Another Nick and Noah

Copyright for this story belongs to and remains with the author. I don't have any major objection to my work being re-distributed, but ASK FIRST!!!

This is a gay adult story with the consequent language and images. If homosexuality and/or sexually explicit themes offend you then do not continue. If these are illegal in your area, then you have my sympathy, but you proceed at your own risk.

This is a work of fiction, and as such the characters are not bound by the usual dictates of modern society. Unsafe sexual practices can be undertaken with impunity only in the world of fantasy. In reality, it is your obligation and your right to play safely, sanely and healthily.

I hope you enjoy my work, and if you have any comments, or ideas that may inspire new work, please feel free to contact me – all emails will be answered to the best of my ability. iainlthr@hotmail.com.

Another Nick and Noah

Chapter 8

Nick and Bob stowed the helmets in the bikes, and replaced them with master's caps while Peter and Noah eagerly donned their respective hoods. Bob, or `Master Nightstick' as he was now, led the others towards a small but heavy steel door in the side of a nondescript warehouse. There were no signs or markings to indicate what the place was, nothing but a dull globe hanging loosely, and almost ineffective except to indicate that the entrance existed at all. He gripped the handle and heaved at the door which swung open slowly but silently, and beckoned his friends and Peter into the small anteroom within, only slighter better lit than the area outside.

A tiny space it was, filled with soft red light from a lamp high up on one wall. To the right of where they had come in was another, equally solid, steel door and to the left a glassed window like some kind of ticket-seller's booth, inhabited by a young man chewing gum and looking slightly bored.

"Security," Bob muttered to Nick and Noah. To the man inside the alcove, he spoke warmly. "Hi Tim, good to see you again."

"You too, Nightstick, Punk," the man replied, nodding at Peter as well. "Brought some friends with you?"

"Yep. This is Trojan, and Viking," Bob answered, indicating his mates. "Busy in here yet?"

Tim grinned widely. "Not yet, mate," he said, "but it's looking good for heating up soon!"

With that, he pressed a hidden release, and a buzzing click announced that the door opposite him was unlatched. Peter pulled at it quickly, and as it swung open the sound of muffled background music and lowered voices floated out on a wave of warm air and musky scent. The four friends made their way inside, letting the door thud closed behind them. As their eyes adjusted to the dim light, a vast room of leather delights was revealed.

At least a dozen slings hung from the ceiling, lined up along one long mirrored wall. Some of the slings were simply out in the open' whilst others were enclosed in cages of metal bars or chain mesh fencing. Near the opposite side of the massive space, the boys could see a number of St Andrew's Crosses, the giant X's covered in padded black leather, most fastened to the wall, but several supported by steel frames which allowed them to be swung end over end, and all of them fitted with straps and buckles to restrain their cargo of human toys. At regular intervals along both walls and throughout the vast room were `toy boxes' – open cabinets filled with butt plugs and dildoes, paddles and whips, blindfolds, handcuffs and more.

Master Nightstick led his boy and their friends into the area, sauntering the length of the room, as Trojan and Viking eagerly inspected the various facilities, and cast more than a few appreciative glances at the other leathered men already milling around in the space. The centre of the warehouse was furnished with a collection of areas for other `activities'. There were large leather sofas arranged around low tables for relaxation; three or four gigantic flat spaces covered in dark hide, looking like oversized square beds but without pillows or headboards, at least four metres to a side and able to accommodate 8 or 10 men at a time. Interspersed among these were slave benches, black and gleaming, some high, some low, in many varying shapes and configurations to cater for the wildest imagination. Some areas had nothing but large metal rings set into the flooring, directly above which hung long, sturdy chains adorned with wrist cuffs. There were more enclosed places, some appearing to be inspired by prison cells, others reminiscent of horse stalls.

At the far end of the building, one corner was walled off, creating another, still large, room, about 15 metres wide by 20 metres long. As they watched, two of the `party-goers' pulled open a door to the area. From where the four friends stood, they could see yet another door inside the first. Noah raised his eyebrows in a question.

"That's the black room," explained Peter. "Completely dark, no light whatsoever!" He grinned happily.

The corresponding corner area contained toilet cubicles and shower stalls, a large supply of towels clearly visible. Next to that, another dimly lit area was walled off from the rest of the place, but with only waist high walls. Inside those walls the entire place was tiled in dark blue, with a couple of over-sized bath-tubs, and several raised areas like benches surrounding a central pit.

"Water-sports," Nightstick explained.

"They've thought of everything, haven't they?" Nick exclaimed.

"Certainly tried to," his fellow Master agreed.

Noah whistled. "This place is fantastic," he stated quietly but firmly. "You could be as intimate or as exhibitionist as you wanted in here!"

"Absolutely!" Punk agreed.

The group of four slowly made their way back toward the entrance. Up at that end of the cavernous building, a bar had been set up with drinks and snacks available, a row of high stools nearby and yet another lounging area adjacent to it.

As they approached the bar, they were greeted with a deep voiced salutation.

"Nightstick, Punk, how the fuck are you?" said a tall young man garbed in leather from head to toe, his body sinewy and fit. Nick gasped momentarily when he caught sight of the face beneath the cap, but Master Nightstick answered warmly.

"Rammer, it's good to see you again, my friend. You too, Cumslut," he nodded to the other's companion.

This time Nick's whistled appreciation was clearly audible. Rammer's `boi' was huge. A giant of a man, standing easily six and a half feet tall, heavily muscled with impossibly broad shoulders and legs like tree trunks, encased in a pair of leather chaps and a full body harness which must be re-inforced to keep it from tearing open under the pressure of the iron body over which it was spray-painted. A huge cock, easily nine inches long, and thick, swung at his groin, crowned by a gleaming silver Prince Albert.

As Nick's jaw fell open, Noah ran his eyes up and down each of the men, but lingering on Rammer. There was no mistaking him as Patrick's brother, an identical twin, but seen in this setting so completely different from their host back down on the Peninsula.

"Meet some new friends of ours," Bob said amiably, gesturing to Nick and Noah. This is Trojan', and his sub, Viking'. They're down from Sydney," he said casually.

Rammer smiled warmly, shaking hands with each of them and lustily appraising Noah with his stare. There was no recognition of either of them in his eyes, and Noah guessed that he did not recall them from the day of the funeral. In fact, he wondered if Sean had even seen them that day, with everything else that had happened.

"Welcome to Melbourne guys," he said with a chuckle. "I hope you enjoy our ... `hospitality' ...!"

Nick chuckled lustily. "I'm sure we will, Rammer," he replied.

Cumslut grinned as well. In a voice surprisingly soft for such a large man, he murmured throatily, "Looks like you might be already enjoying it, Master Trojan, Sir!"

As he spoke he casually reached out and ran a finger slowly but sensuously down Nick's abdomen and traced the outline of the thickening cock within Trojan's codpiece. Unperturbed, flattered even, Nick's only reaction was to take yet another long, hard look at the muscled form of the sub standing in front of him, before winking obviously at both Rammer and Nightstick.

The room was beginning to fill with men, all of them bedecked in gleaming, skin tight leather. There were at least 25 there already, some alone, some in small groups or couples. One of the slings was occupied and becoming the centre of attention for a group of three others as the guy lying back in the leather platform slowly jacked himself off. Nightstick looked around appreciatively.

"Looks like it could be a good night," he noted.

"Mmmm," Rammer agreed, his hand falling to Noah's arse as he squeezed at the rounded flesh of the sub's buns. "And I predict that you and your slave will be in for some extra attention, Trojan," he added. "New meat, and all that, you know!"

Noah grinned widely. "I hope so, Sir!" He enthused, taking the opportunity to close one hand around the full leather pouch at Rammer's groin, while pinching lightly with the other at the Master's left nipple.

"I like that, Viking," Rammer responded huskily. "A sub with some spirit, who knows what he wants!"

"So what are you waiting for, Sir?" Noah asked boldly. Rammer looked to Nick with a raised eyebrow, but Master Trojan simply laughed.

"We're not here to swap recipes!" he hissed.

Without another word, Rammer spun Viking around and began to march him away from the bar area, heading for one of the unoccupied slings about half way along the left wall. Nightstick, grinning evilly, followed his friend. Trojan looked at the two slaves with lust-filled eyes. In a deep and menacing voice he spoke to both.

"What are you pussies waiting for? Get moving. We are going to need some servicing while Master Rammer is busy with Viking." He pointed in the direction the others had gone.

"Yes, Sir!" the two chorused, quickly obeying as Nick followed them, admiring the rounded buttocks and thick legs of the two subs he fully intended to use and enjoy.

When they caught up with them, Master Rammer was pushing Viking back into a sling that hung in a large open area. As the slave's feet lifted from the ground, he moved to one side and quickly attached cuffs to each of Viking's wrists, securing them to the supporting chains. Then the sub's boots were slotted into stirrups on the other support chains, and ankle cuffs ensured they stayed in that position. Stepping back to survey his handiwork, Rammer spotted the butt plug already lodged in Viking's arse.

"Hey, you guys really did come well prepared," he commented.

"We were playing at home before we came," laughed Nightstick. "Didn't want them to close up on us!"

Rammer chuckled, and reached for the base of the plug as Viking lay back into the sling, his arms and legs restricted in their movement, the scent of lusty leather all about him. The Master pulled tentatively at the toy, then slid it out of his body.

"Oh boy, a lubed and waiting hole!" he declared to no-one in particular as he slid first one and then a second finger into Noah's body. With his other hand he eagerly unclasped the heavy leather codpiece restricting his manhood. A long, thin tube of meat sprang forward, throbbing with blood and quickly growing to full tumescence. Aiming himself at the winking target, Rammer wasted no time with niceties, but plunged himself into the slave's body in one pounding movement, spearing his cock deep into Viking's bowel as his balls slapped against the upturned bare flesh of the sub's butt cheeks.

Viking gasped with delight as he was skewered by the dagger of flesh and he and the sling rocked backwards before crashing again even harder onto that living sword. With his body opened and held in place, he trembled as the muscular frame of Master Rammer stood between his legs and that long cock ploughed his arse. The gleaming black of his chaps framed the dark leather of the dom's vest, harness and gauntlets. The white of Rammer's flesh offset the inky shades of his cap and chaps as he fucked long deep strokes into Viking's hole, and Viking exhaled breathy gasps with each thrust he received. When the Master gripped at his harness with one hand, and wrapped the other around his steel hard prong, delivering a faster, more powerful fucking, Noah could not help but hiss out loud.

"Oh, yes Sir! Fuck me, Sir. Fuck me hard and fuck me long, Rammer!"

While Rammer did exactly that, Nightstick moved to the head of the sling where he could look down and along Viking's body. He had a good view of the two leathered men fucking earnestly, gleaming hide and glistening flesh interlocked. He rubbed his swollen but yet encased cock against the top of Viking's head, the leather of his cod squealing against the leather of the slave's hood. Whilst Rammer grabbed and fucked at the body on the sling, Nightstick leaned forward and reached over, pinching hard at Viking's nipples as he ground his masculinity against the hide bound cranium.

"That's it, Rammer," he whispered. "Fuck that arse. Fuck him hard and make him beg for more. Take that cock, Viking. Open that fucking hole and feel his cock inside you, boy!" All three were even more seriously aroused by the encouragement Master Nightstick urged.

Nick stood silently nearby, his excitement building quickly as he watched his colleagues work on his mate. Without taking his eyes from the scene before him, he barked at Cumslut and Punk where they stood, also watching the action on the sling.

"You two! Service me!" was all he said. Punk quickly dropped to the ground, prostrating himself before Master Trojan and licking eagerly at his boots. Cumslut straddled the other slave, his teeth attacking Trojan's hard, erect tits while his hands groped at the stretching envelope of hide which contained the Master's dick and balls. In his hand Nick held a short soft leather paddle, which he used to lightly stroke each of the slaves attending to him. He tingled with the physical sensations and the seriously erotic sense of power he felt at being in control of the two strong but compliant men caressing his body with mouths and hands.

After rutting into the slave on the sling for some time, Rammer pulled back, unwilling to peak so soon. A look passed between him and Nightstick, and without further words, they changed places, Rammer now pulling at Viking's chest while his glistening, slimy cock rubbed against the side of the slave's head and down onto his neck. Nightstick happily took his position at the base of the sling, freeing his achingly hard prick from it's leather scabbard only to instantly bury it deep inside the wet, squelching innards of Viking, before enthusiastically falling into a rhythm of slow, deep thrusts as he took possession of the sub's compliant chute.

While the other two Masters shared his boi, Nick continued to enjoy Punk and Cumslut. As Nightstick began his extended fucking of Viking, Trojan turned the huge sub around and eased his spit soaked shaft into the man's sphincter, revelling in the sensations as he felt the initial resistance give way and the hot moist hole swallow his manhood. At the same time, Punk was on his knees beneath the pair, licking and chewing at both sets of testicles, gnawing on Cumslut's massive tool, or biting up into the sensitive skin of Master Trojan's perinaeum as best he could whilst both men shuddered and rocked in copulatory embrace above him.

When Nightstick felt himself approaching a peak, he followed Rammer's lead and pulled back, withdrawing his wet, turgid weapon from Viking. But the slave wasn't left empty for long, as Rammer once more entered him, this time preferring slow strokes and rotating his hips to probe every part of the slave's rectum as he happily explored the muscled, leather bound body lying open and welcoming on the sling.

"Holy Shit, Trojan, this hole is fucking hot!" he exclaimed. "Thanks for bringing him along to share."

Nick laughed low and soft. "You better believe it, Rammer," he said. "I think I'll take some of it as well, now that you've reminded me," he added, pulling his cock from Cumslut with a slurp, and stepping out of the knot of bodies that he and the two subs had formed. As his fellow Master stepped back from Noah's body, Nick took his place, sliding easily into the opened and ravaged canal of his partner. With the ease of long practice, he ploughed Noah just the way he knew his man loved, a mixture of slow, deep insertions and hard, teeth rattling crunches. With the others standing beside him, each of them being licked and sucked by the other slaves, Nick lowered his body over his man, his head dropping close to Noah's ear.

"Noah, are you okay with ... this?" he whispered.

So softly that only Nick could hear, came the reply. "Nick, you know you're the only man for me, the only one I love ...?"

Nick nodded happily.

"Tonight isn't about love. This is about hot, raunchy sex, and lots of it. I'm loving it, and I want more. As much as I can get. Go off and find yourself a crowd of slaves to service you. I don't think I'm going anywhere ..." he rattled the cuffs around his wrists for emphasis, " ... and I like it like that!" He grinned from ear to ear.

His partner chuckled again, giving an extra hard thrust and sinking himself even deeper into Noah's body.

"I love you, `Viking'," he hissed.

"Ditto!", Noah muttered, then gasped as Nick withdrew from his body.

"He's all yours, Rammer!" Nick said as he stepped back. "And it looks like you've got an audience ..."

Nick was right. Several other men had gathered around them, watching interestedly as the three Masters had taken turns fucking Viking. Some of them lazily stroked their own cocks as they enjoyed the exhibition.

"Thanks, Trojan," Sean grinned as he eagerly slid back inside the slave. "I'll `take care' of him – I swear!"

Master Trojan happily nodded, then looked to the other subs again. "Punk, Cumslut, get your sorry arses over to that bench!" he commanded, pointing to one of the slave bench combinations a short distance away. "I think I'm gonna take a whip to both of you. You want to help me out, Nightstick?"

As the pair scurried to obey, barely able to conceal their grins, the other Master declined.

"Thanks, Trojan, but keep them all for yourself for now. I see a couple of guys over by one of the St Andrew's crosses who look like they could use some help." He sauntered away in the direction he had pointed, his slickened cock leading his taut and leathered body into the dimness.

Nick took little notice as his mate disappeared, but followed Cumslut and Punk to the bench. Bending them over it side by side and securing their wrists and ankles firmly, he strutted around them in a lazy circle. He'd collected a cat-o-nine made of kid leather from a `toy-box' on the way, and every so often he landed a soft blow across one or other of the sub's shoulders, back or buttocks. In a low but menacing voice he told them what useless pussy fags they were, and soon had both of them begging to be used and punished. So he obliged. With the whip still in one hand, he fucked first Punk, and then Cumslut with powerful, pile driving thrusts, slamming himself into the boi in question for no more than a few minutes at a time before pulling out to ravage the other, all the time raining down a volley of relatively gentle, but very audible, lashes onto their leathered bodies.

The power he felt, the control he held over these two men, with both of them begging to be used and abused by him, was so unbelievably erotic, that Nick knew he could not keep fucking either for any length of time, or his body would not cope with the sensory overload, and he would soon be exploding. Yet he certainly wasn't going to give up on this whole scenario – it was driving him wild with excitement. As a variation, he began to circle the slaves, first fucking them, then driving his meaty cock deep into their throats, fucking both at each end, and still slapping and abusing them. The more that they begged and whined, the more exciting he found it.

Yet the slave bench, which had at first seemed like such a good idea, began to annoy him. It was too restricting, forcing him to walk around or lean over the fixed and unyielding equipment. Not far away was one of the large platforms, a gigantic, square `bed' covered in leather. There were no other people on it, yet it seemed to have something spread over it. Leaving the subs for a moment, Master Trojan investigated, and returned to his slaves with a grin on his face.

Quickly releasing the restraints of the two, he pointed at the raised square. "Up on there, both of you!" he ordered. As they followed his commands, he collected several differently sized dildoes from a cabinet before joining the subs.

The equipment Nick had found on the bed was a set of chains, laid across it, with cuffs and clips at various intervals. Happily, he shackled each of the slaves to the chains, giving them a reasonable degree of movement, but effectively making them his captives, unable to get too far from him. With each of them kneeling on the platform, Master Trojan climbed up and stood over them, ordering them to service him. Instantly, he had both Punk and Cumslut licking at his feet, clawing at his legs, and desperately trying to suck on his cock, his butt or his nipples. He issued curt instructions from time to time which they jumped to obey, and revelled in the sense of power and control that he felt.

From time to time, without warning or notice, Nick would simply lower himself down, and slam his cock deep into the bowels of whichever of the subs happened to be closest. Fucking them with abandon for anything from thirty seconds to ten minutes, he would then wrench his masculinity from their suctioning holes just as unexpectedly, eliciting gasps and groans of both delight and frustration from the leather clad hunks he possessed and used. All three men were so taken up with their `game', and so immersed in the erotic role play, that they did not realise they had become something of an exhibition themselves, until another sub dared to climb onto the platform, prostrate himself before Master Trojan, and beg in a deep, respectful voice.

"Please, Sir, may I join you?"

Nick looked at him with surprise, before noticing others as well. There were four more subs standing and watching the proceedings, all of them with hungry looks on their faces. Just off to one side, and slightly back from them, stood another man, tall and broad shouldered, a cap on his head, mirrored glasses on his face, and in his hand a leash. Attached to the other end of that leash was a boi', wearing nothing but a hood, collar, and boots. The dog' was on his hands and knees, and waited patiently whilst his `owner' occasionally flicked at the tether connecting them.

"Sure thing, boy," he replied in a hiss. "All of you can get up here and service me!" he declared, sweeping a lust-filled gaze across the gathered slaves. Looking directly at the other master, he added, "I'm happy to share if you'd like?"

"Thanks, mate, but I'm fine just watching, if that's okay with you," responded the other.

"Not a problem," Nick answered with a grin. He was now the centrepiece of a writhing mass of leather and flesh as seven men hung on his every word, and competed with each other to lick at his boots, legs and crotch. Aroused beyond measure by the power he felt, and by the position he found himself in, Master Trojan enthusiastically resumed his play. His cock was granite hard, dribbling pre-cum and glistening from the juices of the bodies he thrust it into at will. With so many holes begging to be used, he wielded dildoes in each hand, sometimes fucking three slaves at once with his own meat and the artificial prongs. At other times he simply stood tall, his arms crossed and his tool pointing skywards as the eager collection of men beneath him begged, licked and serviced him. It was at those times when he felt the greatest sense of control, and the highest degree of arousal.

During one such stance, his eyes travelled away from the platform where he stood, and found the other Master and his dog-boy' now close by. The tall man had settled his pet' onto one corner of the raised leather area, and was slowly but continuously fucking him, pulling at the lead and dragging the dog's neck backward from the collar in time with his long penetrations, while all the time watching Nick's actions with intense concentration. Trojan found this new attention even more erotic as he delighted in being not only in control of the slaves, but on exhibition and being enjoyed.

Bob had left Nick to his own devices with Punk and Cumslut, not because he wasn't interested in using the pair, but more because he felt that he should let his colleague act out one of his stronger fantasies. Besides, as he had commented, there seemed to be something interesting happening over on the other side of the room at one of the St Andrew's crosses set up there. It was one of the pieces which stood away from the wall, supported on a pivoting axle and covered in cushioned leather with buckle-style restraints not only at the position of a slave's wrists and ankles, but also where his chest, waist and thighs would be. And they were being done up as he watched, a thick set Master, naked except for a full-head hood, a basic four strap harness and over-the-knee boots, was strapping a slave into position against the black X.

"You want a hand?" Nightstick asked as he came up beside the pair.

The other Master looked him up and down through the eye slits in his hood. "Sure," he muttered. "Make sure he's bound up nice and tight! I don't want him coming loose halfway through!"

Nightstick nodded, and set to the bindings on the slave's left side while his colleague finished off the others. The slave was clad in a full body suit of shining rubber which clung to his frame like a second skin. From a distance he could have been naked, with gleaming black flesh, it was fitted so snugly, except for the smallest of slits near his nose to allow breathing. Other than that, he was completely enveloped, and would be not only blinded, but probably unable to hear much either. Even his cock and balls were encased in tailored rubber, his dick hard and getting harder with each tightening of the restraints around his body.

With the rubber clad man fully shackled to the cross, his Master once again checked all of the bindings, then, satisfied they were sufficiently tight, clicked the anchor pin holding the equipment upright, and swung his sub end over end, until he was hanging upside down. The slave's latex encased genitalia were now at face height, his prick pointing at the floor and harder than ever. The dom reached to one side, and picked up a ball parachute, quickly snapping it around the base of the black scrotum and letting the attached weights drag down along the throbbing penis.

Nightstick was fascinated by the gear, and the way the Master used his sub. A questioning look as he wrapped his fingers around the rubbered cock was met with a nod, and he began to slide his hand up and down the boi's cock. The entire suit seemed to be coated in a fine layer of oil, making it incredibly slippery, almost frictionless, and Nightstick's grip soon had the wearer trembling with arousal.

"This is the best part," the other Master hissed at him conspiratorially. He swung the cross through a few more degrees, to bring the slave's arse into clear view. Without any hesitation, the top put his hands on his sub's butt cheeks and spread them, revealing his anus. He pressed two fingers into the man's body, then withdrew them, and guided Nightstick's hand up to the same point.

"Rubber – all the way in!" he announced. Curious and aroused, Master Nightstick slid a finger tentatively into the beckoning hole. Here, the oil or whatever it was, was thicker, the slickness complete. To his surprise, Nightstick found that the other was right, all he could feel was the rubber suit, even inside the bottom's arse.

The master moved the cross yet again. "Fuck him!" he said to Nightstick as the sub's sphincter swung down level with Nightstick's cock, his body suspended face down and the weights on the parachute dragging his nuts toward the floor.

Nightstick leaned into the slave, his hands on the solid legs of the equipment. He positioned his cockhead at the black opening and began to press forward slowly.

"No, hard and fast!" came a guttural command from behind him, and the other top shoved him in the back, forcing his cock deep into the cavern of the sub's body.

The sensation was like nothing Nightstick had ever known before. The heat inside that rectum was intense, the rubber sheath into which he thrust his rod incredibly tight, yet so smooth, so slick that he slid in and out effortlessly. He could feel the bottom flexing his sphincter around his probing prong, yet there was none of the usual juicy wetness surrounding him. As he fucked into the slave, enjoying these strange new sensations, the other Master stood beside him, and produced another black latex cock-sheath. He pulled it over his own cock and balls, and it fit just as tightly as the suit his sub wore. Still watching Nightstick fuck his boi, he began to fuck his own fist slowly.

"You wanna be the meat in our sandwich?" the man muttered low and lustily.

To reassure himself, Nightstick reached out and felt the other cock. Sure enough, it was coated in the same invisible but incredibly slippery substance that was all over the sub's body suit.

"Go ahead, friend," he smirked.

Immediately, the other was behind him, arms reaching around his torso as the solidity of a long, hard rubber coated cock nudged at his rear. Without letting up in his fucking of the suspended man tied to the cross, Nightstick willed himself to relax, and nodded acceptance to the other Master poised and waiting at his hole.

A whole new experience revealed itself as Nightstick was penetrated hard and fast by the man. There was the usual momentary flash of discomfort he felt on entry, but the blade which speared into him was so smooth, so slick and so slippery, that it was almost as though he were not being fucked at all, yet still filled and prodded inside. The other top began to pound at him earnestly, forcing him harder and deeper into the slave at the same time, and Nightstick bounced between the two in pleasurable ping pong. His cock slipped in and out of the rubbered body, his innards prodded by some indescribable object. Yet all he could really feel was the solid thwack as the top's pelvis crashed against his butt cheeks, and his own hips slammed into the rubber suit encasing the sub. Looking down, Nightstick could see the weights hanging from the ball parachute swinging wildly, and pulling the boi's nuts with them. A muffled groaning came to his ears, and he realised that the sub was begging for more, as best he could through the all-encompassing rubber.

Noah was in paradise. To be more accurate, Viking was in a sling; but it all came down to the same thing. As Nick had pulled out of him and Rammer's cock had filled the void he left, Noah was dimly aware of their parting conversation.

"He's all yours, Rammer! And it looks like you've got an audience ..."

"Thanks, Trojan, I'll take care of him – I swear!"

Unable to move much with his wrists and ankles firmly shackled to the sling's supports, he lifted his head enough to see that there were at least three, maybe four, men standing not too far from the sling, closely watching as Rammer, Nightstick and Trojan had alternated with each other in filling his hungry arse with themselves. As his head fell back onto the leather platform, his heart raced at the thought of being watched, of being fucked so openly and being so closely examined at the same time. He began to realise that he really liked being an exhibitionist, but that thought was easily driven from his mind when Master Rammer whipped his long cock out of Noah's arse once again, and replaced it with a thick, ridged dildo.

"Oh, fuck, yes, Sir!" Viking gasped at the new intrusion. "Use that hole, Master! Please!"

Rammer laughed loudly, with an evil hiss. "Don't worry, Viking, it – you – are going to get used and abused tonight!"

"Yes, Sir," the sub responded, his heart racing with anticipation as his arse ached from the pounding it received through the thick black toy in Rammer's fist.

As the solid latex dong filled his body, Viking felt Master Rammer's hands explore his skin, running across his chest, down his abdomen, and gripping his achingly hard cock. His balls were squeezed and pulled, his nipples pinched and his shoulders gripped hard as he shuddered with delight, swinging back and forward on the sling, his eyes drinking in the vision of the leathered god who took control of him in this warm, musky place. He hissed obscenities at his top, begging for more and gasping with pleasure as his sphincter was ravaged by toy and cock, then toy again in ecstatic alternation. He closed his eyes, surrendering to the delight visited upon him, his entire nervous system racing and alive with the pleasure he received.

Suddenly, he sensed another presence. Opening his eyes again, he found men – hot, powerful, leather men, surrounding him, pressing in toward the sling, staring at him and Master Rammer as they rutted together in the dark heat. All about him was leather, chrome and flesh. Faces leaned over him and cocks throbbed beside him as muscled chests bound in black stripes of hide filled his vision. He felt Master Rammer wrench the toy from his body, and once again the searing heat of Rammer's long sword pierced his sphincter and jabbed into his gut.

"Fuck him, mate ..."

"Shove that cock into him ..."

"Take his cock, boy ..."

"Use his tight white arse, man ..."

A symphony of hissed and urgent whisperings floated down as the ring of Masters closed in on the two of them and urged Rammer to pound Viking harder and faster. Noah writhed in ecstasy, his manhole punctured a thousand times by the ferocious spearing he received from the dominant man between his legs.

"Holy Shit!" Rammer swore through clenched teeth. "I don't wanna cum yet ..." And almost reluctantly pulled back again, his wet and dripping prong bouncing in time with his heartbeat. He turned to the man immediately to his right.

"You fuck him!" he hissed.

"Fuck yeah!" replied the other, quickly pressing his cockhead up against the winking entrance to Viking's body. Positioned to his satisfaction, the top leaned in a little to grip the harness around Viking's chest, then pulled it, and it's wearer, hard back onto himself, his thick meat driving deep into the unresisting heat of the sub's bowel. The man began a rhythmic pistoning in and out of Noah, always pulling at the harness, using it for leverage to drive himself as deeply into that glorious hole as possible.

Lying back into the sling, being slammed by this stranger's cock, Viking ached with pleasure. The faces, the bodies and the leathered muscles were still creating a cocoon of dim heat as he surrendered his body to the jabbing joy of the fleshy sword which filled him. His arms and legs were held in place, unable to move, but he swivelled his head from side to side, drinking in the view as best he could. He caught sight of Master Rammer, standing close by his head on his right side.

"Okay?" the other man mouthed silently, his eyebrows lifted in question.

"Fuck yesss!" Viking grinned back at him, causing his concern to evaporate, replaced by delight and lust.

Rammer stepped up closer to the rocking black platform and its human cargo, his cock still glistening and wet. He took himself in hand and slapped his juicy meat across the slave's face. Viking was taken by surprise, but as the dom went to swing his prong a second time, he opened his mouth, trying hard to capture that tasty log. Rammer happily obliged, feeding his long, throbbing prick to the eagerly suctioning throat. As the other Master fucked Viking's arse, Rammer fucked his throat, and the chorus of muttered urging increased in volume and frequency.

After some time in this position, one of the other tops became impatient with the man still thrusting steadily into Viking.

"Hey mate, give someone else a taste of that sweet man-pussy," he whined, pulling the other man away as the sub's arse surrendered its throbbing pole with a slurp. Without waiting for any invitation, this new top slid into the still open chute in an easy movement, and as Viking's rectum swallowed his rod, the Master groaned with pleasure. This guy preferred full strokes when he fucked, and soon Noah was being filled and then emptied before being filled again as his fucker pulled completely out of him with each back stroke, before driving in again with ever increasing need and power.

The top he had displaced moved to the opposite side of Viking's body from where Rammer stood, standing close into the slave and waving his cock over the boi's head. Rammer looked him in the face and nodded a smile, which he took as all the permission he needed. Soon his cock was jousting with Master Rammer's for a chance to stab into the slave's face, and from time to time they managed to get both cockheads into that open, sucking jaw. The rest of the time they alternated between being sucked and wiping their slippery manhoods across the sub's face and neck.

Several of the other Masters – as far as Noah could tell there were at least four more men in addition to those who were already fucking him – began to jerk themselves off, fisting their cocks over his body and crowding closer and closer into him. Rammer took a break, stepping back, just a little.

"Hey guys," Noah heard him say. "No need to hurry. We got all night, and this slutty whore ain't goin' anywhere! Plenty of time for anyone who wants it to get a piece of the action!"

Noah's heart skipped a beat. Not from fright or fear, but from the sudden soaring sense of anticipation and arousal. He was going to be fucked by all of these hot men, gang-banged here in this sling, and the idea was so hot he shivered with delight. A throaty chorus of chuckles and approving grunts surrounded him as the gathered tops happily awaited their turn to use his body.

For what felt like hours, Viking was ravaged by an unending parade of men in varying states of leathered garb. He was fucked hard and long, slow or fast, probing or pounding. As soon as one guy had finished with him, another took his place so that the slave's arse was never empty for more than a few seconds, and he loved it. And when they had finished with his sphincter, most of them moved around to fuck his face as well, or simply to stand and masturbate over his body. His face, chest, stomach and pelvis were covered in a thick coating of the combined jism of uncounted testicles. Of the original group, some stayed, watching and waiting for a second or even a third chance at filling him, whilst some disappeared only to be replaced by other, newer cocks. Only Master Rammer remained the constant, always there, always watching, sometimes fucking him again, or thrusting into his gullet, but never leaving Viking alone.

Some of the men who fucked him did so quickly, pulling out with a gasping roar. Some lasted for a long time, until they too spasmed and shot their essence into him, or else were pushed aside by whoever was next in line and becoming too impatient. Viking was certain his arse was leaking a river of cum, surely he could not contain all the jizz being deposited into him, but that didn't seem to deter the line of men who moved up to fill his thoroughly stretched hole with their masculinity.

The gasping, breathy urges and slick, slapping jerks of the watching men combined with the wet slurping of fucking rut into his body, and the squeaking rattle of leather and chains to fill Viking's ears as the musky aroma of sweat and leather mixed with a good dose of amyl to invade his nostrils. His vision was filled with glistening, sweaty flesh and gleaming lack leather while his body shook and shuddered beneath the constant penetration and his innards filled again and again with the satin coated steel of so many cocks. Noah was amazed to find that even after so much abuse, his arse was still sensitive, and still delighting in the pounding he received with each new invader. He was close to exploding innumerable times, fighting to hold back, anxiously forcing himself to think of something else until his ardour had cooled enough to fall back into the indescribable bliss of being the centre of this maelstrom of masculine mating.

It was only after several minutes of feeling somehow exposed, that Viking realised the crowd had dispersed. He was till being fucked, a long, strong poker of flesh riding over his prostate and filling his innards, yet he opened his eyes to find the tops had moved on. Dimly, he heard a voice from somewhere calling him.

"Viking? Are you okay mate?"

Looking down between his own legs, he found the smiling face of Master Rammer. He nodded. "Yes, Sir."

It was Rammer's cock that filled him now, but a slow, almost leisurely humping rather than the furious fucking he had known for the last – what – hours? Days? Weeks? It could have been any, Viking had lost all track of time. Now he let himself be lured into bliss, taking that cock and writhing in ecstasy as Master Rammer slid his hand up and down the slave's prong. With a gasp and a shudder, Viking surrendered to his orgasm, his nuts contracting and his jism fountaining across the already cum encrusted flesh and leather of his torso just as he felt the long shaft of his fuck buddy tense and explode, adding even more seed to the copious amount deposited within him already.

Easing down from the heights, he smiled gratefully at Rammer, who grinned back in appreciation and sated desire. As he untied the shackles, and helped Noah to stand, Master Rammer hummed tunelessly to himself, obviously still enjoying this immensely. When Noah finally looked up, he saw Nick, followed closely by Cumslut and Punk, walking towards them.

"Hey, you alright?" his partner asked.

Noah beamed at him. "I'm fucking fantastic, Sir," he declared happily. Master Nightstick seemed to appear from nowhere to rejoin his friends.

Cumslut looked around in the dimness. The party was breaking up, the number of participants dwindling. "Looks like it's time to leave," he observed to no-one in particular.

Rammer swung around slightly, taking in the scene. "I think you're right, Cumslut," he concurred. "It must be late."

Slowly, coming back to reality from their respective nights, the other three acknowledged that Rammer was right. With varying degrees of tumescence, Nightstick, Trojan and Punk stood nearby, remnants of their orgasms still dribbling from semi-hard pricks, beads of sweat covering the sheened flesh not coated in glistening, if stained, leather.

"What a night!" Nick declared. "You guys really know how to throw a party."

With all six men in a small knot, it seemed they were among the last of the participants still there. Cumslut looked at the other five men surrounding him, drinking in once more the incredible sight of muscled sweaty bodies, glimmering in leather and oozing masculinity – literally.

"It's a pity it has to end," he said wistfully.

"You got that right," Sean agreed, as he groped Noah's butt cheek, and squeezed Bob's cock, at the same time ravaging Nick's body with his stare. Incredibly, despite what they had just finished, all of them twinged again, and their pricks all jumped with the onset of more excitement.

"Maybe it doesn't," Nightstick whispered low and lustily. "There's always our dungeon back at home ... ?"

Rammer hummed. "Oh fuck, yeah," he hissed. "I'm up for it if you guys are."

Nick threw a questioning glance at Noah, who grinned mischievously.

"Holy fuck, you guys are insatiable," muttered Peter with a chuckle.

"Is that a problem?" Nick asked with genuine concern. None of them would push anyone into something they didn't want to do.

"Not for me, Sir!" Cumslut growled

Punk hissed again. "Or me. I'll take all three of you, Sirs, and beg for more!" he said in a guttural offer too good to resist.

"That's what I'm here for," Viking observed. "Just a hole to be used and filled, Master!"

Nightstick laughed again. "Sean, Will, we'll see you at our place. You got your car?"

The others nodded.

"Then what are we standing around here for?" He led them out of the building, asking a group of four men standing by another car if they knew what time it was.

"Almost four," one replied.

"Perfect," he said to Nick. "At this time of the morning, I think we can roar our way right through town on these machines, leathered, sweaty and covered in cum! What do you think?"

Nick simply laughed, throwing his leg over the bike and kicking it into life.

The ride back to Richmond, through the empty streets of Melbourne at 4.00 am on a Saturday morning, was even more exhilarating than the journey over on the previous night. Bob and Nick opened up the monster bikes, and roared through downtown, the wind in their faces, the reek of mansex heavy on their bodies.

"In-fucking-credible!" Nightstick declared as they stepped away from the machines.

Sean and Will were not far behind, and soon the six of them were once more groping at each other as the urge of heady passion enveloped them and the welcoming blackness of Bob and Peter's dungeon lured them into it's warm embrace. Yet once they were inside that welcoming dimness, none of them seemed overly enthusiastic about renewing their passionate couplings. The exertions of the evening had taken their toll, and all six men seemed happy to simply lie about with each other, caressing and groping, trailing fingers and lips across sheened skin, merely enjoying the company and the intimacy.

"None of you are leaving for a while yet, are you?" Nightstick asked in a low voice.

The other five men looked at him in surprise.

"Have you changed your mind?" Rammer asked incredulously.

"Not at all! But it seems to me that we could use a bit of recuperation before we really get started again. I'm just offering a drink and some talking for now, as long as nobody is driving anywhere."

A feeling of relief, mixed with a curious and surprising sense of anticipation, a thrill of promised things to come, ran through the others, as they assured their host they would stay. Nightstick went to the kitchen for beers all round, and Peter followed him, helping carry the drinks back to their friends.

"This is a great play space," Nick commented to Rammer and Cumslut while the others were out of the room.

"Oh yeah," the other Master agreed. "We play with Nightstick and Punk fairly often, and usually in here. They've done a great job on it."

"You're from Sydney, Master Trojan?" Cumslut asked Nick.

"That's right."

"Do you have anything like this?"

"We have a playroom of our own, downstairs in the basement. Not as well equipped as this, but comfortable enough for us and a few friends," Nick answered.

"What about you, Sir?" Noah joined in. "Do you have your own area?"

"Not really. We've converted a bedroom for just us – set up a sling and made it perfect for us, but it's not really big enough to accommodate a group. You have some regular fuck-buddies you play with at home?"

"Uh huh," Noah confirmed. "In fact, that's how we got to know Master Nightstick and Punk. We play quite often with Master Sabre and his boy Eagar. Sabre used to live here in Melbourne. He knew Punk. He introduced us a couple of weeks ago.

At that point, Nightstick and Punk rejoined the group.

"So why are you in Melbourne?" Rammer was asking. "Are you staying here long?"

Nick stammered a little. Things were getting very close to home now, as they stood here, talking with Patrick's twin brother, who obviously had no idea who they were.

"Beers!" interjected Nightstick quickly. The six of them relaxed on the soft leather covered mattress, sipping their drinks in a slightly awkward silence.

Bob Moran figured it was time for the whole story to be told.

"Sean, Will, I guess you should know a bit more about our guests, now that we've, umm, been `intimate' with them."

Sean laughed. "That's one way to put it. But what does it matter? You seem like nice guys – what more is there to know?"

"Sorry if we haven't been completely upfront until now," Bob went on, "But the circumstances didn't really allow for small talk before. Trojan and Viking are Nick and Noah, friends we met recently through an old friend of Peter's by the name of David ..."

"Is that the `Sabre' you mentioned?" Sean asked.

"Uh huh," Nick nodded.

Bob went on. "But I actually met them a week earlier – as part of an investigation I was called into." Both Sean and will appeared curious, but said nothing. "Actually, they were, or even still are, guests of Wes Arrows-Smith. They were staying at his home the night he was murdered!"

"What the ..." Sean looked stunned. Will's eyes widened considerably, and he suddenly seemed very concerned as he watched his man's reactions carefully.

"Please don't be angry," Bob said quickly. "We would have told you earlier if there had been an opportunity."

"Now I recognise you," Sean blurted out. "I thought you were familiar, but I just couldn't place you. You were at Uncle Wes' funeral."

That's right," said Noah, slowly.

"Sean, they had nothing to do with what happened." Bob moved to his friend, gripping his forearm. "Nick and Noah simply happened to be there doing a favour for David – Sabre – from Sydney. He knew Wes quite well. After the murder, I asked them to stay on a bit, to see if they could help me with my enquiries."

"What about my brother?" Sean asked quickly. "Does Patrick know ... about this?" he waved his arms around the room. "Does he know where you are, what you get into?"

"Not at all," Nick responded instantly. "We told him we were visiting some friends in the city for tonight. That's all."

"We got the impression that your brother doesn't particularly like leather," Noah added. "He made some comments about our riding gear when we rented the bikes!"

"That's an understatement!" Sean cursed. "Patrick detests leather, and detests anyone who is `into' leather, in any way shape or form."

Noah spoke in a quiet, apologetic voice. "Sean, we're sorry if we've upset you. There was no intention to deceive, no ulterior motive. We were just looking for a good night out, and Bob and Peter asked us along,. It's sheer coincidence that you were there as well."

"It's certainly a small world!" Will observed in a low voice.

Sean simmered for a few minutes, sipping at his beer, his eyes down. But slowly his tensed frame relaxed, and his face lifted, his eyes re-appraising the two men from Sydney, and seeking reassurance from his friends. Bob's face was a study in concern and sympathy.

"Sean, I would have told you earlier, but we kinda ..." his voice trailed away.

The younger man recalled their initial contact the previous evening, and the slightest trace of a smile swept over his lips. Again he looked at Nick and Noah, looked at them hard. He remembered what they had shared in the last hours, and he grinned openly.

"Oh, fuck, it doesn't matter. I can hardly be angry at you if you had nothing to do with it. And fuck knows I can't stay mad at anyone who is as hot you guys are. Shit, I'd forgive anything for more of what we've done tonight!"

Nick chuckled throatily. "I think we can both say a huge thank you for that – the fucking sex I mean, as well as for not getting upset."

"You know, it might help to talk about how you feel, openly, mate," Peter added. "These guys were there, but they're not involved. And you don't have to hide anything from them!"

"We've got nothing left to hide!" Sean laughed this time, his arm around Will, drawing his lover into himself. "Did Uncle Wes ever mention me?" he asked suddenly.

"No, but then we only met him the day before he was ... you know," Nick stammered.

"The first we knew of your existence was when you were arguing with Patrick at the wake," Noah offered.

"Bloody Patrick!" Sean stated vehemently. "Sometimes I could just hate him!"

Nick looked sideways at Noah, but it was Noah who spoke.

"That's strange, because Patrick told us that you do hate him. That you have hated him for years. And that you hated your uncle as well."

"No, not at all," Sean sighed tiredly. "I didn't hate them. I was angry with Pat, furious even, because of the way he used Uncle Wes. And Uncle Wes fell for his lies, wouldn't listen to my side of the story. He forbade me to come to the house, refused to take my calls. He didn't want anything to do with me, and that hurt, because it was all Pat's doing."

"What did happen all those years ago, Sean?" Bob asked. "I want to know as your friend, not as a cop. Whatever you tell me will stay between us if you want. You never mentioned him and we've known you for years. When I met Patrick the night of the murder, I nearly fell over with shock. I thought it was you until he introduced himself."

Sean shrugged his shoulders. "Didn't seem to be any point in telling you about him. We never spoke, rarely even saw each other, unless accidentally in a bar or a club somewhere. Even then, he usually ignored me."

Will twisted in Sean's arms. "Tell them your side of the story, hon," he urged. "otherwise, all they have to go on is whatever lies Pat has fed them."

"There's not that much to tell," his lover went on. "Pat is a user. He didn't really care for Uncle Wes, he was just out for whatever he could get from him – a nice home, plenty of money, fancy cars. If anything, he thought Uncle Wes was just a sad old queen, too conservative for his own good. Before he went to live there, back when we still talked, he used to brag that he could get the old guy to give him anything he wanted, and he didn't even have to put out – like a sugar daddy without the tacky sex.

"When Pat moved in to Wes' house, I used to see him around town, spending up big, making a name for himself, chasing all the pretty young twinks. I tried to warn Uncle Wes, tried to tell him he was being used. Pat showed up that day, and accused me of trying to rape him! Can you believe it, my own brother! Wes was furious. He wouldn't listen to me, told me I was the one trying to use him. He told me he was disowning me, that he never wanted to see me again. It was just like with our parents all over again. Being rejected by one family is hard enough, but being rejected by the family who took you in after the first round is just unbearable."

"But why wouldn't Wes listen to you – if he accepted you when your parents threw you out. Surely he must have had feelings for you?" Nick asked, dumbfounded by what had happened to this young man.

"Patrick, I guess," Sean answered. "He knows how to talk the talk, knows what to say, what people want to hear. He can be pretty persuasive when he wants to be. My guess is that from the moment he went to live with Uncle Wes, he would have been undermining me, slowly chipping away, convincing Wes that I was evil."

"Why on earth would he do that? I thought you said the two of you were still talking back then?" Peter asked.

"No, we stopped speaking before Pat went to live there. One of the reasons he went to live with Uncle Wes was because he got hurt, hurt badly. He blamed me for that. It's also why he hates anything to do with leathermen."

"What happened?" Noah prompted.

"It all goes back to home. Obviously, we grew up together. We shared everything, as twins do. And I think we both realised we were gay at around the same time. So when we came out to my parents, we did it together – supporting each other I suppose. Maybe we hoped they couldn't be too mad at both of us. But we were wrong. They threw us out on the spot.

"Luckily, we were old enough to fend for ourselves. So we moved into a tiny flat in St Kilda, the pair of us. We still did everything together, but we started to find that we had slightly different tastes. I worked out fairly early that I had this thing for leather and men in leather. I was a natural top, and dominant, and I started getting some gear together, going to leather bars, meeting up with master/slave type guys like myself. Patrick, on the other hand, liked nothing better than a pretty young face. He went after the gorgeous ones who wore the designer clothes and drank the right cocktails, ate at the right cafes, and danced in the right clubs.

"I used to drag along with him some nights, but didn't really enjoy that scene. Same for him. He would tag along to the leather bars I went to, but wasn't really interested, and bit by bit we started going out alone. One night – it was a Thursday – he didn't come home. Not that it was unusual for him to stay out all night, but rarely during the week. I wasn't too concerned, but when he still hadn't come home by Sunday afternoon I was starting to get seriously worried. He showed up Monday night, aching and bruised, shivering and crying."

"He was beaten up?" Nick asked quickly.

"Kinda," Sean muttered. "He told me he had gone out looking for me on the Thursday night, wanted us to be `the twins' again. He tried several places, drinking more at each place while he looked for me. At some S&M club in Fitzroy, he was still drinking, and decided he wasn't going to find me, when some guy offered to give him a lift home. But instead of taking him home, this guy took him somewhere – he said he lost track and has no idea where it was – and dragged him inside. I was never able to work out whether his drink had been spiked, or if maybe he had gone willingly to begin with. You could never tell with Pat.

"Anyway, when they got inside this place, there were three other men waiting. Pat says he was tied up with some rope first, then chains and shackles – hand and ankle cuffs. They stripped him, and dressed him in a harness, put a collar around his neck, a gag in his mouth and a full hood over his head, and from then until Monday morning these three guys, maybe more, he thought; used him as their slave. The way he tells the story, if he struggled or tried to protest they whipped him or slapped him around. He said they fucked him, they used dildoes and plugs on him, they hung him upside down and took turns at abusing him."

By this time, Sean was near to tears. He stopped and took a deep breath, looking around at his friends, and himself. "For any of us, I'm guessing it would have been one hell of a hot session, but we all consent and want it. Pat didn't. he hated it. When they finally let him go, he was dumped in a laneway in Abbotsford with his clothes thrown on top of him. That was Monday afternoon. He dressed himself and came home."

"So he was raped," Noah said simply. "There's no other word to describe it."

"I guess so," Sean agreed.

"And that's why he can't stand anything to do with leather?" Peter asked.

"Partly," Sean muttered. "He got over the `attack' or whatever you call it, but it took him a long time to get up the courage to go out alone again. But what drove us apart was that he seemed to think that as a result of what had happened, I should stop going out to leather bars too. When I told him that what happened to him was wrong, but wasn't a true indication of the scene, and that I was who I was, and I was still into leathermen and not going to change, that's when we fought. And that's when he told Uncle Wes what had happened. He swore to Wes that he was psychologically damaged by the attack, and Wes insisted he move into the house down at Arthur's Seat."

"So as far as we can work out, Pat convinced Wes that Sean was pure evil, because he was part of the leather scene, part of the scene that had abused and hurt Pat that weekend," Will finished for his partner.

"That's awful," Nick said softly, verbalising the thoughts of all in the room.

Sean managed a weak smile. "I could use another drink after telling that story?" he asked.

Peter stood quickly. "I'll get them – another for everyone."

Bob moved to his close friend, managing to include both Will and Sean in a hug. "I'm so sorry, mate. I had no idea what you had been through back then."

Noah looked at the young man with concern and pity. "Sean, tell me to butt out, if you want ... but why did you bother going to the funeral?"

"Because Wes was still my Uncle. I wanted to pay my respects. And I guess I was hoping Pat may have changed, just a little, been ready to talk to me."

"Is that why you argued with him?" Noah pressed.

"I guess it was. He told me I wasn't welcome there, that it was his home now. He told me he never wanted to see me, told me to get out of the house – again!"

"Patrick told us that you were demanding a share of Wes' Estate," Nick said in surprise.

"Well, he didn't lie to you on that. I did say to him that I wasn't going to let him just take all of Uncle Wes' money, that I wanted my share. Of course, he refused, told me I wouldn't see a cent." He looked around at the surprise on the faces surrounding him. "I don't really want or need the money," he explained. "But after what Pat has done, I just wanted to try to stop him from getting it all. He used Uncle Wes while he was alive, and it seems to me that he's is just going to keep on using whim even after he is dead."

The six men lay back where they were, drinking silently. But the silence was not an uncomfortable one. Somehow, together as they were, garbed in their leathers and cocooned in the dim warmth of Nightstick and Punk's dungeon, they felt safe and protected from the harsh reality of the world outside. Here, in this place, still sticky with the residue of lusty sex, they were united and empowered by each other and themselves.

Breaking the silence, Sean turned to face the cop. "Bob, I told myself I wouldn't ask, since I didn't want to push our friendship into `business', but after all of this coming out – well, do you have any suspects?"

Still in his Master's wear, detective Moran grinned. "It's not stretching our friendship. If I have any concrete information I'll tell you. At this point, there are three real possibilities that I'm looking at, and the most likely seems to be one that Nick and Noah brought to my attention."

"Seriously?" Sean looked at the pair again. "Are you guys cops in Sydney or something?"

Nick laughed. "No way! We just seem to get ourselves mixed up in things, and we have a knack for finding out stuff the cops don't get to hear. We're doing what we can to help Bob with his investigation."

Moran laughed too. "In fact, Sean, they don't always get it right. Yesterday afternoon, Noah was suggesting to me that YOU were a serious suspect! But that was because he didn't have all the facts available – and hadn't heard your side of the story."

Noah blushed so deeply his discolouration could be seen even in the darkness. "I'm sorry, Sean," he stammered.

"It's forgotten," Sean laughed, then lowered his voice to a lusty whisper. "Although, I don't know that I'm finished with `punishing' you yet!"

That brought a round of approving murmurs from all of them, including Noah, and more than one of the men felt that familiar twitch in his groin.

"You know," said Will, "I always wanted Sean to be able to tell his story to someone else; to be able to get it off his chest. But I thought it would be a psychiatrist, in a sterile office. I never expected it to be told to a group of the hottest leathermen I've ever met, lying back in a dungeon, dressed in leather like this," he grinned as he waved his arm around to encompass them.

"It's better this way," Sean said, almost to himself. "It's better shared with friends."

"And better put aside, too," Bob added. "Not forgotten, but left in the past, so you can get on with your life. In some ways, I'm surprised that what happened to Patrick didn't make you want to turn your back on the leather scene."

"Never," Sean affirmed. "I know what happened to him was wrong. But I also know that it's not what really happens. It's not the way we play. I am what I am, and I like it!"

"So do I!" stated Will, his hand sliding down Sean's abdomen to close around the long fleshy tube of his Master's cock.

... to be continued ...

This story is a fantasy, it is not real and only happened in my imagination. YOU MUST REMEMBER that in the real world, you can DIE from having unsafe sex. It is your right and your duty to make sure that condoms are always used, whether you are giving or receiving. It doesn't matter how good looking or how ugly he is, and it doesn't matter whether you are top or bottom, USE A CONDOM!