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Give till it hurts...and if that's not enough, get with some s&m!
'YoGA MaT' 14
WriTten by T. Chase McPhee
%
"You know," Duncan poses a question to Nadav, "I really don't know much about George, other than he looks so sexy in that leather singlet?"
After Duncan's laughing subsides, Dr. Tor, sharing in the humor of Duncan's description of George, answers, "in a nutshell, he was born into the life of a mutt."
Increasing the awareness between them, Duncan says, "nice mutt," he rubs his semi-hard endowment.
Clearing his throat, something Nadav would do when someone interrupted him, followed by, "uh, well, fortunately for our eyes to dwell on, a Barcelona bear, a Jewish grandmother, who's offspring married into a wealthy Indian heritage, hence the rest of George's calling, `Contreras Emmanuel Singh', I'm forced to agree he has quite the hot dad-bod."
"All I can say," Duncan gags, forces a cough, "I wonder which part of George's family tree gave him those big low hangers?"
One thing Nadav knew, being his profession in the field of psychiatry, it didn't take two degrees, plus coursework and lectures for him to judge a man, from a professional standpoint. Right now he was smiling at Duncan's sexual humor, but sensed confused thought. Here, his landscaper friend seemed to have mixed feelings, regarding labels.
For all the time he's known Duncan, he's had this steel exterior, a vision of a warrior-top, able to project an acting role when it came to master of the darkroom. In a dungeon setting he could put a man through hell. Of course always in a safe manner, mostly a cocktail of what each man wanted, hope for. When a man was paying top dollar for an alpha top's services, they expected delivery on the role playing. Duncan, decked out in full leather attire could assume a position of a sadistic master, or mild-mannered sex-lion, preying on a cub. Feelings about George has him pondering.
A snap of the finger has things come to light, "by Joe I think I've got it," Duncan says with a British inflection."
Brought on by Duncan's words, Nadav has his own interpretation, "do I detect a need to fill that small void in your life?"
Faced with an alpha pose, feet shoulder-width apart, arms across the middle of dark-fuzzy pecs, "Huh? I'm under the impression we're not on the same page?"
Since he began in a clinical state of mind, Nadav states, "well, being not only a doctor of psychology, but also a friend, that may well be, same pages, but not the same chapter?"
A little perturbed, Duncan says, "and that's supposed to mean?"
"A chapter of a book almost always starts out with a fresh theme. Whereas you might be on chapter one, I may be on chapter two. Get it now?"
Duncan, a different habit than most, scratching his scalp, a trait towards looking for guidance, right hand paws over his left, hairy pec and not coming up with anything concrete, "not really."
Smart of Dr. Tor to not only read minds, but also signals suggested by a hand place here or there, like when a dude is feeling a churning in the balls, a hand naturally could respond with feeling up the orbs, sensing whether it's true or false, a reaction ready to come to term, which has the psych doc say, "it's just that when you mentioned George's low-hangers, Dunc, I sensed something disturbing?"
That stumped Duncan for a moment, making him fidgety, shifting weight from foot to foot, dropping arms and then regrouping on the posture, hands to thighs, "why don't you just come out and say what you mean, Nadav?"
When Dr. Tor latched onto something, especially when it concerns an old friend, he doesn't shake it loose to quickly, "well," he pats Duncan on the shoulder, "I certainly don't mean to step on toes here?"
This feeling comes over Duncan, something equated to when he lied to his best bud back in high school, about `doing' a guy, lying about fucking a high school footballer. He just couldn't do it, with his victim pleading not to. He gets on the defensive side, "um, you can hold that thought right now, if it's where I think you're headed with this?"
Stepping forward, Duncan and Nadal's chest fur were in touching distance.
As if he had been manhandled by a stranger, Nadav stares at Duncan, stepping back a couple of inches, "excuse me?"
Since Duncan found himself in this state of mind, "yeah, okay. So, I know I got a phobia, that's what you psych people call it? Whatever you want to call it, I know you got it too, something about getting touched."
"And?"
Strong willed, Duncan says, "`sorry' is all you're gonna get, like I'm not going to get down on my knees and kiss the head of your dick?"
"Did I imply, Dunc?"
Sheepishly, with divided thought, Duncan says, "no."
For Nadav, even though close friends, there were boundaries and whereas Duncan was getting too close to those feelings not willing to share just now, there was a diversion to be found, "why don't we see what George is up to?"
As they walk away from the entrance, deeper into the recesses of the darkroom, Duncan tries taming his balls to stop acting up. Sure, Nadav was a hot looking man, smart and tops at behaving like a dungeon master, but he had reserved that title for himself also, only to feel it was disintegrating before his eyes.
George and Daan were no more than two bondage tables away from them, the two alpha masters heading in that direction. From where they stood near the rack of whips and boxing gloves, they had a clear view. However, the dungeon setting true to its name, `darkroom', had prohibited them from viewing everything as it is.
With two bondage tables very close to each other, with purpose to tantalize a pair, boyfriends or otherwise, there sat George on one ledge, holding a quirt, Daan on the opposing flank, arms behind the back, cuffed at the wrists.
Nadav speaks first, "so, how are you two getting along?"
Settling on a typical pose of authority, Nadav stood there as Duncan had minutes ago, feet shoulder width apart, arms across the middle, a figure of authority, his sidekick next to him.
"Fine," George says.
"Good enough," Nadav says, turning to his friend, "c'mon Dunc, I'll buy you a beer."
"Are you sure George can handle Daan? He seems to be in a fragile state of mind."
Leading Duncan upstairs, Nadav says, "and I appreciate you giving me a call, but I assure you, George has the situation well in hand."
George waited until he hears the door click shut, "so, what would be your course of action if I were to take those cuffs off?"
Answering a question with a question, the twenty year old muscle boy says, "get right to my knees and worship your cock and balls with my tongue. I mean, isn't that the way it usually goes before you start torturing a guy?"
"Could very well go that way," George intimidates, wielding the small leather quirt, tapping it on the palm of the hand.
"So, what's stopping you?"
George knew Daan was aching for a dungeon experience, possibly complete with all the bells, whistles, balls and chains. Regardless, there were other ways of breaking a man, which has him hopping off his perch and approaching Daan.
"I think we should start out easy and work our way up to some hardcore torture, hm?"
What Daan didn't expect is, George stepping up in front of him, and at 5-feet 10-inches tall, he came to a little less than chin to chin.
Feeling comfortable with his fifty-one year old master, Daan says, "wherever you want to start, long as it kinda hurts?"
Pressing Daan's knees apart, George fits himself inside the perimeter of lightly blond, hairy pubes, jostling with the embedded cock and balls, swollen to meet the occasion, "oh, it's going to hurt, trust me."
Daan knew he was feeling the heightening emotions, falling to George's will, fanning out thighs till they ached, in order to accommodate the hairy bear belly.
George, grabbing at the opening of the custom made chaps, something looking like a singlet, a mix of leather and lycra, built to easily grab up his nuts and bolt for any reason. Of this, he sets two sacs and six inches of extended meat, coming to rest on the table.
The twenty year old former footballer sat there, eyeing up every inch of George's approach. If hands hadn't been incapacitated behind the back, he might have been all over pubes, abs, chest, wherever balls and his seven inch spike coerced him to wander.
They both stare between the chasm of their bods, George saying, "bet you can't wait to get your lips down there, making me hard as a rock?"
Thinking George had already reached his apex, "there's more?"
Not answering Daan directly, in the way expected, George says, "oh, so much, much more."
Almost totally smooth, except for the darker blond tiger trail, Daan's bod looked bold, beautiful, robust, shoulders bearing the brunt of George leaning forwards in order to circle Daan with his arms.
He could admit to being sneaky, George having taken a key from a pocket in order to set his captive free.
"What're you doing?" Daan asks, trying to look over a shoulder.
With George backing till he faces Daan once more, dangles the leather and metal cuffs, "I don't think we'll be needing these for the moment."
Daan did feel somewhat free, being George had not engaged the cuffs around his wrists but was now granting him freedom, "what are you going to do to me next?"
George didn't craft his skills at a one-night-stand. Inheritor of three cultures, having been a world traveler to over forty countries, some repeated tours, he's been at times a skier, surfer, tennis player, marathon runner, thrown pottery, painted fake Monet's, has a working knowledge of blowing glass, has participated in yoga classes in Tibet and Japan, hunted on foot in the outback of Australia, viewed Mauna Loa as close as a person can get, stayed with artists, scientists, surfer colonies, been guests of musicians, actors, sports figures, sexually finding gay attributes in all areas of interest. For a while there he was a gay porn star. The list would not be complete if he hadn't visited real `old' dungeons and new concoctions, dreamed up by modern day dungeon masters. All this was before he got careless with his nutritional habits and now sported a little gut!
"My travels have shown me, there's more to life than what we seek, want and where it will lead us."
Not getting it, the twenty year old says, "you want to run that by me again?"
George leans back on the ledge of the table he originally sat. It didn't go unnoticed, Dean's glance to between his legs.
"Which part?"
With the only reference he knew, Daan says, "were the yoga classes nude?"
"So much more when you mix a class of sexually inclined men with steam and warm oils."
Daan gulped. He realizes he didn't know what he was getting himself into. This time he was the one to hop off the edge of the table.
Standing right in front of those beautiful balls and spike lying on top like a delicious snack to make a man's mouth water, "do you think," he stutters, "I could have a hug?"
George was surprised. Ten out of ten times a guy wanted something like a knee to the balls, pulverized nips or a leather strap laid across the back.
It knocked the wind out of his sails to hear Dean's request, "if that's what you want?"
It never hit Daan that he was coming onto a man more than twice his age. In his own opinion, without discussing age, George looked to be about forty, which had him resembling the young father he once had.
George was not surprised, when Daan says, "I never got to know my real father. He was barely sixteen when he made my mother pregnant."
"So, he has to be about thirty-five now?"
"I dunno, but I'm twenty. You do the math."
Having done his tabulation, George smiles, says, "how about giving daddy a nice big hug?"
It was part of his coming out, Daan thinking nothing of gazing upon his birth-father's photographs. Some in color, others black and white, all portrayed the man who likened to the life of surfing, only a fraction of the photos with a shirt on. At first he thought it immoral, to lust over the man whose DNA gave him the muscular bod he maintained. With no one to know his secret, it was pics of his dad who fueled the fire of sexual inhibition, keeping what he did in private to himself.
As Daan steps forward to his destiny, he places hands on both of George's hairy thighs.
"Okay if I say something?"
George admitted to himself this was no ordinary encounter, thinking of going through with what Daan wished, or bail. "Not a problem. Say anything you'd like."
There. He had said it.
For Daan, there was this quirky nervousness, "um, do you like guys my age?"
Having traversed the world, met up with other men of various ages, cultures, or color, and without a preference, "I love all men of all ages."
Daan took that as a yes, even more, "love? Like, how do you mean that?"
Not having a clue to as why he used the `L' word, he certainly did not want to tread lightly on its usage, "um, in general."
"Oh. So you made a mistake. You don't love," a delayed, "me?"
Words were getting all twisted up, whereas actions could more provide the thought behind the power of George's thinking, "I guess what I mean is this," he reaches out, grabs Daan around the middle and in pulling there bods together, kisses lips.
Having hugged Daan, George releases his lips, his grip, the hold he has on the twenty year old.
"Would that be called liking or loving?"
George hadn't any fancy college degree, stating he was a shrink, but from experience, "it's not all about what I think. We all have feelings, thought, desires about the degrees of love."
Their knees touch, shaft and balls in the balance.
Totally mixed up, blind to a certain extent, the emotions he was feeling for George, Daan says, "I can say for certain I love the way you look, if that's a start?"
Acting like clinically trained, George says, "describe to me how you derived at that thinking."
"Do I get to study you?"
Strange question, George responds, "in what way?"
"Like maybe," Daan thinks on it, "when you ask a guy to assume the position?"
Ninety-nine percent of the time George had been in that alpha dictatorship position, now phased by it, "how would that go?"
"You know, like the war movies, when a guy gets captured?"
"The movies, eh?"
George would not be the only one in history who has wanted to emulate a scene from a movie. All it took was picturing in his mind some x-rated porn flick to get his balls churning, cock burning, to the point of eruption.
Daan is candid, "I know I have, like, so many times, put myself in some guys role."
Thinking this more about Daan than himself, "and what role sticks out in your mind as being the perfect one for you?"
"Hm," Daan thinks, tapping both sets of fingers on the edge of the bondage table, "tough choice, being..."
He stops and looks up at George.
Knowing how this could go, George assures, "trust me, what you and I talk about will not be going beyond the interior of this room."
Something else on Dean's mind, "um, can I make a small suggestion?"
"Of course."
"Would you mind not calling this just a room and what it really is?"
This threw George a loop, "meaning?"
"When Dunc and the doc were talking, they called it a darkroom. I'm not sure exactly what the difference between a darkroom and a dungeon are, but it both sound exotic and erotic."
George didn't see that coming, but tries handling it, "as you can see, this is not your typical dungeon, but rather a basement room that has been easily transformed into the likeness."
Daan, more concerned with being stripped down, his naked bod stretched out in an X fashion, all four limbs bound with rope or as it turned out, leather cuffs, he hadn't really gazed past the darkness.
With a flick of a wall switch, George illuminates the room, "as you can see, these are ordinary tables we sit on. Nothing special, they also can be used as tables for guests parties."
Hopping off the table he's sitting on, Daan turns his back upon George, rubs a hand over the surface, discovering it simplistic, "you're right. Not much different from my grandmother's dining room table."
Seeing an `in', George goes with it, "you were close to your grandmother, I take it?"
Turning back around, George was the one who lost out, thinking what a lovely ass Daan has!
"I spent a lot of time with my grandparents after my dad died."
"Oh, I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Daan boldly says. "I hated him and what he did to me."
Now they were getting someone, George leading, "if you want to share, I'm a good listener?"
With Daan hearing the word, `share', it had other implications, which has him in reset mode, stepping from his parked ass, moving closer to George, with a softer attitude, "my biological dad was nothing like you. He never wanted to listen to what I had to say."
George was feeling some palpitations in his balls, what with Daan right at the concave of his knees. He thought it an unconscious move, Daan placing a hand on both knees, a position could take on the way to his knees, "I see. So, you were adopted?"
Contrary to beliefs this was not where Daan was headed, on knees, mouth wide open, the lad shares, "uh, yeah, but he was never really around much. Mom, she was always out with some guy. Grandma was the only real parental guidance and she was from another era. Her mind was like, going?"
"Dementia," George calls it.
"If that means losing it, yeah that's what is was."
George listening carefully, following each of Dean's words to describe abuse, both mentally and physically, which has him saying, "so, you hadn't come out to either one of your parents, biological or adoptive?"
"No, but it's kind of complicated to as how my father found out."
It seemed like a spiderweb tale, weaving tales in a circular motion, with Daan the center of attraction. George did not need to provoke.
Unloading years of holding thoughts inside, Daan says, "one of my fellow football buds, who I thought I could be confidential with, went right to his cell and called my father."
"Wait. How did he know..."
Daan started getting emotional, stressed, sniveling, "his name is Brad. He's the son of one of my father's clients. Even though underaged at the time, my father was playing golf at the Father and S Tournament at the golf club. When Brad's father had to leave, my father said he would make sure Brad got home. Bought him a beer. He brought Brad home, but not to Brad's place, but the basement of the office where my father and Brad's father worked. It was Saturday and no one around. His intentions were to get Brad drunk and after taking him to the basement, strip him and rough him up. I heard my father tell some other guy at a company picnic, to be on the lookout for men into s&m."
George sat patient, listening to Daan's story, often deviating here and there.
"My step-father, he and I never got along, but when Brad reported back to him that I confessed to him I am gay, that set the wheels of my step-father's brain spinning. I never realized the relationship Brad and he had until that night I got home from school."
"What year were you in?"
"Junior year. I was older because I had stayed back in eighth grade."
George figured this would set Daan on in a new course, but apparently it was a stigma needed to get off his chest, to keep on track.
"Anyhow, when I walked in the door, there was my father, standing there. He told me to put my book bag down and follow him down to the basement. I had been there two other times, both when I did something which displeased him, so knew the drill. However, being older and feeling I had some rights as an individual, I protested."
With it seeming like this was going to be a long story, Daan takes moving away from George, again taking a seat on the bondage table ledge.
"So he stopped?"
"No. Contrary to that, he punched me in the stomach and told me to get down the stairs. Well, I'll tell you, when I got there I had the shock of my life to see Brad, decked out in these leather-looking clothes I never saw before. I even said to him, `what the hell is this?'.
"Unlike at school, he was a totally different person. Like my father, he steps forward and utters a command to strip my clothes off, `if I knew what was good for me'."
"Which," George says, "was the power given to him to act on your step-dad's behalf?"
"Not sure what you mean, George."
Daan wanted to say `dad', yearning to have had a parent who cared as much as now.
Smiling, just the fact Daan said his name was enough to feel good and not so much in a sexual way, "what I'm meaning by that, perhaps your father has bestowed upon Brad the power he wishes you had taken on in your life."
"To be like Brad? Oh no, I could never be like Brad."
"Oh? How does that go?"
"Brad's a big tough guy. He get his jollies from bullying guys at school. The only reason he wasn't bullying me is because I'm on the team and I'm a good player. The team relies on me."
George could reconnect with this new development later, "okay, so what happened that night?"
"As I think about it, I think you're right about my step-father putting Brad up to what he did in the basement that night. Standing there I was shocked at Brad ordering me around like he was my father. When I didn't attempt to strip down, Brad took the tails of my tee shirt, lifted it a little, saying, come on, get this off,'. When I didn't respond to Brad, my father took over, swinging me around and planting a fist in my stomach, cursing me out, I'll show you how to handle a faggot.'
"Caught way off guard by this, I fell back onto the cement flooring. My step-father picks me up by my tee shirt and I hear it rip. He tells Brad to get me up.
"Responding to my father's command, that's what it was like, a captain telling his private what to do. Brad helps me up from the floor, grabbing me under the pits. He, my step-father, proceeds to tear my shirt from me. Taking over for Brad, he grabs me under the arms while Brad strips me from the back."
It was like George reading one of his favorite mystery books, eager for the next chapter. He would never admit, at this time, Daan's story was turning him on somewhat.
"They force me over to where a chain hangs from two places. My step-father forces a leather piece over my left wrist, as Brad secures me by the other arm.
"Then my step-father hooks the loop on the leather piece to a hook on the chain, forcing my arm up in the air. He tells Brad he's `next', which has Brad saying to my father he doesn't think he can do this.
"My step-father threatens, if Brad does't follow through with the plan, it'll be him hanging in my place.
"I hadn't a clue what that meant, other than the possibility Brad had been coerced into doing this by way of a bribe, but whatever it did mean, it would take time before I realized what intentions my father had."
Just then, the door to the darkroom opens, Randy dragging Nick in, "oh, aren't you guys through yet?"
Demonstrating how rough he can be, George says, "no. Get the hell outta here and go find your own room!"
For Daan, he loved the tenderness George went about, being kind to him, but also, his balls helped in making him yearn for the other side of George's personality.
"So, before we were rudely interrupted, son?"
That set George to thinking, why in the hell he had just addressed him as if it were his own son lecturing him?
It was also the first time he caught Daan cracking a little smile.
"I think I was about to say Brad probably didn't want to endure what I was about to go through."
With a lull in conversation, George says, "if it's not too painful to tell, I'd like to hear the rest of your story?"
It then comes to Daan, "you're not getting anything out of this, are you?"
Knowing exactly what Daan means, George spreads legs, "does it look like I have an erection?"
"Um, yeah?" Daan responds, not frowning upon George's semi-erect stiffy, "but it's okay. I like it."
George files that away for future reference, "okay, so, next chapter?"
"I didn't mean to ramble on and on."
"You're not," George who had chosen to just lean and not sit on the bondage table, after speaking with Randy, "continue, if you would like," he stands with arms across his pecs.
Given a choice to move on, Daan says, "there's nothing much else to say other than being cuffed and fixed to the chains, my arms spread out so I couldn't do anything but to take on my father punching me in the stomach, encouraging Brad to do the same."
"Brad didn't protest?"
"He tried at first, but suffered the consequence, my father punching him hard in the gut. Fortunately Brad could take it, but I know as well as he did, any more protest would result in him taking a beating."
"Why didn't Brad just hightail it out of there?"
"My step-father could be very persuasive and Brad, not being totally a strong-willed person, believed my father when he told him he would tell Brad's father he was gay, that he willingly had sex with me and trust me, Brad's family is the Christian type who doesn't let stuff like this go."
"I see. So, in essence, Brad was being blackmailed by your father, uh step-father?"
"Yeah and if Brad didn't punch me hard enough, my father would threaten him again. Strange thing though," Daan stutters till dead silence hits.
"What's that?"
"Brad's not a bad guy."
George could sense that, but had to hear it from Daan, "how's that?"
"After they took turns punching me in the stomach, my father took to kneeing me in the balls, cursing at me with homophobic slurs. After the first knee slam, he told Brad it was his turn. Brad refused, which had my father place both hands on Brad's shoulder and lift his knee into Brad's crotch."
"He gave in," George gathers.
"No. Not at all. He defied my father, which earned him another slam to the crotch and some punches to the stomach."
Thinking on it, George says, "his will to follow your step-father was weakening."
"I suppose. I never thought of it that way. Anyhow, my step-father I guess wasn't getting his jollies anymore, told Brad to cut me down and clean me up, then left. It's then Brad's whole demeanor suddenly changed. He didn't have this bullying type of voice. He was actually very compassionate and even though he ached, he thought more about me."
"How could he not, after going through a fraction of what your father put you through."
"Yeah," Daan thinks deep on this, "I think at this point he was feeling more remorse for me than for himself." Even though gruesome, Daan fields, "is that love?"
"I rightly can't say. Surely though, you and Brad had a special kind of relationship, though I can't put a finger on how or what it could be called."
George didn't share, that that kind of a feeling can go both ways. Right now, even though he was old enough to be Daan's father, he was feeling more like an equal, "so, Brad got you out of there?"
"Yeah, well, apparently this was to be continued. Brad took me upstairs, helped me to shower and all the time laying out the plans my step-father had for me. He said he was furious to find out his son was gay. And, you know something else, George?"
There again was the sound of his name, which seemed so comfortably rendered, George saying, "what, Daan?"
"After Brad told me my dad had planned another night in the basement, I guess like part two of my gay hazing, that's what it was the equivalent of, he planned on whipping me and then branding `gay' on my chest with a soldiering iron."
"Shit!"
That sent George through the roof, that a parent could have that much loathing for child, which had him leaping from the edge of the table, into Daan's arms, caressing him like a lover, "I'm so, so sorry Daan."
Daan was surprised out of his gourd, but not in an uncomfortable way. Slowly his hands moved till they touched the sides of George's bod. As the way in which he was being held, he replicated the tightness of their chests being pressed together, hanging his chin on George's shoulder.
It was only for a few moments, even before Daan could apply a full bod hug.
George initiates a division, "I'm sorry. I guess my tender side kicked in and I couldn't help myself."
Hands still lingered at Daan's elbows, rubbing with purpose to calm, "look at me," he confesses to the youth, "pretending like I'm your boyfriend or something?"
Maybe there was hope there on both sides, Daan saying, "are you saying?"
"What, me a fifty year old man and you, a what, twenty year old?"
"Yeah, that's right. I'm twenty, but I think I could dig having a fifty year old boyfriend!"
George had to study Daan's face, "you're not kidding, are you?"
Daan could have second-guessed himself, if not having such a confident feeling, "nope and to show you how serious I am, I'm going to insist on the ceremonial fuck, when a guy claims another guy."
It made George project a toothy smile, "don't let yourself get ahead of things, Daan."
He couldn't believe the truth of the matter, Daan all serious like, not wavering from it, like he was trying to pull the wool over his eyes, "you're serious?"
Maybe Daan was thinking of the traditional claiming right, but now he sealed his part of the deal, grabbing George up in his arms and kissing him.
Overjoyed, George says, "wow, not only do I get a drop-dead-gorgeous frat boy, but also a hot kisser!"
Whereas Daan looks to be shaved-smooth, "and look at me, getting a hot, hairy daddy!"
With hands rubbing all over his furry pecs, George says, "you keep that up and you'll have me down on all fours, scrubbing the floors!"
Daan, still in that hot, maso-kick, "or you could order me to do it, with my tongue?"
George jokes, "do you do windows?"
"Hey, cum on the floor, or windows, wherever you choose, I'll be the cleaner-upper!"
This other side of Daan was a mystery to George, how it came about to be a part of the youth's personality.
The yoga gang, having run the course of their visit, a new wardrobe of trendy briefs and other clothing items of the leather store, all to benefit Sebastien mission, they would have to pick it up where they left off at another time. After inducted into serving lunch, wandering the building and basement, by the time they shopped, the small on premises store had closed for the day.
Getting ready to leave, Daan hints to George, "by the way, I really don't have anyplace to call home right now?"
George knew where this was going, "I see."
"Um, you think I can stay with you, until I find a place of my own?"
Reconnecting with the soft charm stuff, George says, "I think I can arrange that, long as you don't snore?"
Daan says, "I really don't know!"
Randy buts in, "Lance has got the van fired up. You ready to go, George?"
"Go?" Daan was confused.
George explains, "saves me a trip if I leave now."
"Oh," Daan is confused, "you live near them?"
"I take mass transit every morning, but I live right around the corner from a mutual friend of Mat's, Mark."
Still in the dark about who's who about who, Daan says, "oh?"
When they get in the van, Tom says, "oh by the way, George, will you pick me up a half gallon of milk on your way home?"
"Sure, soon as get home, get showered and get Daan settled in."
It was like an announcement, the whole gang rip-roaring with whistles and sexual innuendos!
With Daan parking his ass near Randy, he gets the full story, "shacking up with a hot man there, Daan."
"Am I?" Daan thinks of it as his own opinion.
In the past, whichever man spoke to him, gave attention, that's the person Daan would gravitate towards. Sometimes it would lead to touching, then sexual contact. He has trouble understanding his feelings at this moment, Randy paying attention, yet Daan having more of a whim to be on George's team.
Randy, who could render himself publicly shameless, would have no inhibitions about doing a guy, long as it came with bonuses, like a soft, sensual blowjob, licking all over, down to where his tiger trail led to the treasure, or sitting on a guy's face, only to wind up headed for the same prize. Even if confronting a guy from this perspective, to be challenged by a man with the same ideals, there was always ten men willing to be on their knees. Like, at Mark's parties, he loved standing next to a man, kissing, when two boys were on their knees in front of them!
However, to be rejected by Daan? No problem, with Tom sitting in the back seat!
But the expression of emotions did not solely abound around George and Daan, nor Randy's hurt feelings, but bumbling Ritchie, who has Elton saying out loud, purposely to cause a commotion, "I really like the way you handled that alpha-master-dude, or whatever his title is, Ritchie!"
"Oh man," Tom says, "I thought for a moment there he was ready to punch your lights out!"
Ritchie shrugs both shoulders, saying, "how'd I know that Lance and those two thugs were roleplaying and not the real thing?"
Most of Ritchie's life he's had a tough time dealing with people. Not in a rough sense, he's been the laidback, wallflower type, which in essence has kept him out of the limelight of high school bullying. He knew much about anything, with the ability to quote Shakespeare, could give a person a Cliffnote about classic literature, knew every abbreviation of the Periodic Table, memorized Frank Lloyd Wright's floor plan of `Falling Waters', could sketch it out in five minutes, knew how to play Mozart and Scott Joplin on the piano, didn't play sports, but could relate to any sport on the planet. Highly intelligent, according to high school teachers, Ritchie went on to study liberal arts in college, not knowing what the hell field drew his interest.
Of Sebastien Mission, it did hurl Ritchie into a world he had no knowledge of. Fact is, he's surprised how, after studying about the Inquisition, the similarities between that and the world of bdsm had drawn such similar lines. He couldn't believe that guys liked to have themselves bound, stretched out like an `X', standing or lying down, played with in a manner in which it at first made him cringe at the sight of a guy's nuts in traction, being stretched overhead, the tip of his dick tied to the other end, pivoted up over a pulley, stretched this way or that...Ritchie had so much to learn!
That indeed, and all the rules, regulations, protocol and do's and don'ts of bdsm etiquette.
Ritchie would've let it go, other than Elton inquiring, after Lance, the driver of Mat's Yoga van, speaks up, "yeah, thanks for the love, Ritchie. I really appreciate what you did for me, even though."
Elton says, "what did you do for Lance?"
Feeling like the humble hero, Ritchie says, "eh, it was nothing, but you're welcome Lance, even though, you know?"
Lance knew, as he peers through the rearview mirror, staring Ritchie in the eyes until the red light turns green.
Elton had been busy getting to know a young cub who visited the mission daily for a free meal, in one of the darkrooms downstairs, taking the stairway opposite the side of the building George and Daan.
Leaning over the front seat, Elton badgers, "I was kind of busy at the time. What happened?"
Always up for a good story, or storytelling, Lance provokes, "you really want to know?"
Some of them had witnessed Ritchie's story, but hearing a freshly told version started their crotches ticking.
"Not much to tell actually," Ritchie was partially dividing his story up, like chapters.
"Not much?" Lance says it like an outburst. "I think I have a new secret admirer!"
Randy is the first to pick up on it, or rather pick on the instigator, "yeah Ritchie, have some hidden fucking fantasies to share?"
Shy, Ritchie blushes, but after the incident today is not reluctant to share, "shut up Randy, or your ass could be next!"
That causes a commotion, the guys cat-calling, applauding Ritchie for his bluntness.
"Well," Elton shuts them up, "am I going to hear it firsthand or from the fourth time I hear it, blown out of proportion?"
Knowing how it could go, Lance a stickler of facts and wanting the outcome making him a hero, "okay, I fold."
All gets quiet, Lance saying, "if I miss a detail, jump in Ritchie, okay?"
"Sure," Ritchie says.
Ritchie has already admitted to himself, Lance a hottie and a newfound thing about himself, would not mind getting his shaft close to the twenty-nine year old driver. Fact is, in the commotion upstairs, thinking they were close in age, Ritchie couldn't deny he had an instant crush on the hairy man!
Fortunately, after exiting the turnpike, they were stuck in mostly stop, then go traffic, which gave Lance the go ahead to share, "Ritchie comes out from a side room."
Ritchie automatically interrupts, "wrong, Lance. I was coming up from the basement."
"Glad you're here," Lance smiles at Ritchie, via the mirror.
One of the guys mention getting back on track.
"Yeah, so Ritchie comes up from downstairs and being he hasn't a clue that one guy holding me and the other punching me in the stomach is a scene of one of the wildest fantasies I've had for a long time, to be played out."
Ritchie admits, "yeah, I thought they were really hammering Lance's stomach."
Nick, a witness to the whole thing, wishing he were in Lance's place, "I saw the whole thing. Ritchie is under the impression Lance is really getting worked over by these two guys and in passing a tough dude at the juice bar, takes the nip clamps right out of the guy's hands, as he's twirling it around, walks over to where Nick is, and clamps them right on the perpetrator's ass!"
"Ouch," Tom says.
"Oh, much more than an ouch," Lance says, "the guy holding me jumps forward, which had my stomach catching on the puncher's left hook and then throwing us both on the floor."
Ritchie protests as he is now, "I swear, I thought it was real."
Tom jokes, "trust me on this one, their erections were real!"
Randy says, "yeah Tom, like mine is for you right now!"
They joked about it to throw off suspicion, but both knew Randy's 7c has been between Tom's lips or crack a few times since developing more than a working relationship. They've managed to keep it mum, except for Mat, since his partner shares all with him and vice versa.
"Is there more?" Elton asks.
"There is," Lance continues, "but Ritchie isn't saying."
"Oh?" Elton provokes.
Ritchie stayed tight-lipped, not wanting to share the story of what happened after the alpha male dude stormed towards Ritchie, ready to do `something', after having the twirling nip clamps stolen from him.
Lance does say, "yeah well, Ritchie and the dude at the bar went downstairs, but so far we haven't heard that story!"
"No time like the present?" Randy hints.
They're all disappointed by Ritchie standing ground, "it's private."
That's the thing with Ritchie they've learned to accept, when he sits there tight-lipped locking a secret up in his mind, not budging, it's the time to give up.
Randy, thinking himself wiser than most, snaps a finger, has Elton changing seats with him and after putting an arm over Ritchie's shoulder, "now, what exactly did happen after you and Darth Vader went down to the dungeon?"
%
% Copyright 2023 T. Chase McPhee
Developing segments of 'YoGA MaT' may not be amended, distributed, sold, used, abused, quoted, paraphrased, chopped, sliced, diced, regurgitated, nor made part of any collection, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the author. To do so will result in 50 lashes with a wet swimming pool noodle!
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