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 06 a continuation of `CoMPany payLoaD', WriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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Told to keep his ears and eyes open, while in the cafeteria, Demont had no problem with the eyes' part, checking out all the eye candy'!
Art Smith, casually walking up to him, talks confidentially into his ear, "Demont, how would you like to bust a couple of offenders?"
Scanning over the heads of the guys eating at circles of tables, he spotted at the least, twenty he wouldn't mind busting on, "What have you in mind?"
Lifting the paper he minutes ago printed out at the attendance computer, inside the door, he states, "We have a case of two supposedly truant boys," Art always referred to them as boys' and not men', "and I was wondering if you would like to do your first bust?"
Taking the paper from Art's hand, Demont reads out, "James Houten and Samuele Beird?"
Looking to Art, he informs Demont, "To cover our' asses, you need to call attention over the PA and find out if they are here. Sometimes a boy' will enter the cafeteria and `forget' to swipe his dogtags."
"No sweat!" Demont replies, thinking, when he tracked down the infringers, it would be left up to him to `punish' and for now it was giving Demont some jollies on down below! When he got on the mic, he wasn't too pleasant, though cordial enough, saying, "Quiet down. I got an announcement!"
Art Smith smiled, same time doing a check on himself, a hand in his pants pocket. From the moment he met Demont he loved everything about him, the height, build, demonstrative voice, but mostly what he read in his file. Not only were there things about his former employment with Harrellsson, but informal things, like hobbies. Ninety-nine percent of the time, he found out about `special' hobbies from word of mouth. Not Demont! Right there in black and white, Demont had embossed on his form, in addition to wrestling, he liked a little bdsm now and then. This alone made him hot between the legs!
"If these two guys are here, James Houten and Samuele Beird, I want to seem them," Demont's finger pointed deliberately at his feet, "right here, and now!"
`Oh my god, what a gem!' Art Smith thought about a diamond in a goldmine, having run across the Egyptian! However, he was even more excited when neither of the two got up out of seats and reported to Demont.
"I'm only going to call your names one more time; James Houten and Samuele Beird?"
Neither reported, however another guy got up from his seat and was headed in Demont's direction.
"Looks like we have one of them," Art says, adding, "but that doesn't mean he won't get punished. He still neglected to drop his tags in the slot!"
However, it wasn't James, nor Samuele. Instead, it was someone on James' behalf, "What do you want James for?"
Where Tom was concerned, his new friend' was there to back him up. Thor Stroot had a feeling things were not too hunky dory, being Art Smith' was lurking over this big dude's shoulder. Thor had mentioned it to Tom, had watched him get up to go over to him, but had second thoughts about him addressing the two alone.
"And who the hell are you?" Art Smith addressed Tom.
"James is my brother. We watch out for each other. I want to know what you need to see him for?" Tom replied adamantly.
"His brother?" Art smiles, "You watch out for each other, do you? Isn't that nice?"
Tom stepped forward an inch. For whatever reason, he didn't like this dude's attitude.
It was fortunate his six foot blond friend had followed him from the table. Standing behind him, Thor stuck two fingers inside Tom's back belt buckle, to keep tabs on him, as if using a pulley to keep him from straying too far forwards into Art Smith's territory.
"What do you want Thor?" it didn't go unnoticed by Art.
"Just watching out for my friend."
Art's attention changed swiftly back to Tom, meeting his eyes, when Tom `demands', "You didn't answer my question. What do you want with my brother?"
Art had been through the newcomers' files, he knew the score with Tom, but also part of his personality could be, for his own sadistic reasoning, to provoke, saying, "He's not on the master list for lunch," he takes the paper out from Demont's hands without asking. "You see your brother's name here?"
"Yeah, I see it," Tom says, a need for Thor to still tug on his waistline. He hadn't changed his mind. He wasn't liking Art Smith's attitude one bit!
"Him and this other boy didn't show up for lunch. A strict violation, which means they are being put on report."
"I'm sure if James isn't here, it's for a good reason. We're new here. Maybe he got lost finding the place."
Art Smith loved it! He knew if Thor was there for moral support, if he hadn't been, it could be a strong possibility he could talk Tom into taking a pock-shot at him. Insubordination carried a heavy fine of corporal punishment and involving James Houten's little brother would have not only made him hard' over delivering the punishment, but the humiliation of having the older boy' witness it! He had it all figured out and his loins pulsing with reasons to drive Tom on.
However, things didn't work out to his expectations, Demont saying, "Look! That must be them!"
It put a smile on Tom's face, changing Art Smith's outlook glum. "That's my bro. Looks like he found the place after all!"
As Tom walks away towards his brother, Thor says sarcastically, "Tough luck Art!"
Demont didn't understand, saying to Art, "You take that from him?"
Art's eyes following Tom every step of the way, he explains to Demont, "Thor's brother is Dutch Stroot and it's the only reason I'm allowing him to get away with sassing me that way."
"Who is this `Dutch Stroot'?" Demont asks.
"C'mon. Let's get out of here," Art says, tearing up the piece of attendance paper, "I'll explain it to you sometime."
The missing pieces, Dutch Stroot often attends the fun parties Art throws, which usually takes place in the barn, after hours. Dutch never fails to disappoint either man, dominant or submissive, of putting on a good show. He really knows how to handle, not only a flogger, but how to properly widen a man's ass canal!
Across the way, Tom had mentioned what had happened to James. Knowing who his brother had talked about, his head scanned the lunchroom, seeing Art Smith walking out with some dude. He says to Samuele, "That man is fuckin' bad news."
Samuele, who didn't go past Tom's inquisitiveness, replies, "You got that right, James. He's a man to steer clear of." Tapping James in the stomach, he says, "Hey, they still got some batatas!"
Tom, forgetting about Art Smith, says, "James, you have to try these batatas. They're like so awesome!"
More than batatas though, James was keyed in on who was following Tom around, asking point blank, "Who's this?"
As they walked towards the tables loaded with food, Tom explains, "A lot has happened since this morning. Did Laurent tell you Tony has been called up for a case?"
Stopping dead in his tracks, James' blood pressure rises, him tagging Tom on the shoulder, "What do you mean Tony has been called up for a case?"
Shrugging his shoulders, Tom says casually, "Tony's not in the habitat. They sent out on some caper."
Taking both of Tom's hands in his, James says with emotion, "You must be devastated!" His impression as of this past week, was Tom and Tony were close lovers.
He found out differently, Tom replying, "Not really. Tony kind of kept telling me all along something like this could happen. Besides, Tony had some really tough balls to play with and we had a lot of fun, but it's not like we were lovers or anything. But we're still friends."
"Hmm," James assessed the situation. Without saying, he looked up a little and to Tom's right shoulder.
"Hey, Tommy," Thor addressed Tom, "maybe I better snag your brother some batatas before they're all gone!"
In a language of gestures, Thor made James perplexed at what was happening here, the tall blond giving his brother a quick peck on the cheek before hightailing it towards the table housing the batatas. "You mind telling me what that was about?"
"Oh, that's Thor. He's a pretty cool guy. Works at Atlantis. He's a pretty smart guy. Has a degree in aquatic biology and is going for a master's in oceanography."
It wasn't exactly what was on James' agenda, him clarifying things, "Great, but what's this `Tommy-stuff' and peck on the cheek shit?"
"Like I said, Thor's a cool dude and I like hanging with him, plus he's showing me all kinds of cool stuff about fish."
James just didn't know, thinking about it as he stood there, staring at his younger bro.
Looking around, Tom sees Thor hold up a plate, his finger darting towards the contents, pointing towards where they are standing and then back at the table they were sitting at.
"Thor has your food. What do you want to drink?" Tom says.
"I'll get my own drink. You go ahead. I want to talk to Laurent."
When James caught up with Laurent, which was a two minute conversation, because as `top chef', he was always on the go in the kitchen, but he did stop long enough to tell James, "If you want to know the truth, they weren't two lovers, weren't madly in love. The real reason they got along so well is Tony had a set of steel balls to bat around and a tight ass to ride!"
Leaving the kitchen it was on James' mind to have a talk with Tom, something about choosing the next guy more wisely. However, approaching the table, he set to wonder about Thor, the two sitting there at the table, Thor's arm snuggly over Tom's shoulder.
With Demont and Art Smith on their way to the security office, it left others in charge of the lunch crowd.
At twenty-eight years old, Jarrett Horton had racked up quite a list of accomplishments. From the USAF, he had remained in the piloting field, spending a few years exclusively assigned to Air Force One. Wanting to branch out, he stay in alllegiance to the government, but slowly had the urge to have his feet on the ground. A highly recognized individual in his field, he was able to pull some strings, landing at Elemental Habitat. He had also shown an interest in environmental science, but right now hadn't the experience for placement, so was absorbed by the loophole openings in security. From flying the president, his new `beat' was patrolling the lunchroom. It wasn't without some prestige, two new security officers under his wing, Trystan Carr and a man much like himself, wanting to infiltrate the habitat, Hanan Pick.
Joking, Jarrett says, "Keep your eyes open for anyone not recycling their trash!"
Hanan, who on his last assignment, had broken his leg, replies, "No problem. I'll just run over him with my chair!"
Trystan carries the joke, relating to the wheel chair, "Lucky you, at least you get out of prowling the grounds!"
"Happens," Jarrett replies, regarding patrolling the perimeter at night, "when you're at the bottom of the totem pole!"
As Jarrett mentions it, he looks down on Hanan, smiling, even though Hanan and Trystan engaged in coversation. Not that his eyes meant to pry, but it was all right there; the twenty-nine year old in the handicapped chair, sitting up straight and with ease, Jarrett's eyes traveling down his shirt! Jarrett took a look across the room, because it was his job to check the place out. When he wasn't checking out the two hundred or so in the crowd, he was looking down Hanan's shirt. He couldn't see much other than a flat chest of bare skin. `What a shame!' he thought to himself. Unlike himself, Hanan seemed to be smooth. Oh, there could be a strip down further, but was out of sight. More focused on liking a man more like himself, Jarrett rubbed a hand up his shirt, feeling it like he didn't have his shirt on, feeling up the mat of dark brown hair. It brought him back to last night, thinking of Art Smith turning Corin McInness over to him, seeing
him for the first time without a stitch of clothing on. He smiled, thinking about the differences in appearance between Corin and how he pictured finding Mr. Right, which would have been a bear-like character more like himself, of course hairy, but also beefy. Corin didn't resemble the picture of the man for him at all, mostly smooth, wisps of `ginger' hair around each nip, a strip down his slender abs, heavier trail leading to his treasure. He half-smiled, thinking about the tiny rings through both nips, two rings through his left ear, tiny spike through his right eyebrow and the messed up hair style, which looked like he used a whole tube of gel on it! Corin's whole outlook was totally different than anyone he could ever imagine falling in love with. "Wait a minute!"
Trystan looks over to Jarrett, Hanan looking up, saying, "What was that Jarrett?"
He then realized, thinking, he had questioned his affection towards Corin out loud, responding, "Oh, nothing," then made up a fat lie, "uh, I thought I saw some guy throw a fork in the trash, but it wasn't!"
They believed him, but as for Jarrett he couldn't believe himself, using the `love' word in a caring second of time.
%
Since Laurent was busy in the kitchen, James came out of the kitchen and turned to walk towards Tom's table. It was full and to make matters more miserable, Tom was eating James' batatas! "Oh great," he said. Things got worse, him reporting to a table to choose some food, there were no batatas left and slim pickings on the rest of the platters. Bending over, he looks at what looks like deviled eggs. Taking a fork, they used real metallic flatware, he picked at one of them.
"Nice position to be in!"
"Oh, it's you," James says to Samuele.
"Only me, James? The guy who just gave you the best blowjob of your life?"
James, still determining which eggs to pick out, says without addressing Samuele face to face, "It was good, but I wouldn't venture to say `the best!'"
"You hurt my feelings!" But to show James his feeling weren't too bent out of shape, he opens his hand, dumping a small pile of batatas on James plate.
"Where'd they come from?"
"I stashed them down my pants!"
It made James turn his head and give Samuele a smirk.
A smile was waiting on Samuele's lips, him saying, "Remember, we came from the shower, so I'm clean?!"
Recalling the shower scene, after Samuele lay on the tiled floor, him shooting his load all over his shower-bud's pubes, stomach and partially his chest, it was James who stood in front of Samuele, Samuele's hands traveling all over his bod with the soap.
"I don't recall `you' getting soaped up?"
"Didn't need to. That hot back side of yours made me dish rag clean!"
He did manage to recall the erotic feeling of his slippery back on Samuele's front, "Soap was going down my back, so I guess you're in the clear."
"I was wondering something?" Samuele questions James as he bites into a batata.
"What's that?" However, tasting a batata for the first time, "Mmm-m-m, these are good!"
"I was wondering if I'll ever get a chance to trade places with you in the shower?"
James knew what Samuele meant, playing bottom boy to his cock. He didn't think about it then, only went through the motions, thoroughly pleasured by Samuele's lips wrapped around his cock, alternately servicing his ball sacs, then working him through blowing his load. Out of the three guys, plus Rally, he met today, Samuele was the highlight of his morning. Maybe them being likewise in age, could be a reason he liked Samuele. Instead of turning him down flatly, he said, "Maybe!"
"Cool! Eventually maybe we can become fuck-buddies!"
"I'm not ready to go there, Samuele?"
However, as James walked away, Samuele thought about the reply, him answering for both, "Yet!"
%
Today dessert was easy as pie, `fresh fruit', which gave a chance for the kitchen crew to relax.
"These are very', very' good!" Hewy says to Laurent about the batatas.
"Especially with the house special!" Laurent replies. As head of the kitchen staff, it was his exclusive right to bring out a bottle of wine to serve at this special occasion, the vast change over of personnel at Elemental Habitat. He toasts, "To good food!"
They all raised their glasses, knowing Laurent mocked the former chef.
In the kitchen, it became moot for the chefs to eat after serving up food for the rest of the staff, the circular table utilized three times a day, sometimes four, when Laurent talked over nutrition and meal planning, which all had a part in drawing up.
"Batatas should be on every menu," Hewy praised.
Geoff Sahin, also in the ranks, replies, "Then it would not be special!"
Hewy recanted, Laurent agreeing with Geoff.
Laurent smiled in Geoff's direction, thinking he was right on target with his comment, but also used it as a chance to study the man, tall, natural Arabic tan, thinking, because if he was right, or just dreaming it up, which was good too, hidden under Geoff's clothes, was a beefy, muscular bod. Laurent could not leave out the masculine look for the cropped beard attached to his chops.
So affixing his gaze on Geoff's features, he didn't notice Hewy toasting, "And here it is to a good director!"
Then, it was that dreamy `bear of a man', Geoff applauding him, "At least we all hope so!"
Geoff and Hewy's glasses raised, Laurent joins in.
As they are sipping, a kitchen worker, not yet a pawn at the round table, enters through the swinging door, "Some guys want to know if there are any more batatas?"
Laurent asks, "Is this their first or second time around?"
"Um," Randy Telis sits on it for a second, then races back out, "I'll find out!"
"Cute kid," Geoff mentions.
The higher echelon, Laurent, Geoff and Hewy, got to relax, while `the dregs', they called themselves, a group of eighteen and nineteen year olds, manned the tables out in the diningroom.
No sooner had Geoff said it, Randy is back, reporting, "Seconds. What should I tell them?"
Instead of Laurent, Geoff butts in, "Tell them to stop being pigs!"
"Really?" Randy questioned. Maybe he knew something `they' didn't know, leaving it, "Okay. If you say so Geoff."
Not more than a minute later, two professors from EH College were barging in the kitchen door. The first, Dr. Charles Moffit, was being a little huffy and with a `fem' inflection badgered, "Laurent, I find one of your workers highly rude and demand you refer him to Art Smith for disciplining!"
With his was Dr. Stone Birch. He was ready to gang up on the lad, but laying eyes on Geoff Sahin, in a masculine tone, his Aussie whereabouts showing through, relays, "Well hello, I'm not sure, but have we met?"
Tall as a Texan, looking like he could have rode a steed across the plains in a John Wayne movie, Geoff lays eyes on Stone, but then because of his looks having an affect on him, rises right up out of his seat, "Uh, maybe? I don't think I've seen you around?"
"Dr. Stone Birch. I teach Environmental Chemistry at EHC. And you are?"
"Oh then you have been here awhile. Geoff Sahin," Geoff replies.
While Laurent and Hewy went out to the cafeteria, in hopes of trying to sort things out for Moffit, Geoff stood in the kitchen, his hand still locked onto Stone's five digits.
"Strange," Stone says, "I feel I know you. You ever been to New Zealand?"
"No," Geoff replies, on a lighter note, "but I've been Turkey!"
It was a tough thing for guys to impress Stone, especially in educational circles, him being about the smartest guy in his field, however with Geoff all those impressions melted, him saying, "Turkey. Is it where you are from?"
"Second generation American, but my heritage is of Turkish origin and I've been there to visit."
Manner in which Geoff spoke, seemed to project intelligence, something Stone looked for in a man. Regardless, Geoff could have been from anywhere else and he would still have felt drawn in, the looks and the personality making him happy he got ticked off at Randy Telis. He smiled, saying, "Strange how we are led through life, how something we think is so terrible, brings us to something so wonderful?"
"I think I lost you five seconds ago," dropping hands, Geoff offers, "would you like some wine?"
"Wine? It looks like some of us live in style. Actually," Stone scratches behind an ear, a faulty habit, "I really could use a beer?"
"I don't think Laurent has a stash of beer," Geoff says.
"Maybe not," in a light-hearted way Stone puts it, backed up by a smile, "but some of us do?"
Geoff reported he would love to follow through, but was tied down to his day job and...
"Oh not now," Stone places a hand on Geoff's forearm. "I have to head off to teach some classes, but we could get together later?"
"Later," Geoff accepting, "like what time `later'?"
His hand still on Geoff's hairy forearm, Stone replies, "Whenever Laurent lets you out for playtime?"
Geoff liked the sound of it, but wasn't sure. They still had to prepare dinner and make sure everything was set for breakfast. Cleanup was handled by `the dregs'! However, not wanting to make it seem like he was brushing Stone off, he says, "Later sounds good!"
It was weird. They had met for the first time, but so taken was Stone of Geoff, the whole atmosphere surrounding him, he treated as if old friends, or even more. When Geoff held out his hand as a greeting, Stone used it to reel him in, pressing his lips to Geoff's lips, then backing away, saying, "Maybe I shouldn't have done that, huh mate?"
"It just shows," Geoff replies.
"What does?"
"Later, when you force the rest of yourself on me!"
Geoff replied to Stone's wiggling of eyebrows, him returning the soundless gesture!
%
Lunch time became a family reunion of sorts, Denis Crew seeing his brother for the first time. At the beginning of lunch hour, spying Adam, he bumped into a lot of guys, wading through the crowded lunchroom and disrupting his brother's conversation with some other guy, to hug him.
Now, almost an hour later, they were old friends again, on a brother's wavelength. Back in the city, things had progressed rather fast, Terry filling Adam in on how the movie studio fell apart rather quickly.
"I know," Adam says with post-fright, "I was scared shit when they came and told me what happened. Of course my first concern was for you, Denis."
Denis replies, "Yeah, and I wonder how come they didn't hold the flight, for you to get on?"
Adam says of it, "I don't know. `God' moves in mysterious ways, I suppose!"
A change of facial expression, his eighteen year old brother responds, "When did you become religious, bro?"
"I `meant' the powers that be who take care of our nation?"
"Right," Denis replies, "I knew that!"
Terry butts in, "Are you happy about where you have been placed?"
Adam broke out in a smile saying, "I lied. I told them, before I was a salesman in a clothing store, I had started to pursue a degree in science, but the funds ran out."
Denis disagrees, "But it's the truth, Adam. You were in college and the money ran out?"
"Right, but I didn't know what I was interested in doing as a career move."
Burning with curiosity, Terry asks, "So where did, `having an interest in science', get you?"
Adam had to backtrack to where he was rooming, at the Arboretum and fill Denis and Terry in on running into the dude he was shacking up with, a Dr. Ashton Walsh and explained the most important details, "He's a little older than me, about my height, reddish-brown hair, shaggy haircut, a skinny little stache and... quite a good looking man!"
In a drone state of speaking, Denis replies, "I think Terry meant, what does he do here at the habitat, Adam?"
Jaw dropping open, like he was opening it to take in a fat, round cock, Adam replies, "Oh! I thought you meant... Oh well, Dr. Ashton is quite an intelligent man. He is not only one of the leading theorists in his field of environmental psychology, but one of the most respected professors here at the habitat!"
Terry, goofing off, deviates, "Oh really? Sounds impressive. Uh, like how `big' is he?"
Denis busted his boyfriend, "Like how would Adam know, Terry? He's just met the guy!"
"Sorry," Terry replies.
However, Terry would have been right in line, Adam not seeing in the flesh', but having some close contact, had his own theory of how big' his Dr. Walsh could be!
%
Lunch breaking up, the masses split into many counterparts. Those who didn't have their backpacks and laptops with them, would have to hustle back to the Verts, then off to classes at Elemental Habitat College.
It wasn't a college which was listed on the internet, or in any college directory, on account of its private nature, only open to those whom resided at the habitat. It also had a very limited variety of courses, mostly geared to environmental science.
However, because of the need for professors to record their lectures, there came about a studio for doing such. From this, one of the science professors, with an interest in rock'n'roll music, started recording some of his songs at the studio. Five year later, Elemental Habitat Studios, has become quite the vehicle for singing and instrumental music successes who reside at the habitat. Some have gone on to be top charters, like Gray Matter' and Seconds To Insomnia', the solo artist, Johnny Baseball, who's real name is Harry Hammond, changed to protect his identity. Regardless, with all the musical success, owed to the founder of the music program, Josh Glass, for a few years, Elemental Habitat College has featured some music classes, which teach a student how to read music and history. After music was ruled in, naturally art classes followed.
Aquatic sports spawned from the necessity for every ranch hand learning how to swim. At first, other than a dip in the fake ocean at Atlantis, there wasn't anything else to do with water sports. Coupled with other sports, there now is year round training for triathlon and swimming competition. Of course, one of the big draws, which doesn't have anything to do with getting in the water, but by waterside, is beach volleyball. Guys can get quite physical with the game, which becomes part of the entertainment!
Two sophomores at EHC, twenty-one year old Steve Sharkey and twenty year old Richard Utley, happened to be roommates, Room U', at the Verts. Ritually, after lunch the five days a week they are required to attend classes, they choose to jog back to the Verts, pick up their packs and computers, making sure to throw a fresh shirt in. By the time they jog over to the college, which takes them through the long hallway at the back of Atlantis, a sight which tends to make guys slow down because of the shared glass tunnel where sea animals tend to run along' overhead!
"Oh shit!"
"What?" Richard asks Steve, as he brakes, his sneakers making a noise on the wet concrete floor.
Pawing through his backpack, he says, "I think I forgot my... oh here it is... Whew!" they begin their fast steps, "can you imagine me stinking through biology class?"
"No, I can't imagine, Steve!" Richard says facetiously.
"Yeah," Steve replies to Richard's cagy answer, "too bad we're not headed back to the Verts!"
If they were headed back to the Verts and not onward to college classes, Richard would have treated Steve to a personalized, bath', his tongue slurping up the sweet coating of mansweat. At the onset of their pairing up, last year upon arrival at the habitat, they immediately found out each other being gay, since the habitat more or less ran on the system of don't tell, unless you're asked'. With it, they quickly discovered who was top', who was bottom'. Stating it didn't necessarily define Steve and Richard's status when it came to how they looked at each other.
Both found they loved sucking each other's cocks, Richard, the top, loving to pop Steve's ballsacs in his mouth and tongue around the `candy kiss' inside.
Retrospectively, Steve, proclaimed `bottom', found it erotic to massage Richard's back with the front of his bod, which often made his hard shaft fall into the crevice of Richard's hairy ass, in turn submerging it, Steve swearing, "I can't believe I like fucking a guy!"
Sex, as both thought of it, became redefined!
Of course Richard accused Steve of an evil plot to pork his ass, but then backed down, because Steve was only seven inches, cut, and didn't feel like too tall a timber, like it didn't ream him all the way up to the muscular passage connecting his mouth. Though, for only the second time taking a cock down the throat, Richard did well swallowing, especially when Steve's cock erupted, sending lava deep down into Richard's stomach.
Right before the two left the `Atlantis hallway', they dropped their backpacks and laptops to the floor, with haste unbuttoned their shirts, stuffed them in their backpacks, removing tee shirts and planing them down their bods.
"How do I look?" Steve asks.
"Same as you asked me yesterday. C'mon, before we have to rack up some fun time with Art Smith!"
The two have never fell victim to Art Smith's justice, but they've heard stories from first account witnesses. From taken away from privileges, held in a room void of luxuries for several hours, to harsher things, like a whipping on the ass or back, well it just wasn't their scene'. Richard and Steve rather enjoyed their free time at Atlantis or the Aqua' party, where a guy got to dress up as a `fish'!
"Now we can start!" the professor called the class to session.
"Are we late?" Steve asks Richard with fear in his voice.
"Oh damn!" Richard replies with a tinge of anger, "My watch! It's like busted!" He tapped it with a finger, but the readout still didn't light up.
"Gentlemen? Do you mind if we get started?" Professor Moffit asks.
Steve, his hand over his mouth, says in a muffled tone, "It would have to be Moffit's class!"
It was no secret to students, Moffit being a real `mama's boy', wishy-washy to say the least. Unlike some of the other professors, who tried rationalizing why a student was late, didn't finish homework, late on a project, or other infraction, try working through it, but Moffit always resorted to putting a student on report.
"Keep your fingers crossed," Richard replies, "maybe we'll get lucky."
"Yeah. Good luck to us!"
Richard says, "By the way, you're not mad at me, are you?"
"About being late?" Steve replies.
Richard knew Steve wasn't, addressing another issue, "What about if we have to face Art Smith?"
Steve smirks, "Might be grounds for divorce!" he squeezes Richard's hand in lieu of an intimate kiss.
Suddenly, from Moffit they hear shouted out in the small theater-shaped classroom, "Are you two gentlemen paying attention?"
Steve yells out, "Yup! We're paying close attention Professor Moffit!"
His response put him on the spot, Professor Moffit questioning Steve, "Oh really? Then, Mr. Sharkey, maybe you can refresh everyone's memory on what I was just explaining."
"Oh shit!" Richard says more out of humor, "Here's where the shit hits the fan!"
Keen on lip reading, Moffit says, "Or maybe you, Mr. Utley, would venture to explain?" he turns on Richard.
"Uh, sure," Richard replies, "you were, uh, explaining about," he quotes the title of the course, "global climate change!"
Steve rolled his eyes, saying in a bare whisper, "Doofus!"
Moffit, by this time `out for blood', says cool, calm and collectively, "I see. I think it would be good practice if you two would excuse yourselves from today's class and when you are ready to issue me an apology, just maybe I will find it in my realm to forgive and allow you two to return to class?"
`Art Smith' on his mind, Steve blurts out, "We're sorry Professor Moffit! Really we are."
"Yeah," Richard helps, "it won't happen again. We swear," he crosses his heart with an index finger, something carried over from childhood.
It was no good. The damage was done. Unlike some of the other professors, Moffit was in a class by himself, one who lived with the joy of knowing Art Smith's thinking him `one helluva disciplinarian', by referring unruly students to him for action.
"No, really, we're sorry, Professor, Moffit," Steve made a last ditch effort.
It didn't work.
Outside the classroom, as the fish swam above them in the watery tunnel, Steve comments to Richard, "I wonder what he's going to do to us?"
Richard replies, "Don't get yourself in trouble. Blame it all on me. After all, it was my fault my watch was broke!"
He pushed Richard against the glass, scaring a fish, Steve smooshing his lips up against Richard's lips, saying, "Sorry, but we're in this together all the way, loverboy!"
%
For others, it was their first class at Elemental Habitat College, reporting to wherever the paper in hand directed them to report. Of course, time to arrive at a class was manipulated by a sense of direction, some getting lost in the maze of glass and mortar.
"Hey, excuse me there, but do you have an idea where `B1' is?" Denis Crew interrupted a dude, staring off into nothingness, rather the sun shining through the roof of the almost all-glass building.
"Oh, hi!" A ginger-headed lad in a baseball cap replies, turning around. Then, answering Denis' question, "`B1?' I'm headed there myself!"
"Really? Cool!" Denis replies. In reality, he wasn't too thrilled with swapping out a job in modeling for something on a piece of paper which read, Textiles, Design and Manufacturing/Waste Recycling,' but when ginger' turned around to face him, extending a bright attitude, he wasn't putting it down just yet!
Because he knew almost the total population of Elemental Habitat was gay, he assumes, exclaiming, "Wow! Did you know you're a knockout?"
Denis sensed the same thing, but wondered, "How do you know I'm gay?"
Thinking he was in trouble for assuming, he answers with a question, "Um, because if you're not, then I'm madly in love with a straight guy?"
Being positive over the subject, Denis replies, "Okay, I'm gay, but you can't be in love with me."
"Huh? How's that go?"
"Because I've already got a boyfriend!"
"Dammit!" the dude says, snapping fingers, thinking of missing his chance!
With brilliance, Denis says, "We can still be friends?"
"I like that idea!"
"But `not', if I don't know who you are?" Denis forced introductions.
"Oh cool! Yeah, well I'm Cory and I'm supposed to meet my roommate here, but I guess he got a little lost."
As he's about to introduce his name, Denis spots a familiar face, "Hey! There's my friend `Doug'! Just a second, okay?" he races away in Doug's direction.
Cory didn't mind a bit, the strawberry blond thinking to himself the `best of both' worlds, meeting a hot dude for the first time, the dude knowing his new roommate!
Bringing Doug over to where Cory stands, Denis says, "Doug, this is Cory. I just met him today. He's in my `Textiles' class."
"Nice to meet you," Doug replies, even though he perfectly well knew who's hand he was shaking!
"Same here." Then to break up the charade, "Oh by the way, Doug, I've decided to let you have your pick of which bunk you want?"
To maximize space in the Verts, Doug rescinding his quarters in the Arboretum on account of finding out his new position entailed being a ranch hand', assigned to field irrigation', said he would be more comfortable shacking up in more low-keyed accommodations. It just happened Cory's roommate left the facility this morning, Doug jumping at the opportunity.
Making a long story short, Doug says, "This morning we were fighting over who was going to take the upper bunk!"
Denis wasn't so sure about Doug's story, the way Doug looks at Cory and smiles.
"Yeah," Cory responds, staring back, "we were almost ready to go at each other with bare fists!"
Right now, the next shift of classes ready to start, a half hour after the first wave, Denis would not get the real story of how Doug walked in on Cory, having returned from the community shower, draped in a towel around his neck, which gave plenty for Doug to check out `down yonder!'
Cory could be a fast worker and as a form of introduction, he used the hands-on approach, working the buttons on Doug's shirt as starters!
"Uh, I would suggest we get to where we're going," Cory says.
Doug replies, "I don't have class for half an hour yet, but you two run along and I'll see you later, Cory!"
"Later, Doug," Cory replies, leading Denis off to `Textiles' class.
Doug, having no place to go to fast, stood there and smiled, thinking over what happened after Cory had his shirt off. It made him feel horny reminiscing over the tongue licking his hairy teen chest, painting a streak of saliva down his trail, Cory's hands busy at his belt. He had to admit to himself, they really `hit it off.' He would have thought on about the hot blowjob, but was interrupted.
"Excuse me, you know where room... hey! I know you!"
"Me?" Doug replies.
"Yeah. I took you downtown once in my limo. That is when I was a limo driver!"
To the best of his knowledge, Doug could not remember, "Sorry, but I can't place your face."
"Vince Portobello?"
"Sorry," Doug replies. Feeling a little bad about it, at least connecting to the destination might be good, "Where did you take me?"
"You worked at Diamond Joe's and Joe had me take you and your friend..."
"I didn't work at Diamond Joe's, but my friend, his name's Denis?"
"Yeah, the blond. Took you and him downtown to Watney's modeling studio."
"That's right!" Doug connected.
"I heard what happened. Good thing your friend got bailed out of there," Vince says.
"He was real disappointed on account of he really had his hopes up of becoming a fashion model."
Having a little more inside information, Vince tells, "Fashion model or porn star?"
"What?" Doug didn't get it. "Porn star?"
Obvious Doug had no clue, Vince replying, "From where I got my information, real reason Watney's studio was raided is an evolving Ponzi scheme. As a front he made his dough luring young men into becoming fashion models, turning them into lucrative porn stars. Lucrative for him, unfortunately!"
"Shit! Denis a porn star?" Doug thought on it briefly. First to come to mind is, Denis would make a beautiful porn star, but didn't think he had the personality. He was too nice a guy!
"So, you have an idea where this room is Doug?" Vince cut the conversation short.
"Future Forests?" Doug read the title of the class, rather than the room number. "Sure. I have the same class." With knowledge of where he was going, his roommate prompting him ahead of time, Doug asks, "Aren't you a little too old for college, Vince?"
Vince replies, "I'm still of legal age, thirty-four!" he laughs.
"Quite a jump from being a limo driver. What are you shooting for?"
Reconnecting with Doug, Vince wanted to be gunning for working his pants down, taking Doug down his throat, because quite frankly, he thought Doug could be a hot, demanding top. Instead, he kept on subject, "They promise me, if I get this stuff down, I could wind up a forest ranger. Would be nice being out in the forest with all the cubs and bears!"
Doug detected something more than un-human beings, playing along, "Sure. Nothing like camping out in the wilderness and throwing up a tent?"
Knowing he was had, Vince asks, "How would you like to go camping sometime?"
"Don't you have somebody your own age, Vince?" Doug laughs.
He was being shot down, nicely. However, it wasn't like Vince didn't have his own' crowd to run around with at the habitat. Fact is, he felt quite comfortable being around some of his friends from his old playground, The Chasm', knowing Geoff Sahin, Nolan Harrellsson, Hewy Zeitouny and Angus McClelland were on campus. In particular, he was as thrilled as a pig in shit when he learned he would be shacking up with Angus. Their first night together, last night, they got off to a great start, a little bdsm-mix of pain, pleasure and immense pleasure as Vince got his ass reamed!
How could he complain to Doug, replying, "Of course I do. Do you think they're going to let an old man like me get mixed up with a bunch of college kids?"
Thinking he might have been a little callous in his words, Doug rekindles, "When I rode in your limo, did I happen to mention how much I like fucking older men?"
Seeing Doug was trying to make up with him, Vince sheds, "Never mind that! Which direction is our class in?"
Walking away, Vince had thoughts of being very well satisfied with Angus` fat salami, but did have a curiosity about camping with Doug!
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"Bummer!" Heath Hartshorn read the notice slipped in the plexiglass frame on the door, his Geoscience class cancelled, a result of Professor Wu suddenly taken ill. Up to date on all of his other classes, Heath thought it would be nice to chill out at Atlantis. Unequipped, he would have to head back to the Verts and retrace his steps.
"Hey!" he was cornered outside the facility, about to hop on his bike trip back to the Verts.
Smiling, an usual stance for somebody addressing Art Smith, Heath says, "What's up?"
"Not what you think," Art says.
To follow their conversation, someone would have to know Heath and Art's history.
Twenty-three years old, Heath had been picked up on the perimeter of Elemental Habitat when he was almost eighteen. The age limit was eighteen, however because of Art Smith, seeing' something, the physical aspect of Heath, made a suggestion, swerving higher echelon opinion. For all intensive purposes, Art even had Heath's records altered to reflect him being eighteen, because he had an in' with one of the computer programmers.
Right away Heath moved into the Verts and was set up in the North Field, as well as classes at Elemental Habitat College.
Things were going along great for him. Art would regularly check in on him. Slowly Art Smith, knowing some of Heath's background, worked his way into finding out more.
It worked out, to both of their advantages, Art finding out about Heath's former abusive life, first by his father, who eventually abandoned the homefront, then a fellow classmate. He felt pity for the seventee... eighteen year old, but couldn't keep soft, thinking of the things Heath's father and the `bully' did to him. First off, his father taking him out to the barn, making him strip his shirt and turning a leather strap over his back made Art firm up quick.
"Must've been hell," Art said.
However, this is where the tide turned, from remorseful pity to the pleasures of picturing it in one mind, with the ensuing feelings of being `hot', racing down to between the legs, when Heath reports, "But... and I know you're going to think I'm crazy, but..." the then, eighteen year old looked Art in the face.
"Listen, I'm more or less the law around here. Ain't nothin' much I haven't heard!" Art tells him, sitting in his office, feet flat on the floor, because he didn't want to flaunt his erection. He preferred his boots up on the corner of his desk, hands behind his head and laid back in his swivel chair, but a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do!
He wasn't sure of this, revealing what he's told no other living soul, but in a way, he hasn't trusted anyone but Art Smith, so, `here goes', he tells his strange thought, "The weird thing is, as my pop was thrashing my back with the leather strap, and like I said, you're going to think this awfully strange, I was liking it."
Art sat there for a minute digesting all this. At the time, thirty-six years old, it had been in his early twenties, before he was employed at Elemental Habit, Art had run across a born natural' guy like Heath. "Are you telling me you liked' getting whipped on the back, Heath?"
Thinking he was way out with his theory, Heath says, "Okay, call out the men in the white coats!"
"I think not!" Art replies, standing, being cocky with his words.
Heath couldn't miss it, the bulge in Art's pants as he stood and walked around the desk. It wasn't anything like understanding a foreign language. Relating to himself and his experiences with both his pop and the bully at school, the message came in loud and clear. Art had a full blown erection over Heath telling his story.
"Take your shirt off. I want to see."
Heath stands, saying, "Might not be anything to see. I got my last whipping a while ago," he fumbles with the buttons on his shirt. Peeling it off, seeing Art not jumping to conclusions of his own, he furthers his story, "I took a whipping about once every two weeks, when my pop would come back from the city. He would be drunk already and said he needed to get rid of some of his frustrations over his boss at work."
Art had two reactions upon viewing Heath's back, first, a little bad about Heath's swimmers build being marred up by welts, second, with planing a hand over Heath's back, "He did a nice job!"
Now who had the tent in their pants? Heath looks over his shoulder and much to Art's amazement, says, "Yeah and he was real good at using a strap. Pop knew where to hit a guy. You know," Heath reports, "not too low?"
"Right," Art says, knowing, "the kidneys."
Finishing examining Heath, Art asks, already said, but to affirm, "And after how many sessions with your `pop', did you find it," a word he knew to use, regarding such, "exhilarating?"
First off, Heath asks, "You understand where I'm coming from?"
It's then Art pours out a little inside information, as he returns to his seat, "Had a fellow like you one time." Before detailing his experiences, "And the bully?"
"Most of the time it was only Rick."
Assuming, Art asks, "There were two bullies?"
Still standing, his shirt in his hands, Heath replies, "No and yes. Most of the time it was Rick having his way with me after school and it wasn't everyday. He was on the football team and sometimes they play away games. I think he worked me over and fucked me maybe four or five times a week."
"Worked you over?" Art pried for details, a hand in his lap, this time not hiding the fact.
"He took me downstairs to the basement wrestling room and had me stand against a pillar. Then he proceeded to punch me in the stomach. When I couldn't stand anymore he would throw a rope up over a pipe and tie my wrists to it, `lynching' my arms up towards the pipe. Then he'd pummel my stomach with his fists. I...."
Art was looking at Heath's face most of the time, but knew the lad was feeling something just by reliving the experience through telling it. "You felt awesome, having Rick punch you in the gut, right?"
"Uh, yeah. Am I weird or what?" Heath said, sitting down.
"No! Don't sit down." Art even coaxed, "Throw your shirt over here," he pointed to his desk, "and stand there with your arms to your side."
He didn't answer, just did it, Heath tossing his shirt to the side of the desk, then standing there as ordered.
"Back up a little bit. I want to take in the whole picture!"
By then there wasn't many secrets between the two, Heath back up until Art could first see the almost eighteen year old's `scratch' of a treasure trail coming in, then the bulge in his pants. "Hold it right there."
Heath stood still, but also waited, watching Art at his desk. To Heath, it seemed like Art was stretching his legs out so his zipper would be in a straight line, for the purpose of lowering it. He smiled, thinking he was right.
"What?" Art asked, noticing.
Not lying, perhaps with intentions of furthering Art's big turn on, Heath replies, "I was just thinking of how my cock is twitching like crazy because you're hard, so hard you have to open your pants to let it out, all because you like to hear about me suffering at the hands of my pop and some bully at school?"
From there on, Art didn't hide anything, saying, "Check the door to make sure it's locked!"
Heath was starting to love the scene' as it was unfolding. It was like old home days', his pop ordering him out to the barn, his pop locking the door, and after a period of time doing the expectant, taking off his shirt, standing over in the middle of the barn, wrists together, all in sync for his pop to tie wrists together and haul his arms up overhead. Over time, to save between getting his back mauled and fucked afterwards, Heath would save a step and strip down to his boots. He even would get a kick out his pop thinking `he' was in charge, when in reality Heath ran the scene, except where his pop's shaft was lodged in his ass and pounding it till the cows came home.
When he turned from the door, Art was stripped down to his tighty-whities, saying, "Get over here on your knees boy and warm me up!"
"Looks like you're already warmed up!"
Art hauls off and sucker punches Heath in the stomach, saying, "Don't get sassy with me, boy!"
Inside, Heath's soul was rejoicing, his juices jumping with excitement over the way he was being treated. Because, over time, the whippings and fucking, his father took the `little boy' out of him, directing him to refer to him the same way Art demanded, "Yes, sir."
As for Art, he saw how quickly Heath rebounded, not even clenching his abs, "You took that well?"
Man after his own heart, Heath responds, "I really like taking a punch in the stomach. Feels hot!"
As time went on, Art Smith found out more about Heath Hartshorn's past. Not only was he bullied by Rick Johnson, more kid's stuff', poorly delivered gut punches, but mostly a way for Rick to get off, shooting his load in deep', the other part of Heath's history, when Rick's cousin, Pete Johnson was in town.
A traveling salesman, Pete, twenty-five years old, would rent out a room at the town's seedy motel. What Heath had thought was a suitcase of items Pete sold, really turned out to be his stash of `toys'. He trusted Pete, because of Rick, the two being family. True to the feeling, Pete was always fair, adhering to safewords when the pain got to be too much, which was rare, something amazing them both, but left unsaid by Heath.
Serious about his play sessions with Heath, finding him a real gem, Pete had leveled with Heath, part of playing was to further the submissive's tolerance for pain.
For Heath, the acceptance of Pete's theory was sealed by the simple task of Heath stripping off his clothes.
Going to work, soon as Heath had gotten out of his shirt, kicked off his shoes, taken his pants and briefs down, he stood there, watching Pete do the same.
Not much was said, other than after Pete stripping off his sports jacket, tie, dress shirt, slacks and briefs, taking some leather garments out of his suitcase.
"Cool!" Heath said of the leather chaps and Pete adding the finishing touch, a harness of leather straps crossing his chest.
After laying down his rules', which curtailed with, "Your safeword for today is lube', at which time the discipline part of our session will end. I will then fuck you and leave."
However, from the first session and all the other times when Pete hit town, it never ended the way Pete pronounced. He would untie Heath's eagle-spread bod, Pete lying down in his place and Heath toiling away at pleasuring him. Eventually, two or three hours further into their time together, Pete would fuck Heath. Sometimes, if horny enough, he would dump a load down Heath's throat or only ass-fuck him. Pete would slip out early in the morning, most of the time not waking Heath.
Too, after the first time together, Pete moved the action up, from the seedy motel to a more elegant hotel. He had a very lucrative business and could afford $200 a night, which was beneficial for Heath, him getting a taste of living like a wealthy person. A big change for a country boy living on a farm!
"It turned out nice for me," Heath relays to Art, "waking up and enjoying breakfast in bed!"
"Along with the boy who delivered it, no doubt?" Art jokes.
"No, Pete wouldn't allow it, but sometimes he would show up with another dude with him and that was cool."
Art would have liked to have heard more, but his cock was already ready'. Drawing off of Heath's experiences with Pete, which he still wished to gather information, Art says, "Your safeword is lube'!"
From then on, since Heath hit the habitat at almost eighteen, Art and him had had a special relationship. Sometime last year though, two boys had shown some interest in Art's hobby' and Heath had seen the writing on the wall. At twenty-three years old, he could see how Art could be taken in by two young ones from the Verts. It was like himself all over again. Even though their times together had dwindled, he had no ill will. Instead, he imbibed in the joy of a few years spent with Art, unhesitant with going beyond Pete's scenarios, the nip torture, cock and ball torture, flogging, wax, buttplugs, dildos and other' apparatus for their meaningful, after hours activity. He smiled, thinking the first time, Art fed him his whole load of piss!
With all this behind them, Art informs Heath, "And I know, we haven't been spending much time together."
"I've missed it," Heath thought of the pain-pleasure turn on.
"Therefore," he rustles some papers on his desk, whether it was from a file or not, "I've decided to move you in with a new security man," he pretends to read off a page, "Demont Abdelaziz."
Very astute at his studies, Heath asks, "From the Middle East?"
"Egypt, but is a US citizen. Nice man. I think you two should get along very well."
Heath asks, "When do I get to meet him?"
"Makes it sound like you're trying to get rid of me?"
There were not many people, other than his colleagues, whom Art Smith could joke with!
"Maybe," Heath said back, a wry smile attached, going right into, "When do I meet him?"
"As soon as you can get your gear together and move into `security suite 2'?"
"I won't be living in the Verts anymore?" Heath says with mixed reaction, leaving behind his roommate, who he liked even though not into any of this bdsm-shit, but excited over someone new in his life. "By the way, is this Demont into..."
"All the way!" Art came back with.
It made Heath's loins pulse, asking, "What about you and me? Will we ever..."
Joking, but feeling sentimental too, especially where Heath, a no-limits guy would make any guy a hard act to follow, replies, "Depends on how Noah and Scott prove out!"
"I know those two guys!" Heath exclaims. "They work at the dairy barn."
"That's them!" Art replies, by now standing in front of Heath. By now, Art had half-reassembled himself, from ankles-up. Heath was in the same attire, both shirtless. He made it short and sweet, holding Heath by the shoulders and with a farewell speech, fans a palm down over the hairy chest, "I'll miss all this," he ends with the back of his hand tapping Heath's zipper. "Have fun with Demont!"
Heath wasn't sure. Maybe he expected more, watching Art walk back to his desk. In a way he got the message a long time ago, Art's way of caring, showing affection was in making him feel good, whether it was whipping his back, chest or stomach, clamping down his nips, stretching his balls, shoving a buttplug or his own `weapon' up his ass, but as far as hardcore affection, it didn't exist.
He especially felt it, when Art asks, "Will there be anything else, Heath?"
"Uh, no," Heath says, though a lump in this throat, thinking of how Art was the main pawn in him getting into Elemental Habitat, but in another way he understood, picking up his shirt, putting one arm into it, unlocking the door and leaving. Closing the door behind him, working his arm in the other sleeve, he had a tear in his eye, wiping it on his shoulder.
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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.