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! 08 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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Finally, after a whole four minutes of waiting, Gregg says, impetuously, "I wonder what the hold up is?"
Marco sarcastically replies, "Somebody taking too long fucking?" But then he proceeds to slide past Gregg, "Excuse me a minute?"
Gregg removes his leather cap, scratches his head and asks himself silently, 'Where the hell does he think he's going?'
Exercising his rights to popularity, Marco advances to the front of the line, some allowing him to do so without griping.
However, there was one dude, first time to the club whom almost started a confrontation, complaining, "Where the fuck does he think he's going?"
About his two hundredth time here, one of the regulars replies, "Watch your fuckin' mouth or else I'll take you and throw your ass over a bondage table!"
Forrester, last name, at the beginning of the line got on his cell right away and in two minutes two bouncers were wading through the line.
Not everybody got the story straight about Marco, after it had passed around for the last few years about him, but as the mixed story got back to the patron this evening, it went, "Hey, you better watch your mouth," the bouncer told the one who started the fight, "he's with the IRS and if you don't feel like being audited...."
The dude shut up right away, with no complaint whatsoever, even when Marco gave a whistle, threw a hand in the air and waved Gregg on in his direction, the front of line.
"How did you manage that?" Gregg asks.
"I'm with the IRS!" Marco replies, laughing it off.
Gregg laughed, even though it was sketchy in his mind the gist of Marco's explanation. However, he wasn't into any laughing matter after he steps inside the dungeon and takes a look around. "Sweet set up!" he calls it. He walks over to where a guy, maybe twenty-four, twenty-five is stretched out eagle-spread on a bondage table, legs a little farther apart than arm width. "Somebody's having fun!" he makes comment to the top-dude working over his mate.
Seeing Gregg decked out like a 'master' should, leather vest, chaps, Doc Martin boots, the cap to round off the ensemble, complete with cuffs at the waist and half of a chain of nip clamps hanging out of the vest pocket, asks, "Haven't seen you around here before?"
Of course, he was looking for a name, Gregg offering his, the one 'asking', calling himself Mike Turk.
Mike asks, "Want to change places, Gregg? I bet you could be a lot of fun!"
Gregg supposed Mike meant changing places with him.
Before either could exchange a word of committment, Marco complains, "But you're with me Gregg!"
"Excuse me a minute Mike," Gregg says, putting a finger in the air, signaling, 'one minute', turns, draws his elbow back and shoves his fist into Marco's abs.
"Hooooough!" Marco shouts out, doubling over.
"Sorry for the interruption Mike. Now, as you were saying?" he addresses Mike, totally ignoring Marco.
Originally, Mike had his sights set on playing with the bod between the openness of Gregg's leather vest. But now he had a difference of opinion, stating, "Hey, you an' me should team up!"
And because Gregg was a moderate fan of wrestling, he replies, "Tag team?"
"Tag team... two-on-one... you name it!"
Gregg looks over the bondage table, saying, "Too bad you're already involved," and then mentions, "I know the owner of the gym down the road. He'd more than likely wouldn't mind us having a few rounds."
"Eh, we've been going at it for a couple of hours. I think I'm done here," Mike says, patting the stripe down the bottom-dude's stomach.
Of course he couldn't speak for himself, the muffling device lodged in his mouth, likely a medium or small plug of sorts. Gregg says, "Why don't you let him speak for himself. Untruss his balls and maybe he'd like to come along for some hot abuse?"
Marco stood nearby. Of course he was hard, feeling the gut punch. He was really into gut punching, had been since high school days, one of the things which got him hard and kept him hard. Hell, once he shot his wad after getting a good gut workover! But for now he stood there, taking in all the information, wondering if Gregg here was changing his mind, which really ticked him off.
Mike says, "Why don't you get the gag and I'll let loose his balls?"
Gregg was already hard. As he removed the plug in the racked dude's mouth, he sighed with such pleasure, having his stretched balls lowered. "Oh fuck yeah!" he sighed.
"Hmm," Gregg joked, but was serious, "I gotta get your phone number boy!"
Still, Marco kept his cool, but was quickly losing it. Too, as far as his mentality went, he was slowly morphing from the bottom dude who came into the dungeon, kicking it up to a 'revenge' mode, upon hearing Gregg talk about taking the dude on the table, along with Mike here and hightailing it down the street to the gym. So far, no mention of himself was in the deal and the only thing he got out of all this was a gut punch. He's never 'pulled rank', in his own mind exercised anything which would expose himself as his real 'self', his real position with the employment ranks of the outside world. He was human as the next man and as sometimes, as humans do, reacted first, with intentions of explaining later. He reminds Gregg one more time, "Um, Gregg, are you forgetting who you came with?"
"You know boy, you're starting to really piss me off!"
However, Mike 'knew' who Marco was and guys with longstanding memberships usually were man on top of the totem pole. As much as he was starting to like Gregg, Mike knew Marco would not allow himself to be shamed on his own turf, possibly his feelings reeling back and forth, between dominance and submissive.
"Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it, Gregg?"
The thirty-one year old muscle-bear thought he had it in the bag, mentioning, "You hear the way he's talkin' to me Mike?"
"I hear it," Mike replied, staying on the comfy sidelines. After all, it's Marco he'd more likely to side with than some stranger. Too, he knew Gregg had broken one of the cardinal rules, pushing aside the boy he entered the dungeon with, in favor of another. As it went, whomever you came with, you stayed with. Sure, he would have allowed Gregg to play with him, as long as it included Marco. For all purposes, he figured it's the way it was going to go anyway, the four of them going down to Gregg's friend's gym, Gregg and him taking turns with their boys on a two-on-one. Whether it was to be worked out this way, apparently Marco had his own agenda and it didn't have to do with sharing. Playing into Marco's pocket, because he preferred it this way, Mike being a regular at the Powderkeg, he confronts Gregg with, "So what are you going to do about your 'boy'?" He also knew Marco, on rare occasions, preferred the dominant role. 'This is going to be
interesting,' he thought, rubbing his crotch.
Gregg's first mistake was thinking, since they had progressed this far into the dungeon, he was in control. He had a rude awakening, expecting Marco to stand there and take another gut-punch. He took a swing, swishing the air around. "What tha?"
"Surprise," Marco says when Gregg turns around. He could take it, but Marco could also give it and he sent Gregg to his knees, clutching his stomach and heaving air.
"That-a-way, Marco!" Mike, showing his allegiance, irked him on. Of course, his crotch doing palpatations helped the cause!
When Marco turned to give Mike the thumbs up, Gregg took the opportunity to rise up off his knees and butt Marco in the mid section. "Ooff!" he shouted as Gregg waltzed him across the room, butting him up against a wooden support, housing some stocks, some dude applied to it, commenting how it felt awesome, feeling the stocks shake.
Apparently, the dom involved had also applied the lower stock, the one which encased the bottom dude's ball sacs!
"Ooh-h-h!" Marco sighed, after being released from Gregg's head plastering him up against the timber. He clutched his stomach, slowly sliding down the beam.
Overhead there were branding irons hanging, more for effect because nobody was ever seriously into using them on a guy, in taking one to his chest or ass. But Gregg saw it as opportunity.
Of course, Forrester had been on his cell and summoned the two bouncers, but they were all playing it cool until now. One of the bouncers, Tim, a big-barrel of a man was ready to interfere when Gregg reached up and took down the branding iron shaped like an 'x' on one end.
"Oh shit!" Mike yelled from the sidelines, when Gregg held it like playing golf, apparently Marco's head as the golf ball.
"No, hold it," Forrester said, tagging Tim's arm.
"He's gonna like smash Marco's brains out!"
Frank Forrester replies, "Marco has been in worse situations."
"Okay," he replies, also wondering how would Frank know, but let it go, more interested in the ensuing outcome.
However, one of his friends, Mike, wasn't about to let Gregg make mincemeat out of Marco's brains. Catching Gregg off guard, after circling around him, he grabbed hold of the branding iron and tried pinning it to Gregg's throat. Having some fancy training himself, Gregg pulled downwards, flipped Mike right over him and then pounced Mike in the stomach with the blunt end of the poker.
"Ulgh-h-h-h-h!" Mike responded, holding his stomach and rolling over onto his front.
Gregg warns, "Stay down Mike, if you know what's good for ya!"
Same time, Tim is telling Frank, "I think it's time..."
"Not yet," Frank replies, with an actual lilt to his creased lips, like he was enjoying this.
"Tell you one thing," Marco said as he used the pillar of wood to stabilize his ascent, "when Mike recovers he's not going to take kindly to what you did to him."
"Yeah?" Gregg says in a threatening manner, "We'll see about that after I put both of you's out of your misery!"
Again Tim was held back by Frank's hand across his belly. "But you heard what he said?" Tim protests. "He's out for blood!"
Frank smiled, saying, "If Marco doesn't get there first!"
Tim looked at Frank weirdly. 'Like, how would he know?'
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"You're really fascinated by me," Scott asks as they lounge at the side of the pool.
It was a toss up for Tom. The teen was totally immersed in not only the water, but Scott's kindness. Nobody has ever been to him what Scott was being right now. The other instance, he was thoroughly taking pleasure in feeling up Scott's hairy chest, even though wet. "Do you like this?" Tom asks, rubbing a hand over Scott's pec.
"You mean is it making me hard?"
Tom wasn't used to being with a man twice his age, so asks, "Is it alright if I find out?"
"I mentioned something about being uninhibited before. I thought you got it?" Scott says.
"I got it. Inhibited," Tom spells it out, "inappropriate conscious or unconscious restraint or suppression of behavior, as sexual behavior, often due to one's guilt or fears usually produced by past punishment, or sometimes considered a dispositional trait."
"Sounds like you memorized it from psych 101?"
"Not exactly. It's the state I kind of fell into after my parents passed away. It was kind of a shock coming home from school and... finding what I found."
At this point, Scott didn't feel inhibited at all, dropping his arm from the side of the pool onto Tom's shoulders, drawing him closer as he worded his sympathy, "Oh I'm so, so sorry. What a terrible thing for you to have to come home and find."
For Scott, it was friend-to-friend, but Tom was sensing more and took advantage of Scott's kindness, matching his lips up to Scott's lips.
Too engrossed in his act of sympathy, with the possibility of feeling more, he still held Tom in his clutches. When they finally broke off the sweet affection, Scott says, "I'm really sorry for what you went through."
"It happened," Tom recalled how it was explained to him by his shrink, "and there was nothing I could do to stop it."
"Of course," Scott replies, Tom still in his grasps.
"For Rich it wasn't as bad. He and our folks never got along." And thinking it important, whether it was or not, "Rich, he's bisexual."
"That had something to do with not getting along?"
"Once my dad caught him in his room with a girl and a guy. I think it was what started everything off on the wrong foot," Tom replied.
"That'll probably do it, your brother bringing them onto the home-life turf. Probably he should have taken it to a motel."
"But Rich was that way, always antagonizing. It's like that night when he allowed his friend Pete to take advantage of me."
"So you were saying. If you need to talk about it?" Scott says with kind words, still with Tom in the pocket of his arm.
But a smile comes to Tom's face, holding up his ten fingers.
"What?" Scott asks, wondering what this had to do with Pete and him.
"My fingers. They're all waterlogged."
It made Scott smile. "Yeah, happens to mine too when I've been too long in the water." But as Scott brought all ten fingers into view, it tugged at Tom's shoulders, bringing their bods closer together.
"I like being with you Scott."
Scott accepted it, because he liked it too, but still wasn't too sure about courting an eighteen year old kid. "Um, maybe we should think about getting out and getting dried off before we both melt away?"
He raced Tom to the other side of the pool, finding himself no match for Tom's agility.
"You cheated!" Scott called the odds.
"What?" Tom said as he hoisted his ass out of the water and set it on the side of the pool. "How so?"
But something more captured Scott's attention as he still stood in water.
Tom's head drops to where Scott's attention lies. "I'll do you if you do me?"
Still, with his own inhibitions, Scott replies, as he turns his back to the pool wall and hefts his butt up on the edge, "I don't know where Marco keeps the towels. Are you up for a little streaking?" He got up first, offering Tom his hand. Taking it, as he pulled Tom up, he took the liberty to latch onto Scott, his arm seeping in between Scott's elbow and ribs.
"Do you like smooth guys, Scott?"
"I really think we should be getting inside. It's chilly out here."
"You're nervous because I'm half your age, aren't you Scott?"
"Um, well..."
"You needn't be. Maybe you're not ready yet to accept it and that's okay." And as he starts off running, he leaves Scott with, "C'mon. Beat you to the back door!"
Scott thinks as he pits his hands on his hips, 'That kid's got some head on his shoulders!', his rationale meaning, for his age, he's sure grownup!
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"That wasn't so tough!" Marco announces to the break in everyone's dungeon scene, wiping his hands back and forth like he's just done cleanup. "Oh, are you okay there, Mike?" he asks, seeing Mike sitting against the beam he started out with his back to, before he did some fancy fakeout and commandeered the poker from Gregg and playing a little 'dirty poker', reversed it into Gregg's gut. Before Gregg got wind of Marco's dirty dealing, he had the wind blown out of his lungs, lay on the dungeon floor, his arms at his back, Marco's foot down his spine and his own cuffs circling his wrists.
"I'm fine, but I'd like to have a go at that bastard!" Mike replies, standing, walking over to where Gregg lies, face to the floor.
"Tell you the truth Mike, I'm going to call it a night, try to get a little sex in.... oh, you mind if I borrow your boy?"
It was a direct hint, a trade off, Marco bartering Mike's boy for his 'date' for the evening. Carrying it further, Marco says, "I know how you like creative ball torture, Mike?"
Mike, placing his boot under Gregg's stomach, gives it a push, turning him over. He reaches down grabs at Gregg's pouch, damn near ripping the leather codpiece off. "Oh fuck yeah!" he assesses the enormity of his impending play.
Too bad Gregg was too groggy to fend off Mike and Tim, the two heaving his carcass up off the floor.
In the meantime Marco pay attention to the removal of Mike's 'entertainment' for the evening, asking, "Interested in having your wounds soothed?"
Before walking away with Marco, John profusely thanked Mike for the good time. Even though Mike had worked John's balls something fierce, stretching them, whipping them with a short leather strap, he thanked Mike with a hug, of which Mike reciprocated with some French kissing.
"Now for the real fun!" Mike said, adding some tough lingo about 'taming the bitch'! He joked, yelling across the room, "Hey, you better not've done any damage to his balls, Marco!"
Mike smiled even though Marco was holding up his middle finger to him.
More or less he allowed Tim to do the unbinding of the cuffs, refashion Gregg's arms to fit the table, fitting the leather cuffs around his wrists, then stretching them to the boundaries of the corners. Busying himself, Mike whistled a tune, singing when the punchline of the tune, adjusted for his own pleasure, "I'm gonna make them good boys go ba-ad... good boys go ba-ad... good boys go ba-ad...." and when he was at the end of the lyrics, so had his work been completed, hacking Gregg's boots off, taken the socks off, and as Tim had done with Gregg's wrists, placed the leather cuffs around his ankles. "Now for the finishing touches!" Mike said light-heartedly, cracking his knucles, adjusting Gregg's legs so his legs remain stretched far apart. Probably Gregg would not get the gist of Mike's next move, meant to humiliate, when he bared a Bowie knife, proceeding to slice Gregg's chaps to shreds. "Oh boy are you gonna be fuckin' mad!" he sung out as he
sliced up one of the legs with the sharp implement.
"You want him gagged?" Tim asks.
"You're pullin' my chain, Tim? What, and cut out all that singin' when I have his balls in traction?" Mike laughed his ass off!
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Meanwhile, Marco and Mike's boy had collected their duds from Jake and were heading out into the night. Marco stopped short of the exit, put his hand to the guy's chest and groaned, "Oh fuckin' no!"
"What?" the dude asks.
"Scott's got my car!"
"No problem. We can take mine?"
And another surprise, when Marco was led to a red mustang. "Nice," he said, running his hand down the corridor of a fold in the metal.
"Custom," he replied of the specially designed grooves in the body.
And as they drove towards Marco's address, John Maric gave quite a summary of his life thus far, working light construction while putting himself through college, earning an MS degree in biology, working as a professor at a community college, getting laid off, then falling back on his construction skills. By the time they pulled up in Marco's little cul-de-sac, he had quite a crosscut of John's immediate life, not even touching on his extracurricular activity!
"Looks like we have company," Marco addresses the situation of his car in the driveway.
"If somebody's here to visit you I can come back?"
Pointing his thumb out the window, Marco replies, "That's 'my' car, which means Scott is home."
Little did Marco know he wasn't home alone!
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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.
The more you stretch, the more you can fit in... 'spread' happiness! TCMcP.....