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.
PLaY FoR PaY 01 WriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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"What the fuck is this?" Rico questions the chain barring them from entry into the gymnasium.
Ronaldo is quick to reply, "Looks like they don't want anybody to go in, like trepass?" he says of the same impression, the chain connecting both handles, a sturdy lock between.
"Damn shame!" It was that kind of voice, which got under a person's skin.
Being the spokesperson of the two, Rico turns around to address the well-known jerk around campus, Steve Rawlings, head of security, "And what would you know about any of this?"
"Me? Why would I know anything about how the college runs their affairs? Why, I'm only a lowly security guard!" Rawlings exclaimed, ending with a smile.
But he did know more, plenty more. It wasn't such a well kept secret Steve slept with either the dean, head of security or a number of professors. Too, it was a way for a student to redeem himself, in lieu of a parking violation. It's only through their own strong wills, Rico and Ronaldo haven't been broken down to other guys' levels and a victim to 'hitting the sack' with the thirty-two year old security guard.
However, where their sports scholarships were at stake, Rico was ready to probe, when Coach Stahl shows up.
"What's the story with the locks Coach Stahl?" he sideswipes Rawlings altogether.
Stahl puts it to Steve, "Didn't you explain it to them?"
Chewing a wad of gum, Steve replies, "Wasn't asked!" He pops his gum, seemingly directed at Rico, in a derogatory way.
"Well," Coach Stahl begins, but then hesitates, hearing car doors close, the rest of the football team pouring out of their vehicles, "why don't we wait till the rest of the guys are here."
For the whole school year, maybe they caught Coach Stahl talking with Steve Rawlings one or twice, but it seemed the two avoided each other for the most part. Five seconds ago Rico and Ronaldo witnessed the first confrontation for this college school year.
Then secondly, Coach Stahl addresses the security man, "I would think, what with budget cuts, Rawlings, you would have plenty to do?"
And the two Latinos were amazed at how Steve seemed to drop the tough guy attitude and scurry off. But then they forgot about it, their team buds showing. Of course, with the large turnover from the preceding semester, a large number of grads, there came an influx of freshman.
It's Rico realizing just how much of a transition the team was about to make, picking out only two returning members, "Hey!" Then calling out their names, "Kellan! Tom!" and when he got to Jac Darling 'III', he received the biggest welcoming, instead of a handshake leading to a short hug, welcomed with opened arms and a hefty bod-hug, "Jac!"
The newbies were all eyes and smiles, watching the two over-six-footers, bulked-up team players, welcoming each other with a kiss!
One of them, eighteen year old Jake Danzinski, remarks, "Damn! I heard of progressive colleges, but..."
Of course, nobody paid much attention to Tom Meciar checking out the new freshman!
With multifocus on the frozen scene, it said it all, Rico staring down between them, asking, "You lose some weight, Jac?"
Coach Stahl breaks up the action, "Uh, would anybody have an interest in playing some football?"
It did the trick, Rico and Jac paying attention towards everybody walking with the double doors in sight, Rico's arm over Jac's shoulder as he complains, "If you haven't noticed Coach, the doors are like padlocked?"
"No problem!" Coach Stahl replies, a wry smile on his face as he picks up a huge pair of chain cutters from behind a bush.
Tom, a twenty year old, whom could be outspoken most of the time, says, "Like don't you think if they wanted it taken off, somebody would have a key?"
He wasn't too close to the padlock, but to impress a point, Coach Stahl says, "You want to get your balls out of the way, Tom?"
"Noo-o-o-o sweat, Coach!" Tom replies, stepping way back, clearing his crotch of the chained doors and the biting jaws of the oversized cutting pliers.
The others laugh it off, quieting down as Coach Stahl begins grunting away at cutting through the pad lock.
He has to 'look up' as a new member steps over, casting a shadow over him and saying, "Need a hand?"
But at 6'5, even taller than last year's contender, Kellan Smith, Mark Zeger's hand was already on the two handles, his one hand overpowering coach's two hands, him saying, "This'll be no sweat!"
More caving in to his stature, Coach Stahl surrendered the cutters, taking in the upper deck of the football player. As Mark goes to work on the lock with little effort, Coach asks, "What do they feed you back home?"
Knowing this a predominantly gay community, Mark's not intimidated by whether a guy is straight or not, responding as he cinches the lock, "You mean 'what' do I feed them?" He adjusts the middle pocket of his jeans.
It couldn't be detected, but a few of the team players had their imaginery dibs set on making close friends with Mark. Right away, Rico saw it as competition, but newcomer, Kevin James saw it as 'plenty to go around'!
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Halfway across campus, Steve meets up with his co-worker, rather Rick Beltran chasing along to catch up with him, "Hey Steve, where you going in such a hurry?"
Rather than explain where he was going, Steve gruffly vents, "Someday I'm gonna put our illustrious football coach in his place!"
At twenty-nine years old, Rick's rocks were still in full swing, him saying excitedly, "Before you do, can you try whatever you're going to do to him, on me?"
Steve thought about it. He had a meeting with Dean Stewart in about twenty minutes, but his nads suddenly started to jive with Rick's vocal thinking. Stopping his feet from trekking towards the administration building, he looks Rick over. He wasn't the perfect specimen as he had in mind a teen to twenty-something, muscular build, but he thought Rick's facial features to rival any hot fratguy. He's seen Rick in the buff and he had a slight gut and a little too much bod hair, but he knew Rick could sure take some abuse and right now Steve was 'feeling it' enough to let his balls rule, "I've got only twenty minutes to work you over!"
"Awesome!" Rick exclaimed, taking off after Steve as they headed towards the equipment shed over by the track.
As Steve took up a joggers stance, Rick did his best to keep up and by the time they reached the track, the two were sweaty as hogs.
Steve had a key to everything, except the padlock on the gymnasium, which drew back memories of Stahl putting him down in front of the football team. It seemed like it drew power, from his mind and into his fist. As soon as Rick follows him inside and closes the door, Rick turns around, Steve plowing his fist into the twenty-nine year old's beefy belly.
"Ough-h-h-gh!" Rick calls out, holding his stomach and falling to the concrete floor.
Strangely, instead of Steve seeing Rick as Rick, he calls out, "Stahl you fuckin' bastard!"
But it's Rick who suffers Steve's punishing toe, the tip kicking him right in the crotch!
"Ak-k-k-k-k-k-k-oh-oh!"
"You want pain? I'll give ya pain!" Steve literally lashes out, taking a synthetic jump rope some guy must've left lying about and whipping Rick across the back.
Crying out in pain, even though it's keeping him quite hard, Rick hikes across the floor three times, reflective of the lash striking his back three times.
Stopping to wipe his sweaty brow, Steve curses, "You're a fuckin' weakling, Stahl!"
Rick Beltran has been working under Steve for about four years now and knows how it could go, sometimes turning into roleplay, whereas he is Steve's puppet for vengeance, or whatever other offense a willing or unwilling player has involved himself with.
"I know," and to set in motion a more turned on approach Rick throws hint, "My hands are always getting in the way... like I'm trying to stop you."
"Yeah, well we're gonna have to do something about that.... get those clothes off and now!"
"Yes, sir," Rick replies, things evolving the way he likes it. Setting about to rid himself of his clothes, he hastily unbuttons his uniform shirt, revealing a perfect straight line of dark brown hair, to his waist.
"No," Steve digresses, "hold it right there for a minute." Feeling way too horny to let the moment, or Rick, slide, he walks over to his co-worker, and does something he loves, grabs Rick by the sides of his open shirt, pulling his stomach onto his knee.
"Oh yeah," Rick grabs a quick association with how it's going to feel, Steve's knee impacting his abs. Then seconds after, "Hough-h-h-h-h!" as he uncontrolably faulters after feeling Steve's boney kneecap cave in his solar plexus.
On the floor, slightly panting and rubbing his gut, Steve assesses, "Yeah, I know how much you gym-boys crave ab abuse!"
Not the first time they've played in the equipment shed, it's light work for Steve to set up the bondage routine. Equipment used for various activities make dandy restraints, tying one end to a metal stantion and another to the opposite side. How perfect it becomes, Steve tying Rick's right wrist to one, his left wrist to the other, same for his ankles. And if Steve has to, the restraints become versatile, whereas he can lower Rick's bod in half, making his butt stick out for the 'ultimate torture'!
"I'm not holding back this time Stahl!" Steve says, finally in place, stripped from the waist up and holding the doubled-in-half jumprope.
"No," Rick exclaims the opposite feeling of wanting Steve to rip the implement across his shoulder blades, "please don't! I'll be good!"
The whipping tool in hand, whirring it through the air, 'just' as Steve is ready to slap it against Rick's back, they hear, "Oh-shit! What-are-you-doing?"
"Oh-h-h-h-h-damn-Steve!" Rick cries out when the jumprope kisses his ass instead of back!
"What're 'you' doing here?" Steve countermands, seeing the figure in the doorway, the transition of light making it impossible to make out a face or details.
Walking in, the man was gargantuan, Steve saying, "This is private property, you know?"
With due respect, the six-foot-three, two hundred and fifty two man responds, "Coach Stahl sent me in here to take inventory!" Though, his attention wasn't on Steve, but drawn to Rick's strung up bod.
Rick couldn't see, his back to them, but right now he had more important matters, looking down, gazing at his cock barely sticking out beyond his hairy belly, trying to move it around, make it feel something more than the pulsing as a result of his first lash, regardless of it hitting his butt instead of back.
Steve immediately saw the paper in hand, but worried about the scenario, about the football jock and what he would do or say, once he exited their makeshift dungeon.
But he slowly began to relax his nerves, when the jock asks, "You guys have fun like this all the time?"
Rather than a direct answer, Steve probes, "What's your pleasure big boy?"
As the light adjusts, Steve slowly gets the full picture, naturally tanned skin, black hair, very closely cropped. And now he smiles, watching the jock lift his tee shirt....
"Hot in here."
Steve replies, "Get as comfortable as you like!" Of course he's eyeing up the bold, dark-haired chest, the wide stripe down his abs, the unavoidably separated abs, deep bellyhole, all immersed in the same black hair, the wide path leading into his jock-pants. One of his downfalls, Steve loves the smell of mansweat and when the fratdude hands him his shirt, he lifts it to his nostrils.
But it goes unnoticed because the football player's mind is set on Rick's lily-white ass. And because of his height, he can barely look over Rick's shoulder. Slapping his hand against Rick's ass, he spits in Rick's face, "You gonna be my bitch, boy!"
Rick knew the routine, but he wanted some harsh foreplay beforehand, so chose the 'wrong' answer, "Fuck you!"
Steve was out of luck, hoping for the opposite, another bottom-boy to play with, but seeing it not the case, made the best of things and made friends, "Hey, what's your name?"
"Wali Boudouani."
Most probably he was with the group, but introduced, "I'm Steve Rawlings, campus security."
As he rubs his big hand around in circles, paving Rick's ass, Wali converses, "I know." And meant to inspire, "Must've been real humiliating the way Coach Stahl treated you in front of all my fellow teammates?"
"Yeah, well..." Steve was shrugging off, unsure of where allegiances lay.
Turning from Rick, Wali replies, "Anytime you're ready, let me know."
"Huh?" Steve questions his motives.
Wali says, "I'd sure like a hand in breaking Coach Stahl. That is if you're into that type of thing?"
"Nice of you to offer," though Steve didn't think it was a free service-offering, "but I'm sure it doesn't go without a price?"
Shrugging his head over his shoulder, Wali replies, "Free with your bitch thrown in?"
Picking up his shirt, Steve replies, "Have fun!"
As Steve walks out, closes the door he thinks of how hot it is going to be having a two-on-one session with Coach Stahl, but how, as Rick would put it, 'awesome' when he gets Wali all strung up in bondage!
Thinking of himself and no longer Steve, Wali steps out his gym shorts, saying, "Hell! And I thought college was going to be all books and football. Looks like I'm going to be having fun morning, noon and night." And then, if it mattered, "Don't bother making any plans for the weekend!"
It could have been grounds for an argument, Rick taking a liking to hiking on the weekends, but it was quickly making him adhere to Wali's instruction, feeling what seemed to be a hefty ass-plowing tool, massaging his crevice. Still, it's been all of a few minutes and he hasn't felt any harrassment towards his bod, so 'plays the game', calmly saying, "I go hiking on the weekends, so you can put that out of your mind?"
"Is that so?" Wali says, circling around Rick. He wasn't expecting anything out of the ordinary as he impressed upon Rick it was 'his way or no way', but for the first time he lays eyes on Rick, he quickly changes from his roleplaying attitude, to his true nature, exclaiming, "Shit! You're fuckin' gorgeous!"
"I am?" Rick replies, watching Wali walk up to him, feast his eyes on him from head to not quite toes.
"Oh damn this is nice," Wali says, the back of his hand placed on the mat between Rick's nips, running his nuckles down the abs-trail.
And was Rick surprised, exclaiming, "Oh shit!" when Wali doubles himself in half, then proceeds to dart his stabbing tongue inside his bellyhole. Feeling so awesome about it, he arches his back, causing his stomach to put more pressure on the invading tongue. "Never had that done before!" he exclaims.
Ceasing, standing tall, Wali had to look down a foot, saying, "Like that do you?"
"Yeah. Awesome!"
Smiling, the Egyptian replies, "Good. I'll give you more on Saturday!"
"But....." Rick was ready to reinforce his stance.
He was ready to defy, but Wali placed his closed fist up to Rick's abs, telling the twenty-nine year old as he pressed inwards, "I've got to get practice, but later on I want to test these abs out."
"Cool!" Rick accidentally voiced his approval. He tries to renounce the very idea, "I mean I'm off the clock after six."
As he starts to release Rick, Wali replies, "You'll drive us to your place."
"One problem, though..."
Wali, exercising his right to 'ownership', had just freed the other arm from the bondage apparatus Steve had affixed him to, but legs still were stretched, so he continued holding his leverage over Rick, by grabbing his balls, "And that would be?"
Rick replies, "I live with my brother. Well, my brother lives with me. But he works until midnight, so whatever you're going to do to me, we have to be done by like eleven."
Whining in complaint, Wali says, "How far from the college are you?"
"Twenty minutes tops."
"I suppose four and half hours will have to."
"Four and a half hours of torture? Are you joking?" Rick exclaimed, a bit of terror in his voice.
After releasing Rick's ankles they both stood, facing each other.
Wali, with a voice of calm, helps to unfurl Rick's sweaty, mussed hair. When his hand reaches the back of Rick's head, he says before he kisses him, "Who said I'm torturing you the whole time?"
Perhaps a mutual camaraderie settled over the two, eyes making a connection, as well as their inner beings, the tormentor and the tortured, reaching down into each others souls!
Meanwhile, as Steve Rawlings walks down the small hill towards the track, he's counting dollar signs in his mind, a grin on his face, thinking of how perfectly this new freshman is going to fit into his plans at the startup of his 'Play for Pay' event, an underground club of Quartermaine University. Too, he was probably one who stood to gain something from the crumbling economic picture. He was a 'fly on the wall', overhearing the proceedings, before the bomb was dropped on the coaches, of how sports scholarships were no longer being honored. He didn't give a fuck about some of the sports being dropped, but grinned when thinking how soccer, men's tennis and football were spared the ax only because they were high profile sports about campus. Sure, he had pity on those losing their scholarships and as soon as the occasion arose, Steve would approach those unlucky young men and offer them a way out of their predicament.
"Oof!" Steve exclaimed, getting slammed almost full frontally.
"Daymn! Can't you the fuck watch where you're going?"
Bouncing off the stealth trackman, Steve sat there on his ass, hands near his butt, palms glued to the track for stability. He might have reacted with anger, at a student treating him like shit, but a few things kept him reserved.
"Well? You gonna let my hand hang here till it falls off?" the svelte blond says, offering to help Steve up.
As Steve stare upwards, another thing which beckoned him on was the tank top, sweat-soaked to the point of an almost visual state of seeing shirtless, two nips poking at the fabric, outlined by decisive pecs, abs drawing the sweaty top around his six pack, a faint indentation at his lower stomach. Too, as he took the hand and rose up, he glanced down, catching a short glimpse of what lay below the beltline.
Steve was totally unaware, the blond dude saying, "I know all the tricks!"
"Tricks?" Steve asks, with the first time in his life being lost for words.
He was also fuckin' whacked out of his gourd when groped, the dude saying, "Nice! How about we get it on sometime?"
With a look of uncertainty, Steve's demeanor changed to a grin, replying in a manner which would serve to cover his intentions, "Sure, as long as you have a tight fit?"
Thinking he had things all under wraps, the two walked the track, Steve learning of the German's name, Hans Baasch, but not what was lurking in his mind, of how when they got behind closed doors, how he would take the upper hand when it came to Steve, of who was taking who's ass.
Too, Steve had an agenda of his own. Right now, with the change of sports leadership, a new football coach added to the ranks, he knew he needed all the allies he could get in his recruitment from the altheletic roster this year. After all, his own economic picture would get kind of ugly if Steve didn't drum up a quota for the Saturday night underground club he ran during each semester. After all, he had to appease his clientele of higher eschelon businessmen, cops, firemen and other professionals. Too, they demanded quality 'material' to work with. One big strike against him this year, Coach Stahl, he knew he would not be over persuasive in getting him to work in unison with him, when it came to recruitment.
Two months ago Steve had everthing cinched, what with the dropping of scholarships. However, as life does, Coach Johnson 'had' to have a heart attack and retire. On edge, Steve showed concern to the point of finding out if Johnson would be resuming his duties this fall, only for his own benefit. When the family informed him of what he feared, it was the last time Steve visited the hospital. And now, until today, his thoughts so clouding his mind, him not paying attention to where he was going, sideswiped by the hefty German on the track, did he begin to think things might not be so bad off!
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Copyright 2010 T. Chase McPhee
`PLaY FoR PaY' 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.....