A Trial of Strength

A TRIAL OF STRENGTH -- PART 35 By Rob Williams

IN THIS CHAPTER Bob teaches Randy how it feels to submit like a slave. The bodybuilder sweats through a muscle-crunching workout and the sight drives Randy wild. He begs for release, sucking frantically at the bulging jockstrap. "That's it, asshole," Bob growls. "Suck your master's balls. Look at yourself, man ... like a fucking animal." Later Randy is master again when Pablo loses his cool and has to be punished. But the punishment hurts Randy even more than his boy -- and draws them closer together than ever.

As I always say, guys, I welcome your comments and suggestions. E-mail me at rw6789@aol.com. Now read on ...

A TRIAL OF STRENGTH -- Part 35

"It's time, buddy," Bob said.

Randy looked up at his lover and said mockingly. "Oh yeah, that's right. I forgot. You're gonna turn me into a slave for the night. OK, come on, then. You wanna fight?"

Bob said calmly. "No I don't want to fight. There's just one thing I want to do, then I'll take it from there. You up for the challenge?"

"Try me," Randy snarled.

Bob had earlier suggested that Randy, the decision-making boss of the house, should relax, shed his responsibilities. For one night he should stop being the master and give in, submit to someone else, surrender himself into their hands. Pablo had said the same thing a week ago and Randy had replied that there was only one man in the world who would even have a shot at that.

Which is why Randy and Bob were now in their basement gym. Randy had allowed himself to be tied to the chair he sat in and he was watching Bob. His lover had come in still wearing his business suit and was changing into his gym gear. His slow striptease was turning Randy on. But Bob ignored him, focused as he was on his own mirror reflection, flexing and posing and turning himself on.

Randy's muscles strained with the desperate effort to free himself. He wanted this man like never before, he wanted to touch him, to fuck him, to dominate him totally as he always did. But this time seemed different. He began to grasp that this was Bob's way of dominating him, of making him beg.

"I'll be damned if I will," Randy thought to himself defiantly. He was resisting with every fiber of his being. He would never submit, become a slave. But the image before him overwhelmed his determination. Bob had stripped out of his work clothes and, naked now, reached down to his gym bag. He pulled out an old, worn, sweat-stained jock strap, stepped into it and pulled it up around his tight waist. He turned slightly from side to side, getting a view in the mirror of his bulging crotch in front and the perfect globes of his ass behind, framed by the straps of the jock-strap.

Randy couldn't take much more. "OK, man. What do you want from me? You want me to say please? OK, you win man. You're fucking gorgeous and I want you. Untie me ... please ... let me touch you. I'm begging you now man. Isn't that enough?"

Again Bob ignored him. He strode over to the thermostat on the wall and turned it up to maximum heat. Randy heard the hot air hiss through the vents. Bob bent down and pulled his gym shorts from his bag. They too were old and worn, stained with the sweat of many workouts. He pulled them on over the jock-strap, then put on an old, thin tank top that stretched over his perfectly sculpted torso. Finally he pulled on an old smelly pair of sneakers, unlaced, no socks.

He stood back and again admired his body in the mirror. He had to admit that he looked damn good. He ran his hand over the thin cotton of his shirt, feeling his hard pecs underneath, grazing his nipples with his fingertips. He took a sharp intake of breath. "God, you look good, man. Now let's see those muscles strain."

The workout began.

First he jumped up and grabbed the chin bar. He pulled himself up to the bar again and again, putting maximum strain on his shoulders and biceps and flaring his V-shaped lats. As the bulging muscles flexed and his veins stood out in hard-etched relief he looked incredible. Randy was becoming incensed and pulled at his restraints. "Don't do this, man. I'll thrash you for this. Come on ... let me loose, man. Let me just touch you, for God's sake."

Bob's concentration on his workout was intense and he barely heard the bound man's voice. He went from the chin bar to the bench press and Randy saw the solid pecs bulge under the cotton tank. The bodybuilder moved from one piece of equipment to the next and over the course of the next hour punished himself with a muscle-crunching workout.

The heat in the windowless basement became intense and it wasn't long before Bob's body was streaming with sweat. The thin tank clung to his chest and became transparent, his bulging pecs clearly etched under it. His threadbare shorts also became soaked and the jockstrap was visible underneath. His face, arms, shoulders, thighs all poured with sweat and his whole magnificent body gleamed under the lights.

Sweat poured also from Randy's naked body but he was unaware of it, so focused was he on the incredible sight before him. The man was pumped, gleaming wet muscles flexed and ripped to the max, gym clothes soaked and clinging to the superb body. Randy was hypnotized and he struggled mightily to get free.

His rasping words came in out in sobs. "Oh God. You're unbelievable, man. I've never seen anything so beautiful. That body. It's magnificent. I've got to touch you man. Just touch you. My dick is raging hard. Please, man. Let me loose. I'm begging you, man. Isn't that what you want?"

Finally Bob left his own reflection and turned to the man struggling in the chair. "You know what? Why don't you just shut the fuck up? There's no way you're gonna get free. We've got a long way to go, asshole."

"Just one hand," Randy begged. "Just let me ..."

"Shut up! I guess I'll have to force you to keep quiet."

Bob looked in the mirror and slowly pulled the soaking wet tank over his head. He stood there shirtless, gazing at his sweat-soaked, naked chest, heaving after the exertion of the workout. Holding the tank he walked over to Randy and in a quick series of moves he twisted the soaking shirt, stuffed it in Randy's mouth and tied it tight behind his head.

Stunned, Randy screamed into the gag, shouting a string of muffled obscenities. He realized that would have no effect and became still, now grasping the full impact of his situation. He couldn't keep his eyes off the stunning bodybuilder, stripped down to his gym shorts.

But even more overpowering than the visual impact was the smell and the taste. The smell of the sweat-soaked shirt in his mouth made his head swim and he clenched his jaw. As his mouth squeezed the shirt a stream of the bodybuilder's sweat poured into his throat and he had to gulp it down.

He glanced sideways and caught sight of himself in the mirror. He saw a gleaming muscle stud, tied helplessly to a chair, muscles bulging and gleaming with the effort to get free. He was gagged with a stinking, wet shirt and his throat spasmed as he gulped down the sweat of his captor. All Randy's senses were overwhelmed at the same time and he moved into a world of pure sensation, of fantasy, of the ecstasy of being totally in the power of this incredible muscle god.

He watched as Bob worshipped the image of himself in the mirror. The bodybuilder smiled as he flexed, posed, looked at every facet of his incredible body. He put his hands to his waist and slowly lowered his shorts until they dropped round his ankles. He kicked them away and kicked off his sneakers.

"Jesus Christ, you're fucking gorgeous, man," he said to his reflection. He gazed at the muscle god in the mirror, stripped down to his jockstrap, his entire body now pouring with sweat. "I love that body, man. You don't need anyone else man. You can always jack off looking at yourself. You're all you ever need. Come on, man. Show it off for me."

Again he jumped up to the chin bar and again his perfect muscles bulged as his body strained up and down. The hot air still poured through the vents, the room was steaming hot and both muscle studs poured with sweat. Randy was still screaming into his gag ... but gradually he stopped. Motionless, he gazed at the sight of the muscular giant, his soaking, naked body in just a thin jockstrap, putting on a spectacular show of ultimate male beauty.

And it was at that point that Randy crossed the line. He wanted this stud so badly, so desperately ... and he wanted him to be his master. He felt it now; he felt the intense transformation, the need to serve this muscleman. He needed to be his slave. Nothing else would match the sensations that overwhelmed him. His eyes pleaded.

Sensing the profound change that had occurred Bob gazed at his captive. He walked over to him and slowly untied the gag. He looked down at the pleading, sweating face raised up to him in submission. The bulging jockstrap was inches in front of his face, thin cotton soaked with sweat so the rigid, heavily veined cock and balls showed through vividly.

"Tell me," Bob said simply.

"I need you sir. I need to serve you. I need to be your slave. You are my master, sir."

"Good. We'll see how just how much you need it ... see if you really mean what you say."

He walked forward so the jockstrap almost touched the captive's face. Randy was overpowered by the smell of sweat. The wet cotton brought out other smells, the stink of old piss, and stale semen too where the man had several times cum inside the jockstrap looking at himself. Intoxicated by the pungent smell Randy started to beg in earnest.

"Please, sir. Give it to me sir. I'll do anything for you sir. I belong to you. I'm begging you, let me taste it, sir."

""You gonna obey me?"

"I swear to you, sir."

"Good. That's what I wanted to hear. Open your mouth."

He pushed his crotch forward and the naked, bound construction worker began to lick the thin cotton, tentatively at first, then lapping hungrily at the bulge of the dick folded inside, and then the hard round balls. The taste, the smell, the sight sent the broken man into a delirium of the senses. This bulging jockstrap was his world. It belonged to his master and he was being allowed to taste it.

The bodybuilder inched even further forward until the swollen jockstrap entered the desperate mouth. Randy's eyes widened as his mouth closed over the stinking cloth enclosing his master's hard cock and huge balls. He stopped himself from choking, then began sucking hard. As he sucked he closed his lips firmly around the scrotum and, like a cock ring, the effect was to make the cock even harder.

Bob moaned, "That's it, you piece of shit. Suck your master's balls. Look at yourself, man ... like a fucking animal."

Though he was still tied to the chair Randy was able to glance sideways and saw the stunning image of the big, powerful muscle-stud now reduced to a broken slave, sucking desperately at his captor's balls. All his senses were on fire. He could see, smell, taste, hear and touch the spectacular bodybuilder who now owned him. He switched his gaze upward to the chiseled body towering over him. He saw it shudder, then convulse and he heard his master shout.

"That's it, fucker. Eat that meat. Make your master cum. Make me cum, man!"

Randy felt a massive jolt run through the body and he tasted the sticky dampness inside the jockstrap. His master's cock was gushing with semen inside it. The creamy juice oozed through the thin fabric, out the sides and over the top as the body shook and trembled.

Randy sucked hard, tasting the cum through the jockstrap, letting the escaping juice soak his face. The sensation was driving him wild. The ecstasy of bringing his master to orgasm overwhelmed him and his felt his own cock shudder as it exploded. His body jerked backward and the stream of cum shot straight up toward Bob's crotch and soaked his already sodden jockstrap. The two muscular bodies shook with the intense physical and emotional release, the passion of two stunning males, master and slave, erupting in a shared and violent climax.

Instinctively Randy leaned forward again and clamped his mouth over the bulge of Bob's cock and balls. The taste of his own cum was now mixed with the pungent smell of Bob's stale piss, sweat and semen. Randy was in a wild, sensual delirium of taste and smell as he sucked on their mingled juices.

Finally Bob pulled back, his ripped body pouring with sweat, his chest heaving. He gazed down as the bound man raised his head. With tears flowing down his sweat-streaked face the construction worker looked up at his master in abject surrender.

"Now that," Bob said, "is a broken man."

It took a while for the room to get cooler. Bob had turned down the thermostat and left the room, much to Randy's dismay. He was still naked, still bound to the chair, still reeling from what he had seen, smelled, tasted and felt. His one desire was to submit to this spectacular man, to serve him, obey him, to be his slave. He desperately needed to see him again in all his stunning beauty. He would do anything he was ordered to do.

Eventually the door opened behind him and Randy caught a glimpse in the mirror of a sight that made him gasp. He could not believe the fantasy that walked round and stood before him. Bob was wearing Randy's leather outfit. He wore heavy black boots and over his jeans he had pulled on black leather chaps that were belted tight around his slim waist. His chest bulged under a black leather harness, with a leather vest over that. His sculpted features still gleamed with sweat and his eyes were hidden behind dark mirror glasses.

Randy gasped, "Oh, God. That's unbelievable. You're fucking magnificent, sir. Please don't leave me again. Make me do anything. I need to belong to you, sir. Just to be near you is a privilege, master."

Bob folded his arms across his chest. "As I recall you boasted that you could never be my slave. What do you say now?"

"I was wrong, sir. I want to serve you, sir. You can do anything to me."

Bob leaned down and slowly untied the ropes that bound the naked construction worker, whose arms fell to his sides as he slumped in the chair. Bob took a few steps backward. He took off his glasses and locked eyes with the exhausted man. They stared at each other for a long time, their eyes speaking a wordless language. The leather man's strong steady gaze mesmerized his captive and involuntarily Randy slid off the chair and sank to his knees, then onto his belly.

"Let me see you crawl, asshole," Bob sneered.

Randy raised his head enough to focus on the black leather boots. He desperately needed to prove to this stunning man how badly he needed him. Slowly he eased himself forward, dragging his naked, sweating body over the floor, closer and closer to the boots. When he reached his goal his face fell forward and his tongue lapped frantically at the boots. Then he rubbed his cheek against the bottom of the chaps and slowly worked his way up, hungrily licking the shiny black leather.

He raised his head and saw that Bob was holding a black leather collar. He moaned, "Yes, sir. Please, sir. Make me your slave." Ceremoniously Bob buckled the collar around his neck.

"Stand up."

Bob was now holding a cat o' nine tails, a whip with many long strands of leather. The big men again locked eyes. Randy took a step back, stood with his legs wide apart, and he raised his arms up and out, so he was standing ready, offering his glorious, spread eagled body.

"Please, sir. My body is yours. Take it, sir."

Bob raised the cat and brought it crashing against the massively sculpted chest. Randy did not flinch or make a sound, but gazed steadily at his master. Again and again the whip wound round his torso and he did not move. He badly wanted to submit his body to his master, needed to be flogged by him.

It was a ritual flogging. Bob knew that Randy could withstand any pain, so the whip was merely a symbol of the master taking complete control of his slave. When the flogging finally stopped tears were flowing down Randy's cheeks.

"Thank you, sir. I am your slave. Allow me serve you, sir."

And serve his master he did, all night long. He obeyed his every command, brought him whatever he wanted, tended to his body, soaped and massaged him in the shower, then toweled him off, caressing the spectacular body that he now worshipped.

His subservience came from the depths of his being. Bob was astonishing and Randy knew he wanted to be near him always. He would do anything, anything, to have the man forever. He was truly enslaved by this magnificent being, now and always.

Finally Bob lay in bed. He looked up at Randy standing at attention.

"Come here."

"Thank you, sir."

"Now I'm going to fuck my slave's ass."

"Thank you, sir."

Randy offered his ass eagerly, a willing slave for the first time in his life. After Bob had taken ownership of the ass, the two men made love for the rest of the night until they finally lay folded in each other's arms.

In the first glimmers of dawn Bob sighed. "Watching a top master like you become a slave was the most exciting experience of my life. An unforgettable fantasy. You're an incredible man. Thank you ... sir."

And they fell into the deep sleep of total exhaustion.

After that no words passed between them about the stunning event where, for one night, Randy became an abject slave for the first time in his life. They both knew that their relationship had reached a new level, that they had explored depths of intimacy rarely experienced by such rugged males.

In debasing himself so completely, in becoming a slave, Randy had proved to himself and to his lover what a truly powerful, alpha male he was. His position as supreme master was enhanced, rather than diminished, by undergoing such a mind-wrenching experience. Both men knew that Randy could have submitted only to Bob, nobody else. And Bob also knew beyond any doubt that Randy was, and always would be, his master.

The routine of the house continued. All the men went to work, but at home much time was spent on completing the construction of the new house. Under the supervision of Darius and Pablo the young skinheads worked hard and showed a genuine desire to please their masters. Then, suddenly, trouble came ... out of nowhere.

They were falling behind Randy's schedule and the four young men worked on the construction feverishly. Tempers became frayed and they cut corners. At one point Pablo was trying to hold onto a plank and told one of the skinheads, Miller, to take the other end. He leaned precariously toward Pablo reaching for the plank but lost his balance and fell forward. He had the bad luck to fall onto Pablo, knocking him to the ground. Billy saw this, instinctively felt that his master was being attacked, bared his teeth and lunged at Miller.

In a reflex of self-defense Miller kicked out and his boot made contact with the dog's stomach, sending him howling across the room. Pablo was on him in a second.

"You hit my dog. You kicked Billy, you asshole. Nobody attacks my dog."

He sat astride the fallen youth and began pummeling his face and chest. Alarmed, Darius shouted to Pablo to cool it, but Pablo ignored him. The other man came to the aid of his friend and tried to pull him off. Pablo swing round and kicked, sending the kid sprawling across the room and falling awkwardly on his twisted wrist.

Darius felt powerless to intervene as Pablo lost all sense of restraint and began punching clawing and kicking at the two terrified youths. "You fucking faggots," he screamed. "You attacked my dog. You shitheads won't get away with that. I'm the master here and I'll beat the crap out of you."

Wildly out of control the crazed young man was really doing serious damage, when a voice roared ... "STOP!" Randy stood there in disbelief at what he saw.

Pablo stood up, his chest heaving, and faced Randy. "Stay out of this," he yelled. "You made me master here and I'm gonna thrash these fucking faggots. They hit my dog. They're just faggot slaves anyway. I'll kill them. Get out of my way."

Without a word Randy reached out, took the back of Pablo's shirt by the scruff of his neck, hauled him up and tossed him bodily through the open door. He stood over him and said menacingly, "Go out to the lawn and wait for me. Now!" Pablo blinked hard, looked at the big construction worker and shook his head to clear his mind. He finally regained his senses and walked quickly out to the garden followed by his dog.

Mark had arrived by this time and was tending to the fallen men. With his cop's first-aid training he was able to make a quick appraisal.

"This one has a sprained wrist. I'll put a cold compress on it, put his arm in a sling and he should be OK in a day or two. The other guy just has bruises fortunately, but he needs to rest. Could have delayed shock. Sorry, Randy, no work out of them for the next few days. I'll help them downstairs to their room."

Randy was left there with a shaken Darius. "What happened?" he demanded curtly. Darius hesitated, reluctant to get Pablo into more trouble.

"I said what happened, punk? And I want the truth, all of it. I don't want opinions, just tell me what happened. Now!"

Darius had no choice but to describe what he had seen. It started as an accident, Miller acted in self-defense, did not mean to hurt Pablo or his dog, and Pablo just lost it. He kind of went wild.

Randy's face was grim. "Clean up in here. Then see if Mark needs any help downstairs. Leave the two guys in their room, then gather everyone else outside.

The air was heavy with anticipation. Bob, Mark and Darius stood together and watched. Darius held Billy by his collar. Pablo stood at attention facing Randy, whose face was black as thunder and his body heaved. His eyes bore into the fearful eyes of the young man. Then he spoke to everyone.

"This man has to be punished. He has behaved not like a master but like a petulant child. He has lost control of himself and done physical damage to the two guys downstairs and worse, called them `faggots', a word I have forbidden. I am deeply ashamed of this man I wanted to call my son. You will all witness his punishment."

Without taking his eyes off Pablo's face Randy began to pull his belt from his jeans. Pablo pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it. He dropped his shorts and boxers and kicked off his sneakers. He stood naked in front of his master, hands at his sides. He knew what was coming.

Randy raised the belt and lashed it across Pablo's chest. He hit again and again, the belt winding round the young man's torso and biting into his back. Then he aimed lower, so the belt wound round and cut into Pablo's beautiful ass. But, consumed with fury as he was, something inside Randy made him restrain himself. He did not put all his strength into the blows. The whip stung and red welts rose on Pablo's chest, his arms, back and the globes of his ass, but Randy held back from really hurting the boy. The whipping was more symbolic, a ritual punishment to convey the strength of his anger.

Pablo did not move, did not flinch, did not make a sound. He stood there and took his beating, with his eyes fixed on the man thrashing him. The other three guys flinched at each blow and Bob could hardly restrain himself from walking forward and putting a stop to it.

Finally it did stop. Randy's body was heaving as he glared at the battered young man.

"You have angered me, disappointed me, failed me. Work on the house will stop for two days. During that time I don't want to see your face. You will stay in your room with your dog. Darius will bring you food, then he will stay with us in the main house for two days. You will be alone to contemplate what you have done. That's all. Go."

Pablo was expressionless as he picked up his clothes and stumbled over to the pool house, followed by Billy. Randy watched him go. Then he turned to the others. "It's over. Time for dinner, Darius."

"I'll give you a hand," Bob said quietly."

Dinner turned out to be a solemn meal. Very few words were spoken.

Later, in the bedroom, there was also silence at first. Bob and Randy lay on their back staring at the ceiling. Randy broke the silence.

"OK, say it. You think I was too hard on him."

"I do. I think you over-reacted. The public punishment was way over the top."

"Well you can just go fuck yourself." Randy's pent up rage erupted and he lashed out at Bob. "I know what's best for my boy. What the fuck do you know? Who made you master of the house all of a sudden? I'm the boss here ... get used to it. If you don't like what I do you can get the hell out."

Bob flinched at the ferocity of his words. Randy saw the crushed look on his lover's face and winced.

"Oh, God, man. Oh shit. You know I didn't mean that ... any of it. You of all people. I love you, man. But you know me and my anger."

"Exactly, Randy, and it's that same anger you saw in Pablo. That's what you punished. You know your own anger is dangerous and you hated to see it in him."

Randy put his arm round Bob's shoulder. "You're right, of course, you always are."

"But don't you see, buddy? You reacted to his fury with the same fury of your own. It wasn't Randy punishing Pablo. It was your anger punishing his. The two of you are so alike it can be explosive."

"Shit, I've really fucked up haven't I? What do I do?" Randy asked helplessly.

Bob paused. "There's no question, Pablo behaved really badly. There was no excuse for his actions and he needed to be punished. Well, you've done that, so just let it takes its course. You can't go back on your word. If it's any consolation, I have a feeling the next two days are gonna be rougher on you than on Pablo."

And Bob was right. A heavy atmosphere hung over the house and Randy couldn't settle. He was withdrawn, he paced, he was short-tempered, so everyone stayed out of his way, gave him his space. The two days dragged. Darius was the only one to look in on Pablo and Randy was longing to ask how he was, but knew he couldn't.

On the last night of the exile Randy couldn't sleep. Finally, at about 2am he got out of bed, pulled on his boxers and went into the garden. He looked over to the pool house. Then he thought he heard a noise, a scraping sound. He walked over to the building under construction and looked into a window.

Inside he saw Pablo. He was wearing his old dungarees, hanging as usual by one shoulder, exactly the way Randy had first seen him that day out in the desert. Randy's jaw dropped when he saw what he was doing. In his hand Pablo had a plastering trowel. He was slapping wet plaster on the trowel and applying it to the dray wall in front of him with wide, sweeping strokes. He worked quickly, his face set in grim determination. Billy sat on the floor gazing up at him.

"What are you doing, kid?"

Pablo spun round and faced Randy.

"I said, what are you doing?"

Pablo cleared his throat. "Sir, I knew we were getting behind schedule and now, with ... with my behavior ... with what I did, I mean, it's even worse. So I was trying to catch up."

"Is that all?"

Pablo stammered. "Well, I guess I was trying to show you that I ...I guess I thought that's what you would want. I thought ... I was trying to ... I ...

But he didn't get any further. He broke down in racking sobs and put his hands over his face. Randy couldn't take it. He walked forward and wrapped his arms around the sobbing boy in a tight embrace.

After a while he said, "Hey, kid. You're getting plaster all over your face." Pablo pulled back and looked up at the smiling eyes. It was true, his face was smudged with white plaster.

"Sir. You mustn't be kind to me. I deserved everything you dished out. The worst was when you said you didn't want to see my face. I behaved stupidly. But sir, I don't know why I did what I did."

"I do, asshole. It was that irrational anger of yours that flares up. I know it well. It's been an old friend of mine all my life."

"Really, sir?"

"Yeah, and you know when my anger last surfaced?"

"No sir."

"When I punished you. That was my rage talking."

"But I needed to be punished, sir."

"Not in anger, though. We both fucked up, kiddo, and for the same reason." He paused. "You know, I made you boss of those guys for a reason, for you to learn. And you've learned that you don't get to be a master just by beating up on guys. You have to be fair. You have to earn respect."

"But you punished them big time, sir."

"I punished them for doing something evil, criminal even. You punished them for an accident."

Pablo hung his head. "I failed you, sir. Are you going to throw me out? I guess the adoption's off."

Randy put his hand under Pablo's chin and raised his head. "Did I say that? Look, kiddo, if every dad abandoned his kid just because he fucked up there'd sure be a lot of orphans in the world."

Pablo looked up at him with that steady direct gaze of his. "I don't want to be an orphan again, sir."

"And you won't be, kid. I promised you that at the beginning. I'm not gonna lose you, kiddo ... no matter how many times I have to whip your ass." He paused, smiling. "I'll give you this, though. You sure took your punishment like a man."

"Thank you, sir. Do you ... do you think you can ever forgive me, sir?"

Randy looked down into those beautiful, soft, almond-shaped brown eyes and took him by the hand. "Come with me."

He led him out to the garden, across the lawn and up to the hammock. "You know what to do."

Pablo paused, then unhooked his overalls and let them drop. As usual he was naked underneath. He fell back into the hammock and gazed up at the dark swarthy face looking down at him.

"Thank you, sir. I won't ever let you down again."

Randy pulled his hard cock from his shorts and pushed it against Pablo's perfect ass. "You know," he said, "this is supposed to be part of your punishment."

"I know sir." Then he gave Randy that cheeky, crooked grin of his. "I'll take it like a man."

"You little fucker," Randy laughed and eased his cock deep inside the ass he had grown to love. The fucking was no punishment. It was a slow, easy, tender expression of love, a rhythmic massaging of hurt feelings, a banishment of anger and a healing of wounds. They gazed into each other's eyes as their bodies melted together.

Randy and Pablo were reunited.

Much later that night Randy roused Darius from his bed in the main house and said. "Go back to your own room, to your friend. Take good care of him."

"Yes, sir!" Darius said and ran back to the pool house. He and Pablo were soon asleep in each other's arms, Billy snoring by the bed.

Randy went to his own room and climbed into bed beside his sleeping lover with a sigh. Bob stirred. Still half asleep he murmured, "Everything OK?"

"Pretty much," said Randy. He stared at the ceiling, deep in thought. "You know," he said, "being a master can be tough. I think Pablo has learned that a true master has to really understand, has to feel, what goes on in the mind of the slave. Hell, buddy, you showed me that a few days ago when you made me crawl to you. I thank you for that."

"Any time," Bob murmured drowsily.

Randy smiled. "You made me feel fucking great. Think we can do that again some time?"

"Any time." Bob sighed. "Now ... do I have your permission to go back to sleep ... sir?"

"Asshole," grinned Randy, and folded his lover in his arms.

The next day Pablo was not sure how he would approach the guys he has thrashed unfairly. He was reluctant to apologize. In the end, a silent handshake was all it took. Nothing more was said. After that work on the construction resumed with renewed energy.

It wouldn't be long before the project was finished. The inevitable question would then arise, what to do with the two young guys who had begun as prisoners and then worked hard in an effort to prove themselves. As it turned out, that question answered itself ... to the surprise of everyone.

CONTINUED IN "A Trial Of Strength -- Part 36"