Bar Tab Buy Out

The story below is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any resemblances to real people, alive or in the hereafter, is entirely coincidental in nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons, of continents or islands, in countries, counties, cities, towns, villages, neighborhoods, streets, cul-de-sacs, nor governmental or non-governmental areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then why are you here? Seriously, if guy-to-guy sex stuff makes you barf or is going to screw up your mind, you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most states and countries, you are not allowed to read this story, by law. Check with your local laws regarding such.

% Sexual safety matters. Remember guys, this is fiction. In real life, use protection.

Bar Tab Buy-out! 11 wriTten by Travis-Chase McPhee

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"I smell something," Tom twitched his nose.

"Don't worry," Scott cautioned him, "if I had farted you would have heard the bubbles!"

Giggling, Tom says, "And felt them on my back?"

"Sure, bubbles are good in a spa for massaging!"

"No wonder you're a CEO of a corporation, Scott. You're right on the ball with all the answers!"

Both had relaxed in the warm tub to the point of allowing their limbs to go limp. However, Tom had managed to keep Scott's hard shaft, lying in his crevice, far from slacking off. Every now and then, as Tom had felt the need, would shift his butt to the left or right.

For Scott, each time he felt Tom's ass move, it would create a sensation and, from three sides, two parts skin, one part tub surface, kept Scott's cock in a nice, sensual chamber of sorts. However, as Tom has sensed, Scott too remarks, "Now I smell it too."

"Wasn't me," Tom twisted his head about, attaching a smile, joking back about 'farting'. Too, Tom hasn't forgotten about Scott's promise last night and working it in with the aroma wafting up from the kitchen downstairs, "It would probably be a good idea if we had something to eat before we have some playtime in Marco's dungeon?"

He expected to be shot down right away, but perked up his attitude upon hearing Scott say, "I think it might be just what I need to start out the day, only..."

At first it sounded good, Tom switching himself around in the lukewarm water. Facing Scott, on his knees, Tom asks, "But you have to head off to work, right?" And before Scott can get the edge on the conversation, "and I 'should' be getting off to school."

For himself, Scott wasn't sure whether or not he had a job to go to, but surely, Tom had responsibilities. "I can drive you, if you need a ride."

"Great," Tom replies, but with more concern about his 'needs', "then do you think you can pick me up afterwards and we could come here and you can start working on me in the dungeon?"

He shook his head back and forth.

"What?" Tom questions.

"If I wasn't so wise about what a man yearns for, about his cravings and if he doesn't get what he needs, how things can be so unbearable..." Scott then relates to, "There have been times I've been so tempted to get on a gay chatroom and invite some guy over for sex."

"Then why didn't you?"

"Because I knew it would become a habit. Habits are tough to break and unlike most people, I 'do' have an interest in pursuing some other qualtitative things in life besides 'instant hookups'."

Lying right down on his front, Tom's chin came to rest on Scott's chest, Scott too slipping his ass down a bit. With a purpose, Tom conveys, "Now wouldn't it be nice not to have to go fishing everytime you got the urge to bait the hook, Scott?" With the smile of the devil, Tom stares at Scott's face, his tongue forced out of the side of his mouth and stabbing him in the nip.

At first he looked into Tom's eyes, but then glanced at the tongue-toy playing with his nip. "You keep doing that and you're going to have me going and getting hard!"

"Getting you hard, Scott?" Tom replies, his hand already confirming! More toying, "I wonder how the other nip will make you react?" Without Scott knowing, Tom used his big toe, left foot, to depress the metal tab which opens the drain, as his tongue wagged towards the other nip.

"Oh-h-h-h-h!" Scott called out, dropping his head back slowly as his senses picked up on the tip of Tom's tongue massaging his nip, Tom's finger playing with the other and a second hand working on his cock. Half the reaction was self-induced, Scott wanting to make the eighteen year old 'think' he was driving him wild with the nip-toying, when actually it had been partially the teen's breathing abs massaging him down below.

But Scott wasn't the only one getting hard, as Tom announces, "Look's like I'm not the only one getting something out of this?"

An an inch of water left in the tub, "Hey, where'd all the water go?"

Wise to Tom's toe toying with the drain, Scott says, "No water, huh? I suppose it's our cue to get out and get dried off?"

"And have my morning protein drink before getting ready for school?" Tom says, all for the idea.

Pressuring Scott, Tom rolls upon his knees, pushes on the tub floor and gets up on his feet.

"What are you? A ten?" Scott asks, sitting there and looking point blank at Tom's hard erection.

"Um, I thought you would have that all figured out Scott. Like, how deep is your throat?"

Scott, being helped up by Tom, replies, "Um, like I never stuck a ruler down my throat to find out?"

In the almost emptied tub the two stood there, both temporarily forgetting about their hard cocks. Still slimy, they wove their arms in between each other, connected from head to pubes and kissed.

It didn't last long, Tom asking his thirty-four year old tub partner, "Ready to plug my ass?"

"Sure, but I don't happen to have a baseball bat handy?"

"Really?" Tom showed exclamation, because he thought it would be hot to feel either end of a baseball bat dividing his ass cheeks. Then, with reference to the dungeon, "Do you think Marco has one or something like it?"

Scott comes back with, "Tom, have you ever had anything, other than a man's cock, up your ass?"

With curiosity, Tom asks, "Have you ever put anything, other than your cock, up a man's ass?"

Then exchanged smiles, meant 'nada'.

Mellowing out, Tom's face show a more serious side as he asks, "Um, do you think you might like to try?"

Stepping closer, Scott replies, "I think I would be more inclined to using 'this'," he holds his cock, "rather than something artificial."

"Cool! So you still want to fuck me?"

"I'm not into fucking eighteen year olds!"

Then, Scott backing off, Tom reasons, "But I thought you liked me Scott?"

"I do and that's why I'm respecting your rights," he sends a message, "so you can hold out for that special man who will one day walk into your life and sweep you off your feet." Scott turns towards a bureau, opens a draw and rifles through a bunch of socks.

Sneaking up from behind, Tom weaves his arms in between Scott's sides. One hand rubs across his stomach, the other working up to a pec. "How come you can't be that special man who sweeps me off my feet, Scott?"

He can't battle his thoughts, Tom's cheek rubbing over his back, his chin resting on his shoulder is anything but moving and sensual. Throwing the sock back in the draw, Scott turns abruptly, tearing Tom's hold from over him, lecturing, "Look, I'm a thirty-four year old man. You're eighteen."

"Yeah, so?"

"So, you've got your whole life ahead of you... school, graduation, college years and then finding your way in the world. You'll probably meet some guy your own age, find some children needing parents and live happily ever after."

Feeling rejected, with attitude Tom tells him, off, "Yeah sure Scott. You treated me real nice and what for? What am I, you're morning hookup? Don't you even like me a little?"

"I like you a lot Tom, but you're young. What are you going to do with an old man?"

"You're not old Scott."

"I will be. When you're twenty-eight, I'll forty-four."

"Forty-four isn't old. But that's okay Scott," Tom says, grabbing his clothes up, "you go off and find some 'old man' your own age!"

The door slams shut, Scott standing there looking at it.

"Man, did I fuck up!" Scott says, flopping his ass down on the bed and beginning to condemning himself, "What's so bad about a teenaged lover?" Then, tossing it with rationalization, "Just what I wanted... to live my college years all over again!" As he sits up, Scott slaps his hands on the bed, which propels him to his feet. He walks over to the bureau where he threw the socks back in the drawer. Slowly looking up himself, the mirror the vehicle for reflecting his self-guilt, he centers on his face, replying to his image, "Well, what are you going to do about it, asshole?"

Opening the door, he exits, looks in front of him, towards the stairway, then the other way. "I wonder where he could have gone?" Then, looking down the front of himself, "Oops!" when he discovers he's not in a private corridor, without a stitch of clothing.

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"Looks like you've found your way around the kitchen?" Marco says to John, the twenty-seven year old construction worker-turned volunteer cook.

"It doesn't take much ingenuity to conjure up something out of nothing," John replies.

Marco breathes on his bare shoulder, except where the straps from the apron graze his collarbone.

Then straying from subject, John asks, "How did your phone calls go?"

"Not bad," Marco replies. Then, pertaining to one call, which wasn't business surrounding his paying job, "I spoke with the man in charge of setting up the party in the Greek Isles..."

Turning away from the frying pan on the stove, John asks, "This 'Vince Rodgers' fellow?"

"Right."

"So, did you ask him about me?"

"Not before I built you up," Marco replies in a way of showing pride.

Turning the gas off, setting the frying pan of bacon and eggs on an unused burner, John faces Marco, asking, "And what things did you fill Vince's mind with, which would instantly make him consider me a candidate?" He folded his arms in front of him, which made the cook's apron cling to his bod, showing his perky nips.

"Well, the first item which grabbed his attention was 'no limits'?"

"Oh really? And what did he say to that?"

"'Said you could possibly be a candidate for Matt Colcannon and Gerard Callabac."

"And why would those two be so compatible a match with me?" John probed.

"They enjoy two-on-one activities, especially wrestling and for a guy who can take a lot of abuse, and like it, their activities could be carried on back to the bedroom?" Marco proposed, to see how accepting John would be.

"The wrestling? It would most definitely turn me on, especially having two guys on me, but taking things to a personal level? Don't get me wrong, I love hot mansex and I don't doubt it could be even hotter with two other guys, but I'd like to keep business separate from what could be deemed more intimate, which in the long run I hope will lead to something more permanent."

It set Marco to thinking, "Oh but you slept with me last night. What does that constitute?"

"Yeah, well I'm sorry about that, but when you were at the club and brought me home, I thought maybe you were the type of guy I was looking for. Don't get me wrong though. You're really a nice guy and all, Marco... it's just that..." John was lost for words. What he saw in Marco last night at the Wildwood, hadn't blossomed into what he expected later on and then this morning. Instead of finding a strict, dominating type, Marco had mellowed out into the type of character John could 'challenge', not responding by standing up to him, but rather caving in. Last night he hoped to be manhandled, perhaps having some rough sex or even making it to what Marco blabbed on about, working him over in his home dungeon. None of this happened, which translated for John this morning as being not interested in meeting up with him again. "Let me put it this way, when I began controlling the scene last night, instead of you, I kind of lost interest."

Disappointed was one of the things Marco was thinking of, along with the hot guy standing before him. One of the things which turned him on at the Wildwood were John's hot features; height, worked out bod, bod hair in all the right places, midchest, around nips, the trail down the middle, leading to a nice size cock, laden with two rounded pouches, all nestled in a loft of dark brown hair. This morning he was thinking of carrying things a bit further, but now he found he was losing what he had. Buying time he asks, "Lost interest, is it? And what is it you were expecting?"

Advancing, standing in front John, made him drop his arms to his sides, "Um... uh... well, I hadn't thought you were so..." he searched for the right words, "well, of such a masochistic nature?" He hoped that would suffice.

Right after he had asked his question, Marco had to think what would set things right. His next move all planned out, he puts on a rough edge, saying, "Y'know John, I don't like the fuck where you're takin' this?"

"Huh?" John says, not expecting the change of attitude.

Part two of his plan in effect, Marco brings his elbow back, makes a fist and throws his hand into John's stomach.

"Hough-h-h-uh-h-h-h!" John belches out, grabbing his stomach and doubling over.

He was almost ready to voice him opinion of the gut punch, when they both hear, "Hey, that was like so cool! Can you do me?"

Before Marco can answer Tom, they hear, "Oh there you are. I was wondering what happened to you?" Scott says, entering the kitchen.

"Fuck you Scott," Tom acts adamantly. Inching his way towards Marco, "If you're not going to do stuff to me, I'll have somebody else do it." He proceeds to pull up the front of his tee shirt, the eighteen year old exposing his abs for punishment, keeping it up with his two hands, from sagging back down. "Is this good?" he confronts Marco.

Stunned, Marco asks, "Didn't you and Scott hit it off last night?" He was rather hoping, because he wasn't interested in plowing his fist into Tom's teen abs.

"No. C'mon," Tom touches his moderately worked abs, then pulls the half shirt up again, "hit me right here. At least 'somebody' will show some interest in me."

Whether Tom was doing some plotting or not, Scott walks over to the teen, takes his shirt from his hand and pulls it down over his stomach, saying, "Nobody has to punch you in the stomach to take notice of you Tom."

Pulling his shirt up again, Tom disagrees, "I told you Scott. I have needs and if you're not man enough to fulfill them, then forget about you and me."

If it were anything to do with business, Scott might have been able to 'fix it', but a teenager with 'needs'? One thing he knew, any problem, sometimes is was an easy fix, at other times it took weeks, months or years. In one respect, he wanted to help Tom, but if 'Tom' wasn't around to help, how could he be of help? Someplace he had read something about 'tough love'. Well, maybe this was a case to apply it to, even though it stray somewhat from the original concept. He figures, if he wants Tom around, he would have to react in a manner which would suit Tom.

"So," Tom pulls up his tee shirt, "since you're not interested in me Scott, I'll just hang with Marco and John."

In his remotest dreams, Tom would never have knew what was coming, feeling a fist cave in his abs, him bending over so fast, his forehead hit Scott in the chest, and after evacuation of the air from his lungs, he gasps, "Oh fuck Scott!"

Instantly, Scott was sorry he had done it, apologizing profusely, "Tom, I'm so, so sorry. Are you okay?" he says, catching Tom on the shoulders, squatting down a bit to Tom's being bent over."

"Good shot," Marco congratulated Scott.

John exclaims, "Yeah. Nice left hook. When you got a minute, can you gut punch me?"

It set Marco into confrontation, "What? You didn't like my gutpunch, John?"

While Marco and John talked gut punching, Scott and Tom talked about healing their wounds.

"I'm really sorry I had to do that Tom," he helps Tom over to a chair.

Still feeling the pangs of the stomach punch, Tom replies, "You had to..."

"No I didn't and now I'm sorry I did it."

"You're not sorry Scott and you shouldn't be. You did it because you care about me."

On the job, Scott ran by many a situation with his employees. It might not have been the same scenario, but Scott knew Tom was right, saying, "I guess you're right," he says, depositing Tom in a chair, then going for some coffee, "Want some?"

"Any orange juice around?"

Looking up, Scott was ready to yell over to Marco, but didn't want to interrupt the private kissing, so flung his hand through the air like swatting a fly and raided the fridge. In seconds he was joined for the search, looking up, from squatting down to look on a lower shelf.

"Need some help?" Not to belittle him, but more joking, Tom renders, "Usually orange juice is kept near the top where it's colder, Scott."

Still squatting, Scott was within eye-sight of Tom's stomach. The teen still had the shirt up and over his head, stretched behind his neck. Of the pink spot, where his fist made impact, Scott asks, "Want some ice for that?"

His hand poking in his stomach a little, Tom says, "It's still a little red. Want to kiss it and make it all better?"

From squatting, to falling on his knees, Scott smiled, lifting Tom's shirt and kissing him right above the beLLyhoLe.

"Tickles!" Tom sad of the sweet little peck.

"This does too," Scott moves his index finger down the small strip above Tom's beLLyhoLe.

It was on his mind, the scene played out upstairs, before Tom left, then as thoughts about things, wandering around the house, before following the bacon-scent to the kitchen. "Why did you try finding me?"

"Why?" Standing, grabbing the carton of OJ out of Tom's hand and closing the fridge door, Scott replies, "Because maybe I'm not old enough to be your grandfather?"

"I didn't say you were my grandfather, Scott. I look at you like you were any other guy."

"I don't think it's going to be as easy for me, Tom, but if you're willing to give me the chance... maybe we can make all this work out?"

Tom wasn't sure of where this was going, asking, "Do you mean like 'you and me' hooking up?"

And like he's said before, Scott says, "I always thought someday I would meet up with a guy my own age or thereabouts, so it's going to take some adjustment."

Tom admits, "Well me too, a little. I mean I always thought I would hook up with a guy my own age and not some old 'grandfather'!"

Smirking, Scott says, "Are you looking for another gut-punch?"

"Sure. Cool!" He waited a second, testing Scott's reaction, but let him off the hook, "But how about pouring me some orange juice instead?"

"Pour it yourself. What do I look like? Your slave?"

If they thought what they were saying was in private, falling on deaf ears, they were wrong, John coming over and in observance, "Oh man Scott, my stomach is a slave to your fist anytime!"

"So much for privacy," Scott says for Tom's benefit.

"I'm joking of course," but then thinking on it a sec, John says, "Then again, you might be just what I'm looking for, Scott."

"Oh? How's that go?" Scott answers, taking a sip of coffee.

"It looks like I might be making some money from the bar-buyout party in the Greek Isles. His client has a pair of cousins who are interested in some two on one wrestling, me being the 'one'. Isn't that fuckin' hot?" Then looking at Tom as if the first time he's noticed him, "I mean 'hot'... just hot, like no 'effin'?" Said in a way in which he already knew it could not be undone.

Tom, with a sense of humor says, "Don't worry. I know what the word fuck means... fucker, fucked, fuck up, etcetera, etcetera?"

Joking back, John says, "If you're the fucker, I'll be the fucked!" He laughed. In his wildest fantasies, he had hoped Tom would follow through with his idea.

But no, Tom put it, "I will, if Scott will let me?"

Scott proposes, "Do you 'want' to fuck John?"

When Tom met up with John last night, he thought he was hot, thought he would be hot to have sex with, but with what has transpired this morning, he alludes to, "I'm not really into fucking guys... I'm more into making them feel good with my mouth or letting them do stuff to me."

With the mention of the latter, John works into the conversation, "Oh? What's the best thing a guy ever did to you, except something sexual?"

Scott found a Wall St. Journal on the counter, took it and opened it to read. He really couldn't keep his mind on the Times.

"I really haven't had that much done to me, except by a guy who forced me to have sex with him. What about you? When did you get into liking a guy hurt you?"

As he served breakfast, John started in on his history of the bdsm experience, starting with his junior year in high school.

Tom remarks, "And you let him hit you in the stomach with the baseball bat?"

"We were joking around. I didn't think anything would come of it, but suddenly we found ourselves in a dare, which really came to be very lucrative for me."

"How so?" Scott interrupted, from behind one of the large sheets of newspaper.

Continuing, John says, "I didn't really want to be hit in the stomach with the baseball bat, but I was short a lot of cash for college, so gave in and took the twenty bucks off his hands."

"And he hit you?"

"His name was Phil Dunstadt, this big, blond, German guy, and I think he a lot of pleasure in it. He was willing to put down more than twenty bucks over a period of our junior and senior years in high school."

Scott adds, "Did you wear out the baseball bat?"

But Tom, hyped up on the idea, asks, "What about the first time?"

"I'll get back to your question in a minute," John says to Scott. "Phil was very dramatic, taking the twenty out of his wallet. He smoothed it out as he placed it on the locker room bench, while clenching the bat in his armpit. Then he told me to strip off my tee shirt so he could make sure the end of the bat hit me in the stomach nice and hard."

"Hot!" Tom said of it.

Scott smiled, wondering if he should be so obvious as to look under the table, in Tom's direction!

"I stripped, but I told Phil I wanted 'him' without his shirt on so I could see every rippling muscle of his bod!"

"Was he as muscled as me?" Scott jokes.

Tom scolds, "Scott, no time for joking! Let John tell his story."

John did have one observation in regards to Scott's muscular frame, "Uh, I'm not sure about that Scott on account of I don't have exray vision to see through the table!"

Scott reopened his NYT, but wasn't paying a bit of attention to the economic picture.

"So, where was I?"

"You had Phil strip!" Came both from Scott and Tom, causing Scott to look over his paper at Tom.

Coughing, John tells of Phil having him stand in front of the lockers, putting his elbows up, reaching his hands to the opposite shoulders. "And he seemed to know, like he's done this before, Phil telling me to brace my core and as he throws the fat end of the bat into my stomach, he tells me to exhale and you know what?"

"What?" Tom and Scott once again speak in unison.

"It didn't feel half bad. Yeah, the first hit was a shocker, but by the time I had amassed a hundred bucks I was used to it."

"A hundred bucks?" Tom exclaimed, amazed.

More amazed, Scott asks, "You took five hits with the bat in your stomach and lived?"

John chuckled, saying, "Like I said, if you do it the right way, it isn't like they would show in a Hollywood movie, okay?"

"You had to be sore... have some bruises?" Scott asks.

"A little bruising, but as time went on I worked out more and it was easier to absorb the impact. But Phil didn't only use the baseball bat."

"What else did you do with Phil?" Tom wanted to know.

By this time the NYT was old news to Scott.

"Mostly gutpunching. He got his friend to join us. They told coach they were practicing wrestling in the room in the basement, when all along he and Elliot were working me over."

"Elliot?" Scott looked for a description of the new 'character' in John's school history.

"Yeah," John describes, "early bloomer to puberty, this hot Jewish guy with a mass of frontal hair, was like so hot when he was holding me... I could feel his fur on my back. He actually caught me saying I liked his fur and often he would make me lick every inch of fur on his bod, which would lead to me sucking his cock and balls, licking his pits and his hairy ass crevice."

"Did he fuck you?" Tom asks.

With a smile on his face, they could tell Elliot had fucked John, but he says, "Yeah... more than a few times."

Scott inquires, "And Phil?"

"Not a once. Sure, a few times I took him down my throat, when Elliot was working my ass."

Tom asks, "They paid you to suck and get fucked?"

"Nah, more like how we rounded out the session. We were all hard and needed release and for me, it felt good servicing them. But it didn't last."

"Oh?" Scott threw interest.

"During the summer, Phil was off on vacation. He like had a lot of money in the bank... well his parents did. Elliot and I met on an occasional basis in his basement, but he was into more than gutpunching."

"Like what?" Tom asks.

Scott peers up at the clock on the wall, saying, "Um, shouldn't you be getting ready for school, Tom?"

"Yes, father," Tom replied, smiling at Scott. "But quick! We got five minutes, John!"

So, John sped through the next five minutes, telling how he and Elliot spent almost everyday during the summer at Elliot's house, in his basement, working on tuning up bdsm skills, more specifically, bondage, ball stretching, lots of fucking, Elliot finding stuff off his father's workbench to torture his nips with and buying a pair of boxing gloves for punching him in the stomach. Then he spoke briefly about the three coming together in the fall for their senior year, how, "Halfway through September, the new lacrosse coach caught us at the end of the session. Fresh out of college, he dismissed Phil and Elliot, scolding them, telling them they would have to pull extra gym duties, like making sure towels were clean and if they ever lay a hand on me again, he would need to call in law enforcement. He made it seem like I was being taken advantage of and whether I wanted it or not, I was roped into working with this new guy."

"What was wrong with him?"

Smiling, John says, "You mean what 'wasn't' wrong with him! He was like drop dead gorgeous!"

"So, what was the problem then?" Tom asks.

It was on Scott's mind, the coach riding his job on the line, fraternizing with a student, let alone doing the activities Phil and Elliot had concentrated on.

John very much said what Scott was thinking, "Of course he was concerned of being found out. You know what that would have done to his career?"

Tom replies, "Yikes!"

Scott renders, "But you worked around it, didn't you?"

"Coach Sanguilli had a cabin in the woods, set on some acreage of wooded forest, with a stream nearby. Nobody had a clue we drove together to the cabin every weekend. He was really hot. As soon as I stepped out of the car I was his 'slave'. He had me strip and...."

Scott interrupts, "And it's more than five minutes past 'time for Tom to get ready for school'?" Even though he was 'hard', Scott knew he had to find Marco and get back to business, whatever it amounted to today.

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Copyright 2010 T. Chase McPhee

`Bar Tab Buy-out!' may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.