Tangled Sheets (26 page)

He didn't say a word as he rubbed my ass cheeks, kneading the flesh with his strong hands. He ran his fingers under the straps of my jock, feeling the hard mounds of my ass. I actually started to relax as he worked my butt, and forgot for a moment that I was his victim—bound and gagged—and not his lover. I even felt my cock start to stiffen inside its pouch.

Sarge felt it, too. His hand went around me and gripped my prick, squeezing me painfully. “What the fuck is this?” he growled, taunting me. “What kind of boy are you? A bad one, from the looks of it, getting hard like that.”

He released my cock, and the next thing I felt was the slap of wood against my bare ass. The force knocked me forward, and my shoulder muscles cried out in pain as the chain drew me back. The paddle came again, stinging my cheeks as Sarge landed smack after smack with fierce precision. He would let the touch of one begin to ebb and then hit me again, sending the pain back up in crashing waves that rolled over and over me in greater waves the harder he hit me.

“Bad boys need spanking,” he said as he beat me. “Isn't that what you told the boys you touched?” He started to paddle me harder, moving the blows in a hot line across my burning ass.

As much as it hurt, I was ashamed to see that my cock was actually getting harder, not softer. The truth was, I thought Sarge was one of the hottest men I'd ever seen. Besides his size and his hairy chest and arms, there was something in his eyes that made me want to do anything for him. Although I'd never had anything done to me like what he was doing to me now, I found myself waiting for him to touch me again.

He finished spanking me with the paddle and began to use his hand again, slapping first one cheek and then the other, using his fingers to bring out little bursts of pain all over my ass. Every time he touched me, I'd moan into my gag as my body fell forward. When he finally stopped, I could feel the blood running just below the surface of the welts I was sure crisscrossed every inch of my skin.

Sarge came around and stood in front of me. When he saw the head of my now-stiff cock poking over the waistband of my jock, he scowled. I couldn't look him in the eyes as he ripped the jock off me and my hard-on fell forward over my balls. I knew he was angry that I'd been getting off on his punishment.

He went to his bench and returned with a length of thin leather cord. Grabbing my balls in one hand and pulling them down, he wrapped the cord tightly around my sac, drawing my nuts together painfully. Then he looped the cord around my swollen cock and pulled, cinching it so that my balls were pulled up. The rest of the cord he wrapped around the base of my cock and a few inches up the shaft. He pulled it so close that every throb of the vein running up the underside of my prick seemed to echo through my groin. The harder I got, the more it hurt.

Sarge left me like that while he pulled something from the pocket of his shirt. It was a cigar. I watched as he produced a silver lighter, flicked the flame to life, and lit the cigar, carefully rolling the end in the flame until it was glowing hotly and a rich smoke was filling the air. He took a few deep puffs and blew a cloud into my face. The thick smell filled my head and I started to choke.

Sarge took another puff, inhaling until the tip of the cigar crackled with heat. The layers of tightly rolled tobacco were translucent with orange light as he brought it close to my face. I could feel the warmth radiating out against my skin as he traced the outline of my jaw, bringing the cigar closer and closer. The smoke stung my eyes, and I could feel sweat breaking out and running down the hollow of my throat.

“Maybe I should mark you,” Sarge said. “Brand you with a big
M
for molester. That way everyone will know what a fucking pervert you are.”

He brought the cigar down to my chest. Holding it just above my skin, he moved it down my abdomen. Beneath its hot breath, the hair curled and burned away, leaving my skin untouched but spreading heat across my stomach and filling the air with a sharp smell. I started to tremble, waiting for him to press the searing end of the cigar against my flesh. Sensing my terror, Sarge laughed. “Now, don't shake too much,” he said. “I wouldn't want you to accidentally get burned, now, would I?”

He continued to move the cigar down my stomach. When he reached my bush, he paused. Then he ran it down the length of my tied-up cock, letting the ash from the cigar flutter down onto my skin. Even though he was only a movement away from burning my prick, I stayed hard. He inhaled and blew the smoke out around my balls, surrounding them with heat. Despite my fear, I moaned.

Moving back up my belly, Sarge held the cigar close to the clamp on my right nipple. I could feel the heat begin to soak into the metal and knew it would soon pass into my chest. “Or maybe,” Sarge said, “I should just burn you all over, so you remember what those kids live with every day of their lives.”

Just before the heated metal began to burn me, Sarge pulled the cigar away and undid the clamp. As the blood rushed into my skin, I fell against the chain from the sudden force of torment. I thought having the clamps put on was the worst part, but this was excruciating. Every nerve in my chest hummed as blood swarmed around it, expanding the sore tissue into canals of heat and pain. When he unclamped the second one, I nearly passed out.

Sarge just stood there, quietly watching me, as though deciding what to do next. Finally, he dropped the cigar and ground it out with his heel. Then he undid the buttons on his shirt and pulled it off. As I'd expected, his broad chest was deeply furred, as was his stomach. The dark hair ran in a thicker line down the center from his navel to his groin, the hair swirling up like a dark stream. He was powerfully built, and looking at him I felt my cock stiffen inside its restraints until my balls were pulled up tight between my legs, the leather cord biting into my skin.

Keeping his eyes on my face, Sarge slowly worked open the buckle of his heavy leather belt and slipped it from its loops. He wrapped one end around his hand and doubled the rest over, forming a loop. Lifting it up, he brought it down on my aching shoulders. The leather slapped against my skin and then retreated, leaving behind a sweet kiss of pain. Then Sarge hit the other shoulder, and the leather snapped down along my back in a crack of sizzling pain.

He worked his way around me, hitting me with the belt all over my shoulders and back. Then he brought the belt down on my tender ass. It hurt like hell, but the sight of his naked torso and the thought of the belt that circled his waist being used on my body was enough to make me almost come right there. I prayed I wouldn't and had to clench my teeth as he kept me on the edge for a long time, working me over with the soft, wicked belt. As I took the pain into my body, tears rolled down my cheeks, falling from my chin to the floor.

When he stopped, my whole body ached from his beating. He laid the belt aside. Then he cut the tape from my ankles and, standing on the chair again, he released the chain holding my arms up. Instantly, I fell to the floor. My arms were so sore I could barely lift them, and I knelt there feeling my tits, cock, and ass ache while he walked around to stand above me, like some vengeful god looking down on his prey.

He put one heavy boot on my cock, pressing it against my belly. I felt the thick leather sole against the head of my dick as his toe moved slowly back and forth. I looked down at the rich dark leather. Reaching behind my head, Sarge grabbed one end of the tape and pulled quickly and smoothly. The glue ripped at my skin and lips as it came off, and I drew in a deep breath, thankful to be able to breathe freely again.

“Lick it,” Sarge ordered. “And don't say a word about how you're innocent. I don't want to hear your lying shit.”

I leaned forward, trying to balance myself on my bound hands. With a lot of effort, I was able to reach down and touch my tongue to his boot. The leather was cool beneath my lips and smelled of polish and sweat. Its scent filled my nose as I worked my way across the well-worn surface of Sarge's boot, covering it with eager licks. I imagined my tongue caressing the skin and bone underneath the leather, and worked over his foot slowly and hungrily. I ran my cheek over the length of leather that surrounded his calf, washing every inch.

Moving to the other foot, I dipped my tongue into the crack where the sole met the upper, running it along the stitching. Inside it I tasted oil and the ashes of his cigar. I was washing the toe when Sarge grabbed me by the hair, pulled my head back, and with no warning shoved his cock deep into my throat. I'd been so caught up in licking his boots that I hadn't even noticed him opening his pants and pulling out his prick.

His dick was half-hard, but even so it filled my mouth easily. Not even giving me a chance to breathe, he forced himself deep into me, until my lips were pressed against the dark forest of hair surrounding his shaft and his heavy balls were swinging against my chin. Even if I'd wanted to, I couldn't have told him he had the wrong guy. And I wasn't at all sure I wanted to.

His cock quickly stiffened as I worked my lips up and down the shaft, running my tongue along the underside. The big head choked me, but with all the practice I'd had breathing with the gag in, I managed to keep him down. He still had his hand in my hair, and he was fucking my mouth roughly, slamming in and out as he pleased. Sometimes he kept it in for a long while as I sucked fiercely; other times he put just the first few inches in, making me lean forward to take more of him.

All the while, he was talking to me in his deep voice. “So, you like sucking cock, do you, boy?” he said, pushing into me until his balls scraped my lips. “How's it feel to be on the other end now? You like having a real man's prick in your filthy throat? Or maybe it's too big for you. After all, I'm all grown up now, aren't I? Not like the little boys you're used to playing with.”

The more he abused me, the harder I sucked his cock, working my tongue all over his thick shaft as I tried to make him come. I couldn't get enough of his big tool, and the harder he fucked my throat, the more I wanted him, and the more I wanted him to unload his cum into my mouth. I could feel precum oozing from my cockhead and down over the leather cord, but the tightness of his wrapping kept me hanging on the edge, the pain putting up a barrier that held back my approaching climax.

Sarge pulled his dick from my mouth and jerked me back to my feet. Turning me around, he slammed me against the wall of the cellar, holding me by the collar. “Now you're going to feel what every one of those kids did when you raped them,” he said.

“But I didn't—” The first words I'd dared to speak were cut off as Sarge's cock entered my ass. With one shove, he drove the entire length deep into me, and all I could do was gasp as I tried to adjust to his thickness. Before I could, he pulled back and started to fuck me violently, pounding my already sore butt over and over. His hands held me by the waist as he nailed me again and again.

“I don't want you ever to forget this,” he said in my ear, slamming into me and stretching my asshole wide. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes, feeling him fill me over and over. Every thrust of his cock sent new ripples of pain through my beaten ass. My battered body gave in to his pounding, and I let the rhythm of his cock flood though my insides. A load had built up behind my balls, and despite the leather holding it back, I knew it was going to force its way out.

When Sarge came, he groaned heavily in my ear and ground his body one final time into mine, pinning me to the wall beneath him. I felt his cum explode into my ass as his cock twitched and unleashed blast after blast. His chest was pressed against my back, and I felt every inch of him along my skin. I came in a long, shuddering spasm that roared up from my balls and splattered out against the concrete wall.

When Sarge pulled out of me, I sank to my knees, exhausted and hurting. “So,” he said. “You ready for that little confession now?”

I looked around, and for the first time noticed that my gym bag was sitting in the corner where the guys who snatched me had left it. I pointed to it. “Look in my wallet,” I said.

Sarge picked up the bag and opened it. He took out my wallet and flipped it open. “What am I looking for?” he demanded. “You take pictures of the kids or something?”

“My license,” I said.

He pulled it out and held it up to the light. “Caffrey?” he said. “That's not the name of the man I told them to pick up. Fucking morons got the wrong guy.”

He turned around and looked at me. “You mean you went through all of that and never told me?”

I smiled. “Well, it's not like you gave me much of a chance.”

He came over and undid the wrist restraints. He held out his hand. I took it, and he pulled me to my feet. “Shit,” he said. “I don't know what to say.”

I moved in and kissed him, slipping my tongue between his lips and feeling his beard against my hand. His mouth tasted of cigar smoke and heat, and as he kissed me back, I felt his cock start to stiffen once more. I pulled away and looked into his eyes. “Well,” I said, “just because I'm the wrong guy this time doesn't mean I don't have any secrets. Maybe next time you'll just have to try harder to pull them out of me.”

As his hand came down on my ass, I knew it was the confession he wanted.

T
he morning Ben arrived I met him at the airport. Although the place was swarming with throngs of people rushing to and from their various planes, dragging kids and luggage behind them, I had no trouble spotting him. At well over six feet and 220 pounds, Ben is hard to miss, even in a crowd. I noticed him immediately as he exited the gate, his dark hair shaved as close as a soldier's, his bag slung over his shoulder as he bulldozed his way through the sea of bedraggled passengers. A sports announcer for a television station in Chicago, Ben has this booming voice that can carry forever, and he was shouting at me before he'd even reached the gate.

“Hey, Tom,” he called out as a blond woman carrying a little white dog dodged out of his way just before he plowed into her. “What the hell's going on, buddy?”

I reached out to shake his hand, but Ben grabbed me in a big bear hug, his massive arms crushing my rib cage so that I couldn't breathe. When he finally let go, I sucked in air, trying to get some oxygen to my head. “It's good to see you, too,” I said. “Now, if I haven't broken anything, let's get out of here. The guys are waiting back at the house.”

“You mean they're here already?” Ben asked, picking up his duffel bag and following me out to the parking lot.

“Got in yesterday. They can't wait to see you.”

The guys in question were Bill and Alan. The four of us had first met in college, where we were all on the soccer team. With his huge size, Ben had been our star fullback, intimidating opposing strikers and blocking their progress. Alan was the goalie, and Bill and I had shared halfback duties. After the first season, Ben had also been my roommate. Bill and Alan had lived down the hall from us, and the four of us quickly became good friends. Since graduation we'd all kept in contact, even though we lived in different cities. What brought us together now was my imminent wedding. Ben had flown in from Chicago to be my best man.

On the drive back to my house, Ben filled me in on what had been going on with his job. When I asked about his social life, he shrugged. “You know, same old thing. A different one every week. Who's got time?”

I laughed. Ben had never been able to keep a girlfriend for more than a month. Every time we asked him who was new in his life, it was a different name that came up. It was a running joke in our circle that the day Ben settled down would be declared a national holiday.

Back at the house, Ben met up with Alan and Bill, who had managed to get themselves up and ready after the night of drinking we'd done the night before. Alan was a quiet guy, originally from a working-class neighborhood in Chicago and now a newspaper writer. Short and muscular, he had been a standout goalie, able to stop just about any shot with his fast hands. He had intense green eyes beneath his brown hair, and he had always been the one to remind us that we needed to study instead of going out.

Blond, blue-eyed Bill was his opposite. Tall and thin, he had the body of a basketball player, and it had always surprised me how well he could control a soccer ball, considering his lankiness. He had been the practical joker of our bunch, and more than once had gotten us frighteningly close to getting expelled for some prank he talked us into. His job as an engineer for the military took him all over the world, and I was glad he could make it back for my wedding.

After everyone had caught up, we sat down to discuss what we were going to do that night. While most of our day would be taken up with the wedding rehearsal, I had already warned my fiancée that the night was reserved for the guys. I wanted one last big blowout before becoming a married man. I suggested going out, but Ben had ideas of his own. “You just leave tonight up to me,” he said mysteriously. “I've got something planned that's going to knock your socks off.”

I looked at Bill and Alan, but they just shrugged. Whatever Ben had planned, it was all his doing. No matter how hard we tried, he wouldn't tell us what he had up his sleeve, saying only that it was something we'd never forget. The rest of the day went by in a blur of last-minute arrangements and minor catastrophes involving seating and flowers and so on. I barely had time to think about what I was doing, let alone what Ben had in store for me later on. I didn't even notice when he disappeared right after the run-through.

Finally it was over. I said good night to my fiancée, promised not to get too drunk, and went back to the house with Bill and Alan. On the drive back, we tried to guess what Ben was up to, but he'd been tight-lipped about his plans. When we got to the house, Ben was in the kitchen. He had made a huge dinner and was just putting the finishing touches on four giant steaks.

“I figure it's the last good meal you'll get for a while,” he said, putting a plate in front of me.

The dinner was wonderful. We ate and talked about all the good times we'd had in school. Ben toasted me, and everyone made jokes about me being the first one to tie the knot. Afterward, we all went into the living room, where Ben had another surprise. Turning on the television, he popped a tape into the VCR. It started to play, and grainy images of Bill, Alan, and me running around a muddy field came into view.

“Where'd you get this stuff?” I asked him.

“I had it made down at the station,” he said. “Don't you remember all of the 8 millimeter movies I used to take of you guys? I just transferred them to tape.”

Back in school, Ben was always running around with his camera. It used to drive us crazy. Every time we turned around, he was there filming. I couldn't believe he actually kept all the stuff, but there it was. There was me chasing him out of the shower, my towel clutched to my crotch. There was Alan trying to slide down the hill outside our dorm on a tray from the cafeteria, ending in a collision with a tree that had resulted in four stitches to his lip.

As the tape rolled on, we relived many things we had all forgotten about. We were laughing over a scene of Bill dressed as a cheerleader for some sports day event when the doorbell rang. I started to get up to see who it was, but Ben jumped up first, beating me into the hallway. “All right,” he shouted. “Now it's time for the real fun to start.”

We all looked at each other. I had figured that the tape was Ben's big surprise, but there seemed to be more. He went to the door while the rest of us stayed in the living room, waiting expectantly. Then there was a shout from the other room. “Oh, shit,” Ben said emphatically. “I can't believe this.”

He entered the room with a frown on his face and a man behind him. The guy was a big Italian type, with large dark eyes, full lips, and a day's worth of beard. His black hair was short and gelled, and in his leather jacket and jeans, he looked like he'd just walked off a construction site for his lunch break.

“What's going on?” I asked, confused.

Ben sighed. “I ordered you a stripper,” he said. “I asked for an Italian with big ones, but they seemed to have gotten it wrong.”

The Italian grinned. “Well,” he said. “They got part of it right. I do have a big one. But I guess it's not the kind you guys want to see. I'll just go back and tell the agency to refund your money. Sorry to have wasted your evening.”

The guy was almost out the door when Ben called him back. “Wait a minute,” he said. “I'd hate to see you lose your money after you came all the way out here. Why don't you at least let me pay you?”

“I couldn't do that,” the man answered. “You guys didn't get what you ordered. I wouldn't feel right taking your money unless I did my bit. Thanks anyway.”

Ben tried again. “Okay,” he said hesitantly. “Um, why don't you just do part of it. You don't have to take it all off or anything, just enough so you can collect your pay. Besides, it might give Tom here some ideas about what to do on his wedding night.”

The man laughed. “Sure,” he said. “I don't mind if you guys don't.”

Ben looked at me, then at Alan and Bill. I didn't really have any interest in seeing the guy's act, but Ben seemed insistent on paying him, and I didn't want to spoil his surprise any more than it already was. “What the hell,” I said. “I might learn something.”

The man smiled. “Great,” he said. “By the way, my name's John.”

Ben and John shook hands. Then John handed Ben a cassette and asked him to put it in the stereo. He took off his jacket and threw it on the couch. Underneath he was wearing a pair of very tight jeans and a white T-shirt. He had a muscular body, and every line and curve was visible through his shirt. He also had a sizable bulge in his pants, the crotch of which was worn smooth.

Ben turned off the video, put John's tape in the stereo, and then sat by me on the couch. A slow beat filled the room and John began to move his body with the sound, grinding his hips suggestively and running his hands over his chest. It felt weird watching another guy move like that, as though he was trying to turn me on. But at the same time, it kind of interested me. John had a great body, and there was something about watching him move it like that, so sensuously and gracefully, that held my attention.

I looked around to see what the other guys were doing. Bill and Alan were watching John, too, from their position on the couch. They looked a little uneasy, but they didn't say anything. Ben was reclining on the couch next to me, his arm stretched along the back. He had a strange look on his face, but I assumed he was just annoyed at not getting what he'd paid for.

The music droned on, and John kept dancing. After a few minutes, he tugged his T-shirt out of his jeans and pulled it slowly over his head, giving us the first look at his naked body. Even though I didn't consider myself an expert on male bodies, I was impressed by what I saw. His chest was perfect, the pecs molded into hard rises of flesh. His dark nipples stood at attention, brown against the tanned background of his body.

And to my surprise, his chest was covered in a short carpet of black hair. All the male strippers I'd ever seen on television or in movies had hairless bodies, and I assumed that all of them shaved. I always thought it looked odd, big macho guys with their skin bare as a baby's. But John had a full swatch of beautiful dark fur running over his washboard stomach and disappearing in a tumble into his jeans like a waterfall crashing into a pool.

John ran his hands through the hair on his chest, stroking it with his big fingers, pinching his tits so that they stood out even farther. He raised one arm behind his head and revealed a glen of the same dark hair, matted slightly with sweat. His bicep bulged out next to his neck as he flexed, the muscles of his chest expanding. He turned his head and began to lick at his arm, his long pink tongue caressing his flesh lovingly. He moved into his armpit, burying his nose in the hair, his mouth sucking hungrily at the sweat.

I was entranced, watching the big stud enjoying his own masculinity. I began to imagine that it was my nose buried in that damp pit, my tongue running through the thick fur. I thought of what it would be like to feel his nipple between my lips and hear him groan as I sucked on it. My cock began to swell inside my pants, pressing uncomfortably against my fly.

I repositioned myself so that no one could see my growing excitement. I didn't know why I was getting all hot and bothered over this guy, and I sure as hell didn't want my buddies to see me sporting a boner over another man. But a quick glance around the room reassured me that no one was watching me. In fact, Bill, Alan, and Ben all seemed to be staring raptly at John.

John had finished licking his pit and was dancing again. He was rubbing his crotch suggestively, grabbing a handful and squeezing it tightly. Every so often he stuck his hand down the front of his pants as though he were going to unbutton them. But each time he pulled it away again. I thought for sure that Ben would call off the performance at this point and pay John. But he kept quiet. Bill and Alan too said nothing, sitting on the couch as John moved in front of them.

John also seemed in no hurry to end the dance. Reaching down, he began to undo the buttons of his fly, one at a time. As each one fell away, more of the rich black hair was revealed, and I waited breathlessly for the moment when his cock would appear. But John turned his back to us. His back was as magnificent as his chest, rippling with muscles as he moved. His shoulders were wide and solid, tapering down to a narrow waist.

Slowly easing the jeans over his ass, John slid them in one movement down his legs. Underneath he was wearing tight white underwear, the kind that come halfway down the leg. Beneath the field of cotton the globes of his ass swelled out round and full. His thick legs were covered in more of the dark hair, and his calves were rounded and well defined. John turned around and gave us the first real glimpse of what he had in his shorts. The fly of his shorts had two buttons holding it closed, and his cock and balls hung heavily in the pouch, bouncing slightly as he moved his hips. His prick stretched along the left side of his groin, the fat head vaguely outlined.

By now my cock was at full attention, and I was filled with a yearning I'd never felt before. I desperately wanted to take my cock out and stroke it while I watched John. Having his big piece just out of view yet so far out of reach was driving me crazy. I wanted to drop to the floor and rip his underwear off him so I could get to his fat hose.

John danced over to where Bill and Alan were sitting on the other couch. Standing in front of Bill, he moved his crotch invitingly, rubbing his hands over it, pulling the waistband down so that the tip of his dick was almost revealed. “Who's the one getting married?” he asked.