The story below is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any resemblances to real people, alive or in the hereafter, is entirely coincidental in nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons, of continents or islands, in countries, counties, cities, towns, villages, neighborhoods, streets, cul-de-sacs, nor governmental or non-governmental areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then why are you here? Seriously, if guy-to-guy sex stuff makes you barf or is going to screw up your mind, you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most states and countries, you are not allowed to read this story, by law. Check with your local laws regarding such.
% Sexual safety matters. Remember guys, this is fiction. In real life, use protection.
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ChANGe WiTH ThE TiMEs 02 WriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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In the outer office, a small, glass-enclosed cubicle, Bruce gets to the bottom of things, "What did I tell you, when I was hesitant at all even to tell you about the `Chain Gang', Matt?"
"I know," words Matt has heard over and over again, when inquiring about what they did at the club, "experience it and all my questions will be answered, but... they're just boys, Bruce?"
"They are grown men, Matt and whether they have or have not explored bdsm, if you want to live with a clear mind they are exploring this and not getting hurt, well you have all summer to find out," Bruce was referring to the `Chain Gang', a weekly and sometimes or on special occasions, means to get together, explore fantasies, or for those with experience, get together to get what they want.
"You'll be there for me, right?" Matt asks, meaning at the club, if he should choose this route.
"Stupid ass question, Matt." And then rattling off his favorite speech, "Wasn't I there with you when you hit the baseball through Mr. `Asshole's' front window?"
"Yeah," Matt heard him out, all too well knowing where it was going to end up.
"Wasn't I there at each of your boys coming into the world?"
"Yeah."
"And when your beloved Jane passed away?"
It was a turning milestone in Matt's life, when Mark was fifteen, his wife took with a heart attack and died. Thinking on it, not which it drew tears to his eyes, being since the boys were born, she spent most of her life raising them, giving him minimal attention, "I'll never forget it." he said it in a special way.
Wise to Matt by now, "How do you mean that?"
"You know there's nothing risque about a gay man comforting a straight man, when he's just experienced a trying time of his life?"
"True," Bruce replies, "nothing wrong whatsoever, only don't forget, you were the one spooning me when we woke up the next morning?"
"You'll never get over it, will you Bruce?"
"Get over what?"
"Don't play with me."
Being facetious, Bruce says, "Play with you? If I wanted to play with you, my hand would be down the front of your pants right now, Matt!" He laughs it off.
Just as Bruce said, `down the front of your pants right now', in walks a patron.
"Oh really? Who's pants? Yours?" he checks out Matt from head to toe, "Or your's, Bruce?"
"I'm straight!" Matt sets the record straight!
Giggling, the dude says, "Nobody's perfect, dude!" he readjusts his toothpick.
Getting his digs in, Matt says, "I don't find your humor' humorous', `dude'!" Before any other confrontations, Matt says, "Six o'clock. My place, Bruce." And for the redneck's benefit, "Be there or forty lashes!"
Walking out, the `dude' says, "Dayam, Bruce! Who in the hell is that fuckin' hot dude? Man, he can put me in chains any day of the year!"
"Oh really? What ever happened to the `Master Shea' I knew?"
"Oh, he's still there," Shea O'Riain clutches his hand into a fist, placing it over his left pec, "but there comes a time in a man's life, when... you know!"
Of course Bruce knew', the first time he met Shea, moving to town, establishing his landscaping business. It was like yesterday and not ten years ago Shea entered the bay of his shop and after chatting, dared to mention how all the chains hanging around, would good put to work, not as hauling up motors but something else'!
"Want a rematch?" Bruce asks.
Shea smiles, replying, "You still got the target out back?"
"Not since they built Lenny's restaurant, but I've got one in the weld shop?"
By this time, Shea was working his hand down the front of his pants, then holding his junk through his pants, "This answer your question?"
"Let me flip the sign over," Bruce says, walking to the door, latching it shut with a flick of his wrist, turning the `open' sign towards himself. However, before twirling around, "Oh dammit!"
"What?" the ginger bear almost rests his chin on Bruce's shoulder.
"Here comes Rick."
"Rick?" Shea shoves Bruce aside and looks right above the sign to the outdoors.
"Yeah. I told him I would donate a quarter page to the PAL handbook they're planning on handing out for the community?"
Whereas Bruce just flicked the locked, Shea unlocks it, saying, "By all means, invite him in. Won't want to cause Rick the hardship of having to drive away and come back."
From outside, the inside of the service center looked dark. There wasn't any possible way Rick Dodge could see into the shop.
Giggling, Shea says, "Step back. Let him come on in," he forms a fist with his left hand, rubbing it against his right palm as if warming it up.
"You're not going to, Shea?"
Laughing it off, Shea replies, "Why not?
Bruce didn't say it because he was afraid of the ensuing implications or getting sued by Rick or something of this nature. Instead, "Well for god's sake, make sure he's inside before you do it?"
Shea's mouth watered, his cock tensing up, thinking about it.
Soon all his desires would be met, Rick's hand on the doorknob. But suddenly he stopped, looking at the sign.
"Oh shit!" Bruce says in a whisper, "he thinks I'm closed," the sign still saying `open', facing the pair.
"Knock on the window. Get his attention," Shea panics out of lust.
Doing exactly as Shea suggests, Bruce knocks on the glass and turns the handle from the inside.
"I thought you might be closed," Rick says, then heaves out, "Ughhhhhhhhh!"
Shea is laughing his ass off following a hefty gut punch to Rick's mid section, followed by his comment, "Damn that was so fuckin' hot!" Then, "Quick, close the door, Bruce!"
He could easily take one punch to the gut, Rick being a regular gymrat, but as a signal, possibly of having a little spare time on his hands, he caves in on his knees, the top of his head falling to the concrete floor.
With the tip of his foot, Shea kicks Rick in the butt, sending him flat on his front.
For real, closing the door, making sure it's locked, Bruce says, "Here we go again!"
It wasn't the first, or even second time Shea has pulled this stunt, catching Rick off guard, plowing his gut with his fist, then, as he was doing now, reached behind Rick's back, taking the handcuffs out of the pouch and with his knee holding Rick's bod to the floor, grabs up each wrist.
Like Bruce already knew, later on Shea would not be charged with `assaulting an officer', but thanked by Rick in the form of not being able to wait for the next time.
As both preferred, with the upper hand, Shea pulls Rick to his feet and putting on an award-winning performance, harshly talks into Rick's ear, "I just got out the slammer, pig and I'm gonna make sure you suffer for putting me in there!"
He was a good cop, decorated, but as a an actor would not even come close to seeing a gold statue with his name on it, Rick responds, like reading it from a script for the first time, "You'll have no satisfaction from me!"
In reality, Shea was getting some satisfaction already, feeling the front of Rick's uniform, "Is that so?"
Instantly becoming Shea's accomplice, Bruce says, "I'll go on ahead and get the dungeon ready!"
"Hear that, pig? `Dungeon', which means I'm going to take great pleasure in hearing your screams!" Quentin Tarantino and Eli Roth would have been proud of Shea's laugh.
"Fuck you!" Rick replies, yet very easily allows Shea to manhandle him into the small back office, to the top of a flight of stairs.
Standing at the top, Shea again craftily speaks into Rick's ear, "I should throw you down these stairs for the misery you put me through. But no... it would take all the pleasure out of hearing you beg for mercy!"
"You'll hear no such words from me, bastard!"
In Shea's opinion, it seemed more realistic, him breaking from character, "You get some acting lessons or something, Rick?"
"Will you fuckin' just get to it, Shea, before I shoot my load right here and now?"
Shea and Rick knew every stair step on the way down into the creepy basement. During the peak of the Cold War, it had been designed as a shelter against the happenstance of a nuclear war. Upon purchase, Bruce had the broken down 7-12 store raised and service station built over the foundation.
In the beginning, original members of the `Chain Gang', met in one of the single members' basements. When it was discovered Bruce had an interest, meetings were permanently transferred to the basement underneath the service center.
It has been eight years since the move and over that period of time, member's dues and fees from non-members, with hidden desires, have been pooled and spent on enhancements.
At the bottom of the stairs, Rick breaks his role, "Um, do me a favor, Shea?"
"Use a baseball bat on your balls this time?" he laughs.
"Sounds interesting, but could you not rip my shirt open?"
"You mean like this?" he takes the two sides of Rick's uniform and pulls it apart, the buttons flying, the stripe down Rick's ripped abs visible.
"I just told you `not to'..."
After another gut punch, Shea says, "I'm giving the orders here!"
Bruce, appearing out of nowhere, Shea tells him, "Hmm, how did you get ahead of me?"
Affixing the finishing touches to the chest harness, Bruce replies, "Sex drive?"
Smirking, Shea scopes out the covered crotch, replying, "Get this pig staked out while I get changed!"
If it were a movie, whereas one scene show the victim wearing cuffs, shirt dangling opened and draped over pecs and abs, cutting to commercial, then back to the show, the victim trussed out on some bondage apparatus, the viewer would be left in a cliffhanger, wondering how one guy could pursue wrestling the victim, stripping him and as Rick stood now, completely stripped down, eagle-spread, leather cuffs around wrists and ankles and waiting for impending maltreatment.
With the case of Bruce and Rick, they conversed on the topic of Bruce's 1/4-page ad, Bruce keying the cuffs and Rick stripping himself down.
Winding down their conversation, Bruce turning the winch, which stretches Rick's arms up and outwards, his bod taut in the bindings, Bruce asks, "What are you up for today?"
It's at this point Rick confesses, "It's been a tough day. I didn't just happen to stop by, you know?"
"I know," Bruce replies. "I thought you were supposed to stop by tomorrow?"
"I was kind of tensed up after I got off work and... saw Shea come in?"
"Oh now, won't Shea be interested to hear this?"
"I'll be interested to hear what?" Shea asks, snapping a leather band around his left bicep.
To sweeten the pot, Rick slips back into role, "I'm not telling you anything bastard!"
However, to paint a picture of what Rick is up for, Bruce says, "Rick had a hard day at the office and needs to relax!"
"Oh really? I think I know just what will do the trick!" Bruce's accomplice says, rubbing his hands together.
Going `shopping', Shea hikes over to a cupboard, opens one of the double doors and picks out a ball-stretcher, unhooks some croc clips from over a hook, releasing a leather strap from a nail. Then, hanging it back, chooses a longer one, saying, "Perfect for tension!"
"That's it?" Bruce questions, Shea coming back.
"Here," he tosses the crocs to Bruce, "make yourself useful!"
"Just give me a sign," Bruce says, rubbing Rick's nips with the jagged edged clips.
"Any minute," Shea replies, squatting down and strangling the portion between Rick's cock and balls, with the thin leather cuff which snaps shut above his balls. Looking up, he utters a casual, "Now?"
Rick's bod quivered, shook, twitched as he let out a loud scream, almost immediate in forming a cool `o', then a soothing, "Oh ma-a-a-a-an."
Still in a squat position, Shea says, almost comically, "It does it to them every time!"
He didn't really need to stroke Rick up into a hard state, but such was `torture', the cross between pain and pleasure, a few strokes keeping his victim on edge. "Want to weigh this down, Bruce?" Shea gave the parachute a little tug.
Not too crazy over nip torture, Rick loved ball torture. A guy couldn't get his own way all the time. Now, overwhelmed by pleasure, he could care less about his original wants and needs.
"On the count of three?" Bruce held the ball-parachute-attached weight in his hand, looking up at Rick's face.
Bruce surprised him though, letting go of the rounded weight on the count of `two'!
"Oh-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h!" Rick sighed long. It wasn't a painful ordeal, as reflected in a tone which could be registered as something soothing, as with the aroma of a morning cup of coffee.
"Fuckin' hot, pig!" Shea calls out, again into Rick's ear, standing behind him, rubbing the leather strap up and down the cop's back, the tip of his 8c feeling up an eventual target. "Now for a little `swingtime'?"
Since he was in on the scene and not a spectator, Bruce never got up from his squat position, after affixing the weight to Rick's now stretched out ballsacs. Instead, he repositions himself on his knees, about to `torture' Rick more, applying his incinerating tongue to Rick's hard shaft.
It would seem Shea the alpha partner in him and Bruce's pleasured tormenting of Rick, however acting out on his own, stroking cock with lips, himself on the receiving end of some pleasured act, cock-tip at the back of his mouth, each stroke knocking man-meat further back to the throat, Shea and Bruce went their independent way.
"Oh-h-h-h-h!" Rick got a double whammy, Bruce's suck-job keeping the weight dragging down his balls, swinging, and now, Shea working his arms around to Rick's stomach, readying for a frontal assault on his captive nips. As he was thinking, when Bruce rubbed his nips with the tips of the croc clips, he was dreading having the jagged edges digging into his nips. With Shea's hands traveling up his abs-stripe, he wasn't filled with fear of savage nip torture, not with what Bruce was doing to him.
"Ready for pain, boy?" Shea says, twisting one finger around the chain connecting both clamped nips.
He toyed with it for awhile, as Rick peered down, a birdseye view of a finger catching up the slack in the chain. Right now he was experiencing slight pings of passion, but pangs of dread forming in his mind.
Then he had something new to think about, one of Shea's hands disappearing, another message uttered into an ear, "Ready or not, here I come!"
"Oh-h-h-h--h-h-h-h-h!"
Gifted with a sense of direction, Shea's cock-tip from the opening to Rick's ass canal, pouring on the pain by busting his way in, his other hand delivering a tight pull at the nips. Then, if things weren't hairy enough, Shea nudges his knee in between Rick's legs, knocking the weight attached to Rick's balls.
Suddenly they are both alert to Bruce shouting out, "Shea?!"
"What?" Shea ducks his head under Rick's right arm, looks down at Bruce, sitting on his ass, asking, "Cock too slippery for ya?"
"Noo-o-o! You knocked the weight right into my Adam's apple, stoopid!"
Putting two and two together, the weight hitting Bruce in the throat, "Oh, I hope I didn't bruise Rick's cock?"
Pressing forward, back onto his knees, Bruce replies, "I didn't get that far..."
Knowing Bruce could pitch or catch, Shea says, "Well before you get back to eating sausage, why don't you tickle my ass?"
It was a really big toss up for Bruce, with Rick's hard shaft already shiny with saliva, drying off quickly, but licked his lips, thinking of his tongue licking Shea's ass, all that luscious hair, then challenged to get part of his tongue into that peahole ass.
So it went, Bruce crawling around to where Shea stuffed himself into Rick's ass. Now, with Bruce out of harm's way, not only did he pleasure Rick with a knee to the `balls', but occasionally giving the weight a hefty kick, which would cascade back and occasionally give himself a zinger, the weight making contact with his own globes.
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"What could they have been thinking?" Matt tossed the idea around in his head, upon finding Mark and Steve in the basement, Mark with a belt in his hand.
At his job, Matt was right on target, designing a building, presenting it to his architectural firm bosses, delivering a flawless presentation, yet thinking about his two sons in the act of one `punishing' the other, he could not do two things at once. Only the sound of the kitchen smoke detector, did it alert him to the burning chopped meat and boiling over lasagna noodles, exclaiming, "Oh shit!"
Racing to remedy the burning beef, he tossed the whole pan into the sink, doing likewise with the pot of boiling noodles, causing a sizzling sound, the kitchen filling with mist.
With all the commotion, he didn't hear the back door open and close. It wasn't till one of them announces, "Having some trouble with dinner, dad?"
Startled, Matt turns around, but with recognition of Steve's voice, he targets both of them, "And when were you going to tell me you were gay?"
Looking from one to the other, caused Mark and Steve to do the same, each one hoping the other would respond to their father's demand to know.
"Somebody say something?"
Mark takes the initiative, "We thought you won't understand."
"Yeah," Steve adds, "that you might be pissed at having not just one gay son?"
Matt wasn't good at these things. Sure, he's been a single parent for years, but at times others have been a part of the boys' lives and as he found out today, Bruce a major force in listening as well as advisement. Using his failed attempt at making lasagna, "Do you think I would go to all the trouble of cooking us up a nice meal, if I didn't care?"
Steve walks over to the sink, looks down, asks, "What was it supposed to be?"
Matt still faced Mark, Steve's back to his father's back. Mark steps over to the sink, asking, "Looks like chopped liver with noodles swimming in it."
Seeing he was getting derailed by his sons, he faces the facts, making an about face and rather dwell on the past, "What's done is done. We've got our whole lives ahead of us, but from now on could your two bother to talk to me about what your plans are?"
He stood between the two, facing the mess in the sink.
Mark turns to Steve, asking, "I dunno. Do you think we should give dad another chance, Steve?"
"Kiss and make up, y'mean?" Steve says to his brother.
"No," their dad says, again glancing left and right, "you two don't..."
"Dad," Mark, the younger of the siblings takes charge, "Steve and I have loved each other since we were little kids."
By now they have abandoned the wasted supper, Matt leaning against the kitchen counter, Steve and Mark in a joint effort of Matt's ongoing interrogation.
"Okay, so you kiss. Do you... do... other stuff?"
Under other circumstances, not knowing about his sons being gay, let alone the untouched subject of Mark doing stuff to Steve, it would be common for Matt not to suspect anything except brotherly love, Mark leaning in towards Steve, arm over his shoulders. However, it's no longer the case, with his suspicions in light of his new discovery.
Steve, the older, takes a stand, "We do it all, dad."
Knowing what hetero couples do, Matt gulps and stutters through out of curiosity, "Does that mean..."
Rather than putting their father though the graphic approach, Mark says, "We've done each other. It's the only way we could tell."
"Tell?" Matt was stumped.
Steve lets on, "Mark. He's more the top. Me bottom."
He `was' curious, but now overwhelmed, had had enough words for now, saying, "Well, I better pull something together for dinner before Bruce gets here."
"Cool!" Steve chimes in, "Is Uncle Bruce coming for dinner?"
He wasn't ready to trespass onto forbidden ground, Matt replying, "I'm sure Bruce will have a lot of explaining to do."
"Dad," Mark says, "Bruce has nothing to do with what we `are'."
"Yeah," Steve helps him out, "it's not like Bruce came to us and suggested anything. The think with Mark whipping my back..."
"What was that all about?"
Mark tells their dad, "Bruce didn't have anything to do with getting us started on it. We thought it up all on our own."
At first Matt had thought on them involving others, like Bruce had his basement dungeon setup, perhaps Steve's friends from college, but placing Bruce at the center of things and treading on new ground, "Did you and Bruce... did you ever get together with his friends and do whatever you do?"
"Dad," Steve starts out, but then discouraged, "You wanna help out here Mark?"
"Sure," Mark replies to Steve, "let the alpha male be your scapegoat!"
It was short, to the point, Mark explaining to Bruce they were gay, then from there, since Bruce became their psychological outlet, they found their way one day into the realm of bdsm.
"I can't believe you didn't come to me," Matt pouts.
"Dad," Steve finally takes the helm, "after mom died you were involved in your work. Almost every time we wanted to tell you something, you were off to some meeting at work."
It was `shame-time' for Matt, not that the boys had meant it to be, but Matt was feeling it and after Steve said his peace, "You're right. I feel horrible about it, not having the time to talk with you. I should have been a better parent for you two."
Mark jokes, "I could take you down the basement and give you fifty lashes, if it'll make you feel any better?"
"Fifty from each of you wouldn't make a difference," Matt meaning more, five hundred, five thousand.
"I was only kidding, dad," Mark comes over, puts a hand to his father's back.
"Like you said," Steve comforts, "start over?"
"I suppose there's not much else we can do?"
"Alright if we give you a hug dad?" Mark asks.
Steve says, "It won't mean we're trying to convert you or anything!"
Knowing stuff about gay', because a couple of times, Bruce has joked with him, tried kissing him on the lips, one time succeeding, his spitting it out', hands touching his belt, "Uh sure, but watch the hands?"
It made the two laugh, though Mark did become a wiseass, touching his father's belt buckle, his hand shooed away!
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"Hell ye-e-e-e-e-ah!" Shea shoved himself as deep as he could go into Rick, shooting his primed load.
Bruce stood in front, stroking himself, same time his free hand stretching Rick's nips mercilessly, twisting the chain, shooting his load.
They didn't forget about Rick, Shea commending Bruce for shooting his man-juice onto Rick's pubes, all lubed up and ready for stroking.
Hanging by his arms, Rick was about to be totally stressed out, Bruce removing the nip clamps, Rick screaming, but deluged with pleasure by Shea's handling his stiff 7c.
With one arm around Rick, he's stoking, the other hand messing with his crushed nips. He feels another hardon coming on, his cock still pressed against ass. In the euphoric moment, he yells, "More weight, Bruce!"
"Coming right up!"
As the scenario goes, Shea's cock hardens up again, entering Rick for the second time. Caught up in the moment, he releases Rick's cock, in favor of pulverizing Rick's pecs.
Freeing up Rick's hard, leaking shaft, all gooed up with Bruce's come, it all makes for good lubing action for stroking, which Bruce takes on the job, in addition to adding small weights, one at a time, an interval in between, to the ball parachute strangling Rick's balls.
It didn't take as long as the first time, yet less powerful an eruption, Shea pounding his load deep into Rick, his fingers and thumbs without mercy, squeezing Rick's nip-meat.
The nip torture added to his stretched out balls, Bruce's busy hand, switching over to lips, sends Rick over the edge, right down Bruce's throat.
Of course, Bruce's hand was busy again, him standing and announcing, "I gotta come again!"
"Hold on one second!" Shea yells, still caught up in the heat, releasing the winches.
Rick falls to his knees, just as Bruce yells, "I'm coming!"
"Mouth open, bitch!" Shea commands, tugging at Rick's hair.
It almost turned out in sync, Rick catching Bruce's creamy load on his face, partially swallowing some, down his chin, dripping on chest, running down to catch in his bellyhole.
Showing no mercy whatever, which the consensus would prove mutual, it's not totally wound down, Shea coming around front, demanding, "Clean me off, bitch!"
Before Shea exits Rick's mouth, he'll have another deposit to make!
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Copyright 2012 T. Chase McPhee
ChANGe WiTH ThE TiMEs, may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.
The more you stretch, the more you can fit in... 'spread' happiness! TCMcP