A Trial of Strength

A TRIAL OF STRENGTH - PART 389 By Rob Williams

CHAPTER 389 – "SURRENDERING TO AUTHORITY"

IN THIS CHAPTER:

The three alpha males – Randy the gypsy construction boss; Bob his businessman lover; and the cop Mark – test each other's manhood. Power shifts as top-men submit to the authority of another. The cop growls at the naked businessman, "That looks so fucking hot. You want it bad, don't you, stud?" Then the gypsy taunts the cop. "Not so tough now are you – the macho cop chained in his own handcuffs. _____________________________________________________________________

************ In the previous chapter *************

Grady said it best. The sexy, fun-loving star of the new blockbuster Tarzan movie was having breakfast in his bedroom with his Italian lover Mario. They were looking down at the garden of their big house, watching the first arrivals for that day's gathering of the tribe.

"You know what I love about our parties, Mario? All the guys are so relaxed. All week they work hard but here they're away from work, away from their various homes, and all mixed up together, ready to play. And what a mix. It's neutral territory so anything goes. You never know what's gonna happen, who's gonna wind up fucking who. So let the games begin."

Among the first arrivals were the senior men – the rugged gypsy boss Randy, his lover Bob, and the cop Mark, three men who had some time ago declared their love for each other. Earlier rivalries had been buried and they were free to indulge their mutual passions – either two-way or three-way – without restraint

Bob went straight into a business meeting with Grady and Mario while Randy and Mark toured the extensive grounds for their monthly security check of the tightly protected premises.

They were soon joined by the black leather-master Zack, his boy Darius and Zack's lover Miguel, all of them dressed in leather. As Zack laughingly explained, "Leather's a frame of mind – if you've got it flaunt it. We thought we'd bring a touch of glamor to this gathering of the clan."

It was a lusty reunion of alpha males, though the spark between two of them was especially intense. Randy, his eyes fixed on Miguel's like a homing beacon, grasped his hand, and said simply, "Hi, buddy." And at that moment everyone knew what had to happen.

The construction boss Randy and the muscular Hispanic Miguel, both macho top men, were sexual soul mates, sharing the same carnal lust for rough-sex. All the men in the group here knew that the two men's visceral sexual desires had to be satisfied. There was no romantic component to it, unlike the rich and lasting relationships shared by Randy and Bob, and by Zack and Miguel. It was simply physical lust of a special kind.

Acutely aware of the hurt and anger they had caused when they had first met, this time Miguel and Randy were careful to ask their respective lovers for their approval. Miguel's lover Zack readily agreed, knowing that his boy Darius would discreetly film the encounter.

Randy phoned Bob who took it lightly. "So you two boys want to stay out and play with each other," he laughed, like an indulgent parent. "Randy, it's been a long time since you and that gorgeous man did your thing and I think you should now. Always good to clear the air ... and the cravings. So go for it, big guy."

Mark went into the house to join Bob, and Zack and Darius left the two men alone, gazing silently at each other. Once again Miguel fell under the spell of those hypnotic blue eyes, and Randy was mesmerized by the deep brown eyes set in the dark Hispanic face, with its square jaw, high cheekbones and mass of black hair.

Randy said, "You and me, we're two of a kind, man, walk to the beat of the same drummer. You know exactly what I need, something only you can give me. Bob can't, we love each other too much. Nor even Zack, `cos we've been such close buddies for so long. Has to be you, man."

And so it began – a rough, raw, homoerotic spectacle of one alpha male, Randy, being tied up and abused by the other. Staring at the shirtless gypsy, arms stretched upward roped to a tree branch, Miguel said, "Man, that is so fucking hot – a gorgeous top-man in my power. Major fantasy of mine. Nothing turns me on like hearing a top-man beg and submit to another."

For the captive Randy it was a test of his stoic virility as he was whipped, slapped and gut-punched by the Hispanic leather-jock, submitting only when Miguel tortured his balls. But suddenly Randy turned the tables, overcoming Miguel by locking his free arm round his throat while he fucked his ass. Then the roles reversed again and Randy, both arms tied again roared defiantly. "Give it to me ... give it to me ... make me blow my load, man."

When the pornographic trial of strength was over Randy panted, "Fucking great orgasm, man. Shit, I needed that and you gave it to me good. Every day I'm the big boss, the dominant male, throwing orders around, but sometimes I feel the need to take it instead of dishing it out. But it only works with a musclehunk top like you."

But it was over, and now a note of urgency came to his voice. "I need to go see Bob ... he'll be upstairs with Mark ... I need them both." He pulled on his jeans and boots and slung the shredded remains of his shirt over his shoulder. "Later, dude – and thanks, man."

As Miguel and Darius watched him stride away, his bare back striped with red welts, Miguel said, "Darius, my friend, there goes one spectacular fucking man. God knows how Bob and Mark will react when he barges in on them looking like that."

An hour earlier, when Mark had left Randy and Miguel alone to indulge their lust together, he had gone in search of Bob. Inside the house Mark ran into the houseboy Brian and said, "Hi, kiddo. I need to find Bob and get out of this cop uniform."

"Yes, sir, the meeting's over and Bob went to take a shower in one of the guestrooms. Upstairs, third door on the right, sir. And you can change out of your uniform there too, sir," Brian said with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Mark bounded up the stairs, found the room and knocked on the door. No answer, but he heard the faint sound of running water so he went in. Just as he closed the door behind him the water stopped and a minute later the bathroom door opened and Bob came out. He was butt naked, drying his hair, and didn't see Mark at first as his head and face were buried in the towel.

When he lowered the towel, though, he stopped in his tracks and stared at Mark. "Oh," he said, taken by surprise, and with instinctive modesty wrapped the towel round his waist.

They stared at each other in silence, the Greek-God blond cop in his black uniform and motorcycle boots, and the naked man with the features and body of Superman, water running down his face and flawless physique.

"Hello, Mark." "Hi Bob." Another shy silence, then Bob said, "Randy with Miguel is he?"

"Yeah, you OK with that, buddy?"

"Oh yeah, sure. He called me and I told him I was fine with it. Randy sometimes has cravings that can't be satisfied by me, Zack or any of the guys, except Miguel. He'll do his thing with Miguel, then probably come join us."

Still they stared at each other for long seconds, then Mark said, "Man, you look so ... so totally fucking gorgeous. Come here." He opened his arms.

"I'll make your uniform wet," Bob smiled.

"Fuck the uniform, man. Fuck everything. I want you so bad, dude."

"Me too, Mark. You're right – fuck the uniform." And he walked naked into the cop's arms.

********************** CHAPTER 389 **********************

Mark and Bob held each other in a long, tight embrace. Mark wrapped his arms round the wet, muscular back and Bob felt Mark's hard body pressing against him, the cold metal of his police badge digging into his chest. Bob gazed into the cop's blue-gray eyes and their mouths found each other in a ravenous kiss.

When they separated Mark sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Bob down beside him. "You sure you're OK with Randy and Miguel doing their thing out there, buddy?"

"Oh yeah. With Randy that kinda stuff goes with the territory. You know what a savage he can be ... it's his gypsy blood. But the other side of that coin is that he needs to prove his toughness by taking a beating occasionally. I think that's part of the reason he picks so many fights, to demonstrate his macho supremacy.

"And that savagery is one of the reasons he turns you on so much," Mark said."

"You know me to well, Mark," Bob smiled. "I love it when he fucks me hard the way he does. I can give Randy most of what he wants except when he gets that visceral need to prove how much punishment he can take. See ... me, you, Zack, we all love him so much that we would pull our punches. But not Miguel, who sees him as an alpha male to be challenged, a man who shares his craving for bondage and physical punishment. It's all a bit too rich for my blood."

Mark frowned, "Yeah, but I remember those early days when he took out his savagery on you. I hated him for that. `Course, that came not from his strength but his insecurity. He had never met a man like you, had never fallen in love before, and it scared him to death. He couldn't use his fists to conquer that, but he damn well tried to beat you into submission, like he did his rivals. At least he's wised up on that score and now uses men like Miguel to prove his manhood."

They pondered that in silence a while, then Mark said. "You know, I think a lot of dominant men have a deep-rooted need to have the tables turned on them sometimes. They spend all their time being tough, ordering people around, that they occasionally feel a need to be tested to the point of submission."

Bob laughed. "You're right. In my world of big business I've know some big mother-fucker captains of industry who relax by going to see a kitten with a whip and crawl to their mistress telling them they've been `a bad boy'. To each his own, but I gotta say I always found that a bit weird. Er, what about cops? They are the ultimate images of authority."

"Oh don't get me started on cops," Mark chuckled. "Most of the cops I know are great guys but there are a few weirdos out there." He smiled at Bob. "Why? When you look at me, the big tough cop in uniform, d'you wanna tie me up and beat the shit out of me?"

"Hm," Bob grinned. "Tempting, officer ... another time, perhaps. But I would like to see you take it off – the shirt at least. I know you wear your uniform up here to scare off any paparazzi hanging round the gate to get a candid shot of Grady, but you're not gonna keep it on all day, are you?"

"I think maybe I kept it on to impress you, dude. But when I ran into young Brian downstairs I did mention that I needed to take it off. The cheeky young punk said I could do that here."

"Mmm, the cheeky young punk has a point," Bob grinned. "Like I said, I like it when Randy wants rough sex. But sometimes it's just the sight of authority that turns me on and makes me submit. Remember when we first met, the cop and the business executive? You pulled me over for an illegal U-turn and let me off a drunk-driving ticket by taking me into the nearby woods and making me strip naked.

"Scared as I was I jerked off for you, but what I really wanted was to see that gorgeous motor-cycle cop strip naked too. I would have done anything for him. That was my version of the big boss business executive wanting to submit to authority. Since then I've watched you take off your uniform many times, and it never fails to get my dick hard."

Mark stood up, walked to the side of the room and turned to face Bob. "And here we are again, man," Mark said, "the uniformed cop and the naked business executive facing off. You ready to bow to authority again?"

"Try me."

Bob got to his feet, towel round his waist, and stood by the bed staring at the police officer in his black serge uniform. His shirt stretched over his bulging torso open at the neck, the flash of white T-shirt underneath contrasting with his golden tanned features, the short sleeves gripping his biceps. The shirt tapered down to the heavy belt round his slim waist, the black pants tucked into high, shiny motorcycle boots.

Mark reached down and stroked the bulge in his pants. "Remember this, man? Remember how the cop stroked his bulge while he watched the businessman strip? Remember how he finally told you to drop your shorts?"

Bob pulled the towel from round his waist and his cock sprang out hard as iron. Mark gazed at him and said, "Something I often wonder is what was going through your mind at that moment."

"I remember exactly. I was thinking this whole thing was crazy but as I watched the cop stroke his crotch, more than anything I wanted to touch him and for him to make me suck his dick."

"Well like I said, buddy, here we are again," Mark smiled. "Ain't often in life you get the chance of a do-over, but this looks like one of those times." His voice got a stern edge. "Come here."

His gazed fixed on the blue-gray eyes, Bob walked up to him and stared at the stunning Greek-God face. "Fuck ... fuck, man," Bob murmured as he reached up and ran his fingers through the thick blond hair, then down over the high forehead, the prominent cheek bones, the slightly-parted lips and the strong, square jaw. "So fucking beautiful."

His hands moved lower, down over Mark's prominent Adam's apple, then the white cotton T-shirt at his neck, down further feeling the pecs flex under the shirt, then over the abs and the tight waist, coming to rest on the wide black belt. "So fucking hot," he sighed.

"On your knees," the cop commanded, the words Bob had wanted to hear that day long ago in the woods.

He obeyed, sliding his hands down from the cop's waist, over his thighs, over the boots until he was on his knees. Bob gazed up at the powerful cop staring down at him and gave in to the desire to bow to authority. He bent his head low and licked the boots, from the foot all the way up to where they ended just below the knee.

"Suck my dick, man."

Bob reached up, unzipped the black pants and shoved his hand inside. The long, hard rod sprang out and hit him in the face. The cop grabbed his cock at the base and gently swung it from side to side, hitting first once cheek then the other of the naked businessman's face. He opened his mouth trying to grab the cock, spit drooling down over his chin.

Mark growled, "Man, that looks so fucking hot. You want it bad, don't you, stud?"

"Yes, officer. Let me suck it ... please ..."

Mark stopped still, his cock pointing straight at Bob's mouth. Bob flicked out his tongue and licked the head, then licked the whole length of the shaft until his face was buried in the curly blond pubic hair. He opened his mouth wide and sucked in both balls, rolling them in his mouth, making the cop moan, "Shit damn. Now suck the fucking cock, asshole."

Bob pulled his mouth off the balls, lowered it over the bulging head of the cock and took the whole length down his throat. Mark grabbed Bob's dark hair and slowly pulled his face down on his cock, moaning, "Eat that cop's dick, man." He drove his rod in repeatedly and said. "Damn I get off watching my rod pushing into that gorgeous face. You look so beautiful eating my cock."

Hearing Bob gag a couple of times he pulled out. "You had enough? You want more?"

"I want more, sir ... please ... I love sucking the officer's rod."

The cock pushed in again and Bob grabbed the cop's hips, pulling them forward so the shaft sank even deeper. Mark looked in the full-length wall mirror at the pornographic image of the uniformed blond cop face fucking the handsome, muscular business executive kneeling naked before him. Mark knew this was the way it could have gone that very first time if not for the inhibitions he had felt as a cop committing an illegal act.

As he stared down in awe at Bob he noticed pre-cum oozing copiously from his cock and knew he was about to blow his wad. So he abruptly pulled his cock out and said, "I don't want you to bust your load like that, buddy, tempting though it is. There's other stuff. You said that first time you fantasized about seeing the cop strip. Let's see what we can do about that now, eh?"

Bob stared up at him, drool running from the corners of his mouth, tears running down his cheeks. Mark said, "Fuck, let me look at that a minute – Superman after getting face fucked by a cop. Man, I'm gonna store that image to jack off to when I get horny on patrol. I'll pull into a hidden place, sit astride my motorcycle and jerk off thinking about the way you look right now. He stroked his cock slowly gazing down at Bob, then said, "OK, stud, get up."

Bob got off his knees and leaned back against the opposite wall facing Mark, who said, "You told me just now that sometimes it's just the sight of authority that turns you on and makes you submit. Is that true?"

"Try me, officer," Bob smiled.

Mark stuffed his cock back in his pants, zipped up and ran his palm over the bulge. "Yeah," Bob said, "that's how it looked that first time in the woods, me buck naked, you in your uniform. I had just shot my wad and I knew you had creamed your pants too. But it wasn't over for me – I was still mesmerized just looking at you, and I desperately wanted you to stay. That's why I leaned back against that tree and put my arms back round it as if you'd handcuffed me to it. Thought it might turn you on."

"Fuck man, it did. I wanted in the worst way to stay there and work you over, feel that gorgeous body. But I was a cop, on duty in uniform, and what I was doing could have got me busted off the force. So after I shot my load in my pants I panicked and got the hell out of there. But like I said, not often you get a chance for a do-over. This time you get what you want, buddy."

Bob put his hands behind his back as he leaned naked against the wall, his eyes fixed on the cop standing across the room. This room, like all the bedrooms in the Grady House, had a generous number of wall mirrors, so the two men could see reflections of themselves and each other. It was almost like watching two other men in a scene from a porn movie where a cop arrests a business executive and makes him strip naked.

Mark paced the room slowly, never taking his eyes off Bob as he gradually circled close to him. Both men thought back to that first day and what might have happened – as it was happening now. The cop approached and ran his hands over the sculpted face, the slabs of his chest and washboard abs. "Fuck, you're beautiful. You get off being a cop's prisoner, right?"

Bob stared into the blue eyes and murmured, "Yes, sir. You know I do."

Mark slid his night-stick out of his belt and stroked Bob's face with it, then ran it down the cleft between his pecs. He tapped his pecs with the stick, then pushed the tip under his chin, forcing him to look up and their eyes met again. "Maybe I'm one of those brutal cops who makes a top-man strip naked, then beats the shit out of him with his night-stick, eh?

Mark brushed the stick against Bob's lips and he licked it hungrily. "You like this, don't you?" Bob opened his mouth and Mark pushed two inches of the stick into it. Bob sucked the baton like he had sucked the cop's dick.

Mark pulled it out and rubbed it against Bob's neck. "Maybe after beating the crap out of you the brutal cop would throw your naked ass across his bike, take you home, tie you up and shove the night stick up your ass, eh man? Keep you there as his prisoner, abusing you, fucking you, making you crawl naked across the floor?

Bob stared into his eyes and moaned, "Oh shit, man, you know what you're doing to me. Fuck, you say any more and I'll fucking cum all over your boots.

Mark smiled. "Can't have that – not yet. Good job I'm not that brutal cop or you'd be in real trouble. But that's not the way it was back then, was it? Not at all. I was more nervous than you were. Back then the cop was unsure of himself, of what he was doing. He didn't want to leave but didn't know what to do next ...how far he could go."

Mark walked back to the opposite wall and stood still, arms at his sides, staring uncertainly at the man he had told to strip. The scene had changed subtlely, closer to the feeling in the woods that first day. The two men were massively turned on by each other, but the cop was still nervous about what he was doing, it was so illegal. "When I stood there so uncertainly, Bob, one word from you and I would have stayed."

And so it was now. The only thing the cop could do was take his cue from the man facing him who was more excited than nervous, as he had less to lose. The balance of power between the two macho males was constantly shifting, and it was Bob who now called the shots. The tables had turned – the roles were reversed.

Bob stroked his cock slowly, careful not to cum. The cop asked hesitantly, "What do you want from me, sir, before I leave?" The sir' was the automatic sir' cops were trained to use when pulling someone over for a driving infraction.

"I don't want you to leave, officer. I'd like to see more of you. You look as if you've got a great build. You work out a lot?"

"Six days a week. What do you want me to do?"

"Undo your top two shirt buttons." Mark obeyed and the shirt fell open a bit, showing more of the white T-shirt. "OK, put one hand under the shirt and run it over your T-shirt, over your pecs, then squeeze your nipple through it. Grab your crotch with the other hand."

Bob watched in awe as the obedient cop put his hand in his shirt and squeezed his nipple hard, moaning out loud while he stroked the bulge in his pants. "I should have done this that first time," Mark said. "God knows I wanted to so bad. I'm so stoked looking at you, Bob, I could cream my pants again like I did back then."

"No ... not yet. I get so turned on looking at you I want it to last. Back then I wanted so bad to see you take your shirt off. Do it now for me ... but real slow."

Their eyes never left each other's as Mark slowly unbuttoned his shirt until it fell open and he pulled one side out of his pants and let it hang. He paused, pulled the black shirt wide open and ran his open palm over the white T-shirt, digging his fingers in the mounds of his pecs.

"Oh, fucking shit," Bob moaned and took his hand off his cock to stop himself cumming. He gazed at the blond cop with his shirt hanging open, the tail hanging half out of his pants, moaning with pleasure, one hand squeezing his nipple through his T-shirt, his other hand cupped over his crotch.

"You like that, eh man?" Mark said with a seductive smile. "You like the cop turning himself on, stroking his dick while he stares at you?"

"Man, it is so fucking hot. After you drove off that day I couldn't get you out of my mind and back home I beat my meat in bed fantasizing about how it would have looked. Just like it looks now."

"Don't cum, buddy. Not yet," Mark said as he pulled his shirt clear out of his waist He paced around and finally stopped on the opposite side of the room, shrugged the shirt off completely and let if fall to the ground.

And there his stood, a blond cop with the features of a Greek God, his perfect physique accentuated by the T-shirt that hugged his chest, stretched over the outlines of his ripped abs, the short sleeves gripping his biceps. It slanted down his lats to the tight waist cinched by the wide black uniform belt.

Bob, on the cusp or orgasm, was touching his own cock lightly as he stared enthralled at the homoerotic sight, and he gasped when Mark again pulled his night stick out of his belt and tapped it in has palm, staring at Bob.

Bob's mind raced back to the image of the brutal cop, tormenting him with the sight of his baton, stripped down to his T-shirt ready for action. Mark rested the rod on his shoulder, then slid it slowly across his lips and licked the end of it, creating the vivid image in Bob's mind of taking it in his mouth, then in his ass as the cop worked him over.

Mark was play-acting the classic good-cop/bad-cop routine, and now the good cop took over as Mark slid the nightstick back in its holder at his waist and smiled broadly. "You really get off on that, don't you buddy? D'you still fantasize about how things might have gone the day we met?"

"Think of it and jerk off to it, Mark. You too?"

"Sure. Next to fucking Jamie it's my biggest turn-on. So what do you want now ... sir?"

"That shirt is driving me crazy, hiding your body. I want to touch it, feel you." Bob walked across the room, stopped three feet in front of him, reached forward and put his palms on the thin fabric, sighing as he felt the cop's pecs flex underneath.

As the muscles rippled under his touch Bob stroked all over the shirt, the chest, the abs, the long, slim waist, then up to the neck, over the broad shoulders down to the biceps. He pushed the sleeves back off Mark's biceps and up to the shoulders, then stood back to admire him.

"That's the part in my fantasy where I often bust my load, it looks so fucking beautiful, man. Then I kick myself for cumming too soon before the cop takes his T-shirt off, and I see him stripped to the waist."

Mark grinned. "When I jerk off thinking about that time I see it a bit different. It's not the cop who takes his shirt off – it's you who does it. And it's not you tied to the tree. It's the cop."

Bob took a few steps back and watched as Mark leaned back against the wall and stretched his arms up. Fixed high on the wall were two wall-lamps on metal sconces, a bit more than shoulder length apart. Mark grabbed onto them so his arms were stretched up in a V, slightly bent at the elbows.

Bob stared in awe at the cop, imagined him tied to a branch of a tree, stripped down to his T-shirt, black uniform pants and motorcycle boots. Mark struggled as if in bondage his muscles flexing, his shirt pulling up, one side coming free at the waist and hanging loose over his belt."

"Fuck, man," Bob said. "Just when you think it can't get any hotter there you are like a cop in a porn movie, tied up ready to be worked over." He reached out, grabbed the middle of the T-shirt and pulled the prisoner forward, his arms stretched even more. As he pulled on the shirt they heard threads ripping and Mark said, "You wanna see the cop's bare chest? Go for it, man."

"You are one hot mother fucker," Bob grinned. "OK, stud, let's do what we should have done all those years ago. He curled his hand round the nape of Mark's neck, pulled his face forward and kissed him. They ate each other's mouth, licking, biting, tongues probing. Finally Bob pulled back and panted, "That's it officer. You're mine now, to do what I want."

He reached down to Mark's waist and pulled out his night-stick. "Open your mouth, cop." Mark obeyed and, holding the baton horizontally at each end, Bob pushed it in the cop's mouth. Mark bit down on it hard in the middle like a gag, staring wildly at Bob. With a roar Bob slammed his palms on Mark's chest, clawed at the shirt and ripped it downward.

Then he stepped back and gazed at the homoerotic fantasy of the bound cop, biting down on the gag of his own night-stick, his arms stretched up, his ripped shirt hanging down over his muscled chest. "Oh fuck," Bob breathed. "Let me look at that a minute. Fucking pornographic. That's the image I'm gonna store in my mind for when I jack off thinking about you, man. Un-fucking-believable."

He stroked his cock for a while, committing the image to memory, then said, "Shit man, I've come so fucking close so often, I don't know how much longer I can last. I wanna see you stripped to the waist, stud." He reached forward again and grabbed the shirt, this time yanking it down until it ripped from his shoulders and fell hanging round his waist.

"At last, that gorgeous fucking body." Bob leaned forward and licked it all over, the abs the chest, the nipples, feeling it heave under him while Mark groaned, real close to his climax. At last he pulled away, took a few steps back and they stared wildly at each other, eyes blazing.

Suddenly Mark raised one kneed pressed his foot against Bob's chest and pushed him hard, so he staggered backward and fell on his back on the floor. Mark spat out the gag of his night-stick, walked forward and stood astride the naked muscle-hunk sprawled on his back. He yanked open his pants, pulled out his iron-hard cock and curled his fist round it.

Mark glared down at him. "This is how it should have ended that day, buddy. The proud executive beaten, naked on the ground, the cop towering over him, stripped to the waist. You say you wanna submit to authority?" Mark raised one foot and planted it on Bob's chest as the final act of domination. "So let's hear it, man, let's hear that big beautiful top-man submit to the cop – beg for his final humiliation."

"Oh yeah," Bob gasped, pounding his cock with one hand while the other stroked the shiny black boot pressing on his chest. "Yeah, you win officer. Let me cum, please let me feel the cop's jizz all over me. I need it so bad. I submit to you, officer. I'm begging you. Let me see you cum ... let me drink your juice, sir."

"Mother-fucker!" Mark snarled. "You dare mess with a cop, tie him up, gag him, rip the shirt off his body? This is payback, asshole. This is it ... aaagh!"

Their screams were simultaneous, and so were their explosive orgasms. Bob blasted sperm all over his own body while he watched the rugged cop throw his head back and howl as his muscles flexed and his cock erupted in jets of semen that splashed down on the naked man at his feet. Bob opened his mouth wide and drank the hot juice as it poured down on him, mixing with his own cum to smother his naked body with semen.

In the constantly shifting balance of power Bob had finally submitted to the iconic image of authority, the rugged, shirtless cop, just as his lover Randy had just submitted to the shirtless leatherman downstairs, whipping the gypsy's bound body into an orgasm of surrender.

Bob and Mark stood in a tight embrace, their bare chests sliding against each other lubricated by the semen of both men. Mark smiled at him, "Man, you are a whole lot of fun to play with. That session gave me a whole store of images to beat off to. In a way I'm glad we didn't do much that first time when I pulled you over, took you into the woods and made you strip."

"You're right. Gives us more chances to play out our fantasies of what might have been. I often think that the fantasy version is even better than reality. Fantasy is more ... I dunno ... more flexible. You can change the script, reverse roles, whenever you want. We should do it more often, man."

"Sure thing. But the bottom line is that we're here together and, along with Randy, we all love each other." Bob pulled on his blue jeans and Mark stuffed his cock in his pants and zipped up. He tore off the fragments of his T-shirt, threw it on the bed and pulled on his black shirt, letting it hang open over his chest. "You think there's any beer in this room?" he asked."

Bob grinned, "If I know anything about Mario and Grady's hospitality, this room like all the others comes fully equipped. He went over to a closet where, sure enough, there was a small fridge, fully stocked with beer, wine and snacks. "Those kids Danny and Brian never let you down. They work hard to keep this place up to the standards worthy of a rich and famous movie star."

"And did you see young Brian this morning?" Mark said. "Grinning from ear to ear, happy as a clam at high tide now that he and Brandon have decided they're lovers. Just goes to show, all it takes is the love of a good man."

"Tell me about it," Bob grinned and they clinked beer bottles.

They were about to take their first sip when they heard heavy footsteps coming down the hall and the door burst open. There stood Randy, wild eyed, his chest heaving, stripped to the waist with a ripped shirt over his shoulder, his bare chest and back striped with red welts, the obvious marks of a fierce lashing.

Before they could react Randy talked distractedly. "That kid Brian told me you were both here. Cute kid and he's looking happier `n pig in shit. In love, I guess. Strange what that'll do to a guy. About time too for those two ..."

"Holy shit, Randy," Bob interrupted, knowing that his lover's small talk masked more serious issues. "What the hell happened to you?"

Randy noticed Mark's torn T-shirt on the bed and threw his own ripped shirt down on top of it. "Same thing that happened to one of you by the looks of that shirt."

"Er, not exactly, dude," Mark said. "Take a look at yourself, buddy."

Randy turned and looked in the mirror and the two men saw him flinch. But he quickly rallied, shrugged casually and said, "Ah, just fooling around with Miguel is all. Man, I need a beer."

"Here take this one," Bob said. "I'll get myself another." Randy took the beer, threw his head back and downed half the bottle in one go, then sprawled in an armchair.

Bob and Mark sat in chairs facing him and Bob said gently, "Randy, that was more than just fooling around. That's some heavy shit that went on down there."

"Nah, just something he wanted to do. It's why he wore leather ... likes to be the top-man. Likes to beat up on a big stud alpha male like me, needs to hear a guy submit to him."

The words sounded hollow as soon as they came out of his mouth and there was an uneasy silence as Mark and Bob glanced at each other. Randy caught their glances of disbelief and said, "OK, so maybe it was mutual ... maybe I kinda needed to get worked over, submit to a stud like him. But like I said, it was just fooling around. Nothing serious."

"Those whip marks on your body look pretty serious to me, buddy," Mark said. "Hey we all like a bit of rough from time to time, but you took a hell of a beating, dude. And you ... needed it?"

Randy took another long swig of beer, then said gruffly, "Look, I don't wanna talk about it, OK? I gotta take a leak or I'll piss my pants." He stood up abruptly went to the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.

"Phew," Mark said, "what do you make of that, buddy?"

Bob sighed, "Randy has these identity crises from time to time. Like the first time we met and he resisted the lust he felt for me. You know – `real men don't get physically turned on by another guy.' It threw him, made him doubt his own masculinity so he had to reassert it by beating me up. He was punishing me for his own insecurity. And later, when he was falling in love with me he resisted that like mad too. Only thing a macho stud like him could do was to own me, chain me up and prove his manhood by thrashing me."

"Surprised you took it all, buddy."

"No you're not, Mark. You know him, that incredible sexual magnetism he has, like a force field round him. I couldn't escape from him then any more than I can now, and I don't want to. Randy is all about his masculinity. He feels it in every fiber of his being. It's what defines him."

"To the point," Mark said, "where it overwhelms him so much that he needs to pull back, has a visceral craving to shed his macho image and submit to another big tough alpha male like Miguel. It's a catharsis for him – purging his demons. But afterwards he ends up confused – about his own manhood, his whole identity as you said, Bob."

"That's exactly it, Mark. And I bet that right now he's looking at himself in the mirror, at the tough, dominant construction boss, and at his magnificent body crisscrossed by whip marks after he allowed himself to be tied up by Miguel and whipped into submission. Man, I love him so much I wish there was some way we could help him."

"There is, Bob ... at least I can, not you. What he needs right now is to prove his own virility to himself and to another guy like him. Not you because you two share a love that's way beyond all this. But you know the main reason Randy loves me? Because he sees himself in me, a dominant male, a cop for god's sake, who is as tough and powerful as he is ... I'm his equal and he knows it. Just as he needed Miguel down there in the garden, he needs me right now."

They heard water running in the sink, then shut off and Randy came out of the bathroom drying his face and chest with a hand towel. He went to the fridge, pulled out another beer, took a swig then gazed wildly at them and blurted it all out.

"What the fuck's the matter with me, guys? Down there as soon as I shook hands with that macho leather-stud I knew what I wanted. No, not wanted ... needed, craved, like an addict needing a fix. And he knew it too, saw it in my eyes. So he tied me to a tree and whipped the fuck out of me with my own belt, lashed my chest and back. He pec-punched and gut-punched me but still I clenched my jaw and wouldn't submit.

"But then he clamped his fist round my nuts and tortured my balls. It hurt so bad and when we stared into each other's eyes we both knew he had won. I was broken, surrendered to him, screamed for mercy, begged him to stop. Me! The leader of the tribe, the tough construction boss, the so-called King of the fucking Gypsies, admitting defeat and begging for mercy."

"And that's just what you needed, buddy," Mark said. "You said yourself, you craved it. The demons inside you craved it. You submitted to that guy long before he broke you, right when he first shook your hand and looked into his eyes. You needed to feel what it felt like to be dominated just like you dominate everyone you know."

Randy's eyes gleamed. "Yeah, but I fought back, man. Turned the tables on him by clamping my arm round his throat from behind and fucking his ass, fucked the jizz out himself, made him bust his load. But when I looked at him, I needed that too, so he tied me up again and whipped me, harder than before, and I loved it, I fucking loved it – the pain, the humiliation, the submission to another man, and as he whipped my cock it exploded in an incredible orgasm that left me hanging drained and exhausted from the ropes. Man, is that fucking sick or what?"

Mark stood up and faced him. "Randy, you've just described what many dominant, rugged top men go through – a need to switch roles, to feel the exhilaration of being beaten and broken by another guy. But it's not humiliation ... it's a trial of strength that proves your virility, your power of endurance. Hell, Bob and me just played out a fantasy of a hot muscle-stud naked on the ground, submitting to the authority of a cop who stands astride him and sprays him with jizz."

"Yeah, fantasy," Randy said, "everyone does that, but I needed the real thing, the dominance, the pain. You can't understand how a guy crosses that threshold of pain until it becomes so ecstatic that it forces his cock to explode in an orgasm he can't hold back."

Mark looked deep into Randy's blue eyes. "I can't understand it? I can't understand?" He threw off his shirt and said, "Look at me, man, stripped to the waist like I was all those years ago when I was a soldier in the Middle East, captured, chained in a cell and interrogated. The Arab soldier who tortured me was Hassan. He subjected me to endless punishment but as I looked into my captor's eyes something happened. I fell in love with him and as he whipped my body I stared at him and my cock blasted out semen that splashed at his feet.

"It's a feeling you don't forget, something you always crave, which is why Hassan came halfway round the world to find me. And when the mood strikes we still play out that scene when we go out to his remote house in the Mojave Desert and one of us is chained in his basement cell."

"Maybe so," Randy said, "but that was the war. Now you're a big tough cop and everyone obeys the power of that uniform. Cops are a breed apart."

Mark's voice became steely. "You wanna bet, stud? Sure I get the same cravings you had with Miguel. I have the same demons. Trouble is, finding a man big enough to make me submit. Has to be a real top-man, not one who's own body is striped with marks of the whip, who's just taken a beating himself. Takes a real man to break a cop. I always thought you were that man, buddy, but after what you just described, begging for mercy to another guy, I'm not so sure you're such a top man after all."

"Fuck you, man." The challenge had been thrown out and Randy's legendary anger was rising.

Mark twisted the knife deeper. "Maybe Miguel really did beat all the fight out of you – maybe you should go crawling back to him. Not so macho after all, especially when faced by a cop."

His manhood challenged, Randy erupted. "Fuck you, asshole." He wrapped his hand round Mark's throat and shoved hard, sending him sprawling on his back on the bed. He looked down at the cop with his square-jawed features and flawless physique, shirtless in black uniform pants with a silver stripe down the side tucked into high motorcycle boots.

"Yeah, you look real hot, officer, but you can be broken. Don't think I'm the man to do it? We'll see about that." Randy picked up the two ragged T-shirts and tied one round each of Mark's wrists. Then he pulled two sets of handcuffs from the cop's belt and used them to cuff his wrists to the corner bedposts.

Bob was relieved to see that Randy had used the torn T-shirts to prevent the wrists from getting chafed by the steel cuffs. He had watched the whole scene develop, knowing exactly what Mark was doing. It was always easy to rouse Randy's anger and it was that anger that would drive the macho gypsy to acts that would conquer his demons and restore his image of invincible masculinity. Mark had told Bob that only this could help the man they both loved regain his self-esteem.

Randy paced round the bed looking down at the shirtless bound cop, his arms stretched up to the corners of the bed. "Huh, the big tough cop chained up by his own handcuffs. You say you got off being tortured by that Arab soldier, so let's see how you like this? Difference is, I don't need no whips, no instruments of torture to break a man. Only weapon I need is this."

As he paced round the bed Randy ripped open his jeans and pulled out his huge, thick cock. He knelt on the bed astride Mark's chest and stroked his cock in front of him. "This fucking rod could sure mess up that pretty face of yours officer." He slapped his cock across the handsome face from side to side, then reared up and pressed his balls against the face and mouth.

Reflexively Mark opened his mouth and found it stuffed with the gypsy's balls, making him gag. Randy ground his pubic hair against the cop's face until he started to choke, then pulled his balls out, sneering down at the gasping face, tears running down his cheeks, drool down his chin. "You like those stinking nuts stuffed in your face, cop?"

"Go fuck yourself, asshole."

"Damn you man, you're really asking for it. Well I tell you what's gonna get fucked, officer – that beautiful face of yours ... like this. Randy grabbed the top of the headboard and raised his hips so he was arched over Mark, his shaft pointing straight down at his face. "Here it comes, cop."

Watching from a distance Bob gasped as he saw Randy's cock plunge into the cop's mouth, pull back and drive in again, deeper each time. Mark struggled, pulling at his bound wrists, his head twisting desperately to the side in a hopeless attempt to get free of the shaft down his throat. He gagged and choked, and felt he was suffocating when suddenly the cock pulled out and Randy leapt to his feet astride the gasping cop.

Stroking his cock slowly Randy looked down at him and said, "Is this how you stood over my man and blasted your jizz all over him? Well it's your turn now, buddy, but I'm not gonna let you off so easy. See, you shouldn't have done that because now it's gonna be tough for you to shoot another load so soon. But I'm gonna work you over until you do – and here's the kicker ... you can't touch your cock.

"We both know where this is headed, officer. Remember you said the Arab soldier whipped you until you busted your load, the way Miguel did to me? Well, like I said, man, it's your turn now."

From then on Randy was all business. He bent down, unbuckled the cop's belt, unzipped his pants and pulled them down below his knees. He knelt on the bed, pushed Mark's legs up and pressed the head of his dick against his ass. "See, no whip, no belt, just the almighty club, and it's dry so it feels like this."

"Aaagh!" Mark howled and Bob winced and clenched his fists watching one of the men he loved get his ass ploughed by the other. Nervous as he was for Mark, Bob was massively turned on by the sight of the muscular blond cop lying shirtless on his back, arms stretched upward, wrists cuffed, his pants round his knees, his boots high in the air as the wild gypsy savagely ramrodded his ass.

The cop writhed, his head thrashed from side to side, as the gypsy's steel shaft pistoned inside him. The pain was acute at first, spearing through his body, but gradually the sensation he had described took over, just as it had years before in that desert interrogation room. He recalled the homoerotic sight of the muscular Arab/Asian soldier wielding the whip, recalled how his hatred had been overcome by unexplainable lust for his captor.

It was the same now as he looked up at Randy, at his magnificent body pounding above him, at the rugged gypsy face, square stubbled jaw, long black hair, and the eyes, the laser blue eyes staring down at him, mesmerizing, hypnotic. This is what made Randy the master, the boss, the man everyone lusted after, fell in love with.

And Mark understood ... he understood how a man with this power, this masculinity, this ... this burden of always being dominant, would make him seek relief in suffering pain and punishment and submission to another man. Even when tied up, whipped, gut-punched, ball-tortured, Randy was always, even in the act of submission, the supremely masculine man, an icon of male sexuality and power.

The whip marks and bruises on his muscled body only intensified the rugged look of a man who had surrendered his body to a savage beating and triumphed, to resume his place as the undisputed master of the tribe.

"Randy," Mark moaned, "you will always be the top man. You are a fucking stallion, man. Fuck me, buddy. Fuck my ass. It's not the pain that makes me submit ... it's you, man. Any man would submit to you. You win ... you always win."

"I know," Randy growled. He rammed his cock in one last time and then stopped still, his shaft buried deep in the cop's ass. He leaned forward, his hands pressing down on Mark's biceps, and gazed down at him. "I know I can make any man submit to me. Thanks for reminding me, buddy. Now prove it to me. I'm gonna make you cum."

Randy pierced him with his mesmerizing blue eyes set in the swarthy gypsy face with its stubbled jaw and long black hair. "That's right – my buddy, the hot stud police officer, trapped here under me, cuffed to the bed, my rod buried in his ass. And I'm gonna make him cum. You know I can do that, don't you, Mark?"

"Yeah, I know." Mark stared up at the rugged face and felt that surge of ecstasy at being chained, helpless, at the mercy of this pornographically beautiful man, trapped in the force-field of his sexual magnetism.

He had no choice now. Hopelessly lost in the hypnotic eyes, he groaned, "I love you, man ... I love you ... you're gonna make me cum ... I'm gonna cum ... I'm gonna cum. Aaaahh!"

Mark's body jolted and his semen blasted over his washboard abs, the slabs of his chest, his neck and face. Then more, more, in an explosive orgasm until finally he was drained, pinned to the bed – a powerful police officer surrendering to the authority of the ultimate alpha male.

Suddenly Randy pulled his dick out of the cop's ass and sprang to his feet on the bed, towering over the exhausted cop. He looked over to the stunned Bob and said gruffly, "You, get your ass over here, next to your buddy. Instinctively Bob obeyed and lay beside Mark. "Grab the bed."

Bob reached up and held onto the rail at the head of the bed, in the same position as the bound cop. Stroking his still rock-hard cock Randy gazed down at the two men, the near-naked blond cop cuffed to the bed, his pants round his boots, and beside him the dark-haired naked muscle-god. "Fuck," Randy moaned, "so fucking beautiful. Let me see it – I wanna see two hot rugged top-men make love."

Bob and Mark turned to each other and their lips met in a passionate kiss while Randy watched. "Damn, I love you guys. You showed me who I am ... and now I'll show you." He pounded his cock until it reared up and erupted with jets of semen that poured down on his buddies and lubricated their mouths as they kissed.

Bob and Mark separated at last and, their faces smothered in his cum, they gazed up at Randy who roared with laughter, pumped his fists in the air and yelled, "The boss is back, guys. I'm the King of the fucking Gypsies."

No more needed to be said. They had all played their parts, some real, some fantasy, even reversed roles as the balance of power shifted. And whatever doubts had existed before, their manhood had triumphed, their demons purged. They were three supremely confident men whose macho identities were now etched in granite.

They lay for a while in a mass of cum-soaked limbs until Bob said, "Guess we should join the party downstairs, guys." Just then there was a knock at the door and, "It's me, sirs. Brian."

Bob smiled, "What is it with these boys and their knack of arriving exactly on cue? Come in Brian."

Brian wheeled himself partway in and then stopped. "If it's not a convenient time, sirs ..."

"Perfect timing, Brian. Have you come to tell us we're late for the party?"

"Well, not exactly, sir, but I came to see if you need anything, like ..." he smiled playfully at the ragged T-shirts on the bed ... "like shirts, sir. It's surprising, really, that so many of our guests need new shirts sooner or later. If so, you will find in the chest over there an assortment of T-shirts, polo shirts, all sizes." He hesitated. "And, er, do you think I could take those torn T-shirts, sir. See, me and the boys ... well, we kinda collect them."

Randy gave his full-throated laugh. "Well, kid, they're all sweaty and soaked in jizz but they're all yours if you want them. Here, catch." He tossed them to Brian and the men started to disentangle themselves and stretch their aching limbs. Randy buttoned up his jeans and pulled a clean T-shirt from a drawer.

But Brian seemed in no hurry to leave, fidgeting in his wheelchair, a troubled look on his face.

"Hey, kiddo, is there something else? Everything OK?" Randy crouched down beside Brian's wheelchair and Bob and Mark were treated to the other side of this complex man, the complete opposite of the rugged whip-striped powerful boss. Now his voice was soft, gentle, his eyes full of concern for the troubled boy. "Come on kiddo ... you can tell me."

Brian gazed into the blue eyes and saw, not the ferocity the men had just seen, but a kindness and compassion that encouraged him to speak. "Well, sir, I'm not sure ... see, Ben told me not to say anything, but ..."

"Ben? Something happened to Ben?" Suddenly Randy was on high alert, all his protective instincts roused at the mention of his kid brother Ben.

"I ... I'm not sure, sir, but he got here a little while ago ... without Jason ... you know Ben is his boy, sir ... oh of course you do, sir, sorry. Anyway, Ben had been crying and ... oh, I shouldn't have said that, sir, he would hate it if you knew that."

"Now listen kiddo. Take a deep breath and tell me."

"Well, sir, far as we can tell there's trouble between him and Jason. But he won't say much, and when I told him we should tell you, sir, he said no, `cos he's afraid you would beat Jason up. I didn't know what to do. I mean, I didn't want to go against my buddy, but you've always told me if I had a problem to come to you, sir, so ..."

"You did the right thing, Brian, and I'm real grateful. You're a great kid. Is Ben downstairs now?"

"In the garden with the other boys. You know how they all circle the wagons when one of us ..."

"Thanks, kid, I'll go right down."

Bob had listened to Brian with mounting concern and now held Randy's arm. "Randy, Ben is Jason's boy and you`ve always said we shouldn't come between a master and ..."

"Listen, Bob," Randy growled. "Ben is my little brother and I have to take care of him. Don't worry, buddy, I won't go off the deep end." As Randy left Bob raised his eyebrows at Mark and shrugged. "Wouldn't be too sure about that."

As Randy went downstairs he thought about Ben's master Jason, the gorgeous fireman whose picture in the fireman's calendar was under every boy's bed. He had nothing against Jason. He liked him and admired his courage in the job he did. Sure he was vain – who wouldn't be with a face and body like that, but it was harmless. Ben worshipped him and Jason treated him well but Randy kept an eye on them from a distance. As Bob had said, men don't interfere between a man and his boy but, dammit, Ben was his little brother.

In the garden he walked straight over to the knot of junior boys and, as he approached, they fell silent and parted to let Randy in. "Mind if I borrow my little brother for a minute guys?" Randy said, and pulled Ben gently over to a table where they sat facing each other. Ben looked sullen and wouldn't make eye contact and there were obvious tearstains on his young gypsy face."

"Have you been crying, kiddo?"

"No, sir," Ben said indignantly. "We never cry, you always told us."

"Sometimes it's OK to cry, kid ...even I do. So what's up? Is it Jason?"

"I don't want to talk about it, sir."

"Listen kiddo, I'm your brother, I take care of you. You've always told me everything and I want you to talk to me now."

"But you'll beat him up, I know you will. I know how you are and I don't want you to hurt Jason."

"Look, I promise I won't get angry, whatever it is. You're Jason's boy and I respect that. But if there's a problem I want to help."

The troubled young gypsy looked into his brother's eyes that were so like his. "OK – if you promise. Well, sir, it's like this ..."

TO BE CONTINUED in "A Trial Of Strength" – Chapter 390

Hey guys, this is Rob Williams. I hope that chapter got you off, and I welcome your comments and suggestions, which can be very helpful in planning future chapters. E-mail me in confidence at rw6789@aol.com.

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