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 11 a continuation of `CoMPany payLoaD', WriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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About ready to march right into David Schlesinger's working cubicle, Art Smith was detoured by Demont, a matter regarding two ranch hands caught up in a fist fight. On his tail was his new protege, twenty-five year old, Dillon Li.
He was already semi-hard, over thoughts of using' David for his and Dillon's total enjoyment this weekend and hated like hell to put it off, dictating to David how his' weekend would be structured. However when Art got wind of two ranch hands in their twenties, "Oh really? Going at each other with fists, you say?"
"Yes."
"Where have you secured them?" If it was Art Smith catching two boys going at each other with fists, he would have exercised his right to cuff them, if possible, back to back, a pole between them, until he could get ahold of another security man to transport them back to the `security shed'.
Demont didn't mention names, but informs Art, "It's not officially in print, but our new director has communicated he wishes every offender brought to his office, before being disciplined."
No less than outraged, Art Smith stops dead in his tracks, "Well I wish someone would fuckin' inform me of such decisions."
"Are you coming?"
They talked as they walked, Demont giving Art an earful of new statutes Nolan was thinking of implementing.
"What the fuck?" Art stopped again, when Demont mentions an overhaul of the penal system. "There's no a goddam thing wrong with the way I've been running things. What's he have to go and fuckin' change things?"
Unaware, Art had no idea the attachment Demont has had with Nolan, except working in his office building.
As for Demont, he was getting kind of a kick out of sensing Art's humiliation. From the first he's met the forty-two year old, he's had an aching to treat Art like he's treated some of his wards. It was vague, but last night's dream, he though it was Art hanging there eagle-spread, being pleasured, driving his telephone pole in deep and communicating his extreme pleasure at busting open his tight hole!
"He's the boss," Demont left it as, hoping Art wouldn't back down on his boastfulness.
Meanwhile, Art had not given Dillon instruction, whether to tag along, leaving him outside David's door. Strangely, when Art Smith disappeared from his presence, Dillon lost some of that dominant luster. Instead, peering through the small glass slot in the door, he wondered if the top of the head he was looking at, over the cubicle wall, were that of David Schlesinger?
His hand was on the door, dropped it, on the door again, then without hesitation, gave it a try. It didn't budge. He half-wrinkled up his face, staring at the handle, when it opened!
"Only authorized personnel are permitted in this area?" A head hung out a crack in the door.
"I... I'm with Art Smith," Dillon replies.
Stretching his head further out, looking beyond the door, David says, "Art? He's here?"
"Was. He had to run off. Something about two guys in a fight," Dillon informs David. Though, right now Dillon could care less about two ranch hands fighting or Art Smith, heavily checking out, like, probably the hottest guy he's ever laid eyes on!
"I see," David replies, "and what business would Art have with programming?" From David's perspective, he never really thought about being turned on by an Asian, but he was digging this one.
Dillon figured it a good lead in, simplifying matters, "Art was saying something about us having a good time with you this weekend?"
Because he was feeling it strong, not only deep, deep down inside, but mixed with reactions from the heart, David says, "He told you what kind of fun we like to have and maybe you can relate to it?"
Knowing David was on to him, Dillon replies, "I like to have fun, but only if the other guy likes the same kind of fun?"
Looking around, David says, "You look harmless. C'mon in."
Back at Nolan's office, entering the outer shell, Art didn't even acknowledge Yalin, but marched right into the inner sanctum, trying to keep his cool, arguing right off with Nolan, "What's this I hear about a change in the way I run things?"
Demont was on his guard.
"I just feel there's room for improvement and..."
The two ranch hands, as well as Demont witness Art lean over the desk, one hand on it, the other pounding the top, shouting at Nolan, "There's no fuckin' reason why anything has to change, you got that Harrellsson?!"
Standing, Art's attention followed Nolan with a vengeance, his rebuking, "That sounds like a threat to me, Art?"
At the speaking of Nolan's opinion, Demont closed the gap between himself and Art's ass.
"I don't give a fuck how you think, Harrellsson. There's people here who back me up, so you better think twice about how you throw your goddam weight around here! You got that?"
Demont was biding his time.
"I would appreciate it," Nolan says cool and calmly, "if you would take your finger off my chest, Art?"
Art drops his hand, but not with looks of surrender.
"Really, Art? I doubt after Greg Smith officially stands down and takes his cronies along with him, as he makes his exit... well, I doubt there will be many left whom you can count on backing you up. Accept it Art. Change with the times, or make it hard on yourself."
Already filled with infatuation for his friend, employer, boss, and if the powers that be had allowed it, Demont would be down on his knees, looking up at his golden god, but right now, the speech Nolan had given made him want to ring out in applause. Such was his reverie, he lost track of Art.
"Let me tell you something, you bastard!"
It smartened Demont up real quick, Art lunging forward, grabbing up Nolan by the collar of the shirt with his fist and dragging him halfway across the desk. Springing into action, a fist slamming into Art's back, Demont shouts, "No! You hold on a minute!"
Nolan's `neck' was released in an instant, Art falling forwards, then with split-second reaction, an elbow jabbed backwards at lightning speed, pitted into Demont's midsection.
Falling backwards at a running rate, Demont's back crashed through the door, sending him to the floor of the outside office, amidst shards of glass and wood.
"That's enough Art!" Nolan calls out.
However, what Nolan hadn't realized, is calling out, called attention to himself!
"There's only one way to solve a problem and that's to get rid of the problem!"
"Shit!" Nolan called out, backing around his desk.
It wasn't a secret Art Smith was a mass of a man. Those who had been disciplined by Art, would have plenty to say about the force at which he could drill an ass, but behind that force was a man who could also deliver a hefty punch.
One of the ranch hands involved in the fight, says to the other, "We can't just stand here?"
Kaden mouths, "Demont!" rushing outside the door and trying to aid him.
Meanwhile, biting his lip, Josh rushes Art from behind. Not being a fighter, it took a lot of guts to take a running leap and jump on his back, grabbing him around the neck, yelling, "Cowabun-n-n-n-n-n-nga!"
It took only a little shrug, pulling at the thin arms to shake Josh loose, fling him off, landing on his back on top of Nolan's desk, like thrown onto a bed by a lover, mad with sexual desire!
Next in line was Yalin who was pretty much powerless, Art laughing at his imitation of a karate fighter. All it took was a swift punch to the jaw to lay Yalin out on the rug, after tripping over a chair.
"Now, to take care of the problem!"
"I don't think so!"
Turning around, Art says to Kaden, "Ready to plant your face in the floor?"
Maybe Yalin didn't know his karate, but Kaden put on a show of martial arts which had Art Smith trying his best to stay active in the fight.
A kick to the gut hardly phased Art, Kaden finding out the security director had some moves of his own.
"That's enough!" Nolan tried breaking it up.
Kaden, with reserve, says, "Excuse me, Mr. Harrellsson," intercepting Art, who had made a rush towards Kaden.
Meanwhile, Nolan figured he better drag Yalin's bod out of the way, plus see if he was still in the land of the living. Too, he checked out Josh, who was coming out of unconsciousness with a nasty headache. He also focused on Demont, but there was too much crossfire.
Speaking of which, Nolan began to eye up some office furniture which could be used as a weapon, cringing when he spots the side of Kaden's head being pushed up against the front of a filing cabinet.
He turns to an old umbrella left there, when he hears, "Yo! Dude!"
It was like the Lone Ranger, coming to fight his battles, only Demont, revived and ready for a revival!
Instead of a hefty punch, Demont drags Art's carcass outside, flinging him right into a corner of the room which housed light refreshments and a half-refrigerator.
Meanwhile, Nolan finally thinks of phoning for `the calvary', but it's something he has not yet learned to do. Yalin was still out, but Kaden to the rescue, asks, "Don't you think we should call for backup?"
Nolan says, "Yeah, but I haven't figured out how to?"
Kaden commandeers the phone system, hitting the buzz number for an emergency, 007.
Now Nolan `knows', this is an emergency and all, but he couldn't help but steal a few glances to Kaden's torn shirt. As with his fair skin and reddish-brown head of hair, through the tears in the twenty-one year old's shirt, he notices chest hair and a thin trail, but nothing much more.
He's taken out of his thinking by Demont entering, slapping hands together like he's dusting them off, "That takes care of that, but I think you're going to be needing a new coffee maker?"
Okay, so Nolan took his few minutes break from the action checking out Kaden, but back to business, "I think Yalin has a concussion."
As he's saying it, in rushes the troops, like a swat team, "Who's the perpetrator?" the head commander asks, going for Demont.
"No," Nolan says, "you've got it wrong. Art Smith. He's the bad guy here."
"Art?" It was obvious the commander was unbelieving.
Troops in fatigues, not usually seen about the inner grounds of the habitat surround Demont.
"At ease," the commander says, taking Nolan out into the hallway.
In the meantime, some of the troops, in white, seemed to be medically trained, going to work on Yalin and second in line for injuries, Josh, still lain out on the desk.
%
Whenever the buzz number, 007, was entered into the system, all areas of the habitat went into lockdown. So, no matter how much Hewy had to get back to the kitchen, it could not be accomplished. The doors to Atlantis were locked until the situation at hand was resolved.
"I guess I might as well have another umbrella," he burps, "I mean drink!"
"Whew! I could sure use a drink!"
It was James Houten, returning from his funtime in the lab with Thor and Tom.
Hewy looks him up and down, stopping at around his bellyhole, "Um, I think you have a little something here?" he holds up his finger, with some white stuff clinging to it!
Taking Hewy's hand, James sticks the digit into his own mouth, pulls it out with a pop and remarks, "Salty!" He smiles.
Looking down at James' chest, Hewy, in a funky mood, says, "I like your nips."
"Oh that," James replies, thinking back to Tom doing stuff to his nips.
Sensing James might be into some pretty kinky stuff, Hewy asks, "You like them played with?"
"I let my kid brother play with them one time. I know you're going to think I'm weird, but I let him drip hot wax on my nips. The wax was a kind of hot."
It gave Hewy some tingles between the legs and about to embark on his third umbrella drink, "I think you could be hot!"
Setting the record straight, "But I would only let my bro do it."
"How come?" Hewy furthers the subject.
"Because..." he had no other reason, James saying, "he's my brother."
Seeing he wasn't getting anywhere, "No problem. Just asking. What are you drinking?"
"The coconut with the umbrella."
Subbing for Thor, the other bartender was getting behind.
"I think he needs some help."
James watches as Hewy walks around the bar and goes to making drinks like a real professional, popping beers open so fast, it was like the hand was faster than the eye!
About eight minutes later, the bartender is caught up, Hewy bringing himself and James each a `coconut'.
"You're good," James says of his bartend skills.
"No, I could be `good' if you would give me an hour with you!"
He wondered if Hewy was reading his mind. The whole time James viewed Hewy mixing drinks, his mind was not entirely on the speed at which bottles were popped open, upended, canisters of drinks shaken, but with possibility of there being another man in his life who could assume the position Tom has been in for most of his gay life. "And what could you do for me in an hour?"
They wandered away from the bar and sat in the sand. Good thing, because the subject they were about to chat up could most likely get them stiff. Lying down on their backs, elbows in the synthetic sand and peering over the forest of their chests, staring up all that flesh, a reaction began to occur which required little stimulation, other than sight and sound.
After picking up his coconut, burrowed in the earth, taking a drag off the straw, James parks it in the `burrow' of his stomach, "So many men, so little time!"
"Time. That is it. And you are right, James."
Peeling his eyes away from the splashing in the water, other dudes lounging on the beach, some in dry-dock, others half in-half out of the water, James confronts Hewy, whom he had detected being stared at, "What?"
"I `am' sorry, but I just cannot tear my mind from these," he lifts a finger and pokes James in the nip!
"Oh!" James gasps, same time wiggling his stomach, which causes his drink to sway, spill.
"I got it!" Hewy reaches in a split second response, delayed, "Oops! Sorry!"
Both having more of their fill of the pineapple-and-coconutty drink, James does a crunch, his eyes on his stomach, saying, "I guess I better find something to mop this up!" he laughs, which shows he's not pissed or about to punch a guy's lights out over.
Half sitting, twisting his torso towards his left, Hewy, already having two and half drinks swimming in his stomach, places a hand to James` midchest, "No. Wait."
"Huh?" James questions, wondering what the hell is on Hewy's brain?
"I take care of this," he is saying, Hewy's head and eyes are switching about, like he's panning the crowd.
Thinking it only fair game, James slips his hand in between Hewy's arm and obliques and after a giggle, "I like all this," paws at Hewy's dark stomach hair.
"Good! Nobody looks!"
It was enough to make James momentarily forget about all that lush growth on the front of Hewy's bod, what with, "Oh my god, Hewy!" It sure did feel good, James dropping his elbows to the sand, prop his bod up, watching Hewy bend over his midsection, feeling a tongue dart right into his deep bellyhole! Then in slow motion, James spells out the pleasure of the alcoholic beverage being drunk out, "Like, oh my god, that feels, so-o-o good!" His head drops back, but then back further, seeing a pair of hairy legs directly at the top of his head. Changing the tone and tune of his voice, James taps Hewy on the back, "Um, I think we got company, Hewy!"
Readjusting his position, like Hewy was trying to hide something, he lays flat across James bod, his armpit placed so it is smothering James navel, as he remarks, "Oh hi there!" A grin courses his lips.
A pad was in his hand, but no pencil as he shoots back with, "You know behavior like that is not allowed at Atlantis?"
There was another reason why Hewy and James were giggling, not which they thought Trystan was saying what he was saying, like it was funny or anything.
As for Trystan, he was taught to observe an incident, before confronting the perpetrators, so it had been a while he was standing there at a distance, checking out Hewy's head bent over Jamesstomach, lips engaged in sucking up the bellyhole or fucking it with his tongue. It was even brought up to Art Smith, by himself, at orientation, how could a guynot' get a massive, raging hardon while watching two guys get it on, regardless if it was fucking, sucking or other `lewd' stuff, like sipping an alcoholic drink from a dude's navel?
Oh course, as customary for security at Atlantis, unlike the others, in order to detract from the usual crowd, security personnel had to wear these camo-colored speedos, picked off an online designer's website, that of the famous Alex Nouguet. With all intensive purposes, Art didn't want `cloth' to get too much in the way of his own devices and desires, covering up too much bush'n'balls. It was perfect, the lycra fabric, with the little cock-bootie. At the time, when he answered Trystan, about the skimpy brief, he made up some wild story about Atlantis' temperature controlled environment and how steamy it would be in full uniform...
But back to the future, singling out three on the shore, Hewy, `feeling good' and given the whole human environment of the habitat, doesn't feel inhibited reaching up and handling the jutting cock bootie, "You can't lie and tell us it is not turning you on?"
"Oh-h-h-h!" Trystan fails at his duty, arms dropping to his sides. Wishing, but hoping not, he tells Hewy, "Oh, please don't do that!"
When Hewy disengages, James looks up and just laughs his ass off at Trystan, biting his lip.
Then to make it all the more humorous, another set of legs stands next to them, "Hey, you want, we go to the cabana and I take care of that for you?"
It was Serkan! He had forgotten Nolan's shirt to be laundered and had returned to pick it up at the cabana, where it was stripped off.
"Um," Trystan shifted his attention to his left, "Uh," he puckered up his lips, like he was born without them, "I..."
"C'mon," Serkan says, slapping Trystan on the shoulder, "I am good cocksucker. I will not make you feel bad you let me!"
The two walking away towards the cabana, Hewy says, "I will have to thank him for making us not getting us demerits."
In a totally different direction, James remarks in a sexy manner, "And I will have to think of a way to thank you for cleaning out my navel!"
By now, both horny beyond what a man can take, Hewy kneels at James' side and proposes not marriage, "I think there could be room for two more in the cabana?"
Again, doing a sit up, James replies, "What the fuck are we waiting for?!"
They both laugh, rising up off the beach, most crystals of the special sand dropping off their bods. The only thing scientists at the habitat didn't think of, was a man's bod hair. It took a good fluffing of a man's chest, stomach, pubes or pits to loosen all the particles, but as soon as a man's hand brushed up and down a bod, the sand would fall out. It wasn't the main concern now as James and Hewy were hustling over to the cabana.
It could be locked from the inside and when they saw Trystan get delayed by a ranch hand asking a question, they put on some speed. Whether known to each other, the adrenaline from their boiling balls were the propellant which made them break out into a jog.
Hewy's hand on the door, caught it from the final enclosure and as he stare into Serkan's eyes, "Can we share?"
In Serkan's mind, `share' could mean several things and he was up for all meanings of the word, "Of course!"
His speedo down to his ankles, Trystan rethinks the addition of Hewy, plus James, pulling them right back up, "Uh, maybe this isn't such good timing."
Dominant thinking kicking in, James confronts Trystan, his hand tucking into the speedo, keeping it from hiding the big bulge, "Why fight the feeling?"
It left the two in limbo, but not the only ones. At first it was coupled-off, Trystan and Serkan, vs. Hewy and James. Now, looking like a switcheroo, James kept Trystan at bay with his thoughts.
Impressing upon Trystan of his position, yet offering diversion, James says, "What's it going to be Mr. Security-man?"
He didn't give Trystan but a few seconds, James grabbing him by the back of the neck and with instant infatuation, began kissing him.
Enough of the two already bringing satisfaction to each other, Serkan suggests to Hewy, "How about you like hot blowjob?"
What choice did Hewy have, Serkan's hands traveling down the flanks of his rib cage, resting on his thighs, as Serkan's nose becomes buried in his bush!
"Oh-h-h-h!" Hewy slips into auto-ecstasy phase, feeling a hot, warm mouth on his shaft.
Five feet away, Trystan at first had doubts about the way this was going to go. It wouldn't be a first, him sinking to his knees, but had mixed reaction over who held the dominant power over the other.
James made up their minds, "I'd like to do you," he says, each holding the others' soft erection, "but how about some reciprocation?"
Finding two towels, they lay them out on the floor. James taking a seat, tagged Trystan's hand, leading him to the matted tiles. Halfway through the transition from standing to sitting, eyeing up Trystan's hearty pubes, James informs, "I can go either way."
"Either way?" Trystan asks, wanting to get the clear picture.
"Versatile and if you want to take it a little rough?"
Smiling, James replies, "Sadistic rough?"
With Laurent it he could be all dominant topman, but now he was sensing something different and it was turning him on with tremendous outpouring of churning up his balls, "If you can get into it?"
It was another way for James to feel Trystan out, regarding the special subject, Trystan immediately understanding his meaning, "I haven't had a lot of experience, but if you're willing?"
Overhearing, Hewy calls over to them, "If you need any help with it, I'm your man, Trystan!"
Serkan, who had Hewy on his back, butt against the bare tiles, hands behind his head, relaxed and enjoying the sweet tongue tease on his shaft, "You be rough with me?" was Serkan's way of getting with some bdsm.
Falling right into it, Hewy replies, "You can start by pleasing my cock, boy, but I warn you, if you do not, I will have to punish you!"
At first Serkan show a look of fear, jaw dropping down, then with haste, "Yes, Sir! I get on it right away Sir! And if I don't go good, you punish me Sir! Anyway you want to Sir!"
Hewy would discover over time, the twenty-one year old Turk was sexually starved for cruel and unusual punishment.
Upon hearing James moaning, sometimes with pain, because as he was sucking Trystan, Trystan was twisting up his nips, Serkan pops off Hewy's shaft with a slurp to tell him, "You can do to me, `that' too. You can do anything to me. You like to whip?"
"Uh, sure," Hewy says, but right now would rather have his blowjob brought to completion!
"Good. You whip me. You do anything to me. What you want to do to me?"
Figuring the breeze on his wet cock would not become thoroughly wet down again until he somewhat satiated Serkan's interrogation, Hewy runs the gamut, "Your balls."
"You want whip my balls? As much you want. What else?"
It was like, `who owned who' here!
However, it wasn't entirely disinteresting providing loaded answers for Serkan, "I can hurt your balls and nips," returning to what got this conversation off the ground, "I squeeze them with my hands or while I hurt your balls, I put croc-clips on your nips."
Serkan was eating it up, Hewy getting off on watching his cocksucker work a hand around his own meat, Serkan stroking, because of the great pleasure of hearing how Hewy would torture his balls and nips, then deviate from the front to the back of his bod, taking a strap to his back, or as he has always wanted to, Hewy having an ass stretched, whipping the crack from top to bottom, before filling it with his hard shaft!
"I want it! When?"
He was caught up in the sadistic hype as much as Serkan was, Hewy then recalling, "Uh, I dunno. There's Nolan to consider."
It phases Serkan a little, "You ask him. He can help you if he want?"
Two things, from opposite planes were taking on Hewy's mind. First, Nolan. He really had no intentions of going beyond the outskirts of their relationship, but as luck would have it, he allowed the overindulgence of alcohol to cloud his judgement, going to the cabana. But the issue became even more cloudy, purposefully, thinking about how Serakn very badly wanted to get it on.
Suddenly, both their thoughts were torn asunder, hearing James and Trystan building. Turning their heads towards the commotion on the floor, they hadn't been paying attention. There, James and Trystan had changed their bods around, pubes to face-face to pubes, 69-ing each other.
"Look at them go!"
To Serkan's comment, Hewy lay there, trying to keep his own wilting cock standing in a straight line, "Yes and look at this go?"
First and foremost in Serkan's mind, "Oh no! Am I to get punish, Sir?"
Making it sound dire, even though he would never consider it, Hewy jokes, "Maybe if you make me cum much, I will not lop off your balls!"
%
"Close one," Nolan says to all those left in his office, after Art Smith is hauled off by security in official camo-gear.
"You think I would let anything happen to you?" Demont questions him.
"How's the eye?" Nolan asks.
A medical personnel places a bandaid over Demont's eye, him saying, "Nothing wrong with my eyes!"
Decked out in his white uniform, Gene, in the upper management for the division, responds as he picks up one of Demont's big hands, "Good to know. How about the hands?" Holding up an index finger, he examines, "How's the grip?"
Nolan and Yalin had to laugh at Demont's response, "I will show you if your balls can take it?"
On one knee, attending to Yalin's twisted ankle, Gene Kowalski's fellow EMT-man jumps in, "I think I know someone who can take some of what you're talking about!" His comment was accompanied by giving Demont a wink and a smile.
Gene informs them all, "Marco is a glutton for punishment!"
Nolan, relaxing back in his swivel chair, hands folded over his stomach, relates, "Oh, then you and Demont should get along `quite' well there, Marco!"
Demont didn't need to make comment, the glint to his lips telling all.
"Not me!" Yalin speaks up. "If you want to have that kind of fun, you take it to your playroom!" For Yalin, he had taken enough of that kind of treatment involuntarily, from Nolan's father. Once in a lifetime was enough for him.
Perhaps changing to match Yalin's will, Gene says, "Right. I'm with you. I'm getting too old for that stuff."
"Old?" Yalin questions Gene. "You're not old! How old are you?"
Sheepishly, Gene replies, "Thirty-two. Too old?" thrown with hint.
"Thirty-two old? That's not old. Ninety-two. That's old!"
In a dominant manner, Gene says, "Here, Marco, come see what you make of this cut above Demont's eye."
"Okay, well I see everyone is being taken care of," Nolan gets out of his chair, "so I'll be heading down to dinner." He was ready to launch into what already has become cliched, `be there or have Art Smith to deal with,' Nolan changing his phrasing and specifically for Marco's ears, "Be there on time or else have Demont to answer to!" he pats Demont on the shoulder, passing by to the door.
Staring into Demont's eyes, like with a passion, Marco replies, "Uh, there's a good chance I'm going to have to be late for dinner?"
Demont replies in a souped up security way, "That could draw a `stiff' fine!"
Granted, most likely Demont wasn't the only one feeling stiff over the penalty.
Seeing Marco being catered to, Gene asks, "Say, Yalin, how about accompanying me to dinner?"
Knowing he was already going to meet his room mate, Gavin, he was ready to state it, but then changed his mind, "Sure."
In a matter of two minutes, Yalin had gotten himself together enough and fled the office with Gene in tow.
Alone, Marco takes the opportunity, "Want to give me a little sample of what you're not afraid to do?"
It was apparent to Demont, Marco was the one totally uninhibited, standing back, his feet far apart, hands behind his head.
Walking up to Marco, Demont begins unbuckling the twenty-two year old's belt, "Usually I like to see what I'm aiming for!"
In anticipation of the package he was unwrapping, Demont looks down, whets his lips and looks up again, repeating the process over and over, until it becomes a need for, "You're going to have to put your legs together to get your pants down?"
"Make me!" Marco stands steady, curling up the corners of his mouth.
His hands were still planted behind his head, a position Marco loved to be in whenever his taut abs were at stake, but also made the perfect restraining position for surrendering one's bod. Taking full advantage, Demont threw a twist into it, making it look like he was going for the abs, "This," he presses into Marco's abs with his knuckles, "you impress me. You go to the gym much?"
"That I do. All for whatever pleasure you can derive from it!"
Demont loved the toothy grin, like Marco was begging for the gut punch.
"Then I see no reason not to do some further research?" his balled fist pressed into the hard stomach.
"Would be interesting to see who would get more pleasure out of it, you or me?"
Taking his fist away, Demont adds further towards the bluff, placing his palms under Marco's elbows, saying, "Higher, boy!"
Marco was already feeling the pings in his balls from all the activity, but slipping into the subordinate role, really made them church, "Yes, Sir!" which also served to raise his elbows higher, his hands slipping behind his shoulders, almost fully touching his blades.
Standing back, Demont rubbed his big hand over his big-knuckled fist, pouring on the intimidation, "I will take great pleasure in watching your bod hit the wall!"
Smiling, then dropping it, Marco replies, "Ain't gonna happen!"
Demont returns the smile, drops it. Really, he thought Marco could take a forceful gut punch, all the more reason he figured it would be fun to `aim lower'!
"Ready when you are!"
He knew Marco was a professional at this, not the first time he's been in this position, Demont knowing the `language' of the bottom counterpart, badgering him on. Complying, because his nads were aching for release, he walks up to Marco, places a palm against his chest, pokes a little with three fingers into Marco's stomach, saying, "I think I found a good place."
"Cool. Why don't you knock yourself out and give me the `ole one-two'?"
Marco couldn't be more correct on what Demont was planning, the one', a punch to his taut abs, the two', his knee brought up into his balls. Playing even dirtier though, Demont decided not to give any warning!
The punch to Marco's gut made him belch out loud, his hands moving like lightning, from perched at the back of his shoulders, to his gut.
"Oh, did that hurt?" Demont asks, bringing Marco's shoulders up from doubled in half.
"No," he exhaled and inhaled, "just gotta catch my breath."
"Good. Let me help you!"
With no mercy, because he had a feeling Marco was the type who didn't cater to being soft on the activity, Demont puts his hands on Marco's shoulders and lifts a knee into the middle section of his legs.
Was he ever right, Marco, in between the pangs of pain, screaming out, "Oh fuckin' yeah!"
He was on his knees, which gave Demont good advantage. Stepping around, he put the flat of his foot up against Marco's back, pressing Marco's chest to the floor. "You lose the bet. Now you get punished!"
"No! Please!" Marco begs.
Demont threatens, while keeping his 10c hard, "You back out now and it is the last," he picks on the worst case scenario, "ball torture you will have from me!"
Of course Demont knew Marco was `acting the part', "No, please!" He had braced one arm and looked behind him, seeing Demont's pants at his ankles, a hand in his briefs, stroking a massive one, relating, "No, you'll bust me wide open with that!"
Demont was loving it, his stiff tube almost popping out of his briefs at the waist, decides as he goes to pull up his pants, "Have it your way."
He giggles, watching Marco scoot to his knees, "No... no. Okay! I submit, Sir!"
It's then he unveils his massive meat.
One last look, Marco was wondering if he was going to live to regret it! %
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.