A Trial of Strength

A TRIAL OF STRENGTH - PART 199 By Rob Williams

IN THIS CHAPTER:

Bob and Zack together in the dunes – two alpha males, obsessed by each other. "Zack stared at the beautiful muscular demigod sleeping beside him. Not daring to touch him he stroked the bulge in his own shorts." Later they test the limits of their mutual lust. "The leather master faced the naked black stud, his magnificent physique spread-eagled in bondage. "You're mine – at last," he said, and raised the whip.

Chapter 199 – "Bob & Zack – Obsession"

There had been so many striking images that chaotic day – the boys' fight, then the punishment of the culprits and their masters. But as Zack lay alone on his bed staring up at the ceiling there was one memory above all that obsessed him. In his mind he saw again the image of the spectacular new, macho Bob, taking charge, exerting his authority over the group, his shirt and tie hanging open over his chest, his stubbled jaw set firm, his fists clenched.

Then the image morphed into another, from a long time ago. Bob was naked, tied spread-eagled to the remains of a doorframe on the beach in the dunes, being worked over by Zack who had been agitated and provoked by Bob's beauty. Bob had been submissive then – accustomed to submitting to Randy – but recently he had rebelled and been transformed into a leader – a macho, alpha stud who aroused a whole different kind of lust in Zack.

As Zack lay in his quiet room he again thought to himself, He's so fucking hot. Man, if I got him back up to the dunes things would be different. He'd be the boss. Me, the macho leather-master, I'd do whatever he wanted.' But suddenly he blinked and shook his head, coming down to earth with a deep sigh. Forget it, Zack – ain't never gonna happen, it's just a fantasy.'

Still, as he thought of his lonely shack in the dunes the idea took hold that he could do with a bit of time to himself – get away from the world – flex his muscles, physically and mentally. And the dunes were the perfect place. So yeah, after all the turmoil in the house, now was as good a time as any to take a break. He'd take a couple days off up there – and maybe fantasize some more about Bob while he lay on the beach, looking at the old doorframe and jerking off.

Then, a few days later, the arbitrary hand of fate intervened. Bob mentioned casually to Zack, "I gotta go up to my firm's branch office in San Luis Obispo in a day or two to deal with a few problems there. As it's so close to the Guadalupe dunes Mark asked if I'd look in on his shack up there, make sure everything's OK. I could do the same for you Zack if you like, as your place is just down the beach."

Zack's heart skipped a beat and he wondered if his fantasy had kicked in again making him imagine the words. But no, there was Bob smiling at him waiting for his answer. "Well that's weird," Zack said, "'cause I had just decided to go up there myself, spend a few days in my shack to unwind – you know, take a few big gulps of good sea air."

Bob laughed. "Great minds think alike, eh, buddy? Well, I'll go check on Mark's place anyway and maybe drop in on you for a drink before I head back. But I don't want to disturb your solitude – you probably want to be on your own."

"No, no," Zack said a little too quickly. "That would be great ... hell, you could even stay the night if you don't wanna rush back."

"That's a thought," said Bob. "It all depends on how long it takes me to sort things out at the branch office. I'll call you from there and we can play it by ear, OK?" Zack felt a hard-on swell in his jeans as he replied, "Sure thing, man – play it by ear."

So a few days later Bob found himself driving his Mercedes the short distance down Highway One from San Luis toward Guadalupe Dunes. "Whew," he said to himself, loosening his tie, "I'm beat. Maybe I will ask Zack if I can stay the night." He felt a stirring in his cock at the thought, but he took a deep breath, refocused on the road, and his boner subsided.

It wasn't long before he was bumping over the sandy track through the dunes. It had been a tough afternoon at the office so he had decided to go straight to Zack's and wait `til next morning to visit Mark's shack. Right now he needed a stiff drink with a good friend. And suddenly there he was in the distance, outside his shack, naked except for ragged shorts. As Bob drove closer the image became more distinct – the tall black man with the shaved head, rugged face – and a body that wouldn't quit.

A tremor ran through Bob, and his boner was back – harder than ever. But again he tried to ignore it. This was just going to be a quick visit with a good buddy. He didn't feel like driving all the way back to L.A. after the day he'd had, so he'd relax with Zack and hit the road in the morning. And that was all.

As it happened Zack was having similar thoughts as he saw the Mercedes coming over the dunes. Bob's mind would be on his work – the smart executive in his suit and tie. So Zack's fantasy of two naked alpha males squaring off in sex games on the beach suddenly seemed mildly absurd – completely out of place – and he banished the fantasy from his mind. It would be good just to spend time chatting with Bob. They'd go out for dinner, couple of drinks – and that would be that.

But when the car drew up, the window slid down and he saw the handsome, smiling face with the dark stubble over his strong jaw and upper lip, Zack's hard-on was back. Shit, he thought, that cock has a life of its own. His ebony features broke into a dazzling smile. "Hey, not often we get a top-of-the-line Mercedes in this neck of the woods with a suit-and-tie executive behind the wheel. What's this, a formal visit from the local squire checking up on the peasants?"

Bob grinned up at him. "No squire – no checkup – and no peasants that I can see. Just an old buddy gasping for a double scotch after a bitch of a day." He got out of the car and they hugged, laughing at the joke and at the pure pleasure of seeing each other. "You do have scotch, don't you?" Bob asked with mock concern.

"For you, my man, anything to satisfy all your desires – and then some." The flippant comment with its vaguely sexual innuendo made them both uneasy and they instinctively pulled apart. The boners in their pants didn't help, either. "Come on in, buddy," Zack covered. "Make yourself at home in my humble abode."

Humble it may have been, but the cabin was redolent of Zack – the musky scent, his clothes scattered all over – and Bob already felt the day's tension draining out of him. "This is perfect, Zack," Bob said, taking off his jacket and loosening his tie some more. Zack produced the scotch and two glasses and they sat in Adirondack chairs facing each other at a table on the small, raised deck overlooking the beach. "Gotta watch the sun sink over the horizon, man, it's a ritual around here. A couple of scotches will make it go down a treat."

But Bob's mind was still on his office. "Bitch of a day," he said again. "Jeez that office needs a shakeup – lots of square pegs in round holes. I gotta make some personnel changes around there." He took a slug of scotch and looked vaguely into the distance. Zack smiled at him and said, "Hey, Earth to Bob. We're on the beach, dude. Now you're not gonna be one of those yawn-making guests who only talks about work, are you?"

Bob snapped back to life and laughed. "Sorry, man, I apologize. No, I promise I won't make you yawn ... I'm here and I'm all yours." On the tip of Zack's tongue was some tacky joke about his mouth yawning open to take Bob's cock, but he suppressed it and said instead, "Hey, first thing you gotta do, big guy, is get out of that suit." Bob looked uneasy. "Trouble is I thought this would be just a day trip so all I've got is these damn business clothes."

"No problem there," Zack grinned. "Hey, you are gonna stay the night aren't you? I made dinner reservations for us and all." On Bob's skeptical grin he shrugged. "Yeah, well OK, you don't actually make reservations at that little Mexican joint in the village – but it's the thought that counts. In any case you can't drive drunk after downing all that scotch. If you get pulled over, chances are it won't be by a Greek-God cop like that first time that Mark pulled you over."

"OK, OK," Bob laughed. "I was gonna ask if I could stay over anyway." Zack got up, went inside the shack and brought out an old pair of thin gray shorts just like the ones he was wearing. "See, the rule is that when you're at the beach drinking and watching the sun set you have to be nigh on naked. Otherwise, legend has it, the sun stops dead and just fucking glares at you."

"Asshole," Bob grinned, grabbing the shorts. He stood up and pulled off his tie, unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off too. Zack sat with his eyes peering over his drink, not wanting to gawk but not wanting to miss a second of this show either. As always, he was awestruck by Bob's muscled torso, tapering down to the slim waist where his white shorts showed above the belt of his slacks.

Without any modesty Bob casually unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants and let them fall as he kicked off his loafers. He pulled off his socks, hesitated, then dropped his white boxers. Ignoring his semi-erect cock, he pulled on Zack's old shorts and instantly his cock stood fully erect, stiff as a tent-pole under the thin cotton. He blushed. "Sorry about that."

"Hey," Zack said, "before you start boasting, man, take a look at this. He scraped his chair back from the table and his own identical tent-pole pushed against his shorts." He laughed. "Look man, I was gonna say ... you know you always turn me on but I was thinking that your little visit here should be just that – a social visit, eh? I mean, after all the sex in the house the last few days, consensual and otherwise, we should probably cool it and just enjoy each other's company. After all, there's Randy to consider and..."

"You read my mind, Zack," Bob chuckled. "Hell, I sometimes think that in that house we let sex rule our lives. So let's prove that we're made of stronger stuff and not slaves to our cocks. He looked down at the two tent-poles and grinned. "And we'll just treat these as uninvited guests."

Zack clinked his glass against Bob's and smiled. "Here's to uninvited guests."

Bob was really mellowing out now as the sun cooperated and sank slowly toward the horizon in a blaze of red and gold. The two handsome muscle-studs looked even more spectacular in the golden light as they sipped their drinks, feeling more at-ease now that the subject of sex had been dealt with and taken off the table. "That thing you said about having to consider Randy," Bob said. "It's not like the old days. He knows he can't just wade in and beat up any man I sleep with."

"Yeah," said Zack. "You guys really seem to have finally worked out that equality thing."

Bob pondered that and said, "You know it's not a simple question of being equal – that would get boring. It's more like a see-saw where first one guy is raised up high, then the other, but it all balances out and becomes equal."

"Shit, you have a weird way of describing stuff, buddy, but I get your meaning. Now," he grinned, "like I said, that little Mexican joint in town don't take reservations but I'm starved so let's mosey on over there and get a bite to eat."

"Well I can't go like this," Bob laughed. "And all I have to wear is my business suit."

"Hell, I can soon fix that." Zack went inside and came out with some clothes he shoved at Bob. "Here, I've always got extra gear lying round this place. These are kind of clean – sort of. Couple of rips maybe."

Bob looked at the black jeans, old boots and black T-shirt – Zack's usual outfit for work, except when he was shirtless. Bob pulled on the jeans, then the unlaced boots and the T-shirt. The two men were about the same size and the clothes fit perfectly, except that Zack had been right – the shirt was frayed at the neck and had a rip in both sleeves. But he was wrong about `sort of clean'. Zack had already worn the shirt several times and a slight smell of his sweat clung to it.

Zack was in the shack getting dressed in jeans and a pale gray V-neck T-shirt. He looked up as he heard, "What d'ya think?" Bob was on the patio, the glare of the sunset behind him. "Holy shit," Zack breathed softly as he gazed at Bob – a Bob he had never seen before. In Zack's clothes he looked like a tough construction worker with his chiseled features, strong cheekbones and square stubbled jaw. His muscles bulged under the threadbare T-shirt with its frayed neck and rips in the short sleeves gripping his biceps. The pornographic image was completed by the old black jeans and grubby boots.

Zack's pulse was racing and he could feel his cock oozing pre-cum in his shorts. Trying to act nonchalantly he walked up to him and said, "Shit, man, you look like one of my work crew – except none of my crew ever looked as good as that. Here..." He ruffled Bob's hair so that it hung in tangles over his forehead. "That's better," Zack grinned, "picture perfect."

But despite his feigned self-assurance Zack's cock was throbbing in his jeans and he knew he would never get through dinner facing this man across the table. "I better take a leak before we leave, buddy. I was drinking beer before that scotch." He turned abruptly, walked into the bathroom that was directly off the bedroom and shut the door behind him.

He stood behind the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. "Shit, shit, shit" he banged his hands on the sink. His reflection morphed into the erotic image of the rugged muscle-hunk outside and he rubbed the bulge in his pants. He went to the old wooden door that had a gap between two planks and peered through it. He caught his breath as he watched Bob hanging up his suit and dress shirt. He moved round the room with an athletic grace, the last rays of the sun through the slatted blinds catching his handsome face, his muscular arms and the shape of his pecs under the shirt.

He was breathtaking and Zack unconsciously pulled out his cock and stroked it as he watched. He started to fantasize about Bob, dressed just like that, being spread-eagled on the ground, his wrists and ankles tied to stakes driven into the sand. Zack was standing astride him, gazing down at him, Bob's arms stretched, his biceps bulging out of the rips in his sleeves. "Shit, man, that is fucking pornographic," Zack moaned softly, feeling his cock shuddering and watching semen pour down on the shirt and face of the writhing construction worker.

Feeling stickiness in his hand he jerked back to reality and realized he had basted a load all over the door. "Shit," he said, grabbing a towel and wiping his hand and his cock. Then he wiped away the cum running down the door and onto the floor. He stuffed his cock back in his pants, washed his hands and splashed cold water on his face. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself, then opened the door.

Bob looked up at him with a dazzling smile. "Hey, big guy, you ready to go?'

"Let's hit it, buddy," Zack said, his self-assurance completely restored.

Bob, instinctive as ever, had sensed a certain tension in Zack since he had arrived, but now, as they walked over the dunes to the village, he was pleased to find that the tension had somehow evaporated, with Zack chatting comfortably beside him. And so dinner was an easygoing affair.

The restaurant was quite full and when they had entered a hush fell over the room and all eyes turned to the two handsome, muscular men. Bob took it in stride, but Zack couldn't help feeling a tinge of pride that he was accompanied by this stunning man. The hostess wanted to seat them at a prominent table in the middle of the room, but the guys chose instead a more secluded side table.

As they hungrily wolfed down the Mexican food and drank Dos Equis beers, the relaxed atmosphere made Bob pleased that they had decided to steer clear of any sexual distractions and simply enjoy each other's company. Though even he would admit that, looking into Zack's gray eyes set in the handsome, ebony face, made his cock swell, so he more-or-less had to accept a permanent semi-erection in his pants. Added to that was the persistent scent of Zack in the T-shirt that now clung to Bob.

Their wide-ranging conversation about work, home and especially the men and boys in the house gradually pushed thoughts of sex to the back of their minds, though as they walked back over the dunes, pleasantly drunk, Zack flashed on the image of Bob sleeping naked beside him and there was no semi- about his erection now.

Bob had an easier time in that regard. His visit to the office had really drained him and that, along with the scotch and the Dos Equis, were catching up on him and he felt exhausted. So when he thought of the bed, as he did now, it simply involved putting his head on the pillow and sinking into a deep sleep. Which is just what he eventually did.

When they entered the room Bob said, "OK if we shower tomorrow, buddy? I'm totally beat and that bed looks real inviting." Zack laughed. "Hey, man, you're at the beach now. Don't have to shower at all if you don't want to. A dip in the ocean first thing in the morning will take care of that. What's two sweaty male bodies between friends, anyway?"

That had come out differently from the way Zack intended it and he turned his back to Bob as he pulled down his jeans and willed his flagpole to subside in his shorts. Bob was too tired for any of this to register and he kicked off his boots, pulled off his T-shirt, dropped his jeans and fell onto the bed. Naked, except for the shorts Zack had given him, Bob lay on his stomach, arms raised above his head flat on the bed his head turned sideways away from Zack.

As it happened the moonlight shining through the slatted blinds fell exactly across Bob's gorgeous body – the muscled arms, V-shaped back, his muscles forming a ridge down his spine and ... oh shit,' Zack thought, eyeing the round bulge of Bob's ass pushing up against the shorts. Zack's cock was rock hard and he thought for an instant of going into the bathroom again and jacking off looking through the door like before. Come on, man, get a grip,' he reproached himself silently. `Don't let it get to you like that.'

Back in L.A. when Zack had fantasized about bringing Bob up here he had thought, `Man, if I got him back up to the dunes things would be different. He'd be the boss. I'd do whatever he wanted.' And now here was Zack, his cock throbbing as he looked down at the muscle-god on the bed. He was totally in Bob's power ... he worshipped the macho stud with the athletic stride, chiseled features and stubbled jaw. Without doing a thing, without even being conscious of Zack's dilemma, Bob had overpowered him. His mere presence had turned the leather master into a submissive serf. Zack grinned ruefully. That joke about the squire and the peasant was not too wide of the mark.

`Enough of this,' Zack thought, going so far as to slap his rigid cock in his shorts, as if the cock really did have a life of its own and was the culprit here. Wearing just his shorts he lowered himself down beside Bob who was already fast asleep.

Zack made a valiant effort. Bob was lying with his back to him and Zack closed his eyes and hoped he would be lulled to sleep by Bob's heavy breathing – almost a soft snore. Zack made a conscious effort not to touch Bob's naked flesh, knowing that would rouse his lust even more, so he too turned his back. Zack too was tired from all the alcohol and eventually he did fall into a fitful sleep.

He didn't know how much later it was that he woke with a start, like an electric charge had jolted him awake. In his sleep he had rolled to the middle of the bed and touched Bob's arm, shining under a thin layer of sweat. Zack heard the rhythm of Bob's heavy breathing falter, then resume as steady as before. Bob was still in a deep sleep.

Zack turned his head to look at him and had to stop himself from moaning out loud. Bob was now lying on his back his arms stretched up toward the headboard, his chest rising and falling, his handsome features serene in sleep, his stubbled jaw relaxed, mouth slightly open, accounting for the faint snore – more like a purr. It was so fucking sexy, Zack thought, carefully raising himself on one elbow for a better look.

During the warm night Bob had somehow pushed the sheet off him and now his naked body gleamed in the soft moonlight entering the room. Zack gazed at the beautiful face, then ran his eyes down over the neck, the chest and lats stretched upward, the eight-pack abs, slim waist and muscled thighs. The outline of his cock bulged under his shorts ... he was probably dreaming. Dreaming of Zack? Nah, Zack thought, more likely of Randy.

Zack knew he had rarely seen anything as beautiful as this sleeping demigod, and he reached out as if to run his hand over his body. But, still not daring to touch, his hand hovered an inch from his flesh as it floated down from his neck, over his chest and abs, then stopped, poised over the bulge in his shorts. This strange act was frustrating and thrilling at the same time and he drew his hand back and stroked his own bulge through his shorts.

He had to make a physical effort to stop throwing himself on top of Bob – kiss him, lick him, bite him. He imagined the upstretched arms tied to the bed, with Bob at his mercy. No, that was not the right image. Bob was a magnificent, dominant top-man and Zack needed to worship him. It was he, Zack, who should be tied up, facing this powerful top-man, yielding to him, begging him to... what? ... whip him, fuck him ... do whatever he wanted to him.

Zack's cock was pulsing hard as he fantasized, mesmerized by the beautiful man lying beside him. Above all he didn't want to wake him so he moved cautiously stroking the bulge in his own shorts. With his arms upstretched Bob's armpit was close to Zack's face and he saw a trickle of sweat oozing from the thick black armpit hair. He leaned forward and gently licked the beads of sweat off his skin, tasting the erotic, musky essence of the man.

And that did it. He felt his cock shudder under his shorts and he clamped his jaw shut to stifle a scream as he felt warm liquid filling his shorts. He held his breath as his cock pumped juice while the man lay peacefully beside him like a marble statue.

It took a long time for Zack's heartbeat to subside, then he slowly reached for a towel on the floor and dried up the worst of the sticky liquid in his shorts. He was relieved to see that Bob was still in a deep sleep and he eased himself off his elbow and lay with his back to Bob. After his orgasm Zack was composed enough to invite sleep. But as he was dozing off he held his breath as Bob stirred beside him. Still sleeping deeply Bob rolled onto his side, his chest pressing against Zack's back and threw his arm over Zack.

It was what he did unconsciously most nights with Randy, only this night it was Zack. Zack tensed, then relaxed and eased back against Bob and lightly touched his arm. And at last sleep overcame him with the first of many dreams – not all of them dry.

Zack was the first to wake in the morning and he felt an urgent need to change his wet shorts, a result of his dreams that he tried to remember and cling on to before they faded, as dreams do. He went outside in the chill morning air and hosed himself down, then dried off and pulled on a fresh pair of shorts and his gray V-neck T-shirt from the day before. He grinned and in an act of mischief worthy of his boy Darius, walked behind the shack and tossed the old cum-soaked shorts through the open window of Bob's car. Something to remember him by.

Then he worked silently in the small kitchen and when Bob finally roused himself after his long, deep sleep his first sensation was the smell of bacon and toast. He opened his eyes and stared up at the black muscle-hunk smiling down at him. "Breakfast is served on the deck, squire." Bob propped himself on his elbows. "Man, talk about service with a smile. You really know how to treat your guests."

"You don't know the half of it," Zack grinned, though his meaning was not entirely clear to Bob, who pulled on Zack's T-shirt he had worn the evening before. Soon they were out on the deck, both wearing just T-shirts and shorts, sitting facing each other over bacon, eggs, toast and a steaming pot of coffee. Bob said casually, "Sleep well?"

"Pretty good," said Zack, without making eye contact, staring down at his plate. "Hell," Bob said, "I must have been totally bushed ... slept like a log."

"I know," Zack mumbled, and as Bob caught his eye he looked back down at the table"

"Something up, buddy?" Bob asked gently, his sensitive antennae on full alert.

There was a pause, then Zack looked him full in the eye. "Heck, this is ridiculous. We're friends from way back, man, and I should be able to tell you anything. So here goes, buddy."

"Since you asked, no, I didn't sleep that well at first ... because of you." Bob looked startled, but Zack ploughed on with his confessional. "You know you've always turned me on, man, no secret about that. But when I saw you laying down the law to the group the other day, with your fists clenched, muscles rippling and that sexy dark stubble over your chin and upper lip ... shit, you were like a new man – an incredibly hot, dominant alpha male."

He paused, then said, "It's a well-known fact that men are attracted to other men who resemble them and I've always been turned on by rugged, macho top-men like myself – and like Randy, who I admire a lot. Throw in some leather gear and I've got a dick like a ramrod. Adam's a hot leather-master and that's why I let him tie me up and whip me. Hell, that's why I wanted Darius as my boy – and he's turning into a real tough young buck and I love that."

"Anyway, yesterday when you put on my boots, jeans and that old ripped T-shirt, the gear I wear at work, you looked like a macho construction boss – like me. You were fucking awesome and kicked my fantasies into high gear. And ... I had to do it, man ... I ... I went into the bathroom, watched you through a crack in the door and jacked off a huge load all over the door. Then I felt safe having dinner with you."

He paused, lost eye contact and stared down at his plate, digging at his food. Bob was impressed by this confession from a man like Zack and knew how hard it was for him. So he coaxed him gently. "But, that thing about not sleeping well because of me ..."

"Yeah well," Zack said, looking up again with a grin. "You have no idea, do you, of how fucking gorgeous you look when you're asleep, naked, with moonlight streaming over that smoking hot body. Even your breathing was sexy. And you were inches away from me! But we'd agreed on that no-sex thing, and I didn't dare touch you or risk waking you so I ... shit I leaned on my elbow and whacked off in my shorts just staring at you. After that I guess I fell asleep, but God knows how many wet dreams I had. In the morning my shorts were soaked and stinking of cum." He grinned self-consciously. "I threw the shorts in your car – kind of a keepsake."

Bob stared at him, his eyes crinkled and he started to laugh, and Zack joined in, saying between helpless guffaws, "So in that top-of-the-line Mercedes, lying on the soft leather of the passenger seat, is a filthy pair of wet undershorts, stinking of cum and sweat – my gift to you, buddy."

That set them off again, laughing uncontrollably. When it finally subsided there was silence for a while, broken only by the lapping of the waves on the shore and the cry of the seagulls whirling overhead. They were both pondering the implications of Zack's long speech, looking tentatively into the future, wondering what came next. Bob found himself gazing at the old doorframe, still planted firmly in the sand a few feet from the shack, the only remains of a shed that had long ago succumbed to the implacable weather.

Zack saw where Bob was looking and said, "Remember that?" Bob looked directly into Zack's gray eyes. "How could I ever forget that, Zack? Sometimes, when Randy's away and I'm all alone, I still jerk off thinking about it."

"I felt so bad about that at the time," Zack said. "But like I said back then, you were so fucking beautiful I couldn't stand it. Your beauty hurt me ... I had to hurt it back, damage it. It was something I always felt when I faced extreme beauty – like a perfect sunset. I had to own it. I was the big leather-stud, after all, so I could do anything. I tied you up, but I lost control and gave you the whipping of your life. But things are different now ... so different..."

Zack's voice trailed off and, as images of the past flew through Bob's mind, things seemed to be getting a bit too hot for comfort. He stood up, not bothering to disguise the huge erection in his shorts, and said, "You know, buddy, I should take a jog up the beach to Mark's shack. I did promise him I'd check it out. I'll get the key. He went inside, got the key from his suit pocket, came back out and took off his T-shirt, making Zack's cock pulse in his shorts once again.

"Won't be long." There was no mention of Zack joining him ... neither man wanted that right now. They needed to think, to allow themselves to feel, to be led by the powerful instincts building inside them, straining for release. As Zack watched the near-naked figure jogging powerfully into the distance his cock was dripping with pre-cum, but he was determined not to jack off again. He wanted more than that ... much more. And he knew what he had to do.

At Mark's shack Bob unlocked the door and it creaked open. Inside it was all Mark and Jamie, their clothes scattered around, surfboards propped against the wall. Bob took a deep breath and thought of Mark. They had spent good times up here together and Bob thought how sex loomed so large in his life – Randy, Mark, Zack ... Randy was Bob's life – they worshiped each other. But Bob's feelings for Mark and Zack differed from each other. Bob loved Mark – they made love. But with Zack it was more carnal. The man was such a powerful sex figure – always working shirtless, not to mention being a leather icon, those rippling black muscles.

What Bob was feeling right now was not exactly love for Zack, though he loved him as a buddy. It was raw lust, carnal desire, and as Zack had said, things were different now. Bob's instinct had formerly been to submit to this macho leather master, but he was aware of the transformation he himself had recently gone through. He rubbed his stubbled chin and smiled – it was the stubbled face that the guys always mentioned first about his new macho image – and it did look hot.

He lusted for Zack but he couldn't put his finger on what he wanted to do to the big leatherman. Fuck him, sure – but that wasn't enough. He wanted a lot more than that. Could it be that he was feeling the same visceral need that Zack had felt all that time ago – a need to own all that beauty, to subdue it, hurt it? He began to understand the exquisite pain that the beautiful alpha male felt when confronted by another stunningly beautiful man. That was it – it was a contest – man to man – mano-a-mano. Testosterone surged through Bob and he flexed his muscles.

Suddenly he knew what he wanted.

His body was on fire, as his feet pounded the wet sand and splashed through the shallow surf. In this vast expanse of sea, sand and sky he felt alive, in total harmony with nature in all its beauty and power. He was alone, omnipotent, his body charged with a primal craving for action. "YES!" he screamed jubilantly to the world, and the seagulls screamed back, wheeling overhead in startled admiration.

Then suddenly he was not alone – not quite. In the spray-misted distance he saw the dot of the shack nestled between the beach and the dunes. Bob felt his cock get hard and bounce in his shorts in time to his pounding feet. The shack slowly became larger, more distinct ... he could even pick out the doorframe next to it ... but ... what was the ...? Then, as he came closer he knew – something he had known deep down all along.

His heart was beating wildly, his breath heaving as he finally came close and stood facing Zack. Spread-eagled in the door frame, wrists and ankles loosely tied to the corners, naked except for thin, ragged shorts, the black body gleamed in the dazzling light of the sun. Their eyes met and an understanding passed between them – between two alpha males who at last accepted the reason for their meeting in this wild and lonely place.

Bob stepped forward and tightened the ropes which Zack had looped round his ankles and wrists. He watched Zack tug on the ropes, his muscles bulging, his body twisting, and they locked eyes in the shared realization that the naked leather-master was helplessly bound at the mercy of the demigod whose beauty had conquered him. The look of defiance in the captive's eyes spurred Bob to action.

Looking toward the shack Bob saw something hanging over the railing of the deck. He walked over, picked up the items Zack had left for him and went inside. Zack was alone, bound, spread-eagled, his arms, shoulders, chest and thighs flexed in reparation for what was to come.

Zack's cock was rock hard. It had been that way since he had made his decision, tied himself to the doorframe and fantasized as he waited for Bob's return. He knew what was coming ... but the reality far surpassed his fantasies.

"Aaah," he gasped as he saw Bob emerge from the shack. The muscle-god was in full leather – boots, leather pants clinging to his muscled thighs, heavy black belt, and a leather vest hanging open over his chest. Mirror glasses made his face look even more rugged, enhanced by the heavy stubble on his chin and upper lip, and his tangle of dark hair hanging over his brow. And hanging round his neck was a black, single-tail bull-whip. The man was a pornographic icon of domination and Zack tugged against the ropes binding him, not only to get free but simply to touch the man in an act of worship.

Bob pulled off his glasses and wordlessly approached his prisoner. Gazing into the gray eyes, he buckled round his neck a studded black collar he was holding. He paused, then ceremonially removed the whip from his own neck and placed it round Zack's. The significance was clear to both of them. This was the whip Zack had used that first time on Bob, bound in the same place. Now their positions were reversed and control of the whip had passed from Zack to Bob.

His eyes piercing Zack's, Bob growled, "You're mine – at last." He reached down, grabbed Zack's thin shorts and ripped them clear off, freeing the long black rod that sprang out, already oozing pre-cum. Bob walked back about six feet, turned and faced the naked construction worker, his magnificent ebony physique stretched in bondage. With a hint of a smile Bob pressed the torn shorts to his face and breathed deeply, savoring the smell of crotch-sweat, dried cum and piss. Then he tied the shredded remains loosely round his own neck – a trophy seized by one master from another.

Zack was mesmerized by the incredible image of the man he had masturbated about so often now standing before him, his magnificent body sheathed in leather. The brown eyes stared back at him hypnotically and Zack pulled frantically at his restraints. The man was so beautiful, so fucking hot – that face, that body ... he was desperate to touch him, touch his own cock so he could shoot in an act of homage. His body writhed and thrashed, muscles gleaming ... his balls were bursting, his cock straining and "Aaaagh ..."

Bob watched in amazement as the superb black body arched, the biceps bulged, the hips thrust forward ... and the monster club blasted a long stream of white juice high in the air, a tribute to the leather-god, splashing down on the sand at his feet. Bob watched the body shudder as it shot more jism, then became still, hanging limp in the doorframe, head hanging down.

Bob walked forward, slid the whip from round Zack's neck, pushed the nub of the handle under his chin and raised his head until their eyes met once again. Hoarsely Zack pleaded, "Whip me, man ... please ..." Bob turned, walked back, and again turned to face his captive, the whip hanging from his fist. His eyes glinted, he raised his arm and cracked the whip hard against the helpless body, curling round the back and chest, the tip slamming against the nipple.

"Aaaagh!" The agonized scream pierced the air, drowning out the crashing waves and screaming seagulls whirling overhead. The savage blow had been too much, Bob knew that. Randy had trained him well on how to test a man's limits with a heavy first blow, and he taunted his prisoner.

"That enough? ... you wanna stop?" Slowly Zack raised his head and stared defiantly at the Bob. "Whip me," he growled. Bob shrugged off his leather vest and Zack stared in awe at the leather-master, naked to the waist in leather pants and boots, stripped for action. Mesmerized, Zack pleaded this time ... "Whip me."

And so it began, bringing to life the scene Zack had fantasized about so often. Bob's arm rose again and, less savagely now, the whip lashed across the slabs of Zack's chest, then lower, curling round his flexed washboard abs and lower back. The tempo increased relentlessly – the arms next, then the heavily muscled thighs. The black body thrashed and twisted against the ropes as pain flashed through his body from each succeeding target of the whip. The rugged face, with the high cheekbones and shaved head, jerked from side to side as his screams raced along the beach.

Bob went behind Zack and gazed at the man's muscled back. The upstretched arms pulled it in a tight V from the rock-hard shoulders, tapering down the lats to the slim waist, then rising up over the perfect mounds of the light brown ass. As Bob stared at the magnificent black body hanging before him he felt a sudden surge of testosterone engulf him. This is what it was like to be a master – to be in control – to have a top-man like this at his mercy. But Bob knew Zack's limits and an inherent restraint made him respect them. Being at the receiving end with Randy so often had trained him well. Bob also knew that he was giving Zack what he craved.

And so the back felt the sting of the whip, blow after blow until the black flesh was crisscrossed with dark red lines. Then the globes of Zack's ass bounced under the lash as the whip sliced through the air. When the ass was striped with whip marks Bob eased off, walked back round to face Zack and saw the ecstasy in his eyes. His body on fire, Zack gazed at the rugged leatherman and, in a near trance, groaned, "More ... please..." As the whip fell again Zack lost all control and howled, "Yeah, whip that body, man ... hurt me, man. Harder."

Bob heard the wild delirium in Zack's voice and knew it was time to bring things to a climax. He saw his long rod pointing straight out, hard as steel again, and with another lash he curled the whip round it, then yanked it back so it uncoiled painfully. "Aaagh," Zack groaned, and Bob knew he had him. Once again he lashed the whip round the cock and pulled it off.

Tears streamed down Zack's cheeks as he stared wildly at Bob. "Thank you, sir," he moaned. Bob coiled the whip round his cock one last time, Zack's whole body flexed, the cock shuddered and ... "aaagh!" ... a plume of cum spurted from it, splashed on Bob's thighs and ran down the leather pants. Zack stared into Bob's eyes and moaned through his sobs, "Thank you, sir."

Bob threw the whip onto the sand, came close to Zack, put his hand behind his head, pulled it toward him and kissed him hard on the lips. "You're magnificent, man," Bob said softly. "You know what I have to do now." Zack bowed his head in submission.

Standing behind him again Bob looked at the whipped-marked back and ran his hands lightly over the stripes. The flesh was tender and he felt Zack tense, with a sharp intake of breath. Then he cupped his hands round the striped cheeks of his ass and again felt them tense. All this time Bob's cock had been raging hard in his leather pants and he now yanked them open, pulled out his rod and eased the head between the cheeks. He put his hands on Zack's narrow hips, paused, then pulled them roughly toward him so his cock drove hard into the helpless ass.

"Aaagh." Once again Zack screamed as he felt the cock bury itself deep inside him and felt the pain of Bob's wiry pubic hair scrape against the raw, whipped flesh of his ass. Bob eased back, then again pulled the hips toward him. But this time he leaned forward and his chest pressed against the whip-striped back. He pressed his cheek against Zack's neck and whispered in his ear, "That stubble on my face turned you on like crazy, man. Let's see if you like how it feels. He ran his stubbled chin along Zack's shoulder, scraping the raw skin damaged by the whip.

Again Zack howled and pleaded, "Fuck me, man. Fuck my ass!" Bob wrapped his arms round him, stroked the ravaged chest, then closed his fingers over his nipples, already raw from the whip. It is said that a man can feel only one source of pain at a time, but Zack felt them all – the hammering in his ass, the chafing stubble on his neck and the searing pain in his chest.

Through Zack's howls of pain Bob yelled into his ear. "You can end it, man ... you know how." But Zack wasn't thinking or hearing any more – only feeling ... feeling the pain inflicted by the man he had lusted for so badly, feeling his piston inside his ass, his hands working his chest and his hard body grinding against him.

He had dreamed of this moment, yearned for it, and now he screamed, "Shoot your load in my ass man ... please ... here it comes, man ..." One last piercing scream, one last shudder of his cock, and one last eruption of semen onto the hot sand, as he felt Bob shoot in his ass, an eruption of cum that had been building since the moment he arrived.

Their bodies pressed together for a long time, breath heaving, hearts pounding as they slowly recovered from the sexual fever that had gripped them. Finally Bob pulled away, walked round to face Zack and quickly untied him. Zack sank to his knees and clasped Bob's leg, pressing his face hard against the cum-splashed black leather, kissing it, licking it, sobbing with relief and exhilaration. At last he pulled back and gazed up at the beautiful muscle-god towering over him, the man who had dominated him so spectacularly.

And then, as reality flooded back, in a sudden revelation Zack understood the truth. Intense beauty had always pained and frustrated him, so he wanted to hurt it, to own it, as he had hurt Bob all that time ago. But ultimately that was unsatisfying and now he knew why. What he really needed was not to dominate and own beauty but the opposite – to submit to it, to be owned by it, to surrender to it as totally and magnificently as he had just surrendered to Bob. Only then could he truly love it.

Bob stripped off his leather pants and boots so both of them were naked – equal. They ran down the beach into the waves and felt the healing balm of the ocean, though the salt water stung Zack's tender flesh and he grinned at Bob as he recalled the sting of the whip. When they ran out of the waves and up onto the deck Bob draped a soft towel over one of the chairs and Zack eased his tender body onto it, wincing as his back rested against it. Bob went inside and came out with two beers, which they sipped silently facing each other.

It was Zack who broke the silence. "You can't go back right away, buddy. Please, say you'll stay one more night." Bob smiled. "I think we owe that to each other. Except ... last night you were scared to touch me in bed `cause you felt so much lust. Tonight I'll be scared to touch you because you feel so raw."

"Don't sweat it, man," Zack laughed. "I want those arms round me no matter how much it hurts – all the better if it does ... if you know what I mean."

While Zack showered Bob called Randy and told him he would be back tomorrow. He heard the disappointment in Randy's voice but it was soon replaced with something like pride when Bob described what had happened with Zack. Randy was turned on even more by the thought of fucking Bob after he had so totally dominated a stud like Zack. "Can't wait, buddy," he said.

Randy and Mark were kicking back in Mark's apartment and Randy grinned as he shut off the phone. "Man, seems Bob really did a number on Zack up there in the dunes. He's turned into such a mean mother-fucker, working over that tough son-of-a-bitch leatherman."

Mark smiled. "No, not mean, Randy, you know that. Bob only did what Zack craved from him. You saw the way Zack was looking at Bob the other day. Anyway, now that's over maybe you can turn your attention back to those boys of yours. There's trouble brewing there."

"Yeah, I know," Randy sighed and took a slug of beer. "I separated them `cause I saw that Pablo was being a bad influence over Ben – that stupid fight and all. But they resent filling in as houseboys and now they're not talking to each other – some kind of weird animosity building up – resentment, competition – something, I dunno. They're basically great kids but, by god, they can be a handful."

"They're just trying to be like you," Mark grinned. "Seems like they've succeeded a bit too well."

"Asshole," Randy grinned. "Anyway, I'm gonna send them to my brother Steve for some therapy – or whatever it is he calls therapy. Maybe he can lick them into shape. Shit, I envy you sometimes with that boy of yours. Jamie did a great job helping Darius break up that fight."

"Yeah," Mark said, "I love the kid to death, not to mention that gorgeous ass of his. But you know, buddy, he's so laid back – you know, that surfer vibe. I wish he could learn to be more assertive, especially with the other boys."

"More like you, you mean."

"Well yeah, kinda. Trouble is, I don't think he ever really recovered from that time I caught him doing drugs with that loser and I came down real hard on him."

"Hard?! Man, you were gonna throw the kid out on his ass as I recall – even threatened to remove that tattoo from his arm. That was cold man, way over the top – you were a mean son-of-a-bitch to the boy."

Mark flinched. "Don't rub it in, man ... I'm not proud of it. Sometimes I act too much like a cop – it's bred in the bone. But I think Mario's a good influence on him with that mature European thing he's got going. Anyway, I've decided to take them both up to my shack in the dunes, make a long weekend of it. See if I can kinda take a back seat and let Jamie take charge."

"Should be interesting," Randy grinned. "Take it easy though, officer. You guys always seem to get in some kind of trouble up there."

Just then the door opened and Jamie came in. "Oh, sorry, sir – I didn't know you were..."

Randy stood up. "No sweat, kid, I was just leaving." He looked down at Jamie's round ass straining at his surfer trunks and grinned at Mark. "Yeah, I see what you mean. Like I said, officer, take care of the boy. This too" – and he patted Jamie's ass on the way out.

TO BE CONTINUED in "A Trial Of Strength" – Chapter 200

Hey guys, this is Rob Williams. I hope that chapter got you off, and I welcome your comments and suggestions, which can be very helpful in planning future chapters. E-mail me in confidence at rw6789@aol.com.

ALSO, I urge you to visit my Web-site www.atrialofstrength.com. You can read the whole story, all the many chapters, with extras, including pictures and biographies of all the characters and some other great artwork. Click on the `Our Story' tab to read the current chapter, or click on the green button to browse all the chapter synopses. Enjoy!