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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RancH HanDs 02
a continuation of `CoMPany payLoaD', WriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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"Wait! Where are we?" Corin questions the surroundings of the room he and Art Smith have entered.
Casual and with cunning, Art replies, "Your new quarters. Doncha like them?" He didn't make a sound, only smiled.
It didn't even resemble anything like a normal bedroom, nor a domicile of comfort, with the drabby yellow-green walls and a single window.
Through the pane of glass Corin makes comment, "Bars? Like what the hell is that for?"
"So you don't `accidentally' fall out?"
Corin was perhaps a little high strung at times, but he wasn't stupid, knowing they were on the first floor, "No, this won't do."
Walking quickly towards the door, his satchel over his shoulder, he complains, "You're crazy if you think..."
Grabbing an arm, Art gruffly replies as he spins Corin around, "You're not being given a chance."
"Get your hand off me!" Corin got all riled up, squirming around.
It would not have been a fair fight, Corin's skimpy frame unmatched against Art's muscular, swimmers-build bod. With little contest, Art has Corin with his arms pinned behind his back and this was with one arm. Art's other hand was busy unlatching the small compartment at the small of his back, unleashing a pair of hand cuffs.
In no time at all, Corin furiously complains, whipping his bod around, "I demand you release me at once! Where's your superiors? I want to see someone in charge!"
Art only smiled, thinking how fuckin' sexy Corin is when angry. It drove him on to say, as he approaches the twenty-four year old, "I'm in charge. You want to get out of the those cuffs? You're gonna have to prove it to me you're gonna behave yourself!"
Right now Corin was speechless, though from the look of anger on his face, it was speaking for him.
"Hey, how's it going in here, Art?"
Looking towards the door, as Corin was also, Art replies to the man taking up the framed opening, "You took your sweet time. I buzzed you like a half hour ago!"
The two men spoke casually.
As for Corin, he could have complained, but whereas he was turning Art on by his behavior, the guy in a relaxed pose at the door, breaking out of the mold, began walking towards them. He licked his lips, more ignoring words said between the two, wishing his hands were detached, enabling them to run wild, all over the dark-haired chest!
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"Not bad! Not bad! I think I'm going to learn to like this place!"
As Nolan checked out Suite No. 5 of the Arboretum, sticking his head in the jon, finding it quite a luxurious array of furnishings, shower and vanity to the left, hot tub on the right side, Hewy checked out the bed!
Turning around, Nolan says, "Y'know they got a hot tub?" Almost immediately he loses interest in the jon, "Looks like a nice bed!"
Of course, how could Nolan complain. When they left their swim at Atlantis, it was protocol to at least have the lower half covered. Over a short period of time, it was more convenient for `ranch hands' and other personnel at the habitat to report to Atlantis and skip showering in their dormitories, or for some, private rooms.
As a result, it would not be prudent to leave Atlantis in the sweaty clothing a person wore there. Therefore, for those leaving Atlantis, they could wear one of the provided terry shorts. Much the continuity of a towel, it wrapped around the waist and fastened with a snap.
Right now, Hewy had walked in the door and instead of checking their suite out, flopped right down onto his back and now was grabbing up the pillow with both hands, fluffing it up under his head, flaunting those dark, hairy pits.
"Oh yes," Nolan says, sitting on the side of the bed, his terry shorts butting up against his lover, "what a nice, nice bed!" His hand went right up a leg, feeling up the short cropped fur on Hewy's inner thigh.
Hinting, Hewy says, "Cool idea, the shorts, huh?"
All it took is for Nolan to lift a hand and one could hear the sound of material unsnapping. "I like the way it `unearths' the buried treasure!"
As with the rest of the twenty year old's bod, Hewy's cock and balls were amassed in a carpet of dark fur.
"They're still wet?" Nolan says, feeling up Hewy's balls and the wet carpeting.
Smiling, Hewy says, "Yeah, but probably could be `wetter?'"
"Is that a hint?" Turning around, getting in a position to his full advantage, Nolan whips off his loin cloth, his knees on the comfy bed, straddling Hewy's thighs.
"Hint? I have to suggest something to you, which you are already thinking about Nolan?"
Getting even for that crack, one hand held the soft barrel, while he sank down on the bed, his open mouth filled. The other hand strummed right up Hewy's hairy bod, veering left, tackling the right pec.
"Oh-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h!" Hewy sighed, feeling the wet mouth on his shaft, tongue on the inside playing with it and a finger and thumb tweaking up little nips!
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"He's not much to look at," Jarrett Horton says of Corin, standing there.
"Look you two," Corin decides to choose the calm approach and rationalize, "I can forget all this happened if you'll just let me go?"
"See?" Art says, "he `can' be a good boy!"
He would not have been a `good boy', Corin probably putting up such a fuss until it wore him out, but suddenly, with the appearance of Jarrett, something clicked. Rather than face Art with aggression, he would rather put on a more friendly attitude. Possibly it could have been some compulsive impulses in the zipper area of his pants?
"I think I can take it from here, Art?"
"Watch this one," Art warns Jarrett, a finger in the air, shaking to get his point across.
"Oh, I will. Thanks for the warning Art," Jarrett replies.
Leaving, the doorknob in his hand, Art says, "He give you any trouble, be sure to look me up?"
"I will Art," Jarrett replies. "Oh Art?"
"Yeah?" a glow suddenly appears in Art's eyes, Jarrett needs his help `right now?'
"The keys to the cuffs?"
Walking back across the floor, Art stares Corin down. As he hands the keys to the handcuffs to Jarrett, he warns Corin, "You better mind your manners, boy!"
With the door closed, Jarrett says, "Turn around."
Sarcastically, Corin says, "Are you sure this is a good idea?"
"Let me guess. As soon as I get the cuffs off of you, you're going to gutpunch me and then head for the door?"
With Corin's wrists free of the cuffs, he stands there, rubbing the irritated skin.
"Well?" Jarrett places both hands on his hairy gut, "Here's my stomach," he nods, "there's your fist, and the door's over there," he nods again.
Corin brings his fist up to Jarrett's stomach, the back of his hand feeling up the fur. Relaxing it, he turns his hand over and runs it along the flank of Jarrett's left ribs.
"I guess I was wrong," is Jarrett's means of stalling, wondering where Corin is going to take this. He does hint, "By the way, I convinced Art to make a change in the room accommodations. You're not rooming with Justin Kincade."
Because his hand ran quite the distance around the side of Jarrett's bod, it brought Corin closer, "What do you want, a metal?"
"Nah," Jarrett brushes it off in a modest manner, "a blowjob will do!"
The contact of hand to fur stopped, Jarrett knowing it didn't go over too big, Corin saying, "I was thinking more the other way around?"
It's not that Jarrett had never sucked a dude's cock before, but his preference has been to use his own hard shaft to pleasure a man, same time getting the reciprocal effect. However, not missing out on the confrontation in the pavilion depot, `feeling something' for Corin, he says in regards, "Why don't we head on over to our room and then see where it leads?"
"Our room?' I thought this' was my room?"
"Nah," Jarrett replies. "This is only for guys who can't behave themselves. Every guy here is responsible for their own behavior and sometimes they get challenged by drinking a little too much or getting into a fight?"
"Why don't you call the cops?" Corin asks.
"The habitat resides in a county, inside a state, but the local government and law hasn't any jurisdiction over us. Instead," Jarrett says cheerfully, "we have Art Smith!"
"So he's like the law around here?"
"Art is really a good person, though sometimes a little antiquated in the way he does things. You just have to watch not to get him riled up. When you were out in the pavilion dissing Justin Kincade and carrying on about it, was not a good thing in Art Smith's book. Notice how he resolved things right away, putting his arm over your shoulder and taking sweet?" Jarrett asks, inching their way to the door.
"Two-faced liar!"
Jarrett giggles, saying, "Yeah. That's Art, but if you look at it from his perspective, he kept the situation from turning volatile?"
"I was that bad?"
Opening the door, the light streaming in, Jarrett asks, "You have a habit of getting angry at hardly anything?"
"I've been told I have a temper, but... Never mind."
"No, never mind," Jarrett doesn't let it go. "We're going to be roommates for `I don't know how long', so we should make the best of it."
When Jarrett walked in the room, Corin thought maybe he was being turned over, from one mean ogre to another, but it was not the case in his opinion now.
Warming up to Jarrett, Corin says, "I've had kind of a tough life. My family moved around a lot," he tells his history, as they walk the hallway, "and I never had the chance to get used to one class in school, moving in between school years."
"Every year?" Jarrett asks.
"Not every. My sophomore and junior years of high school I was in the same place, but then my dad found assignment in another city, in another state and we moved again. I hardly knew anyone in my senior year of school, except this boy named Antoine. He was a foreign exchange student who could not speak english too well. He was very good looking, but not at all the personality of a lot of hot looking senior guys. Sure, he hung with the in crowd, but he also at least talked with `other' guys."
"Let me guess. You were one of them?"
"I didn't have my own car and had missed the bus to go home. I started to walk and Antoine comes by in his car."
"He `owned' a car or borrowed one? Reason I ask is because I did not think they could ship a vehicle?"
Corin replies, "Antoine comes from a wealthy French family. They bought the car, a used Bugatti Venom. Have you ever seen one?"
"Nope, but I know it's a luxury car, right?" Jarrett replies, a few feet from the entrance to the Arboretum.
"New, a Bugatti Venom, which happens to be the fastest car in the world, can go for over a million dollars..."
Jarrett whistles, "Too steep for my paycheck!'
"Antoine's Bugatti was used, but still cost in the neighborhood of seven hundred thousand!"
"I'll stick to a 4x4!" Jarrett replies, opening the door and holding it.
Immediately Corin's mind ran blank, looking about him, saying with astonishment, "I've never seen so many flowers in one place before!"
Jarrett had seen the inside of the Arboretum more times than he could count on his fingers, so geared his attention to Corin. Even though he was clothed from neck down, the red hair grabbed him. Talking face to face, he thought how hot the red eyelashes were, hazel-brown eyes and a freckle or two. It's only now he could study the earring, a simple, tiny ring through the lobe of his left ear.
"Is our room nearby?"
"Right this way!" Jarrett said with excitement, though he wasn't sure exactly what lay ahead.
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Leaving Jarrett and Corin, Art Smith had casually walked the halls, peering into a lab or a work area, making sure everybody was adhering to their job.
Rounding a corner, he notices a big dude and being well-informed of every new character at the habitat, he walks right up next to the dude, peering in a glass window, "You must be Demont Abdelaziz?"
About six inches shorter, Demont had no problem casing the physique and opinionated, "Depends on who's askin'?!"
A hand out, ready for introductions, "Art Smith, head of security."
Suddenly Demont's grumpy attitude mellows, "Oh hi!" he shakes hands.
"Nice grip," Art says.
"If you want, I can test it on your balls?"
They both laughed.
Art wasn't sure where Demont got his information, but he had been through Demont's file and knew he was into some kinky play. "Not `my' balls, but I can furnish a set or two for your pleasuring!"
Buying into the idea, Art filled Demont in on the man he would be rooming with.
Excited to say the least, Demont asks, "Pain? Take anything? No limits?" Suspicious though, "Why don't you have him for yourself?"
Placing a hand on Demont's shoulder as they walked the corridor, Art had to reach up as he talked, "Heath Hartshorn is a very good looking lad. He's got it all; looks, muscle, nice big endowment, but unfortunately for whatever reason and you're going to think I'm fuckin' crazy for saying so, but we don't click."
"You're fuckin' crazy!"
Almost anybody else and Art would have blown his stack, somebody cursing him out in this way, but he had designs of his own on Demont, so let him slide. "I know and he's been pestering me to find him `a match', but up until now, there hasn't been anyone, except me, who can get into all the things he likes."
"Which is?"
"Don't you want to be surprised?"
Demont thought it could be a turn on, finding out what Heath could take and what compromises they could make regarding the use of implements and other particulars.
"I'll wait," Demont replies. However he was not so sure how long his pants could hold out!
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Zigzagging his way up and down corridors, Trystan finally saw a sign which read security'. "It's about time!" he exhaled. Come to find out, the assigned lodgings he was set up for was not even inside the main complex, but outside. Still, he had to trek across the middle of a field and in doing so, stopped to admire the many workers. Trying to mind his own business, he had the sneaky suspicion of being checked out by dozens of pairs of eyes! Doing his best to look out of the corner of his sunglasses, Trystan took his time, slowing when he thought he spotted a real winner'. However soon he had to depart from his boy-watching and find direction again. Much like a street sign, one arrow points towards `Security Shed'.
When he arrived, it wasn't anything like a tool shed, but a modern command center.
Walking right in, facing about twenty computer stations, monitors everywhere, asks, in a loud, boisterous way, "Hey, what's up guys? Anybody see Art Smith?"
You could hear a pin drop, computer keys stopping their rattling, talking ceased, with all eyes on Trystan.
"Uh, sorry. Didn't mean to," he gulped, because he thought most or all of these dudes could be FBI, "mess up any of your conversations or anything. You can go back to work now," he exhaled.
"Thanks!" he got from cutie across the way, Trystan returning the smile.
Then, out of nowhere, a dude says, "Want to follow me, Trystan?"
He `was' wondering how this dude knew him and he didn't know the man, but just followed that hot butt all the way down a hall and through an office door.
Welcoming Trystan into his office, "I'm Edison Lima and I will be in charge of your orientation."
"Great to meet you, Edison," Trystan gave the modern office a light going over, but more attention to his new mentor.
"Have a seat?"
Joking, he says, "Um, like don't we have too much clothing on?" a dig over seeing so many men with hardly anything on.
"As security people, we have to be ready at a moment's notice for a breach. Though I think these polo shirts can be quite revealing?"
Trystan knew Edison was flirting, pulling his shirt tight at the tummy, which pulled over his chest and shoulders, showing two pointy pecs!
He's already figured out, `them' knowing all about him, Trystan not in the least informative of the people working here, but takes a chance on getting kicked out, "I like the way your pecs fill out the shirt!"
He was nice about it, Edison smiling as he informs, "If what you're asking is, do I tweak my nips up or not, the answer is `no'. My nips are naturally perky." Adding a touch of getting even, "What about yourself?"
"Natural," Trystan replies cooly, "but if I've had a hot guy handy, I wouldn't turn down his talented tongue!"
Good thing Edison sat with his lower half under the desk well. This conversation was getting well out of hand!
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On the plane ride, Denis wasn't feeling too much ill will towards Glenn Watney and the demise of not only his photography business, but promise of a portfolio and inauguration into the world of modeling.
As Terry had stated before, rekindles the topic, "As I told you before Denis, we won't be here forever. You're young and there is still time for you whenever your next opportunity comes." He stood there with Denis, outside their assigned garden cottage, #28.
Slowly the sulkiness began to clear up Denis' disposition, him saying, "I guess so."
"Good," Terry says. Then, dropping his shoulder bag onto the suitcase he had in the other hand, piling up his belongings, he says, "Why don't we make this official?"
"Huh?" Denis asks, as Terry helps strip Denis of his backpack.
Denis didn't know what to think, Terry reaching under him, one arm behind his back, the other scooping up his legs. Then it came to him, "We're not like, `married', Terry?" Denis replies, hanging his arms around Terry's neck.
"I know, but I like to get corny every once in awhile, y'know?"
"You should have told me that before we got serious!"
Terry just smiled. Denis holding on, Terry could access the doorknob and soon they were journeying through the doorway to their new life together.
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As for Doug, he was delighted he was having a garden cottage all to himself. The way things went, if a surplus of rooms, due to low attendance, some guys could solo. Doug seemed to think he had an in' with the social director-room scheduler, Chan Wu.' He smiles still at thinking how Chan tried coming on to him, especially offering to walk him all the way across the complex to the garden cottages.
Looking up at the door, the number, Doug says, "Thirty-one, here I come!"
Opening it, he is totally surprised, not by the two beds, but the nice furnishings, computer, bookshelves complete with books, pictures on the wall and other decorations.
Upon randomly opening a dresser draw, he is amazed they even had the draws full of clothing.
"Like cool!" Doug says, pulling a tee shirt out of one draw and remarking, "Abercrombie? I guess this isn't such a bad place after all!"
Right after, he takes off his tee shirt, worn on the plane and replaces it with the clean one. "Wow! Nice fit!"
It did fit Doug perfect, him gazing at himself in the mirror, running his palms up and down the front of his bod. It was better than anything he had, wearing mostly colorful Hanes tee shirts. Thinking, after he got out of college and had a good-paying job, maybe then he could afford a $40 designer shirt!
Suddenly the door slammed.
"Damn, you scared the shit outta me. Don't you know how to knock?" Doug immediately registers.
"Hmm," the dude says, standing there, rubbing a finger over his stache, "I hope you didn't leave it on the floor?"
Looking down, then up, Doug asks, "Leave what on the floor?"
Smiling, the dude says, "The shit I scared out of you!"
Doug stood there, hands on hips, his look sending a message, like `it's a figure of speech!'
"By the way, I think we may have something in common?"
Doug knew it an open-ended question, "And that would be?"
Walking over to him, looking at the word, Abercrombie' sewed on the shirt, over Doug's chest, "I have exactly' the same shirt."
Doug then gets it. The draws of clothing were not prepped for his arrival, but the likelihood Chan Wu made a mistake, "No. We don't have anything in common and we both don't have the same shirt. What it is is, I just robbed you of your Abercrombie shirt!"
And with the truth out in the open, Doug whips the shirt off over his head. "Here," he hands it over.
However, it wasn't the shirt which was of interest, the walk-in stranger to Doug saying, "My name's Ashton, Dr. Ashton Walsh. I'm a scientist here at the habitat."
Such a prestigious personality, Doug figures he better play it cool, thinking he could really be in trouble for the shirt heist, "Nice to meet ya. I'm Doug McDougall."
They shook hands, but Ashton rather used it as a lead, to reel himself in, "As a scientist it's my business to check out, a rather `handsome' specimen!"
Sure, when he abruptly walked in the door, Ashton had scared the bejeezus out of Doug. After the initial shock of finding out the doctor lived here, his nerves were calmed so, that Doug could do a little eyecandy shopping. He was not at all reluctant to hold back, not with Ashton now feeling up his chest.
Wearing a typical scientist's white trenchcoat, a tee shirt underneath, tucked into a pair of white pants, because Ashton had come onto him so strongly, Doug didn't hold back and began to invade as well.
Ashton allowed the white coat to fall over his shoulders, about the same time Doug had coerced him into lifting the white tee shirt off overhead.
"Nice!" Doug said of the light chest covering of light brown hair, a strip leading right down to the belt-line.
With haste, after dropping the jacket and having his shirt peeled off, Ashton rushed to undo Doug's belt.
Doug thought, `What a fast worker!' In thought and feelings, he wasn't any different, his nads driving him to Ashton's belt buckle. In no time they each became responsible for taking their own pants off, kicking shoes off, socks, then undressing their loins.
Unsure, because his bunk was not made up, did not become an issue, Ashton crashing into the bunk, pulling Doug down with him.
For a short time Ashton and Doug kissed, rather getting wild about it, until the need arose for some more detailed action.
Here's where Doug figured the roomie situation was going to work out just fine, Ashton's lips sweetly kissing his chest. Doug's intuition kicked in, knowing soon Ashton's lips were going to be wrapped around his cock!
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Copyright 2011 T. Chase McPhee
`CoMPany payLoaD' - RancH HanDs may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.