A pair of rapist jock brothers have the table turned on them in another chapter of the StudBusters by Jeff Kincaid with art by Cavelo.

Brother Act: Parts 1-3
by Jeff Kincaid
Art by Cavelo
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We don't get many girl clients down at the Studbuster office in OUT old precinct house - in fact, this one I'm going to tell you about now is the only one who's hired our services to date. What a beginning, though. May-Ellen Lundquist was (and still is) the kind of knockout the straight world doesn't seem to have enough of. Pert, pretty, clean, bright, built, sophisticated and sensual, you wouldn't be surprised to find her on the cover of Glamour or Vanity Fair.

Or Playboy.

Or Modern Screen.

We all were sure she was lost; that she simply wandered in that bright Indian Summer's day to ask us how to get to, I don't know – Waverly Place? Tower Records?

The Cherry Lane?

"I'm looking for the Studbusters," she said, seating herself very neatly in our best guest chair and crossing her legs. Wasn't this how Faye Dunaway hooked Jack Nicholson in Chinatown? "You guys are the Studbusters, right? I haven't been given the wrong information, have I?"

"We're them." What could we do for her? "Plenty," came the reply. "If the rumors I hear about your services are true." Most of our male clients, even the ones with the most hair on their pecs, hesitate before using a euphemism like "services." Not this one. May-Ellen knew what she wanted and she wasn't shy about coming to the point, assuming that those aforementioned "services" had something to do with dicking (her word!) hunky bad boys.

A little smile lit Ryan's Hibernian face. "You have some hunky bad boy you want 'dicked?"'

"Two," we were casually informed, May-Ellen delving into the voluminous shoulder bag she'd brought with her, coming up with a Kodacolor. "Their names are Zack and Doug. Zack and Doug Mayo."

Who were, judging from their outfits, a pair of smirking young tennis bums with California tans, rackets in hand, shorts appropriately bulging, not to mention logo'd. There wasn't a strand of tousled hair out of place on either squared-off head, even though the effect they each were going for was one of indifferent carelessness.

Sure. Mrs. (she was a Mrs.) Lundquist was right about one thing, oh, yes: both of these Adonises were about as hunky as you could get, with big chiseled torsos veeing out behind long-muscled arms, shoulder caps wide and high. The thighs were equally defined, equally sculptured, equally proportioned. If it weren't for those goddamned leers on those miserable God's Gift faces one might think it might be an honor, getting one's self sandwiched between their meat.

"Yes, well, I'm a one-at-a-timer. And," May-Ellen wanted it clearly understood, when it was the rare case of the two-on-one, "I pick the time, the place and the who."

Rules, it seems, the Mayo brothers didn't feel obligated to abide by.

Doug had been the one to come on to her, a tennis lesson at the country club, one of those exclusive deals on the North Shore. "My husband was a member there before I married him and, naturally, I became a member,too." Mr. Lundquist, you might want to know, is a well-placed Wall Street executive with vast political and industrial connections; he is older than his wife - by enough years to cause comment. Even so, and despite the occasional indiscretion on both of their parts, the marriage is sound. Of course, if either May- Ellen or Harrison L should flaunt their extracurricular activities that soundness might have feet of clay. There'd go the Rolls, there'd go the box at the opera, the mention in the columns and the invitations to Camp David.

Not good. "But they wouldn't have picked a sleeze to pro at the club, it never entered my mind." Usually the trustees were so careful, knowing that the clientele would on occasion be interested in games other than tennis. "And when Doug broached the subject it was as circumspect as could be. He had these vitamins up at his place; he was 'sure they'd improve my serve' if I cared to stop by."

What the hell. A lady can always stand to improve her ....... although it was Doug Mayo who did the serving, in fact, when she paid him that hour-long visit.

He did it well enough for the lady to unhesitatingly agree. They'd do it again, perhaps tomorrow? "Great," the pro said, teeth glinting beautifully. "If you liked today you're going to love tomorrow."

There'd be this terrific surprise.


The terrific surprise was brother Zack, needless to say, even more hugely endowed than brother Doug. To their dismay, however, Mrs. Lundquist was unamused. Downright antagonistic, in fact not in the market for a three-way, no matter how power-packed.

"You guys are real scumbags, you know that?" On which May-Ellen turned to go.

Being labeled a pair of scumbags aroused the wrath of the scumbags, our client related, the brothers leaping on her before she could open the door, throwing her to the carpet and holding her down. Scumbags, were they? Okay, they'd show her what scumbags do to high-and-mighty bitches who call them by their rightful name.

She kicked out at them as they peeled the shoes off her feet and the stockings beneath - for which effort they punched her, pinched her, and tied her spread-eagled to the four corners of Doug's bed, stripped bare-ass.

And then they, as they used to say in the old melodramas, had their way with her, over and over again, as brutally as they could, front and rear, individually and simultaneously. "The idea was to get their rocks off hurting me, making me tell them how much I dug it, getting hurt by two such virile young studs."

She nearly drowned in Mayo-naise, first Doug and then Zack pumping balls full of gism down her throat all night long. Grinning hyena-like; they even made her suck the sweat out of their armpits!

"Really," Harker had to comment "Interesting." Ryan and I couldn't help but agree. None of us had ever heard of any hetero studs, rapists or otherwise, into sweat like that. As far as we knew that was strictly a gay preoccupation.

"The same thing occurred to me," May-Ellen nodded, cool as the proverbial cucumber; "that's why I thought of you to even the score."

Going to the police was, of course, out that was why the brothers were positive they could gang-bang the tycoon's wife with absolute impunity. That marriage wouldn't hold up to the glare of such scandal, and you could be sure that if Mrs. Lundquist was so brave as to lodge a complaint they would be very pleased to testify that it was she who made all the proposals, entrapping them.

Given the state of things in our court system these days, hell: they'd probably come off heroes and May-Ellen'd be the one doing the time.

Hardly satisfying. Hardly justice. "Justice," she said, "is doing unto them what they did unto me, and perhaps a little bit more." There was such a thing as interest on a debt, after all.

"There is, indeed," I grinned, pleased that my fellow Studbusters were grinning in precisely the same way. "Now, where did you say we could find these....gentlemen?"


Knowing that Doug was right back on the tennis courts at that country club made life real easy, the only question being how subtle we wanted to be in snatching the bastard.

"Just as subtle as he and Zack were with Mrs. Lundquist, I say," Harker said, the motion seconded and thirded, the Studbuster team of four - Mario joining us out in the field as he usually did - waiting for him out in the parking lot, parking our van right next to his little foreign sports job. The discreet Mr. Mayo, even if he did have a "date" selected from one of the roster, would never be seen leaving with her; that would never do. As in the case of May-Ellen there'd be the clandestine tete-a-tete in the bar near his apartment, the mention there of the vitamins and proteins up in the pad, just around the corner; shall they?

Protein. Yeah. The thick milky kind that comes out of the expandable snout. It's going to flow tonight, all right, we vowed, but not with whoever Doug was going to link up with down in that bar. Poor chick, she was going to think she was stood up.

Doug Mayo was going directly home. Directly to Hell. "That's him," Ryan hissed, gesturing with a small toss of his head at the figure emerging from the side door of the clubhouse, handsome in his slacks and open shirt, unbuttoned enough to show a mat of curly blond hair foresting the plains beneath the collar bones. A canvas tote bag was in his hand as, whistling, he came toward us, seeing only his car.

We'd ducked into the shadows and tensed. The tote was from one of those overpriced male boutiques; it was a lot more Italio-California than New York City, East Side included. Why not, though? Nobody'd expect a class act like Doug Mayo to drape a cum-stained jockstrap over his wrist as he came and went, not here.

His car key was out in his hand as he reached the vehicle and leaned to insert it in the lock - at which point Harker came up behind him and did the honors.

"Excuse me, Doug Mayo?" "Yes?" Hardly had the young stud straightened up and turned when the fist slammed hard into his gut "Woohh," he said, an open-mouthed look of amazement and bewilderment flashing across his smooth-cheeked face. An "aaarrgggkk" followed when I let him have a slice from behind with the calloused side of my well-practiced hand, a thudding karate chop to the small of the back.

By this time Ryan was giving our brutalized victim the full force of his knee, powering it upward hard into the unprotected crotch, doubling the pretty young jock over and setting him up for the knockout, achieved with professional speed and dispatch as Harker and I supported him half upright by the biceps, balancing him between us on his flopping legs while Mario, grinning with the pleasure of the coup de gras, punched his lights completely out, one fast uppercut to the jaw.

"Sweet dreams, asshole," he wished him. The way Doug went limp in our grip I had to doubt he ever heard the advice, but there was no time to dwell on it now. We didn't want to fall behind. Our timing, by definition, in an action like this split- second. Quick and quiet, that's how it played so far in spite of the violence we inflicted on the kid, and in two more seconds we had to be gone.

Anything over that and the risk of interference by club security or even a guest increased geometrically. Between three and eight we might still be able to get away with our captive, between eight and fifteen we might be able to get away without him - over fifteen we might not get away at all, none of us.

Fat lot of good that'd do Mrs. Lundquist. "Drive careful," Ryan was telling Harker's cousin as we dumped the unconscious bundle onto the padded floor of the Studbuster van, tossing him Doug's keys. "All you need is for the cops to stop you for some kind of violation."

Mario was bringing the little sports car home, of course, the rest of us making the trip with our new-found friend, the one with the sapped expression on his bronzed, slackjawed face.

"I don't get tickets," Mario replied, already behind the wheel with the engine chugging. Harker slid the side door of the van closed and I moved us out, following the Fiat. "We tying him up?" The clothesline was out, white in Ryan's hand. I shook my head.

"How's it going to look if we run into one of the motherfucker's neighbors?" We'd have a whole SWAT team surrounding the apartment in two seconds flat, whether we walked him into his place or carried him, twisting and struggling on a horizontal, three feet above the ground. On the other hand, untied, hey: it'd look as though old Doug was coming home drunk with some of his best pals. People'd smile knowingly and go on about their business, shaking their heads and saying oh, if only we were that young and wild again.

"Maybe we ought to give him an acid cocktail in that case." Ry didn't give up easy. "Just to be on the safe side?"
Another shake of my head. "I want that boy to know everything that's happening," I declared. "I want him to feel every inch of the hard cock he's got coming."

"Awwright," Harker whooped, giving Ryan five while checking the prone youth on the floor between them, showing white in the sockets of the eyes and moaning a little. "I figure we put him out for at least another ten minutes or so; that ought to be more than enough, don't you think?"

"More than enough," I agreed, especially because Mario was - even as we spoke - turning Doug's Spider into the garage of his apartment building, pulling it up alongside the wall. I maneuvered the van into the space adjacent. The coast was nicely clear.

"Oohhh," Doug blubbered as we rolled him up onto rubber feet, dangling his thickly muscled arms over our shoulders as moving him to the elevator. What a turn on it was, just to see that handsome head lolling helplessly on that massive neck, the blond hair flopping over his brows.

Luck was with us: the car was empty when the doors slid open to accommodate us, and so was the corridor upstairs. We got the sucker safe into his apartment unseen, letting him loose to crumple onto the floor, groveling there on his hands and knees, blinking, trying to find himself.

"Wuh," he said. "Wuh," looking up at the tight-fitting Levis on the pillar-like legs circling him, snaring him. Who the fuck were we and what'd we want with him?

Rather than explain it in so many words we instinctively - all four of us at the same time - decided that a demonstration would speak volumes. One by one we undid the brass buttons on our five-oh-ones, reaching behind the cum- stiffened mesh of our unwashed jockstraps to pull out our hair-halo'd dicks, circumcised and un, aiming the hoses downward.

Sudden realization shocked him into movement, Doug gasping a fast "wait, no, wait, hey" and then a "glub!" as four hot sprays of foaming pee splashed hard against his face, stinging his eyes, filling his nostrils, gushing right into the gape of his mouth."Wake-up time, sonofabitch," Harker advised, drenching the blond hair with foul-smelling yellow rain: knowing that we were going to gang-rape the dude the big Studbuster'd made a point of eating asparagus earlier, asparagus and onions. "Have a little orange juice, yeah."

The excess splattered the carpet and the furniture, wetting it down almost as much as Doug's glistening face. "You bastards, look what you've done," he screeched, coming up off the crouch with his fists balled. He had guts, I'll give the asshole that, but smarts? Do you think it's sharp, trying to overcome four tough studs who have the high ground on you?

"Some people really have to learn the hard way, don't they," Mario remarked as I deflected the first and only punch the gigolo had a real chance to land, clamping my fingers tightly around his wrist and yanking it sideways, simultaneously backhanding his face forcefully enough to draw a small trickle of blood from a cut in the corner of his mouth.

"You can dish it out, cunt," I hissed into his face as I kicked him in the ribs and flopped him onto his belly. "The question is whether you can take it so well."

"Don't hurt me," he whimpered as my pals came down on him with their knees, arching him up for the divestment of his jeans, at least to get them lowered just past his knees.

"Hurt you? Shit, bitch, I'm going to send you to Heaven." The baby blues went saucer as he struggled beneath the combined grips of three determined Studbusters, the fourth (me) kicking his thighs as wide apart as his puddled jeans would allow, getting my face down close enough to his smooth-fleshed ass to spit a couple of wads into the crack, to work the bubbly goo against the little pink rosebud.

"Oh, my God, don't, please, no," he babbled, realizing what we had in mind for him at last, my index finger circling in on the hidden target, the palm of my other hand flat on the curve of his cheek. "Whatever I did, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll make it up, please, just don't dick me, please!"

"You'll make it up, all right" Harker assured him, his fingers digging painfully into Mayo's left bicep and forearm as he held him flat, immobilizing him. "Just like you gave it. Wait until you get a load of the ten inches my buddy's got waiting for that hole of yours, wait until you feel how fucking fat it is - you are going to go crazy, yeah."

"Noohhh," Doug wailed, feeling the tip of my wedge kiss the spit-slick portal at the bottom of his helpless physique. "I got money, I mean it, anything you want, just - aaaarrrrggghhhhkkkk -"

"Oh, yeah," I grunted, breathing hot against the nape of his neck as I torqued my pelvis, grinding inexorably forward, forcing more and more of my blue-veined penis into his flowering asshole. "Take it, you fucked-up prick, take it all "His monosyllabic protests, undulating like a siren from a low moan to a high falsetto, were like music to my ears.

To all of our ears. The beautiful stud body quivered beneath my two hundred twenty, writhing at the determined impalement I reached under his massive chest, my thumbs and forefingers finding his quarter-sized nipples, strumming them, pinching them, twisting them out from the high-curved ridge of his hair-sprayed pecs. The monosyllabic noises that came out of him got louder as the additional humiliation took more of his masculine pride away.

"Somebody muffle that noise," I suggested, knowing damn well that the humiliation alone would make our big jock a lot easier to manipulate, the initial penetration having done its intended job. I mean, once a virgin's had his cherry ripped out what difference does it make how long the cock remains in the ass? What's done is done... and poor Doug Mayo, that big smug cunt-man, I made sure that he was done to a turn, my fuzzy pubes pressed tight against the twin globes of his big, tightly- muscled ass.

Harker could pin him down to the piss-soaked carpet without any help now, freeing Ryan to scoot up in front of Doug's face, Ryan grabbing himself a nice handful of tousled blond hair, using it to yank the face upwards so that it would be on a line with his extended dork with its roll of foreskin framing the plum-ripe head, glistening with precum. "Suck dick, bitch," he advised, his voice harsh, liquid with spit "Learn what a real shaft tastes like."
"You heard him, man," I added, emphasizing each word separately with a cock- punch deep in Doug's deflowered abdomen. "Slurp on that meat, go on. Eat cock."

"Mmmm," the tennis pro said in refusal, the swollen lips clamped shut across his face, the teeth holding the fort behind. It was pathetic, and so easily overcome. Ryan, only too happy to use Doug's head like a basketball, snapped it sideways on his neck, up and down, letting Mario simultaneously use his educated claws just under the ears, digging inwards until the pain produced the desired result.

Mayo's mouth gaped open like a clam's, and Ryan's gigantic pecker jabbed forward into the newly created opening, filling the guy's face to the full. "Shee-it," he thrilled as he felt the rapist's uvula close around the head of that tremendous pike. "Oh, yeah, choke on it, fag."

That is precisely what the inexperienced youth could only do as Ryan unmercifully hammered the entire vein encrusted organ through the glottal barrier as far as it would go, holding the spluttering head in place between his thighs with both hands, fingers interlocking behind the skull as Mayo bucked and wheezed, gagged and choked.
"Mmwuum," he heaved, swallowing as though the act of swallowing itself might dislodge the foreign obstruction so rigidly-long that it felt as though it extended halfway down his esophagus all the way to his stomach. "Mmmwwwaaarrcckk -"

"Not so easy on the receiving end, is it," Mario wanted him to understand. "Especially when all you mean to the guys using you is a set of holes to dick" His hand was on his own meat as he spoke, the sight of the big helpless stud being double-teamed too arousing to just observe without any physicality. I appreciated his feelings.

"You want a piece of this shit?" Silly question. And anything for a fellow Studbuster. I pulled back, my bobbing rod popping out of the clutch of the bruised asshole with a slurping noise, slick with asssweat and precum. The bitch was all Mario's.

"Turn him over on his back, then." The youngest Studbuster wanted God's Gift to women to know what it felt like to have to lie there ,with the legs bent double up in the air, with a hard-faced stud humping over the body, biting at the tits.

"Nnoohhh," our sweating victim pleaded in the moment he had without Ryan's pungent pig-sticker gagging his mouth. "No more, please, I get the message, really."

"Fuck, mother," Harker spat "You haven't even begun to 'get the message.' That's going to take all fucking night; you better believe it"

Even as he spoke I was grabbing the boy's ankles and bending the calves back on the thighs on either side of Mario's lithely muscled figure, the kid whooping viciously as he jumped Mayo's defenseless bones, his prong hooking through the gaping anus and burying itself root-deep in the hot sticky chute. "Now," he husked as he began to pump in and out like a jack-rabbit in heat "Now you look like the cunt you really are, yeah."

Tears glistened in the corners of the eyes as Ryan wiped the head of his massive dick all over Doug's face, squeezing it as he did until a flood of freshly made jizz came shooting out "Hot cum on your faggot face, bitch," he shuddered, aiming his gun at each cheek in turn, at the forehead, at the mouth. "Hot stud cum all over your fucking faggot face."

We smeared it this way and that as Doug wept, defeated and horrified ... not only because the feel and the smell of viscous sperm had robbed him of his manhood but because Mario wasn't just dicking his ass for what seemed to be an eternity, oh, no. At the same time as that teenage meat was sawing in and out of that shitty tunnel, man, that teenager's hand was jerking that gigolo's own meat, hardening it despite himself, turning it red and rigid.
"Come on," he breathed, diabolical and single-minded. "Come on, bitch, cum. You know you want to cum, do it Come on."

"Fuck you," was the reply, unconvincing. Doug's dick was humongous in Mario's hand now, and Doug's eggshaped balls were tightening up in his crinkle- fleshed sac, cranking up on either side of his swollen root.

"Shoot it, cunt, yeah, do it, come on." Spoken low and insistently, digging into the sex center of Mayo's erotic brain, hypnotic in effect. He could not more stop the onset of an immense ejaculation than he could prevent the sun from rising in the east tomorrow morning.

"Eeeeeeeiiiiihhhh," he began to scream, the cords in his neck pressing hard against the underside of his skin, the striations of every muscle in his chest and belly clearly visible. A rivulet of hot sweat rolled in a winding path out of his hair-soaked armpits, down his ribs.

They could smell the motherfucker as far away as Hoboken, I thought, sour and gamey and ripe.

"Attagirl," Mario smiled, digging his worm deeper into the prisoner's gaping maw as the dam broke, a gusher of mucousy cum jetting up from the captive's cock. "That's what I call shooting that load!"

It landed in globs on the arched-up chest and the corrugating belly, splotches of milky white goo which I scooped up into my plated palm, leering down at his exhaustion and shame.

So much work the schmuck had to be thirsty as hell. Not to worry, though. I had a drink all ready for his gullet, oh, yeah.



  1. scotts60143 - December 19, 2019, 6:40 pm

    What a great story! The stud busters! How many jerks over the years would do well for a visit from the stud busters! Love all the details of the story. Jeff Kincaid has always been able to write HOT stories that spark the imagination and this one is no exception. And artwork by Cavelo? Simply the best, always!

  2. BondBoy - January 7, 2020, 9:02 am

    I agree! Love the Studbuster stories – wish the books were available again or all the stories from that series were posted. I especially loved the one about the rogue young handsome straight cop who is taken down by the Studbuster gang – the artwork and story was fuckin hot! Hope someone can post that one!

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