, yeah," Gordy snickered. "Whee, and we better get you out of those wet clothes before you catch a cold." Just what Tim needed; a cold on his wedding day.
"Got to be careful, don't we." Before Tim knew it Gordy's powerful arms were enfolding him, unbuttoning him, stripping him of his shirt And then his pants. That was the funniest thing yet, Tim in his drugged state thought, laughing.
Did his best man want to get a load of the big uncut pecker that their mutual girlfriend Nancy was so hungry for? Huh?
"Sure," said the agreeable Gordy, and Voila! There it was, semi-hard from the pills and the alcohol, sweaty and veiny and smelling slick.
"Ain't that a son of a bitch?" Maybe Gordy wanted to touch it a little? "What're you," his buddy bubbled, "some kind of a fag?" A stud who wants another stud to play with his meat, wasn't that a stud who was gay? Queer? Were Tim straight -"I mean, really straight" - even the thought of having something like that done to him would make him upchuck. "The cock'd go down, not up."
Gordy's fingers were indeed on Tim's swollen fuckstick as he spoke, manipulating the stretchable skin and rolling the foreskin over the rubbery glans. "Is my cock that hard?" the bridegroom was curious to know. "Are you telling me I'm getting turned on by my best buddy here, not even a week before my goddamned wedding?" A hiccup. It was still all so amusing. The whole room was going in circles, vertical.
"Have another drink." The best man tipped the can of Coors up to the open mouth and poured the adulterated contents down into Tim's receptive stomach. "Over the teeth, across the tongue, look out, stomach, here it comes." Naturally, the overloaded gullet couldn't handle so much fizzing fluid, not all at once. The excess welled back up over the bridegroom's lower lip, spilling and splattering onto the hairs beneath his bared collarbone, cause for more chummy chuckles and back pats.
Shoulder jabs. "Better use a straw, pal," that was Gordy's advice. He had one, right there in his hands, a thick gristly straw a little over eight inches in length decorated with a host of meandering veins and capped with a plum-ripe head sticking out from a roll of retracted foreskin, cheesy smelling and bobbing.
"That's no straw," said Tim, belching, eyes crossed because Gordy had shuffled forward on the rug and now the tip of the best man's expanding fuckstick was not even an inch away from his mouth. "That's your prong."
"But you're going to use it like it was a straw, anyway." Wasn't he. Gordy's insistent palm cupped itself around the back of Tim's tousled head, forcing Nancy's fiance forward into the open vee of his unzipped jeans, a dark hair-infested triangle fuming with the odors of sex and sweat, underscored by the faintest scent of shit The heavy cotton was permeated with it and, despite himself, the bridegroom was mesmerized.
"What would Nancy think?" It was not a serious question, accompanied as it was with a spluttering giggle, Tim, too drugged and drunk to understand where this might all lead, too drugged and drunk to see the absence of a twinkle in his old buddy's eyes. Nothing sparkled here, not even when Gordy joined him in the idiot laughter; deep down inside Gordy wasn't laughing. He was sneering. Regarding Tim with utter contempt. Go on, asshole, put that big smelly "straw" in that smart-talking heterosexual mouth of yours. I'm going to have you fucked tonight six ways from Sunday, and I'm going to have that sweet bride of yours fucked just the same come next week, see if I don't.
"Probably turn her on like a light bulb." The best man shoved his friend's head hard into his crotch, spearing Tim's gaping mouth with eight fat inches of good hard stud cock. "Suck that pecker, pal."
"Mmfffwwwuuuqqqkkk."
"Right." He had both hands on the groom's head now, pumping his face in and out of his groin. Pummeling the nose and cheeks with the wiry bristles spouting like steel wool at the base of the abdomen. Yeah, old Nancy would cream in her jeans seeing how nicely her big straight boyfriend handled the length and breadth of that raw meat thudding through his larynx, all the way down past the glottal stop. Shit, Gordy in the secret life none of his friends ever knew about couldn't name anyone who gave head this good the first time at bat. This dopey stud was a fucking natural.
Either that, or he wasn't so cherry, after all -something the rapist pounding his throat sincerely doubted. This was the drug talking (or should I say "sucking?"). The drug. The alcohol. The circumstance.
"Mnmucckk - "
"I know." The hand paused to pat the head with mock solicitude. "It wouldn't be too good for the image, maybe, her daddy hears that you like to swing on a good hot piece of stud meat But you don't have to worry, buddy, by the time I get through with you tomorrow morning ifs not going to matter and you can go on, you like, sucking dick ...after dick... after. ..dick..."
The whole head was crushed against the crotch now, Gordy's hairy scrotum contracted vise-like around Tim's immobilized chin, his nose buried deep into the rancid pubes. Hot gagging noises vomited up from his impaled throat, the massive boner expanded to the exploding point and then the fusillade began, punch after punch sending gigantic wads of mucously ball juice firing machinegun-like into the bridegroom's esophagus. "Mwuggghhhkkk! Hhruggghh! Cccchhuuucccggghh!"
"Swallow, baby," Gordy advised, voice cold. Imperious. "You don't want to miss a drop of that cum, you really don't Drink. Yeah. Attaboy."
The volume was enormous, seemingly endless, great big ribbons of stringy jizz, sliding like a load of gooey egg whites down the back of his tongue, spilling into his belly. Tim could almost hear the plops as one glob slithered down on top of another, jelly in his gut The thought alone was enough to make him break free of Gordy's grasp, the spasming organ still blasting away, only now the dregs were tree to splash into his face, to leak off his jaw. "Oh, shit," the bridegroom husked, doubling over and heaving, his buddy's sperm cascading out of his mouth, that which hadn't been permanently swallowed, that is. "I drank cum. I just boggled up a load of cum out of your stinking cock."
Blaugh.
The best man loomed over him, ice-eyed. Strong. In absolute command. "Yeah," he said, deliberately laconic. "And that's just for openers, pal." He knelt behind Tim, strong bulging arms reaching around to unscrew a small vial beneath the bridegroom's nostrils. "Sniff."
"Huh ...?"
"Come on, do it Sniff." The hairy forearm hooked under the chin, forcing the head up, tightening when Tim tried to wrench himself free. Too late. The heady fumes went right up into Tim's unprotected (and uneducated) nose; the rush almost instantaneous. Sure, Nancy's intended broke loose - but so what? Even as he did the aroma slammed like the hooves of a bucking horse. Slam! into his brain, knocking him sideways. Literally. Sideways.
"Awwwwhhh," he gasped, eyeballs momentarily disappearing under his upper lids, a kind of rigor mortis stiffening him out on the floor, helpless. Out of it, certainly.
"I thought you'd get a charge out of that," Gordy gloated, straddling the writhing body to hold the vial back under the nose for yet another hit "Have some more, sucker."
"Nnooohhh...
"Yesss," came the insistent reply, Gordy keeping the bottle in place even as he backed the rest of his amply muscled body down, using his hips to separate Tim's thighs. "You don't want me to bust your asshole cherry without it, believe me."
Lying on his back, staring up into his buddy's hard-eyed gaze, a dumb look came to the befuddled face. Tim's arms splayed to reveal the sweat-wet tufts of curly hair growing deep in the armpits. What was Gordy talking about, bust his asshole cherry? Huh? Even when he felt the smoothness of the dome pressing snugly down the hair of his asscrack he couldn't imagine it Were he trapped in an alley uptown, maybe, a bunch of delinquent minority jocks holding him down to show him what a white boy's ass was good for that had crossed Tim's mind in his wildest dreams but only in his wildest dreams. Guys really didn't fuck guys. Shit who in his right mind would want to screw his precious prick up into a slimy tube like that, who? Get it all brown and gross? Who? He felt the powerful arms go under his knees, lifting him, raising his butt off the
carpet...
"EEEEIIGGGHHHKKK!! GGWWWAAADDDHHH!!" He thought he yelled "stop," too. But his best buddy had no intention of stopping, he was going to get that big dork of his all the way into that virginal ass if it was the last thing he ever did. He was going to poke and punch and press and slam; he was going to drill through that spincter and force it to open whether Tim cooperated or not, whether Tim tried to throw him away or not The bridegroom was too doped up to offer much of a fight, anyway.
"Does it hurt, huh?" he leered, grunting as he worked. "Bad? Is this big randy hot dog tearing my muscle-jock buddy apart? Was this what you were going to do to Nancy on the big hot wedding night, boy? Make the pussy scream?"
"Ahahahahhhh...!"
"I guess it's me making you scream here, isn't it? Go on, big shot Let it out, show me how much I got to you, yell your tucking head off." Pump. Pound. Thrust Slam.
"Yyyiiiiggghhhh"
"Love it," Gordy sneered. "Love it to death." He torqued the swollen length of his ballooning shaft this way and that inside the chute, using it like a crowbar. "You getting ready to shoot that wad?"
In truth, Tim was indeed more than ready to shoot that wad. For all the agony the impalement brought to his hunky body it also had, in some backhanded way, caused his genitals to betray him. The balls were going tighter and tighter in the sac; the cock was upstanding and leaking thread after thread of sticky precum. The washboard belly undulated; the chest heaved. Sweat steamed his flesh from forehead to knees. To ankles. His armpits went rank, and the whole apartment stank of male rut.
Little by little the screams changed, from outcries of protest and pain to outcries of lust and then, yes - and this is what hurt more than anything else - ecstasy.
The super jock, the heterosexual bridegroom, was being made to see the lie he'd been living all these years, proven beyond the shadow of a doubt when his unaided dork contracted and shot, contracted and shot. Humongous bolts of gism burst from the yawning piss slit, wet lightning zigzagging through the air and finally splattering as far away as Tim's face, running down the side of his cording neck, coating the hairs on a chest already dotted with drying globs of Gordy's own previous cum. "You bastard," he moaned as soon as he could catch his breath, voice hoarse, laden with self disgust and loathing. "I'll get you for this, I swear."
Rope came out from a bedside drawer, rope wrapped around the intruder's wrists securing his hands at the small of the back "Mmmmgggkkkmhh," Tim groaned, flipped, legs flopped up and hooked. On his back again, gazing helplessly into the handsome features of his tormentor his captor - his fucking master!
"Maybe I won't carve you up," Gordy grunted, shoving his ultra-hard pecker up into the model's nether hole without a trace of lube, not even spit Slam! Crash! Thud!
"Maybe I'll just break you in a little more before I have to go marry Nancy tomorrow. And on the way to the church I'll drop you off at this male whorehouse know up in Harlem. Those black dudes'll keep this snatch of yours busy, you better believe it".
He reached into the open drawer as he humped and ground, huffed and sweated, not missing a stroke as he withdrew a number of toys particularly cruel and sadistic, the kind that we think twice about using down at Studbuster HO. A Seven Gates of Hell with a set of sharp steel studs on the inside. Weights for a pair of tit clamps designed to drill through the unsullied nipples that thrilled advertising junkies from Madison Avenue to Rodeo Drive. Ball vises. Benwah beads. All of which were attached to the vulnerable body, tied up and helpless to stop it. Tim's physique began to buck and stretch as each new device dug into the nerves just under the surface of the tender epidermis, Gordy cackling insanely in triumph as his prisoner writhed on the bed, blubbering. Heaving. He repositioned himself, squatting over Tim's head, facing the prone, battered body, fingers twisting the tightly clamped nipples.
"Eat my asshole out, fucker." The smirking young torturer sat himself down on Tim's face, spreading his cheeks and shagging Tim's bruised dick. "Taste shit" When his former buddy didn't immediately comply Gordy made sure that the grip he had on the muscle boy's prong wasn't at the hairy base but over the newly formed circumcision scar, tight and brutal. The response was immediate, muffled and urgent.
"I'll lick, I'll lick it, man!" Hot tongue burrowed upwards, slurping and lapping through the tangle of hairs which grew in Gordy's ass crack, the tip locating the smooth pink button and probing it' cupped to dig through, deeper with each stroke.
"Little circles, asswipe." The dominator sat there on Tim's face, his groans becoming sighs of pleasure, his head thrust back on his neck, eyes closed. "Yeah. Deeper."
Tim fucked Gordy's ass with his tongue as Gordy leaned forward, took the string of rubber balls. He stretched down to insert them one at a time up into the prone boy's quim.
"Now get ready to cum, sucker, whether you're ready to cum or not I'm going to start you up like a fucking lawnmower." One second - two - and then, with shocking force, he who had been Tim's best man yanked the entire set of five balls out of Tim's tortured asshole. Tim spluttered spit up into Gordy's farting ass, screaming a muffled scream.
He did not cum.
"I told you to cum, motherfucker," Gordy shouted, infuriated. Kicking. Pissing on the tied-up body beneath him, then smacking his dick across the face. He grunted like a pig in rut as he jacked off, maniacal, drooling, until finally the big balls tightened up and the dam burst, spraying wads of creamy jizz from his rock-hard shaft. Thick copious globs, all landing as aimed in various puddles, runny and coagulant Tim's face dripped cum; it drooled from the brows, from the cheekbones, the upper lip, the nose. The mouth and the chin. "That's what I mean by 'cum,' fuckhole, one fucking flood the way a man does it" His palm was smearing the ooze all over the face now, coating it with gunk, painting it down the sides of the nose and around the red of the lips; the artist at work. "Talk about a facial."
"Seen enough, Nan?" It was my voice which pierced through to Gordy's consciousness, making him whirl, the whirling making his flaccid fuckstick flop, slapping back down against his descended balls. Ow.
"What the fuck -?"
"'The fuck' is what we wanted to show you doing to her fiance," Harker chimed in, behind us in the open door where we'd been for some time. When you come home stoned out of your gourd, intentionally or otherwise, you don't always remember to lock up, especially when you see a shadow in the dark about to give you the jump.
"What you did to make him run out of her life." This was Kevin Asche speaking, feeling on top; it worked, damn it. We pulled it off. There was the rapist bastard, standing naked in the wreckage of his plans, mouth working, eyes daring - But, of course, it was his ass which was occupied, not the other way around, his ass which was now receiving another alien load of sperm, then his mouth which was called on to clean off the streaks. To lick up the excess of sweat coating the coarse hair pile in Gordy's nauseating armpits.
"You really have to watch that mouth of yours," the best man said when he was finally satisfied that his armpits were appropriately tongued. "I'm your buddy, Tim; I don't take the kind of umbrage that other people would, who don't know you so well. Have you any idea what they'd do to get back, do you?"
They'd tie him up to the coffee table, to start. They'd get out their razors and shaving kits; they'd denude him of his chest hair, leaving the pecs contest smooth.
They'd have a tattooing kit with them and they'd use it to indelibly write something embarrassing on their victim's newly shaven skin, something like "Tim sucks dick, girls" and, if that weren't vengeance enough, they'd have a branding iron, too. Who knows what obscenity they'd burn into the tender flesh of the bridegroom's babysmooth ass.
"And after they did all that to you, faggot," Gordy smirked as his branded captive pitched and howled in his coffee table bondage, "they'd probably take a knife like this one here and insert the tip of it between the head of your big stud cock and the foreskin growing over it, and then you know what they'd do, fucker? Do you?"
The eyes practically popped out of Tim's head. "You wouldn't do that," he gasped. "Not even you would go that farrrraaaiiiigggghhhhkkk! IIIEEEYYYAAHHHGGKKKKK"'
Don't tell me what I'm capable of, assfuck." Spoken calmly, almost clinically, as the blade sliced downward, glinting as it severed the tapering hood, sawing around the circumference of the bridegroom's pride. Tim didn't hear himself scream any more, the combination of agony and overdose too much. He went limp in the ropes, mouth open and drooling spit In the darkness which enveloped him he saw Nancy and Gordy at the altar in front of the church, his best man slipping the wedding ring on Nancy's finger while Tim looked on, naked, branded and tattooed, nailed to the cross above, circumcised.
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scotts60143 - November 26, 2019, 8:38 am
Jeff Kincaid has been writing hot stories for a long time…they are among some of the first stories I ever came across. Each one hotter and better written than the last! This one is no exception with such detail that it gets your mind reeling! I can’t wait for the next chapter to this story!! And of course, any artwork by Cavelo is just damn plain hot and horny!! Can’t wait until the 28th!!