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 15 a continuation of `CoMPany payLoaD', WriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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The two, they were slightly juiced up from their partying at Atlantis, but James and Laurent weren't ready for the Sandman.
"What happens if Geoff has somebody with him?" James dwells on the theme, which coursed through their evening, the paddling fun in the kitchen this afternoon.
"The more the merrier!" Laurent replies, right before his fist taps in the center of the door.
Geoff did't make it a secret, showing off his hairy bod, from head to toes, the door opening the width of his bod, "What's up?"
"Busy?" Laurent asks, though his eyes were already `inside the room'.
More on the courteous side, James says, "Can't you see, the man's busy?"
James could see inside the door too, Geoff not keeping it a secret, two other dudes in there with him!
Turning his eyes on James, Geoff asks, "Who's the hot man?" Laurent already having bragged about his boyfriend this afternoon, giving sketchy detail.
Formally, Laurent introduces, "James, this is Geoff," his eyes quickly returned to perusing the dim lit room.
James, refocusing, "I hear you're good with a pizza paddler!" he snickers.
Having had a couple of beers himself earlier in the evening, it hadn't worn off, Geoff saying, "I've got a couple of guys here... oh, but you already spied me out?" presenting it in a sneaky repose, in particular, singling out James' wandering eyes.
"I happen to notice," James replies, adding a smile.
"Hmm. Well," Geoff continues, "if you want, you're welcome to come in and have some fun with us?"
At almost one in the morning, James really wanted to get back to their quarters, but with Laurent's arm on the door, pushing it open, the two inside more visible, James suddenly didn't feel tired at all!
As he walks in, James says, "Brings back memories!"
Laurent knew what James talked about, except whereas the two were bound, with apparatus attached to their nips and balls, when James and his brother play, Tom was man on top, James in the place of one of those two.
While James dwell on the past, Laurent's nads begged for immediate attention, "Got any toys left for me?"
"Isn't this nifty?" James says, pinging the set of clothespins across Serkan's chest, playing a few of them to the tune of Serhan crying out.
Serhan responds, "More... more!"
It makes James laugh. He more or less had the two to himself, Geoff butting Laurent up to the wall with his stomach, hands moving up, under Laurent's shirt, Geoff saying, "Now where are those two little devils?"
"Oh-h-h-h-h-h!" Laurent sighs, trying to drop his head back at the pain and pleasuring of his nips.
"Mm-mm," Geoff says, like tasting a delicious dish, "we gotta get some serious hardware on these babies!" The tinkering with nips turns Geoff's hands into steamshovels, grabbing up the whole meaty, hairy pecs attached to Laurent's chest.
"Preferably before I cum?" Laurent replies.
Dropping a hand to Laurent's pants, Geoff finds out how hard Laurent has the need to come.
Faster than those two though, James had gotten tired of hearing Serkan talk and took care of it, plugging the hole between his teeth. Having Serkan's head lying in Martyn's pubic pocket, all he had to do is instruct Serkan to open up. As long as he felt a sucking sensation, James knew his pubes weren't smothering the Turk.
When he leaned his chest against the clothespins lining Martyn's chest, he could see tears in the dude's eyes. He was thinking about himself and Tom, things he allowed Tom to do to him. In the days of he and his brother's taunting and teasing sessions, James had often wondered why he allowed the mistreatment by his brother, coming to a conclusion a few times, until it registered, he did it for love.
However, thinking about it, wanting it to stop, when it was appeasing someone else, James felt sorry for Martyn. Raising himself up, he didn't realize his cock had dragged out of Serkan's mouth, his balls falling in it's place, him informing, "This is gonna probably hurt, um..."
Sweating it, the dude under him says, "My name's Martyn."
"Well Martyn," James was cool about it, "from experience, I can tell you this is going to sting like hell, but..."
"It's okay," Martyn gulped, "do it. Whatever you want to do, it's cool."
From both parties, the same feeling ran through their veins, trust, for Martyn, a sincere camaraderie extended out from James' sweet, tender voice, "It's not I `want' to do."
As for Serkan, he complains when the only thing left to suck on was James' balls, too big to fit in, but at least left with the ability to lick.
When James makes his next move, Serkan `wears' James' ass like a hat! Thinking Martyn is getting all the attention, he shimmies himself out from under James' hairy ass. With hands bound behind his back, it's all Serkan could do is kneel there, his eyes on James' ass sticking up in the air. Normally, Serkan would love to lean over, stick his tongue out and run down the line of a man's hairy asscrack. In this case, he was being totally ignored, which turned him off attitude wise, but not his taste-buds! Glancing from James' hairy asscrack, switching direction, eyeing up Geoff's derriere, covered in a fabric of dark hair, Serkan has already figured, whether he worked Martyn's cock and balls, or James' hairy ass, neither would feel much of anything. "Hmm," he sulked.
With a sudden groan of pleasure, off Laurent's lips, a new light turns from kindling into fire. Making a tradeoff of two for two, Serkan weasels his way off the bed, kneels, then gets to his feet. Walking right over to where Geoff has Laurent pinned to the wall, naked and toying with his nips, Serkan asks, "Nips, me torture too?"
Eyeing Serkan up and down, Laurent, standing on the balls of his feet, looks over Geoff's left shoulder and voices opinion, "Mm-mm, now don't you look like a luscious dish!"
Hands toying with Laurent's nips, making them red and swollen, it had engaged Geoff's attention. Had it not been for Laurent's peering eyes, his tormented's comment, he might not have known Serkan lurked at his rear portal, until too late, feeling the wet tongue on his hairy ass?
"Down boy!" Geoff orders Laurent, who sinks on his soles. With an about face, he looks Serkan up and down. Knowing Serkan's wrists were bound behind his back, Geoff smiles, thinking of all the things he could do to those dark nips hidden behind the facade of the Turk's curtain of dark fur. For a thought of instant why', Geoff wonders why he's so infatuated with working nips' tonight. Sure, his cock was rigid and with desires of wanting to have it taken in by a hot mouth, however with the earlier task of outfitting Martyn's chest, working a dozen or so clothespins anywhere, except right over the nub of Martyn's nips, then slapping Laurent's meaty nips, grabbing the bulk, fingers and thumbs pinching till it hurts, without saying further, he grabs the back of Serkan's neck.
Much to Serkan's surprise, his mind first set on licking hairy ass, but exposed to Geoff's beautiful black-haired front, he's taken aback, his mouth slapped up against Geoff's right pec, taking the hint to open his mouth and get busy with some soft, sensual tongue and lip massaging.
It wasn't any surprise to Geoff though, the warm breath on his right bicep, the top of Laurent's head moping around the side of his bod to see what was happening. With course tone of voice he barks, "What the fuck you lookin' at boy?"
Being Laurent was standing behind Geoff, he was less than an inch away from what could be a tongue-tasting treat, two asscheeks covered with lush fur, so answers, "Nothing. Um, would it please you sir, to have your beautiful ass wet down?"
Right now Geoff's mind wasn't on his ass, but the tantalizing job Serkan was doing on his pec, like the Turk had spent his whole life finding techniques to make a man's nip feel awesome. To this end, Geoff replies to Laurent, "I got another nip, you know?"
At the sounds of two working Geoff's chest, unintelligent babbling from Geoff's lips, James looks over to the trio, Geoff's big hands working his two tender aggressor's scalps, James remarks, "Man, is that hot or what?"
Up until this place in time, Martyn and James had been engaged in their own magic moment, sweetly making love. With the break, Martyn is taken up in James words. Instead of the meek, bottom role, he gets an alpha spike and with saying, "Like that, do you?"
With words of surprise, Martyn bowling him over, a complete change of position, James' back to the bed, he can only opinion, "What tha?"
"My chance to return the favor of you removing those heckling clothespins from my chest?" He didn't give James the opportunity to respond, leaning in, cupping his lips over James' left pec. But it didn't last, Martyn wishing to please the man he hovered his mouth over. Already sensing his oral fixation was sending James' nads into overload, his own nuts getting stabbed', he knew how stuff like this goes, hard to the point of wanting release, then a guy not being able to control his desires. Martyn's tongue on the way downtown', he was correct in his assumptions, he was sure, one of James' hands, parked behind his head, making a slow descent to his own cock.
Probably, Martyn's desire to please, is the reason, his bod sliding down the bed, James' cock scraping along Martyn's wired pubes, up the twenty-four year old's treasure trail, right up his stomach, between pecs, hitting Adams-apple, underside of scruffy chin, as Martyn opened to intercept, the moment of climax hit.
Closing up his hairy armpits, James didn't even have the need to think, hands clutching Martyn's head.
Bearing the brunt of two hands, it surprised Martyn out of his gourd, James' forcing his face into the pubic bush, cock going straight to tonsils and beyond. Fact of the matter, because Martyn had rose to his knees upon impact, had to be the reason his elongated neck abled James to soar right on down his throat!
As for the trio lurking across the room, of course a twin bed would never fit three. Moments prior, Serkan had given up on James and Martyn, now he was facing the same dilemma. From being nudged off Geoff's nip, it was apparent the two were edging him out, though he didn't take it personal, watching Laurent do some claiming and Geoff allowing the top chef take on his tasty meat. Same ole story, Serkan was faced with sloppy seconds, either showing Geoff how he could tantalize nips or go for a hairy ass treat. Boring,' was on Serkan's mind, standing there and knowing Geoff not ignoring his needs and wants, but rather caught up in the rapture of the moment, which he darn well knew could happen when two get it on. With one last saving moment on his mind, Serkan comes up with names, Nolan and Hewy'! he snaps his fingers. He got minimal reaction when saying, "Sorry! Got to go!" though he waited, he didn't stick around. However, as Serkan
departed, leaving the door cracked open a couple of inches, watching for a slow minute, Martyn, apparently having savored the fruit of his labor, James' blanket for the night. On the floor, the same scenario faced his psyche, only the heat of the moment still in progress. His hand on the knob, he let it go and as Serkan did, suddenly the heat of sex left him, his mind on how he wished he could share those same feelings, comfy in a man's arms. Even though he still had desire to please, he now was filled with hope of finding a single man to favor and none of this running around from man to man to man stuff.
With slumped shoulders he walked off, all intentions of returning to his own quarters at the Verts and leaving Nolan and Hewy to their special time together. He figures it will only wind up the same - himself the third wheel. At the end of the hallway, he turns the corner.
"You should watch where you're going, you know?"
Even though Serkan knew he wasn't watching where he was going and the dude he ran into, on the wrong side of the hallway, but immediately knew the power of drink and how it could affect the common senses, he wasn't out to blame.
Strangely, he was surprised, thinking the dude standing in front of him was ready to kick ass, but instead got a soft response, "Hey, sorry. You okay?"
Too, taken aback, because instead of expecting a tip of a foot to his ribs, a hand was extended!
"Huh?"
"Sorry `bout that. It's just, I was with my buddies at Atlantis and... I suppose we all had a little too much to drink."
Which had become apparent to Serkan, the dude with a shoulder to the wall. In fact, he was afraid to take the dude's hand on account of he didn't want the facade coming down on him, by the way he had a certain swagger of too many beers hovering over him. The only imbibing Serkan had done tonight was trying to milk Geoff's nip, which delivered nothing in the way of fluid. Alcohol, he wasn't a heavy drinker, only when it came as the sweet honey from a man's cock. Figuring himself the more sober of the two, Serkan jumps up from the bamboo carpeting, "I think maybe you need more hand?"
Little did Serkan know, this dude's mind was needing more than a hand. With the influence of the alcoholic content flooding his veins and perhaps the sexual nature of joking around with his buddies back at Atlantis, renders in a humorous manner, "I was hoping for more?" He laughs and in doing so, loosens the statuesque grip of his shoulder to the wall.
Down on his butt, the towering dude looked bigger than life. On his feet, Serkan realizes he's no taller than himself. Only real difference in size, which he can be seen, is a fuller shirt, whereas he knows by name calling, himself a skinny runt! Still, he had strong arms and in a move to keep the drunk dude from caving in on himself, grabs him, chest to chest. "What are you doing there?" Demont, returning from an unforseen, early morning problem, happens upon Serkan.
Juggling things to figure out how to help his victim, Serkan replies, "He drunk and falling. I try to help catch!"
Probably Demont had the same feelings as Serkan, how a big guy like this, weighed upon a small, skinny-guy's frame, how to manage it. Because Demont was well-versed in the identity of the passed out dude, a man from his own security division, he questions, "You two know each other?"
Bursting with energy to tell of his findings, Serkan says, "No, no, no! I come around corner and he run into me or maybe I run into him. It not known, but me, I'm little guy. I should be knocked over on my ass, no?"
For Demont's hefty build, it was nothing to reach down, shove his shoulder to Jarrett Horton's midsection and after straightening himself up, the sack of weight flings over his shoulder.
"How you get so strong?" Serkan asks, though afterthoughts bring to mind going to the gym or `breeding'!
To make a long explanation short, Demont replies, "Vitamins!"
"What kind? I need to get some!" Serkan replies, following Demont up the hallway.
Jarrett's upper bod bouncing along to steady footsteps, Demont explains, "It's not only vitamins, but steady fitness and a nutritional regiment. Tell me, how did you and my security man get in this predicament?"
First thing to clear Demont's slate, was suspicion of foul play. Though, in most cases, whereas a victim was knocked out, the perpetrator would be long gone. Too, after asking, he remembered smelling alcohol on Jarrett's breath.
"Like I say," Serkan explains, using hands even though Demont can't see behind his own back, "I come from here. Your man come other way and `smack!’ his chest hit me and I go flying on ass. It okay. I not get hurt."
"Oh okay. Just wanted to know the facts," Demont replies, stopping at the building exit.
"Why? You not think I..." Serkan gets off the beat, thinking Demont might have thought `he' attacked Jarrett.
To let Serkan know he hadn't any precluded thoughts, "Jarrett should be thankful you came along or else he might have been holding up that wall until the sun comes up!"
Walking a hundred feet in the early morning air, they travel the portico, from the main building to the security shed.
Serkan, recognizing the route, says, "I here before for discipline," synonymous with `Art Smith', which crosses Serkan's mind.
Oh interest to Demont, "Oh? How's that go?" he opens a heavy wooden door, ushering Serkan through first.
"First day here I drop paper on ground. I get 5 demerits. I have to go see Art Smith for discipline. I have to come here," Serkan renders, complimenting Demont with holding the door for him, pushing the door open so he can pass through with his load.
"I see," Demont replies. Curious of the reins Art Smith had on disciplining, most of what he's heard as hearsay, "and how did that go?"
"Art Smith make me stay in room alone. He say he look at my file. If I not first offensive," Serkan meaning `offender', "I might have to get punish. I not say anything, it my first day here."
"Why not?" Demont replies.
Not knowing Demont personally, Serkan treats this situation the same as meeting up with any other guy for the first time, keeping his masochistic thoughts to himself, which dummies him up with silence regarding such, altering the subject, "Where Jarrett stay?"
"Security suite eight," and returning to the subject, "and as you were saying?"
"About?" Serkan figuring it might still throw off one subject, to another.
"Your discipline session with Art Smith? How did the rest of your `jail-time' go?"
He breathed a breath of sigh, not having to tell his true feelings at the moment, telling of how he would have liked to have received some hot corporal punishment or even something resembling it, watered down, if that be the case!
Not knowing Demont, Serkan reduces his sentence to, "Worse off, I had to lay around for two' whole' `days'," he pouted, "until Art Smith came and unlocked the door."
Checking, Demont asks, standing right before the entrance to Jarrett's quarters, "I hope they fed you?!"
"Yes, but not as good as if I go and pick out what I like. They give me I think, what they think I might like. I didn't like!"
"Oh," Demont replies, not sure if he got what Serkan meant.
There wasn't a doorknob, rather a latch and with a swift stroke of the hand, the lever mechanism allowed the door to swing swiftly open.
Serkan, helping himself to go first, felt up the wall for a light. Turning it on, he yells out, "Oops!" quickly dousing the overhead light when he realizes two dudes in bed, right in front of them. "What we do?" he inquires of Demont, the silhouette of his bod and Jarrett's cast over his shoulder, set against the corridor lighting.
"Would you like to see me fall over something?"
Serkan, acting appropriately, reacts, "I turn light on!"
Turning the light on, the two tiptoed in, both in fascination of the both, curled up, a chest to a back and walking right through the room, around a chair left unparked from a computer station.
Demont says of it, "See? Now I would have stumbled right over that!"
Both stopped dead in their tracks, after Demont talks, hearing a stirring in the bed. One turns over, sits up for a moment, incoherently asking, but not paying attention, "That you Jarrett?"
He turned away from them and snuggled up to a pillow, probably not hearing Demont say, "It's me darling!"
Both Demont and Serkan snickered, Serkan stopping to point and say, "Look!"
Turning his attention from Serkan, Demont looks at the bed, saying, "Priceless!"
The other dude lay flat out on his back, a hand holding his junk!
Demont lay Jarrett right down on the bed in the other room, bending down to pick up his legs and cast his whole self onto it. All along the way, from where he had business to attend to, to running into Serkan and Jarrett in the hallway, on his mind he had the two naked boys he left behind, Heath and Marco. Having left explicit instructions the two were not allowed to come until he got back, he more than had a sensation of lust to get back to his quarters.
He was so thankful Serkan pipes up, "I make him up for bed, it okay?"
Serkan didn't have anyplace special to go, except his own quarters back at the Verts, so why not?
"Are you sure?" Demont more or less gave the go ahead.
"It fine. Really," Serkan replies.
Here it was, the clock ticking past four in the morning. It had been a long night and a long early morning for Serkan, but like any man who hadn't had the occurrence to get himself off, well he was hoping that stripping Jarrett down and helping him into bed would do the trick.
Easiest to start out with, was unfastening the buttons of his shirt. "Oh!" he bops himself in the head with the palm of his hand, realizing, "shoes, first!"
Busying himself, Serkan wasted no time untying Jarrett's shoes, pulling them off and setting them on the floor. He did this from the foot of the bed, which set him up for, instead of the shirt, kneeling on the bed and crawling up Jarrett's legs. Instead of buttons, he faced a belt buckle and zipper. He licked his lips as if facing the detail of opening up a trick's crotch for both of their delights. In this case, it was only himself wide awake and alert he was, going to the belt. Slow at first, the buildup had started, preempting him to work at dismantling Jarrett's pants slow-paced. Rather with speed, he slipped the little metal dohickey from a hole in the belt, pulled it through and, because guys liked it, stripped the belt out of the pants, dropping it to the floor.
Pulsing from within drove Serkan on, unbuttoning the one and only thing which kept the pants secure, then pulling down the zipper.
He stopped for a moment in anticipation, just wondering what he was about to unleash, regardless it was not anywhere near a raging hardon. Though he couldn't think the same for himself!
Peeling the pants down, he couldn't lift Jarrett, tugging at the waistband, sliding the pants between bod and bed. They were inside out, Serkan not willing, by sheer inner force, to turn the pants back out. Instead, it went the way of the belt.
Smiling and thumbs ready to open the package, Serkan says to himself, "Here goes!"
The shirt was already open, no surprise that Jarrett's extensively hairy front was about to continue, which added to the boiling of Serkan's balls, so when he unveiled the richly carpeted pubes, it made him lick his lips even more in anticipation.
He giggled for all of a few seconds, when the elastic got snagged on Jarrett's soft cock, bringing the flimsy meat down, with the briefs, then freed, springing back, like on a loaded hinge.
Not that he was frightened, but curious if it awoke Jarrett, his attention jumped to the bear's face. "Whew!" he said, the disturbed cock not waking him up.
He knew, Demont left him to strip Jarrett down and intentions to put him to bed, but Serkan was horned up all night long, into the wee hours of the morning, with no relief. It was more than he could bear to leave Jarrett's cock alone. Leaning over, he did an initial lick, looking to Jarrett, getting the same reaction; none!
This time he licked his lips, pursed them, then massaged the whole length.
He looked to Jarrett. When he lean over this time, to satisfy his tongue's whim, a hand rested on Jarrett's abs. Seeing is different than feeling and as it went, touching the hairy outline of a beginning sixpack, Serkan felt not only with wetness, by hand cruising over the wiry patch.
Returning to the cock, he sucked half in. He sucked until the tip was at his teeth, then exited.Still no reaction, except maybe a tiny, tiny, little, "Unh."
If Jarrett were `alive' and kicking, he would be able to see Serkan's eyes glued to his face, Serkan ever watchful, should Jarrett happen to awaken. As with previous caution, he went at it slowly, a lick, a lick and then another lick. Taste as his guide, he again travel the length on the nine-incher with closed lips. This time, he slowly opened, at his own leisure, taking it between lips. Already greased up with his saliva, it slipped right inside Serkan's mouth. "Mm-m," was an afterthought of how he perceived Jarrett's soft, tasty shaft.
Leaning over more, his arms straddled Jarrett's obliques, elbows to the covers. This placed his chest precariously close to Jarrett's thighs. For both, there was a light covering of hair, Jarrett's thighs, Serkan's chest. Without a conscious feel, the two melded. Slowly Serkan's stomach sunk down, his legs stretching out.
Jarrett must've had his fill and more of whiskey, not feeling, dead-to-the-world of Serkan's whole bod filling the insides of his legs, except his head sinking over his pubes. Too, right now he wasn't feeling Serkan's hands, busy at massaging all that lush bod-hair.
Or... maybe Jarrett did feel something, though in a la-la state, thought it part of the nice dream he was having and in a fit of situating himself, did as he would normally do when sleeping, as anyone else might, turned over onto is side.
When he did, he stabbed Serkan right in the throat!
Poor Serkan, or maybe he wasn't feeling remorse for himself at all, Jarrett falling over onto his stomach, Serkan's bod tumbling along. He knew he had the feeling too much was stuffed in his throat, the panic sense of wanting to barf or else give up on breathing, taking over. Remedying this, by moving his own head to the side, he found it not much better, Jarrett's pubes acting like a pillow to smother him.
For a light weight as himself, he mustered up just enough effort to slide at least his head out from under Jarrett's wiry mass. Taking a deep breath, Serkan was thanking his lucky stars for gulps of air. Essentially it's the only part of bod, crucial to absorb oxygen, the rest of his bod still pinned under Jarrett.
Knowing he wasn't going anywhere, Serkan did ponder on how he could slip out, but in doing so he knew he might wake Jarrett. However, it wasn't such a bad arrangement - Jarrett's bod acting as a blanket!
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Of course, Hewy had wondered too, Nolan mentioning, "I wonder what happened to Serkan?"
Reaching their new quarters, Bill Smith's old habitat, a miniature blueprint of a ranch house, it was found the bar had not been refurbished. Out in search of some liquid refreshment, Nolan and Hewy got tired of waiting and the night wasn't getting any younger!
"I'm kind of glad he didn't come back," Hewy replies, cuddling up to Nolan, in a somewhat of a sleepy state.
After all, why should Hewy not have the right to do so, working furiously while fucking his mate off? Nor Nolan for that matter, his busy at bringing Hewy to a hard state and keeping him ripe, until it was `time'?
However, Hewy voicing opinion, adding a small bit of laughter, Nolan asks, "What was that about?"
Opening his sleepy eyes, Hewy looks up from his `pillow', Nolan's chest and says, "Nothing," then replies, telling it like a joke, "well, we probably would have had a nice, halfway quiet evening, I mean morning anyway."
Like a cat a mouse game, Nolan takes the bait, "Oh? How would that go?"
He kept on prompting Nolan, Hewy wanting to tell, "Because I would have had Serki tied to a chair and gagged?" He laughs.
"You surprise me with your cruelty, Hewy!" Though Nolan knew Hewy could go for some `cruel-fun'.
"Whaaa---" Hewy almost whines like a hungry baby. "No, if I wanted to be cruel I would have left Serki just tied there, but no, I was being kind, filling the pitcher with water and allowing it to hang by a shoestring from his balls. And that's the thanks I get," he half lifts himself from Nolan's chest.
Nolan in reply, says, "I was only joking. Only do me a favor Hew?"
"What?" Hewy looks up, settling his bod down, flipping over on his chest, chest meeting chest.
"Don't even think of doing it to me!"
Later on, when they woke up from their slumber, Nolan would smooth things over regarding his comment of Hewy's `cruelty', telling him at least it was nice of Hewy to leave Serkan's bonds loosely tied, so he could shimmy his wrists loose, relieve himself of the picture of water weighing his balls incapacitated from making it's goo production.
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As for Denis, he wasn't much for the after delights of Atlantis, returning to the garden cottage near the studio. Sure, he stripped down, like the rest of the band, but had thoughts of him and Flick pairing off, doing their own thing.
Instead, Flick dove right into the `pile', Jeremie, SEanie and Provo, the three already engaged in some hot sucking and licking.
Flick motioned for Denis to join in, his free hand waving about in the air, provoking, `Come on, come on', Denis standing there, a stop sign and telling, "No thanks!"
On the rebound from Atlantis, Denis had it pictured in his mind, both stripping out of their sweaty tee shirts and speedos, falling right onto Flick's mattress, not four going at is on the floor like they never had boy-sex before!
He was thinking of leaving, when he heard a lush-sounding chord played on a guitar. Turning his head towards the projected sound, he spots the door to another room. Walking to the opening, he spots a bunch of computers lining the walls and sunken opening in the middle of the room, bunches of pillows filling it in.
"Not into it either?" Oak says, holding the guitar in the pit of his stomach, strumming another pretty chord.
"Not much," Denis admits, shaking his head.
"Play any instruments?"
Denis smiles, saying, "Um, like didn't you find that out this afternoon, after Seanie tried pawning his guitar off to me?"
"Oh right," Patrick replies, "I forgot. Wanna learn?"
Walking to the perimeter of the sunken area, much like a small hot tub, though square and holding no water, Denis says, "I think I would be the world's biggest failure!" He does make the effort to step into the first tier, sit his butt on the edge.
As Denis took note, all of them, including himself, drawn into stripping down, had taken every stitch of clothing off, but right now, even though he was totally visible, only Patrick's shoulders and his right pec were visible, clothed mostly in the guitar.
"Suit yourself, but you don't know until you try?"
Noticing something and perhaps the feeling wanting to, Denis says, "At least you're left handed," he holds up his left hand, waves it about, "me too!"
Cracking a scant smile, Patrick says, "See? You were destined to play the guitar!"
He used the neck of the guitar to beckon Denis on, down into the cushions.
Taking a leap of faith Denis' right foot takes the first step, saying, "I thought you had a boyfriend?"
"Friend. He's a boy, thus boyfriends, but we're not on serious terms. You?"
"I dunno," Denis replies.
Uprighting the guitar, wide part of it sitting on his nuts, not that it hurt, more stimulated, though Patrick not really into, so it wasn't getting him hard, he welcomes Denis into the pile of pillows.
"Cushy!" Denis remarks, sitting on a puffy one, his back falling against a big, soft one, him rearranging the ones to his left so his right side was open to Patrick.
"Got enough room?" he asks, noticing only a few inches between himself and Denis.
Because he was paying more attention to Flick at Atlantis and the return trip to the band's bungalow, he hadn't noticed things about Patrick, except the ginger-colored hair, "You've got like," he gulped, stuttered, Denis realizing he could be stinging Patrick with embarrassment, "um, freckles?"
Since the guitar was only hiding a partial space of his chest and wrinkled up stomach, Patrick looks down at his lightly-covered, ginger chest, "Uh, yeah. I guess I do." Nicely, he asks, "You have something against freckles?"
Mouth agape, Denis closes it to speak, "Ah, no. In fact," he tried finding the politically correct way of putting this, failing, "they look good on you."
"Thanks!" Patrick says with a smile, lifting the guitar with his right hand, passing it over to his left thigh, then allowing the neck to keel over, catching it fully in his right hand. He strummed a few strings.
"You play really good," Denis says, lack of anything knowledgeable to say.
From chords to individual picking, Patrick play through a sequence of notes.
"What was that?" Denis asks when Patrick quits.
"An excerpt from `Bachianas Brasileira', by Villa-Lobos. Ever hear it?"
Sharply and definitively, Denis replies, "Nope!"
Further educating, Patrick says, "Giga, from the seventh suite."
"Oh, okay," Denis replies, totally lost for anything about classical music, let alone guitar.
It late, Patrick suspecting it going on about two or three o'clock, it was a yawn which made him raise his guitar up, place it on the flooring atop the pit, saying, "Sometimes when I feel like it, I'll crash here for the night instead of the bedroom. Flick, he's got an awful loud snore!"
It made the two laugh, Denis saying, "Good to know!"
As Denis felt, Patrick projects feeling, "I know you have a boyfriend, but for awhile there, and don't get me wrong, but it looked like you and Flick were coming on to each other?"
Denis, feeling comfortable with Patrick, pours out, "Y'know, I like Terry. He's a good friend, but..."
"Boyfriends?" Patrick turns on his side, fluffs a pillow up under his head, hand going to cock, a natural reaction when it flops down, over a thigh.
Not going unnoticed, Denis turns on his side, but doesn't feel the need to guide his meat back into the space between and responds as Patrick had already said it, "Friends. Boys, but friends?"
Leaving it as so, the two were too tired to chat further, turned backs to each other and drifted off to sleep.
%
The weekend play out with relaxation, getting to know the grounds of Elemental Habitat and others who lived and worked there.
Some accounts of security infractions, of which Demont got his first taste of constant interruption in his life, set him off to remedy the situation. Whereas Art Smith always had his sex drive on overload, he didn't mind the extracurricular activities on the weekend, but Demont had a life', driving him towards finding a man he could count on as a weekend manager'.
"So, what do you think?" even though Demont wasn't giving him choice, approaches Quentin Hillman, night security manager of the perimeter.
The thirty-eight year old replies, "Why me?"
"Clean record, age maybe, with it coming experience and," Demont pauses, "I think you're a hot man!"
"Thank you!" Quentin replies, "That's enough in it to consider the position, but I would really welcome the daytime hours over night any day. I'll also try to keep it in mind of what I've heard."
"And that would be?" Demont grills him.
"You've already got a partner? Or two is it now?"
Between early Saturday morning, his weekend fling with Heath and Marco becomes a thing of the past, though not the idea of keeping two `concubines' riddled from the minds of those who benefit from cheap gossip.
Nowhere close to a loving partnership, whether on the basis of one or two, Demont smiles, saying, "Could always use a third, if you ever get in the mood, Quentin!"
"How inviting, especially when I can get into a little `pain and gain' fun?"
Picking up Quentin's folder from his desk, Demont uses it only as a vehicle, knowing there's no existence, regarding his remark, "Hmm, I didn't see anything on your record regarding such?"
A jab in the gut so to speak, meant to invoke interrogative remarks, Quentin replies, "I can get into most things and swing one way or the other, depending on the guy I'm paired up with."
Demont was liking what he was hearing from his only choice candidate, with not only good feeling in his brain, but the seat of his chair trying to stifle the vibrations of his loins and in closing the floppy envelope containing Quentin's dossier, "I think you overwhelmingly show you're credentials are in order and I'd like to welcome you to," he gets up, extends a hand, "to the managerial staff of habitat security?"
Accepting, Quentin rises as well, hands meeting as he jokes, "I'm not into mixing business with pleasure, but before the business part begins, if you want to pleasure my nads with your big hand, I'd sure enough welcome it!"
Thinking more along the lines of his stuffed crotch, Demont was willing to welcome his new security manager more intimately, before leaving his office and allowing his new life to start up.
%
Thor had set off towards Atlantis early Monday morning, allowing Tom to sleep, resetting the phoned in messaging system, which served in lieu of alarm clocks. Sunday afternoon, by law of the habitat, Atlantis closed down at 6pm, which gave Thor a jump on the testing of the waters.
Monday morning recheck, water tests were normal, but as he squatted down more than a couple of times, he complained of his ass hurting. More than once he thought of how, laughing, the weekend taught him something about life, not only Tom's big, fat cock burrowing deep into him, the `ride', which seemed brutal in itself, but also of how, if they continued on course, he had finally found a guy he would want to live out his life with. Of course, he had never been exposed to any of the kinky stuff Tom had told him he and his brother had done, except maybe buttplugs, but nothing the size, nor intensity of the workings.
In the back room, where he analyzed samplings, he peered over to the table where Saturday, he was doubled over, having the pleasure of his ass-ring widened. He smiled, went back to his work, then stopped. He had no recourse but to strip off one of his latex gloves, dig his hand into his speedo and workover his cock. Backing his stool out from the table, he hastily stripped the other glove, parked his speedo under his balls, stroked, play with either a nip or fondle his own balls, working up inspiration to shoot his load. "Oh Tommy! Oh Tommy! Oh Tommy!" he reached the apex, closing his eyes, picturing himself chest down, Tom fucking the living daylights out of him and squeezing his balls, was like cream from an icing bag, shooting his load to the floor.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck Tommy!" Thor lay, splayed out against the edge of a facing table, trying to regain control of his breathing, a hand massaging his abs with the remnants of his beautiful orgasm.
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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.