A Trial of Strength

A TRIAL OF STRENGTH - PART 336 By Rob Williams

IN THIS CHAPTER:

The tribe's bosses were together – the gypsy construction boss Randy ... his businessman lover and Superman lookalike Bob ... and the blond Greek-God motorcycle cop Mark. The three muscular alpha males were powered by roaring testosterone and overheated libidos – a mix of love, lust and mutual admiration that could have only one outcome. "I call the shots," Randy said. "The cum-shots."

CHAPTER 336 – "ALPHA MALE BONDING"

************ In the previous chapter ***********

The twins had been given their turn in the spotlight – and they dazzled. First, through subtle seduction and gentle caresses, Kyle and Kevin had overwhelmed the tough black leather-master Zack and ended up double teaming him. "It's a rule we have," Kyle said. "We share everything equally ... especially an ass."

Later the twins demonstrated to Randy, Bob and Mark the intense, almost otherworldly love they share with each other. Shirtless in black leather pants and boots – identical leather boys, arms stretched upward, wrists bound – they gazed at each other and made silent love with their eyes, tongues and lips in the gritty gym/playroom, to the wildly incongruous but haunting soundtrack of an operatic aria playing in the background.

When it was over, in the ensuing silence, a moist-eyed Bob noticed Randy and Mark wiping their eyes. It was a long time since Bob had seen Randy's emotions spill over into tears.

"Sirs," Kevin smiled, "we want to thank you for a memorable afternoon. We had a great time."

"Hey, kids," Randy said, his voice still choked, "this time it's definitely us thanking you. You've been ..." he groped for the right words ... "you've given us ..."

Mark helped him out. "... a beautiful experience, guys."

"Sir," Kyle asked Bob, "if it's OK we would now like to spend some time alone in our room before we make a start on the evening meal."

Bob gazed at them lovingly. "Boys, why don't you take the rest of the day off. With everyone else away it's only Randy, Mark and me in the house now and it'll do us good to fix our own dinner. OK if Randy uses one of your aprons?" Bob grinned. "Can't wait to see that look."

"The kitchen is all yours, sir," Kevin smiled. "And thank you again ... for everything." The twins left the room, leaving a reflective silence behind them.

Eventually Bob explained why the twins had wanted the men to watch such an intensely private act. "I think they needed to show us the intensity of their love for each other, how much they are part of each other. They want us to see how impossible it would be for them to live without each other. In a way it was a plea for our protection ... a plea to never let anyone separate them."

"Yeah," Randy growled, "well you can tell them they never have to worry about that. As long as I have breath in my body I'll never let those kids be split up. That's my promise to them."

Bob looked at him lovingly, put his arm round his neck and squeezed. "And that pretty much says it all. It's one reason I love you, you big lug."

"Hey, guys," Mark said, lightening the mood. "I'm still here ya know. I thought this was gonna be a three-way afternoon ... three-way lounging round the pool, three-way effort in the kitchen and ... well, since Jamie's away, I'd like to invite you to spend the night in my apartment."

"A three-way in bed, you mean," Randy chuckled. "Well, the twins gave three-ways a whole new meaning when they worked Zack over. Maybe we can take a page out of their playbook."

Bob's eyes sparkled. "Long time since we spent a whole afternoon and night together, just us three. Let's see here – the pool, the kitchen, the bed – who knows, maybe we can write a whole playbook of our own. The story will begin something like this: "A construction worker, a cop, and a businessman walk into a garden one afternoon and ... Well, we'll make the rest up as we go along."

"OK," said Randy leaping to his feet. "Last one in the pool gets gang fucked."

Bob rolled his eyes at Mark and sighed, "See? A one-track mind."

"Not that there's anything wrong with that," Mark laughed. "Provided it's the right track."

They rushed out of the basement, peeling their clothes off as they ran up the stairs.

News of the twins' exploits had naturally spread like wildfire on the ever-efficient grapevine. Up at the Grady House, Grady, Mario and their boys Danny and Brian were spending the afternoon with Pete, Jason, Hassan and their boys, and the gossip was all about the twins' adventures.

"Man I wish I'd seen that," Grady laughed in his usual merry way. "Can you imagine, those gorgeous twins double teaming Zack, then dressing up in leather? OK, guys, for the rest of you that's the outfit du jour – the boys in full leather, topping their masters." Which set the boys off competing with one crazy idea after another as their masters smiled indulgently.

But one of the boys was unusually silent. Brandon found an excuse to leave the group by picking up used dishes from the table, piling them on the tray table of his wheelchair and wheeling himself away into the kitchen. The raucous crowd was so engrossed in their noisy story telling that they barely noticed Brandon leave.

But Pete did. The handsome Ranger had watched the expression on his boy's face change from amusement to melancholy as his buddies swapped their fantasy leather stories. Brandon had not joined in and had found an excuse to go off on his own. Pete followed him and found him gloomily stacking the dishes in the dishwasher.

"Hey, kiddo, what's up?"

"Nothing, sir."

"Brandon, look at me. This is me – Pete. Now tell me the truth like you always do."

Brandon plucked up his courage, looked Pete straight in the eye and said, "Sir, if you ever wanted to take on another boy, instead of me, I would quite understand. I mean a proper boy, one who could do what the other boys were talking about ... run around, dress in leather, stand over their masters and make them proud. I can't do that, sir. I can't walk, can't even stand, so I can't give you everything they can. I mean ..."

"Hey, hey stop right there, kid." Pete sat down next to him and gazed into his eyes. "Brandon, let's get one thing straight. You're my boy and always will be – only you. I love you, kiddo. Where's all this doom and gloom coming from? You're usually so tough and optimistic."

"Sorry, sir, I just thought that if ..."

"Well stop thinking right now and leave that to me. We can sort all this out later. When we get back home I've got something I wanna show you, and I'll tell you the plans I've got for us – just you and me. And then I'll take you to bed and make love to you. How's all that sound?"

Brandon had tears in his eyes behind his black-rimmed glasses but he blinked them back and a smile spread slowly over his face. "Sounds great, sir. Sorry I kinda lost it there. But one thing's for sure ... I love you, sir, and yeah ..." he held his head high "... I'm your boy alright."

"Good to hear it," Pete grinned. "Now let's get back to the party.

And so, while Randy, Bob and Mark partied hard – a trio of horny alpha males finding new ways to love – Pete was reassuring his insecure boy that the power of love overcomes all doubts and fears. It was as if the twins' passion had permeated the other men and boys of the tribe, opening the next, vibrant new chapter of their story.

********************* Chapter 336 *********************

Pete and Brandon were welcomed back to Grady's party and Pete continued to soothe his boy's doubts and despondency. He had already made plans that he hoped would help in that, which he would explain to his boy when he took Brandon home that evening and made love to him.

Meanwhile, down at the tribe's compound there was not a trace of reticence or melancholy. On the contrary, the three muscular alpha males were powered by roaring testosterone and overheated libidos – a combination of love, lust and mutual respect.

It had not always been like this. In the past there had been friction among the tormented trio, which was perhaps inevitable in three strong, macho alpha males – the rugged gypsy construction boss Randy; his businessman lover and Superman lookalike Bob; and the blond Greek-God motorcycle cop Mark. Back then the brooding tension that existed between them had led Doctor Steve, Randy's brother and the tribe's therapist, to dub them a "toxic triangle".

The problem had originated in Randy's intense and obsessive love for Bob. Randy was a dominant man who feared nothing, except (irrationally) that Bob would leave him. Mark always privately harbored a deep love and respect for Bob, which was reciprocated, and they had occasionally made passionate love together.

Fertile soil for smoldering envy and resentment between Randy and Mark!

And inevitably the tense situation had erupted in a brutal fight between the construction boss and the cop, like rival stallions battling for supremacy. But that climactic battle had resulted in a stunning realization of something long buried and unacknowledged ... the love and lust that Randy and Mark felt for each other but which had always been smothered under their rivalry.

Paradoxically the rivalry and the love sprang from the same source – the knowledge that they were both strong, dominant alpha males who, deep down, respected the other man's raw masculinity and admired his muscular beauty. It was a conflict inflamed by lust and, when they finally accepted that truth, their rivalry was transformed into a solid, masculine friendship and – in the spirit of the classic, time-honored plea – they made love, not war.

No one was more delighted than Bob and from then on the toxic trio became known to the tribe as the triumphant trio – acknowledged leaders of the clan.

And now here they were together in the rare situation of being alone in the normally crowded house. The senior boys were away on a trip out of town; most of the other men and boys were up at the Grady House; Zack and Adam were at Zack's house indulging their leather fantasies; and the twins were snug in their bedroom in their favorite pastime – indulging in their own sensuous version of brotherly love.

As Bob had said, "Long time since we spent a whole afternoon and night together, just us three." Mark had been more graphic: "I thought this was gonna be a three-way afternoon ... three-way lounging by the pool, three-way effort in the kitchen and – as my boy Jamie's away – I wanna invite you to spend the night in my apartment."

After watching the twins' extraordinary display of love for each other the men were totally juiced up as they shed their clothes running up the stairs from the basement. They were naked by the time they reached the top, raced across the garden and dived into the pool.

At first there was the usual splashing, grappling and wrestling – resembling not so much stallions as lion cubs tussling, flexing their muscles and honing their fighting skills. Their past rivalries were over but the natural aggression of hot-blooded lusty males, even good buddies, still found expression in friendly brawling.

But even these men finally ran out of stamina. Randy, standing chest deep in the water leaned with his back to the wall and pulled Bob up against him, both of them breathless. They gazed into each other's eyes and Randy said, "So, your twins sure showed us what love between two guys means. You think we can match them?"

"If you're asking if I can come just looking into your eyes, I think you know the answer is yes."

"Well, I was thinking of making it a little easier than that, buddy," Randy said, glancing over Bob's shoulder. "What I had in mind was this."

"Aaagh!" Bob was suddenly pressed against Randy by a driving force behind him ... the force of Mark's cock plunging into his ass under the water. "Fuck!" Bob yelled. "Fuck you both ... this is a conspiracy ... Oooh!" His protests faded into sighs of pleasure as he felt the cop's long dick sliding in and out of him and he pressed against the muscular gypsy's hard body.

"See?" Randy smiled, their faces inches apart. "Told you that would make it easier. Don't I always take good care of my man?" He waggled his tongue. "So where's my reward, buddy?"

Bob heard Mark's deep voice over his shoulder murmuring in his ear. "Make love to him, Bob. Make love to the big guy while I make love to your ass.

"Fuck you both," Bob smiled, then pressed his lips against Randy's. Their open mouths clamped together with the familiar feeling of sharing each other's warm breath, the same air sustaining them as their tongues slid over each other. The water lapped round their chests as the three alpha males joined in the first of many three-way couplings that afternoon.

Bob ran his hands down Randy's flared lats to his waist under water, then linked his hands behind his waist and pulled Randy harder against him, their stiff cocks grinding together between them. Randy ran his fingers through Bob's tousled wet hair and grabbed his head, holding it captive while he kissed him roughly.

Bob loved the sensation of being trapped between these two gorgeous, powerful men proving their love and lust for him and never wanted it to end. But eventually Randy pulled his mouth away and stared into Bob's eyes. His hypnotic voice said softly, "Now you know what you have to do, buddy. Your twins showed you the way. Show me you love me. Show Mark you love his cock in your ass. Only one way to do that. Look at me, man ... you love me don't you?"

Whenever Bob saw his own face reflected in the swarthy gypsy's pale blue eyes the result was always the same. Impossible to hold back. "Fuck me, Mark," Bob sighed, "I love you guys. Cum with me Randy ... yeah ... now ... now!" ..."

As he felt Mark's cock shudder and erupt inside him Bob smiled into Randy's eyes (just as the twins had smiled at each other) and together they blasted a load of semen that floated up to the surface of the water between them.

Mark pulled out of Bob gently and came round next to them. "Hey, guys, can I get a lick in here?" He ran his tongue over their lips as they kissed, and they invited him to share in their embrace ... a very wet, very breathless, but positively triumphant trio!

Soon their three-way kiss collapsed into sputtering mirth that made them separate in a gale of laughter. When at last they calmed down Mark said, "Well, we did promise a three-way in the pool and, if nothing else, we guys do honor our promises."

"Yeah," Bob said, "and I'm the one who ended up with a dick in his ass – bastards." He pressed his hands on their heads, pushed them both forcibly under water and ran out of the pool. Randy surfaced and followed him while Mark reached up and grabbed Bob's leg as he ran by.

The trip sent Bob sprawling on the grass and, in an instant, Randy was on top of him. He flipped him over on his back and pushed his legs in the air while Mark emerged, knelt at Bob's head and clamped his wrists to the ground. "Hey, guys, cool it!" Bob shouted. "We're three intelligent, civilized guys and – what? – when we're alone together all we can find to do is fuck?"

"Yeaah!" Randy and Mark shouted together, grinning down at him.

"Animals," Bob said, stifling a grin. "You disappoint me. I expected a bit more sophistication."

"I don't do sophistication," Randy said derisively, "and Mark's a cop."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mark objected. "That all cops are Neanderthals like you?"

"Hey, who are you calling a `knee-ander...' whatever that was?"

"It means caveman, Randy," Bob said, wriggling free while the gypsy and the cop were distracted by their sudden playful dispute. "And I'd say that nails you perfectly."

"Oh right, caveman again is it?" Randy said, faking indignation. "That's a low blow, dude. Well I can prove I'm no caveman `cos cavemen didn't drink beer and I could kill for one right now."

There was a momentary stunned silence, then all three men roared with laughter and collapsed in a heap. "You know, big guy," Mark laughed, "you can be a prize idiot sometimes. Only you could make a segué from caveman to beer."

"Whad'ya mean?" Randy protested. "I was serious. I need a damn beer. Where are those twins anyway? They usually come running out right on cue."

Bob rolled his eyes and sighed. "Randy, if your memory span was longer than a gnat's you would recall that we gave the twins the rest of the day off. They are no doubt making love upstairs even as we speak. Now that's sophistication. And in their absence we're fending for ourselves."

"He's right you know, buddy," Mark agreed. "And I vote that the guy who is the most parched for a beer is elected to go to the kitchen and get a six-pack from the fridge."

Bob looked at Randy derisively. "I appreciate that the kitchen is unfamiliar territory for you, Randy, but the entrance is over there to the left. And the fridge will be that big tall white thing with two doors facing you against the wall."

"Asshole," Randy grinned, but he got up and went into the house. Mark smiled, "You know, you get away with murder with that guy, Bob. Anyone else, he'd slug `em."

"Yeah well I already got a lot of fist-slugs in the memory bank, Mark. Randy slugged me so often in his real caveman days that the account's full and we just draw on the memory if things get rough," Bob laughed

"Nah, seriously, Mark, deep down he's still the fist-swinging Texas gypsy, but he's become much more civilized. Look at the way he shed a tear watching the twins. I wouldn't say it rises to the level of sophistication – like he said, Randy doesn't do sophistication – but he's even developed quite a sense of humor. Oh shit, and here comes proof of it."

They looked up at the weirdly incongruous sight of the naked muscular construction boss wearing one of the twins' white bib-aprons, a knee-length affair looped round the neck and tied round the waist, leaving the ass bare at the back.

The strange thing was that, as absurd as it might look, Randy still managed to look supremely sexy with his muscular arms and shoulders and his swarthy, stubbled features that contrasted with the white cotton fabric. Randy had such strong intrinsic sex-appeal that no clothes could mask it – even a crazy outfit like this.

He was carrying a big tray loaded with beers, chips and dip that he placed on a table with a flourish and the deferential statement, "Gentlemen, refreshments are served. Is there any other service I can provide you today?"

Mark jumped to his feet and laughed, "Oh, don't get me started, man." He reached round and squeezed his bare butt. "Beginning with this."

"Forbidden territory," Randy growled. "Around here I'm known as the fuck-er not the fuck-ee."

"Oh really?" Mark said, shooting Bob an amused look with raised eyebrows and a downturned mouth."

Randy took off the joke apron and the three men lounged round the table buck naked and reached for the beers. Bob asked, "Now please, Randy, can you think of something to talk about other than fucking."

Randy twisted his finger tip into his cheek, crossed his eyes, and with a hillbilly drawl said, "Nope – cain't say as I can, mister."

"You really are the king of assholes, you know that?"

"Yeah, and you're the asshole's lover – what does that make you, the asshole's dick?"

The mocking banter continued amid howls of laughter as the men relished the virile company of their best buddies. Of course they did eventually settle into conversations not focused on sex, including praise for the twins that evolved into discussions of all the boys, especially speculation about what the four senior boys – Pablo, Darius, Jamie and Nate – were up to in the dunes.

Mark said, "I got a call from Jamie who said there was a lot of sex happening – no surprise there – and that Pablo had been pulling his superior `head boy' stunt until they tied him up and fucked some sense into him."

"Yeah," Randy shrugged, "well he probably had that coming. Anyone who goes around spouting all that `I'm-top-man' bullshit to his best buddies needs to be taught a lesson."

There was a sudden silence as Bob and Mark stared hard at him with sparkling eyes and sputtering laughs. "Hey, I was talking about Pablo," Randy growled. "Don't get any ideas, guys."

In all their friendly banter, and even their more substantial conversation, the subject of sex hung always in the air despite Bob's plea to the contrary. The only question was when, not if, it would rear its head again. That answer came when they went to the kitchen.

Hunger, of course, caught up with them soon enough, along with the realization that they were on their own when it came to food. "Shit damn," Randy said, "where are the twins when you need them? I know, I know, upstairs fucking – a word I'm banned from mentioning apparently."

"Oh you can mention it, dude, but right now you have to choose between fucking and eating."

"Huh, you got me there, pal. Tough choice – I got big appetites for both. OK, eat first, fuck second. Never thought I hear myself say that."

The three men had been spoiled by having two young gourmet chefs to make sure their stomachs were filled. Not today, though.

When Bob had chided Randy that the kitchen was unfamiliar territory to him, the same could apply to all of them, except that Bob had some rudimentary skills as he enjoyed working with the twins sometimes. But they always gave him directions and this time he was in charge. "Hmm," he mused, "it's like the start of a bad joke ... three musclehunks in a kitchen. Not very promising."

Fortunately the twins had been their usual thoughtful selves before they disappeared upstairs. "Well look at that," Mark said, "those kids put out for us everything we're gonna need ... three big salmon steaks, potatoes for baking and bunches of spinach. They've even laid out all the herbs and stuff that we'll need."

"Yeah, now all we have to do is cook it," Randy said morosely.

"No problem, men," Bob grinned. "We've met worse challenges than this. Unfortunately, Randy, fists won't solve this one. Calls for a delicate touch."

"I don't have no delicate touch," Randy pouted. Bob chuckled. "Tell me about it! Never mind, buddy, just follow my lead and do what I tell you. I suggest you wash the spinach. I think even you can handle that. You just throw it in the sink and turn on the tap."

"Mark, you mix the sour cream and yoghurt and other stuff the twins left there for the potatoes and I'll get the steaks ready for the oven." With varying degrees of willingness they got to work.

If Darius had been there with his camera he would definitely have proclaimed this `one for the archives' – three muscular, buck-naked alpha males with semi-erect cocks grappling with the mysteries of a kitchen. A ham-fisted Randy got more water on the floor than he did on the spinach. Mark cursed softly as he stood at the butcher-block table trying to measure out the confusing ingredients. Bob had the most success spreading herbs and spices on the steaks ready for roasting.

Then Mark had a spill. The butcher-block island in the middle of the room was where the twins usually chopped, mixed and prepared ingredients. But they knew what they were doing, which is more than could be said of Mark. He was whipping the sour cream in a bowl with such force that his hand slipped, the bowl shot forward over the front of the table and crashed to the floor.

Reflexively Mark lunged forward frantically in a futile attempt to catch it and ended up splayed across the table on his stomach, his arms reaching down to the floor trying to pick up the shattered pieces. "Shit fuck piss," he groaned, "the motherfucker got away from me."

Bob laughed, "Cop – beaten by a bowl," as he stared at the naked man sprawled across the butcher-block. But Randy's gaze was more sharply focused on the bare ass pointing up at him – almost begging for it."

"Shit damn," officer he grinned, "why do you do this to me? You know I can never resist an invitation like that." He spat in his hand, grabbed his semi-erect cock and, with just a few strokes, made it hard as steel. He pressed down on the small of Mark's back and drove his thick cock between the exposed ass cheeks and deep down his chute.

Mark's head, hanging over the other edge of the table, jerked up and he yelled, "Aaah ... fuck you, man."

"No, fuck you, officer," Randy laughed. "You know what they say, dude ... if you can't stand the heat, stay out of the kitchen. Except I don't think that's an option for you right now, buddy." Randy looked up and winked at Bob.

Bob walked to the front of the table where Mark's head was again hanging down in submissive acceptance of the inevitable butt fuck. Bob grabbed his tangle of blond hair and pulled his face up, inches away from his already rigid dick. "Sorry about this, buddy," he smiled.

Mark looked up at the stunning body and face of the man he loved and grinned, "I'm not. Go for it big guy." He opened his mouth and ... "mmm" ... he felt Bob's warm, thick shaft slide down his throat."

Randy was having a ball. He was careful not to pound hard – this was a love fuck, not a revenge fuck – as he shifted his hands and pressed them now on the rock-hard cheeks of the cop's ass while he pushed his cock between them like a slow, steady piston. He gazed down at the rippling muscles of the cop's broad back, then up at Bob's face glowing blissfully as he fucked the handsome Greek-God face.

"Well, buddy," Randy said, "one thing's for sure. If a guy's gonna get spit-roasted, best place is the kitchen. And you don't even have to fire up the oven. Let's show the police officer how much we love him, buddy."

Bob grinned, "Well cops are pledged to protect and serve' so I guess this is the serve' bit."

At that comment Mark choked on Bob's cock, which had less to do with his gag reflex than his smothered laugh. He reached up and grabbed Bob's waist, raised his eyes and gazed lovingly at Bob as he feasted on his cock. "Eat it, man," Bob smiled. "God it looks so hot, that gorgeous face getting fucked, those sexy lips wrapped round my cock."

As the three muscle-gods settled into a sensuous three-way fuck they were not entirely unobserved – or at least unheard. The twins' bedroom was immediately above the kitchen and, lying nestled together in bed, they had heard the clumsy sounds of the trio's attempts at cooking their dinner. The brothers grinned and winced as they imagined the scene.

When the mixing bowl crashed to the floor Kyle said, "Ouch. Sounds like things are not going as planned. Bet that was Randy."

"Nah," Kevin giggled. "Bob would never let him near our chinaware. Ever hear the phrase `bull in a china shop?' It was probably Mark."

"Prob'ly. It's quieter now, except for all those grunts and groans. Wonder who's getting fucked."

"Not Randy, I bet. He's like Pablo – always boasts that he's top man."

"You're right, bro. But you heard what the guys did to Pablo in the dunes. Group fucked him real good ... brought him down to earth with a bump. If Randy pulls the same shit, Bob and Mark won't let him get away with it for long."

The twins' speculation was pretty close to the mark. They knew better than any of the others the dynamics and cross-currents in the tribe and observed it all with detached amusement – just as they were listening now. And the volume was about to increase.

Mark had been subjected to his buddies' cocks for some time now, one driving into his ass, and the other filling his mouth, with a rhythmic pounding that made his muscles flex and his cock shudder on the table beneath him. The two men he loved were using his magnificent body, sprawled on the table, and he knew he couldn't last much longer without busting his load. His arms tensed and he tightened his grip on Bob's waist.

Bob felt the tension and knew what it meant. He pulled out and said, "You ready, Mark?"

"Sure, man. I wanna drink you." He turned his head to look back over his shoulder at Randy. "You hear that mother-fucker? I'm real stoked ... I gotta shoot."

As always in these situations it was Randy who called the shots – the cum shots. "OK, suck dick, big guy." Again Mark clamped his mouth over the long shaft and Randy smiled across his muscled back at Bob.

"You gorgeous son of a bitch, let's fill up the cop with our jizz, show him how much we love the big stud." Then louder (loud enough so the twins heard), "OK, men, let's do it! Shit damn this feels good." He pounded ass harder, Bob sank his cock deep down Mark's throat and ... "aaagh!" ... they poured semen into the blond cop's ass and mouth.

A muffled scream came from the gagged cop as he swallowed hard, his body bucked and his cock erupted with hot juice that spread beneath him all over the butcher-block table.

Upstairs, Kyle smiled at Kevin. "At last ... took them long enough. Now maybe we'll get some peace and quiet ... as long as they don't burn down the kitchen."

"Yeah, but what worries me is the mess the kitchen will be in. You can only imagine – floor and counters smothered with food, broken china, liquid – won't be able to tell the difference between semen and sour-cream. We should make them clean it up."

"Yeah," Kyle grinned devilishly. "You know what we should do? Put on those leather outfits Zack gave us and crack the whip making those naked musclemen crawl around swabbing the floor. Then we'll cum all over them and make them clean that up too."

They giggled at the improbable scenario and cuddled closer. "Well," Kevin smiled, "a guy can dream can't he?"

Despite kitchen chaos and a spit-roasted cop, the meal was surprisingly good.

Of course, there was a lot of confusion at first as a cop sprawled naked on the butcher block doesn't leave much room for anything else, so the herbs and condiments carefully set out by the twins had gone flying. Bob brought out replacements – or as many as he could remember – and the salmon steaks got properly seasoned and roasted, the potatoes got oiled and baked, the topping got mixed and the spinach got steamed.

They even made an attempt at cleaning up the kitchen, though not to the exacting standards of the twins, and it was a self-satisfied trio that sat round the table by the pool. Bob had insisted they dress for dinner, which consisted of pulling on boxer shorts.

Of course, one thing they had found in the kitchen with no difficulty was the wine, which they now swallowed with relish. Randy raised his glass and said proudly, "Well, guys, we did it!"

"Er, are you talking about cooking dinner or spit-roasting me?" Mark grinned.

"Well both," Randy boasted. "Not often a cop and a salmon get roasted at the same time."

"Randy," Bob said dismissively, "you make it sound as if you accomplished both single-handedly. You may have taken the lead fucking Mark but, as I recall, your culinary contribution was minimal at best. Basically washing the spinach."

"Well at least I didn't end up spilling it all on the floor like our police officer pal here."

"Hey, I could have caught that bowl if you hadn't nailed my ass first, mother-fucker."

And so the high-spirited conversation seguéd rapidly from sex to salmon and back to sex. They did for a while talk about the tribe, the men, the boys and their work, but there was a subtext that Randy did not pick up on but which Bob and Mark were acutely aware of as they exchanged secret glances throughout the meal.

It was actually a mirror image of what had happened with their boys on their trip to the dunes. They too had indulged in some wild group sex right from the start, but Jamie, Darius and Nate had nursed a growing desire to, as Darius had put it, `knock that boss's-boy bullshit' out of Pablo, the self-described top man of the group.

Pablo and his master Randy were cut from the same cloth – the boss and the boss's boy – and Pablo had even used the same terms as Randy – fuck-er and fuck-ee – seeing himself most definitely as the former. Just as Pablo had attempted to fuck the cop's boy Jamie, so Randy had ploughed the cop himself in the kitchen.

Normally the boys followed the example of their men, but here the sequence was reversed. Bob and Mark loved Randy like crazy, but even in the playful, rambunctious atmosphere of this man-fest they still felt the need to puncture his inflated self-image. The boss's boy had been group-fucked into subservience and it looked like the boss himself was to meet the same fate.

But Bob and Mark knew that, unlike Pablo, Randy could not be man-handled into submission. He was too tough for that ... in physical strength he really was the boss. But Bob had a more subtle arsenal of persuasion.

Randy had previously boasted that, in training the twins how to win a fight, he had taught them to first spot the rival's weakness. Bob was an old hand at this and knew exactly how to push Randy's buttons and play on his weakness. Randy's belief in himself as the undisputed boss meant that he always rose to a challenge ... it was bred in the bone ... he couldn't resist.

So that's the soft spot Bob went for. "Man, how about those twins today, uh, overpowering Zack and double fucking him?" he said, referring to the earlier scene of the twins' triumph. He glanced meaningfully at Mark who picked up his cue.

"Yeah but you know, not many men have the guts to let themselves be used like that. Hell, Zack could have thrown those kids off in a second if he chose to, but he wanted to give them the thrill they were looking for. Most macho guys would be too insecure to let their buddies see them take two dicks in their ass at once – especially getting double-teamed by two boys. But Zack is one of a kind, as tough as they come. He has nothing to feel insecure about."

"Hey," Randy protested, "that don't prove how tough a guy is. Don't get me wrong, I admire Zack's strength, but hell, taking two dicks in your ass don't prove nothin'. I can take Zack in a fight anytime and I can do anything he does and more."

There was an uneasy silence as Bob and Mark exchanged looks that showed they were unconvinced. Randy shot surprised looks at each of them. "What? You don't believe me?"

"You would let the twins double-team you while everyone watched?" Bob asked

"In a heartbeat. And I could take bigger dicks than theirs too." He saw the others exchange smiles and the penny dropped. "Ah, I get it now, I know what you two assholes are up to. Well it won't work – I'm not falling for that."

Mark and Bob high-fived each other and Bob laughed, "You won your bet, dude. You said he didn't have the guts and I didn't believe you. I guess Zack's the bigger man after all."

"Now wait just a goddam minute here," Randy said, springing to his feet. "You," pointing at Bob, "get down on the goddam grass – right there where Zack was."

Meekly Bob got up from the table and lay on his back on the lawn, looking up at Randy as if scared of him – a look that always turned Randy on like crazy. Randy reached down, ripped Bob's shorts off him and knelt down beside him. "I want this rock hard, man." He closed his mouth over Bob's already stiff cock and brought it to the required `rock hardness'.

He leapt to his feet, dropped his shorts and stood astride Bob like a colossus, glaring down at him. "You think I can't fucking take this? You know damn well I can take anything, starting with your schlong!" He dropped to his knees astride Bob's waist and in one bold move dropped his ass onto Bob's wet rod, riding it all the way down without even flinching.

"Feel good, man? You like fucking the big guy's ass? Well try this ..." He rose and fell rapidly on Bob's cock, sitting on it hard, letting it penetrate deep inside him. It was typical of Randy's legendary savage fucks, except that this time it was his own ass getting pounded, almost like he was fucking himself – blurring the line between fuck-er and fuck-ee.

Bob was blown away, staring up the swarthy muscle-god gypsy with his stubbled jaw and long black hair, his ass riding his cock. Straddling Bob like a rodeo cowboy astride a bucking stallion, the man was a homoerotic icon of machismo, even when he was getting fucked in the ass – especially when he was getting fucked.

"Don't you cum yet, man," he commanded, feeling Bob's cock shudder inside him. Then he looked back over his shoulder and shouted to Mark, "What are you waiting for, officer? Come on, let's see what you got." Randy leaned forward, his face now directly above Bob's and Bob opened his mouth to drink the sweat that dripped from the gypsy face.

Jumping into the action Mark took off his shorts and his cock sprang out, iron hard, already dripping pre-cum from watching the two handsome lovers fuck. He knelt close behind Randy and pressed the head of his dick at the point where Bob's cock entered Randy. He waited until Randy pushed back onto Bob's rod and drove his own in on top of it.

Randy's body shuddered with the impact and Mark expected an agonized yell. But there was no howl of pain. The only reaction was Randy staring unflinchingly at Bob and saying, "See, buddy, that's how a real man takes two stud cocks in his ass ... how he gets double-teamed by his buddies. OK, guys, let's go for it," he yelled and moved faster, sliding his ass back and forth on the two long shafts. The sensation for Bob and Mark was mesmerizing as they felt their cocks sliding against each other in the gypsy's hot ass.

Bob stared in disbelief at the pale blue eyes gazing resolutely down at him. But, knowing Randy intimately, sensing his every mood, he glimpsed an almost imperceptible grimace in his eyes and knew that Randy was enduring more pain than he let on. Bob didn't expect Randy to verbally submit, but submission can take many forms and he was about to see one of them.

Randy, a seasoned fighter, knew that the best form of defense was attack ... and the fact that his own ass was under attack made no difference. His pride would not let him submit to these guys ... but he could make them cum. He could always make a guy do that. So, despite the pain, he stepped up the force of the two pistons driving inside him by pounding his ass on them harder and faster.

"That all you got, men?" he shouted. "Come on, guys, fuck! Fuck my ass. Fuck the boss's ass, make him bust his load all over his lover."

It was everything short of pleading. He grabbed his own cock and stroked it. "It's what you want, right buddy?" he said to Bob. "You wanna feel my jizz pouring all over that gorgeous body of yours, over your face? You wanna drink my cum, I know you do. Feel the cop's dick sliding against yours in my ass? You make him cum in me and I'll splash my juice all over you."

Bob stared up at the laser blue eyes penetrating his and said, "Yeah, I want it, man. I want it real bad. My cock feels so hot in your ass, I gotta cum. Oh shit ... Mark, cum with me, buddy. You ready?"

"Let's do it, man," Mark yelled "... let's shoot together inside him. Damn that feels hot. I love you, guys ... yeah ... fuck ... fuck ... Aaagh!"

That was all three men howling like animals, the sound bouncing round the garden and echoing over the sunbaked hills. Feeling two simultaneous explosions of juice deep inside him, Randy pumped his dick and blasted a ribbon of cum that arced up high in the air and splashed down into Bob's open mouth."

The clamor faded into silence as they let their cocks drain, let their heartbeats slow and their breathing subside. Then suddenly Randy rose up off their cocks, leapt to his feet and stood astride Bob, his eyes gleaming in triumph. If he had beaten his chest and given a Tarzan yell they would not have been surprised. But instead he grinned and said simply, "Thanks guys," and performed a graceful swan dive into the pool.

Mark pulled Bob to his feet, they wiped off their cocks and sat at the table. As Mark poured more wine he smiled at Bob. "The guy's amazing. Even when he's getting fucked by two big cocks at the same time he manages to come out on top. I feel like it's us who just got jackhammered. How does he do it? Does he feel no pain?'

"Oh yeah he does," Bob chuckled. "Look at him now, sitting in the pool with his back to the wall against the warm-water jet, letting it soothe his ass. It's plenty sore and, yeah, he felt real pain. Not that he'd ever admit it. `Real men' never show weakness – another of his sayings."

Mark smiled. "Been one hell of a day, Bob. I love you guys so much. You, er, still gonna spend the night at my place? Randy too?"

"Of course we are, dude ... you, me and Randy ... especially Randy now that he's once again proved his top-man status. And, er, maybe we can get some sleep too?"

"We'll see about that," Randy shouted from the pool, always getting the last word.

Upstairs from their bedroom window the twins looked down at the garden having witnessed the whole scene. "So dude," Kevin said, "who do you think came out the winner there?"

"They all did," Kyle laughed. "Winning and losing is a thing of the past for those guys. Now they're equals and, more important, in love." He sighed. "No, the only loser in all this is our kitchen. Come on, bro, let's go down and survey the wreckage."

Meanwhile, up at the Grady House the afternoon had passed with just as much gusto and laughter as the three men in their macho bonding down at the tribe's house.

After their brief chat in the kitchen Pete and Brandon had rejoined the party where they were greeted warmly. Grady and his guests had all put two and two together and realized that something was the matter. They guessed, correctly, that it probably had something to do with their boisterous conversation about leather boys strutting around and standing defiantly over their masters.

But one thing they had all learned from way back is that the last thing Brandon ever wanted was for guys to make special allowances for him, either in what they did or said. There was to be no tiptoeing around the fact that Brandon was in a wheelchair. So their conversation resumed unabated and Brandon smilingly joined in.

After all, he was back with the three amigos – himself, Eddie and Ben – and their pals Danny and Brian, with Grady as circus ringmaster endowing the gathering with his charismatic charm and bubbling sense of fun. The Grady House was a House of Mirth.

Through it all Pete kept a close but discreet eye on Brandon. He was a brave, independent boy but Pete knew that occasionally his awareness of being different from the other boys reared its head and triggered a melancholy mood for a while. Pete loved Brandon for his strength and courage and saw part of his job as his master to help him maintain his usual optimism and make sure he didn't lapse back into sadness and insecurity.

Pete also knew that with Brandon you could not sweep feelings and problems under the rug. Part of Brandon's strength came from confronting issues head on. Which is why, when they got back home and settled down with a late-night brandy, Pete looked Brandon in the eye and said, "Brandon, that little chat we had up at Grady's this afternoon. We didn't get into it too much at the time, and I know how you like to talk things out, so do you want to talk about it now?"

"Yes please, sir. Like I said, it was when the guys started kidding around about doing what the twins had done – you know, dressing in leather, walking around preening, and standing legs astride over their masters, that I tried to imagine myself doing the same thing for you ... but of course I couldn't `cos I'm in this frigging wheelchair."

"But, kiddo, I always thought you had come to terms with that long ago. I mean you're so independent and so cheerful, something I love about you."

"Yeah, most of the time, sir. But underneath all that the truth still nags at me and sometimes, out of nowhere, it rises up and socks me in the kisser. Face it, the real truth is that I'm not like the other guys and never will be."

"But Brandon, that's what makes you so special for the other boys. They love you for being so brave and think of you as their hero."

"But that's just the point, sir! I don't want to be special or brave or anyone's hero. I just want to be an ordinary, regular guy, no different from the other boys. I want to be like a normal boy for you, sir, so we can do things together – all the things you want me to do."

"Brandon," Pete smiled, "I won't insult you with the platitude that you already do all those things. But if words don't work, maybe deeds will. He went to a closet and pulled a package from the top shelf.

"You remember that time when we went out to the desert as part of Zack's motor-cycle gang – me on a Harley riding next to you on that nifty motor-trike of yours? Darius lent you one of his leather outfits and a spare helmet and you looked terrific. So after that I went right out and bought you this. I was waiting for the right moment to give it to you ... and now's the moment."

Brandon took the package and ripped it open. His eyes opened wide as he saw a full leather outfit ... chaps, vest, sleeveless leather shirt, the works. "And there's these too." Pete pulled off the shelf black boots and a badass skull-cap helmet – "like those Hell's Angels wear."

Brandon's eyes brimmed with tears, he leaned forward and threw his arms round Pete's neck. "I love you so much, sir. It looks awesome."

"And that's not all. There's a reason I'm giving it to you now, kid. See, I'm off work for a few days so I called Uncle Mike out in the desert. Right away he invited you and me to take a run out there and stay with him. You seem to be a favorite of Mike's after what you did for his nephew Brian, and as I recall you were a big hit in the leather bar Mike owns."

Brandon opened his mouth but Pete said, "You don't have to decide now. I'm sure as hell going `cos I could use some desert sun and the company of the guys out there. But ... what with this depression you're in ... I'll quite understand if you don't feel like coming, afraid you'd be out of place among all those guys – you know, like you said, too different from them all ... can't do what they do. So if you'd rather stay home, I understand. I'll only be gone a few days, so ..."

"Sir," Brandon said, blinking back tears behind his black rimmed glasses, "Please stop. I know just what you're doing – trying to jerk me out of my funk by throwing my own words back at me. I never heard such bullshit. Hearing it coming out of your mouth makes me feel stupid ..."

"So you'll come?" Pete beamed.

"Sir, if you try to leave me home I'll get all dressed up in my new leather gear and follow you on my bike. And you know it's got a ton of power and can overtake your Harley any day of the week. So I'm afraid you're stuck with me, sir, and so is Uncle Mike."

Pete roared with laughter and said, "That's my boy. Besides, in the future when the twins cater Mike's party for all his leather buddies they're gonna wear the leather outfits Zack gave them. They'll ask you to help them and you have to look the part, right?"

"Right, sir."

"OK, here's what's gonna happen now. We're gonna shower together – and if you wanna suck my dick in there that's allowed – and them I'm gonna take you to bed and make love to my boy. In the morning we'll get up early, you'll call Bob and ask his permission to take a few days off work. And if he says yes, we'll suit up in our leather and hit the road. How's all that sound?"

"Sounds perfect, sir." He blinked excitedly. "You know, whenever the other guys go to the desert they always seem to have some kind of adventure. Think that'll happen to us?'

"I'd bet money on it kiddo. OK, let's hit the shower."

TO BE CONTINUED in "A Trial Of Strength" – Chapter 337

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 invite 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