A Trial of Strength

A TRIAL OF STRENGTH - PART 80 By Rob Williams

IN THIS CHAPTER

After brutalizing Bob, Randy's only solace in the wreckage of his life is his boy Pablo. "You're my rock, kiddo, you know that?" But Randy has to be punished. First the tongue-lashing from the cop, Mark. "If anyone should be crawling on his belly, be tied to the bed and whipped, it's you, you arrogant fucking prick." Then the enraged black muscle-stud Zack faces him. "It's me now, asshole. And I am gonna beat you to a fucking pulp!"

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A TRIAL OF STRENGTH - PART 80

This time the shit had really hit the fan. All hell had broken loose when Bob came back from San Francisco. Unable to hide anything from Randy he had confessed to him that he had spent the night with their friend Steve in the hotel and he had let Steve fuck him.

The result was explosive. Driven by his legendary anger, and the irrational fear of losing Bob, Randy's punishment was brutal, tying Bob up and viciously whipping his ass and back with his belt. Then he went out and took his revenge on Steve. On his return he was confronted by the cop Mark.

"Get the fuck out of here, man." Randy yelled. "This has nothing to do with you."

"The hell it doesn't! Shit, Randy, have you totally lost your mind?"

Randy raised the belt to strike Mark, but Mark shot out his left arm, grabbed the wrist, and with his other fist slammed a brutal right hook to Randy's jaw. As Randy fell semi-conscious Mark untied Bob and took him to Zack's house across the street.

Randy staggered after them but his boy Pablo intervened and blocked his way. In his delusional rage Randy hurled the boy aside and injured him. So, that was it ... incensed by anger and fear Randy had brutalized three men, two of them the men he loved most.

After Mark took Pablo to the Emergency Room Randy knew he had to get away, be alone somewhere ... think. He sought refuge in hard physical work all alone at the deserted construction site. A couple of hours later his mind was still a mass of conflicting emotions when Pablo appeared, his arm in a sling.

"What are you doing here, kid?" Randy growled. "After what I did to you why in God's name did you come here?"

Pablo's answer was clear and strong. "I had to, sir. I'm your boy." Then his voice cracked. "And because I love you, sir."

Randy gazed directly into Pablo's deep brown eyes. There was a simplicity about this kid, a strength, that moved him beyond words. And suddenly all his anger, his confusion, melted away. God, he loved the boy. Right now he was the only solid thing in his world. "OK, kiddo," he said, "let's go home." He draped his arm over the boy's shoulder and they walked slowly toward the gate.

Pablo looked up at him. "You know, sir. Everything will come right with Bob."

Randy's face clouded. "No, kid. Not after what I did. I could've killed him. I was a total fucking asshole. I was just so scared of losing him. And now I have. He's left me. And the way I treated him he's right to."

Pablo touched the hand resting on his shoulder. "I think you're wrong sir. After all, you guys have been through stuff like this before."

"No, not like this. This time it's different."

"Different how?"

"Well, you see, Pablo. This time Bob has Zack."

At the house Randy could not face the bedroom he shared with Bob ... too many reminders, signs, vibrations even, of the man he had lost. So he steered Pablo downstairs to the basement. But there were memories here too, recent harrowing memories of what he had inflicted on Bob. He looked down at the disheveled bed and suddenly had an overwhelming need to ... what? ... cleanse it, purify it somehow. His mind started to spin again but he was brought back to clarity by the sound of Pablo's soft, confident voice.

"On the bed, sir?"

Randy gazed at him. That was it ... his boy could do it. There was a purity about Pablo, a simplicity that calmed Randy, dissolved his anger. This beautiful boy was exactly what he needed as an antidote to the pain and violence of the last few hours. He reached forward and very gently untied the sling from round his neck. Then, just as carefully, he pulled Pablo's T-shirt over his head and unbuttoned his jeans so they fell to the ground. Pablo dropped his shorts, kicked off his sneakers and in an instant was standing naked before his master.

Randy gazed at him in awe. "You're my rock, kiddo, you know that? God, I love you."

The big construction worker fell to his knees, gripped Pablo round the waist and pressed his face against his stomach. He felt the boy's rising cock press against his neck, he breathed in the sweet smell of his dark pubic hair ... and Randy began to sob.

It all overflowed. All his pent-up fury and fear, all the guilt, found release as his body heaved and his tears fell against the boy's soft skin. In that moment Randy realized that, for all his outward strength and power over others, he was a flawed man, a man who allowed his anger and his arrogance to consume him to the point where he destroyed the very things he valued most.

He was sobbing with remorse, the sense of failure ... but mostly for the desolation of loss. He had lost part of himself, the most vital part, the love of his soul-mate, Bob. In his devastation he clung on to his one salvation, his boy. And once again it was Pablo who saved him.

"Sir?" Randy looked up at the boy's calm, exotic face. Pulling himself together he got to his feet.

"Sir. Please, sir. Will you fuck me?" Without waiting for an answer Pablo lowered himself onto the bed and lay on his back watching his master.

A feeling of infinite tenderness washed over Randy. He who had so recently been a wild animal, an instrument of destruction, was now transformed into a caring, loving man. Pablo smiled as he watched his master pull off his sweat-stained tank top, unbuckle his belt and drop his jeans. As always, he gazed in awe at the sight of the incredible physique of the powerful bodybuilder. But this time there was a difference. Usually at this moment he would see a gleam in his master's eye, a look of gritty determination to possess his boy's ass as an act of domination.

Not this time. As Randy knelt on the bed before him his pale blue eyes were softer than Pablo had ever seen, with a gentleness that seemed to permeate his whole magnificent body. There were no words, no harsh, sudden movements, no savage penetration. With infinite tenderness Randy raised his boy's legs, pressed the head of his cock against his warm hole, and eased it slowly into his ass.

In all the times he had made love to Bob and Pablo Randy had never felt a sensation like this. He felt the warm velvet lining of Pablo's ass slide against the membrane of his cock, but it was not that sublime sensation that thrilled him as much as the look in Pablo's eyes. Pablo loved him, worshipped him and it was the boy's face, not his ass, that made Randy's cock iron hard. Finally, Randy was making love, and for the first time there was not a hint of pain or domination. This brave, loyal young boy deserved to be loved, not owned.

The ecstasy of both men was so intense that physical sensation was overwhelmed by the pure, spiritual essence of intimacy and love. They were drowning in each other's eyes, aware only of the warmth enveloping them as Randy's body rose and fell on the boy beneath him. Man and boy were travelling together into a world where wounds were healed, anger dispelled and forgiveness embraced. Their journey was long ... neither wanted it to end.

It did end, of course, in orgasm, but an orgasm like no others. Explosively carnal as their climax always was, this time as they gazed into each other's eyes it was not so much a physical release as quite simply a profound expression of love.

This was the bed where Randy had tortured his lover. And now this was the bed where the wild animal had been tamed. As he gazed down at the beautiful boy in the tangled sheets he sensed that making love to Pablo had gone some way to purging the air of the ugly resonances that Randy himself had created such a short time ago.

"Randy! Where are you?" The unmistakable voice of the cop intruded on the deep sleep both men had fallen into. He had come to check up on Pablo. Darius had told Mark that Pablo had gone to see Randy and at first Mark had been reluctant to intervene. But as time passed he became concerned for the boy's safety, especially as Randy was so unpredictable, maybe even unstable.

"Down here," Randy shouted. They heard the sounds of footsteps on the stairs and Mark's voice. "I came to check on Pablo ... make sure he was safe. After what you ..." But his voice trailed off as he gazed in disbelief at the bed. Pablo was nestled in Randy's arms, his head resting on his chest, eyes only half open.

Mark shook his head. "Well, I guess I got my answer. Jesus, you guys are something else. I can't keep up."

Randy was jolted back to the events of the day and he recalled how Mark had slugged him in this very room. "What do you want, Mark?" he asked with an edge of coldness.

"I need to talk to you."

Randy roused himself, looked down at the drowsy boy and kissed him on the eyes. "Go back to sleep, kiddo. I'll come back to you when this is all over." Pablo sighed and turned over as Randy stood up, pulled on his jeans and boots and followed Mark upstairs.

A few minutes later they were sitting at the kitchen table with a couple of beers and Mark was surprised at the calm, contented look in Randy's eyes, after his wild, blazing expression of a few hours ago. Evidently Pablo had worked some kind of magic on the guy.

It was Randy who spoke first. "OK, officer, I guess you've come to lecture me ... take me to the woodshed."

Mark glared at him. "Man, you're damn lucky I didn't take your sorry ass to jail. If I had been on duty and come across a guy doing that I'd have locked the asshole up faster than he could blink ... thrown the book at him ... assault and battery, mayhem, grievous bodily harm ... you name it."

"Man, I don't need this."

"The hell you do! Do you have any idea what you've done? And I don't just mean the beating you gave Bob, though that was fucking brutal. I mean the way you treat him, have always treated him, like one of your possessions, one of your boys. You don't get the guy at all, do you? That is one gorgeous alpha male, inside and out ... incredible face, stunning physique, and a heart of gold. And you think a man like him should submit to you?! ... be subservient to you just because you're some kind of top man, quick with your fists?"

Mark's eyes were blazing. "And what is all this shit about owning him, owning his ass? Bob is not your boy. He's a bigger, better man than you'll ever be. If anyone should be crawling on his belly, be tied to the bed and whipped, it's you, you arrogant fucking prick. You claim that you love him, and yet you treat him like shit. All because he had sex with an old buddy. Oh sure, it's fine for you to fuck whoever you want `cause you're the boss, but not him because he's just one of your possessions. Jesus, man, it brought tears to my eyes to see that beautiful man curled up in bed, his perfect body ravaged with stripes of the lashing you gave him."

Randy looked up sharply. "He's in Zack's bed?"

Mark banged his fists on the table. "Fuck you, man, you don't quit, do you? What if he is in Zack's bed? He'd be a damn site safer and happier there than he would be tied up to yours. As it happens Zack has made him comfortable in the second bedroom and he's asleep. Darius is there in case he wakes and needs anything." Mark's voice and expression softened. "Hell, Randy, we used to be buddies. I respected the hell out of you, looked up to you. Not any more ... not after this."

Randy had wilted under the tongue lashing from Mark and now there was silence. He raised his head and looked humbly at the angry cop. "Everything you say is true, Mark. And I needed to hear it from someone I trust like you. Your respect means a lot to me and I'm sorry I lost it. And just for the record, I do love Bob, body and soul. Thing is, never before in my life have I felt anything this intense for another human being ... and it scares the shit out of me."

He sighed. "I know what I am, Mark ... a big lug, a grimy construction worker with a loud mouth and temper to go with it. But don't you see? That's just the point. How could a rough street brawler like me ever hope to satisfy a smart, beautiful, sophisticated guy like Bob? I'm scared shitless of losing him, and when I'm scared of something I come out swinging. And because of that ... I have lost him..."

His voice trailed off and Mark looked at the broken man with sympathy. "OK, buddy. I've said my piece. Now I'll just let things take their course. There is one thing, though. That anger of yours is gonna be lethal one day. You should get back into therapy with Steve."

Randy grinned ruefully and rubbed his fist. "Yeah, well that's not gonna happen. I doubt that Steve will be seeing me again, except maybe in court."

Mark looked puzzled. "Come again? You mean ... no, you can't mean ... shit, was Steve the guy that Bob ...?"

"Bingo."

"And you went and... hell, I can only imagine what you did to him. Think he'll press charges?"

"Nah. Steve's the kind of guy fights his own battles. But I think our doctor/patient days are over. That's history."

"Hmm," Mark mused. "Wouldn't be so sure about that."

Randy's voice became firmer as he changed the subject. "There is one thing, buddy. That kid downstairs."

"Yeah. That boy is something special ... seems to be the only one able to tame you."

"He's incredible, Mark, and there's something I want to do for him. It involves the company so I wanted to run it by you first." He explained his plan and Mark felt that there would be no objection from anyone as it was such a sound idea. Then Mark stood up to leave and Randy got up and shook his hand.

"Thanks for everything, buddy. You've been a rock through all this. I really needed that tongue lashing ... especially coming from a great guy like you." He grinned. "Of course, you could have just slugged me again."

"Yeah," Mark said. "Well don't hold your breath on that one, pal. I've a feeling you can expect a visit from Zack any time now. And I don't think it's a lecture he has in mind."

Randy took a deep breath. "I've been expecting him, buddy. I can only imagine what he's feeling about me right around now."

The only surprise was how soon the visit came. Shortly after Mark left, even as Randy was draining the last of his beer, he looked out of the kitchen window and saw Zack standing in the middle of the lawn.

It was dark by now, but a full moon lit up the garden and the muscular, ebony body was gleaming in the bright, silver light. As usual Zack was stripped to the waist, wearing his customary black jeans and boots. He looked magnificent in the moonlight and Randy could have wished his visit had been for a more friendly reason. But he knew it wasn't, and he got to his feet, ready for the inevitable confrontation.

As he walked outside he knew what was coming. Had to be. He and Zack had bonded like brothers and promised to love Bob together. And Randy had shattered that trust. If the situation had been reversed, if Zack had harmed Bob, Randy would be standing right there, in the moonlight, waiting to confront him. As it was, Randy would be the one to feel the extent of Zack's fury. What's more, Randy needed to feel it. In his world physical violence had to be responded to in kind, settled with fists. He needed that catharsis, and there was no one in the world more fit to dole it out than this magnificent black stud.

The two shirtless men confronted each other. Zack had a look of cold anger, sure, but there was something else, a sad, plaintive expression, confusion. He spoke quietly at first.

"Why man? I don't understand. I thought we had something real special going, the three of us. But you busted it up ... you and your crazy anger. I love Bob, and I thought you did too. I looked on you like a brother ... and that's why I'm here. I'm the one has to do this. It's my job to make you pay. That guy lying asleep back there, he's a fucking saint ... and you did that to him!" His voice was rising to a shout. "You tortured him, man. You fucking bastard, you whipped that gorgeous man. You're a fucking animal!"

Zack had reached a climax of rage. He hauled back and slammed his fist into the construction worker's stomach, making him double over in pain. Another fist, and another, crashed into him until Randy was gripping his stomach in agony. Zack grabbed his hair and pulled him upright. He gazed with hatred at the handsome, rugged face, hauled back and smashed the back of his fist against it, sending Randy spinning across the lawn.

But the big man stayed on his feet, regained his balance and turned. With his arms limp at his sides he faced Zack with a strange, contradictory mix of defiance and submission. He made no attempt to defend himself.

Zack hissed, "Yeah, you're tough alright ... tough enough to whip the man you were supposed to love. Well this is me now, asshole." He was roaring now. "And I am gonna beat you to a fucking pulp!"

The beating was savage. As Randy stood still Zack's fist smashed his face repeatedly, first one side then the other. The agonized face flew from side to side as Randy's mind became a blur of pain. But still he stood his ground under the rain of blows until his legs started to buckle. The shirtless bodybuilder remained on his feet but staggered backward, finally crashing against a tree. Through a haze of pain he was aware of the heaving black body confronting him. He felt Zack reach down to his waist and unbuckle his belt. He pulled it from Randy's jeans and held it up high.

"Is this it, you cocksucker? Is this the belt you used to thrash Bob? You tied him up, gagged him and whipped him with this? Wanna know how it felt, asshole? Like this!"

Randy saw the biceps flex, saw the eyes blaze, and then felt the sharp searing pain as the belt smashed against his chest. He flexed his pecs but it was no protection against the force of this man. The belt lashed him again and again and he instinctively tried to escape the blows. The scene was incredible. In the moonlight one shirtless muscle-stud staggered across the lawn, in a futile attempt to escape the other, to escape the agony of the belt that wound around his body, lashing his back, his arms his chest. He spun round, ran blindly, stumbled and finally crashed to the ground.

Zack's body heaved, his eyes gleamed as he looked down at the shattered mass of bruised muscle. He bent down and yanked the boots off the body, then pulled down the jeans and shorts and flung them aside. The construction worker was now lying naked, helpless, at the mercy of the black stud.

"It was the ass you went for, wasn't it, mother-fucker?" Zack kicked the body over onto his stomach. "Oh, yeah. Let's see if I can do the same to that perfect white ass as you did to my buddy's."

Randy screamed now as the belt smashed against the vulnerable flesh. He flexed the cheeks of his ass but they bounced under the heavy lash, striped scarlet with the welts of the whip. His ass was on fire. In his delirium of pain he saw Bob's ass on the bed, saw it bounce under the whipping he, Randy, was giving it. He screamed now, not with his own pain but with the realization that this was the pain Bob had felt, inflicted on him by the man he loved.

He was sobbing now, with pain, remorse, shame. He became aware that the whipping had stopped and he felt something hard against his ass. At the very instant he realized what was coming he felt the rigid pole pierce him, down to the depths of his gut. He gritted his teeth as the pounding began, as he felt the agony of the huge club inside him and the pain of the wiry pubic hair slamming against the raw, burning flesh of his ravaged ass.

Again the scene was spectacular, the muscular body of a black man, his gleaming skin pouring with sweat, rising and falling on the screaming, helpless muscle-stud beneath him. The pain was so intense that Randy knew he would pass out. But then mercifully it stopped and he felt the final spurt of pain as the huge cock pulled out. He felt the boot under his stomach, flicking him over onto his back.

He saw the black giant towering over him, saw him beating his meat, heard the shout of triumph as hot juice slammed down onto his face. It was the final humiliation, one man pouring his semen into the other's face. Instinctively the victim opened his mouth and swallowed hard, drinking in the cum of the man who had so totally demolished him.

Then he choked. The taste had become bitter, the smell rancid as semen became urine. Zack's final triumph was to drown the man's bruised and ravaged muscles with his own stinking piss. His body heaved, pouring with sweat as he looked down with satisfaction at the broken man, muscles striped with angry lashes, body pouring with cum and piss, the handsome face sobbing in total degradation.

Suddenly they both heard a quiet voice. "That's enough, Zack. He's had enough." Bob had come noiselessly up behind him and now stood at his side. In an agony of humiliation Randy looked up at the two men. He saw Zack turn to Bob, saw their mouths come together as they kissed gently. "Let's go home," Bob said. They turned and Randy's last agonizing sight was of Zack throwing his arm over Bob's shoulder as they both walked out of the gate.

Randy was a man who had only rarely felt the bitterness of defeat, and it had never been like this. As he lay limp and broken in the dirt his mind raced with the events of this extraordinary day. In a jealous rage he had tortured his lover, injured his boy and been rejected by his friends. He had wilted under the tongue lashing of Mark, a man he loved and respected. And finally he had been brutally beaten into a humiliated wreck by the man he had looked on as a brother. Worst of all, he had lost his soul-mate, the man he had intended to spend his life with.

His desolation was complete. There was nowhere for him to go. Except...

He dragged himself over to the pool and let himself fall in. The cool water partly revived him and washed his body clean of cum, piss and sweat. He pulled himself to the side and with one final, painful effort, dragged himself out of the pool and unsteadily to his feet. He grabbed a towel to dry himself and blindly staggered to the house, almost fell down the basement stairs ... and there he was. His rock.

There on the bed, in a deep sleep, lay his boy Pablo. With a small whimper Randy fell down beside him. He saw a smile cross the boy's face as he turned over in his sleep and pressed his back against Randy's ravage body. Randy folded him in his arms and, after the raw violence of the night, his battered flesh found solace in the healing softness of the boy's smooth skin.

The next day the house struggled to assume some kind of normal routine. Everyone went back to work, everyone except Bob who decided to take a couple of days off to recover fully. Randy was tough and mended quickly, and he soon resumed his role as boss of the construction site despite his cuts and bruises, which Darius, of course, felt improved his image as the rugged top man.

But it was a delicate dance that everyone performed around the house, anxious not to rock the fragile boat. They avoided the obvious subject and tried to keep out of each other's way. If the boys talked about it among themselves, which of course they did, it was in hushed voices and well out of the way of the men. Bob stayed at Zack's house, working on his laptop, going over office business with Jamie by e-mail. Randy worked late most days and spent his evenings at home, alone or with Pablo.

With his natural air of authority Mark was pretty much a go-between among them all. He had several conversations with Randy on the subject of Pablo that Randy had raised earlier. Finally, one evening, when he was alone with Pablo, Randy brought the topic up.

"Tell me about work, kiddo. You still like your job at the police motor pool?"

"Sure, sir. Still doing the same as always."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. I've been talking to Mark and he said you're doing great, but you're still low man on the totem pole with not much hope of promotion. A lot of guys senior to you. So I want to make you an offer. How would you like to work for me?"

"For you, sir?"

"Yeah, well, for the company. We now have a lot of vehicles on our construction sites, trucks, earth movers, back-hoes, you name it, and we contract the maintenance out. Costs us a ton of money though, so we were thinking of bringing the work in-house. How would you like to take it on? It's a shitload of work and you'd report directly to me. We could afford to get you an assistant, too."

Pablo's eyes sparkled. "Wow, I'd love to work on those machines, sir. I've worked on big trucks at the motor pool, and I've already lent a hand to the guys working on the heavy construction equipment. I'm sure I could handle it." Then he frowned. "Sir, you not doing this because of everything that happened, are you? As a kind of reward, I mean ...just because I'm your boy?"

"That's bullshit, kid. I'm no fool. I've checked you out and Mark has talked to all your supervisors. They say you're the best young mechanic they have. You know that I only hire the best workers, and it seems you are the best. So is it a deal?"

"Absolutely, sir. I won't let you down."

"Don't think just because you're the boss's boy you'll get any special treatment. I can be a tough son-of-a-bitch to work for."

Pablo's crooked grin spread over his face. "You mean no special treatment, sir? Ever again?"

"You little fucker," Randy said, making a grab for his shorts. "Take these off, kiddo, and I'll give that sweet ass of yours something special right now."

Although the guys did some fancy footwork to avoid any awkward confrontations, the inevitable happened. Late one afternoon Bob came across the street to the house to pick up some clothes he needed. He looked in on Jamie in the office, and their discussion took longer than he intended. He finally grabbed the clothes and left, but as he crossed the lawn the gate opened ... and there was Randy, home earlier than usual.

There was a frozen moment as the two men stared at each other in silence. Apart from the brief moment with Zack they had not seen each other since the day Mark had rescued Bob and taken him to Zack's house for safety. They had thought of each other of course, but always with confusion and a contradictory mix of emotions. So they had tried to suppress the memory and move on. But now here they were, facing each other, their eyes meeting like lasers. And there it was, in that look... that intense, spiritual sensation of two souls uniting, familiar to them by now but always unexplainable.

There was so much to say, so much each wanted to say ... but they could think of nothing to say. Too much had happened, their minds reeled. But one sensation they shared ... the feeling of their cocks growing stiff in their pants. Seconds went by, they searched for words, but none came. Finally the tension overwhelmed them and they broke their gaze, like embarrassed lovers, and simply walked past each other, Bob to the gate and Randy to the house. All that was left in the empty sunlit garden was the resonance of two confused and troubled men.

In a daze Randy stumbled upstairs to the bedroom. He stopped dead and looked down at the crumpled sheets on the bed. This was the first time he had entered the room since he had punished his lover so brutally. When he slept, alone or with Pablo, it was in the basement. He had not been able to face this room which was so redolent of the hours he had spent there with the man he loved.

As he looked at the bed he imagined Bob lying there, offering his beautiful naked body to him. "Oh, man," Randy whispered. "I love you. I wanted to tell you, should have ... but I couldn't." Acting on instinct alone Randy stripped off his clothes and threw himself face-down on the bed. He buried his face in the pillow and smelt the familiar scent of his lover.

He breathed in deeply, again and again, until his breaths became sobs. He bit the pillow in a futile attempt to taste the man. He slammed his fist on the bed in frustration. "Hell, why didn't I talk to you ... tell you?" He became delirious as he moaned incoherently. "Buddy... help me ... I need you ... can't make it without you ...let me feel you ..."

He pressed his face into the pillow and his body onto the sheets, trying to get as close as he could to Bob. He was sliding his body up and down against the sheets, pushing his groin down hard. He sensed his lover, smelt him, pressed against his muscular body and he began to shudder. "Let me fuck you, buddy. I know you want that. Let me cum inside your ass, man." Then he howled as his cock erupted beneath him. But his warm juice was not flowing in his lover's ass. He was alone, lying sobbing in a pool of his own semen.

The man who obsessed him now had been equally jolted by their chance meeting. But although Bob's confusion and anguish were intense, they were nothing compared with his physical lust. As he stumbled across the street to Zack's house all he could see was Randy's face, his glorious body, and all he could feel was his own cock rigid in his pants. Forgotten were the pain, the anger and humiliation. There was no desire for retribution ... just overwhelming desire for the man.

Zack's house was empty and Bob went straight into his room. His body was heaving, his mind a blur as he looked wildly round the room. He caught sight of himself in the full-length mirror. Randy had taught him to get off on his mirror image and now he did. He remembered another mirror in the closet and he placed it behind him at an angle so he could see his back.

Frantically he stripped off his clothes and gasped as he looked at the reflection of his naked back and ass in the mirror. The stripes of the whip were still there, not so vivid as before but still clearly visible, his ass still inflamed. As he looked at his bruised flesh he remembered, and in his mind he saw Randy behind him. He knew his lover had inflicted this on him and he felt again the strength of the powerful man.

He talked to the image of Randy in the mirror. "I need to feel you again, man. I need to touch you, hear your voice. Please ... I'm in love with you, man. I'm no good alone. Take anything you want." He was pumping his cock with his fist. "You are so beautiful, man. Just let me look at your body, your face, let me worship you again. Please, let me see you shoot. Cum all over me, man. Now!"

His orgasm exploded and a stream of white cum blasted over the mirror, splashing against the reflection of his face, then running down the length of his body. His convulsions eased and he realized that tears were pouring down his face. "Thank you, sir. I need you, Randy. God I miss you."

He threw himself down on the bed and tried to calm down. He tried to sleep but it was no use. He moaned, "I can't do this, Randy. Not on my own. I can't." His need was stifling him. There was nothing he could do ... except for one thing. Suddenly he knew what he had to do. It was so clear, so obvious that he sighed with relief. He pulled himself off the bed and stumbled out of the room.

Still lying on his bed Randy's mind was clearing. He knew that he had been in a kind of delirium, but now his usual strength and determination came flooding back to him and he leapt to his feet. "This is fucking bullshit," he said, angry with himself. Now he was sure. He was a man, after all. He knew what he wanted. And he always got what he wanted. It was as simple as that. The weight lifted from his shoulders and he ran to the door. "Hang on, buddy," he murmured. "I'm coming."

He ran downstairs, rushed outside ... and stopped dead in his tracks. There in the middle of the lawn stood Bob, naked, stunningly beautiful. Nothing moved. Even the breeze held its breath. The late afternoon shadows had grown longer across the lawn. But as the two men gazed at each other there was not a shadow of a doubt between them.

TO BE CONTINUED in "A Trial Of Strength ... Part 81"