The story below is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any resemblance to real people is entirely coincidental in nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons in towns, cities, or governmental areas, in which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most state and countries, you are not allowed to read this story by law. Check with your local laws regarding such. Sexual safety matters. This is fiction. Use protection in real life. `Got condom?'
"Buffalo Boys" 01 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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"Have any idea where we report?"
Nineteen year old Marat Saint-Marc questions his friend, Jason Wragg III, in his heavy French accent, after descending the slight flight of steps, hopping off the last, of the bus that has transported them from the small town airport, to Timber Creek Fitness Camp.
"Dunno, sport," Jason returns the vague reply.
Unintentionally flaunting his British-Aussie accent, it serves to enhance the handsome features of the eighteen year old.
"I'd like to know where the fuck we are!" Hazard belts out, sharply.
Some guys can deal out rougher languages than others, as per their loose upbringing, however Douglass, Dougie, Hazard, takes the cake, from the blunt, more boisterous demeanor, characteristic of his upbringing.
Dougie continues spewing forth, "They cram eight of us into this fuckin' sardine can, then dump us in the middle of `Gilligan's Island'... I want to see somebody in charge and now!"
The Tennessee-an was about to be dealt a rude awakening. The other seven conglomeration of eighteen and nineteen year olds stood there, staring at the giant of a man, directly behind Dougie.
"If I required your opinion, I would have asked for it!"
Flipping around, on his heels, Dougie stands in the exact same position of the uniformed counselor, twenty-one year old, James Mieremet. Hands on hips, each stare in the other's eyes.
A facsimile of an army officer, James wears a green, fatigue-fashioned outfit. A brass plate, reflecting the afternoon light, tells the world his identity. Decorating the rest of the outfit, are words that describe where - Timber Creek Fitness Camp, division - Buffalo section and his rank, associate counselor.
Dougie picks up on the rank, immediately.
"I see you're some asshole's peewee. No, I want to talk with the head honcho here. I got a thing or two to bitch about!"
From the start Dougie Hazard began on the wrong foot.
"That would be me."
The other seven camp-mates had seen the tall, six foot, two inch, two hundred and fifteen pound, blonde man standing behind the six foot tall youth. His eyes came to about the bridge of Reinken Michaelis' nose.
"Yeah, well what kind of shoddy service is this, fitting eight of us into this peewee-sized sardine can and then dumping us off in the middle of..." Dougie continued his onslaught of complaints.
Dougie got cut off short, by Reinken's fist, delivered to his midsection.
"Bastard!" Dougie called out.
Disregarding the dull ache in his stomach, Dougie pushes up from the ground, his fist ready to pound. Smiling, the blonde counselor's massive palm is in place to catch his aggressor's balled fist from doing damage to his crotch.
"You will learn not to trick your superiors!"
"Superior jerks, yeah right," Dougie responds.
Standing there, the tough American boy, from the Tennessee sticks, still touts his fist, clutched in Reinken Michaelis' wide hand. As if a stalemate, they freeze. That is, until the camouflaged camp officer grins. It isn't to laugh at any joke.
"Jim?" Reinken called James.
"Yes, sir?"
"You?" Dougie continues to dig himself deeper into deep enough shit. "Who put a worm like you in charge?"
Spitting, Dougie's phelgm lands right on Reinken's bare chest, where the V of his uniform shirt, parts.
"I don't think you shoulda done that, Dougie," Dario Parisi, from Miami, clues Dougie in.
However, Dougie should have read that by now, as the two Timber Creek counselors stand close by, ready to deliver the sentence.
"We will make an example of this one," Reinken responds. "Take him."
"Hey, get your fuckin' hands off me!"
Before the nineteen year old could think, James was on him, clenching both arms behind his back. Even though James Mieremet stood an inch shorter, the strength in his arms kept Dougie secured. His powerful legs made his captive walk.
"Where the fuck are you taking me? I demand my rights!"
Mieremet laughs, mocking Dougie, "Rights? Haa ha ha ha haaa..."
"When my old man finds out what you're..."
"The rest of you Buffalo boys pick up your gear and follow," the order came from Reinken.
It's the first of many times they would hear talk of themselves as the `Buffalo boys'.
"You," Reinken nodded to an Asian camper.
"Yes, sir?" Scott Tsutsumi replied.
Right away, Reinken picked up on the respectful manner in which Scott addressed him. It wasn't just the polite aspect though. The man-in-charge detected something stronger, touching him down to his crotch, churning up some signal. He decided to test his theory. The others stood around, watching the interaction between counselor and camper, until Reinken noticed.
"The rest of you boys, follow your superior," Reinken referred to James, hauling Dougie away, arms pinned behind the camper's back.
The now empty small scale bus, that had carried the eight campers and their gear from the local airport, to Timber Creek Fitness Camp, stood in the parking lot of the administration building. Beside it, seven campers of the Buffalo Lodge stood on their guard. They knew by words exchanged that Dougie was in deep shit.
"Hold up there, a minute," Reinken ordered James and his captive.
With his mighty arm muscles, Mieremet swung Dougie around, so that he faced the bus depot, from a yard away.
"Heeeeeey, you fuck! You almost twisted my arm out of my socket!"
"Oh, I'm capable of doing much more damage." the counselor, just a coupla years older than Dougie, threatened. Squeezing his shoulder blades tighter together, he went on to say, "It's going to be such a pleasure to work you over!"
Unknown to Dougie, what had crossed the minds of the other seven, he indeed kept on the path to digging himself deeper into trouble. As James Mieremet stood there, with his captive's arms pinned behind his back, he made it a point to make Dougie's hands fall almost in his pubic region. With a small amount of hip action, Mieremet could stimulate his own cock and balls, at Dougie's expense, without anyone else summising the pleasurable act, much to Dougie's humiliation.
He whispered in Dougie's ear so that none one but the two caught the object of the counselor's desires, "Oh yeaaaah... stroke my cock, boy!"
"When I get outta this, I'm coming after you, bastard!"
"Tsk! Tsk! Oh know. I'm gonna make sure you're gonna be hurtin' for a long, long time!"
Dougie didn't like the choice of words bellowing from Mieremet's mouth. His only thoughts were to turn the situation around. Break free from his tormentor's grip. Reverse the position, so he remained `man-on-top'. However the twenty-one year old counselor's grip remained firm. If that wasn't enough humiliation, he bore witness to another humiliating act of barbary.
"What's he doing?"
"Shhhhhh..." Ron Hastings warned the eighteen year old peer, standing next to him, "don't give them an excuse to go after us!"
Being hit from both angles, Dougie squirmed around more than ever now, to break free. First, it had been James Mieremet's threats of physical punishment and now Reinken Michaelis offered up another threat. Placing Dougie's backpack in front of the left tire of the bus, his grip-bag under the right tire, he climbed behind the seat of the steering column, turning the key. With the whir of the bus motor, it began to seal the fate of Dougie Hazard's gear.
"What the fuck? No! My Ipod.. my electric shaver... he's insane!"
Dougie's efforts to break free only gave James Mieremet the freedom to buck his hips, without drawing attention to jambing his hard cock up against the nineteen year old's ass. Dougie didn't cater much to the feeling of having his ass `pounded'. In reality, gay and a total top, any type of remote invasion of his rear quadrant, would deem repulsive. Right now, it didn't phase Dougie even half as much, as watching the two bus tires roll over his baggage.
"Ai chiwowwa!" Dario Parisi, the half Italian-half Hispanic immigrant from Miami sighed.
He, as well as the others gasped as they heard the crackle of the contents become pulverized. Exited the bus, Reinken pulled from underneath the two bags. Turning to Scott Tsutsumi, the five foot, ten inch tall, one hundred and ninety-six pound Japanese chub, laden with his own two bags, Reinken threw them.
"Carry these!"
Mieremet got a jolt out of watching the two tire-treaded bags hit Scott, full-frontal, knocking him over onto his back.
It became another test for Scott. Reinken knew the force of the gear, slamming against his chest, would put stress on the kid's physique.
Timing him with his watch, Reinken ordered, "Up in five seconds with the gear or I'll string you up, too, fatboy!"
Ron Hastings bent down, saying, "Here, give me your hand, Scott....Owwch! What tha?"
A slap came down onto the back of Ron's hand.
"Fall back in line, boy!" Reinken delivered, with a sharp tongue.
"Yeah, okay," Ron replied, casually.
"What'd you say, boy?"
"Um.. yeah.. okay.. I mean sir," he followed the return answer, seeing that Scott had gotten a favorable rebuttal from the counselor, earlier on.
"Just in time, boy," Reinken quipped.
Something that Scott himself picked up on, as he dragged all four gear bags, two of his own, as well as Dougie's two, glancing to the space between Reinken's legs, he noticed the adequate bulge. It only served to make Scott's balls churn at the thought of his counselor getting a charge out of his own humiliation!"
Mieremet did an about face `dance' with Dougie, setting him on course, in front of him. No slouch himself, not from working out, but doing odd chores at home which required physical stress, the nineteen year old still couldn't match the muscular drive onwards of his twenty-one year old counselor.
Heading Northwest, through the backyard of the Timber Creek Fitness Camp administration building, they paraded through the trees. One of the campers decided to deviate from the line.
"And where the fuck do you think you're goin?" Reinken barked.
"No place," Gil Elliot replied, immediately backtracking from whence he came and turning back to follow Maclyn Darragh, the original guy in front of him.
As an act to educate all, Reinken shouted, "You'll learn to stay on the brown path at all times!"
Looking down, nineteen year old Marat Saint-Marc looked at the marble colored gravel, mouthing the word, brown'? While doing so, he almost careened into the tree in front of him, with the brown trail marker. He thought, Oh, I get it!'
Nobody was more pooped than Scott Tsutsumi, hauling his own gear, plus the mostly useless supplies of Dougie Hazard. Coming into a small clearing, they approached a group of two cabins. To the side, was something like a tree trunk.
Jason Wragg III, softly whispered to his new friend, Marat, "Looks like somebody scalped the tree!"
However, Marat didn't have the nerve to utter a peep. It was bad enough that the boys witnessed the next order of business, as Reinken approached James Mieremet and Dougie Hazard.
"What the fuck?" Dougie went on with his perverse slaying.
With quick precision, Mieremet released Dougie's arms, only to be taken into custody by the two counselors. Reinken took the left wrist, while James Mieremet commandeered Dougie's right wrist. Together they reached up and fastened the teen's wrists to a pair of leather cuffs, hanging from the top of the tree trunk, devoid of all branches, limbs and leaves.
Knowing it would humiliate the teen, Mieremet reached in front and gave Dougie's balls a small squeeze, saying, "It's gonna be such a pleasure taking care of you, boy! Haa ha ha ha ha haaa.."
Backing away, Reinken went before the small assemblage of the seven remaining `Buffalo Lodge' boys.
"Attention!"
All it took for the seven teens to adjust their posture, was Rainken's harsh shout. They've all seen war movies. They knew the drill. Scared shit of the consequences, they stood there, not daring to even remove their gear, attached to their backs or under an arm. Except one of the boys. He got a mean stare from the six foot, two inch tall counselor.
"Did I tell you to drop those bags boy?"
Scott, his street clothes perspired through, went about readjusting his load, to accomodate picking up Dougie's gear.
"No, sir," Scott returned the order.
Again, his balls churned at the thought, coupled with the scolding, turning him on tremendously. He hoped it wasn't detected, what he was feeling between his legs!
All the time Reinken stood there, giving the boys a pep talk about following rules and the consequences, Dougie shouted out obscenities. He warned of his father cutting off his tuition or funding, if he wasn't released immediately. To himself, it was obvious to Dougie that he faced something he never had to endure in his lifetime; corporal punishment.
Trying not to show it too much, James Mieremet stood there, his lips slightly upturned. However, inside his warped mind, he was picturing carrying out Dougie's punishment. Without being conspicuous, he had already rearrnage his privates, so that his eight inches pointed down his pants leg. One of his lifelong fantasies was about to come true.
"Prepare him for punishment, Jim!"
James Mieremet, startled from his reverie, broke free of his day dream. Turning his attention towards Dougie, he walked over to the bound teen. Facing the `Greenday' T-shirt, he took it in two hands. With a massive tearing action, he separated the fabric across Dougie's back.
"Heeeeey... I just bought that at the mall!"
For a moment, Dougie's more intent fears had opted out for the lesser. With swift action, Mieremet pulled a knife out, cutting the sleeves of the shirt and separating the Greenday-emblazoned shirt from Dougie's skin.
"Gather `round in a half circle," Reinken told the boys.
Still holding their gear, the sweaty eighteen and ninteen year olds formed a half circle, as ordered. Scott puffed, having to tote two guys' wares. He felt like his feet would buckle under him.
Scott got up enough gumtion to ask, "Mr. Michaelis, sir, may I please put something down?"
"No!" Came the short and simple reply.
A little whiny, Scott answerered, "Yes, sir."
Reinken took a second glance at the Asian youth, signaling the first positive look since they got off the bus. It was the first inkling that Reinken detected possibilities in the youth.
"Procede with the whipping, Jim."
"Whipping?" Circulated around the half circle of teens, in whispered tones.
Maclyn, the red-haired Irish teen said, "My pa used to do that to my older brother!"
Reinken payed them no mind, except to watch Mieremet report to a waist-high cupboard. Taking off his dogtags, he used a key to open the padlock. Within seconds he had the double doors open and a leather implement in his hands. Taking a position behind Dougie, still full of his own threats to have his father close the place down or personally, against James Mieremet. At the same time that Mieremet took up his footing, eyeing up the place where the belt should make it's first mark, Reinken proceeded to stroll over to the `whipping post'. Standing indirectly, facing Dougie and the seven others, Reinken began to unbutton his shirt.
"Now, there's the matter of discipline. Ten lashes to be slowly dealt out, that is, unless..."
Drawing out the quality of the tense moments, Reinken slowly unbuttoned his shirt to the beltline, pulling it out. Each boy could pick out the taut abs and the shiny sweat of his smooth, dotted with two creamy nips. Separating his abs, a thin, defined blonde, hardly recognizable trail ran the length, dipping into his deep navel. A slightly darker trail covered the inch to his belt.
"Except there's the matter of this."
All knew what Reinken spoke of, without further explanation. A slightly discolored place, where Dougie had spat, even though faintly visible, splotched the German's chest, midway between nips.
"Lick it off and save yourself five lashes, boy!"
"What tha fuck?" Mieremet complained.
Doing the math, the twenty-one year old counselor felt gypped.
Like writing on the wall, Reinken had already guessed that Dougie would rather remain silent.
Much to Mieremet's pleasure, Reinken announced, "Begin the punishment!"
Stepping to the rear of the semi-circle of teen campers, Reinken took off his shirt. Afterall, it was the kick off of a wickedly hot summer and he already felt dirty and sweaty. Even though his crotch would soon be churning, from watching Mieremet deliver the punishment, he knew he would have felt much more satisfaction of having Dougie lick his chest.
"One!"
"Akkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!" Dougie cried out, as the leather strap crossed his shoulder blades.
At the second strike, Dougie's cry brought out heroics. Reinken giggled, watching Mieremet fight off Gil and Ron. One took a fist to the gut, as the other, not so fortunate, suffered a knee to the balls. Regardless, the act of defense enabled Mieremet to carry out the sentence.
During the next eight lashes, the other boys gasped and cringed at the sight and sounds of the punishing whipping. The excitement of the punitive measures didn't phase Reinken half as much as his eyes scanning the taxed physique of Scott Tsutsumi. His mind still lingered with intoxication at hearing those words, yes, Sir'. Unlike himself, Scott's more beefy' body figured in on the turn on. Reinken couldn't wait until he could get a look at what lie underneath the clothes!
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01 Continued...
Copyright 2006 T. Chase McPhee This story may not be sold or made part of any collection without prior written permission.
"The more you stretch, the more you can fit in... 'spread' happiness!"
T. Chase McPhee... circa 2005