Twisted v2.0

The Submissive

The shower room steamed up quickly as the boys bathed after playing softball during P.E. It was late April and already hot and humid, and they came in sweaty from their exertions. The coach, who taught the class, went into his office, closing the door behind him, leaving the boys on their own to shower, change clothes and head out for their last class of the day. There was the usual banter back and forth, the joking around, comments about dropping the soap and who looked to be getting aroused while showering. Their laughs echoed in the small tiled room.

Quentin hung his towel in the corridor and entered the shower room, taking an open head on the left. He had glanced around the room giving his classmates the once over, a quick look, admiring their bodies, knowing if they figured it out, they would probably beat the shit out of him. He saw Ricky and Mark playing grab ass, making crude comments to each other, Bryan under the next shower facing the wall ignoring the commotion, and next to him William at the last head on the right wall, turned outward, soap trailing down his lean muscular body, as he talked to Scott at the first head on the rear wall. Next to Scott was Rob bent over washing his legs giving everyone a view of his ass. As his shower came to temperature, he noted Bill was to his left and Andre and Carlos to his right, the two of them deep in conversation about some girl from in town. He knew three of the other guys had already showered and were back in the changing room and standing at the door waiting was Julien, towel draped over his shoulder.

It was a typical day, the usual banter and Quentin turned to rinse his back as he watched Ricky, Mark and Rob leave the room. William was turned around also, and Quentin glanced at the long cock hanging loose over its sac, the skin darker than the rest of him. He looked away when he saw Andre and Carlos heading out. Julien came in, taking the shower on the opposite wall from him and strolling in behind him came Philip, the one classmate that troubled Quentin. The one who liked to go too far in joking around, the one who bullied Simon and Patrick. The one he knew to fear, to watch his own nefarious actions when Philip was around.

He turned back to face the wall and held his head under the spray.

Never, during the whole year to date, would he think to worry about Philip messing with him for real. Never did he consider the possibility. So, when he suddenly felt a hand on his neck pushing him face first into the wall, he was shocked, too surprised to respond or defend himself. Then he heard the taunt.

“What were you looking at…Q-u-e-n-t-i-n” said Philip, right up behind him, so close he felt the brush of an arm against his back and a leg pushing against his own as he fought to gain his balance.

“Leave him alone” Bill exclaimed.

“Fuck off” Philip responded as he spun Quentin around to face him. “Were you looking at me when I came in? You a fag?” He held Quentin by the neck pushed up against the wall. The shower beat down on him as Quentin stared at his face, trying to control his thoughts, figure out what to say to get Philip to back off. Then he felt it, his response to the hand on his throat, the control it had over him. The twisted nature of it and how it brought to memory his late-night fantasies, his desires of being dominated, controlled by another boy, sexually. ‘No, no, no’ he thought as he desperately tried to think of something, anything to distract from those thoughts. It was wrong. This wasn’t the time or place for such thoughts. He couldn’t react to his; not now.

“Jesus” Scott uttered.

‘Quentin?” Bill uttered as he stepped away.

He saw Philip look down and he knew what he saw, for he felt it. His cock getting hard.

“What the fuck?” Philip exclaimed as he jumped back, releasing him, as if suddenly shocked.

Quentin covered himself and turned to the wall, embarrassed, scared for the first time in a long time. He was mumbling to himself, “No, no, no…”

“Jesus you’re a sick twisted freak” Philip uttered as he stormed out of the room.

Leaning his head against the wall he cut his eyes to see the others leave the room, quietly, none saying anything about what they saw. Philip’s taunt echoed in his mind. ‘…sick twisted freak’. Over and over till he only was only repeating the word ‘twisted’. He knew it to be true. True in a sense the others couldn’t begin to understand. This fetish, one that had always been there in one form or another. A fetish he secretly practiced in his bedroom in various ways, painfully aware of how others would view it.

When did it start, he wasn’t sure? When was the first time he felt a satisfaction at being confined, of being constricted? Surely not as a young child rough housing with his older brother. But surely there was some indication to come, of this fetish he had of being tied down. The nights in bed when he waited till Jason had fallen asleep and he twisted the covers around himself, pretending to be captured by an enemy, tied up for their pleasure. How that would be manifested, he didn’t know, and it frightened him by the thought of Jason waking up and catching him, but more thrilled by it to stop. There was no conscious understanding of why. Even without the reasoning, he knew what he felt.

Then when older, he found himself teasing Jason constantly, pushing his buttons till he reacted. Jason would pin him on the floor or ground, making him plead how sorry he was, begging for release. Jason didn’t know how much it thrilled him. When he turned fourteen, he went further, tying himself up in the barn or down in the woods behind the pasture. Once he nearly over did the knot and struggled for a long time to get it undone. But after that knot finally slipped free and he was sitting on the ground panting for breath, the thrill of it came to him. So close, he thought. At night, when Jason was away at a friend’s house, he would slip off his pajamas, strip naked underneath covers and wrap himself up in them. It made him feel venerable, his parents able to walk in anytime and catch him. And there was the feel of soft cotton against his bare skin. It excited him far more than he could admit.

By the time he was sixteen, he often found himself in the barn, his games progressing till he left marks, red bands across his chest and back, or around his wrist and ankles. At different times someone questioned him about them. His brother when he came out of the shower one night, or his mother when he didn’t think and pulled off his dirty t-shirt in the laundry room, tossing it in the washer. She walked by the door and saw the red stripes around his torso and demanded to know if Jason had done it. The worst had been his father, who came in the barn one day and nearly caught him, shirt off, pants around his ankles loosely tied to a column. He barely got his pants up when his father found him, rope on the floor next to his dirty t-shirt. ‘What are you doing?’ he had demanded, and Quentin replied ‘nothing’ in the lowest, meekest voice he had.

Since then he had tried to suppress these impulses, control this fetish, even though he knew not the term for it. By the time he turned eighteen two months ago, he struggled to masturbate as he avoided the images that turned him on the most, images he created in his imagination from watching movies, and images he saw online, late at night when alone in his room. Images of men tying up other men. The leather harnesses, the cuffs on wrist and ankles and the naked men hanging from ropes. It scared him how much it excited him to view those images. He had used his belt often in the past and now he found himself running it under his nose first, capturing the scent of the leather before wrapping it around his ankles or wrists. It was the blindfolding that turned him on the most. The inability to see, and the fantasy he was blind to what could be happening around him. Blind to a man coming to him, tying him up and doing things. Things he could only roughly imagine.

The Dominant

Sitting in the second pew next to his mother and sister, he looked down at his unopened Bible. His name in gold letters ran across the lower right corner and he felt his frustration of his place in this world, angry with the unfairness of it. The preacher’s son, the Rev. Benjamin Holmes McHenry’s youngest child. Bartholomew Holmes McHenry. He hated his name, glad his friends and classmates at the private school had only known him as Bart. And he hated the constant ritual of their religion. The prayer for every meal and event to take place, as if any god could give two shits what someone ate or what action they were endeavoring to undertake. He came home from college, the one his father had initially forbidden, to visit his mother and sister. He worried his preacher father would take out his frustrations on them now that he was gone.

He had grown up quickly, learned things that would make his father hyperventilate if he knew. Things that made life easier out in the real world, outside the confines of the Rev. Benjamin Holmes McHenry and his religion. He learned to stand up to his father early on, not back down no matter how threatening the old man seemed. It was all a bluff and they both knew it. He wasn’t angry as a person. Only around his father did he find patience lacking, and the threat of an argument always there, just one wrong word or act away.

He heard his father talk about children obeying their parents and fought the urge to scoff aloud. Looking up for the first time since his father took the podium, they quickly caught each other’s eyes. His father stammered and looked away first. Bart smirked and when he looked over at his mother, he saw the concern, the fear of what was happening between her husband and her son. ‘Fear not mother, he doesn’t know shit’ he thought as he looked back down at his unopened Bible.

 What did any of them know about the human condition? About our needs, the social aspects of our humanity? They certainly feared what fueled our desires, the diversity of our longings, things they couldn’t imagine, too busy demonizing any aspect of it. Clinging to primitive black and white notions of good and evil, of man and woman, unable to accept the reality of a world that was more shades of gray. The churches little private school tried to shield him from it. Tried to tell him such a childish existence of the world, of arks and floods and talking snakes. It tried to make manifest good and evil, give each physical form. He knew better, had for a long time.

College had been his salvation, his ‘born again’ moment. He hadn’t done like some other preacher’s sons and gone completely wild. Hard partying night after night with wild abandon. He had partied, no doubt about it, but with restraint, always in control. It was the one vice he had. He had to feel in control. He had spent a week apologizing to his dorm mate when the fall semester began, for he had pinned him to the bed, telling him how he was going to keep their room clean, or he’d make him clean it with a toothbrush…his toothbrush. He had gone too far, knew it immediately, apologizing profusely, taking him to dinner than night. But the ass asked for it, leaving his shit everywhere, putting nothing away. The final straw was finding empty beer cans strewn across the floor and it sticky with residue from spills. But he knew physically controlling Richard wasn’t the way to handle the situation and after a couple of weeks of apologizing, all seemed forgiven.

But he had to admit, Richard never made another mess in their room.

The real freedom he felt at college was finally being himself. No longer hiding who he was to avoid conflicts with his father, the church, or his classmates from the private school, although truth be known, there probably was less to worry about there. He knew he was gay, had for along time, biding his time till he left for college, knowing he’d not be free till then. There had been other boys in school that made advancements, created opportunities he could have taken advantage of. But he knew most of them were too scared, too timid in their own skin and therefore likely to betray him if something had happened. He had calculated the risks, considered how much control of the situation he may or may not have and in the end, ignored the opportunities. He knew masturbation wasn’t a replacement for the companionship someone else could offer, but he also knew that until he was in an environment that he felt comfortable within, then the release by masturbation would get him by until then.

That afternoon, after lunch with the Carver family, Bart closed himself up in his room. He laid back on his bed letting his mind wander, consider where he was heading in life and how he wanted things to happen. His social life at college had been a mix of good and bad. He had met a lot of guys, gone on dates, had sex for the first of many times since then, but there was something missing, some aspect to his relationships with the other guys that was off. He thought about Richard, with his small compact frame, shaggy brown hair and green eyes, and felt frustrated that Richard wasn’t gay. He had been cool with Bart’s sexuality, never a disparaging word about it. Nothing to make him upset. It was too bad really, for when he had Richard pinned down on his bed, flat on his back, there for a moment he considered the possibly. The thought he could control Richard, keep him in check, bind him in some way, and the image of Richard tied up came into his consciousness, in livid color, stripped to those hideous plaid boxers he always wore and secured to his bed, or in the floor, wrist bound to ankles keeping him balled up, whimpering, submissive. The image of it made him smile as he felt his cock grow thicker, elongate, stretch out till the head then a few inches slipped free through the fly of his boxers. He tugged on it, stroked himself fully erect, wishing his Reverend Father would walk in now and see his son all excited by the thoughts he was having. He knew it was lewd to consider such, but he knew all too well his own father’s weaknesses, the things he had done. The hypocrite had no room to judge anyone.

The Submissive

Quentin drove into town, aimlessly driving around the business district then out to the two car dealerships to look at the latest sports cars or trucks on the lot. He had strolled down the rows of shiny new cars and trucks fighting his desire for his own wheels. Instead he had to be satisfied with driving his mother’s Subaru, glad it wasn’t a minivan. The small selection of vehicles surveyed, he headed to the small shopping center on the south side of town, the one near that private religious school.

He cut through the neighborhoods and circled the campus of the private school wondering what it would be like to attend it. He heard the stories. The strictness of their rules, the dress code where everyone was dressed alike and the things they taught in classes. He remembered one time their science teacher being asked about some public statement by the school’s principle during a debate about creationism. The way the teacher’s face changed, and he stammered around what he wanted to say, obvious by how many times he stopped himself till he finally told them it was just not factual, historically inaccurate, all based on a flat earth. He remembered how they giggled at the answer, this criticism of that school so many others were afraid to do.

At the shopping center he pulled past the drug store and the grocery store, now with its third sign, changing hands every few years, and down to the shop next to the deli at the end. It was a used bookstore, the only bookstore in town, and he made his way inside to browse the narrow aisles stacked high with books.

He didn’t know what it was about the store that was so comforting to him. Was it the way books filled the shelves and overflowed to the floor and low tables sitting around the store? Or was it the narrow aisles, the way you had to pass other shoppers so close, turn sideways to keep from bumping into each other? To some people it was too confining, the aisles too narrow, everything piled up to haphazardly, but to him, it was perfect. He loved the way he could get lost in the store, find himself in some back aisle where the light was too dim, the smell of old books heavy in the air.

He made his way down one aisle, rounded the end and started down the next. He had all the time in the world. His fingers slid over the spines as he read the titles looking for something to jump out, a book to capture his eyes and make him curious enough to pull it form the shelf. Slowly he moved down the aisles till he came to a small section labeled ‘Erotica’ at the back of the store. It was a temptation, the tease of things desired and he looked around, red faced with embarrassment, thinking he was the only person in town who’d look at such writings. He quickly scanned the first shelf then the next, reading the titles, tantalized by the suggestiveness of many. Then he came to a selection whose titles included words like ‘sadist’, ‘punishment’, ‘hellbound’, ‘leather’ and ‘spanking’. He stumbled over the titles, pulled one book after the next from the shelf and scanned a few pages, enticed by what he read, but afraid to go further. Afraid to take one to the counter and buy it. He just knew everyone in the small town would know he bought it before he got home. He slipped back a red volume and pulled the next out, black with gold text. The image of on the cover scandalous and he couldn’t stop himself from opening it up and reading.

 “Smack! Smack! Smack!

The palm of his hand came down sharply and firmly against the boy’s writhing bottom. Some…”

“You like those kinds of books?”

Startled and ashamed at being caught reading it, he struggled to slip the book back on the shelf as he looked up at his accuser. Tall, lanky, with short black hair and dark brown eyes, Quentin wondered who he was, this guy smiling at him, humored by his flustered efforts to return the book to the shelf.

“I was…just curious. That’s all.”

“I see.”

“You like them?” Quentin asked, suddenly embolden to see how this guy would respond.

“I’ve read a few of them. Most grow boring after a while, really, just the same ole thing. Nothing really daring.”

“Daring?”

“Yeah, you know, a story that really pushes the boundaries. Maybe something a bit…” the guy stopped suddenly, leaned down closer to Quentin, close enough he could smell the guy’s cologne and the scent of shampoo on his hair, “…homoerotic?”

Startled, Quentin stepped back and saw the guy smile at him, then laugh.

“Just teasing you…go back to your reading. But really, why read about it, when you can…” the guy’s voice trailed off, the sentence unfinished, as he walked past Quentin, down the aisle. Quentin watched him all the way to the front of the store, heard the door open and close then saw him walk along the front walk.

He tried to continue browsing but he couldn’t stop thinking of that guy. He’d never seen him before as far as he knew, and he wondered if the guy was even from town. He considered the private school for a moment but quickly dismissed such a notion. Maybe he was just passing through on his way south to the beach or heading north to destinations unknown. He found himself back at the front of the store and he looked out across the parking lot to see if the guy was still around. He saw a people coming from the deli or the grocery store to his other side. He recognized a few of the other patrons but felt disappointed the mysterious guy was not among them.

He ambled outside and stood on the sidewalk just staring out across the parking lot till he felt foolish, wondering what he hoped was going to happen. He knew even if he saw the guy, he wouldn’t approach him, especially out in the open for everyone to see. Pulling out the keys to his mom’s Subaru he stepped out from under the canopy into the heat of the day and crossed the blistering parking lot.

The Dominant

Bart saw him crossing the parking lot wondering what a plain ordinary looking guy like him would be doing reading that particular book. He knew it, had found it himself last fall and read it cover to cover in one long, exasperated night. He remembered it well, surprised something written so many years ago could still be so enticingly sadistic, the way the man controlled the gardener’s son, a mere nineteen old boy who submitted in such a luscious way. It made him aroused even now to think of it. Rubbing his right hand he imagined spanking the guy from the bookstore, and he found himself scheming, figuring out a way to find the boy, to test him, see if he was worthy.

He considered running out and chasing him down, following him to his home to find out where he lived, but knew he wouldn’t do it. It was too needy on his part, making him too subservient, and he was not going to be the one giving chase, the one doing the pursing. He’d find the guy and knew when he did, it’d be him doing the pursing. That boy would be the subservient one, the one to come to him. The one to submit.

Sunday arrived and Bart packed his bag, told his mother he’d see her after the end of term, and left. There was always something satisfying about the drive back. A journey away from his past, his home life growing up the preacher’s son. The first thirty minutes he took two lanes roads. Roads that undulated through the countryside till he found himself at the interstate, the wide four lane road bulldozed through the countryside, cutting through hills and bridging over creeks and rivers. It was another two hours, passing through Montgomery on the way, before arriving at campus. He felt himself breathe easier, relaxed, as he eased through town, then across campus to the student parking lot near his dorm.

For the next couple of weeks, he considered different means of finding that boy, the one reading those books, books he himself had read. The images they created came to mind. Lurid, sadomasochistic, erotic. It made him hard to think of it. He looked online at popular hookup sites, ones that boy might be secretly searching. He read the posts, the ones searching for someone, especially those searching for someone dominant, someone to submit themselves to. None were the boy. He knew by the descriptions. He considered posting, putting it out there he was looking for the submissive, someone who’d give themselves to him. But it didn’t seem the way, so for days he debated other means.

Maybe all he had to do was wait till he got home for the summer and stake out that bookstore. Watch for that boy to return to those books.

The whole idea of controlling another like that fueled his fantasies till he was masturbating all the time. Constantly trying to relieve the discomfort of an erection trapped within the confines of his clothes. He had the dorm room to himself most of the time, Richard staying with his new girlfriend more often, than not. He had to admit he missed having him around. Someone to have casual conversation or to help each other with assignments or get advice on some paper he had to write.

There were other guys on the floor he went to for help or just to socialize. They played video games, watched movies, went into town to eat or crash some party. It was odd the way he could be so open on the floor, not hide his sexuality. And he wasn’t the only one. Down the hall in room 321 was Joe and down one floor, not sure which room, was that corn-fed cowboy from Oklahoma, Brice. He swore the straight guys would let Brice fuck them. But Brice had someone, as did Joe. So, in some respects they were safe, already in a relationship with someone, so the straight boys accepted them, invited them over to hang out or go into town. Just one of the guys, as long as the guys thought they were not the object of their desires.

Which made his situation rather odd. He was single but there was something about him being a ‘holly roller’s son’ that tickled most of them. They found the humorous side of it, which he admitted had made him laugh aloud on more than one occasion. If they only knew how he did check them out, surveyed each one when the opportunity arose. And there several he would do in a minute if the chance arrived. Sean next door in 310 or across the hall and down two doors, in 307 there was Shelley and in the first room, right across from the bathroom there was Evan. He didn’t know which he wanted to test out the most. They were so different in some ways, but so alike in others.

Sean and Shelley were both around five ten, average builds but both baby-faced to a fault, Sean with reddish brown hair and Shelley with jet-black hair. Then there was Evan, a dirty straw blonde with his hair cut short sporting a goatee and a tattoo on one bicep and another around his left nipple. He really made Sean and Shelley, and most of the others, look like boys. And since he’d been back, he imagined each one in his control. Each one tied up in some way, as he had his way with them.

With only three weeks left in the semester there was a tension in the air. An anxiousness about the approach of finals and the subsequent grades to follow. Bart was humored by it, for so many would let their grades falter the first part of the term, only to struggle and sit up till all hours of the night trying to make up for it. He didn’t know how they did it. This lack of control, letting things slide to the last minute. It was his vice, after all, that prevented him from doing the same. He had to study and study hard, but not all night like some did. Every time he went down the hall, leaving for class or coming back, he saw the haggard faces, the blood shot eyes and clothes that looked to have been slept in.

And he saw the craziness a Friday night wrought, the complete release from another week of hitting the books. He moved through the madness, eased among them like a predator, looking for prey. For weeks it was not the anxiety of tests that troubled him, but the desire, the want, for someone to practice on, to test out his ability to control them, bring them to the brink, time and time again, only to deny them till he had had his pleasure. He wanted to feel what it was like before hopefully finding that boy back home. When he met him, and he assured himself often, he would meet him, then he wanted to be ready. The boy deserved his best.

It was late Friday night, actually more like the early A.M. hours of Saturday, and most were done for the night. He found himself in Randall and Christopher’s room watching some cheesy porn flick from the seventies with a soundtrack that would haunt him for days. Randall was in one desk chair and Christopher in the other. He sat on the bed with Sean and Mike to his right and to his left, sitting on the floor leaned back against the bed, sat Evan. On the upper bunk, Shelley was sprawled out, his left arm dangling down in view. The room reeked of testosterone. The guys were sloppily dressed in gym shorts or hacked off sweatpants, some in t-shirts or tank tops. Evan was shirtless and he knew every freckle across them, the way his muscles moved under the skin and the raw look of a new tattoo on the right shoulder.

After staring at Evan for far too long, he couldn’t help it. The urge too great. He reached down and pressed his finger against the red skin around the new tattoo.

“Does that hurt?” he asked in the utmost innocence.

“FUCK…damn you…yes it hurts” Evan jerked forward as he cried out. “Damn, cocksucker, don’t touch it.” Everyone was ‘asshole’ to Evan, everyone except him. He was ‘cocksucker’. He knew from Evan, even though it was crude, it was a term of endearment.

“Well maybe you should cover it or something. Put some lotion on it?” he replied stifling a laugh.

“Fuck you” Evan replied, trying to sound mad, but he couldn’t, instead busting out laughing. Evan grabbed Bart by the leg and began to try to muscle him off the bed and down in the floor. Even though he was stronger, Bart knew he had drunk too much, and his reflexes were slow. Bart went down on the floor, but not as Evan intended.

In a few short seconds Evan was face down on the floor, with Bart on top, left arm twisted back. The others were egging him on and jesting with Evan.

Lifting Evan’s left arm up enough to hurt, Bart leaned down to his ear.

“Say uncle.”

“Fuck you…OW!”

Bart shoved his left knee up tight to Evan’s ass, twisted his arm just a bit as he put his mouth right next to his ear.

“Say uncle.”

“Noooo…OW…okay…okay.” Evan uttered, trying to catch his breath. After he settled down, Bart waiting patiently, he said it. “Uncle.”

The guys howled with laughter as Bart rolled off and sat up, smacking Evan on the ass before he could roll over.

“Who’s the bitch, now?” he taunted making Evan jerk toward him acting like he was going to attack.

“Okay…okay…guys, he got me” said Evan as he sat up next to Bart. “Cocksucker” he whispered at Bart as he began to laugh.

“If you don’t stop calling me that I’ll make you my cocksucker” Bart whispered back, laughing as if he were joking. But he wasn’t.

Evan scoffed as everyone began to prepare to settle down for the night. Randall shut off the television and Christopher began to pick up empty cans and discarded pizza boxes as the others pulled themselves to their feet and staggered out.

The next afternoon found the floor quiet, most everyone back into the books. Bart had a paper to finish writing and a few chapters to read and some advanced calculus to do. By six he was done, the finished paper printed out for him to proof the next day. He strolled out into the corridor amazed at how quiet it was as he headed to the cafeteria. He carried the latest novel he was reading and enjoyed a simple meal while reading another chapter.

Back in his room, music turned on real low, he pulled his desk chair to the window and with feet propped on the sill he resumed his reading. He had the door partially closed, enough to block the guys from looking in and disturbing him, but he still able to hear the padding of feet down the corridor, or some quiet conversations, remainders he was in college living in a dorm. He lost track of time, reading page after page, unaware of how far he had progressed.

A knock at the door and he looked up to see it was dark outside, much later than he realized. A quick glance at his watch showed it to be 11:48 P.M. He eased up and made his way to the door wondering who it could be. He wasn’t expecting any of the guys to drop by and had made no plans. The memory of the night before and his roughhousing with Evan came back to him, and he wondered if it could possibly be Evan coming to his room. Maybe he wanted Bart to go further, to push his straight boy limits. Stranger things have happened even as he knew it was wishful thinking.

He grabbed the knob and pulled the door open, momentarily surprised by who stood there.

“Shelley…hey. What’s up?”

“Nothing much…just wondering what you were up to. Are you still studying?”

“No, no, I finished earlier this afternoon. I was just reading.”

“Can I come in…or should I…”

“Come on in.”

Bart stood to the side and let Shelley come in, measuring him up once again. Cheeks rosy red and skin that looked blemish free. ‘Damn that baby face’ he thought as he pushed the door closed and eased the lock, wanting to keep the others out.

Richard’s desk chair was pulled up to his desk and his own sat near the window. He wondered which Shelley would take and was pleasantly surprised to see him ease down on his bed, lay back resting on one elbow.

“Did you get those calculus problems done?” Shelley asked.

“Yep. Did you?”

“Yes, but those last two I’m not sure about. Can I come over sometime tomorrow and compare with your problems? I may need some help.”

“Sure. I’ll be around most of the day.”

Bart sat patiently, let the silence grow in the room as Shelley looked around, from Richard’s things back to his. At first, he was sure Shelley was just bored and doing what any of them would do by coming over just to socialize a little. But the more Shelley fidgeted around the more he wondered about his motives.

“Evan can be something else, can’t he?” said Shelley in a low voice, breaking the silence.

“He sure can.”

“I wonder about him sometimes.”

“I do too.”

“You think he liked it?”

“What?”

“You, pinning him to the floor?”

Shelley still had not looked around at him. He kept his head down, and his right hand busy, fidgeting with his shirt tail. Bart leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees so he was a little closer. Shelley was talking so low he could barely hear him.

“I think he liked it. He seems to like a little rough play. Guys horsing around and all.”

“Yeah…”

Silence, for a long time and Bart let it linger before speaking.

“You like to horse around like that?”

“…”

“I do but I must admit, I like the control. The besting of someone. Getting the upper hand.”

“…”

“What do you like about it?”

“I dunno know.”

“I know some like the physical nature of the play. Two guys testing each other’s strength. See who was stronger…who was weaker.”

“Maybe…yeah.”

“In high school we wrestled in P.E. Really worked up a sweat, but it was fun seeing who you could best and who was stronger than you.” A little white lie, for he never wrestled in high school, but he wanted to keep the conversation going.

“I wrestled in high school. The one twenty class when I was fifteen. I wasn’t very good but…I enjoyed it.”

The image of Shelley at fifteen in a wrestler’s tight was too much. Bart smiled at the image of it.

“You’re probably better than I am. I bet you’d be hard for me to take down.”

“Maybe…”

“Maybe? Maybe you’d rather I kicked your ass?” His joking tone made Shelley look around for the first time, smiling.

“I wouldn’t go that far” Shelley finally replied.

“You want to find out?”

There it was, the opportunity to take things to the next level. To get into a physical match with each other. To feel muscles burning with exertion, skin grow hot.

“I don’t know. You serious?”

Bart stood up, pushing the chair with his legs to roll back out of the way. He had on a shirt buttoned up and cargo shorts. He unbuttoned the shirt as he stared at Shelley, daring him to get off the bed. Shelley moved slowly to the edge, eased up into a sitting position and watched as Bart’s shirt fell open revealing his lean torso. He watched the shirt slip free and get tossed on a desk.

“Come on…you scared you’re going to lose?”

Shelley stood up, daringly close to Bart and lifted his t-shirt up over his head. The lean body, flat from chest to stomach with smooth white skin came into view. He looked much younger than his eighteen…or was he nineteen now?

“So, you going to try to pin me?” Shelley whispered as he stared brazenly at Bart.

Bart felt Shelley’s surprising strength. He felt the lanky body push back, work to gain some advantage. But he also felt some holding back, some reluctance to actually win. Soon, even before they were sweating, Bart Had Shelley pinned to the floor, face down, his arm around Shelley’s neck and his other holding one of Shelley’s arms. Shelley twisted and pushed up, fought for some purchase on the slick floor, the rug long since pushed under the bed. Bart felt Shelley rise, felt him struggle to free himself and he let him think he had an opportunity, let him begin to turn when he clamped down on him again, this time pinned on his back. He had one arm pressed to Shelley’s neck and the other holding Shelley’s arms pinned to his chest. He shifted on top of him, got his full weight on top of him. Then he felt it.

Shelley was hard. Fully erect, pushing against his stomach.

“You really like to wrestle, don’t you?”

“What…no…it’s not…”

“Ssshhhh…it’s okay” Bart whispered lulling Shelley into silence. He felt the fight go out of him and he shifted up on his knees straddling Shelley’s chest, arms pinned beneath his knees. He undid his belt and worked it through the loops freeing it from his cargo shorts.

“W-w-what are y-y-you doing?”

“Taking my belt off.”

Shelley watched the belt come loose, watch as he looped it around one leg of the bed and pulled it tight. He held the belt over Shelley’s face, let the end of it rake over one cheek, then across the mouth as he asked Shelley his final question. The last question that could stop what was about to happen.

“You want me to stop…or will you hold up your hands for me?”

Bart sat on Shelley’s chest and freed his arms. He watched the look in Shelley’s eyes, the fear mixed with some desire. A desire to submit. Shelley raised his arms and held his wrist together and Bart could see them shaking. Belt looped around them then tied off pulling Shelley’s arms over his head he leaned down close, running a finger over his lips.

“Your safe word is my name. Otherwise you refer to me as sir. Do you understand?”

“Y-y-yes-s-s-, s-s-sir.”

Bart stood and went to his closet pulling out two more belts. He picked up Shelley’s t-shirt as he moved back to the prone body. He ripped the t-shirt till he had a strip of fabric and he sat on Shelley’s chest once again.

Shelley merely stared at him, wide eyed, as he folded the strip into a long band and as he reached down to pull it around Shelley’s head, he saw the submission, the willingness to do what he wanted. The head rose up making it easier to put on.

On his knees beside Shelley, he ran his hand down the flat chest and over the undulating stomach till his fingers were raking underneath the waistband of the shorts. They slipped easily down, along with the boxers underneath, till he had them pulled free of each leg and tossed off to one side. Shelley’s cock was still hard, and it flexed up and down as he looked at the naked body.

He looped each belt around an ankle and pulled them upward and back to the bunk bed tying them off to the frame. Shelley’s ass was pulled up and spread open. He knew he had never been so exposed to another as he was now. He knew how taboo it was for a straight guy, or one pretending to be straight, to let someone mess with his ass, to not only have someone touch it but to penetrate it. It was too gay.  Before the night was over, Shelley would know what it was like to not only be touched in this most private of places, but to have it penetrated. But first he wanted to prepare him.

He rubbed the smooth skin of each cheek letting his fingers drag over the tight opening. Not once did he touch the hard cock, nor the sac getting tighter and tighter before his eyes. Instead he continued to caress one cheek till he swore Shelley was panting, then he reared up and smacked it, hard, a red hand imprint glowing on it. He didn’t wait, didn’t give Shelley time to consider what was happening and he smacked the cheek again, and again and again till it glowed red, the skin hot to the touch. Shelley was shaking, and had his jaw cinched tight stifling his groans. But he didn’t use the safe word.

Then he began to caress the other cheek, his hand moving slowing in circular motions over the smooth skin. At first, he felt Shelley shaking, then slowly, it stopped. He saw him relax. Then he raised up and smacked it, hard, the sound echoing in the room louder than he expected. But he didn’t stop, striking the cheek over and over till it too glowed red. Shelley was shaking, moaning louder than before. He ran his fingers up along the space between them, following the line in the skin till he rubbed over the tight opening making Shelley shudder at his ministrations. Continuing upward he dragged his fingers up till he was raking them over the tight sac, drawn up tight at the base of Shelley’s hard cock. Then he smacked the sac and Shelley howled and shook from the shock and pain.

“I should put on some music” Bart uttered as he realized Shelley wasn’t going to be quiet.

The music was just loud enough to drown out most of Shelley’s cries but not so loud as to have one of the guys next door complain. Back on his knees, Bart held up a bottle of lube and let it trickle over Shelley’s cock, then sac and finally drizzle down his ass. He rubbed it over his ass, around the tight sac and along the hard shaft making him try to push up through his fist. He smirked at the thought of letting Shelley having that kind of pleasure and he moved down, let his fingers rub over the sac then downward till he was circling the tight opening. He rubbed it with his index finger feeling how tightly it was closed up, resisting his playful manipulations. Once again Shelley seemed to relax.

He pushed his index finger through the tightness and bore into Shelley’s depths. Shelley moaned, whorishly and he knew how much pleasure was gained by the penetration, whether Shelley would admit it or not. He piston it inside Shelley, twisting and turning his finger around, then he pulled out and pushed back in with two fingers. Shelley took them, moaned once again and he wondered if there had been some ass-play in Shelley’s past. He pulled out then went back in, three fingers this time and Shelley grunted from the stretch of his opening, his entire body shuddering with this penetration. ‘That’s more like it’ he thought as he toyed with Shelley’s opening, worked his fingers inside it till it loosened around them.

“You like me toying with your ass?”

“Y-y-yes-s-s s-s-s-sir.”

He pulled out and sank four fingers back in, the opening tight around them as he bore inward as far as he could. Watching for the different reactions, how Shelley was responding to his manipulations he saw how the small nipples were sticking out, and he rubbed his hand over them feeling the hard nub of their center. He took the right one between his thumb and index finger and pinched down and Shelley shook and cinched his jaw tight. He twisted it, hard, and Shelley cried out and fought to pull away. But still no safe word.

He didn’t have clamps or clothespins like in videos he had watched, and he wondered what he could use. Looking at his desk he saw the little metal clip on the report he had written, and it caused him to smile, mischievously, wickedly, as he moved to his desk and retrieved the small box of clips in the top drawer. Shelley shuddered and struggled to hold still when the first one pinched down on the right nipple. He cried out when the second one pinched down on the left one.

Bart flicked the clamps making them wobble back and forth. Shelley gritted his teeth stifling his cry as he shook and squirmed around trying to get away from his hand. He flicked the right one again and saw Shelley’s cock drooling till it pooled on his stomach. He leaned over close to Shelley’s ear.

“I’m so glad you came over; I’m having so much fun” he whispered then bit the earlobe tugging on it. Shelley shuddered.

He pulled four more clamps out and pinch out flesh along the back of each thigh, securing two to each one. Shelley shuddered from the bite of the clamps. He took another clamp and pulled an inch of skin from the base of Shelley’s sac out and attached it. Shelley howled, shook and fought against his bounds.

“Please…s-s-sir…please.”

He didn’t know if Shelley wanted him to stop or to continue, but there was no safe word and he flicked the clamp attached to Shelley’s sac making him struggle again like a trapped animal. Standing up, he stepped back and admired the bound naked body. Shelley needed to lay there and think about his place in this little play. Think of his submission and how he had been toyed with so far. Let those clamps focus his mind, keep him deeply aware of it. Leaning against his desk he took his cell phone and snapped a picture. A little souvenir for himself, something to remind him of this moment.

As he looked at Shelley, he felt his own aroused state, how confined his own cock felt and he undid the cargo shorts and slipped everything off. He stroked his erection, feeling the hard shaft slide through his hand, savoring the feel of it knowing he was going to slide it into Shelley very, very soon.

Back down on his knees, this time up near Shelley’s ass, he flicked the clamps on the back of his thighs. Shelley howled and struggled with the pain. Then he took them off, one at a time, letting Shelley grunt and cry out through gritted teeth with each one. The he released the one on the sac and watched the him shudder and shake, struggle with his bounds more than before. He rubbed the red skin as it returned slowly back to normal. Shelley’s cock flexed up and down and continued to drool. Looking down, so was his own cock.

He leaned over the prone body and let his cock drag wetly over the spread ass, up and down and over the opening. Leaning over more he dragged his tongue up Shelley’s chest tasting the saltiness of the sweating skin. Then he mouthed one of the clamps and the manipulation made Shelley cry out, beg for him to stop, pleading for mercy.

But still no safe word.

“I’m going to fuck you, Shelley. I’m going to put my cock in your ass and fuck you. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

There was no stammering this time. He removed the two remaining clamps and rubbed the nipples that he knew were flaming hot with pain. Shelley pushed up with his chest and cried out. Snot ran from his nose and he actually whimpered. Whimpered like a puppy.

He pushed his cock down till it aligned with Shelley’s hole. He pressed the wet head to it, let Shelley feel it at his opening, let him contemplate what was about to happen. Then he shoved inward, sinking half of his cock into Shelley’s depths. Shelley threw his head back and moaned. Hands on the back of each leg, he folded Shelley over more, a real yoga position, and drove all the way into his hole till his abdomen smacked against that upturned ass. Then he fucked him. Hard, no holding back, bodies smacking together with every thrust.

“Do you like me fucking you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You want it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Beg for it.”

“Please sir, fuck me, fuck me with your cock…fuck me…just…fuck…me…” Shelley stammered and rambled as he pleaded for Bart’s fuck.

Bart began to pull all the way out, hover over the closing hole, then slammed back in. Over and over, savoring the tight feel of that opening as it milked his shaft pushing inward and pulling out. Then he pushed in all the way and ground his hips against Shelley’s ass.

Leaning down he let his lips brush Shelley’s, just barely touch them.

“You will satisfy me before I let you leave.”

“Yes, sir.”

He kissed him, roughly, shoving his tongue into Shelley’s mouth, wondering if Shelley would think that was the part that was too gay. Shelley took it and moaned back into his mouth. Rising up, he began to fuck again, slowly at first, feeling every inch slide through that tight opening, then gradually faster and faster till the sound of their bodies smacking together was as loud as the music. This time he didn’t slow down when he felt his rising need for release. This time he was going to paint Shelley’s insides with his cum. His pace increased till his body burned with its exertions. He hammered his cock inside Shelley, battered the inside of his body till he was shaking. Looking down he saw Shelley’s cock flex, the head flared out wider, the slit gapped open and drooling.

“Don’t you dare cum…not yet. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

He thrust inward, ground his abdomen against Shelley’s ass and came. Shuddering with each ejaculation, he hammered cock inward trying to get deeper.

Sitting back on his heels, breathing hard, he watched as his load leaked out then trickled down Shelley’s ass. He rubbed a finger in it, smeared it over Shelley’s ass amazed at how the smell of cum filled his room. Then he wiped his finger off on Shelley’s upper lip so he could smell it, the cum that had been in his ass.

Sitting his chair, rocking back and forth slowly as he stared down at Shelley he wondered about the boy’s limits, wondered about his submission and willingness to be penetrated. He remembered how it felt to work four fingers through that tight opening and wondered how far he really could push Shelley. What would he endure before uttering the safe word?

He got another belt, a narrow leather belt for his dress pants, the thin leather flexible in his hands. He went to the prone body and let the end of the belt drag over the upturned ass, rake over the sac and along the hard cock. He dragged it up the torso till it was sliding over Shelley’s mouth and nose. He let him smell the leather, know exactly what it was that was touching him. The he whipped it around and across the back of Shelley’s thighs. It was loud the way it smacked against the skin. A line of red came up across each thigh as Shelley struggled to absorb the pain.

Then he struck both thighs again, and again and again till Shelley was pleading for him to stop.

But still no safe word.

He stepped over and brought the belt down on Shelley’s ass, one cheek then the next. One, two, three times, then four, leaving red welts across each one. Then he hit the area just below the sac and Shelley howled out loud.

The belt tossed to the side and back on his knees, he began to finger the wet hole, to piston three then four fingers through his cum, pushing inward as deep as he could.

“I’m not stopping this time till you really open up for me.”

“Y-y-yes s-s-sir.”

He was stammering again, his body still shivering. Bart rubbed each cheek, feeling the heat of the red glowing skin, as he fingered him, drove four fingers inward all the way. Then he twisted his hand around, felt the loosening, Shelley opening up to him. He worked his fingers around and began to add his thumb. He felt the tightness resist him. Felt the body shiver as he worked his thumb over the tight ring of Shelley’s opening. He manipulated it, worked his thumb inside it, slowly, fractions of an inch, working the tightness out.

“I’m going to fist you.”

“…”

“Did you hear me? I’m going to put my fist inside you.”

“Y-y-yes s-s-sir.”

His thumb slipped in and he twisted his hand around. Slowly, it slick with his cum, he slowly pushed inward. The thickest part of his hand was pressed up against the opening, working against it, twisting and turning, waiting on Shelley to relax, to loosen to him and let him in.

He worked at Shelley for a long time, slowly, knowing he couldn’t rush this. Eventually he felt it, the loosening and his hand slipped inside Shelley. He eased inward, then pulled back a little and eased inward again. He kept it up as Shelley shuddered with his penetration, the feel of his hand inside him. He worked it inside him till half his forearm was buried inside Shelley’s hole.

“You did it. You took me.”

He eased out of Shelley’s hole and watched it slowly close up, waiting, ready to fuck him again.

“I’m going to pump another load in you” he uttered, his voice low, unconcerned on whether or not Shelley heard him.

“Yes…please, sir. Please…” Shelley uttered.

He moved to Shelley’s ass, cock hard again, dripping, and he pushed in, all the way and began to fuck. He fucked with the determination of release. Of his own pleasure, Shelley reduced to the orifice that contained his cock, rubbed it to higher and higher states of arousal as his hips moved in the most primitive of ways. The instinct to find one’s pleasure.

Shelley began to moan, to move in his bonds and he swore the boy was moving with him, trying to get him deeper. He thrust harder, hips smacking up against ass. He pushed Shelley across the floor toward the bed, hammering his ass.

Then he came.

He pulled his dripping cock from Shelley and moved around to his side, wiping it across lips and under nose. Shelley’s tongue came out and licked the head of his cock and for a moment he thought he’d moan. He pushed against those lips and felt them part taking the head and a couple of inches of shaft. Pulling out, letting the head hover those lips, he worked his hand along the shaft, milking out the last of his load, letting it drip onto them. He watched the tongue snake out and lick it off.

“Fucking whore” he uttered under his breath and he began to undo the belts.

Released, Bart stood up and watched him look around shyly, then down at his own nakedness. The red around his wrist and ankles and his own leaking cock, still not allowed to cum.

“Get up.”

Shelley stood as commanded and followed Bart without being told into the bathroom. He stood silently to the side watching the shower get turned on, Bart holding his hand under the spray waiting for the temperature to warm up.

“Get in.”

Shelley went under the spray and felt Bart behind him. Bart ran soapy hands over Shelley, over every part. He worked fingers back into Shelley’s hole, pushed inward all the way till he heard the mumblings, begging to be fucked again. He ignored the pleas as he bathed him. He pulled down shampoo and drizzled it over the black hair and worked it into a lather.

“I can’t stand a dirty boy” Bart uttered as he made Shelley turn around. He washed Shelley roughly, rubbing over his nakedness without concern. Then he pushed Shelley back under the spray.

“Rinse the soap off.”

As he finished getting the shampoo out of his hair and the soap off his skin, Bart took hold of him suddenly, without warning, pushing him against the wall and kicking his legs apart.

“I’m not satisfied.”

Shelley pushed his ass back, opening himself up to Bart, willing, waiting, wanting the feel of penetration again. He moaned as thick hard cock pushed into his hole, sank inch after inch without stopping till Bart was pressed against his ass. Then he was being fucked, cock pulled outward and shoved back in a brutal pace. It rocked him against the wall and made his own cock hard again. Bart grabbed him by the hair, pulled his head back pushing his chest against the wall as cock hammered his hole. Then he felt something he didn’t think he’d be allowed. Bart’s hand on his cock, encircling it, then stroking in rhythm to their fuck.

Bart worked Shelley’s cock, felt the long shaft slide through his hand as he fucked him. Shelley moaned, cried out, then began to push back. He leaned back, shoulders against the opposite wall, hips out, watching cock disappear then reappear as Shelley worked his ass on it. He watched it transfixed by how it slipped so easily into Shelley, how his cock just bore into the heat of the body in front of him. It thrilled him to watch the changes, how the back muscles quivered, and the right shoulder and arm moved with Shelley’s manipulation of his own cock now that he wasn’t doing it. He grabbed Shelley by the hair and pulled his head back, back till his cock was buried in his ass.

“Get me off with your mouth.”

“Yes, sir.”

Shelley pulled off his cock and turned, still stroking his own. His eyes looked glassy, unfocused, as he went to his knees, letting the shower spray him from behind as he took Bart in hand, put his lips to the head then let it slip through them. Bart held still, fighting the urge to fuck, as he watched Shelley take him, move forward till his cock was completely engulfed in the sweet slick heat of Shelley’s mouth. Those lips moved along his shaft, rubbed along its length till he held Shelley by the head and began to fuck, to drive his cock through the lips till he felt the gagging, the attempt at swallowing till he saw the drool running down Shelley’s chin. Then he let go and let Shelley finish him off. He came hard, his cock ejaculating less, but just as hard. He felt the swallowing around the head of his cock, the suction that drew out his load till he was spent. Shelley stayed on his cock, face pressed into his abdomen and he felt the slight rocking, the movement of jerking off. Shelley grunted and moaned around his cock and he felt the spatter of cum on his legs.

When Shelley was finally spent, sitting back on his heels, he grabbed him roughly by the hair and shoved his face down to his leg.

“Lick it off.”

Shelley wanted to stay, hinted at how he would do anything to sleep with him that night. But Bart knew he needed to set boundaries, to establish who was in control. It was so late the corridor was deserted, all the doors closed, when he let Shelley out. He didn’t watch him leave, didn’t give the boy the satisfaction he might have preferred him to stay. He eased the door closed and turned the lock. It was enough for one night.

The Submissive

It scared him, really scared him. The last few weeks of high school passed agonizingly slow, each day a new torment. Of course, Philip had spread the word to everyone, even their underclassmen. He saw their looks. Disgust mostly, but also a fear. He was alien to them. An unknown, even though he was part of the community. Maybe that is what scared them the most. Someone they thought they knew suddenly revealing themselves a freak. A twisted freak. Who else could be twisted? Could it be someone sitting next to them on the bus or in the cafeteria, hanging out in their room, or the person they were dating? What had he done that was so bad, really?  His dick had got half-hard. So what? How often did one or another of the guys joke of getting an erection. In biology class, sitting in back, Julien had taken his dick out and stroked it for anyone sitting nearby to see. And at Angelia’s party, didn’t a couple of the guys masturbate to porn in the basement? But it was he that was ostracized, made to feel different. He knew why, knew what set him apart from the other boys. He’d gotten hard by being roughed up. Roughed up by another boy.

After that day in the shower, he felt relieved. Felt some sense of normalcy. It had not become fantasy for his masturbation. Not once did he envision Philip, hand on his throat, as he stroked himself to release. But there was so much more that had become imagery that fueled his arousal, made him grow so erect his cock ached for release. And the one thing that appeared in his twisted little fantasies, time and time again, was the tall guy from the bookstore. And there was that word. It hung in the air as he grew more and more aroused, each moment closer to his release. ‘Homoerotic’. He heard the guy say it. The tone had been so mischievous, daring him to respond to it.

After school, he did his chores. Helped with laundry on Mondays and weeded flower beds or worked in the garden on Tuesdays. Wednesday’s, he helped his dad in the barn, mostly maintenance of the equipment, till by Friday, he had to mow the lawn and wash his parent’s vehicles. He would rush through each task, get them done before dinner, which was always at six.

After dinner was his time. Time he could spend as he wished. Since it neared summer, daylight lasting till nearly eight o’clock, he would make his way to some private place. The back of the barn, the woods at the back of the property, and of late, down at the back of the property, across the old fence and down near a gully, he went to the McKinley boy’s old treehouse. Dilapidated, half the rungs nailed into the tree missing, and the window on the north side busted, it still offered a dry, out of the way place. For days he tied himself up, leaving one hand free to bring himself off. He changed how he did it, legs pulled out to different corners, his one tied arm pulled to an opposing corner, spread eagle on the floor, its rough surface biting into his bare skin. Then he began to loop the nylon rope over a roof rafter and tug his legs up till his ass was off the floor. He imagined his legs spread further apart, his ass open to manipulation as he jacked-off. It didn’t take long till cum spattered him in the face. Then he grew bolder.

The tree house wasn’t large enough, the roof too low. But the floor framing offered a place to loop a rope, letting the ends dangle down to the ground. He stripped, aroused by how anyone could walk up and discover him. Maybe one of the McKinley boys would come home from college and stroll down and find him. Maybe they would like how they found him; naked and trussed up. He tied the rope around his ankles then took the other end and pulled. He pulled with all his might till only his shoulders were on the ground, and his weight wouldn’t allow him to pull any more. He dangled from the rope, twisted around, grinding the top of his head into the leaf covered ground. The rope bit into his ankles, painfully, cutting off the flow of blood to his feet. It went to his cock instead, filled it till it was rock hard and drooling down onto his chest.  It was a race to see if he could take the pain of the rope around his ankles, till he came. He furiously stroked his cock till his hand grew slick. He shuddered from the sensations. He was pumping his hips making the rope cut into his ankles worse. But he couldn’t stop, his hand a blur as he kept going.

Then he was heaving for breath, his entire body rigid, and he jerked with each release. He watched the cum arc out of his cock, sail out over the ground, then drop down on his face, till finally it merely dribbled out the last of his load.

Lying on the ground, the rope loose around his red ankles, he smeared the cum over his skin, feeling it cool, turn runny, then slowly dry to a white flake. It was dark by the time he dressed and headed home. All the way back, cutting through woods, climbing the fence then circling around the field he wondered what it would be like to have someone do it for him. Tie him and take him to the point of release. He wondered what it would be like to have another boy use him, penetrate his body and take pleasure from it. He wondered what kind of boy it would take, and the image of the guy from the bookstore came to him. And that word…’homoerotic’.

One more week, just one more week, he repeated to himself later that night. One more week till graduation and he would be free of that place and its torments. He was sick of the stares, the vile whispers and insinuating remarks to his back, and sometimes right to his face. He rolled to his side and stared at the wall acknowledging he was different from most of them. But he knew, he wasn’t the only one.

The Dominant

Finally, off the interstate, Bart drove the rural road slowly, windows down letting the warm air swirl through his car. He was relaxed with his relief that classes were over, final exams taken and he had the summer before him to rest. The last weeks had been one aggravation after the next. Shelley groveling all the damn time to let him come over, and he had let him a couple of times. But the boy wanted it all the time. The constant phone calls, text messages, even fucking notes slipped under his door. It had gotten so bad, some of the other guys began to suspect something was up between the two of them. Then there was the little surprise that bastard in his Advanced Writing course threw at them just two weeks ago. Another paper, one he wanted to force them to rush to complete, to push them to react quickly and see how they handled a tight deadline. It screwed up his carefully planned schedule. Made him stay up late three…no four nights working on the damn thing. Then came the finals. No matter how well prepared he had still felt that anxiousness he could have prepared just a bit more, read another chapter or review his notes one more time. Gotten one more question right, taking his grade from a low A to a high A.

Now he rode in blissful satisfaction. Music played over the radio just loud enough to hear and the roar of the tires on the rough slag road created a white noise that let the miles slip by. He had been planning his summer for weeks, looking at his calendar as he worked out what weekend might be best to go to the beach, or the one to go down to New Orleans, or over to Atlanta, or maybe take a long road trip all the way to Key West. He knew his Preacher-Father wouldn’t like it, but he also knew the ole bastard would want rid of him, therefore letting him go wherever he wanted.

His other plan for the summer was a bit of detective work. A search really, looking in the current yearbooks, surely in the library by now, or browsing the local paper for a chance article or simply staking out the bookstore in town. He’d find that boy, the one from last spring, if he resided in town or in the nearby countryside. He would find him if it was the last thing he did. The idea of it fascinated him, toyed with his imagination, the things possible. Things that made his cock grow hard and slip down till the head was sticking out of the leg of his shorts. By the time he got home the cum would nearly be dried on the mat and his arousal sated.

The local paper came once a week and there wasn’t much to it. Mostly advertisements with a few articles about the news of the town and surrounding community. It took only seconds for Bart to scan through its pages to know there was nothing there. Not one image of a young guy, especially the one in which he was searching. The next morning, he drove to the library. It had been open over an hour when he arrived and yet it was nearly empty. The silence was unnatural. But he was pleased no one was around. He could search without prying eyes.

“Has the high schools giving you copies of their year books from this year?” Bart asked the older woman behind the desk.

She smiled up at him, lip stick smeared on one corner, “Why, yes, we have them in the archival section. It’s in that small room over there, through those double glass doors.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Strickland” he replied, catching her name from the plastic tag on her sweater.

Nearly circling the room, he found the high school year books in one section. Washington High from Lee County, the rural school north of town was at the bottom of the bookcase. Henderson High, the public school in town was at the top and in between was his own school, the private one his father was administrator over, Shiloh Christian School and below that, Lee County High, the rural school south of town.  He knew it wasn’t his own and he pulled down the year books for the three other schools. He laid them on the table that sat in the middle of the room and looked at their garish covers, school colors for each one, no doubt. Dark red and gold for Henderson, Blue and Yellow for Washington and Green and white for Lee. Stark, bold colors, each one and he shook his head as he tapped one, then the other, making a game of which one it’d be. The boy had to be from the rural countryside, for those were the ones he saw the least, and thus where one of them could slip through years of living nearby and the two of them never crossing paths. He pushed Henderson toward the center of the table and opened Lee up first.

He flipped through the concept pages with candid images of the students, the homecoming court, and the other features till he came to the Class of 2019 photographs. He ran his finger over the images, scanning the faces for the one familiar. There wasn’t many, and he soon came to a familiar face. The hair was longer, but the look, those eyes, the same questioning uncertainty. Below the image, a name to go with it. Ryan Quentin Langston. Below in italics, Quentin, the name he used in daily life. The name Bart would use when he found him. He pulled up his cell phone and did a search for Langston. Five hits, all south of town. Three were on one road, one was over near the river, a road he’d never heard of, and the fifth was just below town, a suburb outside the town’s limits.

“Now for a recon” he whispered to himself, amazed at how quickly he found him. Or at least, where to look.

In his car driving toward the nearest address, he wondered why he was doing it. This stupid search for some boy he didn’t know. He didn’t know if the boy was really into anything sexually interesting, didn’t even know if he was gay, but that book he had been reading certainly was. He realized it was the chase, this hunter seeking his prey, that fueled his obsession. He liked it. Made is cock stiffen in his shorts to think about it. It was more alluring than ten Shelley’s, all naked and tied up in his room.

He eased by the house, a nice ranch style house with a pickup in the drive and a sedan in the garage. To the side sat an RV with a boat behind it. He saw someone coming out of the garage. It was an older man, in his sixties at least, his white hair evident around the sun hat he wore.

“Nope, not that one” he muttered as he sped up.

Out on Old School Lane road, he cruised past the three houses that sat scattered along the road. One was an older home, a tall wood sided house with a full width porch, and azaleas fencing in the yard. He was going to dismiss it until he saw an old swing set in the rear yard, then a couple of bicycles. But nothing indicated an older guy, one who would have just graduated high school. The next was an old ranch house, with a new pickup in the drive and a Buick in the carport. “Not that one” he uttered, for he considered the car a sign of an older couple. The last house was a ranch too, it’s age hard to determine. It looked like it was only a few years old, but the yard looked older, much older. But again, there were signs of children having grown up there, but nothing that spoke to the guy from the bookstore.

He was sure one of those three houses had to be it, but he couldn’t be sure, so he headed out to Bluff Springs Road. He was on a mission and would leave no stone unturned. It took fifteen minutes to cross the region and a wrong turn before he found the dirt road snaking off into the a woodland. He was appalled at the condition of the road, didn’t know such rutted, washed out dirt roads still existed in the country. He eased along for what seemed like miles but knew it couldn’t be that far. His car bounced and rattled over the rough road as he passed row after row of planted pine, the trees appearing fence post thin as they reached for the sky. He had passed only one other house before he finally arrived at 10312. He eased by the address thinking ‘no way’ it was this one. It was run down, the exterior peeling and flaking paint, the shudders hanging in odd shapes as they deteriorated on the walls. The yard was knee high in grass and weeds and the only vehicle visible was an old Dodge, some seventies model he guessed, the body appearing to be rust and the windows missing. He couldn’t tell, but thought it was on blocks. An old woman came out on the front stoop, cigarette dangling from her lips. She looked to be sixty, or seventy, or older even. He knew she was too old to have a son in high school, and the other thing he knew was Ryan Quentin Langston was dressed far too nice and seemed far too educated to have come from this place. He eased on down the road and turned around at the landing and headed toward home.

He was nearly home, less than a quarter mile away, when he passed the shopping center where the bookstore was located. He braked hard and swung in the last drive. He had to check it out, see for himself whether, or not the boy, Quentin, was back in the store, browsing through books of such a tempting nature.

The Submissive

Quentin had been at the deli grabbing lunch. It was just an excuse to get out of the house, for his parents were away for the weekend, over in Jackson visiting an Aunt. He didn’t want to be home, not alone, the old farmhouse creaking as it warmed up in the hot summer sun. He ambled in, saying hello to Mr. Gaines, the owner, who was more likely to be in an aisle going through a cart of books as he was to be behind the counter.

He wasn’t going to that section of books, told himself to stay out of the entire aisle. He’d refrained for weeks after being called out by that guy. It had spooked him. He didn’t know him. Didn’t know if he was a local or just someone passing through. He’d not seen him since that day and was beginning to think the guy had been passing through and it was safe now. Safe to come out and browse the store, even if he thought that one section was taboo.

The door chimed as he eased inside, then stood trying to decide where to start. The fiction on the left or go right through the history, biographies and toward the back, that small section of LGBT books. It wasn’t even a full bookcase, just three shelves and he wondered who in town would have the courage to even browse those books, let alone buy one. He ambled left, eyes scanning the newest arrivals, then over to the main shelves. Titles familiar caught his eye as he scanned the shelves, jumping from A to B to C, and so on till he was at the back of the store.

Skipping the last sections of fiction, he strolled over to his forbidden aisle, the one sitting crossways along the back wall, affording more privacy. He circled around and down to the section he knew he should stay away from, but his curiosity was too great. The books seemed to jump out at him, the familiar titles taunting him, ready to give up their secrets. All he had to do was slip them from the shelf, open them and let his eyes read the words.

They were just symbols, really. Letters put together making words which were combined to make sentences. But oh, what sentences! He read them letting the images they described form in his mind. The claiming of the innocent, the quivering body and the hand that controlled it. He felt his cock make physical what he felt. Aroused, uncomfortably aroused till the point of pain. His cock felt like it was bent wrong, caught in his boxers as it tried to elongate, grow thicker and thicker, while his eyes moved over those words. A red handprint, a burning sensation and the wetness of desire. These descriptions were too personal, too intimate, and he wondered how anyone could have written them. But he read on, thankful they had, as he tugged at the crotch of his jeans.

“Feeling a bit confined?” asked a voice familiar from behind.

He spun around and saw the guy standing just a few feet away. The same one from before.

“I don-n-n-n’t know w-w-what you m-m-mean?” He lied. He knew exactly what the guy meant.

“Which book are you reading now?” the guy asked, coming closer and slipping the book from his hand. “Oh, this is a devilishly good one. You chose well.”

“I was just…”

“Browsing?  That’s what they all say.”

“Whatever” Quentin mumbled as he turned to walk away.

“Hey, wait.”

“Yeah?”

Moving up close, so close Quentin sensed the size of his body, the way it was taller than his own, and he looked up into the dark brown eyes and waited to hear what he had to say.

“Have you ever tried it?”

“Tried what?”

“You know. Bondage? S&M play?”

“What?  No. No.”

“You want to?”

“NO” he replied, shocked at how boldly the guy just asked him.  “I have to go” he uttered quickly, turning to leave.

“Wait…”

Quentin turned again, huffed with his exasperation and saw the guy extend his hand out.

“I’m Bart.”

He hesitated for a moment, then reached out taking the hand. “I’m Quentin.”

It happened fast, too fast for him to respond. His hand tugged around, twisting his arm behind his back as Bart’s other hand came over his mouth. Bart twisted up on his arm and he couldn’t fight it, couldn’t find the leverage to get away. The hand on his mouth prevented him from crying out, although he knew quickly, he wouldn’t.

Instead he relaxed against Bart’s chest. Even his breathing slowed.

The hand left his mouth, but he felt it on his stomach, then downward it moved, over the waistband of his jeans then over his crotch. It squeezed painfully the erection trapped within.

“I knew you wanted it, even if you can’t admit it.”

Quentin knew Bart was right. It was painfully obvious. He had been obsessing over the possibilities, playing out his own fantasies, always unsatisfied. On his own, he was always in control, no matter how much he tried to tell himself otherwise. But now, in Bart’s hold, his body pulled back and a hand squeezing his erection, squeezing harder and harder till it hurt, and the pain made him shudder, he knew he wasn’t in control. Bart was.

Quentin had no idea how he got to this point. When he had made manifest the things suggested by Bart. A place to go. A private place the two of them could be alone. Now they were in this family’s barn.  Bart hinted at the things in his possession. A trip by his home on the way to retrieve these instruments. Instruments laid out on a work bench. Some shiny, the metal gleaming in the dim light of the barn. Other items black, menacing, their purpose obvious by their shape. And there was the leather, crafted in ways he had dreamed of, finely cut and sewn together. He could smell it, the scents of the processed hide.

The slow passage of time dragged down by his fears, an anxiousness of what was going to happen. Would Bart go too far, take him places he didn’t think he was able. Could he trust him?

That was it, wasn’t it. Trust. The trust of someone to go as far as you could go, but no further. The trust to submit to someone.

“Take off your clothes.”

A command uttered in utmost casualness. No harshness to Bart’s tone. But he knew not to question it. He knew it was the first step, this first act of his submission. To strip. To present himself naked, vulnerable. He took off his shirt, working each button through its hole, his hands shaking so he struggled with the first few. Then he folded the shirt and laid it neatly on the work bench. He removed his shoes and sat them side by side below it. He undid his jeans, worked the zipper down and worked them down each leg and off. He folded them neatly, glancing up to see Bart sitting on a stack of bagged seed watching his every move.

He was embarrassed at first by how his cock tented his boxers, pushed out obscenely with his aroused state. ‘It’s what Bart wants’ he reminded himself as he took them by the waistband and worked them down his legs and off. He stood up, folding the boxers in half, letting Bart see his cock, angled upward, the rock-hard shaft straight and the head flared widely. He wanted to touch himself, to take himself in hand and stroke up his arousal. But he knew better, without being told.

Bart approached him, a slow casual move, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. But he saw the rope and knew this was anything but ordinary. Without being asked he put his wrists together and held them out. Heart racing and struggling to control his breathing, fear mixed with excitement, he watched Bart tie his wrist. He felt his cock thicken as the rope tightened.

There were hooks in the storeroom ceiling, normally used to hang scales for weighing or something to dry out. Today one of the hooks held the rope as it was pulled up. Bart pulled till his arms were raised over his head, then his body stretched out till finally his toes barely dragged over the old wood floor. He had no real purchase and swung slowly around as Bart tied the rope off.

Then Bart’s hands were on him, rubbing over his chest, stomach and cock. They tugged on his sac till he shuddered with the pain. They massaged his shoulders, followed his spine downward then dug into each cheek, pulled them apart then smacked the left one, three times hard enough to make the skin burn.

“Nice” Bart uttered to himself then Quentin sensed him coming up close from behind, his face right next to his head. “We going to have fun, you and I” Bart whispered in his ear.

Quentin hung from his wrist, wondering if Bart could really do it. Push him to his limits, bind him up, control him, give him the pleasure he craved, no matter how much it hurt. He watched Bart move down the work bench, unable to see what he was doing, what instrument he would pick up. When Bart turned, he saw the leather belt and his cock flexed up and down. Bart put the buckle in his palm and wrapped the belt around his hand a couple of times. The long narrow belt hung from his hand held out in front of him.

Quentin watched Bart swing it casually, as if getting the weight of it, the sense of how it would move. With his movements…or against them. He swung the belt out toward Quentin, the end only inches from striking him on the stomach. Bart came up to him amd rubbed the end of it under his nose.

“Smell that leather. Next, you’re going to feel it” Bart taunted, unaware how much the smell stirred something inside him. It fueled his fantasies and his cock bobbed up and down with his reaction to the scent. Positioned a few feet away, Bart swung the belt gently, letting it strike him across the chest, stomach, the left thigh, then back across the chest, the end popping his right nipple making him yelp.

Bart smiled, then swung the belt hard.

It cracked across his stomach, painfully, the red welp rose in the exact shape of the belt. He shuddered and twisted around, knowing it was futile. The next strike came across his chest and he didn’t have time to react before Bart struck him four more times leaving his chest striped with red bands. Then Bart struck him across his thighs, high enough to have the belt hit his sac dangling below his erection. He howled with the burning sensation, the way the leather cracked against his sac. He twisted around, turned away from Bart and felt the belt come across his ass. The sound of it striking his cheeks echoed in the barn and he shuddered with the burn. He felt the end of the leather belt being dragged down his back, circling around above his ass then down along the cleft between the cheeks. Then he felt the sting then burning of another strike, this one across his thighs.

By the time Bart tired of using the belt on him, his ass, back, stomach and chest glowed red. And is cock was angled upward, hard as stone, leaking from the slit till it was drooling toward the floor.

A hand rubbed his back and ass as he hung from the ceiling, head down, exhausted from his struggles. He felt drool from his mouth trickle down his chin. He felt that hand slid along his ass and touch him, rub over his tightness, then work its way between his thighs and tug on his sac still he was begging Bart to stop.

He felt like he could cum any minute.

Then Bart wasn’t touching him, and he hung silently, wondering what was next. He opened his eyes and watched Bart set the belt down, drag his hand over something black then pick it up. It was a dildo, one with a handle on the end. It looked a foot long not including the handle and he watched Bart drizzle clear liquid over it, knowing it was lube.

After taunting him with it, smearing lube over his upper lip and across one cheek, he felt it slip between his cheeks, probe along his ass till it was pushing at his opening.

“That’s it; fight letting me in” Bart whispered in his ear before laughing, the sound of it moving away, to someplace behind him. The pressure increased and Bart’s left arm encircled his waist holding him steady. He felt the stretch, his resistance loosen to the push against it. He felt his tight hole pried open then the penetration. It hurt, the pain of being stretched open ran up his spine. He shuddered and shook as the penetration deepened.

Then it was being pulled outward, slowly, making it feel bigger, longer, than it really was.  He felt the tug at his opening, the twisting, then the push back in, slowly, inch by inch, till it was pushing inward deeper than before.

“That’s it, take it. Let me get it in there all the way” Bart uttered as he felt the pull outward once again, then the push back in. This time he felt the handle push against his ass. Bart left it inserted inside him, as he headed to the bench once again.

“Don’t you dare let that slip out.”

Just the mention of it and he felt it try, felt his body try to eject this foreign thing from his hole. He tightened up, locking the ring of his opening around it keeping it in place as he watched Bart come back swinging a small chain around in circles.

Standing in front of him he saw the small clamp on the end, then he saw the same on the other, and knew what they were for. He wasn’t sure he wanted this, felt it might be something too painful, the idea of his nipples pinched down like this. He twisted from his bonds till Bart roughly grabbed him, pinched one nipple till it stood our even more than before. Then he felt it, the burning sensation of his right nipple being pinched down by a clamp. It made him shiver, as the pain coursed from his chest then up and down his spine. His cock flexed, then let a large bead drool from the head. He closed his eyes and held his head back as Bart pinched the other nipple, making it stand out, then put the other clamp on it. He shuddered with the pain, but this time he fell into it, made it part of himself. Let it course through his body. A hand took his cock and stroked it and he tried to push through it, work his cock more, as he felt it slickly slide through the fist.

The hand let go and suddenly the long dildo in his ass was moving, pulling outward, then pushing back in. It moved steadily inside him, pushing inward all the way then pulling outward. Bart increased the pace till the flared handle smacked against his ass. Then Bart began to pull it completely out, let him feel a brief emptiness, then shoved it back in. Grunting and moaning, he tried not to let Bart know how he wanted it. How he was ready for every plunge into his depths. How he wanted to feel it pulled out then shoved back in, stretching him back open each time. But his hips gave him away, with their gentle push back trying to get it deeper into his hole.

Bart laughed then pulled it out.

Quentin watched Bart’s hand come to his chest, take the clamp on his right nipple and remove it. Pain, burning pain, shot through him and he cried out. Bart rubbed his nipple till the pain ceased. Quivering with anticipation of the pain to come he watched Bart reach for the other clamp.

The Dominant

There was something about the way Quentin took it, the thrust of that dildo up his ass and how suddenly he was trying to take it deeper. All of it. Bart thought it was so hot, the way Quentin took every inch. He wanted to fuck him so bad but held off till he knew that boy was ready for anything he dished out.

The clamps on each nipple made him shiver, and it was amazing. The way his whole body reacted to the pain, the pinch of each nipple with his entire body shivering. And how he cried out at their removal but not once begging him to stop. Bart rubbed his hand down Quentin’s back. He stood in front of him and watched how he swung from the rafters. He felt his cock flex hard in his jeans.

It was time to get serious. Time to get the pleasure he craved.

Quentin needed to watch him, see him remove his clothes and look upon his nakedness. His shirt off, he tossed it on the floor. He undid his jeans as he kicked off his shoes. Then he worked the jeans down his legs and freed each foot. Standing in front of Quentin, he let him see how his boxer briefs tented out, how he was aroused too. He pushed them down till they dropped to his ankles and he stepped out of them as he moved up to Quentin. He tugged on the wet hard cock that revealed Quentin’s true nature, the truth of his arousal, taking pleasure from their play.

Stepping back, he licked his wet hand tasting the essence of Quentin. That odd sweetness and he contemplated sucking Quentin’s cock. But first he had other plans. His own cock bobbed as he considered them. He surveyed the ceiling looking at the random arrangement of other hooks screwed into it. He noticed their position in relation to Quentin and worked out which ones he’d need next.

He lowered Quentin till his arms hung in front of him about head height. Quentin twisted his torso, flexed his biceps then stood still, waiting, submissive for Bart’s next move.

Bart retrieved two more sections of rope and stooped in front of Quentin. He was so tempted to slip his mouth over the erection right in his face. All he had to do was move to it and take it. But Quentin needed to stay aroused. He needed to be kept on edge, not allowed to cum yet. Instead, he tied each rope to an ankle then looped the other end through a hook in the ceiling. Then he tugged them through the hoop till Quentin’s legs pulled up off the floor and he kept pulling till his feet were above his head and pulled far apart, spreading his ass open. Nothing was hidden from him. He could see all of Quentin. Hard cock laying over the heaving stomach, the sac partially drawn up and below, the wrinkled entry to his hole.

Bart moved to Quentin’s head and rubbed his wet cock over Quentin’s lips which quickly parted. He let him have the head savoring the feel of it. Then he pushed forward, sinking inch after inch into the warm, wet mouth till Quentin gagged, choked around the head. Drool ran down his cheek and tears formed in his eyes as Bart pulled back.

“Get it wet” Bart uttered as he pushed inward again.

Quentin’s tongue ran over his cock, letting spit cover it. Quentin worked his head as best he could, moving his mouth on it till drool dripped from it and Quentin’s chin. Bart took his head and pumped his hips, feeling his cock slide wetly over Quentin’s tongue till he was so hard and sensitive he had to stop. He moved around Quentin till he stood between the raised legs and wasted no time in putting his cock against his ass. Up and down he dragged the leaking head, leaving a wet trail along it till he was ready, no longer able to hold back. He pushed against that tight opening, stretching it back open and sank every inch into it.

Holding each leg, Bart began to fuck. To drive inward hard, abdomen smacking against ass. He never wanted another as much as he wanted Quentin. Submissive Quentin, hanging naked for his pleasure. He watched the body before him. How it was panting, stomach undulating up and down hard. How it would shake and shudder whenever he shoved inward especially hard. How each nipple stood up, hard. And the cock that didn’t get flaccid, but got harder, flopping around against the stomach leaving it wet. And there were the sounds of their fuck. The slapping together of their bodies and the whorish noises, moaning and grunting coming from Quentin.

Leaning over the suspended body as he drove inward, he sucked on one nipple, then bit down on it. Quentin shivered and twisted around but made no plea for him to stop. He worked his hips to drive into the depths of Quentin’s hole. He loved the feel of it, the soft heat enveloping his cock and how the tight ring of the opening milked his shaft as he piston through it. Standing back up, he grabbed each leg and swung Quentin roughly back and forth. He pushed outward till his cock pulled free, then pulled, slamming his cock back in till their bodies smacked together.

Quentin was shaking and grunting loudly.

“You want me to stop?” Bart asked sarcastically.

“NO…please…don’t stop” Quentin uttered as he was swung back to Bart, impaled once again on his cock.

Bart was ready to give Quentin his first load, aroused to the point he didn’t want to hold back. He held Quentin steady and fucked him, fucked him as hard as he could, till he cried out with his release, pumping everything he had into Quentin’s depths.

When he stepped back, cock hanging thick and half hard, cum dripping from the slit, he looked at the suspended body. The hole leaking his load, the cock that was flexing up and down about ready to explode and the shiny skin, wet with sweat. Quentin held his head up and looked down at his own cock. Bart saw it bob up and down as if Quentin was trying to will it to release. Then Quentin looked at him and he saw the pleading look in his eyes.

“Bart…please” Quentin begged, and it was apparent what he wanted. He wanted Bart to get him off.

“Not yet…you haven’t earned it” he replied to the plea, then turned and left the room, naked, clothes strewn across the floor and Quentin still suspended.

Bart knew Quentin’s parents were gone for the weekend, that he had all weekend to spend with him, but it felt less. Leaning against the fence behind the barn, looking out over one for fields, soybeans waist high, he let the sun beat down on his back and the warm air blow over his body. He felt his masculinity, the very physical nature of it. There was something to being outdoors, naked, exposed to any prying eyes that made him feel this way.

Looking down he looked at his familiar body, over the chest, down the flat stomach till he looked at his flaccid cock, hanging loose over his balls. ‘Just the summer’ he thought as he considered the time he had before him with Quentin. It didn’t seem long enough.

Turning, he headed back to the barn. Time was short and Quentin was waiting.

Quentin, hanging from the ceiling, didn’t say anything as he came into the room, looked up over the ceiling, then picked up a five-gallon bucket and set it on the floor. Standing on it so he could easily reach an eye bolt in the ceiling, he screwed it free. Then he screwed it into the wood floor near the room’s center.

Bart lowered Quentin, untied each ankle, then took the rope securing Quentin’s wrist to the eye bolt and secured him to it. Quentin could either get on his elbows and knees, or he could lay on the floor, but he could not stand up. Satisfied, Bart left the room. He’d let Quentin have time alone.

The Submissive

Quentin felt something touching him, felt the tug on his leg, the push on his ass. There was the hard, rough surface below him and he had a sense of his nakedness. He struggled to wake, to return to consciousness, then he heard the voice, a male voice, telling him to get up.

Then he remembered.

Rolling over onto his elbows and knees, he spread his legs and waited. He was acutely aware of the rope tight around his wrists and the feel of air against his bare skin. And hanging between his thighs, his cock and balls. He felt the weight of them as they dangled between his thighs, rocked with his movements as Bart moved up behind him, rubbed his ass with what he knew to be an erection. He felt it rake along his ass then center on his hole, push against it till he stretched open, taking it, slowly. Bart let him feel every inch as it slid through his tightness and sank into his depths. And then there was the fullness of full penetration, Bart’s abdomen pressed against his ass.

Then the fuck.

He rocked in rhythm with it. The push inward and the rough pull outward. At times all the way out only to slam back in. His hole felt battered, stretched till Bart could do anything. Hands held his waist, fingers digging into the flesh as he was held in place, taking thrust after thrust. Bart grunted and uttered profanities as his pace increased. He was fucking to cum, seeking his own release.

He felt his own cock, half hard, flopping back and forth, at times smacking against his stomach. He wanted Bart to touch him, to manipulate him. He wanted to get aroused to the brink, then feel the satisfaction of release. One hand moved around his waist and his hopes soared with the possibility. It toyed with him, made him fully erect till the hand moved slickly over the head and down the shaft. He shuddered with the stimulation, then held his head down watching the hand work his cock.

“Please…sir…please” he pleaded only to watch the hand release him holding him tightly by the waist once again.

And the fucking grew rougher, Bart’s cock slamming into his depths till he heard the change in his breathing, the ragged break in rhythm then the cry out as he felt Bart hold his cock buried all they way inside him, cock flexing with each ejaculation.

Then he felt Bart wipe it off on his ass and leave the room again.

He had rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. Bart had left the lights off allowing it to grow darker and darker, the shadows creeping across the room till he was blind within the blackness of night.

How long he lay on the floor he didn’t know but he was startled awake again by a flashlight shining in his face. He realized his legs had been secured while he slept. Stretched out till he had no ability to rise, no slack in the ropes that allowed movement. He was spread eagle on the floor, the hard wood surface against his back.

He saw candles burning on the work bench and on the floor around him and his first thought was where did they all come from. Then he wondered how he had slept through Bart lighting them. He watched Bart pick up a small one and stand at his side. He watched him tilt the candle and the hot wax drip down onto his chest. It landed on his sternum, the right nipple and at the side of his chest, trickling hotly down his side. He shuddered with the burn.

Bart retrieved two more candles and the burn hit his stomach, down one thigh and over his cock and balls. He shuddered, twisted against his bonds and groaned through gritted teeth. His cock flexed up and down and clear liquid beaded at the slit. Bart kept it up, dripping the hot wax till a white plate of it covered his chest and stomach, and his cock was encased in it. Then Bart was painting his lips with precum. He tasted it, licked his lips for more, then opened his mouth taking the head of Bart’s cock. He swirled his tongue around the head and watched Bart shiver from the pleasure he was giving him. He held his tongue under the shaft letting him push inward, inch by inch sliding through his lips till he was gagging around the head.

Bart began to work his hips, piston cock in his mouth. The flared head filled his mouth and when pushed inward cut off his air. He lay there and took it, every inch, fighting to control his breathing. He wanted Bart’s cock, wanted to feel it glide over his tongue and leave that odd sweet taste on it. He wanted to pleasure him, to bring him to release. Bart kept it up till release was imminent. He felt the cock flex on his tongue as Bart struggled to hold still, then he felt the first wad hit the back of his throat. Soon his mouth was flooded, and the cock was slowly moving through it, pushing in with its last ejaculations then pulling outward.

Then he was alone again, the taste of cum in his mouth and the last remnants smeared across his face. The wax was breaking up as his stomach undulated with the simple act of breathing. And his cock slowly, painfully slow, became flaccid once again left unsatisfied.

Next time he awoke, Bart had freed his legs, held each in one hand and was folding him over. His ass rose from the floor and he felt Bart rub over his ass. Hard again, cock leaking, he felt it push against his hole, stretch him open again and sink all the way in. Bart didn’t go slow, not this time. He began to pile drive cock into his hole, painfully at first then with greater and greater pleasure. He felt the deep fullness of it, the way Bart drove into his depths over and over. His own cock was soon hard, leaking on his stomach.

“There’s so much I want…to do...so…much. But I can’t get enough…I just want…to fuck you” Bart uttered through gritted teeth. He felt the tight hold on each calf as they were pressed down beside his chest and raising up, he could watch Bart’s thick cock piston in his hole. The shiny slick shaft pulling outward, then sinking back in. The pace was brutal and the sound of skin smacking against skin echoed in the room.

Bart cried out, told him to take it, and he watched how Bart didn’t stop. Not this time. Instead he watched Bart keep fucking, felt cock slid wetly through his hole, using the first load as lube. It seemed to go on forever, this assault on his body. Bart taking what he wanted. He felt raw from the fucking, being constantly used by Bart. But he wanted it to continue as he pulled against his bonds. After a long time, Bart pulled out of his ass and after a few quick strokes of his cock, cum dribbled out landing on his own cock.

Legs free to rest back on the floor, his own cock hard again, covered in Bart’s cum, he wondered if he’d be left wanting once again. His arousal brought up only to allow it to slowly fade. But he watched Bart stay between his legs and take his cock, hold it up and lean down to it. Bart licked his own cum from it then took him in his mouth. Slowly Bart worked his lips along the hard shaft, milking it, bringing him closer and closer. A tongue swirled over the head, dragged wetly down its length, then back up. He was so close, and he struggled to hold still, letting Bart set the pace. He threw his head back and pulled against the rope feeling it tighten around his wrists as his cock was engulfed. He felt the heat of it, the slick wetness around his cock. He pushed up unable to withstand it and Bart’s hands came under his ass, cupped each cheek. They guided him to work his hips, to fuck up into that mouth. A finger toyed with his ass, rubbed over it’s wet opening and as he pushed up, it penetrated him.

He gasped, shoved upward again and came.

Bart didn’t let him loose till late on Sunday. Bart freed his wrist and led him inside where the two of them showered together. Bart bathed Quentin, lathered up his body then helped him rinse it off. They dressed and went back into town for a late dinner.

It hung between them this unspoken thing. They talked of having the summer to explore their sexual desires, the fetish nature of it, his willingness to submit to Bart, to have his limits tested. It seemed like a long time before them, but both knew it was going to be short. The times available to them not very often with the work Quentin needed to do around the farm. And the thing that hung over it all was both leaving for college in the fall, Bart for his sophomore year and Quentin for his freshman year.

They had skirted the conversation through most of dinner, neither wanting to contemplate the end of their time together. Bart would look around the diner, eyes unfocused whenever it was hinted at, some mention of summer leading to fall. But after desert, their empty plates cleared and drinks refilled, Quentin couldn’t take it. He just had to put it out there and make it real.

“Where do you attend college? Some Christian school?”

Bart scoffed, stifling a laugh.

“Hell, no, I don’t go to one of those unaccredited places. Actually, I’m at the University of _______________.”

Quentin wasn’t sure he heard right at first, then it sank in. He smiled, leaning back in his chair.

“What? What’s so funny?” Bart asked.

“Well…I’ll see you on campus this fall.”