GayBondageFiction

A jock is abducted and tickled senseless by a group of aliens in an unusual betting game.

The Meeseek’s Box Betting Club
by Nathan Justice

After the men in the black van pulled him from the basketball […]

Two college roommates work their way to a kinky hookup in this new series from Alan Baker Charlie.

My Roommate is on the Swim Team
by Alan Baker Charlie
Download more of Alan Baker Charlie’s work on Amazon.

Standing by the plate glass window of his university’s indoor pool after taking a break from his laps in the pool, Matt noticed his roommate walking past. As the two of them nodded at each other, Matt’s friend from the swim team, Roger, asked, “You know that guy?”

“Yes,” said Matt. “He’s my roommate.”

“Do you know much about him?” asked Roger.

“I know he grew up here, and he’s a history major,” said Matt. “He’s a freshman just like us.”

“He went to my high school,” said Roger.

“So, you two are friends?” asked Matt.

“Not exactly,” said Roger. “He hung out with a different set of folks than I did. And, by the way, some of his friends were gay.”

“So, what are you saying?” asked Matt. “You think he’s gay?”

“I think he’s very likely to be gay,” said Roger. Also, I think he was looking at at certain spot on your Speedo just now.”

“I have to admit that he does that from time to time,” said Matt. “When the dorm seems hot I sometimes study dressed in just my underpants, and he has a tendency to stare at me from time to time.”

“So, how do you feel about having a possible cock-sucker for a roommate?” asked Roger.

“I don’t know yet,” said Matt. “It may be more of a challenge for him than for me.”

“What do you mean?” asked Roger.

“Look at me,” said Matt. “I have a perfect swimmer’s body. People have told me all my life that I’m handsome. If he’s gay, it must be a challenge for him to live in a dorm room with someone who looks like me.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” said Roger. “He probably has a crush on you already.”

* * *

Matt sat on his bed dressed only in his underpants and read a textbook. Hearing his roommate, Rob, insert his key into the lock from outside in the dorm hall, Matt set the textbook aside and put his hand on his shorts. The moment the door opened and Rob stepped into the room, Matt deliberately rubbed his privates as if his skin were itchy and he needed to scratch it. Rob turned slightly red as he looked over at his half-naked roommate and the location of Matt’s hand.

“How’s it going?” asked Rob.

“Good,” said Matt. “And I learned something about you today,” he said.

“Oh, really?” responded Rob.

“Yeah. I was talking with Roger at the pool, and he said he went to the same high school as you.”

“That’s right,” said Rob. “He used to be on the swim team for our high school, also.”

“Did you like your high school?” asked Matt.

“Yes,” said Rob. “I had some good friends there, and I liked my teachers. It was stressful at times, but I survived and enjoyed myself most of the time.”

“That’s good,” said Matt. “I enjoyed my high school years also. Now, to change the subject, I’ve been meaning to tell you that there’s something about you that bothers me.”

“Something bothers you?” asked Rob, looking perplexed.

“Yes,” said Matt. “I don’t think you’re getting enough exercise, Robbie.”

“I suppose that’s true,” said Rob. “I’m not on the swim team like you. I’ve been preoccupied with my studies lately.”

“Exactly,” said Matt. “So, anyway, since you’re my roommate, I’d like to see you improve in this area of your life.”

“Okay,” said Rob. “Let me think about how I can get more exercise, and I’ll do better. I promise.”

“Good boy,” said Matt. “Now, I want to help you, too. So, set your things down and do ten push-ups for me right now.”

“You’re giving me orders now?” asked Rob.

“Just do it,” said Matt.

Rob looked a bit puzzled, but he followed instructions and began doing the push-ups.

“Count out loud, Robbie,” said Matt.

“Okay,” said Rob, and he began counting them. When he finished counting, he stood back up. “Anything else you want me to do?” he asked.

“That’s it for now, Robbie,” said Matt. “Good boy.”

“My friends usually call me Rob,” said Rob.

“I know,” said Matt. “But since you’re my roommate and I know you better than most people, I want to call you Robbie.”

“Okay,” said Rob. “You can call me Robbie if want to.”

“Okay,” said Matt. “You can call me sir.”

* * *

Two weeks later Matt was eating alone in the cafeteria when he saw Rob pay for his food and head for the tables. When Rob saw Matt he hesitated until Matt waved him over. When he arrived at the table with his tray, he hesitated again.

“Sit down, Robbie,” said Matt, pointing to the chair opposite him. “You don’t need to wait for an invitation. I’m your roommate for God’s sake.”

“Yes, sir,” said Rob as he set his tray down. “Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Matt. “So, what’s new?” he asked.

“I just came from my archaeology class,” said Rob. “I heard about a lecture this Thursday night by an expert who’s done a lot of excavations at various sites in Israel. He is supposed to be a fascinating speaker.”

“Very nice,” said Matt.

“Actually, I was wondering if you would like to attend the lecture with me,” said Rob.

“Oh my goodness,” said Matt. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

“You can call it a date if you want to, sir, but I was thinking it was more of a buddy thing,” said Rob.

“A buddy thing,” said Matt. “Just a buddy thing. I’m hurt. Anyway, give me a moment to think about this. I might do it if you would do certain things for me.”

“Such as?” asked Rob.

“You’ll have to do ten push-ups a day for seven days in a row, for starters,” said Matt.

“Yes, sir,” said Rob. “I’ll do the push-ups for you.”

“Secondly, you’ll need to loan me one of your Izod shirts to wear,” said Matt. “I’ve never been able to afford one, and I’ve always wanted one.”

“You can have whichever one you want, sir,” said Rob.

“Thank you,” said Rob. “I appreciate it. How can you afford to have so many?” asked Matt.

“My dad’s a dentist,” said Rob.

“Wow, that’s cool,” said Matt. “Did he buy you that Mazda as a birthday present or something?”

“Not exactly,” said Rob. “He owns the car, and he lets me drive it. I wish I owned it, but I don’t.”

“Well, it’s a really nice car,” said Matt. “I wish I had a rich dad who made my life easy. My dad is a supervisor at a factory.”

“He must be really proud of you,” said Rob.

“I guess,” said Matt. “He works the night shift, so he wasn’t able to attend many of my swim meets. My Mom went to all of them, though. Yeah, and speaking of swim meets, my first swim meet is next Tuesday, and it would mean a lot to me if you came to it.”

“Of course,” said Rob. “I’d like that.”

I bet you would, thought Matt. All those guys in their Speedos. It will be fag heaven for you.

“So, anyway, I have two more conditions if I have to sit through this boring, ahem, I mean fascinating lecture. You’ll have to buy me a beer in the student union after the lecture, okay?”

“Yes, sir,” said Rob. “I’ll buy you a beer.”

“And finally, once I have a little liquid courage in me, I want you to drive me in your fancy Mazda to a drug store and buy condoms with me.”

“Condoms?” asked Rob.

“Yes, condoms,” said Matt. “I haven’t needed them since I broke up with my high school girlfriend, but I just have a feeling in my gut that I’m going to need a condom again sometime in the coming weeks, and I just don’t feel right unless I have a stash of condoms in my dresser drawer. Know what I mean?”

“You want to be ready,” said Rob.

“Yes, and I don’t care how many condoms you might already have, I want you to buy condoms too at the same time I do,” said Matt. “I want to see your face turn red when you lay them down on the counter and pay for them. In fact, I’ll give you some money, and you can pay for yours and mine at the same time. I’ll be right there next to you when you pay for them, because I want to see how nonchalant you can be at the cash register, okay Robbie?”

“You’re driving a hard bargain,” said Rob. “Okay, it’s a deal. I’ll buy condoms with you and I’ll pay for them. Just don’t make any lame jokes about what size condom I might need compared to you.”

“Would I do that? Am I a mean guy?” asked Matt. “Just because I’m bigger than the average guy doesn’t mean I want to make anyone feel inferior.”

“I’m not necessarily inferior,” said Rob.

“Oh, yeah? You want to prove it?” asked Matt.

“Maybe I do and maybe I don’t,” said Rob. “You’d have to get me in the mood.”

“I have to get you in the mood, huh?” said Matt. “You can’t just pull down your pants, stroke your dick for twenty seconds and get it up?”

“Not with you staring at me,” said Rob. “Not if it’s some type of contest.”

“Well, if you want me to kiss you, Robbie, I’m not going to do that,” said Matt.

“You don’t have to kiss me,” said Rob. “That wasn’t what I was thinking.”

“So, what were you thinking, Robbie?” asked Matt. “I’m afraid to ask. What would get you in the mood?”

“Promise you won’t tell anyone?” asked Rob. “I mean it, you have to promise.”

“Robbie, your secrets are safe with me,” said Matt. “You’re my roommate and my friend, and you can trust me. So, tell me what would get you in the mood, not that I’ll necessarily do what you want.”

“I have a secret desire to be tied spread-eagle in my bed,” said Rob.

“You want me to tie you to your bed?” asked Matt. “That would get you hard?”

“I’m sure it would get me hard,” said Rob.

“Oh, God,” said Matt. “I’m picturing this in my mind. You’re naked and lying on the bed. I’m tying your ankles to the bottom corners of the bed, and I’m tying your wrists to the top corners of the bed. You’re lying their naked and vulnerable. Your dick rises to its maximum boner length. I pull out my dick, and I prove to you that my dick is longer than yours. Then you know that you need to respect me even more than you do already. Then I cover you with a sheet, turn out the lights and leave you tied up like that all night long. No doubt you’d be dreaming about my big dick all night long.”

“Are you making fun of me?” asked Robbie.

“No, Robby, I’m not making fun of you,” said Matt. “So, do you have rope already or do we need to go out and buy some at the hardware store?”

CONTINUE THE STORY:PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

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

Stepson's Doom – Part 11 Martin Byron enjoys a private meeting with his captive son…. Stepson’s Doom – Part 11 by Kronmire4 Art by Amalaric Series: Stepson’s […]

Stepson's Doom – Part 12 Best friends Colt and Charlie are pitted against each other in a no-holds-barred match. The loser gets severely punished! Stepson’s Doom – Part […]

A straight drifter spends the night in a mysterious house and comes across an alien intent on milking him of his cum in this hot tentacle bondage story from Franco based on his own art piece!

The Wake Up […]

Peter Quill (aka Star-Lord from Guardians of the Galaxy) is captured and subjected to an intense experiment in this story from new author Nathan Justice.

The Fate of Star-Lord
by Nathan Justice

Part […]

Grady Sidney returns to unwillingly “model” more Tough Love Products during a 2 hour pre-Christmas special;
this time bound and sporting a chastity device that his mother is eager to display. Art by […]

The bound boy is stripped completely naked except for the chastity device in front of the studio audience and home viewers then humiliatingly forced to cum by another surprise guest – his sister! Art by […]

John and his Master head out for a kinky camping trip but things go awry when a horny stranger happens upon them at an inconvenient moment in this sexy story by Alan Baker Charlie. Art by Androscoped.

Gay […]

A Middle-Eastern warlord enjoys the spoils of his efforts including a sexy young soldier in this hot one-off by Amalaric!

Warlord
by Amalaric
Art by Amalaric

‘GET HIM OUT OF HERE!!!’ The wizened old […]

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