GayBondageFiction

The entire Channel 4 News Teams loses a bet to their rival station and submit to a humiliating experience in this new story from robcot.

Channel 4 Weatherman Loses a Big Bet – Chapter 1
A Tracker Shotts story
by robcot
Series: Channel 4 Weatherman Loses a Big Bet

The Tight End Sports Bar is a great place to get laid on any Friday night, especially if like me you’re into guys who take care of themselves, but this night I was there to catch up with my buddy Ted.

“You’ve got to admit, a certain part of that night, you enjoyed it,” Ted was saying.

“Yeah, the part where I got to fuck that underwear model. But you selling me naked as a ‘slave’ to your confused closeted neighbor for an evening— I mean—,” I started.

“You loved it. And I think you did a lot for Frank’s self-confidence. I saw him bring a guy home last week,” Ted said.

“No shit? The guy was there of his own free will?,” I asked.

“Hard to tell, really. When I saw them, they were in the hall walking into Frank’s room. Frank made the guy strip in the hallway before he’d let him inside,” Ted said.

“Charming. We can both be proud of unleashing that on the gay community in our fair college town,” I said.

“The guy seemed happy about it, at least,” Ted said.

Ted and I were seated at the bar. I felt someone sit next to me and tap my arm.

“Hey, it’s so great to meet you,” the guy said, extending his hand to shake. He was maybe about 35, older than me but still not bad looking.

“I’m Tracker Shotts. Channel 4 weatherman, at your service,” I said, shaking his hand.

“Here we go,” Ted said.

“Of course! Everyone in town knows you. I’m Jack Bassey, I’m in sales,” Jack Bassey said, still holding my hand.

“Jack Bassey, it’s nice to meet you. I was just mentioning to my friend here—,” I began.

“I just love those segments you do, what are they, Weird Weather Wednesdays?,” Jack continued.

“Wacky,” I said.

“Wacky Weather, where you show those hilarious clips! It’s great!,” Jack said.

Jack had started at an 8 with great hair and a nice tight polo shirt that suggested impressive pecs and a flat stomach. But his appreciation for those idiotic segments the station made me do kind of lowered him to a 7.

“Thanks, we try to make the weather relatable,” I said.

“In fact, Tracker is really relatable, with a lot of his male fans,” Ted said. I lifted my hand to shush him.

“It’s also so nice that your channel is raising money for the Children’s Hospital. I wanted to let you know, I went to five-for-kids-dot-com and gave right away,” Jack said.

I heard Ted yelp, a laugh that he immediately tried to swallow.

“That’s channel 5’s fundraising site. I’m on channel 4. We’re kind of competing, to see who can raise the most,” I said.

Jack was now scoring a 5.

“Oh, sorry about that. Hey, can I ask you something?,” Jack asked.

“Sure,” I said.

Jack leaned in close to my ear and whispered:

“Want to fuck?”

A decent question. Jack was hot, but annoying. I decided to slow him down a bit. I pointed to a stack of cocktail napkins and mimed writing with a pen. Jack took the hint and wrote a phone number on a napkin and handed it to me. Then we said goodbye and he walked away.

“First thing you do, when you get him in the bedroom, you gag him,” Ted said.

“You know I’m not into that bondage shit, but you may have a good idea, anyway. That guy is better seen than heard,” I said.

“Whatever happened with that Children’s Hospital fundraising competition you guys had going with Channel 5?,” Ted asked.

“We’re winning, I assume. We win every year. That’s the benefit of having higher ratings,” I said.

“What’s the winner get?,” Ted asked.

“I don’t remember. A sick kid, maybe?,” I said. Then, after glancing at my watch, I said, “Fuck, I’ve got to do the 11 o’clock show tonight. Catch you later.”

***

At 11:34, our sports reporter, Pete Pucker, was wrapping it up. The producers screwed up and came back from commercial 30 seconds earlier than they needed to, so I was worried we’d have to kill time by engaging in pleasant seemingly natural banter.

That’s when Sam Rexson, our anchor, broke the news.

“And finally, a big thanks to all our viewers who contributed to our Kare-4-Kids fundraising drive this month. With your help, we raised $100,000 for the Children’s Hospital. Unfortunately for Pete Pucker, Bill Bobcat, and Tracker Shutts, here, our rival station, Channel 5, beat us by $1,000. And you guys know what that means!,” Sam said.

No, I had no idea what that meant. Why did Sam just single out Pete, the sports reporter, Bill, the hot new traffic guy, and me?

“Ha-ha, not looking forward to it, Sam,” Pete said, good-naturedly.

“But it’s all for the kids,” I chimed in.

“That’s the spirit, Tracker. Stay tuned, Jimmy’s got Zac Efron as a guest, up next,” Sam said.

The “on air” light went off, and the close-show buzzer sounded. The happy smiles on all our faces immediately disappeared. Bill Bobcat, the traffic reporter, immediately took out his phone and said “CALL AGENT” into the voice assistant. Pete Pucker, the sports reporter, sat back and sighed.

“What’s this ‘unfortunately’ shit?,” I asked Pete, who was sitting next to me.

“The bet Sam made, with that Channel 5 anchor, whats-his-name, Tommy Tutone,” Pete said.

“Tim Trabow, you mean. What bet did Sam and Tim make?,” I asked.

“Losing station sends over three on-air talents to do menial labor at the winning station,” Pete said.

“The fuck? I didn’t agree to that,” I said.

“Sam did. On your behalf. Also, we have to do it wearing a costume,” Pete said.

“Oh for the love of God, I could strangle you, Sam. What costume?,” I asked.

Sam Rexson, Channel 4 anchorman, answered my question.

“Hard to say. Channel 5 picks, and tells you when you get there. Could be fucking French maids’ outfits, stretched painfully over your swelling man-meat. We made Channel 5 wear that last year. Could be gorilla suits, zipped all the way up so that you get covered in sweat. We made them wear that, the year before. One year we made them dress as chickens. I don’t want to hear any moaning about this. The three of you are going to show up at Channel 5 tomorrow at 9 AM sharp, ready and eager to be handed over to those repulsive dicks they call producers, and do what you’re told for the morning. Then come back here and collect your massive paycheck for looking pretty and pointing at clouds. Got it?,” Sam said, ending his sentence by pointing at the three of us.

***

The next morning I got up, drove to the gym for my workout, did my normal 2-hour Saturday morning routine, then showered and got dressed. I grabbed coffee along the way and made it to Channel 5 a few minutes before nine o’clock. Sam, Bill, and Pete were already there.

“I can’t believe we lost to these fuckers. They don’t even have a weatherman anymore, after what’s-his-name had to resign. Hey, Sam, you’re paying this forfeit too?,” I asked.

“Like hell I am. Remember, in the studio, how I’m the guy who talks the most, and gives you fucking permission to speak in ninety-second increments about what is in the sky, a fact that every fucking viewer can easily discern for themselves? That means I’m the anchor, Tracker, and that means that when there is shit to do, I am not, repeat, not, the asshole who has to do it. I’m here to make sure you three haircuts with dicks attached don’t back out of this and dishonor the station. Here’s a comb, fix your fucking hair, you will be on camera,” Sam said. I was happy to get the comb.

We heard a slow-clap. Tim Trabow, Channel 5’s anchor, was applauding Sam’s speech, and walking slowly toward us.

“Beautifully put, Sam. Gentlemen, thank you all for coming. Please come inside. We have a changing room ready for you.”

We followed him inside, through the lobby, back into the “changing room,” which was really just a tiny locker room near the Channel 5 gym. A handful of empty lockers hung open, and a single sad bench was by the wall, near a mirror.

“So, we’ll all have fun this morning. Keep your senses of humor and this will all go well. But if any of you dicks refuse a single command, we’re leading with the story tonight that Channel 4 doesn’t keep its bets,” Tim Trabow said, using his on-air voice.

“They’ll comply, I’m here to watch and make sure they do,” Sam said.

“Good. Gentlemen, I’ll give you some privacy so you can change. In ten minutes, I expect you each to be out here in the hallway, wearing your costumes, ready to work,” Tim Trabow said.

“Hold on, this room is empty. Where are our costumes?,” Bill Bobcat, Channel 4 traffic reporter, asked.

“Right, I almost forgot. Here you go. Pick the size that fits you,” Tim said.

With that, Tim tossed onto the floor in front of us three three-packs of white Calvin Klein Briefs, in waistband sizes ranging from 30 to 34.

“That goes under our clothes?,” Pete asked.

“No, dude, he means, those are our clothes. We’re going to be out there in just… underwear,” Bill said.

“Keep your eye on that guy, Sam, he’s a smart one,” Tim said. Then he shut the door.

“Oh, fuck no. I mean, my agent said this is in my contract, but you can’t expect us—,” Bill said.

“Sam, this isn’t what—,” Pete began.

“Shut up, are you fuckers such babies that you can’t take your clothes off in front of other men?,” Sam challenged.

Bill Bobcat and Pete Pucker were both good looking guys—very good looking, in fact. Pete was about twenty-seven, a former star college athlete. Bill was also definitely hired for his boyish looks; a “traffic reporter” doesn’t have to do much more than describe to the audience what the state highway patrol’s cameras are saying about congestion on the interstate, so my guess is that Bill was a failed fashion model or something.

But Bill and Pete seemed terrified to take anything off. I wasn’t. By this time in the conversation, I was already stripped down to my own underwear, which that day was Andrew Christian blue boxer briefs. But, I had to admit, white CK briefs are still a classic.

“I’ve got nothing to hide, but Sam, what about you?,” I asked.

“I’m not part of this,” Sam said.

“Oh come on, Sam, that isn’t fair,” Pete said, as he pulled his T-shirt above his head, revealing a nice flat stomach.

“I’m deeply touched by your complaint about what is unfair. But the terms of the bet let them pick three of our crew members to go through this humiliation. And they picked the three of you. Now, fucking strip and put on those ridiculous tighty-whities,” Sam said.

“Actually, Sam, it seems to me, you don’t have much of a choice, here. If I heard Tim correctly, he told all of us to get into ‘costume,’ not just the three youngest and hottest of us,” Pete said.

Bill, the traffic reporter, was stripped to the waist, his belt unbuckled and the top buttons of his pants undone, revealing a small patch of blue underwear underneath. He had a trim, slim body, not my type but far from having anything to be ashamed of.

“We have the upper hand, Sam. You don’t want the station to cheat on its bet? Well, I’m getting dressed and walking out of here unless you join us,” Bill said.

“Yeah, same here,” Pete said, picking his discarded T-shirt off the floor.

“I’m up for whatever,” I said, as I walked, naked, over to the packs of underwear, slowly bent down at the waist, and picked the ones labeled “waistband 30” off the floor.

“Let me re-acquaint you with your miserable situations. Through the grace of God, each of you gets paid way too much money to do little more than smile for 30 minutes twice a day while our female viewers longingly stare at you through TV screens. In exchange for that, all the station asks of you is that you be relatable, pleasant, enjoyable. The kind of good sports who don’t cheat out on bets, for example. And, oh yes, have you read your contracts? This sort of shit is in there. It definitely is not in my contract. So, be good little pretty boys, and strip and put on those briefs now, or your useless asses are out of this business for good,” Sam said.

I dropped the pack of underwear on the floor and walked over to Sam, naked.

“Sam, you’re smarter than this. Think it through. The four of us get photographed in our underwear, in a humiliating situation. Our audience will empathize with us. About half will be turned on. We get to all look like good sports. Because it wasn’t our choice to show off our bodies, we don’t look vain or threatening. And you, as the boss, look the best of all. You’re the captain nobly going down with the ship. Remember when that focus group said you seemed stiff and inaccessible? That goes away once a photo of you in your underwear, embarrassed yet honorable, supporting your young colleagues, goes viral. Viral!,” I said.

There was total silence. It lasted ten seconds while Sam stared at me. He looked directly at my face. He probably didn’t want to look at the rest of me.

“No, my naked weatherman, you think it through. You three are hired for one reason: so that while you are reading what we write for you to say on teleprompters, viewers can imagine you without your clothes on. In your case, Tracker, from what I’m told, a good chunk of the male viewership doesn’t need to imagine. That’s great for you, because you work out fucking three hours a day. I’m hired to be respectable and smart. Now, for the last time, everyone get into costume,” Sam said.

Sports reporter Pete Pucker and traffic reporter Bill Bobcat knew that Sam ultimately had the advantage over them. They started stripping.

I got the bag of waistband-30 underwear open and slipped one on. They were tighter than I normally wear. I stuffed my junk inside and checked myself in the mirror to make sure nothing was accidentally peeking through.

Pete, naked, was my favorite; large biceps, flat pecs, cute, cute butt. If he didn’t have photos of a girlfriend on his desk I would have definitely seen that butt months earlier than now. Pete used to play football in college, I think, or basketball, maybe, or possibly swim team; one of those. Whatever sport he played in college, it left his shoulders wide and his ass tight and firm. When he pulled the briefs on, his ass somehow looked even hotter. Pete then dropped to the floor and did some pushups, which helped matters even further.

Traffic reporter Bill Bobcat didn’t want anyone to see him naked. Before pulling down his own underwear—baby blue boxers—he reached under his waistband and covered his dick with his hands, and kept it there until he pulled his “costume” back up over it. With that precious piece of cotton and elastic hiding a tiny sliver of his body, he stood, awkwardly, his hands covering his groin so that no one could tell the size of his bulge. His biceps covered his nipples, as though he were ashamed of those, too. His back and butt were pressed against the wall, safe from observation. His eyes looked straight ahead, focusing on a spot on the opposite wall.

I didn’t know Bill too well, but he seemed so uncomfortable that I thought I’d try to put him at ease.

“Hey, you look really good. Did you get into this job through modeling or acting?,” I asked Bill, casually leaning against the wall near where he was standing.

“No, that stuff isn’t allowed in my church. Give me some space, please. We aren’t in The Tight End Sports Bar,” Bill shot back at me.

I left him alone.

Now we were all in our “costumes” of white briefs, and Sam conducted a sort of inspection.

“All right, ladies. Bill! Keep your hands at your sides. Don’t cover yourself up like you’re a girl caught skinny dipping at the beach. Yeah, that’s better, but adjust your bulge, it’s sideways. Pete! Stop flexing, it’s obvious. And you, Tracker, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Sam said, walking over to me.

“What?,” I asked, defensively.

“The point of this is not to advertise the size of your dick. Your are not at a fucking gay boy rave party, or whatever you guys call it. These are too small,” Sam said.

He put a finger under my waistband and pulled downward, totally stripping me. My dick flopped up and down once it was released from its constraint.

I was shocked. But, he was totally right. I was showing off too much. I kicked the briefs off, grabbed a bigger pair from the bag near Bill, and pulled them on.

“OK, showtime,” Sam said.

Sam started to open the door.

“Wait, hold on,” Bill said.

“What?,” Sam asked.

“I mean, Jesus, we’re practically naked, in our worst enemy’s office. Outside that door is a group of guys we’ve beaten in ratings over and over again, guys who have seen their friends get laid off because of us, guys who have lost bonuses because of us. They didn’t ask us to wear maid costumes or gorilla suits; they asked us to strip naked for them, or as naked as you can get on TV. This isn’t just about humiliating us for losing a bet, it’s about— I mean, it’s about our bodies, right? It’s about us! They want to own us! Once we go out that door we lose all control. Our clothes, our wallets, our keys are all in here, and who knows if we see them again at noon or by midnight or by next week. For the rest of our careers, when someone Google Image searches our names plus ‘shirtless’ or ‘naked,’ the photos that are about to be taken, in just a few minutes, are the photos that will come up. Any woman who is interested in dating us—or any guy, sorry Tracker—isn’t going to have to guess what she’s going to see at the end of the third date, she can just look it up. For a lot of women, that means we won’t even get the first date. If we go through that door, we will forever be exactly what we are now, defeated losers stripped to underwear, slaves to the owners of a second-rate mid-market TV station. If we get to keep the underwear at all, that is. We have to obey every order, so if they tell us to strip naked, we’ve got to do it, because the only clothing we’re wearing are tight white briefs that are the legal property of fucking Tim Trebow. If they tell us to handcuff ourselves naked to the chain link fence in front of the street, we’ve got to do it, because that was the bet, and if we try to walk out at that point it’s way too late. They will have all the power. If they tell us to bend over and get fucked up the ass while they film it in 4K resolution, we’ve got to do it. If they—,” Bill continued.

But I cut him off. I spanked him, hard, and then kept my hand on his ass, squeezing.

“Bill. Snap out of it. You watch too much porn. Those are professional colleagues out there. They are going to have us put on a cute innocent show for the cameras, like we’re all best buddies who lost a bet on the Panthers game, and then we’re going to get dressed and go home,” I said.

“Seriously, Bill, chill out. You might not work out as much as Tracker or me—fuck, I don’t think anyone works out as much as Tracker, Jesus, dude, slow down—but it still pays to advertise,” Pete said.

“This male bonding is so charming to watch, but you’ve got three hours of humiliation to endure. Let’s go,” Sam said, reaching for the door.

“Behind that door is the total, permanent extinction of our dignity,” Bill said.

With that, there was a knock at the door; a sudden vigorous pounding, as if the police were about to knock it down with a battering ram.

“Time’s up! Come on out!,” came the shout.

We all recognized the voice: Skipper Treadly, the Channel 5 sports reporter.

“Oh fuck, it’s Skipper, their sports reporter,” said Pete Pucker, Channel 4’s sports reporter. Pete seemed to shrink as I watched him. His proud muscular chest, which he had thrust forward, sank. His hands, which had been hanging loosely at his side, covered his groin, like he was getting ready to be kicked there.

“Yeah, so? I’m expecting they’ve got their entire news team out there, to shoot selfies with us in our underwear. Even their new weather guy, whoever he is,” I said.

“So, me and Skipper—- well, I kind of, fucked his girlfriend, and then she left him last week, and I think he blames—-,” Phil started.

Sam was hearing none of this. He opened the door.

CONTINUE THE STORY:PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

The poor guys are stripped down and their humiliation begins…

Channel 4 Weatherman Loses a Big Bet – Chapter 2
A Tracker Shotts story
by robcot
Series: Channel 4 Weatherman Loses a Big Bet

Outside the door Channel 5 had a camera crew ready to record every minute of the three of us doing menial labor in our “costume” consisting of nothing but white briefs. The overhead studio lights were on already, so our stage training took over and we all looked dutifully shy but good-natured about it. Bill seemed the most nervous, of course, and despite Sam’s earlier correction he went back to trying to cover his body with his arms.

Skipper Treadly, channel 5 sports reporter, went right up to his near-naked channel 4 counterpart, Pete Pucker.

“Fuck, Pete, you’ve really been hitting the gym hard. I mean, even Tracker here might be getting a bit jealous,” Skipper said.

Pete said nothing.

“Turn around so I can see your back, I bet it’s just as impressive,” Skipper said.

Pete, his hands over his groin still, looked at Sam and me.

“It’s an order. You guys are going to follow orders, right?,” Skipper said, smiling.

Pete turned around and showed us his tight ass, which stretched his cotton underpants beautifully.

“Bend forward,” Skipper commanded.

I was shocked, but Pete did it. He bent forward like a high school sophomore obediently waiting to get his first fuck from the senior quarterback. Or maybe I’m just projecting there.

At that point we heard the rumble of a garbage can on wheels. A custodial guy was pushing it toward the locker room we had just walked out of.

“Yeah, thanks, clean up in there, please,” Skipper called out to him. The custodial guy pushed his garbage can into our changing room.

But my attention was on Pete’s ass, now on display. Skipper’s attention was there, also. He bent down and took out his phone. In selfie mode, he took a photo of himself with his face, smiling, next to Pete’s cotton-covered ass. Then, he spanked Pete hard, repeatedly.

“You guys get that?,” Skipper asked the Channel 5 camera man. He nodded. He got it.

“Thanks, Pete, you can stand up. Sorry, that was a little mean, I know, but, well, you had it coming, right?,” Skipper said.

Pete cheered up a bit.

“Yeah, I had it coming,” Pete said.

“But seriously, dude, your bod is really impressive. I mean, I totally get how the ladies are attracted to you, now. I had no idea you were hiding all this under a sports coat. But, man, that bulge seems small. Does your dick keep them coming back?,” Skipper asked, sweetly.

Pete rolled his eyes, and said, “Come on, man.”

“I’m really curious, let’s check it out,” Skipper said.

Skipper hooked his finger under Pete’s waistband, pulled forward, and looked at Pete’s dick. Skipper laughed, using his other hand to cover his mouth.

“Oh, man, I’m so sorry. I mean, it’s a fucking mystery to me, how you could satisfy the ladies with that thing,” Skipper said, still staring at whatever was under Pete’s underwear.

“He’s taking our clothes. He’s throwing away our clothes in that trash can!,” Bill Bobcat shouted.

My attention had been focused on Skipper’s sexual humiliation of his rival, Pete, but Bill had been keeping his eye on the custodial guy. I saw that Bill was right. We had left our clothes lying on the floor and the guy was picking them up, like litter, and tossing them in the trash can. He had headphones on, and I don’t think he paid Bill any attention at all.

“I need an expert to give me an opinion on this, though. Tracker, get over here, and tell me how Pete’s dick compares in size to the hundreds of dicks you’ve sucked,” Skipper said.

He meant it as an insult but it wasn’t so far from true. Usually I’m the guy who is getting sucked but I’m not selfish. Anyway, I did as I was commanded, walked over to Pete, and looked down at his dick. I placed my hand on one of Pete’s bare, muscular shoulders for balance, and also because I wanted to.

I had gotten a tiny peek at it before, but now Pete’s dick had nowhere to hide. I stared at it for a while, like I was memorizing the answer to a quiz.

“It’s tough to say. It seems a little small now, but it’s cold in here, and Pete doesn’t seem turned on by you, Skipper. I bet with the right stimulation, Pete’s dick would grow to a size that would more than satisfy you, Skipper,” I said.

I heard Sam laugh. Pete smiled but twisted his shoulder under my hand—he wasn’t cool with my hand being there—and I lifted it. Skipper looked at me pissed, and let Pete’s underwear band snap back to his body.

“They’re taking them away! They’re going to throw our clothes away!,” Bill shouted.

And he was right; the custodian was hauling out all of our clothes in a trash can, mixing them in with whatever junk had already been in there. I caught a glimpse of Bill’s baby blue boxers lying on top of a discarded instant microwave meal, and a corner of Pete’s green T-shirt peeking out from behind a soup can.

The Channel 5 cameraman had been ignoring the partial strip show surrounding poor Pete, and instead had his camera trained on Bill, to catch the expressions on his face when he saw his clothes being taken away, and realized the extent of Channel 5’s new power over his life.

Skipper Treadly ignored Bill’s cries about the apparent permanent loss of our clothes. Skipper pinched Pete’s cheek and shook his head softly, the way an adult does to a child, and then Skipper casually hung his clothed arm over Pete’s naked shoulders and shot another selfie like that. It was a portrait of dominance.

Then Skipper stood and used his on-air voice.

“OK, guys, are you ready to do some community service? We picked those costumes for you so you won’t get your clothes wet… while you’re washing cars in the Channel 5 parking lot! We’re going to have all three of you sudsing the cars of Channel 5 employees, all for a great cause,” Skipper said.

Then, a pause, and Skipper asked the cameraman, “Did you get that? Were they in the shot?”

We weren’t in the shot, so they moved us, three guys standing in their underwear, our heads obediently bowed, while Skipper repeated that lecture, on camera, telling us how we would be spending our hours of servitude.

“Did you get that? Great. Let’s do it one more time, but, guys, let’s have you naked, this time,” Skipper said.

My heart skipped a beat; Bill’s eyes shot out; Pete closed his eyes and hung his head.

“Ha! Just kidding. OK, I know you’re excited as I am. Let’s get you to makeup. Down that hall, to the right. They’re waiting for you. I’ll catch up with you later,” Skipper Treadly said.

Sam motioned for us to leave. Fully dressed, and smiling broadly, Sam seemed to be a little too satisfied with himself. I led the way towards makeup, Pete followed, and Bill—his hands still over his groin—went last. I think Skipper gave Pete a final playful spank as he walked away. This was far from over.

The door to makeup was closed, and locked, and when I knocked, someone shouted out, “Just a minute.”

So we stood there, in our underwear, like dopes, waiting to be let into “makeup,” for whatever was going to happen there.

“This is totally unprofessional of them. Assurances were made, and broken. I can promise you all—,” Sam began.

“This was exactly like I said. I warned all of you, you didn’t listen—,” Bill started.

“Shut up, don’t you see who is coming?,” Sam hissed.

Truman Thompson was coming. What the fuck was he doing here? Truman Thompson. Owner of Thompson Ford, owner of Value Furniture, and of at least two Taco Bell franchises. No one man in town had more power over more advertising dollars. No local news channel could survive long without Truman Thompson’s money. No local news personality could survive long without his favor. Truman Thompson was a pillar of our community, a serious, well-dressed, careful sort of man, who never let himself be seen in public without at least a sports coat on.

Truman Thompson was walking towards me, while I was wearing nothing but white briefs, as I stood in the hallway of my station’s biggest rival with no apparent purpose other than to keep my other stripped colleagues company.

“Good morning, Truman,” was all I could think to say.

Truman stared at us, sighed, and shook his head. He started to walk away.

Sam, the only one of us with clothes, had to save us.

“Truman! Wait up!,” Sam called out, and chased after him down the hall.

With Sam gone, Bill resumed covering his crotch with his hands, and Pete paced nervously, his muscular butt cheeks flexing as he stepped.

“This is not good, man, I’m telling you,” Pete was saying over and over.

“No, Pete, I told you. I told you they’d use this to exploit us. We are fucked, metaphorically. Perhaps literally, before they are done with us. We’re in the middle of enemy territory with nothing to protect us but a small piece of cotton over our balls and fairly good haircuts. Please remember, when they start fucking you up your ass, that it was my idea to leave. I mean, even if they give us three-piece suits behind that door, it’s too late; Truman Thompson just looked at us like we were bigger disappointments to him than his gay son. You thought it was humiliating when Skipper looked at your small dick? Humiliation is what we just went through. That man just lost all respect for us. The next time you talk to him, the next time you need anything from him, the only image he is going to have of you is what he just saw: a powerless, helpless guy with so little power that he can’t grant himself the dignity of wearing a shirt or pants in a public workplace. Think those muscles make you strong? To Truman, to everyone who sees you like that, you’re helplessly weak,” Bill said.

But then the door to makeup opened, and we walked in. My heart sank and my mouth gaped open when I saw who was there. Now it was my turn to experience the shock of recognition.

CONTINUE THE STORY:PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

Ajax and Cicero’s punishment for buggery continues when they are forced to do hard labor in the nude. Then their newest master separates Ajax from the rest of the slaves for a little buggery of his […]

Ajax and Cicero are pitted against each other in another competition – loser gets fucked!

Antebellum – Chapter 17: Entertainment for Mr. Dean
by Drum
Art by Amalaric
Series: Antebellum

I went off to the slave barracks and was let in by the duty guard Boss Phelps. He knew to expect me and said, ‘Get something to eat, you have a busy day ahead. Then wash down and dry, get oiled up and put a pouch and some shorts on.’ Cicero joined me and we helped cover each other in palm oil. ‘I wonder what they want us for,’ he said. ‘No talking, nigger!’ Boss Phelps snapped, cuffing Cicero’s head. ‘Yes Boss, sah.’ Cicero said. We were surprised at the quality of the breakfast which I suspected came from the drivers’ kitchen as it had ham, grits and fresh bread.

When we had finished Boss Phelps said ‘Stand up and let me take a look at you.’ He looked us up and down, front and back and said, ‘You look good, sleek and well-groomed. Remember you represent this plantation and we want to impress our guest today. He is an important customer. If I hear you have stepped out of line you can expect the whip, understood?’ ‘Yes Boss, sah.’

We were told to go to the stable yard where a pair of horses had been harnessed to a wagon. The stable master fitted chains round our necks with chain leads on them and we were told to walk behind the wagon which was driven to Boss Nat’s cabin. Boss Nat and Mr Dean came out and looked at us.

‘Very handsome, Nat.’ Dean said. ‘OK, you boys, get on the wagon.’ ‘Yes Boss Nat.’ We climbed in the back of the wagon which lurched off in the bright sunshine of morning. The air was fresh for the time of year and felt good on our bare chests and legs. We drove out of the avenue and went to the lake where Massa Sullivan had laid out lawns and gardens and a large flat area. There was a hut there and outside it somebody had arranged the lifting stones and bars and other strength testing equipment. The horses were tied in the shade under a large tree and we followed Boss Nat and Dean to the grass where the equipment was.

‘I was most interested to see, last night, how the slaves seemed to think that being naked was natural.’ Dean remarked. ‘Yes,’ Boss Nat said, ‘I have theories about it. In Africa, where they originated, the males go naked or nearly so most of the time. It’s their way of displaying their strength and prowess to the members of other families or tribes and attracting female partners. It’s primitive but it seems effective and when you look at it is pretty normal in the animal world for the male to be more spectacular than the female. Of course, here we don’t bother to dress them much, only what decency requires or if there is a chance white women will be around the place. You go to an auction and they are accustomed to being displayed naked. Ain’t that right, boys?’ ‘Yes, Boss.’ We said. ‘White folk like to see what they are spending their money on, Boss Nat.’ I said, ingratiating myself to them. Dean smiled at my interjection and said ‘Well with oil on their skins these two certainly look good to the eye. Or is that to protect them from the sun?’ ‘Hah! No they don’t need protection from the sun. I had it done to show them off better. I noticed you showed quite a bit of interest in the fighters last night including in the shower.’ Boss Nat said. ‘O, was it obvious?’ Dean coloured slightly.‘A little, but don’t worry about that. Many of us enjoy the sight of a top dollar nigger being put through his paces like that. I am one who takes pleasure in the male slave form at its most, er, natural, I think I’d put it.’ Boss Nat said. ‘I must confess I am very fond of Ajax here, a fine specimen and well-trained as well as compliant. When he serves me indoors I often order him to be naked so that I can enjoy the beauty of his body. Touch it, feel his strength. Is that not so, Ajax’ ‘Yes Boss Nat, sah.’ ‘Well, if that is the case Nat, why not tell them to strip and perform their tasks naked?’ ‘Why don’t you tell them, Mr Dean.’ ‘Call me Harry, Nat.’ Mr Dean said, ‘OK, I will. Cicero, Ajax, shuck off.’

‘Yes Mr Dean sah.’ We said. We stripped our shorts and pouches off and put them on a bench and faced them. Dean looked at us both and said, ‘Ajax is as magnificent as Cicero. Why, if I was staying in this country for a longer period I would buy myself a couple of fine looking creatures like these two.’ He was standing close to me and glancing over my upper body before his raised a hand and felt my upper left arm. Knowing what the Massas usually had in mind I flexed for him to make the bicep expand. He was a little hesitant but plucked up the nerve to feel it and said, ‘Big and hard.’ ‘That’s not the only thing he has that gets big and hard, is it Ajax?’ He sniggered. ‘No Boss Nat.’ I said looking down and smirking. Dean looked at my cock and smirked as well. ‘Ask Cicero, he knows how big and hard it gets, don’t you nigger.’ Cicero was shy and muttered, ‘Yes Boss Nat.’ ‘I don’t follow.’ Dean said.

‘Well Ajax’s cock and Cicero’s fondness for it earned them both a whipping for unnatural practices as Doctor Sullivan put it. He caught Ajax buggering Cicero during a break and flogged them in front of the whole estate. They are lucky they still have their nuts. You see, this is a breeding establishment as well as a cotton plantation and with the British patrolling the seas searching out and capturing slave ships and traders we have to produce our own livestock. Slaves like these two are very valuable specimens with their looks and virility. Their juice is a valuable commodity. Now let’s get them warmed up and performing for us. Come with us, you two.’ We followed him to where the spring-loaded catapult stood. Beside it was a basket containing plenty of stitched leather balls about the size of a clenched fist. ‘The rules are simple. I fire 21 balls, one at a time, onto the field. Cicero and Ajax, as soon as they hear the catapult bang, run after it. They bring it back and if it is fetched back by Ajax he puts it in the red box, if it is fetched by Cicero, he puts it in the blue box. Is that understand?’

‘Yes Boss Nat,’ we said. ‘At the end of the game the nigger who has retrieved most balls is the winner. Get ready.’ There was a snap of the catapult and we ran at full speed after the ball and I was fortunate enough to just beat Cicero to it and trotted back to the red box with it. After about 10 or 11 balls we were allowed to recover our breath. ‘Impressive, Nat, they make a fine sight racing naked with their strength pitted against each other and their bodies at full stretch.’

We finished the game and Boss Nat counted the balls. I had brought back 9 and Cicero had brought back 12. Boss Nat said, ‘Cicero has beaten you by three balls, Ajax; the penalty is two strokes of the cane per ball, that means you get six on your buttocks, bend over.’ ‘Yes Boss Nat.’ ‘Oh, may I administer it, Nat?’ Dean said, ‘I acquired quite a taste for it last night.’ ‘Of course, Harry, don’t spare him, he can take it, in fact he has a tendency to get a bit worked up by it.’

I bent over a bench and braced myself. I heard the whoosh of the cane and felt it crack across my buttocks with full force. I grunted with the pain and shuddered. He followed through with the other five by which time I was getting hard. My buttocks felt like they were on fire as I stood up and faced them. ‘I see what you mean, Nat.’ Dean said looking at my growing cock. ‘Ajax, assume the inspection pose.’ ‘Yes Boss,’ I said locking my fingers behind my head and jutting out my loins emphasising my genitals. ‘Why is it called the inspection pose?’ Dean asked. ‘Because the slaves are taught to stand like this to facilitate when their torsos and genitals are being handled when they are being inspected by prospective buyers. Take a look at him. Like this.’ Boss Nat said.

The touch of his hand on my dick would have been enough to get me hard but combined with the caning I was without control and when Dean touched me I was throbbing in his hand. I thought I would shoot but luckily I was able to stay in control for once. We were allowed a drink from the horse trough before resuming the tests. The next was a weight-lifting exhibition. A load of weights usually used to weigh bales of cotton for shipment had been arranged on the grass. Each was marked with its value and had a ring on the top to hold it. Boss Nat gave us both a thick, wide leather belt to buckle tightly round our waists. ‘That will stop them rupturing themselves,’ He said to Dean. Cicero and I lifted the weights in gradually increasing heaviness until I had surpassed Cicero by several tens of pounds. Dean slapped me on the back and said, ‘Well done, nigger, I like to see a big strong fellow showing off his power.’ ‘Thank you Mr Dean, sah.’ I said, taking off the belt.

‘Now for Cicero’s punishment for losing,’ he said to Boss Nat. ‘I would suggest a dozen across the back and buttocks with this belt and, once again, it would be my pleasure to administer it.’ ‘Very well Harry.’ Boss Nat said. ‘Ajax, secure Cicero to the table.’ I bent Cicero over the table, face down, and tied his wrists. I knew that Cicero could not take a beating like me. However his struggles as I tied him were of no avail. Dean took the stiff leather belt and held the buckle end. He swung the loose end and it came down with a loud crash across poor Cicero’s upper back and shoulders. The slave jumped and yelped with the pain. The belt left six stripes across his back before Dean transferred his attention to the slave’s buttocks. Cicero’s yelps turned to screams for mercy as the belt slammed across the soft flesh. I was told to cut Cicero loose and Boss Nat told us to cool off in the lake. They watched as Cicero and I dived in. It was obvious that Cicero felt some comfort on his back from the cool water. After a refreshing while in the water we were called out.

‘Last activity this morning, you two, wrestling. Usual rules; best out of three falls wins. As a special incitement to win the winner has his way with the loser.’ Boss Nat said. ‘Fight on!’ We faced up and I could immediately sense what Cicero was going to do. We circled and grappled and built up a sweat in the warming, morning sun. Our greasy skin made gripping each other difficult. I soon had Cicero on his back and won the first fall by pinning him.

We restarted with the second round. This time Cicero fought harder but I knew what he wanted the outcome to be. We drew with one fall each.

In the third round we fought hard and long, despite his wish to lose Cicero fought hard. Eventually he was wasted and collapse exhausted after I pinned him. We both laid back to recover and then Boss Nat said, ‘I declare the winner of the wrestling and overall winner of the tests is Ajax. Ajax, you have won the use of Cicero’s body as your prize. Claim it.’ He leered in a knowing way and tossed a jar of pig fat at us. ‘You know what to do.’ ‘Yes, Boss Nat, sah.’

Dean was visibly excited by it all and watched keenly as I relaxed Cicero’s butthole with my greased fingers. Cicero obliging grunted at my efforts groaning, ‘Easy Ajax, easy man.’ I knew he was secretly enjoying it and, when I stopped I stood up, grabbed his head and said, ‘Suck my dick, nigger.’

He opened his mouth over my cockhead and I forced it into him. I was aware from past experience of him that he was able to take a lot of cock in his throat and it felt good as I thrust it down his gullet. When I was good, ready and throbbing I pulled him off it, turned him and mounted him from behind. I was rough with him, I gauged that was what Boss Nat and Dean want to see. Cicero yelled out as I penetrated and forced my way right into his guts. Shit, he felt good, he always did as he worked on my shaft with his sphincter, almost milking me. I gripped his head hard so there was no escape and we were grunting mindlessly as I pounded into him. After a good long lust dance I felt myself begin to tingle down in my balls. I knew the moment was coming and thrust even harder. He groaned louder and then I yelled in ecstatic triumph as I let great wads of juice shoot down my shaft and into his hot, smooth guts. ‘Yeah! Yeah! Yeah bitch!’ My cock softened and slipped out. I pushed him away on the grass. He was a good actor and pretended to sob in humiliation but I knew damn well he’d enjoyed every second of it.

CONTINUE THE STORY:PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

The secretive police organization’s newest prisoner’s true suffering begins with a brutal whipping and painful cock and ball torture.

V.P.P.O (Volunteer Prisoners for Police Operation): Parts 5 & 6
by […]

A pair of celebrity pop stars hook up and experiment with a chastity device in this fun story by Alan Baker Charlie.

Nick Jockas and Justin Boiber
by Alan Baker Charlie
Download more of Alan Baker Charlie’s work on Amazon.

Nick sat with his manager and his security guard in the backstage snack area watching Justin Boiber’s performance on a monitor at the gala charity fundraiser. Justin was dressed in white pants and a white muscle shirt which showed his dark blonde armpit hair whenever he raised his arm. Justin was singing his latest hit, and the mostly-female audience was screaming their appreciation. With one minute left to go in his performance, a message was relayed to Nick to come to the side of the stage and wait in the wings for his turn.

Nick watched with an amused grin as Justin finished his song, bowed, waved to the audience and strode off the stage. The emcee came on stage and waited for the applause to fade before announcing Nick. When Justin reached the curtain area and saw Nick, his face lit up.

“Nick!”, he exclaimed, as he came over and hugged Nick. “I hope you don’t mind me hugging you. I’m just so happy to see you. I know we haven’t seen each other for awhile, but I’m a big fan. I have one of your posters in my … house.”

“I’m a big fan of yours also,” said Nick. “I’m still looking for a poster of you I can hang in my bedroom.” They both laughed. Boiber’s face turned a bit red. He was already a bit flushed from his performance, and he had little beads of sweat along his forehead. Nick noticed a bit of damp fabric in the vicinity of Boiber’s armpits.

“Did you hear we’re sharing a dressing room?” asked Boiber. “So, if you hear the water running in the shower, it’ll probably be me.”

“If you wait a few minutes, I’ll join you,” said Nick, and they both laughed again. Boiber’s face turned another shade of red. Nick gave him a meaningful look, then looked at Boiber’s crotch, then gave him another meaningful look in the eyes before marching onto the stage to begin his performance.

Several minutes later Nick found his way to the door of their shared dressing room. Normally each of them would have his own dressing room, but due to the number of stars performing at the charity event, sacrifices had to be made. Nick knocked on the door and waited for a response. Boiber’s guard was sitting in the hallway keeping an eye out for trouble. “Go on in,” said the guard. “He’s probably in the shower or something.”

Nick walked in and stood in the middle of the room listening. The door to the bathroom was half-open, and he could hear the shower running. Boiber was singing in the shower — the same song he had just performed for the audience. Seeing the half-open door, Nick instantly got a boner. He started yanking off his clothes and tossing them in the direction of a nearby chair, not caring whether they landed on the chair or on the floor.

As Nick walked into the bathroom, Boiber was standing in the shower with warm water running over his head and body. Nick glanced over at the sink and noticed that his half-empty water bottle had been drained.

“Did you drink out of my water bottle?” he asked Boiber in surprise.

Boiber shook the water off his face and looked at his naked companion. “I was thirsty,” he said.

“We have lots of unopened water bottles in the room,” said Nick. “Was there something special about mine?”

Boiber turned red as he looked down at Nick’s fully erect cock. “I was thirsty,” he repeated. “It was sitting there open, and I just wanted a drink.”

“I think you want more than a drink,” said Nick. “I think there’s something dangling right in front of you that you really want. Am I right?”

Boiber nodded and sank to his knees, dripping water on the floor. “Yes, sir,” he said. He gently grasped Nick’s uncut penis in his hand and guided it into his mouth.

As Boiber sucked Nick’s dick, Nick felt sensations of pleasure he had never imagined feeling. He placed his hand on the back of Boiber’s wet head and gently pulled it toward him as his dick slid in and out of Boiber’s mouth. As his passion grew, Nick pushed harder on Boiber’s head, not caring if his dick began pressing against the back of Boiber’s throat, causing his eyes to water. Boiber looked up at him a bit surprised at being treated roughly.

Boiber started to pull back, as if he wanted to stop. “Oh, no, boy,” said Nick, pushing firmly on his head. “We’re not stopping.” The motion returned, and Nick’s dick grew harder and harder. “This is good,” he said as he got closer and closer to his climax. “This is really good.”

Boiber reached down and began stroking his own dick, but the motion caused him to lose the cadence. “Oh, no you don’t,” said Nick. “Take your hand off your dick. Focus on me. I’m about to come,” he ordered.

Boiber nodded and continued sucking. His eyes were watering so much now that he actually had tears going down both cheeks. “You look so hot right now,” said Nick, encouragingly. “This feels so good! Oh, yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah.” Nick looked down at Boiber kneeling on the hard tile at his feet, his shoulders and ass moving back and forth as he sucked on Nick’s dick. He thought about how big his own dick was compared to Boiber’s. Of course, Boiber’s dick wasn’t small. He had gotten a good look at it while Boiber was in the shower. Anyway, as his dick became more and more engorged, he thought about how he would like to spend more time with Boiber, how he would like to fuck Boiber — not here, of course, but in his suite back at the hotel. He thought about how Boiber seemed to idolize him. Suddenly Boiber seemed to be the answer to his prayers, someone who could be his discreet lover, someone who would never blab, a handsome guy he could dominate in the way that he liked to dominate guys sexually. Just as these thoughts flowed through his mind, a powerful orgasm struck. As a test, he loosened his grip on the back of Boiber’s head and waited to see what Boiber would do.

Boiber’s eyes got very big as the molten liquid began pulsating down his throat. He kept his lips firmly around Nick’s large dick, and he swallowed as fast as he could so he could drink all of that warm, salty celebrity fluid. He breathed hard through his nose, and his face became red and flushed again from the exertion and from the emotional reaction to bringing his long-time hero to a climax.

Boiber looked up at Nick, his mouth still around Nick’s cock, and he reached down to stroke himself again, now that Nick had come.

“Oh, no you don’t,” said Nick, pulling Boiber’s hand away from his dick. “You don’t get to touch that without permission. I hope you don’t have plans for tonight, because I have something I’m planning for you.”

CHAPTER TWO

When Nick opened the door to his hotel room, Boiber nodded to his security guard in the hallway about twenty feet away and came in alone. As soon as the door closed he hugged Nick and said, “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here. I had dinner plans with a guy from my record company. He had driven two hours to meet me here, so I didn’t think I should ditch him, particularly since we agreed to meet for dinner a month ago.”

“It’s okay,” said Nick. “I had a Skype session with a songwriter. She had been working on some songs for me. Do you want something to drink? I have a bottle of wine.”

“That sounds nice,” said Boiber. “I don’t drink alcohol very much, but one glass of wine won’t hurt me.”

“Good for you,” said Nick, pouring wine into two glasses and handing one to Boiber. “I admire you for that. I have to be careful, too. Anyway, I really enjoyed our time together in the dressing room, and I have a feeling I’m going to enjoy myself even more tonight, now that we’re here in my room.”

“I enjoyed it, too,” said Boiber, setting down his glass. “My dick has been throbbing ever since.”

“Oh yeah? Want to show me?” asked Nick.

“Sure,” said Boiber, pulling down his sweatpants. Out popped his dick, looking like it was ready for action.

“I see what you mean,” said Nick. Boiber started to pull his sweatpants back up. “No, take them off,” said Nick. “I want you naked.”

Boiber looked a bit puzzled, but he did as he was told, putting his clothes on a nearby chair. Nick sat on the couch and watched him.

“Will you do something for me?” asked Nick.

“Probably …” said Boiber with a smile.

“Will you do ten pushups? I want to see you do them.”

“Okay,” said Boiber. “Now?”

“Yes, now,” said Nick, taking another sip of wine.

Boiber got down on the floor and started doing pushups. Each time he lowered himself, his dick collided with the carpet.

“Awesome,” said Nick as Boiber did his ninth. “Can do you five more? You’re doing great.”

“Sure,” said Boiber, breathing deeper. He continued doing pushups.

“You look so hot,” said Nick. “Can you make it to twenty?”

“I’ll try,” said Boiber, feeling a bit puzzled. He kept going until he reached twenty, and then he collapsed on the floor, rolled over and rested on his back with his hands behind his neck, revealing his light brown armpit hair.

“That was hot,” said Nick. “Really hot. Now I want you to help me with something else.” He went over to the dresser, returned with a little key and handed it to Boiber.

“What’s this for?” asked Boiber sitting up.

“I’ll show you.” Nick pulled off his shirt, his pants and and his underpants, revealing a chastity cage.

“You’re wearing a chastity cage?” asked Boiber.

“Yes,” said Nick.

“Why?” asked Boiber.

“I like to wear it sometimes,” said Nick. “When I’m feeling horny, I particularly like to wear it. I like the way it feels on me. I like the way the metal traps my dick. I like to wear it when I don’t have time to take care of my urges. It just makes me feel like I can lock down that part of me and release it later when I can enjoy it.”

“Wow,” said Boiber. “I’d have never guessed. So, what do you want me to do with the key?” he asked.

“Unlock me,” said Nick. “I mean, I want you to unlock me if you want me to fuck you. And, I totally want to fuck you.”

“That would be awesome,” said Boiber.

“Okay, then, here’s where the key goes,” said Nick, pointing to the keyhole on the side of the device. “I want you to take it off me.”

“Okay,” said Boiber, sitting down on the couch close to Nick and turning the key in the lock. His dick got hard at the close proximity to Nick’s naked body. “Now what do I do?” he asked.

“Hold the ring that goes around my balls and pull the sheath off,” said Nick, pointing to the latticed tube around his dick.

Boiber gently pulled the tube off, and Nick’s dick came out. Boiber instantly put his warm hand on Nick’s dick and gave it a squeeze.

“No, don’t do that — not yet,” said Nick.

“What’s the matter?” asked Boiber, turning a tiny shade of red.

“Nothing,” said Nick. “I just want to get my dick out of the ring before it gets too hard.”

“Oh,” said Boiber.

“Now, see if you can gently push my dick through the ring,” said Nick.

“I’ll try,” said Boiber, “but you’re hard already.” He grasped the ring with one hand and used the other hand to push on Nick’s dick.

“That’s it,” said Nick. “Keep going.”

Boiber struggled with Nick’s dick for a full minute before he finally worked it through the ring. Nick laid his arm on Boiber’s back and watched his facial expressions as he struggled with the task.

“Finally,” said Boiber, as he succeeded in releasing Nick’s dick from the ring. He pulled on the ring to get it off Nick’s balls.

“Ouch!” said Nick, laughing at the sudden pain in his testicles that resulted from the sudden movement of the ring.

“Sorry, sorry!” said Boiber, as he turned red again. “I thought they would sail right through. I didn’t realize they’d get stuck. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” said Nick. “Don’t worry.” He held his balls and breathed heavily until the pain subsided. “You know what I want?” he asked.

“To get in bed with me?” asked Boiber hopefully.

“I want to spank you,” said Nick.

“Really? Because I hurt your balls?” asked Boiber.

“No,” said Nick. “Not because of that. Just because spanking you would turn me on big time.”

“Oh,” said Boiber, looking uncertain.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” said Nick, reaching over to squeeze Boiber’s penis. He held it in one hand and rubbed the tip of it gently with his finger. Boiber looked down at his dick growing hard with Nick’s rubbing. He looked over at the chastity cage.

“You’re kinkier than I expected,” said Boiber. Nick nodded and smiled. “Okay, you can spank me.”

“Put your knees on the sofa here,” ordered Nick. “Then lay over my knees and put your hands on the carpet.” Boiber arranged himself as instructed, and Nick began rubbing his bottom. Instantly his dick got hard. He reached down and pulled his dick up, so it was pressing against Boiber’s side.

“I thought you were going to spank me,” said Boiber. He was rewarded with the first of many spanks on the bottom.

“Say, ‘thank you, sir’”, ordered Nick.

“Thank you, sir,” said Boiber. Nick spanked him again.

“Ouch!” said Boiber.

“You’re supposed to say thank you each time,” said Nick.

“Thank you, sir,” said Boiber. Nick spanked Boiber’s right butt cheek a few times and then spanked the left side. The facial expressions that Boiber was making kept making Nick’s dick harder and harder. And the pressure of Boiber’s body and the vibrations from it pressing against Nick’s penis was making him crazy with desire.

“Turn over,” said Nick. Boiber obediently flipped over on Nick’s lap. With his left hand Nick cradled Boiber’s shoulders, and with his right hand he rubbed up and down Boiber’s chest. He stroked Boiber’s dick several times, causing it to get hard again. He leaned over and sucked on Boiber’s dick for a few minutes. “Okay, I want you on the bed now,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” said Boiber, realizing he was taking orders now and expected to respond appropriately. Boiber pulled back the covers and lay down in the center of the king-sized bed. Nick went into the bathroom, got a couple of towels and a bottle of lube. Boiber watched him as he opened the bottle and put some on his dick.

Nick got in bed and lifted Boiber’s legs in the air, pressing them toward the headboard. “Hold your ankles,” he ordered. Boiber obediently held his ankles as Nick applied lube to his ass. “I think this needs to be stretched a bit,” he commented as he inserted one lubricated finger.

“Yes, sir,” said Boiber as he felt the finger rubbing the inside of his rectum. “Oh, yeah, that feels good.”

“Maybe two fingers will feel better,” said Nick, pressing two into Boiber’s hole.

“Oh, yeah, still feels good,” said Boiber. “Fuck me, Nick. I know you’re ready.”

“I’m super ready,” said Nick. “I’ll probably come fast.”

“That’s okay,” said Boiber. “No problem, buddy!”

Nick began pushing his dick in, and Boiber groaned as the pain from the insertion mixed with the pain from the spanking. At first the movements were slow, but as Boiber continued to groan, Nick’s lust grew stronger. Before long he was thrusting his weight against Boiber’s sore ass. Despite the pain, Boiber still encouraged him: “Fuck me, Nick. I need you to fuck me.”

Nick remembered the chastity cage and his plans to get Boiber to wear it, and as he pictured it on Boiber, his dick erupted with spurts of pure pleasure. His cadence slowed as his dick throbbed with pleasure, and then he continued thrusting, but more gently now, until his dick grew limp.

Nick pulled out and rested beside Boiber, holding him quietly for a few minutes. Boiber lay still next to him enjoying the closeness even though he was still feeling some pain. His dick was semi-hard as he wondered what would come next. Eventually he grasped Nick’s hand and pulled it over and onto his dick. Nick took the hint and began rubbing Boiber’s dick in a gentle manner. “It feels so great to have you in bed with me,” he said.

“Likewise,” said Boiber. “You’re so hot. I didn’t realize you were so kinky, but I trust you, and I’m willing to do kinky stuff if that’s what turns you on. You’re so hot when you’re fired up like this.”

“You know what I want now?” asked Nick.

“I have no idea, and I’m afraid to ask,” said Boiber. “But whatever it is, I think I can handle it.”

Nick grabbed Boiber’s balls with his hand and held them firmly. “I want to hold your balls while you jerk off,” he said.

“Wow,” said Boiber. “I wasn’t expecting that. You’re full of surprises. Okay, sure, you can hold my balls. Your warm hand feels awesome.”

Boiber began rubbing his dick with his hand. “Can you put some lube on my dick for me?”

“Sure.” Nick grabbed the bottled, poured some on this hands and rubbed them together to warm it up. He rubbed his hand on Boiber’s dick and balls, and then rubbed it on Boiber’s tummy before resuming his hold on Boiber’s balls. Boiber began stroking himself slowly, enjoying the warmth of their two bodies and the amazing feeling of having Nick’s hand on his balls.

“While your stroking yourself, I want you to think about something,” said Nick.

“What’s that?” asked Boiber.

“I want you to think about wearing the chastity device for me.”

“Are you kidding?” asked Boiber. “I hope you’re kidding.”

“I’m not kidding,” said Nick. “You can take it with you. I have some plastic locks that you can use with it at first. You can break them with scissors. When someone is new to wearing a chastity device, it takes some time for them to get used to it. You may need to take it off for a few hours before you try it again. You may have some questions. Anyway, once you get comfortable wearing it, then you can put the metal lock on.”

“Let me guess,” said Boiber. “You’re going to keep the key to the metal lock.”

“That’s right, Justin,” said Nick. “I’ll hold the key to your dick. The cage will remind you of me, and the key will remind me of you. I’ll wear it on a chain around my neck.”

“I’ll think about it,” said Boiber, wondering how long they would be apart until their respective concert schedules could make it convenient to see Nick in person again. He continued stroking, and his dick got harder and harder until it erupted in spasms of pleasure.

“I didn’t know a skinny guy like you could erupt like that,” said Nick. “Good thing I have towels handy. Are you going to take a shower?”

“Are you kidding?” asked Boiber. “I’m going to stay in bed with you for as long as you’ll let me.”

DOWNLOAD MORE OF ALAN BAKER CHARLIE’S WORK ON HIS AMAZON PAGE

A burglar breaks into the wrong house and gets tickle-torture interrogated by his intended victim in this classic tickling story originally published on the now defunct Jack’s Male Tickling Rack. Art by […]

The helpless straight intruder is bound to the bed and interrogated by his captor and a horny friend.

The Intruder – Page 2
by Bound2Tkl
Art by BDManBrazil

TWO HANDS ARE BETTER THAN ONE

After a quick […]

The banker and his wife chain Dave to a tree and wear him down before moving him back to the house for the final unveiling of his body.

24 Hours – Chapter 9: Tethered Like a Dog to a Tree
by […]

Dave is finally stripped completely naked to the delight of his captors.

24 Hours – Chapter 10: Dave Sheds His Shorts
by Amalaric
Series: 24 Hours

Half an hour later and Dave found himself in a very different frame of mind. The reason was simple; Hascombe watered his boy then produced a small, intricately carved box and popped the lid. ‘Ever been to Marrakech, boy?’ Hascombe asked. ‘No, sir.’ Dave sat in the living room, hands bound behind his back with rope over the manacles, leaning against the sofa. ‘You can get anything there…exquisite boxes…but, oh!! Let’s see what’s inside!’ He laughed. ‘I think maybe we could all use a little pick-me-up,’ and he pinched some white powder from the box and greedily sucked it up his nose. His wife frowned and uncorked a fresh bottle of merlot. ‘Your turn,’ Hascombe said and scooped more of the white powder from the box. ‘I don’t do drugs, man…uh…sir,’ Dave replied. ‘Well, there’s a first time for everyone,’ Hascombe said and forcing open the stud’s wide mouth, laid a generous line of the powder on his tongue. Dave gagged on the medicinal taste and felt a moment of panic as his tongue went numb. Seconds later he forgot the numbness as a warm glow of delicious power coursed through his body, loosening cramped muscles, banishing all weariness, forcing his pain to a peripheral perspective. His mind suddenly felt impossibly clear, but in a specific way; focused on his body, rippling waves of energy prickling his skin, raising a light sweat, heart pumping oxygen-rich blood to his extremities…he was suddenly conscious of a comfortable warmth at his crotch. Hascombe smiled and raised his tuneless voice in a parody of the famous Clapton song, ‘If you wanna get down, down on the ground, Cocaine! If you got bad news, you wanna kick the blues, Cocaine! She’s alright, she’s alright…’ ‘Oh, shut the fuck up Brent,’ Roberta muttered, almost inaudible, and turned away in disgust. The banker recollected himself, blushed, cleared his throat and said, ‘Get up, boy. Time to get you stripped down.’

Dave struggled to his feet flexing feeling into numb hands as the rope was cut and instinctively shuffled to the center of the living room. The time had come to lose his tattered briefs and that long anticipated moment, though as mysterious in its timing as Judgment Day, was just as inevitable. He waited, head bowed, hands- again loosely bound by the manacles alone- hanging at his side. ‘Let’s have a look at you, boy,’ Hascombe grunted with pent up expectation, ‘Hike down your shorts and show us what kind of a stud you are.’ Dave’s battered, deadened sense of humor feebly asserted itself; Not very subtle, are you, goddamn motherfucker, he thought ruefully and hooked long thumbs in the elastic waistband. Gripped by a bizarre (given the circumstances) sense of modesty and asserting, at least, a ritual sense of defiance, he turned his back to the banker and slowly lowered his briefs. Modesty not withstanding and fragile defiance noted and dismissed, Hascombe (after a quick perusal of Dave’s firm, creamy ass) roughly ordered him to turn around.

The big, handsome slave did as he was told; energized by the drug, conscious of his body as never before, his muscles supple again and a scandalous buzz in his barely flaccid cock. Dave followed the banker’s hungry gaze with disgust as it quickly roamed the sculpted contours of naked muscle traveling in a zig zag pattern across broad shoulders, lingering over massive pectorals, down the defined ridges of tensed abdominals to rest, finally, on the sought-after prize. His hands jerked involuntarily under the scrutiny in an instinctive attempt to cover his groin; to no avail, the chain was too short. Dave stood with his briefs hiked down, nude for all practical purposes and on display, as waves of unaccustomed humiliation washed over him and Hascombe, appreciating what the moment meant to the buck, let it drag out in exquisite leisure. His hands, however, had other ideas and an urgent agenda of their own. ‘Come over here!’ he barked and Dave, lowering eyes brimming with confused anger and shame, slowly crossed the room to stand before his master.

Hascombe took a deep breath thinking of the many nights he had lain awake, the McGuiness dossier fresh in his mind, visualizing the tall blond son; former marine lately in construction. In a sense, Dave had been through this very scenario a thousand times as he stood naked in the banker’s rich imagination, proud cock and balls on helpless display. Occasionally, Hascombe wondered if the reality would match his expectations; well, now he knew…and smiled broadly. The buck’s six foot three inch frame towered over his portly captor, head bent in submission, hands safely shackled as he waited, unveiled, for the master’s pleasure. He’s perfect, Hascombe sighed inwardly, and reached out with a trembling hand. Dave’s cock jutted at a healthy forty five degree angle from a thick nest of dark bronze pubic hair. Over an inch wide at the root, the long shaft arced gracefully forward more than four inches to a flaring, smooth rimmed head dangling precipitously over a full scrotum lightly dusted with finer, silky blond hair. Though his legs weren’t spread, Hascombe still had a decent view of the stud’s packed balls as they rode, one slightly higher than the other, in the loose confines of their sweaty sack. Eager fingers brushed the wiry bush of pubic hair, marveling at the rough texture, then traced the ticklish length of silky skin along the track of a pulsing vein up the thick length of Dave’s captive penis and circled the sensitive head. Standing as still as a statue throughout the initial examination, Dave’s mind retracted to a molten core of mixed emotions; blazing anger, fear, and an irrational but overpowering sense of shame stoked by his helplessness, the obvious lust radiating from the banker, and the incongruous stimulation beginning to thicken the already prodigious girth of his big, manly dick. He had been staring at an invisible point on the thick carpet, which seemed like a good idea but wasn’t. Fleeing the reality he was quite literally shackled to by focusing on a far point freed his mind for other associations. It was Cathy’s delicate hand that belonged on the warm length of his manhood, teasing his virility to eager attention, inviting the slick, bobbing battering ram to ritual warfare where the castle capitulated with screams of pleasure. His mind knew the difference between Cathy’s hand and Hascombe’s but it was lost in roiling emotion trying to focus far away on an invisible spot in a sea of gray carpet. Left on its own, his dick surrendered to joyful habit and did what came natural. Dave came to his senses with a long shudder that wracked his taut body like an earthquake. Hascombe felt and measured the seismic movement through the pulsing rod he held in his hand and responded with one of his own, ironically, for similar and also vastly different reasons. Dave frantically wrenched his gaze from nowhere and, against all instinct, forced it down to Hascombe’s hand. The spell was broken. He watched with horror as the banker lightly stroked the head of his cock trying to provoke an erection and inwardly cursed. He didn’t go that way! Oh, no fucking way!!!!

Hascombe seemed momentarily confused as Dave’s stiffening cock went soft in his hand. He shrugged, consoling himself with the thought that the night was young, and roughly cupped the stud’s ripe balls, measuring the hot weight, the packed potential of exploding man juice pent up, saved for some undeserving bitch. Well, she might eventually get a dribble, but not until he had a chance to milk this young bull for all he was worth…and Hascombe reckoned he was worth a lot. He giggled like a school boy considering the fun to be had and the thought drew his attention to the packed state of his own balls. ‘Poor Roberta,’ the banker thought sarcastically, ‘hasn’t been fucked in two weeks…Oh! That’s just so damn sad. But what about me?’ Aside from the regular attention of his own dexterous right hand, the banker hadn’t known release since a wild, anonymous fling down in Mexico fifteen years ago. ‘Well, no sense in wasting more time,’ he muttered and, dropping Dave’s balls after a last painful squeeze, reached up and unbuckled his belt. Dave watched, mesmerized, realizing what it all meant, but pretending not to, while the banker fumbled with buttons and unzipped his trousers. He cautiously shook his head in disgust as Hascombe revealed a sky blue nylon thong under the drab polyester, punctuated by the sharp point of his straining pecker and the low dip of shriveled nuts nestling at the crotch. ‘Down on your knees, boy!’ The command was urgent, concise. ‘Why?’ Dave asked, stalling for time, forgetting to say ‘sir’. The master rolled his eyes and, ignoring the impertinence, sarcastically shot back, ‘Because I own you, boy.’ He tweaked the tacky scab on Dave’s branded thigh and the big stud yelped in pain. ‘You are my slave and slaves serve their masters. It’s like digging that trench out back,’ his tone was modulated like a teacher addressing a thick headed, recalcitrant student, ‘but, in this case, you are the trench! Now, get down on your knees and open up that warm, wet, handsome mouth of yours.’ Dave squared his shoulders, tensed the rippling muscles of his belly, took a long, slow breath and said, ‘I won’t do it Hascombe. You can fucking kill me if you want to…but the answer is no.’

CONTINUE THE STORY:PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

When a hunky gay weatherman loses a card game with his kinky best-fuck-buddy and a young hot conquest, he learns submission and earns a handsome reward in the fun story from new author Robcot. Art piece by Cavelo.

Channel 4 Weatherman Loses At Strip Poker
by robcot
Series: Channel 4 Weatherman Loses At Strip Poker

I want to set the record straight about me and Ted Bricker. No, I am not his slave. Not anymore, at least. Let me explain.

This is nice college town, but the gay community is somewhat small. Ted and I had been on-and-off fuck buddies for a while. I like the guy, but we aren’t totally into the same thing. Like, I knew that he was always into bondage, but I never really was.

It was Ted who introduced me to Billy. Ted and I were hanging out at the Tight End Sports Bar two weeks ago on a Saturday night, chatting a bit, and both of us probably thinking about taking each other home if no better prospect came along. Then I got a glimpse of Billy. Billy was new. Billy looked young, maybe 22 or 23, and was movie star gorgeous. All the guys were looking at him, and it looked like Billy wasn’t wasting time, because he was already heading out of the bar with some other hot young thing.

“Who is that?,” I asked.

“Ah, that’s Billy,” Ted says. “He just started working at the athletic department with me last week. Kid just moved into town.”

“Working for you guys doing what, modelling?” I asked.

“Some kind of marketing guy, I don’t know,” Ted said, smiling. “But he was a model. Or is. He was in an Abercrombie ad.”

“No shit?,” I asked.

“Yeah, back before they fired their gay CEO, and those ads were all basically soft-core porn. Remember that one with five dudes smiling at the camera while they wrestled in their underwear? He was the one who was losing,” Ted said.

“I remember,” I said.

“You want to meet him sometime?,” Ted asked.

“Set it up,” I said.

Ted agreed. We said bye and circulated. I went home with someone else that night.

But a few days later Ted called me told me he had set it up, just a small party for the three of us.

“Dude, he saw you,” Ted said. “Or, he’s heard of you. You’re famous or something.”

“Really? I’m surprised,” I said.

“Yeah, because, you being a weatherman for Channel 4, no one would ever see you,” Ted said sarcastically.

“You’d be surprised how few guys his age watch the local news,” I pointed out.

“Well, then, he’s a star-fucker, because he totally wants to meet you,” Ted said.

“Wait, who are we talking about, here? Abercrombie?,” I asked.

“Billy, yeah, the sports marketing guy,” Ted said. “Come by my place Friday night. I’m inviting him over, too. We’ll have fun together.”

So I went to Ted’s apartment that Friday night, showing up around 9. Ted lived on the ground floor of a classic old apartment building.

Billy was there, looking gorgeous. He was wearing a tight, bright red T-shirt and tight jeans. We struck up a conversation. He told me he’d seen me on the news. I told him I’d seen his Abercrombie ad.

“Oh, that thing,” Billy laughed. “They had us out there on that shoot for three hours in the early morning. It’s a really long time to be in your underwear.”

“I’ll bet it is. Usually, you get out of them pretty quickly, right?,” I asked.

Ted walked in with drinks.

“So, are we going out?,” I asked him.

“We could, but, Billy and I were talking, and had another idea,” Ted said.

“Yeah,” Billy said, “we skip the bar, and just fuck each other silly.”

“I— I could get with that plan,” I said.

I reached down to my waist and started pulling up my T-shirt.

“Hold on,” Ted said. “We were thinking, first, a little game. To decide who gets to do what to who.”

“How about, I fuck anyone who moves?,” I said.

“Charming,” Billy said, rolling his eyes. Uh oh, I thought; too bold.

“Simple game of strip poker,” Ted said. “Lose your clothes, and become a slave. Last guy wearing anything calls the shots until the sun goes up.”

I was about to remind Ted that I didn’t go for stuff like that, but then Billy chimed in.

“I’m in. I’m so totally in,” Billy said.

“Explain the rules?,” I asked.

“Simple five-card stud. Each hand has one winner, and two losers. The winner picks one loser, and makes him take something off. We start wearing T-shirt, pants, and underwear. Fuck shoes and socks, that’s a waste of time. Once you’re naked, you’re out; the last guy with clothes gets two slaves for the evening.”

“None of your S&M stuff, though, right?” I asked.

“Nothing anyone isn’t comfortable with, no,” Ted said.

The truth was that while I wouldn’t mind having Billy as a slave, or Ted even, I didn’t relish the prospect of being a slave to Ted. I’m pretty much a top, and not submissive at all. But Billy was looking at me with fuck-me eyes. He was the hottest thing to come into view in at least three months. I really wanted him. And he was totally into this game idea. Well, I thought, at least I had only a one in three chance of being enslaved to Ted. And, this won’t take long. So, I shrugged and agreed to Ted’s game.

The first hand went fast. No one took much time deciding what cards to throw away. I started with nothing, threw away three cards, and ended up with two pair. That was enough to win: Ted had a pair of threes, and Billy had nothing at all.

“That makes it easy for me to pick,” I said. “Billy, your shirt, please.”

Smiling, Billy pulled that tight red T-shirt off his body. His body surprised me; he was more muscular than I had expected. He had obviously been working out since that Abercrombie ad. He looked even hotter: abs, biceps, gorgeous chest, everything.

“Marketing assistant, my ass,” Ted said, laughing. “You’re angling for another modeling job, aren’t you?”

“I keep in shape, and I’m not afraid to admit it,” Billy said, smiling.

OK, with that, I knew I wanted the fucker naked. And enslaved, if that’s how we were going to do things tonight. Enslaved to me, preferably, but I would take what I could get.

On the second hand, I had nothing after the deal, and still had nothing after trading three cards. Billy, again, had nothing. But Ted had a pair of twos.

“Strip, Tracker,” Ted said.

I took off my shirt, and tossed it next to Billy’s discarded red t-shirt on the floor.

“Holy shit,” Billy said, “You would look damn hot in a slave collar, you know that?”

I sneered and winked at Billy.

Third hand. This time Billy won.

“I gotta see the rest,” Billy said. “Tracker, throw those jeans away.”

I hesitated.

“Hey, Billy, have you noticed that our host is still fully dressed?” I asked.

“Hey Tracker, have you noticed that your pants are still on?” Billy countered.

So that’s how it was going to be, I thought; two against one. Well, it was kind of late to back out now. I took off my jeans, unceremoniously pushed them down to the ground, and kicked them toward the pile of clothes on the floor.

“He looks hot when he gets pissed off, doesn’t he?” Ted asked Billy.

I was wearing only my underwear, white Andrew Christian boxer briefs. They were designed not so much to enhance my crotch but just to give my crotch its proper credit. They were doing my job, because that is where Billy was staring. I took another glance at his bare chest and decided that, yes, I was actually pretty happy with how the night was going so far.

Ted was the dealer this time. He dealt the fourth hand. I had three fives. I traded the other two cards, but didn’t improve my hand. I noticed that Ted didn’t trade any cards. Uh-oh.

Billy had a pair of Aces, and Ted had three threes. I won.

For a moment, I admit, I thought of making Billy strip down to his underwear, too. But letting Ted stand there fully dressed while Billy and I stripped each other would have been idiotic. In fact, I realized, that had been Ted’s plan all along. Ted knew Billy and I were hot for each other and he planned on us making each other strip, so he could swoop in and take us both as slaves. That fucker.

“Ted, hand it over,” I said.

Ted took his shirt off. I had seen him shirtless a thousand times, and so had most of the rest of the city, but it never got old: He had a great body. Like me, he was really muscular.

“Anyone want a beer?,” Ted asked, as he walked toward the fridge.

Billy said yes, and I said no. Ted took two bottles out of the fridge. Then he opened a drawer and grabbed some things out of there.

“What are those?,” I asked.

Ted threw two weirdly misshapen pieces of black leather and chrome buckles toward my feet.

“Get a good look,” Ted said. “Tonight’s slaves are going to be wearing them. Ready for your last hand?”

I felt myself clenching my buttcheeks together ever so slightly, as I thought about the cotton designer underpants that were, for the moment, all that stood between me and a nighttime of degradation at the hands of Ted, or Billy, or both. But, then, they were each only two hands away from slavery themselves, I thought.

I had to deal the fifth hand. My hand was a pair of tens. Billy had nothing. Ted had a pair of Jacks. Fuck. Ted beat me.

Ted didn’t even say anything. He just pointed at me, and then dropped his finger to the floor.

I didn’t want to look bashful or scared, so I unceremoniously pulled down my boxer briefs and tossed them away from me. Then, I put my hands on my hips, letting my erect cock stick out and point at my two shirtless masters.

“What happens to him now?,” Billy asked. “Can we make him do stuff?”

“Nope, he goes into the pot,” Ted says. “You and I keep playing. Winner takes all, including this slave,” Ted said, pointing at me.

I thought this was going to feel a lot worse than it did, but something about the way that Billy stared at me made me feel good about being the only naked guy in the room.

Ted picked a leather thing off the ground and walked behind me.

“Hands behind your back,” Ted said.

I pretended I didn’t hear that.

“Hey dickhead,” Ted shouted, “Ignore me again, and I’ll reconsider that promise about no S&M.”

I put my hands behind my back, and Ted fastened them high up, near my shoulder blades. The cuffs had a strap running from them to a thick leather collar, which Ted attached around my neck. He took his time, making sure his fingers stroked my sensitive neck. The fucker knew I was ticklish. I twisted to get away, but the collar strapped to my wrists left me with almost no freedom of movement.

“Holy shit, that’s great,” Billy said, walking up to my body.

“Laugh it up, Abercrombie, because he’s going to get you next,” I said.

“Slave, don’t speak until you’re spoken to. In fact, don’t speak at all,” Ted said.

I didn’t see it coming, but when I opened my mouth to speak Ted shoved a ball gag in there, and strapped it behind my head.

“Look at how much he’s enjoying this,” Billy said, pointing to my growing cock.

“Yeah, he always told me he wasn’t into this stuff, but I always thought he was a liar,” Ted said. “We had better collar that thing before he shoots on my rug.”

Collar that thing? I didn’t realize what he meant. I saw that Ted was holding something below his waist and was heading toward me. The stiff, thick collar around my neck prevented me from bending my head down to take a look.

Ted grabbed my balls, and wrapped a strap around their base; then, he grabbed by cock and shoved it through some sort of ring. He pulled some sort of strap and my cock and balls both were pulled away from my body.

Billy looked at me like a football quarterback looks at a cheerleader. Ted looked at me like a lion looks at a slab of meat. I began to feel really uneasy.

“Shall we keep playing, then?,” Ted said to Billy.

“Absolutely,” Billy said.

Ted dealt a hand. I watched, helpless and mute, as they gambled to see who would own me for the night. Both Ted and Billy discarded three cards. When they turned over their hands, I couldn’t tell who had what, because I couldn’t bend my head. But Billy sighed, so I knew he lost.

Billy took off his jeans. He was wearing a pair of gray briefs. For dramatic effect, he spun around to reveal his tight, near-naked ass to both of us.

So, a word about me, and gray briefs. I have very few fetishes, but gray briefs are one of them, and they are huge for me. As soon as I see them, I get turned on. I could be walking through a fucking clothing store, see a three-pack of gray briefs, and start getting a hard-on. It’s at this point pretty well known in the community that if you want to get me into bed, just let me see you in gray briefs. A fat fifty-year old with back hair and a severe skin disease could get me into his bed if he wore gray briefs.

But now, this beautiful man, who I was already hard for, was in front of me, flaunting a perfect pair of gray Calvin Kleins, and here I was, naked and ready to go, but totally helpless to do anything about it. For me, it was a taunt. For Ted, it was an advertisement.

“He seems excited,” Billy said, pointing at me.

“Yeah, Tracker’s got a thing for gray briefs. Watching you right now is probably torture for him. Too bad, the night isn’t going the way he planned,” Ted said, smiling.

My heart sank. My best shot here was to become Billy’s slave, not Ted’s. But Billy was one pair of gray briefs away from joining me in slavery, and Billy had been playing like an idiot all night.

Just then, there was a knock on Ted’s front door. Still shirtless, he went to the door and opened it. I quickly moved to a corner of the room where I thought I couldn’t be seen. Billy also stepped to the side.

“Hey, neighbor,” Ted said, through the door.

“Hey, Ted,” the neighbor said, “Sorry to bother you. But, uh, you know that money we talked about?”

“Yeah?,” Ted asked.

“Here’s five bucks,” the guy said.

“Thanks,” Ted said, accepting a bill. “Catch you later? I’ve got guests.”

“Oh, sure, sorry to bother you,” the guy said.

“No bother at all,” Ted said, as he started to close the door.

But then, Ted stopped suddenly, as though he had just remembered something.

“Oh, hey, Frank?,” Ted called out, down the hall.

“Yeah?,” said the guy, whose name I guess was Frank.

“That saucepan I borrowed from you. Do you need it back? It’s right here in my kitchen,” Ted said, opening the door wide.

“Oh, sure,” I heard the voice say.

And then I saw Frank walk in. More importantly, he saw me. Frank looked at me and Billy, and stopped in his tracks. Frank was a preppie looking type, nerdy even, wearing khakis and a polo shirt. His face changed from astonishment to a slight smile. Then he looked away.

Frank went into the kitchen, and grabbed a saucepan off the stove. As he returned, his eyes lingered a bit longer as he stared at me and at Billy’s near-naked body.

I looked away from Frank and glared at Ted, hard. Through my gag I tried to curse him out. Showing me off to Frank like this was just not cool.

“You guys have a good night,” Frank said. He walked out the door and Ted shut it.

Billy broke out laughing.

“That guy looked at Tracker and me like he’d never seen male nipples before,” Billy said.

“Yeah, Frank has got issues. But anyway, ready for your final hand, Billy?,” Ted said, shoving Frank’s bills into his pocket.

“Fat chance,” Billy said. “I’m going to get those jeans.”

But if that was Billy’s plan, he didn’t play like it. He took the five cards he was dealt and threw nothing away. Ted, by contrast, exchanged two cards.

Once again, I couldn’t see their hands. But Ted immediately whooped with joy when they turned over, and my heart sank.

Billy turned so that his ass was facing me, and he pulled down the gray briefs. I desperately wanted to see that cock, that one part of him that had remained hidden, but it didn’t happen. Ted walked behind him and strapped some leather wrist cuffs onto Billy, securing his hands behind his back.

“Don’t move,” Ted ordered Billy.

Then Ted spoke to me.

“Tracker, this Abercrombie model and I are going to need the apartment to ourselves for a little bit,” Ted said. “Don’t worry, I own you until morning; I’ll take care of you. But, for now…”

Ted let his voice trail off as he stepped toward a sliding patio door. He unlocked it and pulled it open, then pulled back the vertical hanging blinds.

Ted’s apartment, like all apartments in his building, faced a central shared courtyard. Ted had a very small concrete patio out there.

“Tracker, please step outside,” Ted said, smiling broadly.

I jerked my head sideways at Ted. He couldn’t be serious.

“Sorry, that was a bit vague of me,” Ted said. “Slave, I order you to go outside on that patio.”

To emphasize his point, Ted put his hand on my naked butt and pushed me forward toward the patio. I closed my eyes in shame briefly, but then obeyed. I walked outside and heard the patio dorm shut behind me, and the click of the lock.

CONTINUE THE STORY:PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

Ted’s nosy neighbor makes another appearance and negotiates a deal.

Channel 4 Weatherman Loses At Strip Poker – Part 2
by robcot
Series: Channel 4 Weatherman Loses At Strip Poker

I looked around. The patio was completely bare; Ted had not so much as a cheap Wal-Mart plastic chair out there. I thought Ted used to have at least a small barbecue grill out there, but there was nothing out there, absolutely nothing. The bare concrete was cold under my feet, and the nighttime air against my skin constantly reminded me of how naked I was.

I was out there for maybe thirty seconds when a light next to me turned on. It was a very bright, very powerful spotlight type outdoor light. That bastard Ted had just turned it on from inside his apartment.

With the light shining on me, I was on display for anyone on the courtyard who cared to look outside. The patio’s only barrier was a completely pointless fence, a lattice-type fence with tons of holes in it. The fence only went about three feet high. It provided almost no privacy.

So I bent down as far as I could, squatting in the corner, letting my legs and knees shield my dick and chest from prying eyes. I shivered as I felt the cold concrete on my feet and the soft cold wind against my skin, but there was nothing I could do. I closed my eyes and started to think about what Billy looked like naked, and how nice it would be to fuck that Abercrombie ass.

Then I heard the patio door open. But the sound came from too far away. It wasn’t Ted’s door, but the one right next to us.

“Hey, there,” Frank said, as he walked out onto his own patio.

The ball gag firmly in place, all I could do was turn my head toward Frank and open my eyes wider.

Frank easily stepped over the useless decorative fence and bent down to examine my gag.

“Turn around for me, and I’ll get this off you,” Frank said.

Still remaining squatting, I shifted my body around so that Frank could get access to the back of my head. I felt his fingers behind my head, and then felt the ball gag loosen and then fall out of my mouth.

“Thanks,” I said.

“No problem. Are you OK?,” Frank asked.

“Yeah, a little cold, maybe,” I said.

“Just checking,” Frank said. “You gay guys throw really interesting parties, you know that?”

“Yeah,” I said, not sure how to answer.

“What was that thing on your dick, by the way? I didn’t get a good look before,” Frank said.

“I didn’t either,” I said.

“Well, why don’t you stand up, so I can take a look?,” Frank asked.

“I’m good,” I said.

“No, come on, I’m really curious,” Frank said.

Frank gently grabbed a D-ring that was jutting out from my collar, and pulled up. He didn’t exercise much force, but it made the collar cut under my jaw. I had no choice but to stand up.

“That’s better,” Frank said.

Frank started examining whatever contraption Ted had wrapped around my balls and the base of my dick.

“Wow, that must hurt,” Frank said. “These are called cock rings, right? I’ve read about those. Only this is going around your scrotum, too. All that keeps the blood in there to keep it erect, right?”

I didn’t answer.

“And this, around your balls, probably keeps you from ejaculating. Nice,” Frank said.

“Yeah,” I said, not sure what else to say.

“So, like, no matter how stimulated you get, you’re not going to shoot, right?,” Frank said.

And, while he said it, Frank touched my dick.

“Hey,” I said, pulling back.

“Aw, relax, gay guy. I’m just a curious straight dude. Hey, how many guys have you fucked?,” Frank asked.

I glared at him and prepared a response, but he cut me off:

“I’m just messing with you, man, don’t answer that. But, I mean, fuck, what a body you have! You gay guys are always so built. You work out a lot?,” he asked.

“Yeah, around two hours a day,” I said.

“Jesus! I mean, these pecs,” Frank said, as he slowly ran a finger across my chest, “these pecs are bigger than my last girlfriend’s tits.”

“I guess that would be true of most twelve-year-old girls, yeah,” I shot back.

“I think I liked it better with you being gagged,” Frank said.

And with that, he shoved the ball gag back in my mouth, and tightened it around the back of my head.

“Your ass,” Frank asked, still standing behind me, “how many guys have been in there? Ten? Twenty? Go ahead, answer. Stamp your foot for the number of times.”

I didn’t move.

“None? Oh, Tracker, I’m sure that’s not true,” Frank said, laughing.

I twisted my head and looked at him. He said my name!

“Yeah, I know who you are. Of course I do,” said Frank. “Tracker Shotts, weatherman for channel something or other on the news. If I were you, I’d do my weather reports shirtless. You’d get even more ass than I’m sure you do now.”

For some reason that made me think of the fan mail I’d received after I actually did that once, reporting on a triathlon.

“So Ted just left you out here, huh? He decided to fuck that younger dude, I bet. Well, I hate to see you left out here, naked and everything. Want to come into my place?,” Frank said.

I pulled back. I was better off squatting.

Looking directly at me, Frank pounded on Ted’s glass patio door. Knocking. There was no response, so Ted pounded again.

I heard the patio door unlock and Ted slid it partway open. He stood behind the blinds, showing enough of himself so we could tell he was naked, and sweaty, and obviously in the middle of something.

“What?,” Ted asked, angrily.

“Here’s the final five bucks,” Frank said, handing Ted a five dollar bill. “I get him all night, right?”

Ted accepted the money and spoke to me.

“Yeah. Tracker, you’re my slave, right? Well, slaves can be sold, and I just sold you, to this twisted, confused straight guy. Do whatever he says, and let him do whatever sick twisted thing he wants to your body, OK? Come back in the morning for your clothes.”

Ted slammed the door shut and locked it again.

Fuck, I thought. Fuck, fuck, fuck. And then another part of me thought: Just $10?

Frank hooked his finger into the D-ring on my collar and pulled me forward.

“Come on, Tracker Shotts,” Frank said.

He stepped over the pointless fence onto his own patio, and opened the door to his apartment. He made me follow him. Once we were in his living room, he slammed the door shut and locked it.

Frank started walking around me, staring at his new purchase. It seemed like he didn’t know what to do next.

“Yeah, I get it,” he said, softly, “I get why guys would want to fuck a guy like you. I think I could go for you, easily. Right?,” Frank said, like he was expecting me to respond through my gag.

“Tell you what,” Frank said. “I know this is kind of weird for you. But play along for me, OK? I’ll make it worth your while. Your friend Ted over there told me that he’d sell that other guy, the Abercrombie guy, too, once he’s done with him. You’re more my type, of course, but if you play along, I’ll buy Abercrombie for you, and watch you jam this thing into his tiny butt,” Frank said, touching my dick when he said “thing.”

In my slave collar I could barely nod, but I nodded, as vigorously as I could.

“Let me hear that from your own mouth,” Frank said, and he removed my gag.

“Yeah, if you eventually let me have a shot at fucking Abercrombie, I’ll let you use my body for the night,” I began.

“Good,” Frank said, cutting me off. “So, I heard you gay guys suck cock better than chicks. Let’s see how well you do.”

Frank pushed me down to my knees. Then he took his dick out of his pants and waved it in front of my face.

Sucking cock was not my favorite thing to do, far from it, but I certainly wasn’t new to it, and I kind of knew what I was doing. Also, while Frank was so far a total asshole, his face was kind of cute. So, what the hell, I played along. As soon as I started, Frank started shouting.

“Holy shit, you’re good at that, keep going,” he said.

His dick became hard quickly, and I kept up with it. But then suddenly he pulled out.

“OK, OK,” Frank shouted, “Now, I’m getting into this!”

Frank took off his clothes, quickly. He shucked off his polo shirt and then unbuttoned his khakis, leaving just his white briefs on, with his big fat dick sticking out over the top of his waistband.

“Not bad, huh?” Frank asked.

No, he wasn’t that bad, actually. He had a muscular chest with a pleasant dusting of fur. No abs to speak of, and his arms were kind of small, but his dick, as I had already noted, was absolutely huge.

Before I could answer him, Frank turned and walked out of his living room, into another room.

“Come on,” he shouted at me.

I stood up—no easy task with the collar and the wrist cuffs—and followed. Sure enough, the other room was his bedroom, dominated by a double bed with no bed frame.

“So, look, I haven’t fucked a guy before. You’re going to be the first. I don’t really expect you to enjoy it. But, I mean, that’s why Ted said I should get started with a slave, you know?” Frank said.

“Look, maybe we should try it where I—,” I began.

“Shut up, slave. In fact, let’s pretend I have you gagged, OK? I don’t need a tutor, I read about how to do this online. Get over here,” Frank said.

CONTINUE THE STORY:PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

Tracker submits to Frank’s every curious desire in hopes for a reunion with Billy.

Channel 4 Weatherman Loses At Strip Poker – Part 3
by robcot
Series: Channel 4 Weatherman Loses At Strip Poker

Frank motioned me over to the foot of the bed. I was realizing that this may be the worst lay of my life. But I was in no position to refuse.

“OK, bend forward,” Frank said. He placed his hands on my back and butt to put me in the position he wanted, leaned over the edge of the bed with my feet still on the floor. The weight of my body pressed down on my dick and balls, and I grimaced in pain.

My face was planted smack into the mattress, making it tough to breathe. I guess Frank noticed; he loosened my collar and pulled it off, while keeping the cuffs on. I bent my neck so my face was off the mattress.

“Spread your legs,” Frank ordered. I did it.

“Wider,” he insisted, kicking my legs even further apart. My asshole felt really exposed.

For a moment I felt nothing, but then I felt a rope being tied around my right ankle. Then my left. Frank had me immobile.

I heard a drawer opening, a plastic bag being crinkled, and caught the distinctive whiff of water-based lube.

“Oh, I almost forgot the reaction shot camera,” Frank said.

Frank plopped a video camera down on the mattress, about two feet from my face, focused on me.

My heart was pounding; I was nervous, almost like it was my first time, too. I really wasn’t looking forward to this, but at least I’d get a crack at Abercrombie in exchange for doing this. And, everybody has to start somewhere.

Nothing was happening. I think Frank was jacking off, or trying to get up the courage, or whatever. I decided not to turn my head and look at him; there are some things I just don’t want to see.

“Tell me again, how many guys have fucked you?,” Frank asked. “I want the answer, slave.”

“Honestly, I don’t really keep count,” I said.

Suddenly I felt something cold and wet hit my asshole. It wasn’t his dick; he was lubing me up. Good. At least he knew to do that.

“Start counting. Who was the last?,” Frank pressed.

“I’d need to look in my calendar. Usually I’m the one who— OW!,” I shouted.

It happened. The dude jammed his dick into me, as far as he could, suddenly. The pain shot through me, reminding me why I preferred being a top so much. Instinctively, I tried to squirm, but my hands and feet were tied. My ass was all Frank’s.

“Yeah, slave, you should see your face. You will, when I show you this video. Take it in,” Frank said, as he pushed further in.

Frank started thrusting in and out. As he crushed my butt down, my erect, bound dick got smashed even harder into his mattress, which became a new source of pain.

“Shit, man, what website did you read?” I stuttered, in between gasps of pain.

“You know, one of those sites with lots of stories on it. It was really instructive,” Frank said.

Frank had no idea what he was doing, or he didn’t care. He was treating me like an oil well, mindlessly pushing his dick in and out. More than once his dick popped out entirely and he had to shove it back in. He was enthusiastic, at least.

“Look, if I can give you a tip—,” I began, trying to speak gently.

“You’re supposed to be gagged, remember? Honestly, slave, I — don’t — care — whatthefuck — you — think!,” Frank shouted, and then pulled out, gasping heavily.

I guessed that he shot his load. He was wearing a condom, thankfully.

With me still tied up, Frank started walking around the room, to cool off, I guess. He strolled into my line of view. I saw his stomach heaving as he breathed heavily. I thought it was funny that the guy wasn’t naked: he was still wearing his briefs, just with his dick out.

“Man, I liked that more than I thought I would,” Frank said. “I don’t get it. Usually I don’t get turned on by guys. Maybe it’s just you, you know?”

“Possibly. I’ve been told before that I’m ridiculously hot,” I said. I’m not sure what else he was going for.

“I want to try something else on you. Let’s flip you over,” Frank said.

Frank undid the straps that were holding my hands together, then untied my feet from the bed, too. Obediently, I flipped over to lie on my back. My dick, still completely erect, stood straight up, like a flagpole.

Frank tied me up like that, spread-eagle, with each of my arms and legs spread out to a different corner of the bed. He was remarkably proficient at tying me up; maybe he learned that online, too. I was unable to move by the time he was done.

Lying face up like that, I was able to look around the room better. I saw that, in addition to the camera that had been trained on my face during my fucking, there were two different cameras on tripods at different angles to capture all the action.

“Jesus, you look even hotter this way,” Frank said. “And the best part is, it’s all mine.”

Frank tickled me under my right armpit. I jerked away instinctively, but I was tied up so tight I could barely move. Frank laughed at my helplessness.

Then he started moving his finger slowly across my chest, avoiding my nipples but carefully feeling each of the bumps of my muscles. He went down toward my stomach, close to my dick without touching it.

“You guys like to do lots of nipple stuff, right? Let me try that,” Frank said.

He put one finger on each of my nipples and started stroking circularly. The stimulation was exactly what I didn’t need. It felt good, but with my balls squeezed by that strap it was painful at the same time as it was pleasurable. I started twisting my body to try to escape Frank, though I knew it was hopeless.

Frank let up, but got a nasty look on his face. He squirted some lube into his right hand, and then started stroking my dick, slowly, up and down.

I moaned with pleasure and agony simultaneously. It wasn’t that he was an expert at handjobs—he obviously had never touched any dick other than his own—but by that time almost any physical contact was enough to set me over the edge.

“I should unfasten this thing,” Frank said, tapping the strap around my balls, “and watch you shoot. I could milk you dry before your date with Abercrombie. What do you think about that?”

“Not cool,” I said, softly.

“I’m just fucking with you,” Frank said. “Stay there, I’m going to take a shower.”

“What?,” I shouted out. “Untie me!”

But Frank ignored me and walked down the room. I heard the water running.

I tried freeing myself but it was completely hopeless. So, I just lied there, staring at the ceiling, thinking about what had just happened. This “twisted, confused straight guy,” as Ted had called him, had turned me into a sex toy, little better than a blow-up doll he could experiment with. It was all within parameters I had agreed to, but I still found it incredibly humiliating. I realized that Billy wasn’t the only guy I wanted to fuck tonight; I wanted Frank, too, more out of principle than anything else.

“Hey, so, there’s one more thing I want to try,” I heard Frank say. I turned my head to see he was wet, wearing a towel around his waist, and drying his hair with a second towel.

Frank bent down over me and took my cock into his mouth. I felt some tongue. Then, he gagged, and pulled out. I forced myself not to laugh. It was the quickest blowjob I had experienced since high school.

“I’m a guy who keeps his promises,” he said. “I’m going to go over to Ted’s and see if I can’t buy Billy for you.”

“Great,” I said, “how about you untie me, too?”

“Nah,” Frank said, “I have a feeling that doing that might hurt the deal. Trust me on this.”

And with that, Frank, now dressed in a fresh pair of khakis, a clean polo shirt, and boat shoes without socks, walked away. I heard the front door to his apartment open. Silence. Then, voices. Silence. Footsteps. Frank’s front door opened again.

Frank walked into the room, alone.

“Well, that cost me more than I thought it would,” he said, “but I think we’ve got a deal. Billy is going to be my slave until the morning, too.”

“Fantastic,” I said. “Untie me, and let me get ready for him.”

“Ah, you know, I’ve really started to get pissed off hearing all your orders. I thought we’d agreed you were supposed to be gagged. Let me remind you what that means,” Frank said.

“Frank, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—,” I began, but Frank cut me off by shoving the ball gag into my mouth again and strapping it behind my head.

There was a knock at Frank’s front door. He left the room to open the door. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I heard laughter. Then, footsteps.

Ted walked into the room first. He was fully dressed again. When he saw me spread-eagled, gagged, and naked except for that cock-and-ball torture device he had placed on me, he smiled, and looked happier than I had ever seen him.

Behind him was Billy. Fully dressed. Wearing a baggy sweatshirt and cargo pants, in fact. Then, I noticed something else: Billy wasn’t tied up or restrained in any way. What the fuck?

I felt my heart begin to beat faster as the three clothed guys stared down at me. They didn’t say a word. They all just smiled.

CONTINUE THE STORY:PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

Tracker gets his reward and a little bit of revenge.

Channel 4 Weatherman Loses At Strip Poker – Part 4
by robcot
Series: Channel 4 Weatherman Loses At Strip Poker

“Really nice handiwork, Frank,” Billy said. “He’s really your first?”

“Glad you like it,” Frank said.

“Did you know he’s ticklish?” Ted asked them both.

“No shit?” Billy asked.

I tried to protest through my ball gag and began to squirm, straining each of my four ropes.

Billy tickled the base of my right foot. I jerked immediately, involuntarily. Then he tickled my rib, my underarm, my neck. I was helpless and exposed. The tickling was torture for me. All I could do was laugh into my gag.

“That’s enough, Billy, stop,” Frank said.

Billy stopped.

“We’re out of the hallway now, slave. Take those clothes off,” Frank said.

Billy slowly took off his sweatshirt and dropped it on the floor. He unbuttoned his cargo pants and unzipped them, letting them fall to the floor. He was back to wearing those same gray briefs. Billy’s eyes were locked on my eyes the whole time.

At last, I was going to see this guy’s cock; something I’d been wanting to see not just all evening, ever since I saw this Abercrombie model wearing boxers on a billboard ad.

“Hold on a sec, Billy,” Frank said, “let’s give you some privacy from the prying eyes of this other slave.”

Frank took out a blindfold, and put it on me. I couldn’t do a thing about it.

“OK, let’s get them ready,” Frank said.

I heard metal buckles and straps. Then I felt the ropes holding my wrists loosen. Hands forced me to sit up. I felt the familiar leather collar around my neck again. They put my wrists behind my back again and fastened them there. Then, they untied my legs.

It felt good to be standing again. But then I felt something getting attached to my collar. A leash, or a rope, or something. Whatever it was, they used it to lead me, to make me walk. I was being led through Frank’s apartment. I heard the patio door open. Uh-oh.

The cool night air hit my body again, and I felt once again the cold concrete under my bare feet.

“Slaves, before your big date, we thought we’d get you clean,” Frank said.

Before I realized what he meant, I felt the blast of cold water hit me. I heard Ted laugh uproariously. I was being hosed down, like an animal.

The cold water was almost painful. I jerked to avoid it whenever it hit me, but, being blindfolded, I had no idea when it was coming.

Then, it stopped. I felt someone go behind me, and then I felt the leather cuffs come off my wrists. Then, the collar came off, and they removed the ball gag.

“Go ahead and remove your blindfold,” Frank said.

I did. And there, standing before me, was a fully naked, bound, Billy. His cock, his glorious cock, hung low from his bound, naked body.

“Tracker,” Frank said, “I order you to fuck Billy. Right here, on the patio.”

At that point I would have fucked Billy on the White House lawn. But a concrete patio would have to do.

With my hands finally free, I loosened and removed my cock and ball ring. My erection held, of course. I wrapped a condom around it.

Billy was blindfolded and bound with the same collar-and-wrist cuff contraption they had used on me. Well, fuck that, I thought, enough of this bondage shit. I took that stuff off Billy.

Unlike Ted, Frank had patio furniture. He had one of those lounge chair things. I gently placed Billy on there, face down. I lubed myself, then Billy. And then, slowly and gently, I began to fuck him.

It was fantastic, the best lay I had had in months. I don’t know if it was the desire to show Frank how it should be done, or the delayed gratification, or how Billy’s style complimented mine. I could have came ten seconds into that, but I held it back, and then finally shot into my condom after ten minutes.

“That was hot,” Ted said.

“Sun’s up,” I said, “slave time it over. Clothes, please?”

“Sure, let’s head back into my place.”

We walked over to Ted’s patio and through his doors into his living room, where my clothes still were on the ground where I threw them. Billy’s were there, too, strewn about with abandon.

“So, this was great for me, Tracker,” Frank said.

“Frank, we’re not done, here,” I said, as I pulled on my underwear.

“You want a second date?” Frank asked.

“Not exactly,” I said, pulling up my pants. “Am I right that you bought me for ten dollars?”

“Well, five dollars, actually,” Frank said. “The first five was just to get a peek of you naked.”

“So, basically, you admit you hired a prostitute tonight,” I said, pulling on my shirt.

“Uh, what?” Frank asked.

“Me. You admit you hired me as a prostitute,” I said.

“Well, hold on—” Frank started.

“That makes Ted a pimp,” Billy observed.

“So it does,” I said. “You know, Billy, both these guys committed a crime tonight, wouldn’t you say?”

“I would,” Billy said.

“How about, you keep that quiet, and I won’t leak the sex tape I made?” Frank said.

I smiled and looked at Billy and Ted for reactions.

“Oh, you did not just say that,” Ted muttered, looking down.

“Frank,” I began, “I was kidding, but after that remark, now I’m not. That tape is not leverage over me, understand? In fact, I’d prefer if you leak it, provided the lighting is good, which it probably was not. The last time someone leaked a sex tape of me, it boosted my career like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just, the thing you said about me committing a crime—” Frank said.

“No one has to hear about it,” I said, “if you do what I say.”

***

And so that Saturday night Frank met Billy, Ted, and me at the Tight End Sports Bar. Frank had clearly never been in a gay bar before, which was the exact reason I invited him there. With our encouragement, Frank talked to another guy, approached him as a human being, and got his phone number.

“I have the feeling that we’ve done something good for the community, here,” Ted said.

“Yeah. Let’s just hope that guy who gave him a phone number agrees,” I said.

THE END

CONTINUE THE STORY:PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

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Latino Landscapers Get Even – Page 2
by Richard
Art by BDManBrazil

The duo laughed at Prescott’s unaccustomed […]

Both Alex and Prescott suffer further indignities until finally being allowed to cum!

Latino Landscapers Get Even – Page 3
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Stepson's Doom – Part 9 To pay for his night alone with Colt, Martin Byron must make the ultimate sacrifice – turning over his son to the horny group of […]

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