A TRIAL OF STRENGTH - PART 89 By Rob Williams
IN THIS CHAPTER
Randy and Pablo undergo therapy, but Doctor Steve wants revenge. Randy boasts, "OK, doc, so I raped your ass and you took it like a man. Think you can make me do the same?" In the end, "the broken, construction worker sprawled across the desk, sobbing in agonized defeat." Pablo sees his master's humiliation and takes revenge. "You like feeling a boy's hard young meat slamming your face, doc? Hurts doesn't it?"
As always, guys, I welcome your comments and suggestions. They can be very helpful in planning future chapters. E-mail me at rw6789@aol.com.
ALSO, I urge you to visit my Web-site www.atrialofstrength.com. You can read the whole story, all the many chapters, with extras, including some great artwork. Click on the Our Story tab to read it chapter by chapter. Then click on the Support' tab, go to the Contact Us' page and send me your comments and story ideas. Enjoy!
A TRIAL OF STRENGTH - Chapter 89 – "Sex Therapy – Making Amends"
Randy was in a surly mood as he drove to Steve's Beverly Hills office after work. He still resented having to see a shrink and subject himself to anger management therapy ... and he hated Beverly Hills. Not his scene at all ... plus there was never anywhere to park. "Fuck `em," he growled as he parked his truck in a red zone.
Still, he had to agree to a joint therapy session for himself and his boy Pablo after they had both let their legendary anger get out of hand at the beach, resulting in the big brawl. Randy had already had a few sessions with Steve some time ago, though never with Pablo. This time Steve had suggested on the phone that Randy come to him alone for the first half hour and then have Pablo join them.
"I think we should have some time to sort things out, you and me," Steve had said. "Try to take up from where we left off."
Randy and the guys had already come to know Steve quite well. Now, as Randy rode up in the elevator, he was reminded of his first visit to Steve ... a disaster that had ended up with Randy slugging the therapist and leaving him gasping on the floor. With a guilty grin he then recalled the last time they had met, a few weeks ago, after Steve and Bob had spent the night together in San Francisco. In a rage Randy had stormed into Steve's house, met him in his driveway, beaten him and brutally fucked his ass, leaving him lying in the dirt. They hadn't seen each other since.
It was late and the receptionist had gone home, so Randy walked straight into Steve's office. And there he was, looking up with a welcoming smile on his face. Jesus he's gorgeous,' was Randy's first thought. Just like the first time they met Randy was struck by the uncanny resemblance between Steve and himself. Such a fucking stud,' he thought and felt his cock swelling in his jeans.
"OK, doc, here I am," he said. "So let's see now ... where did we leave off?"
"Hi, Randy. Looking great as always. Straight from work I see." He surveyed the rugged construction worker who had obviously just walked off the construction site to come here. He was still wearing his dirt-caked cargo pants, boots and his scruffy, sweat-stained tank top, though as a concession to Beverly Hills he had thrown a sleeveless denim shirt over it. `He looks fucking magnificent,' Steve thought, feeling his cock grow hard in his pants.
Steve was in casual business attire ... beige slacks, loafers and a well-tailored blazer. The two men looked uncannily alike, but they were different sides of the same coin. The one, well-groomed, clean shaven, classy, smelled faintly of an expensive cologne. The other, rugged, unkempt, stubbled chin, smelled definitely of man-sweat. Steve tried to ignore the swelling in his shorts and assumed a professional demeanor.
"Please, Randy, take a seat, any chair you like ... just so long as you're comfortable."
"Look, doc," Randy growled, "you don't have to give me that sweet-talk psychiatrist bullshit. Some of your patients may be fragile, but not me."
Steve grinned. "No ... definitely not that."
Randy sat down. "OK, so let's talk ... man to man."
It was Randy's aggressive, macho attitude as much as his look that Steve found such a turn-on, and his cock was now rock hard. He took a deep breath and plunged in.
"Right, so perhaps you could start by telling me what brought on the most recent display of anger."
Randy bristled. "What was I supposed to do? Darius was beating up my kid, had him pinned on the ground, so I hauled him up and slugged him. `Course, Zack saw his boy being attacked so he piled on and pretty soon there was one hell of a fight."
"So it was a boys' quarrel that sparked your anger."
"Well, yeah," Randy said grudgingly, feeling diminished. "If you wanna put it like that."
There was a pause as the therapist looked hard at Randy. "You know, Randy, there is an established procedure for dealing with anger issues and other compulsions, like alcoholism, where you have harmed others. Have you ever heard of the concept of Making Amends?"
Randy was looking surly again. "I don't deal in concepts, doc. Just realities. Something makes me mad and I react."
"And afterwards ... when you've calmed down? Darius and Zack, for example. How did you make amends to them?"
"Oh, they're fine. After the fight we shook hands and made up real fast. They're my buddies for chrissake; they know how I can be."
"And Bob? You've beaten him up several times. How did you ...?"
"Oh, Bob's just great," Randy interrupted. "Hell, once I'd made love to him a couple of times we were as tight as we ever had been. Don't worry, doc, I've made amends to Bob, if that's what you wanna call it."
Steve fixed him with a steely look. "Anyone else, Randy? Anyone else you feel you've taken your anger out on? Anyone else you should make amends to?"
And there it was. The subject they had been avoiding now loomed over them like a storm cloud about to break. It had to be addressed. They were both aware that the last time they had met Randy had been consumed by fury. He had forced his way into Steve's driveway, beaten him, fucked him savagely, then stormed away leaving him sprawled in the gravel. Now they confronted each other in the controlled, clinical atmosphere of the therapist's office.
There was a heavy silence, then Randy said, "Shit, Steve, if you mean that stuff at your house ... well I've come to terms with what you and Bob did... wasn't your fault, I see that now, so I'm sorry I took it out on you."
For a moment Steve's professional poise cracked and a surge of anger ran through him. The man was forgiving him! He was the injured party, beaten and raped, and Randy was blandly saying it wasn't Steve's fault and he's `sorry'!"
Steve took a deep breath and sat back in his chair. "I took you for a bigger man than that Randy. `Sorry' doesn't cut it. Anyone can say sorry. It takes a real man to prove it ... to really make amends."
"What the fuck do you want from me, doc? OK, I beat you up ... I fucked your ass. So what the fuck can I do to even the score?"
"I think you know the only thing you can do, Randy," said Steve quietly. "There's only one way we can even the score. `An eye for an eye' ..."
Randy frowned as he examined the handsome face. Suddenly he understood. "You mean ... no, you can't mean ... Shit, man, if you think for one minute I'm gonna let you do that to me. Not a chance, asshole. You know, I don't have to sit here and listen to this bullshit. I should just slug you again like I did the first time and get the hell out of here."
"OK, OK," Steve said calmly holding up his hands. "Like I said, it takes a real man to make amends, so we'll just let it drop and move on."
"No, wait. We won't `move on' as you call it. You think I'm not man enough? OK, I fucked your ass and you took it like a man. You don't think I could do the same?"
"Well, Randy ... could you?"
Randy looked into the eyes of the beautiful man who looked just like him, and in that moment he knew he had met his match. And he knew what he had to do. He got to his feet.
"OK, doc. Some therapy this turned out to be. Still, if that's what you want, asshole ... you've got it."
Steve stood up and faced him. It had become a trial of strength ...strength of will. It was no longer doctor and patient. It was two alpha males, one out to prove his toughness, the other out for revenge.
"Stand here and face the desk," Steve said.
Randy faced the side of the desk and looked at himself in the mirror on the wall opposite. He saw a man who took no shit from anyone, a man who slugged first and asked questions after. He also saw a man who was big enough to take punishment when he had to. And he knew he had to now. He stood erect and threw off the denim shirt. Still in his cargo pants and tank top he leaned forward from the waist until, feet still on the floor, his stomach was flat across the desk. He saw in the mirror Steve coming up behind him.
Steve took off his blazer but kept on his shirt, tie and slacks. He came close so his crotch was resting against Randy's ass. Steve's voice was firm. "You hurt me, man. You beat me and raped me. And now you're going to apologize ... beg my forgiveness."
"Fuck you, asshole," Randy growled defiantly. "Make me."
Nothing more was said. Steve reached round Randy's waist, unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down over his ass. Then he unzipped the fly of his own slacks and pulled out his cock, raging hard, as it had been ever since Randy walked in. It was a big cock, long and thick, just like Randy's. He looked into the mirror and saw Randy looking up at his reflection. They gazed into each other's blue eyes and a faint trace of a smiled crossed both their faces.
Steve's smile faded, replaced by a glint of steel. He took a deep breath, paused ... and then plunged his cock deep into his victim's ass. Randy's head flew back and he howled as a shaft of pain pierced his ass and shot through every muscle of his body. The rod was like a red hot poker in his ass. His eyes opened wide and he gazed at the reflection of the man impaling him on his cock. Steve saw in his eyes a mix of pain, anger and even a trace of fear.
The pain in his ass was far more than Randy could have imagined as he felt the head of Steve's huge cock smash against the back of his ass. It rested there a moment, then pulled slowly back, almost all the way. Steve's eyes bored into Randy's as once again he slammed his cock all the way in, with the same wide-eyed look of amazement on Randy's face, the same piercing scream.
And so the fucking progressed with a slow intensity ... the cock pulling all the way back, then piercing the ass like a spear, shooting pain through the construction worker's body, ending in an agonized scream. Gradually the tempo increased. The sharp stabs of pain now melded together in a continuous haze of torment for the man bent over the desk. Steve was in no mood to quit, and as Randy was pounded again and again against the desk his torture seemed to stretch into an agonizing eternity.
A few minutes earlier a truck had pulled up behind Randy's. Pablo was not familiar with Beverly Hills so he had difficulty finding Steve's building, and now he questioned whether he should park in the same red zone as Randy. Still, there was nowhere else to park and ... what the hell, he thought ...what's good for the boss is good for his boy.
Like Randy Pablo had come directly from work and still wore his grubby dungarees and boots. The young mechanic cut an odd figure as he marched across the sleek lobby and entered the elevator. He was not used to fancy office buildings and opened the door to the office suite with some trepidation. Therapy was an unknown concept to him, but at least Randy would be there.
The waiting room was empty and he didn't know whether to go on though. As he hesitated he heard noises from inside. He quietly turned the door handle and cracked open the door. The boy froze as he saw the unbelievable sight inside. The construction worker was bent over the desk, pants pulled down over his ass and his sweaty tank clinging to his muscular body. His arms were stretched forward, his hands gripping the far edge of the desk. He face was streaming with sweat and twisted in pain.
Behind him Pablo recognized Steve, a man who looked just like Randy, except that he was wearing business clothes, shirt, tie and slacks. He was immaculate, except that the tie had been pulled loose at the neck and damp patches of sweat were visible on the shirt. The pants were open and his cock protruded from it, though it was not visible as it was buried in Randy's ass.
Pablo knew immediately that Steve was exacting retribution for the way Randy had beaten and fucked him some weeks ago. Evidently the fucking had been going on for some time and Pablo's instinct was to pull away and close the door. But he was mesmerized as he watched ... and listened ... unseen by the two men.
"You had enough yet, fucker?" yelled Steve. "You ready to beg forgiveness for what you did?"
"Go fuck yourself," growled Randy through his haze of pain.
"Wrong, asshole. It's you that's fucking yourself. Look at me, stud. Looks just like you. Like you're fucking yourself. Your ass is getting reamed. Give up, man."
"I'll never submit to you, asshole."
"OK, have it your way." Through the crack of the door Pablo watched as Steve pulled back and using every ounce of strength slammed his body against the helpless ass. He saw his master's eyes grow wild as his mouth opened in an agonized howl. The muscles flexed and gleamed and the knuckles were white as his hands gripped the edge of the desk hard to relieve the pain.
Pablo had never seen his master get fucked like this. Many times he had felt Randy's huge dick in his ass, so he had a good idea of how Steve's cock must feel. But the ferocity of the onslaught was horrifying.
It was agony to watch his big, rugged master get tortured so bad and part of Pablo wanted to run in and pull Steve off him. But he knew better than to intervene between these two alpha males. And besides, though he hated to admit it to himself, the scene was incredibly erotic as one muscle-stud fucked and tortured the other. Pablo's cock was rigid in his loose dungarees.
But even Pablo knew that, as tough as his master was, he could not endure this level of pain for much longer. He heard Steve shout, "OK, man, this is it. I'm gonna put you out of your misery."
The pounding became brutal, merciless. The desk shook as the exhausted construction worker was hammered against it, his ass ravaged, his body heaving in agonized sobs. Through his blur of pain he knew that in a few seconds he would pass out, and he didn't want to give Steve that satisfaction. As the pain reached a crescendo he howled, "OK, OK, man. You win. I give up."
"You apologize for what you did?"
"Yes ... yes. I apologize. I was wrong." He was sobbing now. "I beg you, man. Forgive me." And finally Steve heard what he was waiting for. "I'm begging you to forgive me, sir."
With one final deep penetration Steve shot his load deep inside the burning ass. At the same time the body of the broken construction worker bucked and writhed against the desk as his cock exploded under him, shooting streams of hot semen over the highly polished surface.
The exhausted men heaved with rasping breaths, their hearts pounding, as sweat poured from Steve's face onto the thin tank stuck to Randy's muscular back. Finally Steve found his voice as he looked down at the shattered man.
With a grim smile he said, "And that, buddy, is what's known as `Making Amends'!"
The door closed quietly and Pablo found himself alone again in the outer office. He knew he had not been seen, as the men had been so engrossed with each other. Now he leaned against the door, trying desperately to gather his shattered thoughts. He had watched his master get brutally fucked by a man who could almost be his twin. He had seen the muscular construction worker crushed, broken, sobbing in defeat.
Pablo's mind reeled. Randy was the big boss, the man he worshipped, the man who had adopted him as his son, but there he was, lying beaten and humiliated. Pablo hated Steve for doing it. And yet ... at the same time his cocked remained hard at the image of the handsome, muscular doctor sweating though his shirt as he pounded the man into submission.
He always thought of Steve as a gorgeous stud, but watching him now had brought him to a pitch of desire. Pablo was consumed with two obsessions ... his lust for Steve and his need to avenge his dad. His mind raced with possibilities and gradually a plan began to take shape. He would play it by ear and maybe, just maybe, he could satisfy both of his desires.
He waited five minutes until he had calmed down. Then he took a deep breath, steadied himself ... and marched into the office.
"Hello, sir. Hope I'm not late."
The two men had barely pulled themselves together. They had straightened their clothes, wiped away the sweat and Steve had wiped the desk clean of Randy's cum. Now they stood in the middle of the office, breath still heaving, their eyes locked in an intense expression of renewed respect for each other. The two near-identical men knew that they had met their match.
Hearing Pablo's voice Steve instinctively resumed his professional poise, put his jacket on and smiled at the boy.
"Not late at all, Pablo. Perfect timing I'd say. Randy and I had just finished our business, so take a seat both of you." He paused. "Er, this may sound unusual but would you both like a beer? I know that as a therapist my methods may sometimes seem unorthodox ..."
"You can say that again," growled Randy.
"... but I think a drink would help to put us all at ease." He produced three beers from a drinks cabinet in the corner and they all sat down to talk.
"So, Pablo," Steve began. "Welcome to your first anger therapy session. Now remember, anything we say here is strictly confidential so I want you to relax and feel completely at ease."
"Doc," Randy said. "He's my boy. He doesn't need the feel-good psychobabble any more than I do."
"Got it," Steve smiled. "So let's get right down to it. You may be unaware of this, Pablo, but there are always triggers that make anger flare in someone. So, think hard, take your time, and let's see if you can tell me some of yours."
"Well," said Pablo carefully, "people talking down to me like I'm a kid, for one."
"Touché," Steve grinned.
"What?"
"Never mind. What about the fight at the beach? What triggered that?"
"I saw Darius ... he's my lover you know ... hugging and kissing Jamie, grabbing his ass, so I laid into him, naturally. But I made amends later, doc"
"Hmm... would you say that sex is often a trigger for your anger?"
"Oh yeah ... most of the time. Except ..." he shot a fleeting glance at Randy, who could swear he saw a trace of a smile on his face ..."except, I'm OK when I'm getting fucked. And I get fucked a lot ... well, guys seem to like my ass ... see?" He stood up, turned round and pulled his dungarees forward so they stretched tight over his perfect ass leaving little to the imagination.
"Yes ... yes I see," said Steve, momentarily thrown by Pablo's move. He cleared his throat. "Er, you can sit down again. So tell me, when exactly is it that sex makes you angry?"
"When I'm fucking someone. Seems that always brings out the worst in me."
Randy frowned to himself. What the fuck was his boy talking about?
"Aah, I see," said Steve. "Now we're getting somewhere. For you, being the active partner is an act of domination, a brutal act even."
"You got it, doc. I wish I could fuck someone's ass ... or a face ... without getting mad but I can't."
"Have you ever tried doing it gently?"
"No. Never seemed like the time or place. There again ..." and again the fleeting glance at Randy ... "in a nice quite place, where everything was calm, under control ... like, no triggers, as you call it ... well maybe I could be gentle then."
Steve smiled. "You mean a place like this office."
Pablo shrugged. "Well yeah, I guess ... if you say so. Never thought of it like that. But now you mention it, I guess I could let someone suck my dick in a place like this and not get mad. Jeez, I'd sure like to try. But, nah ... like that's ever gonna happen."
"Pablo ... I said my methods are unorthodox. I'm prepared to use practical measures to address a patient's problems. What if for the sake of argument I were to watch Randy here get on his knees and ..."
"Oh, not my master, sir. No, I could never do that, sir. No way."
Randy was silent but thought to himself, `Of course you could, you little fucker. We've done everything, including that.'
"Hmm." Steve seemed deep in thought. "Well, the only other person here is me, so what about that? I'm not averse to a small scientific test. Just as a clinical experiment, you understand, a therapeutic tool."
"Oh, I dunno, doc. I don't think I could even get hard for you."
Steve grinned. "Let's give it a try. Here, stand over by the desk." They both stood up, Steve with his back to the desk, facing Pablo. He took off his jacket and sank to his knees, but he maintained his professional demeanor as he looked up at the boy. "Remember, Pablo, the important thing is for you to control your anger throughout the experiment. Now, unbutton you dungarees and take out your cock and we'll see if we can get it hard."
Pablo pulled out his cock, stiff as a poker. "Oh," Steve said. "Already hard, I see. Well, good ... that's good. Now I'm gonna put my mouth round it and I want you to be gentle, don't hurry, and above all control your anger."
"OK, doc, I'll do my best."
As he looked down and saw the handsome stud open his mouth and slide it over his cock Pablo stifled a gasp. For a second he thought he was going to cum, it felt so great, but he looked away and breathed deeply. Steve moved his mouth back and forth on the rigid young cock a few times, then pulled away and looked up.
"You feeling OK, Pablo?"
"I ... I think so, sir," Pablo said innocently. "No anger yet. How is it for you, sir?"
Steve smiled. "Well, not bad actually. You taste good. Now let's keep going."
Steve resumed sucking Pablo's cock, taking it deeper and deeper down his throat. Pablo looked up and grinned at Randy, who was gaping at him open-mouthed. The young fucker, he thought. He had listened to the line of bullshit he was feeding to Steve and now he understood. He knew that Pablo wanted like mad to fuck the stud's face, but he also realized that the boy must have known what Steve had done to his master and he was out for revenge.
After a few minutes, where Pablo was getting more and more excited by the feeling of fucking the therapist's face, Steve pulled back again to check on him. "Still feeling OK, young man?"
"Oh, sir," Pablo gasped. "Please don't stop. It's when guys stop in the middle that I really get mad. That's one of the triggers, sir."
Steve quickly closed his mouth round the boy's cock and clenched his throat muscles hard. Pablo shuddered and moaned, "Oh, God that feels good. Man, I love fucking your face sir. You're so damned gorgeous."
Steve picked up on Pablo's euphoria and the concept of the `clinical experiment' began to dissolve into an erotic desire to service the young guy's dick. He increased the rhythm of his movements, slamming his face against the soft pubic hair and hungrily drinking in the pre-cum he felt trickling from the cock. He put his hands round the firm mounds of the boy's ass and pulled it toward him.
Pablo knew he had him. Now for the revenge part. He pushed forward until Steve's head was pressed against the edge of the desk. He clamped his hands on the sides of the handsome face and began to fuck in earnest. Fuck the experiment, fuck the damn `triggers', he saw again the harrowing image of Steve brutalizing his master's ass and his anger spiked.
"That's it, man," he growled. "Suck the kid's dick. You like me pounding your face, doc? You like feeling a boy's hard young meat slamming into you? Hurts doesn't it? See, you shouldn't have hurt my dad like you did. Seeing you fuck his ass, now that made me angry ... that was a real trigger. Now I'm gonna hurt you, man. See if you can take it like my master did."
With all his strength Pablo pounded the handsome, sculpted face, watching tears stream from the eyes, and the mouth stretched to its limit. Steve was a strong man and could have powered out of this, but by now he was in a trance, loving the feeling of this beautiful young boy fucking his face, overpowering him, punishing him. The boy was so like Randy. In fact it was like a young version of Randy taking merciless revenge for what Steve had done to him.
Steve was really hurting now as he felt the head of the cock slamming against the back of his throat. He tried to clamp the cock with his throat muscles but it was implacable, hammering him again and again. He was choking, trying to scream. Then suddenly he felt the cock shudder in his mouth.
Pablo shouted, "OK, doc. This is it. Now you're gonna drink the juice of the master's boy. Here it comes, man. Swallow it good!" Pablo looked up wild-eyed at Randy. "This is for you, sir. Revenge!"
Steve felt the head of the cock explode deep inside him and he had no choice but to gulp down the flood of fresh young semen pouring inside him. He swallowed hard, again and again, until finally, mercifully the streaming stopped. He was dimly aware of the dampness in his shorts as his own cock erupted in his pants and he sobbed noiselessly into the gag of the young cock.
Finally the cock pulled out of his ravaged mouth and the handsome face fell forward, cum pouring from his open mouth, tears streaming from his eyes. He had been brutally face-fucked by Randy's boy. He felt his hair being grabbed, his face pulled upward and he found himself staring into the triumphant young face dripping with sweat.
"Sorry, doc. Guess my anger got the better of me ... I pulled the trigger. Still, it just goes to show ...`making amends' works both ways."
Fifteen minutes later the three men were sitting down nursing their beers. Randy had been unable to take his eyes off his boy, sitting there with a smug, satisfied smile on his young face. Randy was so proud of the kid ... hardly able believe what he had done. God, he was impressive, going through all that to avenge his master.
Not only that, the scene had been so fucking hot ... the muscular young mechanic in greasy dungarees fucking the handsome face of the stylish therapist kneeling before him. When Pablo had shot his load in his mouth, and Randy had seen the cum stain spread over the crotch of the therapist's pants, he had almost creamed his own shorts.
But, as before, Steve was quick to recover his professional composure as they sat together and he was mister cool as he said, "OK, now, let's try to recap what we have learned here today. First, Randy you discovered that `making amends' means more than just saying sorry. You have to actually do something for somebody."
"Or let the other guy do it to you," Randy grinned.
"That too," Steve smiled. "And you, Pablo, what do you think you learned?"
"Well, that our `clinical experiment' didn't exactly work out, doc."
"On the contrary, young man, it worked exactly as I intended. See, you finally realized that you can get your own way ... even revenge if that's what you want ... by using your head instead of your fists ... by sweet-talking your way into a situation, manipulating someone to do just what you want" ... he smiled ... "with a little cooperation from me, of course."
"Cooperation?" Pablo frowned, then his eyes opened wide. "You don't mean ... you knew!? You knew what I was doing all along? Nah ... what tipped you off?"
"Remember when you talked about hitting Darius and you said, `I made amends later'? You would never have used that phrase unless you had just heard it, most likely when I said it to Randy after I fucked him. I knew then you must have seen what I did to Randy. Am I right?"
"Son-of-a-bitch," Pablo muttered.
"And don't forget," Steve smiled, "I'm a therapist. I'm trained to recognize when I'm being fed a line of bullshit. I know crap when I hear it. And your little act ... oh it was a good one, I'll give you that ... but, come on ... it was still bullshit!"
Pablo frowned again. "But near the end, when I was really hammering you, I could tell I was hurting you, but you didn't push me away ... and you could have."
"Oh, by that time I was having a blast. You're a hot young stud, Pablo, and I loved having your cock pounding my face ... quite a fantasy. I can still taste your sweet juice in my mouth." Steve smiled and shook his head. "I gotta say, you two make one hell of a team. Maybe, the boss permitting, we can do it again some time."
A slow, crooked grin began spreading across Pablo's face. He looked up at Randy and said, "Hey boss, I think I'm really gonna enjoy therapy. Can we come again?"
When they got out to their trucks, parked one behind the other in the red zone, sure enough they both had parking tickets in the windshield. "Shit damn," said Pablo and threw them on the ground."
Randy laughed. "There's that anger again, kiddo. Didn't you learn anything in there?" He picked up the tickets and handed them back to Pablo. "Here, give these to Jamie and he'll write a company check. Hell, it's a small price to pay for the sight of that hot young mechanic face-fucking the therapist. It almost made me shoot my load." He took Pablo in his arms. "But I'm saving that for when we get home, kid. I've gotta thank you properly for what you did."
"It was my pleasure, sir. In more ways than one."
The sidewalk was crowded with elegant, well-heeled shoppers, and a lot of heads turned and stared in surprise at the unlikely sight ... a burly construction worker in a sweaty tank top, and a young mechanic in greasy dungarees, hugging each other ... in the middle of Beverly Hills.
About that time Zack was just getting home from work, and he made straight for the guest house to see how Darius and the twins were getting on with the interior painting. Thrilled that Zack had said they could live in the guesthouse, finally a home of their own, the twins were working enthusiastically, doing their amateur best. But as they happily slapped on the paint they were pretty much making a mess of it. And they were alone.
"Hi guys. Where's Darius?" Zack asked.
"Oh, he said he'd had a rough day at work, sir, and needed a nap, so he went into your house."
Zack frowned. "Oh, he did! OK, I'll be back in a minute to give you a hand."
A bit miffed Zack went into his house and opened the bedroom door. He had been prepared to reproach Darius but stopped dead in his tracks. The handsome black boy lay on his back on the bed, wearing a white tank top and boxer briefs, evidently in a deep sleep, with a slight smile on his face. Zack stood and watched as his chest rose and fell.
"God, that's beautiful," Zack said under his breath. "Shit damn."
The last of the late afternoon sun shed a pale golden light through the window, making the ebony skin shine against the gleaming white of the tank stretched over the boy's chest. The fine black features were covered in a slight sheen of sweat and as the body stirred in sleep the sleek young muscles rippled.
But then Zack noticed that the sleep was not as untroubled as he first thought. He saw the body twitch and heard a low moan as the smile broadened. When Zack looked down and saw a massive bulge in the shorts he knew ... Darius was dreaming, and not just any dream. Judging by his face and gestures, it would in all likelihood end as a wet dream.
Zack tried to make out the snatches of words the boy was murmuring in his sleep "... please, sir ... oh yeah ... love you ... my ass ... please ..." The body became restless, started to toss and turn, as the face furrowed and thrashed from side to side. The voice got louder "... do it, sir ... yeah ..." Zack watched the bulge in the shorts pulse, shudder. The body went rigid and as the boy uttered a long, low moan a wet patch suddenly appeared on his cotton briefs, growing bigger and bigger.
Zack was transfixed, watching his boy have a wet dream, evidently fantasizing about him in his sleep. "That is so fucking gorgeous," he whispered to himself as he looked down at the beautiful boy, lying asleep in his underwear, a smile on his face and his shorts soaked in his own cum.
It was a thing about Zack. Whenever he saw true beauty it hurt, and he had to leave his mark ... like he did running over fresh snow ... and like he did when he whipped Bob's beautiful body. Now he wanted to leave his mark on this stunning young body too. His hand moved to his own crotch, he unzipped and pulled out his cock.
"OK, boy. You've turned your master on real good. You deserve this." A few strokes of his huge dick, a few deep breaths and soon Zack felt the heat rise from his balls and streak through his body as his cock exploded. He couldn't hold back a howl of pleasure ... loud enough to break into the boy's sleep.
Still half dreaming Darius felt a warm, thick liquid spraying onto his face and body. In his sleeping fantasy he saw his beautiful, muscle-god master standing by the bed and blasting his juice over him. It felt so real, such a vivid fantasy. He could feel it, smell it, taste it. Then he opened his eyes ... and it was true. The magnificent black bodybuilder was towering over him, cock in his fist pointing down at him and streaming with torrents of hot semen, splashing over his face his neck and shoulders and soaking his tight white tank.
Darius felt his own cock rear up in his wet shorts and he shot another load of cum. He had never woken up like this, never seen anything like it, a fantasy he could never have dreamed up. But it wasn't a dream ... it was real. He watched as his master's body shuddered, the heavy breathing subsided and the face broke into a wide smile with a flash of gleaming white teeth. Then he heard the voice.
"What the fuck are you doing in bed, boy ... sleeping on the job? Here you are having a wet dream while the twins are making a hash of the paint job. Come on, get up. We gotta show them how it's done. Besides, it's time we got better acquainted with those guys if they're going to be living right next door.
"Right, sir." Darius sprang to his feet and headed for the door. Still in a daze he didn't stop to dress, or even to wipe off the streams of cum running down his soaking white tank.
TO BE CONTINUED in "A Trial Of Strength ... Part 90"