Dr Tim and the Boys

Dr. Tim and the Boys

The following story is fiction. It involves sexually- explicit erotic events between males. If you are offended by such material, are too young, or live in an area where it is not allowed, don't read it. In the world of this story, the characters don't always use condoms. In the real world, everyone should practice safe sex.

The author retains all rights. No reproductions or links to other sites are allowed without the author's consent.

I want to thank Evan, Patrick, Ash, and Tom W. for lots of helpful ideas and steadfast encouragement as I worked on this story. If it's any good, it's because of their help. If it's not, it's my fault. --Tim

timmead88@Yahoo.com Chapter 3: House Call #2

If I thought I was a nervous wreck Friday, I was a basket case all day Saturday. I had to go back to Chaz and Trey's apartment again that evening. What could they possibly do to me that they hadn't? One of them had said something about "traffic" and my asshole. Sounded ominous.

Did I have any options? I should have done something before going there Thursday night, when they had only the one picture. I might have gone to the police, I suppose, but I had no idea at that time who my tormentors were. It would have been embarrassing to tell the police what happened, though it would have been better than the mess I was in now. Hindsight is always better, they say, but in most cases it's useless.

Now, of course, they had all of those pictures, and there was no evidence in any of the pictures that I was being coerced. In some of them, in fact, I was smiling (leering, actually)! I'd have no chance of making a case that anyone was forcing me into those absurd and shameful poses. And I was very obviously squirting cum in the one, with no other person in sight.

Given all that, I didn't think I had any choice but to go back that evening as they demanded. One thing was for sure, I wasn't going to drink anything unless they forcibly poured it down my throat.

I decided to get out of the apartment, so I went to my office, where I could grade some essays. I hadn't expected to find anyone around on a Saturday morning, but Gwen Fairchild was in her office. I thought I remembered that she was Cedric's advisor, so I knocked on the frame of her open door. She, too, was working on the ever-present papers.

"Sorry to interrupt, Gwen."

"Tim, PLEASE interrupt me. Come in and sit. How are you?"

I didn't want to tell her how I was, so I said I was fine, and we made small talk for a few minutes. Then I asked, "Aren't you Cedric Jones's advisor?"

Gwen must be pushing sixty, but she doesn't seem that old. She was always beautifully dressed (but then, on a full professor's salary she could afford to be). Her hair always looked as if she had just had it "done," and she had young-looking skin. She appeared, in short, as if she was expensive to maintain. Gwen was one of the most pleasant of my colleagues. She was also one of the most popular professors in the department.

She smiled as she said, "Yes, I am. Cedric is such a delight! He's in one of your classes, isn't he?"

"Yes, that's why I stopped in. Can we talk about him for a

moment?"

"Of course. Is it about his mid-term?"

"Yes, in part."

"I must say, Tim, I wondered about that. But I hesitated to ask because I didn't want to seem to be interfering."

"You know about his sister's accident and his absence from

my class?"

"Yes, but that was all cleared through the dean's office."

"So I've heard, but I never received any notification from the dean about the sister's accident or Cedric's subsequent absences."

"So you gave him the F because of his attendance? That doesn't sound like you, Tim," Gwen said, looking at me with concern.

"Oh, there was more to it than that. He still owes me two papers, one dating back several weeks before the accident. And when I've tried to get him to come in and talk with me, he never shows."

"I didn't know that. It sounds as if something's wrong. Such behavior just doesn't sound like Ced. He's a very responsible young man. He did fine work in my class in the fall semester, and he's carrying a 3.5 GPA."

"What's he like in class?"

"A delight. He's always prepared, he seems to enjoy the class discussions, and he writes beautiful papers, always with what I have told him is a 'lawyerly lucidity.'"

"He's an English major?"

"Yes, but he plans to go to law school. His father's a lawyer in Shaker Heights, you know."

"No, I didn't. Cedric did good work early in the term, but he began to seem nervous in class, then to more or less shut down, and finally he quit coming."

"Tim, you have me worried. That just isn't the Ced I know. I assume you would have no objection to my getting touch with him and trying to find out what's going on with him."

"Of course not. You are his advisor. I'm concerned about him, too. I hope I haven't done anything to cause his problem. And if he makes up the work, especially since there was a memo from the dean, there'll be no difficulty about changing the mid- term and re- instating his baseball eligibility."

"Oh, dear. I hadn't thought about the baseball. He must be terribly upset about that. Something may be seriously wrong. I promise I'll get on it Monday morning and let you know what I find."

"That's great, Gwen. Thanks." I stood up. "And you'll let me know what you turn up? When you see Cedric, please assure him that I want to see him and that we can get this whole thing resolved."

"You can count on it, Tim. Have a nice weekend."

"Yes, Gwen. You, too."

Oh yes, it was going to be a great weekend. I went to my office, where I spent the rest of the morning marking papers. When my stomach began to growl, I gathered up the unread essays, put them in my backpack, and headed home.

After two pbj sandwiches, a vitamin pill, and a glass of milk for lunch, I called Amy to tell her that we couldn't have our usual Saturday evening talk. I think I was relieved to get her voice mail. Lying to her about going to a movie with colleagues was easier one step removed, so to speak. And I'd have to remember to see a current movie before long, since she was sure to ask what I'd seen.

I marked a few more papers. As I worked on them, I think I was more lenient than usual. Who knew what was going on in the poor bastards' lives.

Later I tried to read, but reading was futile, for I couldn't concentrate. I put some Ravel on the stereo and promptly fell asleep. Sleeping at least helped pass the time. When I woke up, I went for a run.

So, one way or another, having fortified myself with a tv dinner, I was ready to go get it over with. I put on the mandatory t-shirt, shorts, and sneakers and set out for some sort of misery, all the more worrisome because I had no real idea of what was coming. That comment kept coming back to me -- something about traffic and my butthole.

Chaz opened the door this time. Trey was sitting on one end of the sofa with a Heineken's. There was a partially full bottle on the coffee table, and several empties sitting around.

Both guys were wearing t-shirts and cargo shorts. Both were barefoot. I noticed again what big feet Chaz had. But then he was a pretty tall guy. Mark was nowhere in sight.

"OK, guys," I said grimly, "what's up tonight?"

"Oh, you're going to find out what's UP tonight, Timmy boy,"

Chaz said.

Trey hadn't said anything. He seemed to be watching me intently. He also seemed to be letting Chaz take the lead in whatever was going to happen.

"Just so we're clear, professor," Chaz said, and the irony as he said the word "professor" was unmistakable, "we really have you by the short and curlies, so you better do as you're told. Don't argue. Don't complain. We have lots of good ideas about what to do with those pictures if you don't cooperate."

I was beginning to get pissed.

"Look, you two. This has gone far enough. I've already told you I'd straighten things out about Cedric's grade. Why can't you trust me to do that and let things drop? You've still got the damned pictures, so there's no fear of reprisals from me. Where's Mark, by the way? Why isn't he in on whatever it is you've planned for this evening?"

"Chill, Mead," Chaz said. "It's really none of your business where Mark is, but he had something else he had to do. As for dropping this," he continued, "there's no way that's gonna happen. It all started as a way of paying you back for being such a shit about Cedric, but things have changed."

"Oh?" was all I could think to say.

"Yeah, little man," Chaz said with a smirk. "You remember the note on your pillow this morning, don't you?"

I sure as hell did, so I nodded my head.

"There was one word there that might stand out in your mind, DR. Mead. Do you have any idea which one I'm talking about?"

I was afraid I did, but I said nothing.

Trey wasn't saying anything either at this point, but he was staring at me intently, as if he were fascinated.

"Come on, Timmy boy, what is that word that's been worrying

you all day, huh?"

"I suppose you mean 'slave'."

"Right the first time! Give the little man a gold star," Chaz said, laughing. He seemed to really be enjoying all this.

I tried to swallow, but my mouth and throat were too dry.

"Slave . . . how?" I asked.

Still nothing from Trey. He seemed to be willing to let Chaz be the master of the evening's ceremonies.

"One of the fraternities on campus occasionally finds a likely prospect among their pledges, someone who becomes the brothers' sex slave for the rest of the year. Not forever, just for the rest of that year. If he refuses, he doesn't make it into the frat. If he goes along, he's a full brother. If he agrees, they insure his cooperation with pictures of the sort we have of you, or sometimes much worse."

Suddenly there was a rock in my stomach. "And, . . .?" I

asked.

"Well, little man, it will be really nice having our own private sex slave. That's YOU."

"Our?" I wondered out loud.

"Well, Trey's and mine. And Markie's and Cedric's if they want. The four of us are buds. We share things."

"But you can't do that!" I spluttered.

"Oh, yes we can. Just think what we could do with those

pics Mark took."

"But I've got responsibilities, classes to teach, tests and essays to grade -- a fiancee!"

Trey spoke up for the first time in a while. "Oh, we've thought about that. We don't want to completely disrupt your life. At least not if you cooperate. We won't do anything to let the outside world know what you're doing for us. We won't interfere with your teaching. You'll just be expected to be available to us at certain times - to . . . fulfill our needs, shall we say?"

"On the other hand," Chaz added, "you wouldn't want that fiancee you mentioned to see those pics, now would you?"

'Totally fucked,' I thought. Then the rock in my stomach doubled in weight as I realized how appropriate that phrase was!

"Are you all right?" Trey asked. "You're white as a sheet."

"Naw, he's always pale as a slug," Chaz said.

"How would you expect me to be?" I replied with some

bitterness.

"Relax, Timmy boy," Chaz said. "I think by the time we get through with you you are gonna love this."

'Yeah, right,' I thought.

"You're gonna be begging to slurp dick and take it up the ass before you know it." Chaz was really enjoying this.

Things were getting worse and worse, and I had no idea what I could do except go along, as monstrous as that sounded. It was bad enough to think of colleagues, administrators, or students seeing those pictures from the previous night, but Amy? Though I wanted to go crawl in a hole, the evening's events were obviously ready to start.

Chaz quickly brought me back to reality. "So that's the way

it's gonna be."

"We're not going to call you 'slave' or anything like that," Trey added. "And in public, like in class, I'll call you by your title and show you all the respect you're entitled to as a faculty member." He glanced meaningfully at Chaz.

"Oh, yeah," Chaz said grudgingly, "we all will."

"But here," he continued, "your ass is ours. So strip,

PROFESSOR!"

I kicked off my sneakers and pulled my t-shirt over my head.

"You can just leave that and your shorts on the sofa. You won't be needing them for a while," Trey said.

I did as I was told, then took off my shorts and put them on

top of the shirt.

"Well, little man," Chaz said, "where's your boner tonight? Your weenie looks like you've been swimming in ice water."

Given the way I was feeling just then, it's no wonder Junior

was shriveled.

Without saying anything further, Chaz jerked his head for me to follow him. I did, and Trey came along behind me. They took me to the bathroom.

"The first thing we're going to do is make you look like a slave, Timbo," Chaz said.

I was almost more upset by "Timbo" than by the implications

of his statement.

While Trey stood in the doorway, Chaz reached in a drawer and grabbed an electric mustache trimmer. He proceeded to remove the little patch of hair I had between my pecs.

"Lift up your arms," he commanded.

When I did, he removed the hair in my pits.

"Now, turn around, bend over, and spread your cheeks."

"Dr. Mead," Trey chuckled, "that ass of yours really does

look like a little boy's."

"So sue me," I replied, forgetting that I had been ordered

not to talk.

"Well," said Chaz, "you can straighten up, 'cause there ain't nothin' there to shave."

I knew what was coming next and instinctively put my hands over my pubes. Chaz seemed to be really enjoying my embarrassment.

"Hold real still," he said, pushing my hands aside and grabbing me by the dick. "You wouldn't want me to clip anything off by mistake," he said, chuckling again.

He used the trimmer to remove my pubes and a little hair in

my groin.

"No need to do his balls," he said to Trey," he's got no more hair there than a boy."

Then he got out a can of shaving foam and a razor, with which he shaved my pits, chest, and pubes.

"Hey, Timmy," he said with a smile that was more mischievous than malicious, "you should thank me for doing this. It makes your little thingey look bigger. But not much," he added.

He turned me around so I could see myself in the big mirror over the sink. My God, I did look like a slug! Or a slightly overgrown pre-pubescent boy.

"Tim," Trey said, "you're adorable. Let's get you into the

bedroom."

'Adorable?'

Trey leading, Chaz following, I walked down a hallway. We passed a bedroom with a king-size bed. It was large enough to have room for a dresser, a large bookcase, a comfortable chair, and a computer desk. The room they took me to was its twin. As I had observed the evening before, these guys were obviously not hurting for money.

When we entered the room, Trey noticed that I was shivering - from a combination of being stark naked and just plain fear.

"Timmy," Trey said, "you're cold."

Chaz chuckled. "That's all right, we're gonna warm him up."

But Trey left the room, and a moment later I heard the heating system click on. Immediately, warm air began to pour from the room's registers.

By this time I had a pretty good idea what was coming. I've always considered myself "gay friendly." I think what people do in the bedroom is their own business. Besides, I knew and liked some gay guys when I was an undergraduate. And I had had several openly gay students of both sexes in my classes since coming to the university and had found them interesting, likable people. But I had never had any sort of gay experience beyond beating off a few times with a friend in the eighth grade. And, frankly, the thought of what gay guys do to each other had never turned me on.

Which brought up another question. Were Chaz and Trey (and Mark - and Cedric) gay, or were they just planning on using me to get their jollies? Maybe I was about to find out.

"Well," Chaz said, "it's slave training time!" He had that

glint in his eye again.

Trey seemed bemused, off in his own little world for the moment. Then I noticed the bulge in his shorts.

Chaz pulled the front of his t-shirt up and sort of tucked it behind his head. "Come over here and get on your knees," he commanded.

'Here we go,' I thought. The time I had been dreading had come. 'I'm about to become a cocksucker.'

I did as Chaz ordered. Kneeling, I saw there was a really

big bulge in his shorts.

"You're lucky, Timmy," he said, "you're going to start your slave career with a big fuckin' piece of man meat. Take down my shorts."

I was shaking again, but I undid the snap and pulled down the zipper in front of me. As his shorts fell to the floor, I was faced with what had to be a 9" cock pointed straight at me, and not yet fully erect.

I could see out of the corner of my eye that Trey had sat on the chair at the desk and was watching intently. He wasn't stroking himself, but his hand was in his lap.

"I'm going to take it easy on you, Timmy. You won't have to swallow all of this monster the first time. That'll come later. After all, we want you to get to enjoy being a cocksucker."

'As if that's going to happen!' I thought.

"OK," Chaz said. "Put your hand around the base."

I did. It was not warm, but actually hot to touch.

"Now, lick it like a popsicle."

Here was the unspeakable moment. Tentatively, I stuck out my tongue and touched it to the underside of his big cock.

"Aw, come on, little one, give it a good lick," Chaz said.

At that moment, I'd have sworn that Trey giggled.

So, I gave it a good lick. I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't at all repulsive. The idea was repulsive, but his actual tool wasn't. It tasted like soap, along with the familiar scent of man.

Chaz grunted and said, "Yeah, lil guy, that's nice. Keep

doing that!"

I kept licking. In my mind, I was standing aside watching this. I had shut my eyes, so I was visualizing me there on the floor, giving Chaz's big dick long, slurpy licks as Trey watched. In the scene playing in my mind, Trey was smiling and rubbing himself through his shorts.

I kept wondering why I wasn't nauseated. This wasn't especially fun, and I sure wasn't getting off on it, but it wasn't as bad as I had expected, either.

` After a few minutes of that, during which Chaz's tool kept getting harder and hotter and he was making appreciative sounds, he said, "OK, lover boy, you can stop that. I want you to lick on my balls for a while."

That wasn't at all pleasant. The taste was a mixture of soap, testosterone, and saltiness from sweat, I supposed. But his balls, not so much bigger than mine, I noticed, were pretty hairy, and I found the hair in my mouth disgusting. Chaz, on the other hand, was obviously liking what I was doing.

"Oh, yeah, that's nice. Just keep doing that."

I licked.

After a time: "Now, suck on them instead."

I found I couldn't get both of them in my mouth, so I took each one in turn and sucked on them for a while. Chad was beginning to sort of moan.

"Timbo," he grunted, "you're a natural at this. You were born to pleasure a man, little guy."

Trey snorted and said, "So go ahead and come, Charles. I want my turn at Timmy!"

"Dammit, Trey," Chaz responded, "you just can't rush these things. You can have him as long as you want him when I'm finished." He seemed to be getting close, for his breaths were shorter and more rapid.

"Now, grab that big old dick and suck on the end of it!"

I found I could take it in both hands, which I did. I'd had enough blow jobs to know what to do. No teeth. Lots of tongue. And suction.

The first thing that happened, though, was that I gagged.

"I told you not to try to swallow it all this time," Chaz

said through gritted teeth.

I took a little less into my mouth and concentrated on doing a good job with what would fit in there. Chaz was whimpering by this time. It didn't take long after that.

"Ohmygod, Mead, you're a quick learner! Oh, shit, shit, shit, I'm gonna cum! Oh yeah! . . . unh! . . . unh! . . . unh!"

When I felt the cum traveling up his tube, I immediately pulled off. He sprayed my hair, face, and chest liberally, as he and the others had done two nights ago in my office.

"Whee, little guy. You're gonna do just fine! Next time, I'll let you swallow my jizz. You're gonna love that. Before long, you'll be looking forward to having my big old tool in your mouth and swallowing my man juice." Chaz put his hand lightly on the back of my head for a moment, looked down at me, and smiled. Then he moved away.

Trey came over and helped me stand up. It's funny how smells can trigger memories. At first all I could smell was Chaz's cum all over me, but as Trey came close, I could tell that he was wearing the same aftershave he had been wearing Thursday night as he sat on my lap, rubbing me.

Then, with a towel he had produced from somewhere, he wiped all Chaz's cum off of me. Meanwhile, Chaz stalked off toward the bathroom, saying, "Trey, buddy, don't start 'til I get back."

He had apparently gone to clean himself up a bit. But when he returned he had a black permanent laundry marker in his hand. His erection, I noted, had subsided, but his thing was still a good six inches just dangling there between his legs.

"Uh, Chaz," Trey said, "I don't think we really need to use

that, do we?"

"Damn right we need to use it. That was part of the plan. You aren't getting chicken at this point, are you?"

"I just think that's maybe going too far," Trey said.

"No way," Chaz replied. He took the marker and wrote something across my chest, just above the nipples. I could see, even upside down, that it said "COCKSUCKER."

It would wear off eventually, I didn't know how long, just as my pubes would grow back in eventually, if Chaz didn't keep shaving them off. In the meanwhile, though, I was going to have to stay away from the gym. A hairless white slug with "COCKSUCKER!" written across his chest wouldn't dare be seen showering or changing there.

Chaz threw the marker on the desk and took the chair Trey had been using. "It's your turn, stud," he said to Trey.

While Chaz was writing on my chest, Trey took off his shirt and shorts. He had the kind of body I've always wished for. Good muscle definition, great shoulders and abs, but fairly flat pecs. No hint of breasts there.

He turned to come toward me. His bush was a little darker than the hair on his head. He had lighter hair on his forearms and legs, none yet on his chest. His cock was fully erect. It was about an inch longer than mine, but considerably bigger around. Not a "beer can," but fat. It curved up a little, so, erect as it was, it pointed back toward his flat belly.

"Chaz, would you help me with this," he asked.

The two of them took the bedspread off of the bed and spread some towels over the sheets.

Trey actually seemed nervous.

"Dr. Mead, would you please get on the bed, put your head on a pillow if you want, and stick that little ass in the air?"

'Dr. Mead? Please? Where was that coming from? Not from the clever preppy who had first accused me and then rubbed me off in my office on Thursday evening.'

But I did as I was told, knowing full well what was coming next. And I guess I was lucky. Trey's cock was smaller than Chaz's. That monster would have split me in two.

"That was a pretty big carrot we stuck up your ass last night," Trey said. "So this shouldn't hurt too much."

After I got into the specified position, I heard Trey open a drawer in the bedside table. When I felt something cold and wet against my butthole, I knew it was lube. First, he stuck a finger up there. I had done that often enough, so the feeling was familiar, except that his fingers were longer than mine. It felt pretty good. He wiggled his finger around, and that felt even better.

I reminded myself that this was the next thing to rape, and that I wasn't supposed to like it. As he kept exploring with his finger, he must have hit my prostate, for I jumped, my cock began to fill, and I moaned.

"I told you you'd like it," Chaz said. "You have all the makings of a cum dump, Timmo!"

I didn't like the sound of that at all. I was offended by the term and appalled by the idea of becoming anything of the sort. But by then Trey had stuck a second finger up my hole, and I was really into his ministrations.

I tried hard not to let them know how good that felt, but I don't think I was fooling them.

Trey climbed onto the bed. "Relax, Tim," he said. "This will be easier if you're not too tense."

I heard a squishy noise that must have been him lubing up his cock, after which I soon felt him pressing against my hole. I came up onto my hands and knees.

I had put a finger up my ass often enough. I couldn't remember last night's carrot, but it looked big in the pictures, and the guys had said it was big. I'd had Trey's two fingers up there just moments ago. But nothing prepared me for the shock when he pushed the head of his fat dick through the anal ring. I must have grunted or gasped.

"I'll take it easy. After all, we want you to like this, you know. I'm going to push it in very slowly. It will help if you push back, as if you were straining to take a crap."

I did that. Trey pushed. And the pain was almost blinding.

"Ohmygod, stop," I pleaded.

"Relax, Tim," Trey said. "The pain you are feeling will

pass in a minute."

(I learned later that Trey had never done this before and that he was relying for knowledge and technique on stories he'd read on the web.)

I did try to relax, and Trey quit pushing. Sure enough, the pain very slowly began to subside. For a moment, nothing was happening. I felt as if a truck had driven up my ass, but it didn't hurt as much. And I had a flash of awareness that now I was being fucked by another guy. How could I ever look Amy in the face again? How could I look other guys in the face again? Would they all know that I had taken it up the ass? Would I have some sort of recognizable scarlet F for "fag" long after the word on my chest had faded?

Trey pushed his cock a little further, then paused again. He repeated the procedure until eventually he was all the way in. I could feel his pubes against my ass.

"See, Timmy, you've done it, you've taken it all," Trey said

enthusiastically.

"Yeah, and you know what that makes you, don't you?" Chaz

added.

Trey pulled his cock back until the head almost popped out. Then he slowly pushed it in again. He continued that movement, and it continued to hurt. But as he began to speed up, the pain began to subside. Then he somehow shifted his position so that he was hitting my prostate again, and my whole body was suffused with pleasure. I didn't WANT it to be pleasant, but it was.

I still didn't know whether Trey was gay or not, but I was sure that being his bottom was a gay thing. I was ashamed, humiliated at being fucked by one of my students while another watched. Yes, Chaz was there on the desk chair, rubbing his monster prong as he watched Trey screw me.

I became aware that tears were streaming down my face. Tears of shame. Tears of mortification. Tears of humiliation. Here I was, naked, shaved, having just sucked off Chaz, taking it up the ass. Hating what was happening to me. And loving what was happening to me.

"Mead," Chaz said, chuckling, "I knew you would be a perfect pussyboy. Look at you! You've got a hardon, man."

And I realized I did. I was so busy sorting and registering impressions having to do with Trey's dick up my ass that I hadn't noticed Junior's reaction. Again, there was a certain detachment, as if I were hovering above, watching the coupling taking place on the bed below me. It was all pretty surreal.

Trey, meanwhile, was beginning to moan and mutter, obviously getting into getting into me.

"Man," he gasped, "your ass is SO tight! And it's so cool

the way you're helping!"

'Helping?' I realized that I was clenching my sphincter on the backstrokes. What was happening here? Was I really getting into this myself? What did that say about me? Was I, AM I, gay? It certainly seemed that I was getting off getting it on with Trey. What was I learning about myself? And, even if I was finding this particular coupling enjoyable, what about being at the mercy of the two men, or perhaps of Trey, Chaz. Mark, and Cedric? My whole life would be at their pleasure. I could be summoned to suck dick or to be fucked at their whim.

That thought caused Junior to lose his enthusiasm. Trey, however, who had been moaning and grunting, was obviously getting close.

"Oh . . . Tim . . . you must . . . have been . . . hiding your . . . ung . . .past! You . . . ung . . . are . . . SO . . . good at this!"

I realized that I was shoving my butt toward him on the instrokes, eager to feel him plunging his cock in to me, wanting it in as far as possible.

"Oh, shit! Yeah! I'm gonna cum! I'm cuuummming!"

Trey pulled out of me, spraying cum all over my back and butt. I felt empty, cheated, deprived. It appalled me to know that in some visceral way, I wanted his cock back inside me.

"Boy howdy," Chaz said. "You two put on a real show!"

Then he came over, handed Trey a towel, and, using another, began to clean up the cum from my backside. When he finished, he let his hand rest on my butt for a moment. I thought perhaps that signaled a change in his hard-ass attitude until he picked up the laundry marker and wrote something across my back just above my ass crack. Trey looked at what Chaz had written and sighed. I didn't learn until later what it said.

At some point during Trey's and my session, Chaz had put on his shorts and pulled his t-shirt back down. After wiping himself off, Trey put on his shorts, too.

"Well, Timmy boy," Chaz said. "That was a pretty good first time. Like I said, before long, you're gonna be beggin' us to let you suck our dicks or fuck you. You won't be able to get enough. I can just tell!"

"Don't count on it, Chaz," I said. "You obviously have leverage so that I am pretty much at your beck and call. But you can't make me like it."

"Oh, I think we already have, Timbo, we already have. Your little dick was hard, and I saw how you were pushing your butt at Trey. Just wait till next time, and you get to take my big bludgeon. I'll bet you even get to like that."

I hadn't thought about that. I squirmed just to think about that big thing of his inside me. And I wasn't squirming with pleasure, either.

Trey came over and, smiling, looked me in the eye.

"Tim," he said," I know you hate having to do this. And I'm sure you have a lot to think about. Go home. Get a good night's rest. You were great. We'll be in touch with you again soon. And, remember, outside this apartment, no one will ever know what has happened or will be happening here."

"You guys are finished with me? It's all right to go?"

"Yeah, Timbo," Chaz said, "you can run along now."

I went back to the living room where I put on my t-shirt, shorts, and sneakers. The two men watched me silently. Looking back as I went out the door, I saw Trey wink at me.

It took me longer to get home than it had to come to the apartment, for my ass was sore. It hurt too much for me to run. When I got home, I took a long shower. I soaped up my finger thoroughly and reamed out my chute as far as I could reach.

Shortly afterward, I went to bed. This had been one for the books. I had a lot to sort out. What had I discovered about myself? Was I gay? Did I really like what had happened to me that evening? And how could I cope with being on call whenever they wanted me?

The last thing I remember before going to sleep, though, was to think how important it was to keep Amy from learning about any of this.

(to be continued)