Duncan stood by the heavy oak table, his full leather creaking softly as he shifted his weight. His gaze drifted toward the expensive leather gym bag sitting in the corner. "Jayson," he said, his voice low and devoid of warmth. "Check your bag. Do we have everything we need?"
Jayson, still in his ridiculous, expensive suit pants and silk shirt, scrambled to the bag. He knelt, rifling through the contents. "Nothing, Sir," he mumbled, looking back with wide, terrified eyes.
"Good." Duncan nodded once. "Then step into the center of the room. Now."
Jayson moved to the center of the rug, the bright afternoon sun beating down on him. He stood awkwardly in his expensive leather shoes, his hands hovering at his sides.
"Strip," Duncan commanded, his heavy boots planted firmly on the floor. "Take off your shirt. Fold it. Place it on the chair with your jacket."
Jayson obeyed, his movements precise and practiced. He shrugged out of the ridiculously expensive silk shirt and carefully folded it over his arm before placing it neatly on the wooden chair with his suit jacket. The rest of his clothes, however, were not afforded the same respect. He worked his belt and slacks, the fine wool pooling around his ankles before he kicked out of them, leaving them in a heap. He stood in his designer boxers and expensive leather shoes.
"All of it," Duncan said, his tone flat.
Jayson pushed his boxers down and stepped out of them. He bent down to untie his polished leather shoes, his fingers fumbling with the intricate knots. He kicked them off, finally standing completely naked, the folded jacket and shirt on the chair the lonely island of order in a sea of discarded privilege.
Duncan walked around him slowly, his boots making a rhythmic thud-thud on the floor. He inspected the guest from every angle, his eyes cold and analytical. He noted the way Jayson's skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat in the summer heat.
"Turn to the right," Duncan ordered.
Jayson turned, presenting his profile.
"Again."
He turned back.
"Bend over," Duncan said, his voice dropping to a silky threat. "Hands on your knees. Spread yourself. Show me."
Jayson obeyed, bending at the waist until his forehead nearly touched the rug. He reached back with trembling hands, spreading the cheeks of his ass, exposing himself completely to Duncan’s gaze.
Duncan walked closer, circling him like a shark. He didn't touch him yet. He just looked, his eyes raking over the trembling globes, the tight hole clenching in the humid air.
"Stand up," Duncan said, pulling his gaze away. "Turn around."
Jayson scrambled to his feet, his face burning with shame. He turned to face Duncan, his erection standing proud and hard, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip in the sunlight.
"Jake," Duncan called out.
Jake stepped into the room from the kitchen. He was barefoot, his feet making no sound on the rug. He was dressed in exactly two things: a pair of faded, worn jeans and Duncan’s sheer black tank top. The fabric was thin enough that you could see the hard lines of his chest.
Duncan gestured to the naked man standing before them. "Inspect him, Jake."
Jake walked to the center of the room, invading Jayson's personal space. He stood close, radiating a heavy, masculine heat that contrasted sharply with the cool summer air. He reached out, his fingers brushing against Jayson's shoulder, then trailing down his chest.
"Look at him," Duncan murmured.
Jake didn't speak. He ran his hands over Jayson's skin, his grip firm and possessive. He traced where the ridges of Jayson's abs should be, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of his waist. He moved lower, cupping Jayson's heavy balls, squeezing them gently. Jayson gasped, his hips bucking into the touch.
"Tell me what you see, Jayson," Duncan commanded.
"I see... I see you, Sir," Jayson stammered, his voice cracking.
"No," Duncan corrected. "Look at him. Look at what you're letting him do to you."
Jake gripped Jayson's cock, his hand wrapping around the shaft. He gave it a rough squeeze, making Jayson cry out. He stroked him slowly, his thumb rubbing over the sensitive head, spreading the pre-cum. He looked down at the guest, a dark, predatory glint in his eyes.
"He's hard," Jake grunted, his voice rough. He let go of Jayson's cock and moved his hands to Jayson's thighs, gripping them tightly. He pulled him closer, pressing their bodies together.
Jayson shuddered, his head falling back against Jake's shoulder. He could feel the heat of Jake's skin through the sheer tank top.
"Spread your legs," Jake ordered, his hands forcing Jayson's knees apart.
Jayson obeyed, his legs trembling. Jake stepped closer, pressing his body flush against Jayson's, his jeans rubbing against the guest's skin. He reached around and gripped Jayson's hips, pulling him back against him. He ground his pelvis against Jayson's ass, the friction making them both groan.
"He's yours, Duncan," Jake whispered, his lips brushing against Jayson's ear. "Your toy."
Duncan walked over, standing behind Jake and Jayson. He reached out and pinched Jayson's nipples, twisting them roughly. Jayson screamed, his body arching off Jake's chest.
"Tell me what you are, Jayson," Duncan commanded.
"I'm... I'm your toy, Sir!" Jayson screamed.
"Good boy," Duncan said, releasing the nipples. "Jake, touch him everywhere. Don't miss a spot."
Jake didn't wait. He ran his hands all over Jayson's body, from his chest to his stomach, to his thighs, to his feet. He touched his face, his neck, his arms. He gripped his hair, pulling his head back. He looked into Jayson's eyes, his gaze intense and hungry. He touched his cock again, stroking him hard and fast. He touched his balls, squeezing them. He touched his ass, spreading him open.
Jayson was a wreck, his body trembling, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He was completely at their mercy, and he had never felt more alive.
Duncan stepped away from Jake, his interest in the naked man waning. He walked to a side table and picked up a pair of heavy, serrated nipple clamps and a leather cockring. He also retrieved a metal ball spreader.
"Jayson," Duncan said, his voice cutting through the heavy silence. "You've been a good boy so far. But I need to see how much you can handle."
He moved behind Jayson, who was trembling, his chest heaving. Duncan grabbed Jayson's left nipple between his thumb and forefinger, twisting it roughly until it stood up, hard and pink. With a sharp *snap*, he clamped the metal jaws shut. Jayson gasped, his head snapping back, his breath hitching audibly.
"One," Duncan murmured.
He moved to the right nipple, giving it a painful tweak before attaching the second clamp. The chain connecting the two clamps dangled between Jayson's chest, pulling his nipples downward as he tried to arch his back away from the pain.
"Stand still," Duncan commanded. "Don't move."
Jayson nodded, sweat beading on his forehead, his eyes squeezed shut. Duncan moved to the front of him. He gripped Jayson's erection, already rock hard from the previous attention, and slid the leather cockring down the shaft. It was tight, cutting off the blood flow, making the head of his cock swell even redder and more sensitive.
"Good," Duncan said. He moved lower, grabbing Jayson's testicles. He pulled them down and apart, forcing them into the metal cups of the ball spreader. He clicked the lock home.
Jayson groaned, his knees buckling. The sensation was overwhelming—the tight ring at the base of his cock, the weight of the spreader dragging his testicles down, and the sharp, burning pinch of the clamps on his chest. His breath caught in his throat, his chest heaving against the metal jaws.
"Look at yourself, Jayson," Duncan said, stepping back to admire his handiwork. "You look ridiculous. You look like a piece of meat on a display platter."
Jayson opened his eyes, looking down at his body. The clamps pulled his chest down, the spreader separated his groin, and the cockring trapped his erection painfully. He felt utterly exposed and humiliated.
"Jump, Jayson," Duncan ordered. "Do jumping jacks. Show me your stamina."
Jayson hesitated for a split second, the gear weighing him down. But then he remembered the rules. "Yes, Sir."
He planted his feet, the ball spreader forcing his legs apart, and threw his arms up. He jumped, his body rising and falling, the clamps bouncing violently against his chest. The leather ring dug into his groin with every movement, the metal cups of the spreader pulling his testicles tight.
‘Jump. Land. Jump.’
He was sweating now, his face flushed a deep crimson. The movement made the clamps tug at his nipples, sending sharp bolts of pain radiating through his chest. But he didn't stop. He kept jumping, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Then, with a sudden ‘ping,’ the left clamp snapped loose and fell to the floor.
Jayson screamed—a high, piercing sound of shock and pain. The sudden loss of the clamp left his nipple exposed to the cool air, stinging and raw.
But he didn't stop. He kept jumping, his body shaking with the effort. He looked at Duncan, tears streaming down his face, and laughed hysterically. It was a broken, desperate sound. "See? I'm doing it! I'm jumping!"
Duncan watched him, a dark satisfaction in his eyes. Jayson was a mess, his body covered in sweat, his nipples raw, his cock trapped and throbbing, his balls stretched tight. He was performing for him, begging for approval even while in agony.
"Stop," Duncan said, his voice soft but firm.
Jayson collapsed to his knees, gasping for air, his hands flying to his chest to clutch the lone clamp.
Jayson's fingers froze on the remaining clamp, his breath catching in his throat. He looked up at Duncan, his eyes wide with a mixture of pain and pleading.
"Don't remove that," Duncan ordered firmly in a low, almost growl. His gaze was like ice, leaving no room for argument. "Jake, get the wood paddle!"
Jake didn't hesitate. He turned and walked to the side table, his bare feet silent on the rug. He picked up the heavy, scarred hickory paddle, testing its weight in his hand. He walked back to Duncan, holding it out.
"Kneel up straight," Duncan commanded Jayson. "Hands behind your head. Stick your chest out."
Jayson scrambled to obey, his body trembling. He knelt up, his back straight, his hands laced behind his head. The movement forced his chest forward, making the lone clamp dig in deeper, a constant, throbbing reminder of its twin on the floor.
"Jake," Duncan said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr. "Hold his shoulders. Don't let him move."
Jake stepped behind Jayson, his massive frame looming over the guest. He placed his heavy hands on Jayson's shoulders, his grip firm and unyielding. "Stay still," he growled.
Duncan took the paddle from Jake. He walked around to the front of Jayson, looking down at the pathetic sight. The guest was a wreck, his body covered in sweat, his face streaked with tears, his nipple clamped and his cock trapped.
"You dropped it," Duncan said, his voice cold. "You were careless. You need to learn to be more careful with my things."
He raised the paddle high.
*CRACK.*
The sound was sharp and brutal, echoing off the high ceilings. The paddle landed squarely on Jayson's right thigh, the impact sending a shockwave of pain through his body. He screamed, his body jerking violently against Jake's hold.
"That's for dropping it," Duncan said, his voice calm.
He raised the paddle again.
*CRACK.*
This time, the blow landed on his left thigh. Jayson sobbed, his head falling back against Jake's chest.
"That's for laughing," Duncan said, his voice a low growl.
He didn't stop. He delivered a rapid-fire series of blows to Jayson's thighs, the paddle leaving a trail of angry red welts in its wake. Jayson was sobbing now, his body shaking violently, but he didn't try to pull away. He stayed right where he was, trapped between Jake's heavy hands and Duncan's punishing paddle.
"Tell me what you are, Jayson," Duncan commanded, pausing for a moment to catch his breath.
"I'm... I'm your toy, Sir!" Jayson screamed.
"Good boy." Duncan swung the paddle one last time, a hard, final blow that made Jayson collapse against Jake's chest, panting and sobbing.
"Jake," Duncan said, his voice calm. "Put him over the pillory."
Jake didn't wait. He hauled Jayson to his feet, his grip like iron. He dragged the guest to the pillory, forcing him to bend over the heavy wooden beam. He secured the top board, locking Jayson's neck and wrists in place.
"Stay there," Duncan said, walking to the side table and grabbing a bottle of water. He cracked the seal and held it out to Jayson, who took it with shaking hands, downing half the bottle in one go.
"You did good, Jayson," Duncan said, patting his cheek. "But we're not done yet. We're just getting started."
Jake watched him, his expression unreadable. He thought he knew where Duncan was going, but that’s the beauty of Duncan—he swerves. When you think he’ll swing, he just laughs and changes the game.
Duncan and Jake watched Jayson squirm in the pillory for a minute, the guest's chest heaving against the wood, the single clamp digging into his sensitive flesh. Then, Duncan cleared his throat.
"Boy, you've done well," Duncan said, his tone shifting from the cold steel of the paddle to something almost conversational. "And as a reward, we are going to spit roast you!"
Duncan laughed at his own joke, a low, throaty sound that echoed in the cottage. Jayson blinked, confused, his head still swimming from the pain and the sweat.
"Jake, go stand in the boy's line of sight and show yourself to him fully," Duncan ordered, his eyes dancing with amusement. "So he can get an idea of what he'll soon be choking on!"
Jake didn't hesitate. He stood up, his bare feet sinking into the rug. He walked over to where Jayson was pinned, standing just inches away from the pillory. Jayson looked up, his eyes wide, taking in the sight of the big man.
Jake reached up and pulled the sheer black tank top over his head, tossing it aside. He stood there in just his faded jeans, his massive chest heaving, glistening with a light sheen of sweat. He flexed his arms, his muscles bunching, making sure Jayson got a good look at the prize waiting for him as Jake slid out of his jeans.
"Look at him, Jayson," Duncan said, stepping up beside Jake. "You're going to be stuffed so full, you won't know which way is up."
Jake stood there, a mountain of muscles, just the sheen of sweat and the definition of power. Jayson stared, his mouth slightly open, caught between the pain of the clamp and the sheer visual weight of Jake’s seemingly massive erection.
Duncan moved behind Jayson. The leather of his pants creaked as he worked the buckles, letting the heavy garment slide down to his mid thigh. His cock was already hard, a thick, heavy slab of flesh that throbbed with a life of its own. He didn't waste time. He ran the tip of it down the cleft of Jayson's ass, teasing him, before bringing it up and playfully ‘thunking’ it against the upturned backside.
‘Thwack.’
Jayson jumped, his body jerking against the pillory, the ball spreader pulling his testicles down as he squirmed.
"Why don't you feed our boy here Jake!" Duncan laughed, his voice rich with amusement as he stepped back to let his partner take the lead.
Jake stepped forward, his jeans rubbing against the pillory, and fed himself to Jayson's eager mouth. Jayson wrapped his lips around the head, taking him in greedily, his tongue swirling around the sensitive flesh. He slurped away, his eyes closing in pleasure, his body swaying slightly from the weight of the pillory.
Duncan watched from the side, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across his face. He locked eyes with Jake, the silent communication passing between them effortlessly. Duncan’s lips moved silently, mouthing the words: ‘fucking awesome, right?’
Jake smirked, looking down at the man servicing him, and gave a sharp nod. He was getting lost in the moment, the reality of the last twenty-four hours washing over him. It was a total fantasy come true, especially considering he was currently dominating the dreaded asshole rival from high school. The tables had turned completely.
Duncan, meanwhile, had moved back behind Jayson. He grabbed the bottle of lube he’d set aside earlier and liberally coated his cock, the slick sound filling the air. He positioned himself at the entrance, his hand gripping Jayson's hips tightly and entered Jayson’s backside roughly.
Duncan and Jake kept up the rhythm as Jayson instinctively pushed himself back towards Duncan while slurping away on Jake's erection that was going to erupt at anytime.
Duncan didn't bother with a slow glide. He grabbed Jayson's hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, and drove himself forward in one rough, brutal thrust. Jayson gasped around Jake, the air leaving his lungs in a rush, but he didn't pull away. He instinctively pushed his hips back, seeking the intrusion, his body opening up to take Duncan completely.
Duncan held there for a second, enjoying the tight heat, before pulling back and slamming in again. Jake, sensing the rhythm, began to match him. He thrust into Jayson's mouth in time with Duncan's thrusts into his ass. It was a chaotic, sweaty rhythm, a brutal dance of domination.
Jayson was a mess, his eyes rolling back, tears of strain and pleasure streaming down his face. He was sandwiched between them, taking everything they gave him, his body a conduit for their pleasure.
Jake watched Duncan out of the corner of his eye, a smirk playing on his lips. He was getting lost in the fantasy of it all. It was surreal—just twenty-four hours ago, he'd been dreading this. Now, he was standing there, fully clothed in jeans, while his high school rival was naked and serving them both.
He remembered the rival, the one who used to pick on him. The one he was terrified of. Now, he was the one in control. He felt the heat rising in his groin, the familiar pressure building. He wasn't going to last long. He was going to explode.
Duncan let out a sharp, involuntary yelp as the intensity became too much to sustain. He gripped Jayson’s hips with a bruising force and began to pump with renewed, desperate vigor, his hips slamming against the wood of the pillory with a rhythm that bordered on frantic.
It was the tipping point. Jake couldn't hold back anymore. The fantasy of the last twenty-four hours, the submission to his rival, the sheer physical heat of the moment—it all coalesced into a singular, blinding release. He groaned, a low, guttural sound, and slammed his hips forward one last time, burying himself deep as his cock erupted.
The sensation was too much for Jayson. He screamed, a raw, ragged sound that was muffled by the thickness filling his mouth, but the volume was undeniable as his load shot all over the pillory stand. He swallowed desperately, choking on the sheer volume of Jake’s seed, his throat working to take every drop.
Simultaneously, Duncan reached his peak. The sight and feel of Jayson’s tight ass milking him sent him over the edge. He threw his head back, a guttural roar tearing from his throat as he emptied himself into the boy with violent, shuddering thrusts.
The three of them collapsed into the aftershocks of their climax, locked together in a tangle of sweat and spent desire, the cottage filled with the heavy, ragged breathing of men who had just lived out a violent, intense fantasy.
Jake didn't say a word. He moved with the efficiency of someone who knew exactly what was needed, grabbing the bottle of water from the table and the soft, expensive cashmere throw from the armchair. He walked over to the side, tossing the throw to Duncan before uncapping the water.
Duncan turned his attention to the heavy iron hasp of the pillory. He worked the mechanism with practiced hands, the metal clicking softly as the lock disengaged. "Brace yourself, Jayson," he murmured, his voice softer now, stripped of the earlier cruelty.
Jayson nodded weakly, his arms trembling from the weight. Duncan lifted the heavy wooden top board, pulling it away from Jayson's neck and wrists. He didn't just let him drop; he guided the guest down, helping him slide off the device and onto the rug.
The relief was instant. Jayson slumped forward, burying his face in his arms, trying to catch his breath. But the pain of the remaining clamp was still there, a sharp, throb in his chest.
Duncan knelt behind him. He didn't rush. He took Jayson's hand and gently guided it away from his chest. He held the metal jaws of the clamp open with one hand, his fingers grazing the sensitive, red skin underneath. "Okay," Duncan whispered. "Just breathe."
He slid the clamp off, releasing the pressure slowly. Jayson sucked in a sharp, ragged breath, his body jerking as the blood rushed back into his hypersensitive nipple. He let out a muffled scream into his forearm, a sound of pure, overwhelming relief, before collapsing against the rug, the cashmere throw being draped over his shivering shoulders.
Duncan didn't rush. He worked the key into the lock of the ball spreader, his movements slow and deliberate. With a soft *click*, he released the tension, and Jayson’s heavy, swollen testicles tumbled free with a dull thud against the rug. Jayson gasped, his body shuddering as the crushing pressure was finally released.
Next came the cockring. Duncan slid it down the shaft, the leather tight against the angry, purple skin. As it cleared the head, the blood rushed back in with a vengeance, making Jayson’s cock throb and swell even more. He groaned, his head lolling back, the fight completely gone from him.
Duncan stood up, looking down at the thoroughly spent man. He smoothed back Jayson’s damp hair. "Jake," Duncan said, his voice calm.
Jake, who had been standing in the shadows, stepped forward. "Yes, Sir?"
"Go start a bath for Jayson," Duncan ordered. "Warm water. Get him cleaned up."
Jake nodded, already turning toward the kitchen. "I'll add the salts."
He moved with efficient silence, his bare feet padding across the floor as he disappeared into the kitchen to prepare the bath, then slipped out to the porch.
Jake returned from the porch carrying the clothes he’d folded neatly and surrendered there the night before. He didn't waste a second. He pulled the t-shirt over his head, the fabric scratchy against his skin, and tugged on the pair of boxer briefs he was wearing when he arrived the previous evening. He looked the part of a regular guy now, though his eyes still held that lingering, dark intensity.
Duncan was standing by the table, watching him. He uncapped a water bottle and held it out. "Drink," he said simply.
Jake took it, downing half in one go. He capped it and tossed it back to Duncan, who caught it. "Shall we debrief?" Duncan asked, his voice low and calm.
Jake checked his wrist, where he was sliding on his watch. The leather strap was cool against his skin. "Yeah," he said, looking at Duncan. "But we need to be quick. I still need to go home before I head to the taproom for my shift tonight.”
"How late do you work?" Duncan asked, leaning against the heavy oak table, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp.
"I'm usually out by midnight if it's a slow night," Jake said, his voice a low rumble as he finished buckling his watch. "But I have my construction gig in the morning. 7 a.m.”
"Damn," Duncan whistled softly, a genuine note of frustration in his voice. "When do I get to see you, use you again?"
Jake’s gaze drifted to the floor, his brow furrowed in concentration. He was already running the logistics in his head, trying to find a hole big enough for Duncan to fit into his packed schedule. "Tomorrow's a double header, so I'm out. But the day after, they're doing a concrete pour. I could probably get out of that," he said, his voice trailing off as he calculated the hours. "Yeah, I can tell the foreman I've got a dentist appointment or some shit. I could be here by noon.”
"Perfect," Duncan said, a slow smile spreading across his face. "I should go tend to Jayson, but man, I'm so glad to have connected with you like this." He gestured vaguely with his hand. "Call me when you get off shift. I can fill you in on Jayson's reaction to..." He swung his arm in the direction of the pillory and the discarded gear.
Jake smiled, a flicker of his earlier dominance returning to his eyes. He looked around, suddenly unsure of the protocol. His shift at the taproom felt a world away, but the pull to stay was strong.
Duncan saw the hesitation. He crooked his finger, beckoning Jake towards him. Jake took a step closer, and then another, until he was standing right in front of the other man. Duncan leaned in and kissed him, a sloppy, possessive thing that tasted of sweat and power. It wasn't gentle; it was a claim.
He pulled back, his eyes dark and hungry. Then, with a sharp ‘crack,’ he slapped Jake's ass. "Go," he ordered, his voice a low growl. "Before I'm tempted to tie you up and ride you into unemployment!”
The sound of the cottage door clicking shut echoed in the sudden silence. Duncan stood for a moment, listening to the fading sound of Jake's truck starting up and rumbling down the gravel drive. Then he turned his attention back to the bathroom.
Steam curled out from the open doorway, carrying the scent of lavender and Epsom salts. Jayson was submerged up to his chest in the old claw-foot tub, his head resting against the rolled edge, his eyes closed. The cashmere throw was draped over a nearby stool. The marks of the afternoon were stark against his pale skin in the soft light—the red lines on his thighs, the angry circles on his chest, the deep flush that still hadn't faded.
Duncan didn't say anything at first. He just grabbed a clean washcloth, dipped it in the warm water, and gently began to wipe the sweat and tear tracks from Jayson's face. Jayson flinched at the first touch, then relaxed into it, a soft sigh escaping his lips.
Later, they sat at the small kitchen table. The afternoon sun had dipped, casting long shadows across the room. Two glasses sat on the worn wood, each holding two fingers of amber scotch, neat. The ice bucket was nowhere in sight. This was for sipping, not for chilling.
Jayson, now dressed in a soft, worn robe that Duncan had given him, cradled his glass in both hands. He looked smaller now, the sharp edges of his privilege and arrogance softened by exhaustion and submission.
"So," Duncan began, his voice calm and even. He took a slow sip of his scotch. "Tell me what you're feeling."
Jayson stared into his glass, swirling the liquid. "I don't know," he said, his voice hoarse. "Everything. Nothing. It hurts. But... it's a good hurt. I feel... empty. But in a good way. Like I was too full before, and you... you emptied me out."
Duncan nodded, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. "What was the hardest part?"
"The jumping jacks," Jayson said immediately, a small, humorless laugh escaping him. "When the clamp fell off. The pain was... blinding. But the thought of stopping, of disappointing you... that was worse." He looked up at Duncan, his eyes clear. "I didn't think I could do it. But I wanted to."
"And the reward at the end?" Duncan asked, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. "The spit roast."
Jayson blushed, the color rising on his chest. "I've never... that was... intense," he stammered. "I felt like an object. A thing for you both to use. And I loved it. I felt... needed."
"You were needed," Duncan confirmed. "You performed beautifully. You took everything we gave you and asked for more." He leaned forward, his gaze intense. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? To be pushed past your limits, to be used, to be told what to do."
Jayson nodded, his gaze dropping back to his glass. "Yes, Sir."
"Good," Duncan said, sitting back. He took another sip of his scotch, the silence stretching between them, comfortable and charged with the memory of the afternoon. "Drink up, Jayson. You've earned it.”
“So tell me about Jake, I thought you said he was straight?” Jayson cooed, “inquiring minds have to know.”
He paused, taking another sip, letting the silence hang in the air for a moment. "It's funny, actually," Duncan began, a slow, genuine smile spreading across his face. "Jake and I went to school together from grade school on. I was the kid with the name, the money. He was the townie, the quiet one from the wrong side of the tracks."
Duncan swirled the scotch in his glass, a self-deprecating smirk touching his lips. "And I was a complete shit. I teased him. Insulted him. Made his life hell whenever I could. It was easy sport for me. He was just... there. A convenient target."
He looked up, meeting Jayson's curious gaze. "But I always watched him. Even when I was tearing him down, I saw something in him. A stillness. A strength he didn't even know he had. He took it, all of it, and never broke. He just... absorbed it."
He set his glass down with a soft ‘thud.’ "Then, yesterday morning, I ran into him at the coffee cart. We were adults. He looked... different. Tired, but there was a fire in his eyes I'd never seen before. We talked. It started civil. Which was a shock. And then we were two eleven year olds trading barbs, and I was so hot for him!”
He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "It got me thinking. Later that night, I was on one of those apps, just hunting. You know how it is. Looking for a body to use for the night. And a profile pops up. 'SubTank.' No face, just a torso. But the things he wanted... the things he said he needed... they were perfect. It was like finding a unicorn."
Duncan laughed, a low, throaty sound of genuine surprise. "So I messaged him. Set it up. I thought I'd found the perfect surrogate, some random guy to work over in his stead ... all the energy I had after seeing Jake. Then Jake showed up at the door last night not some random."
He looked back at Jayson, his eyes dark and intense. "The guy I'd tormented my entire childhood, the one who'd been stuck in my head all day, was kneeling naked on my doorstep ready to submit.” Duncan paused recalling the vision, “It was the ultimate score. A lifetime of building, but it all happened in a flash.”
