When Opportunity Knocks

Standard disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to people or actual events is purely coincidental.

You may contact the author at Ulfr57@gmail.com All comments, suggestions and/or obsevations are welcome if presented respectfully.

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When Opportunity Knocks

Chapter Seven:

"Am I really going through with this?" Patrick McCormick thought to himself, as he hurriedly stuffed clothes from his drawers and closet into two of the larger luggage he owned and used mostly for business travel.

It wasn't like there was any real debate going on in his head. For Patrick, there really wasn't any other option. He had to do this, he had to obey the last commanding instructions issued to him from the most incredible superior alpha male he had ever had the honor of encountering.

This weekend, the most amazing weekend of his life, had been arranged after all by Rob. Set up weeks in advance, even if, sadly, Rob had to back out of participating at the last minute when he got a summons from the leader of the militia he belonged to.

Actually, Patrick didn't know if they were actually a militia. Hell, they weren't even based in Kansas let alone Wenton, but somewhere near Lubbock Texas.

Rob had always been tight-lipped about his frequent visits there, and all Patrick was absolutely certain of, was that Rob was born and raised there and it wasn't unusual that Rob would have to nix plans they had made because there was some unexpected function or other he just had to attend.

Still, Rob had made the arrangements and had encouraged him to "enjoy" himself despite the unexpected change in his own plans.

At first, he had bulked at the idea of going through with it, not without Rob there as emotional support and backup, if nothing else. But Rob had insisted, and it was hard for Patrick to disagree especially since Rob had arranged that one of the participants would be the biggest wet dream of a man he had ever laid eyes on in his entire life, let alone amongst the regulars of Panto's Gym.

Just the thought of Coach Chuck Myer's made his dick twitch uncontrollably and the idea that he would finally be able to fulfill his ultimate fantasy of servicing a group of dominate, sweaty, trash-talking alpha males and top it all off with his dream stud to boot, was just more than he could have passed up on.

No, Rob didn't really have to push too hard to get Patrick to agree to go through with his prearranged weekend of carnal debauchery, and now?... Now he was at home, three days later, quickly packing only the basic necessities he would need, before beginning his life anew as the personal property of the most virile stallion he had ever known.

Patrick felt giddy and nearly lightheaded at the mere thought of what he was doing and he flushed heatedly remembering the events that had led up to his current situation.

Having informed his wife of his plans to spend the weekend away and her deciding to use that time to spend with her lover Rhonda. Patrick had left with only his overnight kit and an anxious smile from their shared home and made his way to the rendezvous site, the back room he and Rob frequented for their little tryst.

It always afforded them the most privacy and was secure enough from the main gym to guarantee they would not be disturbed.

He and Rob both shared the minor monthly expense to keep the space for their private use and though it lacked its own private shower, it did at least have a toilet and a sink where he could "freshen" up in between sessions with Rob.

He had arrived early enough to fulfill the agreed-upon requirements laid out to him by Rob before he left. The instructions were simple, clear, and precise. He was to be naked, and kneeling on the floor, wearing only the black latex hood that was meant solely for his anonymity.

It was a simple disguise that left the lower part of his face, or more importantly, his mouth, fully exposed and accessible for the guys that would be arriving about seven o'clock that evening.

Rob hadn't been too specific about how many guys would be arriving, only that coach Myers had assured him he would line up suitable candidates that could give Patrick the kind of experience he had always longed for.

After preparing himself and taking the submissive position of kneeling on the floor at the foot of the king-sized bed in the otherwise dark and modestly furnished room, fully naked, with his arms locked behind him and his legs spread, fully exposing his vulnerable genitals and facing the door. Patrick's alter ego, Pansy knelt there, his body quivering in anticipation as the appointed time had drawn near.

Though it had seemed like an eternity of waiting, the clock on the wall registered the time at 7:06 pm, when he heard the heavy footsteps making their way down the dark corridor beyond the door he anxiously and nervously couldn't take his eyes off of.

His heart nearly skipped a few beats and palpitated in his heaving chest as he heard the deep masculine voices just outside, as one encouraged another to open the door.

One moment later and with a simple twist of the doorknob, four massive figures entered the room.

Pansy watched, obediently silent, as instructed, as coach Myers, his dream stud ushered in three young men into the room, each suitably muscular and beefy and reeking of a recent workout.

An awkward, silent pall hung over the room as three pairs of eyes, belonging to the coach's youthful companions, glowered haltingly in his direction, as coach Myers shut the door behind them, before turning back toward his charges.

"You weren't kidding, were ya coach?" Lance Coleman, the slighter of the three boldly declared as he crossed the room and made his way to stand directly in front of Pansy, his hand absentmindedly reaching for the growing bulge in his light gray sweatpants and stoking it suggestively, outlining it's ever-increasing bloating into a full-on erection.

"As promised boys!" Coach Myers had declared, his face a beaming smile of sardonic temerity, his eyes two gleaming pools, reflecting a mounting depth of intensity Pansy was all to familiar with. It was the same look he caught frequently in Rob's eyes, it was one of pure, unadulterated animalistic hunger and he was looking at Pansy like a slab of raw beef.

Much to Pansy's dismay, however, Chuck Myers crossed the room and after thrusting the door open, turned to look over his shoulder at the three horny, stalwart youths and informed them he had a few errands to run and would be back the next morning to pick them up, concluding with a devilish wink at Pansy and stating: "Get your fill boys but don't break him, I'll want my turn after you break him in."

With a hearty chuckle, the muscular giant strode through the door and vanished from view upon closing it behind him, leaving Pansy alone with the three hunky football players, who now stared down at him lasciviously.

Without preamble, the one called Lance shoved the front of his sweat pants down with one hand and grabbed the back of Pansy's hooded head with the other and began slapping his lips with the bloated head of his fat eight incher, smearing them in the copious amounts of precum drooling from his piss slit.

"Open wide fag!" The blond youth jeered, his mouth twisted into an insidious lecherous grin.

Pansy nearly swooned at the masculine vehemence of the demand and complied obediently, his mouth already drooling at the thought of servicing this handsome young studs meaty member and tasting the sweet testicular nectar oozing from its rock-hard circumcised tip.

Just as he had hoped, Lance didn't let him waste time sucking and sipping daintily on the head of his palpitating pecker before ramming the full length down his throat and began pumping his plump hairless balls against his chin.

"Yeah bro..." the one called Hatcher sneered sardonically: "Face fuck that faggots mouth-pussy!"

Spurred on by his teammate's taunt, Pansy could feel the boy's fingers tightly grip the back of his head before he began pistoning the full length of his veiny cock into his throat and otherwise using his mouth like his own personal fuckhole.

Pansy was so engrossed in servicing the youth's cock, he barely noticed as Hatch stripped off his own clothing until he felt the warmth of his naked flesh press against him from behind, and the rock-hard heat of his engorged, nearly eleven-inch phallus, began smacking against the side of his face, stinging his cheeks with loud resounding smacks.

Lance's cock had seemed meaty to Pansy, but it wasn't until the boy/man invading his mouth ripped his spittle-covered schlong from his mouth and forced his head around, that he was confronted with Hatches beefy prick.

"Open wide pussy mouth" Hatcher commanded, in his deep, gravelly voice, tinged with no small degree of threatening undertones.

Pansy had to pivot slightly around to comply with the command and as he did so, he could finally take in the prodigious endowment of the six foot-two inch, muscular, sandy-haired manchild starring wickedly down at him, with a pair of bright blue eyes so full of lust and contempt, it sent a mild wave of trepidation shivering down his spine right into his already tight hairless balls, causing his own seven and a half inch dick to belch out a few drops of anticipatory semen from his gasping piss slit.

The distraction of his wanton, ogling appraisal of Hatches phallic perfection ended abruptly as he felt the harsh sting of Hatcher's hand as he slapped Pansy hard across the face, leaving him reeling and dazed as his eyes shot upward to the nearly sadistic grimace that glowered down at him.

Before Pansy could react, Hatch hooked his left hand behind Pansy's head as he brought the tip of his large plum-sized cockhead right up to his lips.

Responding by instinct alone, Pansy's lips parted as his mouth attempted to engulf it, desiring nothing more than to savor every inch of this stallion's manhood.

To his surprise, Hatch pushed him away, by shoving his forehead with the blunt of his palm, once again causing Pansy's eyes to shift questioningly back to his own.

"Ya want this faggot?" Hatch sneered, slapping the plump juicy head of his prick in his left hand as he glowered down at him, the corner of his mouth twisting into a lecherous sneer, before adding: "Ya gotta beg for it first!"

Hesitantly Pansy groaned: "Please sir, may I suck your cock?"

Hatch's face twisted into a full grin, his eyes almost mirthful as he smiled down at him, right before his right hand shot out unexpectedly and slapped Pansy even harder across the face, nearly knocking Pansy off balance and tilting toward the opposite side.

Pansy could feel his cock twitch again and his balls contract even more, as his heart raced within his chest.

This was nothing new to Pansy. This young man was doing instinctively what it took him years to get Rob comfortable with doing. It was this kind of domination that Pansy craved and hungered for and in just the span of a few minutes, this stud had him nearly on the brink of an uncontrollable hands-free orgasm.

"Don't just kneel there staring up at me like some stupid little queer..." Hatch leered, his heated gaze locked with Pansy's: "Be a good little faggot and beg me properly for the honor to worship my dick!"

Pansy paused for a moment, thinking rapidly and stammering submissively as he could his response: "Sir, please instruct me how best to please you."

His plea seemed to please Hatch as his smile broadened and he once again resumed slapping his fat cock head in the palm of his hand.

"First of all..." Hatch began haltingly as if considering his words carefully as he took a step toward Pansy, his rock hard dick aligning perfectly with Pansy's quivering lips: "Allow me to introduce you to my not-so-little friend..." Hatch paused yet again, the sardonically wicked grin returning to his visage: "His name is Fag Basher!"

Pansy nearly whimpered as his dick began to twitch uncontrollably, his mouth watering even more as the urge to engulf the bloated member pressed against his lips, nearly overtook what little self-control he had left.

One thought filled his lust-addled brain...he had to have that cock plunging into him. He needed it more than he needed to take another breath, so he addressed Hatch's dick like it was some divine entity he needed to entreat to attain a state of miraculous nirvana.

Pansy did the only thing he could do, he begged: "Please Fag Basher, allow me to please and worship you."

Unbidden, Pansy lost himself in the moment and began smothering Hatch's drooling knob with slobbering kisses and with wet fluttering flicks of his tongue, until Hatch once again shoved him away, snickering jovially as his hand shot out again and began repeatedly slapping Pansy across the face, in a flurry of stinging blows.

"God dammit Hatch..." A booming voice shouted disapprovingly from the other-side of the room.

All eyes turned toward the brooding six foot five muscle ripped giant seated in the brown leather chair glaring stoically back at the trio, leaving them frozen in silence and in little doubt about who was actually in overall charge in the room.

As well they should. Steve Ramsey wasn't the most vocal of persons, he didn't have to be. His mere physical presence commanded attention and even a hedonistic, rough-and-tumble lout like James Hatcher thought twice about garnering Ramsey's ire.

"Quit fuckin' messin' around..."Ramsey grunted, adding: "Either get your dick wet or step aside and let someone else take a turn."

Hatch responded by sneering down at Pansy, the left corner of his mouth tilting upward baring his pearly teeth in a wicked grimace: "You heard the man...." Hatch taunted in a near-snarling growl before grabbing Pansy by the back of his head with both hands firmly laced behind the base of his skull: "Open wide faggot!" he commanded.

Pansy instantly complied, staring hungrily at the object of his wanton desires, suspecting fully what came next and hoping against hope his instincts were correct. They were!

If nothing else, James Hatcher was consistent, if not even predictable. They all watched in varying degrees of interest as the golden-haired, brooding stallion rammed the full length of his prodigious eleven and half inches balls deep into Pansy's mouth and began grinding his large, egg-sized balls against Pansy's chin, all while continuously spewing a torrential flurry of obscenities.

"Goddam fuckin' queer, take that fuckin' dick down your faggot pussy mouth!"

Hatch's harsh words only urged and heightened Pansy's lust as he began sucking greedily, his lip-locked suctioning and undulating throat muscles devouring everything Hatch ground down his esophagus.

This wasn't the biggest dick Pansy had taken, Rob's was a good inch longer and almost another inch thicker than this ruggedly handsome youth's and over the years, Rob had trained him well.

In the last ten years, there were countless afternoons and evenings where his throat served as a warm fleshy sheath for Rob's twelve-plus inches. Long ago, at Rob's insistence, Pansy had learned to gulp air around his fat fuckstick, keeping it warm and wet in the confines of his tight throat, often kneeling for hours between Rob's splayed legs as he watched some football or basketball game on TV with Rob's dick throbbing fully embedded inside his oral cavity.

Early on, Rob had declared this his purpose, reducing him into being nothing more than some fleshy vessel for his manhood and his seed. Pansy had learned that purpose well. If Hatch was expecting him to gag, he was going to be sorely disappointed. Pansy could do this all night if need be, and he could do so much more, which he demonstrated by loosening his jaw further allowing his tongue to snake out and caress Hatch's testicles, swabbing them in the copious amounts of drooling spittle accumulating in his mouth, eliciting a tightening of the youths grip on the back of his head followed by a few rewarding guttural moans of satisfaction and approval.

As Pansy's tongue circled and stroked Hatch's balls, as his throat muscles continued to constrict and milk his burgeoning shaft and palpitating cockhead, Pansy reminisced over the hours of training he had spent lengthening his tongue to better serve Rob.

It was after months of trying to flex and stretch his oral digit by pushing it harder and harder passed his lips that he happened upon the idea of using small weights attached to a large adjustable nipple clamp.

He would affix the clamp as far back on his tongue as he could before attaching the weight and would then lean forward allowing gravity and time to do its work.

By slowly increasing the amount of weight, he soon had nearly doubled his ability to extend his tongue until he could nearly lick the bottom of his chin or flick it over the tip of his nose.

At times, the pain had been almost unbearable, but once he had achieved a certain level of success, the pain he had endured to accomplish the outcome, outweighed what he had suffered to achieve it.

With a wicked sense of self-satisfaction at what he had achieved over the years, Pansy demonstrated his next oral trick by scooping Hatch's large egg-sized gonads into his mouth, one at a time, before stuffing each one into either of his cheeks before clamping his lips tightly around his now fully engulfed genitals and began sucking in earnest.

The unexpected sensation literally knocked Hatch off his feet as he fell backward onto the foot of the bed, his fingers gouging vice-like into Pansy's skull as he hurled obscenities in an endless stream of animalistic grunts and growls.

"Mutha-fuckin'-Goddamn cocksuckin'-faggot...eat my fuckin' junk."

Pansy's little "trick" didn't escape the notice of the other two occupants in the room, as they stared on in wide-eyed fascination as Hatcher continued to howl his lust-fueled tirade: "Take it all you fuckin' queer, I'm about to drown your faggot as in jizz!"

No sooner had the words escaped his lips, Pansy could feel Hatch's entire body stiffen and his steely grip tighten even more as the muscular youth ground his groin against his suctioning lips.

True to his word, Pansy marveled at the sheer force of the rocketing first blast of molten sperm that spewed from the straining engorged tip of Hatch's prick, followed by volley after volley of thick viscous splooge, so copious that it caused Pansy's eyes to roll back in his head as he suckled and swallowed greedily at the near endless tsunami of jism pummeling his esophagus.

The fact was, at that very moment, Pansy was past caring if he'd drown in Hatch's cum. From the first heated, thick blast of the man-boys load, Pansy's own cock erupted in a joyous fountain of pistoning ball juice.

No, Pansy hadn't touched his own cock, Rob had forbidden him from pleasuring himself almost from the start, insisting that the only time Pansy was allowed to cum was through his selfless joy of servicing "real" men and in Pansy's lust-filled thoughts, he was feasting on one right now, which spurred the uncontrollable orgasm he was experiencing now.

"Look at that willya?" the one called Lance chortled snarkily, pointing down at Pansy's dick: "The homo just came from chuggin' your jizz dude."

Though still caught up in the last vestiges of his post-coital euphoria, Hatcher reach down, and with the heel of his palm pushed at Pansy's forehead until his bloated, spit-soaked genitals plopped out noisily from Pansy's still sucking mouth.

Sitting up and looking down between his legs in disgust at the cum dripping down the sheets, shot from Pansy's deflating cock, Hatch rose to a standing position over a still panting, hooded Pansy and sneered down at him with a cocky half-grin: "Bad faggot..." He taunted: "Who gave you permission to get off?"

Still feeling the buzz from his endorphin induced post orgasmic release, Pansy just smiled back up at him and licked his lips before dropping his gaze to Hatch's crotch and began kissing his still fully erect cock: "Please sir, I couldn't control myself, your load just tasted so good!"

Without prompting, Pansy wrapped his lips around the swollen shiny knob of Hatcher's dick and plunged downward fully engulfing his sizeable endowment to its base and ground his chin into the wiry hairs of his groin.

The cocky sneer appeared once again across Hatch's face as he pushed his head away: "Ya can't suck my dick again until you suck off my buddy Lance here." Hatcher snarled sardonically while urging Lance to sprawl out on the bed and coaxing Pansy to climb up between his legs and fully engulfing Lance's eight incher and balls and began sucking away contentedly.

Hatch exchanged wicked glances with Lance as he kicked Pansy's legs apart and hoisted his hips into the air and began rubbing his still swollen phallus up and down the crack of Pansy's ass before taunting: "I've always wondered what it would be like to dry fuck a fags pussy!"

And before Pansy could catch his bearings or react to Hatcher's declaration, Pansy suddenly felt the blunt hard end of Hatch's dick ram past his puckered sphincter and enter his anal canal, where Hatcher seemed determined to rip his way completely into Pansy's guts.

The pain was excruciating, but all Pansy could do was gargle his protest around the bloated girth of Lances leaking cock and sweaty balls and beat his fist against the mattress of the bed until James Hatcher finally hit bottom, deep inside his pain-wracked orifice.

"Bet ya felt that didn't you, ya fuckin' queer!?" Hatch boasted gleefully as he began rapidly punching the full length of his prodigious endowment in and out of Pansy's aching hole.

It was pure torture for several minutes, with little or nothing Pansy could do about it. But eventually, Hatch's own leaking seminal fluids began to coat his rectal cavity and the pain of his rapid strokes soon turned to pleasure with Pansy bouncing backward to meet each one of James's powerful thrusts.

"Goddayam..."Hatch groaned gutturally, his right-hand slapping repeatedly against Pansy's reddening butt cheeks with a loud smacking noise accompanying it, with each downward stroke, that hit so hard, it caused the sound to reverberate off the small room walls in a cacophony of sadistic vehemence: "This is the tightest fuckin' snatch I've ever plowed."

Pansy winced with each torturous smack of his bulbous bubblebutt, but the combination of James's smacks, verbal abuse, and gut-pounding schlong raking across his prostate, had Pansy's dick on the verge of pre-orgasmic release for what seemed like hours, even as the other blond-haired youths fat cock continued to drive forcefully down his throat until he was certain it would plow right through the back of his head.

Their macho bravado and near tireless vitality made him hover on the brink, suspended and impaled but still carnally connected between them. For Pansy, this was the culmination of what he had dreamed of and deep down he hoped it would go on forever, but like all good things, combined with their youthful exuberance, all too soon plunged the trio over the edge into near volcanic eruptions of molten jism. Lance's down his throat, Hatch's deep in his ass, and his own splashing aimlessly against the now sweat-soaked mattress and sheets, until they all collapsed into a heap of panting, glistening flesh.

Pansy could have laid there forever, sandwiched between them, they're spent, but still bloated dicks still dribbling inside him, but the thunderous sound of applause echoed from the other side of the room as the fourth, but hitherto mostly silent member of this arranged get together, clapped his hands together.

"That was some show boys..." the still-dressed six-foot-five giant grunted in a deep gravely voice as he slowly rose from the leather chair directly across from them.

"But I think it's time to separate the boys from the men and let a real man show you how its done!"

Pansy's eyes were quickly drawn away from the ruggedly handsome face that eyed him deviously as the muscle-honed jock began to pull his sweat stained t-shirt over his head while kicking his sneakers off as his thumbs dug into the waistband of his gray sweatpants and began shimmying them down over his huge muscular ass.

There was little time for Pansy to appreciate the massive glistening muscles that subsumed the bulking and daunting figure that slowly approached him before his eyes caught sight of the pendulous monster that dangled between his legs.

Pansy felt a sudden twinge of trepidation as the organ began to swell and engorge with each step he took toward him.

He was barely aware of Hatch kneeling toward his ear and whispering maliciously: "Now you gonna get it faggot."

Pansy suddenly found himself alone on the bed as his two former companions made way for their hulking comrade, who continually glowered at Pansy like a fresh piece of meat he was about to devour whole.

Feeling like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights, Pansy sat there on his knees in the center of the bed as Steve Ramsey lowered himself on his knees and scooted up the bed until he was nearly face to face with a frozen Pansy.

With one forceful shove, Ramsey pushed him backward and grabbed his ankles, and hoisted his legs into the air until his ankles swung over his broad shoulders and his thighs spread as the grunting, ape-like youth positioned himself squarely between them, leaving little doubt about his intentions and the position he wanted him in.

"Like what ya see gay boy?" Ramsey growled deeply, locking gazes with Pansy who could do little more than gawk at the momentous phallus now fully erect and stretching up his own abdomen until it nearly reached the center of his chest.

Over the years, Pansy had watched a lot of porn, dreamed of some of those big cocks plowing his holes into oblivion and he had thought he had completely lucked out when he met and hooked up with Rob Wiley. He was sure they had been fated to meet when Rob revealed his huge twelve-inch dick for the first time.

Pansy had spent years worshiping that cock, sure he would never find its equal, at least in this lifetime.

But the monster laying heavily across his belly shattered that illusion and all Pansy could do was stare at it in awed, wide-eyed silence.

From the base of its baseball bat thick base, up through its equally thick veiny shaft and the uncircumcised hooded tennisball-sized glands, Pansy was certain it had to measure at least sixteen inches in length.

Pansy gulped involuntarily as his mouth drooled in lusty hunger while his senses reeled at the very notion that this powerful manchild fully intended to shove that thing into him and fuck him like it would be the most normal thing in the world for him to do.

"Please sir..." Pansy stammered brokenly, his lips barely able to form the words his trepidation cautioned him to speak.

"Ramsey smiled wickedly: "You don't have to beg, this is the first time I've ever gotten the chance to use this thing on anyone, and believe me, I'm gonna take my time and enjoy every minute of it even if I have to split you in two to do it."

Pansy's lower lip trembled at his harsh words. Fear and hunger filled his vision as he lay there helplessly awaiting the inevitable as Ramsey drew his huge dick back and pressed the business end of his schlong against Pansy's wet, sperm-oozing anus.

"Puh...puhlease... "Pansy finally managed to stutter: "At least use some lube."

Ramsey glowered back at him for a moment then leaned back, shifting his weight back on his heels: "Get it!" he commanded, causing Pansy to roll over on his side to the nightstand where he opened the drawer to fetch the bottle of water-based lube he and Rob frequently used.

'Grease me up" Steve practically cooed as he intently watched Pansy follow his instructions obediently before repositioning himself with his arms behind his head and his thighs drawn tightly against his chest leaving his bunghole an easy target.

Ramsey didn't keep him waiting, didn't bother with even attempting any form of foreplay or loosening.

No, Ramsey had only one goal in mind and that was plunging his big dick into Pansy's pucker and plowing away all his years of frustration for all those who had been too frightened by his massive endowments to even make some semblance of an attempt.

The Coach had promised him a willing hole for his amusement and he fully intended to do just that.

For Pansy, this was just another challenge he intended to meet. Over the last decade, he and Rob had engaged in numerous sexual acts including fisting. He had even managed to take Rob's arm nearly to the elbow once and though Rob's forearm was thicker than Ramsey's sizeable endowment, his dick was considerably longer than that had been.

The only plus side Pansy saw at the moment was the plowing Hatch had already given his hole and Pansy secretly hoped it would be enough to loosen him for what was to come.

At first, the massive head didn't seem to want to push past his sphincter, causing Pansy to whimper several times in both pain and frustration as he rotated his hips trying to find the right position to make it easier for the inexperienced jock, but ultimately it just took the slow persistent pressure and the strength of Steve's oaken thighs to push past his taut entrance and enter him snugly.

Despite this small victory, Pansy braced himself for what he knew would be the next hurdle, his inner sphincter.

It had taken him and Rob month's worth of persistent, repetitive training to get Rob's fist to stretch that opening enough to accommodate his massive fist into the opening of his lower bowels. But where Rob had been patient, Pansy was certain that this time would prove to be different.

Having that thought no sooner crossed his mind, he felt a sharp twinge of pain accompanied by Ramsey's massive wanger abruptly halted from gaining further purchase into the tight confines of his anal canal.

The sudden, painful incursion caused Pansy to cry out only to find himself instantly silenced when James Hatcher straddled his head and rammed his still-swollen phallus down his throat cutting off any protest he might have made.

Pansy could feel the firm grip of Hatch's hands lock around his ankles and pull his legs back and apart further as he nearly growled words of support to his youthful companion: "Shove that fucking thing up that faggots pussy bro... wreck his fuckin' cunt!"

The muffled sounds of Hatch's words sent a shiver of dread and anxiety coursing through his near oxygen-depleted brain, but underneath his fear, Pansy felt something else... a deep sense of hunger and excitement. This was something he knew all too well and had come to accept about himself over the years of nearly nightly service to Rob. Somewhere, back in the deepest recesses of his mind, he wanted this young muscle god to take him, to completely dominate and have his way with him, to use him and treat him like a vessel for his potent seed and virile manhood.

No, Pansy didn't just want it, he needed it!

Pansy lost himself in that desire, his lips locked around Hatch's bloated dong and began suckling in renewed earnest, as his hips thrust, almost involuntarily upward as a slowly retreating Ramsey repositioned himself, rising up on his feet into a squat thrust stance, with his dick pulled back until only the head of his palpitating schlong remained ensconced within him.

He didn't know what happened after that moment, one minute he was greedily devouring Hatch's fat juicy dick, then instantly, like a switch flipping in his head, the world around him erupted into a vast sea of searing hot whiteness.

It took him a moment to reorient himself, to discern whether this was a dream or something real.

He lay there, letting his eyes try to focus within the billowing white haze, as the gentle sounds of water brushed softly against a, not to distant shore and a pleasant, warm breeze wafted over his bare skin, followed by a light lilting hum that slowly transformed into an ephemeral disembodied voice, that rang like music in his ears.

The words it spoke barely reached him and bore a hint of both joy and sadness: "You can not be here little one..." it sang in caution: "Yet all the same you deserve to know..." the words trailed off into the ether, somewhere between the past, present, and future, before it continued: "Through you, the stage has been set, you will bare witness as your offspring bring change to the world..."

Pansy's heart skipped a beat at the mention of his sons Matt and Brian, spurring him to finally find his voice and speak out in fear for their safety: "Who the hell are you and how do you know my sons?"

In response, a wave of calmness washed over him as a golden light infused every pore of his being as the warmth of the disembodied voice suffused him: "They can not stay with you, but be not afraid to let them go, for they are intended to do great things..." as it spoke, the light began to fade and swirl into the darkness around him and the voice drew away from him until it was barely audible, but before Pansy lost it completely, he was certain it said: "Listen to your mate, you will find comfort in his arms..."

The world swirled around him in a dizzying array of sights and sounds until he found himself once again in the confines of the poorly lit room in the back of Panto's gym.

Pansy lay there, with his arms and legs wrapped around the hulking, sweaty muscular youth who was relentlessly pounding his massive dick deep into his guts, clutching and holding onto him for dear life.

Still reeling from what Pansy could only describe as either a sex-induced delusion or a divine, spiritual vision, he slowly gathered what was left of his wits as he took in his surroundings.

Beside him, laying exhausted across the bed, was the one he knew as Hatcher, the other, the blond-haired Adonis, was sprawled out listlessly in the brown leather chair in the corner of the room.

The perpetual abysmal lighting of the room defied the passage of time, so Pansy had no idea how long they had been at it, but what he was certain of, was his throat ached from use and his hole felt numb to the constant pummeling this kid was pile driving into him.

As if right on cue, he felt every muscle suddenly stiffen and flex on the youthful stallion buried balls deep in his quivering, abused hole as he simultaneously tightened his arms around Pansy and grunted into his left ear: "I'm fuckin' cumin' again you fuckin' tight as bitch."

The words barely registered to Pansy as he lay there passively feeling the hot warm jets of jism spurting into the deepest recesses of his now spasming rectum.

Almost instinctively Pansy's hole seemed to grip and clutch at the base of the huge invader, milking it for every precious drop of the stallions splooge, which elicited the stud to comment: "Goddam bitch, your fuckin' pussy is suckin' my nuts dry!"

For some reason, Pansy felt a certain satisfaction in hearing him say that, which was echoed by the fervent wet suckling sounds of his clenching hole around his pulsating shaft.

Pansy couldn't help but smile to himself in amusement, noting mentally to himself how it sounded like a hungry calf feeding on its mother's teat, back in the day when he would visit at his grandparent's farm as a kid.

The contented moment quickly faded as the hulkish brute slowly regained some semblance of composure and began pulling away from him and slowly withdrawing his rubbery, though still gargantuan pecker.

Laying there listlessly, Pansy marveled at the prodigious organ as it plopped glisteningly from the swollen lips of his distended pucker, noting in admiration at the plethora of thick viscous white splooge clinging to its shiny surface.

As if in a trance, Pansy felt drawn to it, like a moth to a flame and he pivoted toward it and began kissing and licking at its semi-erect surface before swooping down to draw the massive head into his now drooling hungry mouth and forcing it down his chugging throat until it was nearly halfway buried into his esophagus.

"Damn, Hatch was right..." the now smiling jock crooned, locking eyes with Pansy as he suckled ardently: "You're one cock hungry faggot."

Pansy just winked at him mischievously, eliciting a chuckle from the somewhat gentle giant. He didn't sense the same demeaning intent in his use of the word faggot that he got from both Hatch and Lance. In some way, it felt almost complimentary coming from this deep gravely voiced stud, which Pansy rewarded by forcing himself to take another inch or two of his already inflating member.

"Sorry dude..." Steve Ramsey apologized as he withdrew his inflating dick from Pansy's greedy mouth: "I don't think I got another one left in me, I already shot six loads up your fuckin' amazing snatch."

"Six?" Pansy queried out loud, though he hadn't intended to.

"Yeah..." Ramsey waxed, his eyes glazing over in fond remembrance of his accomplishment: "You're like a fuckin' machine dude, you took everything I had and drained my bro's to boot."

Pansy couldn't help but stare up at him, a slightly dumbfounded look on his face: "How long have we been at it?" he questioned, while still trying to wrap his head around the fact he couldn't remember it happening.

"Dude, you kidding? We've been at it most of the evening!" Ramsey giggled, wondering to himself, as he scratched his head if maybe Hatch and Lance had jarred his brains loose with the countless loads they had fucked down his throat while he completely monopolized Pansy's talented hole.

Trying to get his bearings, Pansy rolled off the bed, garnering a grumpy grunt from a lethargic Hatch in the process as he scampered for his pants to find his phone.

No sooner pulling it from the confines of the pocket of his stonewashed denim jeans, Pansy swiped to activate the screen and stared in disbelief at the time displayed-- 11:34 PM.

Pansy had barely had the time to register the fact he had lost a span of nearly three hours he couldn't account for when the sudden rustle of the doorknob captured his attention preceded by the door being thrust inward and to his surprise, the room filled with large men dressed in camo gear, all of them armed to the teeth like they were going into combat.

One person thrust himself between them barking orders as he closed the distance between him and Pansy while the three shocked boys in the room scampered fearfully to each other until they stood huddled, naked together as the men surrounded them.

"Hiya Babe... surprised to see me?" the familiar voice of his lover Rob Wiley mused as he reached down to pull him to his feet and into his arms, while simultaneously pulling the hood off over his head, exposing his face and planting a kiss on his trembling, confused lips.

<<<<<>>>>>

"Stop being such a pussy" Matt McCormick heard the all too familiar voice of his best friend and co-conspirator Talia Brooks respond snappily through his earpod.

Matt had his phone stuffed into his left front pocket so he could hiss, as quietly as possible, his responses to her: "This would be a whole lot less nerve-wracking if you'd quit humming the theme song from the Pink Panther."

Talia snickered for a moment before retorting: "What are you friggin' worried about, you got back up there with you."

By backup, Talia meant his brother Brian and his newly acquired, persistent shadow Hunter Milsbane.

'God, I miss Blake" he thought to himself as he clung as close as possible to the exterior back wall of the single-story, ground-level ranch-style house, that the school records Talia had hacked right from the school computer, indicated was the address of the high school football coach, Chuck Myers.

They had made this, albeit risky choice, earlier in the afternoon after he and Talia had reviewed the hours and hours worth of camera and audio footage they had captured from the small spy device Blake had been able to sneak into the coach's office on Wednesday.

That, as it were, turned out to be fortuitous, because upon reviewing the footage Thursday, Blake, Talia and Matt bore witness to rather troubling video footage of a short meeting between Dr. Ventrov and Coach Myers from earlier in the afternoon, in which, amongst other things, Dr. Ventrov indicated that he was considering pulling the plug on their little experiment because he felt their program may have become compromised due to some information he had received from his benefactor, urging him to use extreme caution in all external programs he may be conducting outside the safety of the lab.

What had been particularly troubling was the coach asking if that info had come directly from some source at the Pentagon or from his boss in Ukraine.

That question alone had drawn ire from Dr. Ventrov, who responded by concluding their meeting and shoving past the coach as he harshly whispered back at him, over his shoulder, as he sought to abruptly exit the coach's office, to never mention or refer to "the One" outside the safety of the labs again and nearly slamming the door in the coaches face as he left.

As dodgy as that had all seemed, it was what had happened right afterward that really left them scratching their heads, was when the coach whipped out a cell phone he seemed to have hidden from somewhere underneath the top of his desk and quickly dialed a number and nearly spat into the phone angrily, that they may have to make their move sooner than planned because he was afraid Ventrov was spooked and might do something rash if they didn't take control of the situation soon.

They couldn't make out what the response was, but Coach Myers concluded the conversation stating to whoever was on the other end of the line, that they should report this only to the general, that they may have a mole at the Pentagon, before hanging up, stuffing the phone in his pants pocket and hurriedly exiting his office himself.

As Matt recalled it, it was about that time, that Blake seemed to grow somewhat withdrawn, leaving Talia and him to question the possible meaning behind what they were just privy to.

It was shortly after that, Blake had insisted they call it a night and practically bum-rushed Matt out to his truck and had taken him directly home. Even more troubling to Matt, Blake barely gave him so much as a peck on the cheek, before he was tearing out of his driveway and heading back down the road.

Matt tried to just brush it off, but Friday morning he woke to a text from Blake stating he couldn't pick him up that morning because his dad had to make an emergency trip to Texas and Blake was taking the day off from school to go with him.

The inconstancy with his recent behavior over the last couple of days coupled with the timing of his abrupt absence wasn't setting well with Matt; it felt like Blake was brushing him off for some reason or was hiding something that was troubling him.

Matt had considered talking to Talia about it, maybe getting her input, but had decided against it, especially after what they were witness to the night before.

Knowing Talia the way he did, he was certain her imagination would have run wild in a plethora and myriad of ways, which would have only served to heighten Matt's sense of foreboding.

The point became moot when right after school and before the time he had agreed to meet up with Talia, he had stopped by the gym to collect the tablet he used for his weekly stats on the other guys. Since he was scheduled to work the next day at the lab and like always, he fully expected Dr. Ventrov to ask for his tablet so he could review his weekly measurements and update his own files accordingly, he had hoped to retrieve it without notice.

It was be sheer, fortuitous happenstance that he overheard the coach talking to Hatch, Lance, and Steve and informing them what time he expected them to show up at Panto's gym that evening.

Matt didn't know what for, nor did he really care. It wasn't unusual for the coach to run extra drills on the guys and he had just assumed he had planned an evening workout with the guys, but what was important was the time he designated. Seven o'clock PM in early fall also coincided with an early dusk which presented a certain advantageous opportunity for Matt and Talia to do a little reconnoitering at the coach's house, something they had yet to attempt, having no way of prognosticating the coach's extracurricular activities beyond his daily school schedule.

Later, and just as he thought, Talia had wholeheartedly agreed with him, but uncharacteristically worried about the timing, since Blake wasn't here to go in with him as backup, should the need arise.

They had debated the matter heavily, right up until Talia pulled into the driveway at Matt's house and Matt noticed Brian's Jeep.

Like the proverbial light-bulb going off over his head, Matt knew he could use his ability to influence Brian and perhaps Hunter as well, into aiding him in their little fact-finding mission, knowing full well, that Brian's own daring due nature could be easily swayed without much effort on his part.

Hunter's willing participation didn't even come into question. Ever since hooking up with Brian, the pair were seldom apart and in fact, spent most of their time working out, sparing together or just fucking their brains out in Brian's room most of the time.

From Matt's perspective, the thought of his strong athletic older brother, who had delved so enthusiastically into his self-defense courses and was growing and honing his already natural skills, now expanded by the enhancements of Dr. Ventrov's medications, was an even better choice than Blake as his accomplice that evening.

Not that Blake wasn't a great athlete as well, but Matt had no true measure of Blake's defensive or offensive skills and capabilities, should the need present itself. Of course, Matt hoped there wouldn't be a need for either that evening, but his limited experiences had already taught him, that the best defense was a good offense.

The rustle of some shrubbery from a few feet away brought Matt back abruptly to his present circumstance. Almost instantly he caught Brian's unique scent and stealthily as possible made his way over to him.

'We found a way in." Brian whispered conspiratorially, which only amused him since it was fairly certain there wasn't a sole around. The coach lived in a rather spartan neighborhood. His nearest neighbor was a good hundred feet away and the surrounding terrain was rather densely foliaged offering them ample coverage in the early evening waning light.

Matt just went with it, shaking his head and smiling bemusedly: "Show me." was all he responded before falling in step behind his brother as he cautiously led him around to the back of the house to a small basement window that had been left open.

The portal was to small for either Brian or Hunter, but Matt's more diminutive stature had little problem squeezing through and into what appeared to be the coach's make-shift home gym.

Upon entering, Matt made his way over to the exterior basement door and using the small LED flashlight he brought with him, to scan all around the door frame for any wires that might indicate it was hooked up to some home security alarm system.

Finding none, Matt unbolted the door and ushered Brian and Hunter in before closing it once again.

Having decided to leave Hunter to guard the door, Matt informed Talia, who had uncharacteristically remained silent the whole time, that he and Brian were about to make their way upstairs.

"Look for anything that he might be using as a home office first," Talia suggested helpfully.

It had taken every ounce of his influence to prevent her from accompanying them there, only relenting after Matt suggested the constant phone call/headphones idea in lieu of her physical presence.

Matt and Brian, working in concert, went from room to room, working from the front of the house to the rear until they finally found exactly what they were searching for. A small room with just a desk, chair, and file cabinet.

The room was situated right next to his bedroom and had probably served as a walk-in utility closet, judging by its size and dimensions.

Upon first note, it seemed as utilitarian as the rest of the rooms. Sparse in decor, with little or no attempt at adornment or homelike edification. Even notably more so than the usual bachelor pad Matt could envision.

Coach Myers's home was, be that as it may, crisp, clean, and solely functional of purpose.

Matt recalled, that at some point it had been mentioned, that Chuck Myers had served in the military.

Judging by its contents, Matt didn't find that hard to believe, but couldn't help but feel a pang of sorrow for someone who lived such a life, one so harsh, that it was devoid of any warmth or semblance that would otherwise denote a passion or zeal for life and family.

There was one exemption though and it was here in this tiny make-shift office, proudly displayed in a series of black framed pictures and documents, a small, diminutive visual recounting of his bench-marking his service in the Marine Corps. Medals and ribbons that held no significance to Matt but prominently displayed against the soft velveteen naval blue background, surrounded by a series of small pictures of crisply dressed young men in dashing military uniforms, preening proudly in tight formation as their picture had been taken.

Matt knew this for what it was, a man keenly fond of a past accomplishment and this was his silent homage to that period in his life.

What was missing, was anything in the house or in this room linking him to his current life.

Not one trophy or medal, no pictures of triumphant athletic accomplishments of his own or those of favored students or alumni.

Matt knew that such things had transpired under Coach Myers's tenure, yet his home seemed completely devoid of anything that would attest to it, forcing Matt to conjecture why that was.

If he placed no value in what he had accomplished as a coach if he found no joy or sense of accomplishment in doing it, then why did he continue to do so?

To Matt's way of thinking, none of this was adding up. If his job as a high school coach was nothing more than a front to further Dr. Ventrov's testing program, then why that phone call to what he and Talia were sure was someone from the Pentagon?

If he was working with the doctor, then why warn them about a possible informant he might still have there?

If he wasn't in cahoots with Ventrov then why did he become a willing guinea pig in his earlier tests?

Matt nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard his brother grunt behind him as he stood there lost in thought. staring at the pictures on the wall: "Might wanna get the lead out lil' bro, no tellin' how much time we have here."

Matt just gave him a nod, gesturing him out of the small room as he continued his search by going through the coach's desk drawers.

Matt didn't even try bothering with the laptop sitting on the desk, feeling certain there would be no way to access its contents short of just taking it and hoping Talia could hack her way into it. No, that would raise way too many red flags and neither he or Talia felt they had a tight enough case to guarantee success at exposing whatever it was Dr. Ventrov and the coach was up to.

Though it was true they had samples of the pills Matt had procured, and they had evidence of how they enhanced certain attributes in various test subjects. What they didn't have was evidence of a crime or a victim.

As far as Matt could tell, like himself, everyone involved in testing was eighteen or over and all had agreed to it, except the ones Matt himself had basically spiked (with the best intentions of course)

What they lacked were detailed chemical analyses and breakdowns that could expose this as something more than what was being presented.

Despite what they had, they didn't have anything that proved what the Doctor was giving them was anything more than some innocuous vitamin regimen that promoted growth spurts in some test subjects.

Of course, they knew it was more than that, Matt's growing abilities went way beyond mere growth hormones or vitamin supplements, but again, they had no proof of that.

What they needed and why they were now taking such a daring risk like this, was a smoking gun. Some kind of proof linking the coach and the doctor in possibly using potentially dangerous compounds on unsuspecting subjects.

Matt didn't know how long they searched, but after fruitlessly finding nothing of use in the coach's home office, they had carefully searched throughout just about every drawer and cabinet they could find in the house, even splitting up at one point, to cover more territory until they finally converged again in the living room just to wordlessly shrug their mutual futility in finding anything of note.

It was Brian who finally broke the silence: "Dude, face it, we're not going to find anything on this guy here and I think it's time we cut our losses and hightail it out of here before this guy comes wandering in and wonders why the hell we're in his house."

The words had no longer slipped past Brian's lips, when the door to the basement burst open and Coach Myers stepped forward securely covering Hunter Milsbane's mouth with one hand while propelling him forward by twisting his right arm behind his back, eliciting a painful grunt by Hunter in the process: "I think its way past time for a speedy exit boy's" the coach's booming bassy voice grumbled as he shoved Hunter toward Brian, before his bright, intensely blue eyes, locked squarely on Matt: "Please tell Miss Brooks nothing would please me more if she got her dad to send over a couple of his deputies right now."

For the briefest of seconds it didn't register to Matt how the coach could possibly hear what Talia was screeching into his ears through his headphones excitedly right at that precise moment, but as the adrenaline coursed through his body and Talia, upon hearing his words, grew eerily silent, did it finally register.

"Is that another one of the side effects of Dr. Ventrov's treatments?" Matt bristled sardonically, adding quickly: "Super hearing?"

The coach chuckled gruffly, the right corner of his mouth drawing into a mocking sneer: "Amongst other things, that's none of your business."

Two things happened then, neither of which Matt saw coming.

The first was the near animalistic growling snarl that emitted from his brother as he charged across the room like some rampaging bull, with such speed, rage, and force Matt was certain it would send both him and Coach Myers hurling right through the wall directly behind him.

The second thing... was the nearly effortless way, at the very last second before contact, that Coach Myers snatched his hulking powerhouse of a brother up by his throat with one hand and slammed him so hard against the floor that it rocked the entire house right down to its foundations, leaving Brian gasping for the air that had been expelled from his lungs so unexpectedly upon impact with the near buckling floor.

It was in that tumultuous moment that his eyes locked with Coach Myers's, and instead of the fear for his brother or for himself that he knew prior to all of this, that he would have normally felt, instead, Matt's mind and consciousness seemed to crystalize into razor-like focus.

His thoughts drew him back to just the week before when he had willed James Hatcher and Blake to not only back down from what was most assuredly going to be an all-out assault on one another, but he had actually been able to calm them both and send them in totally different directions.

That test of wills was what Matt was summoning now, from the innermost depths of his being, he sent the tendrils of his determination hurling across the space between them.

Unlike previously, so intense was his focus, Matt could swear he could visually perceive this force, like the rippling waves of distortion one sees when the heat rises from the surface of the ground on a hot day.

It wrapped around the coach's body and seemed to cocoon him in a blanket of palpitating coils that seeped right through the epidermal layer of his skin.

The effect seemed cumulative if not instantaneous as Coach Myers seemed at first to just try and shake it off, but as his resistance grew, so did Matt's persistence, culminating in an expanding test of wills.

Matt knew, from previous discussions with the coach, that he had been one of Dr. Ventrov's earlier test subjects. But, those conversations did not reveal the full extent of what those experiments had brought into fruition, and in the few short seconds, as their silent battle continued, to Matt's chagrin, he got to observe, first hand, some of those enhancements..

As Chuck Myers resisted and struggled against Matt's mounting will, he watched as the coach's body expanded and swelled.

Each muscle seemed to bloat and thicken into striated ropes straining against his skin and forcing his veins to pop and palpitate with the rush of blood through his system and within mere moments a muscle swollen giant over seven feet tall growled balefully from across the room at him.

Every inch of the man, both muscle and sinew struggled to resist him seemingly fueled by a monumental rage that subsumed every fiber of his being.

To date, and in his limited experience at testing his newfound abilities, Matt had never met with such a resistant determination as he felt now pushing back against him and in a moment of trepidation and self doubt his confidence faltered as unexpectedly, this hulking brute shakily stammered a single step toward him.

It was almost enough to shatter Matt's resolve as he envisioned a more sinister ending than he had first expected, but just as suddenly as that moment of self-doubt creep its way into his thoughts, Matt experienced a sudden wave of tranquility wash over him.

It felt like a warm golden light that niggled its way from the center of his being and soon pulsated throughout him. With this new sensation came an ethereal, melodic lilting sound that permeated his inner core and seemed to be urging him to push back.

Matt did just that.

At first, it seemed to have little effect as the coach took another struggling step toward him, but his movements seemed feeble as the veins on his corded muscles became even more pronounced and the near herculean effort driving him, raged higher and higher until Matt was certain he could see the briefest flecks of green flash within the iris's of his eyes as if lit from behind.

It was then Matt heard the gentle whisper of a singular word as if spoken from right behind him as if sung softly into his ear. But, that word possessed and so infused him, his lips seemed to part of their own volition and spoke but just a single word that rang crystal clear... "Submit."

The seconds that followed seemed so surreal to Matt. Instantly it halted Coach Myers's progression, but oddly enough, it caused his brother to roll over onto his belly and drop his forehead to the floor directly toward him.

In his peripheral vision, he watched as Hunter dropped unceremoniously to his knees and bow his head until he to was prone on the floor, his forehead touching the hardwood floorboards of Coach Myers's living room. But it was Coach Myers himself that left the most lasting impression.

Matt bore silent witness as the once hulking beast of a man dropped loudly to the floor onto his knees.

He still seemed to struggle, fighting some internal battle, that still raged within him. His movements seemed strained and caused his motions to be jerky and awkward, like those of a puppet caught on tangled strings. But as he knelt there on the floor, just a few feet away from Matt, his body shrunk back to its normal proportions.

The one notable difference between him, his brother, and Hunter, is Coach Myers slowly turned his head away from Matt, an action that seemed as forced as the rest of his movements, but done nonetheless and ended with Coach Myers presenting his neck to Matt and held as if he were awaiting further instruction.

Matt was about to comment, when a loud, opportune knock came from the front door, shattering the moment and pivoting all their attention toward the quickly repeated sound.

It took a second to sink in, but Matt soon found his voice as a third round of knocks ruptured the otherwise silence.

"Well...?" Matt queried, looking directly at Coach Myers, who turned his head to lock gazes with him as if questioning what his next actions should be. Matt sighed: "It's your house, answer it."

Coach Myers rose to his feet and cautiously made his way over to the door, his hand reaching for and finding the doorknob.

He turned for a second to state back at Matt, before twisting it and pulling the door inward, and opening it widely.

It was pitch black outside, but outlined in the doorway was the silhouette of a rather robust-looking young man dressed head to toe in military-style camo fatigues.

He moved casually forward one step and into the light of the dimly lit living room, behind him, Matt could make out several other men, similarly attired who also now maneuvered around him and began filing out around them.

The sudden whiff of a familiar scent caught Matt by further surprise and he smiled in relief as the one possessing it, rushed toward him and took him into his arms.

"Are you okay?" he heard the concerned voice of his lover Blake Wiley gush into his ear.

Matt pulled back for a second to take in his familiar, handsome face before wrapping his arms around him and hugging him tightly as he rested his head against his shoulder: "I am now." was all he could manage, as the strain of the last few moments drained away in the comfort of Blake's strong arms.

The focus in the room quickly shifted from their reunion, as he watched others first tend to both his brother and Hunter before centering once again on Coach Myers, who still stood stiffly regarding the unfamiliar young man who now confronted him face to face.

"Wuzzup Chuck?" spoke the five feet eleven inches, sandy-haired man, in a lilting, gravely Texas twang that just oozed with mischievous intent.

Every one of Matt's senses told him, there was far more to this man than first met the eye.

The first thing he noticed was his scent. It was vaguely familiar and took Matt a second or two to grasp it, because it now filled the room.

Previously, Matt had only ever smelled this scent whenever he was with Blake or his father. But the proliferation of this familiar odor now permeated the room and seemed to emanate from almost everyone who had just entered.

That wasn't all though. Matt squinted through the dim lighting to study the ruggedly handsome young man and realized that he seemed something was vaguely familiar with his face when it suddenly dawned on him... he had seen this man before, he was in several of the pictures hanging in Coach Myers's office.

Matt's gaze turned from the smiling young man to focus on Coach Myers, whose eyes were solely locked on only one thing, shaking his head as if in disbelief, he heard Coach Myers's soft, cautious query: "Barin Young, is it really you?"

<<>>

"What a difference a week makes," Matt McCormick thought to himself as he snuggled contentedly against his boyfriend and lover Blake Wiley, who sat silently beside him as he perused some training manuals given to him by Barin Young to study during the long flight in the military cargo plane that was now transporting himself and several others to a destination where they would meet up with some people somewhere in Georgia, who might have some answers to some of the troubling questions they all had.

He had learned more than he ever hoped to know after the battle that fateful Friday evening that left a large portion of the ReGen Pharmaceutical research lab, where he worked part-time, in flaming ruins.

It was the same evening he, his brother, and Hunter Milsbane had broken into Coach Myers's house, which kicked off a chain of events culminating in the decision by Blake's father to storm the lab in pursuit of Dr. Mikal Ventrov, who was now bound, sedated and contained within a makeshift cage in the back part of the plane and under constant guard.

Matt hadn't been part of the fighting that went on that night out there, but even from the safe distance of being held up at Blake's house with his brother, Hunter, and surprisingly his dad, with only Blake left behind, with one of the armed guards led by Blake's dad that evening, none of whom Matt either recognized or knew; that as the evening progressed it became painfully obvious how things were transpiring out at the lab, by the bright flickering glow of orange flames off in its general direction, that proliferated and dominated the night time sky.

That had probably been for the best, since shortly after his encounter with Coach Myers, and after Blake and the man called Barin and several of Blake's dad's men showed up unexpectedly and ended their confrontation, Matt was soon overcome with a deep fatigue and practically required Blake's assistance just to make it out to the black SUV they had all arrived in.

At the time, he wasn't privy to what transpired between Coach Myers and Barin Young, but it seemed they knew each other rather well and Coach Myers seemed to be assisting them, up to and including helping them break into the lab and overcoming the security force that was always ever present there.

It wasn't until much later, after Blake had sat him down and explained about who and what he really was, that it all started to make some sort of sense to Matt.

Surprising as it all was, somehow Blake revealing that he and his father and all the men accompanying him, including Barin, were part of an ancient order of lycanthropes that called themselves the Heritage; which didn't sound any crazier or improbable as what was happening to himself, his brother, Hatch, Lance, Ramsey and even Coach Myers.

In truth, it all seemed to make some sort of weird twisted sense, as did the revelation that Dr. Ventrov was working for some foreign group that was footing the bill in a secret experiment that sought to combine Heritage genes with those of regular humans, that was also being partially funded by a rogue faction at the Pentagon, who envisioned an army of supersoldiers that they could control, and that Coach Myers had actually been a plant, sent by a general who caught wind of the operation, to learn all he could about the experiments and about those involved in it.

Unfortunately for Coach Myers, part of the price of admission into Dr. Ventrov's inner circle was his own participation as an earlier test subject.

After the raid, Matt had overheard the hushed whispers of some of the less fortunate survivors prior to the coach's limited success, which had been released by the doctor to cause chaos when it became apparent who was successfully attacking the lab. He had hoped that the chaos would provide him enough cover and distraction to escape capture himself. It was also the doctor who blew up his own genetics lab in the hopes to prevent them from getting their hands on any of his files, records, as well as samples of his treatments.

That was of course in vain, since Matt, Talia, and Blake already had ample enough samples that could hopefully be used to reverse engineer what Ventrov had done to all of them.

Unfortunately, none of the less successful victims of his machinations survived the explosion and subsequent fires. all that remained were himself, the coach, Blake, his brother, and the three senior football jocks.

It had been decided early on, in the days following, to leave Hatch, Lance, Steve, his brother and Hunter under the care and watchful eye of Blake's dad. They would be allowed to continue their lives as normally as possible, but only if they didn't exhibit any overly aggressive behavior or other deleterious after-effects.

Coach Myers had told them, that as far as he knew, what had been done to the three football players was temporary and any enhancement they had accrued would fade without further supplemental treatments.

Blake, the coach, and Brian were different though, what they had been given was permanent, and while his brother fully understood that, he chose, at this time, to stay close to Hunter and accepted an offer from Blake's dad to train and work with him to hone and monitor his abilities.

Matt suspected that it had more to do with Brian wanting to stay close to Hunter more than the other, but he didn't want to question his sibling's motivations, especially since he was the source of his brother's current predicament.

Then there was the most shocking development of all. The affair his dad had been having, for over ten years, with Blake's dad Rob and the subsequent reveal of his mother's decades-long romance with the town's florist.

That had been a truly awkward family discussion the following day and Matt and his brother were both still trying to work through that one and probably would be for quite some time. But, despite how he and Brian felt about it, they both seemed sincerely happy and if truth be told, knowing the full history of their grandmother and her complete disdain for homosexuals, it didn't really surprise either Matt or Brian that their father had done what he had.

The end result of course was his and Brian's very existence as a result, and when all things were said and done, none of it really mattered if everyone concerned were in a better place than they were before.

Both he and Brian still had two parents that loved them dearly and nothing that happened had or would ever change that.

Then there was Talia, his lifelong best friend, and constant companion, through thick and thin.

When the dust had settled, and the decision had been made that Matt and Blake would accompany Barin and Coach Myers to this place in Georgia, where there was those who could better assess what had been done to them and potentially figure out what could be done to either reverse it or better understand it, it had fallen to him how best to break his sudden departure to Talia.

Blake's dad had made it clear, that it was in Talia's best interest that she remain blissfully ignorant about anything to do with the Heritage.

Matt had tried his best to argue that Talia could be trusted to keep their secret, but ultimately, that wasn't his decision alone to make and after discussing it with Blake, who agreed with his father, Matt concocted a viable explanation that she would believe.

Matt knew he couldn't insult her intelligence by attempting to deny what she already knew, so he played into it, telling Talia that he and Blake, because of what had been done to them by the doctor's treatments, had to go where they could be safely observed and diagnosed for an indeterminate amount of time.

Talia bought it of course, but she didn't like it. Nor did she like the fact that she couldn't accompany them, nor the idea that she couldn't expose, to anyone else, what the doctor had done without further turning his and Blake's lives upside down and inside out by holding Dr. Ventrov and ReGen Pharmaceuticals proverbial feet to the heat of public scrutiny and judgment. But, her sense of loyalty to both Matt and Blake, guaranteed her silence.

It was conditional, however. Matt had to promise to stay in contact and keep her apprised, as frequently as possible, of his and Blake's status.

The rest of the week following that discussion and leading up to and including their last farewells had been excruciating for both of them.

"You better keep your promise and stay in touch fruitcake..." Talia murmured into his ear as she hugged him tightly for the last time the following evening before they departed for Texas, adding: "Or I'll hop in the Mystery Machine and drive all the way to Georgia and kick your faggot ass!"

Matt couldn't help but chuckle as he gently pushed her away and watched as she quickly wiped the creeping moisture from her eyes: "Bitch puhleez, like that bucket of bolts, could make it out of town without Blake around to keep it from breaking down." Matt retorted jovially, before hopping into Blake's truck.

"Call me when you get there dipshit, that is if your plane doesn't crash from the strain of toting your fat ass around."

"Typical," Matt thought to himself bemusedly, fondly remembering their parting moment and smiling, as he snuggled even closer to Blake, enjoying the comforting heat of his body nestled so closely to his own, drifting in and out of sleep, while wondering what new adventures the future might hold in store for them and knowing deep down inside himself, that it didn't really matter, so long as he had friends like Talia and the man he loved beside him, to accompany him along the way.

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This concludes "When Opportunity Knocks" it doesn't however mean an end to the characters in this story.

You can follow their continued adventures, chronicled from time to time, in future installments of "Devil Dawg Donnelly's: Revelations."