Manhandled (22 page)

“Flex them arms for me, boy,” I said. He smiled at me, his eyes half-closed, and obliged. “Kiss those biceps, boy.” He pursed
his thick beautiful lips and turned his head, kissing one mound of muscle and then the other. “Now flex your pecs.” He brought
his arms down, and the striations in his chest muscles popped out. I punched one, then the other. His eyes closed.

“Yes, sir. Anything you want, sir.”

“Stroke your dick, boy. I wanna see you cum.”

He picked up the bottle of lube and squirted some on his thick shaft, never losing a beat as he rode my cock. He started stroking
it, slowly at first, and then faster. His ass began riding me faster, and I could feel my own climax coming.

“Come on, boy, shoot your load!” I panted.

His entire body shuddered and he yelped as ropes of cum started flying out of the slit in his cock, landing on my abs, my
chest, my face, my hair. He kept riding my cock as his body convulsed, and I let out a shout as my entire body went rigid
with my own orgasm. We both remained there, my cock in his ass, as both our bodies convulsed and shuddered.

Then, he smiled down at me. “Thank you, sir,” he said quietly. He reached down and rubbed his cum into my skin. “I’ve been
waiting for that for two years.” He slid my cock out of his ass, then got on all fours and kissed me, deeply and passionately.

I ran my hands through his damp hair. “You’re a good boy, Gino.”

He cuddled up against me, throwing his right leg over my abs.

“And that’s a wrap,” Bob said, putting the camcorder down.

I smiled at Gino. “You wanna grab a beer or something?”

He smiled at me. “Yes, sir.”

“Come on, then.” I got up and helped him to his feet. I touched his rock-hard pecs again. “Such a pretty boy.”

And we headed for the shower.

Barry Alexander

T
ommy checked before he settled into the deep, leather seat of the silver Cutlass. It wasn’t there. He sighed with relief.
Morgan didn’t always take it. Sometimes, they just went out for drinks. Sometimes, he took Tommy to the Pit and put him through
hell.

The dome light illuminated Morgan’s harshly chiseled features and seal-brown hair. Tommy had lived with him for several months,
but he never tired of looking at his master’s well-defined body and handsome face. Morgan was tall and deceptively slim; Tommy
knew well just how strong that taut, muscled body was.

Morgan was silent as they drove through the dark streets. Though it was early for the leather crowd, several vehicles lined
the street outside the Pit. As Morgan stepped out, a hustler emerged from a boarded-up doorway in the dark block of buildings.
He flashed his smile and his ass hopefully, but Morgan dismissed him with an arrogant glance. He turned back to Tommy. “Get
out.” He walked to the rear of the car and opened the trunk. “Take it,” he ordered.

Tommy cringed as he pulled out a large black tackle box; Morgan didn’t fish. The new toy box was larger and heavier than the
old one. Tommy thought of all the things it could hold and started to sweat. He’d seen the ads. His stomach clenched as he
remembered some of the more vicious items.

Every eye in the bar ogled Tommy. Morgan had dressed him for show. Shiny, red spandex bike shorts hugged his ass like a lover,
revealing every curve and indentation of his perfect bubble butt. A white tank top clung to his prominent nipples and accentuated
the golden hue of his skin. Dark blond hair, green eyes, and a puppy-dog expression gave him a vulnerability that even sharply
planed pecs and large biceps couldn’t belie.

Morgan was in a good mood. He bought Tommy a couple of beers while the tops gathered. Tommy stood on display, legs spread
wide, facing the bar. Fingers slipped between his cheeks, prodding his hole. You could tell a lot by the way a man used his
hands. They moved over Tommy’s body, clutching, grasping, greedy or tentative, harsh or gentle. It was going to be very important
to know these hands. Every top would have his chance at Tommy’s ass. Morgan believed that since a dog knew the hand that fed
it, a slave should certainly know the hand of his master. If Tommy guessed wrong, the top got to whip his ass. Make him cum
and they could fuck him or get blown. Tommy got five lashes at home for responding to someone else. So far, Tommy had never
guessed wrong. He knew Morgan would have a much harsher penalty for that mistake.

Tommy couldn’t help comparing Morgan with the other tops. Some of the men were so heavily into leather they creaked when they
walked. Before Morgan, that was what Tommy had looked for, before he knew that it wasn’t just the leather—it was the man.

Tonight, his master wore 501s and a black T-shirt. Only his thick belt and logger boots were leather. He didn’t have to impress
anyone. One hard look from his granite eyes could bring any bottom to his knees and worry the hell out of most tops.

Morgan finished his drink. “Showtime, boy.” The men grinned, licking their lips as they followed Morgan into the bowels of
the Pit. A man in a Nazi-style uniform swaggered up. Morgan blocked his passage with a muscular arm across the entrance. “Private
performance,” he said firmly. The man topped Morgan’s 6-foot-1 height and outweighed him by fifty pounds. He objected loudly
and profanely. Morgan didn’t say a word. He just looked at him with those glacier-gray eyes. “Aw, shit,” the man said, and
backed away. “Your party, man.”

A stage extended along the room’s back wall, complete with spotlights, a table, and a sawhorse. Morgan positioned the table
so everyone had a good view. “Get up there, boy. Strip.”

The men whistled and stomped as Tommy peeled off his shorts, exposing the high, round cheeks of his ass. His seven-inch cock
bobbed between his legs. His face was as red as the shorts he folded. Morgan grabbed a handful of tit and snapped clamps in
place. He caught Tommy’s cock in his warm fist. It swelled, filling his hand. He slapped the bright ruby head of the circumcised
organ. Tommy shuddered in pleasure and pain. His cock snapped back and nudged his belly.

“Assume the position.”

Tommy hissed as his clamped tits touched the table. He spread his legs, leaving his ass high in the air and his cock and balls
swinging under the table. Morgan darkened the room and spotlighted Tommy’s ass. A swirl of dark gold hair outlined the deep
cleft and spread across the curve of his snowy cheeks. Sweat gleamed on his taut muscles and on the tight pink pucker exposed
to every-one’s view.

Morgan ignored the chains dangling from the table corners. He didn’t believe in restraints except for training. The master’s
wish was the only control a well-trained slave needed. He pulled Tommy’s head up to buckle a leather hood in place. The scent
of leather was so pervasive, Tommy knew he wouldn’t be able to detect individual scents. Morgan was making the game harder.

“You know the rules. No fists, no marks, and nothing goes in this ass that doesn’t come out of the box. But I don’t think
you’re going to feel deprived.”

He must have displayed something that met with approval; the tops roared in appreciation. Tommy quivered with dread, but his
cock hardened. He trusted Morgan that nothing would go too far, but the thought of blind submission terrified him.

“Tommy’s been doing such a good job, I’m raising the stakes. If he mistakes you for me, you not only get to whip his ass—you
get to take him home for the night.” Raucous cheers greeted his remarks. “Don’t forget: make him cum and you get to fuck this
nice ass.” Morgan’s hand cracked on Tommy’s butt.

Oh, please no!
No damage and safe sex only, Morgan said, but Tommy would probably be bound and helpless. The tops couldn’t expect him to
lie there and take it like he did for Morgan.

“Choose your weapons.”

Order of play and toy selection was determined by number. Tommy never knew which toy Morgan would use or when. He hated the
uncertainty, the sense of total vulnerability. But as much as he hated the game, Tommy was proud of his uncanny ability to
identify his master by touch. With the hood in place, he couldn’t rely on sound or scent. Everything depended on touch.

Large hands yanked Tommy’s cheeks apart. A massive dildo speared into him, forcing a groan at the sudden assault. He arched
his back as it drove up his chute in one long thrust. Before he could adjust to the painful intrusion, the top jerked it out
and spiked him again. He ground his bulging hard-on between Tommy’s cheeks, grunting his pleasure. Tommy’s body tried to expel
the dildo, but each brutal thrust drove it back in.

The man fell across Tommy’s back, crushing his clamped tits against the table. He screamed. The man never slowed. His crude
humping drove the boy back and forth, torturing his tits with each movement and slamming his cock against the table edge.
The man froze; Tommy felt the shudders rippling through him as the man came. His gasps reverberated through Tommy’s back.
Even without the threat of punishment, Tommy felt disloyal responding to anyone else. He tried to fight his arousal, but a
cock has no ethics. Suddenly, the man sank his teeth into his neck, biting and worrying the skin like a wild beast as the
final spasms shook him. Tommy moaned in frustrated lust when the man ripped the dildo out of his ass.

As brutal as the possession had been, it had excited the boy. The man had asked no permission, nor given a single touch in
warning or introduction. He’d moved in and taken what he wanted, just as Morgan would have. A little longer and the man would
have earned his reward. He reached between Tommy’s legs to check.

Yes! Touch me again. Please!
But the contact was too brief to produce more than a sticky streamer of precum. Tommy’s thoughts were as ragged as his breathing.
The top was definitely a possibility, but the weight was wrong, wasn’t it?

He was still gasping when powerful thighs straddled his head. Leather-clad fingers swirled across his sweat-slick shoulders,
tingled over the ridges of his spine, and spiraled over his cheeks. The lean body spread over him, driving the steel rings
and studs of the man’s harness into his flesh. Tommy wriggled in heated desire as the coarse stubble of the man’s chin left
whisker burns on his ass. He gasped at the sudden delight of a warm, wet tongue caressing him. No top had ever done that!

Like a moist, pink blossom, the tight bud of his anus dilated under a gust of warm breath. The hot tongue left wet snail trails
across Tommy’s ass. His hungry chute ached to be filled. At the first touch of the toy, he pushed outward, opening himself.
His lips swallowed a large ball. More steady pressure, then another larger ball opened him farther, and still another. The
man worked the triple plug expertly, slow-fucking Tommy to an unbearable peak. He couldn’t hold back, and he no longer wanted
to. Spasms shook his body as he shot blast after blast of steaming cum over the man’s hand.

The man swung off and forced Tommy’s head up. Something wet brushed his lips. He clamped his teeth together, but the man forced
his jaw open. He recognized the taste of his own cum on a latex-sheathed dick. He cleaned it happily. He’d worry about his
punishment later. After that release, the top deserved his best. He swirled his tongue over the broad head, pushing the latex
into the piss slit with delicate dabs of his tongue.

The man wasn’t interested in finesse. Clamping his hands to Tommy’s head, he impaled his throat and ground his pubic hair
against his lips. Tommy flailed, trying desperately to breathe. Bile filed his throat, slicking the passage for the man viciously
humping his face. With a howl of ecstasy, the man shot, holding himself deep inside and pumping his fluids into the condom.

The cock pulled out. Tommy coughed and gasped, slumped across the table in exhaustion.
Use your head. Would Morgan trick you by borrowing gloves and a harness? By being extra gentle or extra rough? Think logically,
damn it.
Suddenly, he thought of something he had never considered. Did Morgan want him to win? Were the higher stakes intended to
increase interest or to make him so nervous that he would fail? What did Morgan get out of it? Did he want to show how much
Tommy was under his control and remind him that the only limits to their games were Morgan’s?

Or was it something else? Was Morgan so confident of their bond that he never considered the possibility of failure? Tommy
found the questions disturbing. Even more troubling was his inability to answer them. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. The bond
existed. It worked; he didn’t need to pry into its roots.

The tops didn’t give him much time to think. They kept at him, poking him, prodding him, filling him with every kind of toy
imaginable: vibrators, anal beads, electric butt plugs, and things he couldn’t identify. He was a hole for their pleasure,
an object to be used as they chose. He tried to identify the hands, to separate the maybe’s from the no’s, but all he could
think of was what was going to come next. He was exhausted, his body sore and his anus raw from the pounding it was receiving.

The hair prickled on his neck as his body sensed the next man approach. One hand cupped his ass and slid up his spine. His
body quivered helplessly in instant response. He forgot his plans to wait, to use reason and eliminate the impossible. He
forgot everything but the warm hand on his skin. One touch and he knew. Without doubt. Without question. His body knew.

“Morgan,” he whispered.

The sharp crack on his ass made him jump. “Right on target,” growled the rich, deep voice. Tommy’s breath heaved out in a
great sigh. Morgan slapped him again. “It’s not over yet.”

Again and again, Morgan took him to the peak, but refused to let him cum, torturing his body with pleasure and pain until
Tommy was a quivering, shuddering mass of nerve endings. His hands teased and promised and tormented, controlling the boy
with every touch. Tommy cried and begged Morgan to let him cum. At the first touch, he’d known Morgan’s toy was bigger than
anything he had yet taken, but he willed his body open, pushing against it, inviting the pain.