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" 04 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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To further humiliate James Mieremet, the Buffalo boys, showered, except for Marat and Dougie, took the counselor outside. Having a his own briefs stuffed in his mouth, the now humiliated counselor couldn't cry out for help. With hands still bound behind his back, they took him out to the same whipping post that Dougie had been strung up to. With the same leather cuffs replacing the shoe strings, the tallest jock, Marat lifted the pair of arms over Mieremet's head, placing the metal rings over the hook at the top of the whipping post.
Dougie called out, "Sweet dreams," as the boys began walking away.
Mieremet squirmed around, trying to free himself from the impossible situation.
On their way back to the cabin, Marat and Dougie, arm around each other's shoulder joked.
"I wonder what they're going to say when they find Mieremet strung up like that tomorrow morning?"
"I don't know and I don't fuckin' care," Dougie told him.
"Think they'll come after us?"
"Hell," Dougie offered to Marat, "it'd be worth it, taking another whipping. You don't know how damn good it felt fucking his tight ass!"
"Yeah, well I didn't think it, but it did feel good having you fuck my ass, Dougie!"
"Hmm... I think I can scrounge up a coupla more loads before revellie!"
Their adrenaline still soared.
Returning to the cabin, Ron brought to light, "Um, guys, I think we missed the call to dinner?"
Grabbing his explorer watch, Jason proclaimed, "Shit! It's pushing eight o'clock!"
Gil replies, "Time flies when you're having fun!"
Dario leans in to Gil's ear and whispers, so that only he can hear, "I can't wait to have some more fun with this!"
Pushing his ass backwards, Gil feels a little wormy finger press inside his sphinter.
"Well, there's some crushed Oreo's and Chips Ahoy in my gearbag, if anybody's interested," Dougie makes light of his belongings, run over by the camp bus, via Reinken's foot applying the pedal to the metal.
Given permission, the hungry vultures go to it, tearing into Dougie's pack.
"Not very hungry," the tall Frenchman tells Dougie.
"Hot about a shower before we hit the sheets again?"
Marat watches Dougie's hot ass, as they parade to the showers, in the back of the cabin.
"What?" Dougie asks, turning on the shower faucets.
"Nothing," Marat replies, arms crossing his pecs, as he watches Dougie even out the temperature.
"Seems like you're smiling an awful lot about nothing, Marat."
"I just thought of how maybe I'd be meeting some nice guy before the end of camp."
"Yeah? And?"
As if Dougie didn't know what Marat was driving at!
"Um... well," Marat shrugs his shoulders.
It's then he realizes there's no words to explain how he feels. Knowing only his actions can speak louder, he creeps up behind Dougie. Using his `French-lover skills', he places his lips on the side of the Tennessee-an's neck.
Leading Marat under the shower spray, the French loverman keeps paced with the strut, never breaking his lips from what he perceives as a sensuous bod.
"Oooooooh," Marat whines.
"What?"
"I wanted to taste your male-scent before you've washed it away."
Nonchalantly, as the water streams down his face, Dougie replies, "No problem, Marat. You've got fifty-five more days to go!"
Dougie loved the way Marat catered to him, soaping up his back, working the lather in between his ass crevice, between his legs, then reaching around his front. He loved it as Marat pressed his own slimy chest, stomach and areas below against himself and ran his lathered hands all over his chest and stomach. He sighed out loud when Marat bathed his sensitive parts.
"I could get used to this, man!"
Marat replied, "I already am used to it," in a soft silky voice against Dougie's neck.
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In the adjoining counselor cabin, Reinken's bed has been rocking around for the past hour. Flat on his back, legs almost pinned over his shoulders, twenty-six year old Reinken Michaelis has been pounding the eighteen year old's ass.
"You have a fuckin' hot ass, boy!"
Reinken complimented, not because he had to. For the past hour, Scott's tight ass rim has been giving the perfect massage for Reinken's twelve and a half inch, thick barrel. At times he's reached in between the two and stroked his boy's shaft.
"Harder... harder.... pound me harder... yeah, pound my ass!"
Taking in the lusty remarks, Reinken tries to oblige, even as Scott presses his ass towards the tall German. At times, Reinken pulls out to where only his cockhead remains lodged in ass. Then without warning, he jambs all twelve and a half inches back in.
"Ooooooooooooooooooooh fuck yeah!"
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"I'm thirsty!"
"I got a coupla Gatorade's here," Gil lets on.
"What'ya hoggin' `em for, Gil. Give'm here!"
As the boys fight over the different colors of ade, Maclyn decides that Dougie and Marat have been missing too long. He sneaks away from the group and moves towards the jon. At the door, he creaks it open a crack. Looking in, he sees the shower dripping, but the two no where in sight. From within the depths of the room, he hears grunting noises. Now admitting his whole bod, he walks around to the side of one of the stalls. Leaning over, his hands propped on the plumbing, Marat's ass is high in the air, with Dougie's shaft buried inside.
"Ooooh fuck me Dougie... yeah fuck me hard, man!"
"Some top you turned out to be!"
Marat concedes, "I knew some day I might have to turn my ass over to the right guy, when he came along."
It wasn't any shock to Dougie. The first time he laid eyes on Marat, he knew he had to have him.
Hastily, Maclyn raced back to the main cabin, to report his findings. Upon returning, he found he had missed out on some action of his own. Dario and Gil already retired to a bunk. Looking over to another bunk, he saw Jason, sacked out, snoring. Maclyn was startled, when a hand reached out, grabbing his own cock.
"Want me to firm that up for you, Mac?"
Maclyn smiled. He didn't say a word, as Ron led him over to an unoccupied bunk. After another hour of so, Marat and Dougie retired from the shower area, finding an empty bed. Climbing in, they lay together, kissing, until sleep overtook them.
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Next morning, almost before the hens and chickens had been summoned to the daybreak, the trumpet sounded.
"What the hell was that?" Dougie shouted out, sitting up suddenly.
Forgetting that Marat had slept with him, he almost tumbled the Frenchman out of bed.
"Oh, sorry about that man."
Marat assured him that he would survive.
"I think it's called a bugle," Jason informed them.
"I can play guitar better than that!" Gil commented.
It became the rage then, to talk music. Soon they discovered they almost had a rock band ready to roll.
With his fake guitar, Jason began to mimic the QAF theme song, "1-2-3-4-1-2-3-4-5-6-shake it dude! Daa-da-da-da-daa-da-da-daa-da-da..."
To his `spunky song', Gil and Ron donned cowboy hats and began to shake their booties!
The guys watching the hullabaloo, looked upon mutual shakings of cocks and bouncing balls.
"Hey, just remembered something," Dougie yelled out, "I'm hungry!"
One of the guys, Maclyn, cut in with, "What about Mieremet?"
"Shit yeah!" Dougie recalled.
The flock of boys hightailled it outdoors, without even thinking about putting anything on. Finding out what they wanted, they high-tailed it back inside.
"What the hell do you think happened to him?"
"Beats me!" Dougie answered Maclyn.
"There's not more than one whipping post, is there?" Ron asked.
"I think there's only one," Gil guessed.
With greater insight, Jason told them, "We didn't get a chance to roam the place yesterday. Maybe there's more than one?"
Any other guy told Jason he knew as much as they did!
"All I know is that my stomach doesn't feel like missing another meal!"
Everyguy was with Ron, on that point.
As they readied, into their new uniforms, some of the teens traded off pieces.
"Damn, these pants'll strangle my crotch!" Gil complained.
"Here, toss them here, Gil."
"Cool!" Gil replied, when Maclyn's pants fit looser.
"How they fit you?"
"Awesome!"
Possibly by mistake, but most likely on purpose, Dougie and Marat lingered in the jon, at the mirror. Both held razors in their hands, with half-shaven faces.
"I bet you would look good with a goatee, Dougie."
"No kidding? Cool! Okay. Starting tomorrow I'll work on it. What about you?"
"I dunno. What do you think?"
Dreaming in the mirror, he switched his view next to himself. He caught Dougie looking lower.
"Ahem!"
"What?" Dougie replied, shaken back to reality.
"Um, maybe I should shave my balls?"
"I wasn't complaining, was I?"
"I sure wasn't, the way you handled them last night."
"I thought you were asleep!"
"Hee heee... I thought I was dreaming, until I realized your hand tumbled them over and over."
"What can I say, Marat? You've got hot balls."
Then, leaning there on the sink, pausing from shaving duty, Marat sighed.
"What are you thinking about?" Dougie inquired, wiping the remnants of cream from his chin.
"Y'know, it felt mighty nice having you cuddle up to me last night, Dougie."
"Yeah," Dougie got caught up in the reverie, taking on the same resting position. "My cock agrees."
"Your cock, huh? Are you always this romantic?"
"Hey, I'm a teenage jock. I've got a steady stream of testosterone ever-flowing. What am I supposed to do?"
Taking his towel, Marat whips Dougie lightly on the front, slapping his cock. A duel ensues, towels as swords, the tale of the terry cloth snapping against chests, then ass, then....
"What the fuck is going on in here?"
Looking at each other, they say, "Uh-oh!"
"Two minutes, outside, dressed and standing at attention, men!"
After Reinken left their presence, Dougie says to Marat, "At least he's in a better mood than yesterday!"
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Outside the Buffalo Lodge, Reinken surveyed the troops.
Walking up to Dario, he pulled his shirt out of his pants, barking, "Tuck that in properly!"
"Um, okay," He replied, going for his belt, to unbuckle it.
Reinken takes a pad out of the vest pocket of his shirt. Taking a pen, he writes some on it, the page underneath making a carbon copy of the top part.
"What's that?" Dario asks, trying to read over the top.
Unknown to the others, nothing had really been amiss with Dario's shirt. Their lodge leader used it to impress a point. The Timber Creek Fitness Camp's means of discipline.
Without any other means of explanation, Reinken rattles off, slightly behind his writings, "Two demerits for a sloppy uniform, two demerits for disrespect, two more for speaking out of turn..."
"Heeeeeey! That's not fuckin' fair!"
With his erasable pen, he repeated himself, upping the number, "I stand corrected. Four demerits for speaking out of turn and two more for profanity in the presence of a superior."
Already Dario got the message, forming the words, but not vocally responding, `What tha?'
"That totals eight demerits," he rips off the little pink slip, "which you will report for disciplining before mess hall. Any other takers?"
Gil meekly tries raising his hand, as if in grade school.
"What is it?" Reinken barks in Gil's face.
"Um, can I speak..." he swallows, hoping this is coming out right, "sir?"
"At least one of ya's has the means to address your superiors. What is it?"
"Um, what did you mean by demerits' and reporting for disciplinary action', um... sir?"
Before Reinken could answer Gil, Marat and Dougie come waltzing out of the Buffalo Lodge.
"Well, well... glad you ladies could join us for the sorority meeting!"
Dario tried, with Reinken distanced between them, to signal the two, but time didn't allow it.
"Ladies? I think you need a fuckin' pair of binoculars, Michaelis!"
Dario, as well as the others, standing behind Reinken, curved their lips into little o's, some verbally saying it, `oooooh'. Dario's hand covered his face, as if not wishing to see the consequences befall the outspoken Tennessee-an.
"You tell'em, Dougie," Marat dug a ditch, for himself as well.
Reiken didn't say a word. Taking out the pink pad, he began to write. Coming around, on both sides of Reinken, each of the offenders watched as he wrote.
"That's my name," Marat voiced his opinion. Then, skipping a line down, he exclaimed, "two demerits? For what?"
Their fearless leader kept on, skipping two a page, the carbon of the offense, onto Dougie's.
To really grind it in, though he said out loud to the whole band of Buffalo jocks, "I thought maybe you boys would've learned your lesson yesterday."
"What the fuck?" Dougie watched, as Reinken jotted his full name down, Douglass Thomas Hazard.
"Two demerits for insuboordination," which he had awarded Marat, for speaking out, "no," he corrected himself, "four for insuboordination and five for showing up late for lineup."
Dougie tried correcting him, "But you didn't give Marat five for showing up late!"
"That's right. Thanks for reminding me."
He went back to Marat's pink slip and added five demerits, notating the reason.
"Oh thanks, Dougie," Marat scolded his bud, punching him the arm lightly.
Reinken, drawing out this first day of demerits, to the max, jotting down every little offense that `could' apply, adds to Marat's tally, again out loud, to prove a point, "causing a disturbance with another camper, five demerits..."
"Five? What the fuck? I was only kidding with him... Dougie, tell him..."
"Yeah, he was only playing man.. what the fuck..."
Before Reinken finished his `field day' of demerit writing with the two offenders, they had a nice fat tally on each sheet. To make matters worse, Dougie wound up tearing his in four pieces, dropping it to the ground, like confetti.
With a wry smile, Reinken replied, with literal intent, "No skin off my back. I've got the copy here. You don't report for disciplining, you'll be making it harder on yourself. Now fall in line!" Not waiting to hear anything else from the two, advancing to the far right of the line of other campers, he called out, "Follow me, single file, Buffalo boys!"
Ron, the first in line, complied. Dario, the last, far enough so he couldn't be heard, said to Dougie and Marat, "You're not the only ones." Holding up his pink slip he told them, "I got awarded 8 demerits."
Marat questioned, "What are we supposed to do with these?"
"It's kind of sketchy, but Michaelis said I get disciplined before mess. I take it the gist of it is, we don't get to eat til we get what's coming to us."
"What did he say disciplining is?"
"Damned if I know."
Even though he didn't need it, Dougie picked up the four pieces of pink paper. All the way, the Buffalo troops marched in one straight line, Dario falling back in line behind Gil. Dougie and Marat chatted side by side, til Reinken shouted from the front, single file. It still didn't keep Marat from looking over his shoulder, to shoot lines of questioning.
"How many you wind up with?"
"Hold it. I'm trying to fit it back together. How about you, Marat?"
"Twelve demerits. Hey, look over there."
Not only did Dougie shift his eyes from trying to make some sense out of the torn and soiled pink slip, but Dario as well caught on to Marat's sense of direction.
"So, there are more than one whipping post's!" Dario replies.
Sure enough, outside another grouping of two lodges, a stump rose up out of the ground. As the boys paraded, another set of eight forked into their path, two counselor's behind Dougie, leading their troops. Dougie turned his whole body around to view them, commenting to none other than himself, `hot!'
If he had minded his own business, it wouldn't have gotten him into even deeper shit.
"What'd you say boy?"
"Halt!"
Dougie, walking backwards, plowed into Marat, who fell into Dario. On the warpath, Reinken headed to the rear of the Buffalo Lodge cue.
"Problem, Dav?"
As if Reinken didn't know!
"Yes, matter of factly," the other counselor. "Your boy here is causing quite the disturbance."
"Was not!" Dougie clamored. "All I did was....ughhhhhhhhhohhhhshit!"
All Dougie just did was totally humiliate, shame his counselor, in front of not only two other counselors, but eight Coyote Lodge campers, as well as his own.
Dav Khan, head counselor of the Coyote Lodge, appeared to be more fierce than Reinken. Without warning, he planted his knee right into Dougie's main artery.
The Coyote troop remained sedentary in their reaction, however half of the Buffalo Lodge fell out of formation, to witness Dougie, dropping to the ground, holding his crotch, as if that would help his impacted balls.
"Well you going to just stand there, Reinken?"
"I'm well capable of disciplining my own troops. You had no right to strike one of my troops, Dav."
Dougie thought, `What is this? The man who handed out demerits, like they had been going out of style, now defended him?'
"You're too heavy on the pencil and too light on the action, Reinken!"
"I'll handle my troops as I see fit and you can better believe I'm going to let the administration know about this!"
Boys on both sides of the arguing counselors could tell there had been non love lost between them.
Suddenly, Dav Khan began to change his tune. "Now you don't have to be going, doing something like that, Reinken. We can work things out like men, can't we?"
Sensing something, Reinken began backing off on his threat. Of course, he wouldn't mind having a coupla bottles of that JD he knew Dav brought to camp.
"What did you have in mind?"
The twenty-nine year old counselor of the Coyote Lodge calls out the name, "Seivers!"
Reporting, as if a seasoned soldier, the candidate steps forward, stands at attention and shouts out, "Yes, sir!"
Dav Khan, spells out, "I'm willing to let you get even."
"Get even?" Reinken replies.
The twenty-six year old counselor of Buffalo Lodge, isn't the only one wondering what the Coyote counselor's interpetation is.
"How's that go, Dav?"
"Seiver's?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Put your hands behind your head and spread your legs."
Seivers stands there for a few seconds. The Buffalo boys can tell he is outweighing his choices of either comply or face something far worse. They can only imagine what kind of a devil the counselor of Coyote Lodge can be, as Seivers moves his hands to behind his head, reluctantly shuffling his feet so that they are a few feet apart.
"Damn," Dougie replies.
Being the campers, from Buffalo Lodge, more prevalent to the situation unfolding, Dougie and Marat watch as the six foot two inch tall, nineteen year old hulk of a camper stands, sweat dripping from his brow, looking at Reiken, waiting for his decision.
Walking up to the distressed young jock, Reinken looks over his shoulder, at Dav Khan, his hand going for the teen's crotch. As soon as Reinken's hand forms around Seiver's balls, the Coyote camper looks down, beginning to breath more rapidly.
Dougie, still feeling the pang, the dull ache of his ballsacs, thinks to himself, `no way'! Not thinking, he protests, out loud, "Hey, it was no big deal, guys!"
"Shut up," Reinken tells Dougie, "you're in enough trouble."
Right away, Dav Khan provokes Reinken, "You always were a woosie when it came to discipline, Michaelis!"
That's not the way Dougie sees it and he lets his mouth runaway with his thoughts.
"Fuck you, Khan. Michaelis can beat your ass any day!"
"Silence!" Reinken tells the eighteen year old.
"Feisty one," Khan directs to Reinken, glancing at Dougie. "He could use another few swift kicks, no?"
Not backing down, Dougie still aims his ammo at Khan, saying, "At least he doesn't have to send a boy to fight his own battles!"
Standing behind Dougie, Marat slaps both of the sides of his face, with his own hands, replying something in French, that resembles, `now you went and done it!' The only discernible words are the beginning ones, which call attention, "Oh shit, Dougie!"
Again, Reinken chooses strong words, seemingly to back up Dougie, at the same time releasing Seivers' balls, "Maybe the boy has a point there, Khan? Too chicken to back up your own threats?"
However things didn't turn as Dougie hoped they would..
Instead, Khan twisted the situation around more so, in the opposite direction.
"What this is about, is discipline. Look how my boy responds, ready to back up his squad, while... this... unruly boy, a reflection of the leadership of Buffalo Lodge, drags the decency of discipline into the dirt."
For sure Dougie didn't get the exact meaning of what Khan proposed, but they all knew that Reinken wasn't any litery scholar, neither.
Playing on his gut instinct, Khan fueled Reinken's meek intelligence, saying, "This is not between us... no, and don't let this boy try to fool you, Reinken," he even became more intimate, "take your revenge and then deal with your boy as you see fit."
Reinken began to outweigh the facts. Seivers began to get clammy all over again, as attention once again was drawn to his crotch.
"Very well," Reinken again rekindled the sweating nineteen year old's emotions.
It just showed how cruel Reinken could be, as he fondled the boy's genitals, looking over his shoulders at Khan and smiling.
"This is insane!" Dougie called out.
However, Marat put his hand on the back of Dougie's pants, tucking his hand in the belt loop, tugging backwards, at a place where no one else could see, trying to tell him to hold back.
As if a ventriloquist, he didn't move his lips hardly, talking between his teeth, emitting softly, "Take it easy, cowboy."
Reinken made one last effort to firm up Seivers' balls, then stepped back, knotting his hand up into a ball.
Mouthing the words, `oh shit!', Seivers, holding his head forwards, shifted his eyes up into the trees. Sweat dripped visibly down his face, onto his camp shirt. Not only did his face and hands glitter, but Dougie could see his equally shiny chest at the V, chiseled out by his shirt.
His aggressor's fist played low, his elbow extended back. Silence was key, as all looked on, in front of Seivers.
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04 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