Enslaving the Renegade Chapter One: Getting In by Evan Andrews 2020
This is a fan fiction. The story is based on one that appeared in a 1984 issue of the magazine First Hand. That story was only 3 pages long, but I enjoyed it so that I decided to expand it and recast it in the universe of the TV show, Renegade, starring Lorenzo Lamas. The story should in no way be considered a true representation of the true sexuality of either the actor or his character.
The story depicts males in sexual situations with other males. If that offends you, if you are underage, or if reading such is illegal where you are please stop reading now. Thank you.
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Reno Raines sat astride his idling Harley and looked through binoculars at the ranch in the valley. Enclosed within a perimeter wall, it was a large, two-story adobe house, with high narrow windows to keep out the heat. An inner wall extended from the house itself to enclose a garden and pool in the rear, and several out-buildings including a garage were built into the wall. It was a rich man's home, and Reno's job was to get in and find out exactly what the rich man was doing in there.
Reno put the binoculars into the left pouch of his saddlebags and slid the sunglasses down off his forehead before kicking the bike into life. As he pulled out onto the dirt road, he thought about what his boss and best friend, Bobby Sixkiller, had told him about the place.
"Something underhanded is going on in there, Reno. We think it may involve illegal immigration somehow because people, mostly young men, come up from south of the border and are channeled there, assuming they make it past the border patrol. Then again, it may be much more sinister. We just don't know. In any case, once they go into that house, we lose their trail. They aren't there anymore, and we don't know how they leave, with whom, or for where. Torres, the owner, is clean so far as we can tell, but it's that kind of clean that leaves you sure there was something powerfully dirty there just a moment before you checked."
Reno felt the thrum of the cycle both in the muscles of his thighs and in the heavy balls that were wrapped up in the black denim of his jeans. The wind whipped his long brown hair back off his head. Eventually the motorcycle pulled up to the gate of the ranch, and Reno buzzed the intercom.
"Yes," a man's voice asked.
"Vince Black. I have an appointment to meet with Mr. Torres."
The iron gate slowly opened, and Reno nudged the bike up the paved drive towards the main house.
At the front door, Reno left the bike and rang the doorbell. A muscular Black man with a shaved head and a goatee opened the door.
"Vince Black to see Mr. Torres."
The Black man looked him over appraisingly, and then when he had reached whatever conclusion he was aiming for he stood back and let Reno into the entrance hall.
"My name is Malik, Mr. Torres' butler. Please follow me."
Malik turned and led Reno through a mezzanined entrance hall to a room towards the rear of the house. Reno professionally noted the muscles that filled out and rippled under Malik's white trousers and silk shirt and decided that whatever he might be, Malik was not the butler, or at least not just the butler.
Malik left him alone for several minutes, during which time Reno checked out the room, which appeared to be a library of sorts or study or office. Bookshelves lined the walls, except for a bar. There was a computer set up on an oak desk and in an alcove a large plush couch sat facing a video and TV set up.
Torres, when he appeared, was well dressed, looking the part of a successful, young businessman on his day off. He wore black wool pants and the same style of white silk shirt as Malik who followed his boss in and stood by the closed door.
"Mr. Black," Torres said, shaking his hand with a firm grip, "You work for Bobby Sixkiller, I hear?"
"Yes, I work with Mr. Sixkiller," Reno said.
"Welcome. Can I get you a drink?"
"Just club soda, thank you."
Torres went to the bar and poured soda into two glasses, added a slice of lime to each and turned to face Reno, a glass in each hand. He handed one glass to Reno and then raised the other.
"To your health," he said.
Reno lifted the glass, returned the toast, and drank.
Torres motioned Reno to an easy chair and took up his own place in a similar chair facing him.
"So, Bobby Sixkiller, eh. I've heard the name, of course. You can't be in the kind of work I am without hearing that name. Have you worked for him long?" Torres asked.
He was watching Reno closely, like he was waiting for some sort of tell.
"A few years," Reno said.
"Doing?"
"Doing whatever needs to be done. You might call me a jack-of-all-trades."
"I might at that. Yes."
Torres looked over his glass at Reno.
"You're perspiring, is it too hot for you in here?"
Reno reached up and brushed the back of a hand over his forehead, pushing his hair back. It came away wet. How had he missed that he was sweating that much?
Reno looked up, confused, at Torres who was watching him with all the patience and interest of a cat.
"I'm sorry," Reno said, "I can't think why I should be this hot."
"It's the jacket," Torres replied, "Malik, how could you have been so forgetful. Mr. Black, why don't you stand up, and Malik will take your jacket to hang up."
"It's all right, really," Reno said, standing up all the same, "I mean I only have a muscle shirt on underneath. I wouldn't want..."
"No problem at all," Torres said as Malik came up behind Reno, "It must have been the long ride up here through the desert."
"Yes, the desert," Reno agreed weakly, shrugging the leather jacket off his shoulders while Malik took it and folded it over his arm. The black muscle shirt clung to his damp torso and showed off every muscle perfectly.
Torres came closer and, looking at Reno, said, "You're drenched through with sweat. I tell you what, strip out of those clothes and we can move this conversation out to the pool."
"Strip?" Reno said, "I don't..."
Torres reached out his right hand and placed it on Reno's muscular chest; then he moved it slowly down over the stomach towards Reno's crotch. He then held the hand up to where Reno could see and smell it.
"See, you're soaked right through. I can lend you a suit if you're shy, but get out of those clothes right now. I insist."
Without thinking, Reno reached down and pulled the muscle shirt first out of his pants and then over his head. Malik caught that too as he let it drop. Then he sat down in the easy chair and pulled off one boot and then the other, followed by his socks. Finally, he stood up again and unsnapped and unbuttoned his jeans. He slowly slid them over his thighs and let them drop to the floor where he kicked them aside. For some reason, he felt no reluctance to be standing in front of these two strange men dressed in nothing but wet, black briefs which clung to his body like a second skin leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.
Torres was watching him now like a hungry wolf.
"All the way, man," he said, "Strip all the way."
Reno didn't even stop to think. He slid his hands under the elastic of his briefs and pulled them down, first in the back and then in the front as well. They fell to the floor and Reno stepped out of them, watching Torres all the while.
Torres looked him over and said, "This is great. You are a marvel. I can see you in any position. Give me time, and I'll show you what it really means to be a jack-of-all-trades."
Torres reached down and cupped Reno's balls. Reno flinched, but for some reason he didn't pull away.
"Heavy," Torres said as he hefted the fleshy orbs, "And full, I'll bet."
He brought his hand up and ran fingers along the length of Reno's tumescent cock.
"And this. Get it hard for me. Show me what you've got."
Torres wrapped his hand around Reno's cock and stroked him. He was gentle but brooked no denial, and Reno's meat slowly rose to its full nine inches. Reno could only watch, amazed at the sight, as well as the sensation, of another man masturbating him. Torres, once he had the erection he wanted, licked his lips and went to his knees, his face only a few inches from Reno's shaft. Still stroking, he closely examined Reno's cock and balls, feeling them and taking in their scent.
"You a virgin?" he asked.
"No," Reno said, "I was engaged..."
"No, no details. Just answer the question. You ever have anyone suck your dick?"
"Yeah, sure, a few times."
"You ever suck one?"
"No way. What do you think I am?"
"Right now, I think you're just a man with a huge hardon. It's what you're going to be that interests me most."
Torres stood up and pointed at a coffee table.
"See that table? I want you to bend over and put both hands on it."
Reno took a few steps towards the table and without thinking put both his hands on the near edge.
"Stand with your feet further apart."
Reno slid his feet a few inches further from each other, and he felt the cool breeze from the air conditioning run up the crack of his ass. His long, brown hair hung down into his eyes, but he could hear Malik and Torres moving around, doing something behind him.
"Lower your shoulders and bend your knees, man. I want your ass sticking up higher than everything else."
Reno bent his knees and let his elbows rest on the coffee table. Then he gave a jump. Torres had put his hand on Reno's naked ass and was stroking the muscular roundness of his butt.
"Easy, take it easy," Torres said, "All I'm doing is massaging your ass. You like the feel of it, don't you?"
"Yeah," Reno breathed, "Rub it harder. Use both hands."
"Oh, we'll get to harder soon enough, don't worry about that."
Torres massaged Reno's ass cheeks for a while, and then, suddenly, Reno jumped again.
Torres' lubed finger was teasing Reno's asshole, probing at it, trying to get inside him. Reno wriggled a little bit, but Torres put his other hand on Reno's back and pushed him down hard so that his chest was on the table. Malik took to rubbing Reno's shoulders, holding him down while Torres rammed his finger all the way into Reno's virgin ass. The biker stud could only moan as he was deflowered. Torres was learning the lay of the land inside his ass, taking special care to find the biker stud's love nut and massage it into a brand new world of sensations.
Torres probed for a while, making sure Reno's chute was relaxed and open, and then pulled out and started to push his conquest further forward onto the table. He slid some pillows under Reno's crotch and let the biker's chest slide off the table and onto the floor. Then, after spreading Reno's muscular legs further apart, he started his assault on the biker's ass all over again.
"Oh god," Reno said, "Stop. I..."
"Yeah, that's right," said Torres, as he pulled out the one finger and started in with two, "Beg me to stop finger fucking your hot ass. I like to hear you beg."
"Please...no...it's...I..."
"Loosen that ass!" Torres commanded as three fingers made their way into Reno's ass. Malik still held Reno down, but the biker was by now so turned on to the sensations of the fingers opening him up that he hardly needed the big black man's restraining presence in order to lie there and take it. And yet he cried out again for Torres to stop.
"I'll stop when I'm good and ready. Now get your head in the game and loosen yourself up!" Torres commanded, "You've got something more than fingers to deal with now," and with that he took up a dildo he seemed to have handy and slid it in Reno's ass in place of his fingers.
Reno grimaced and threw his head back, roaring at the dildo's entry.
"Fuuuuuuuuuuck!" he howled.
"Yeah," said Torres, "Take it. Take it deep, and get used to having big hard fucking shafts pounding you hot ass."
Torres rammed the writhing Reno until he felt the stud's ass surrender to the penetration. The minute Reno got used to the feeling of the cock in his guts, Torres switched over to a larger one, and the game began again. The mysterious businessman ran through a selection of dildos, the length and girth increasing steadily as the conquest of Reno's ass progressed. Torres fucked him faster and slower to get the greatest reaction out of the tightly muscled ass, and he varied the angle of his probes like the most experienced fucker in the world.
Finally he forced the largest dildo in his collection into Reno's ass and, once it was lodged there, signaled Malik who released Reno and helped him to stand up.
Reno was dripping with perspiration, and his whole body gleamed in response to the ass fucking he'd just received. His own dick now jutted up hard and dripping in front of him, and he rubbed at it absent-mindedly.
Torres pulled Reno's hand away and kissed it as he led him away from the table over to the sofa. He helped Reno down onto the cushions, keeping his legs spread and making sure the big dildo was still sticking out of his ass. Torres sat down beside him and motioned to Malik who pushed a button on a remote control.
The TV came to life, and Reno found himself watching a video of a young man who was being tied up in various ways while a long line of men raped his initially protesting ass. In the video Malik knelt by the boy's head and kept up a whispered chant, "You are a slave, and your body is to be used. Give yourself to the man fucking you."
Eventually, after God knew how many violations, the boy began reciting the litany along with Malik.
"I am a slave..."
Soon the young man was giving himself whole-heartedly to the men taking his ass, begging them to fuck him, to use him for their pleasure.
All through this, Torres nibbled Reno's ear and kissed his throat and, with one hand between Reno's thighs, kept fucking him with the big dildo. When the video ended, Torres whispered in his ear, "That's you, my jack-of-all-trades. I want you for a sex slave."
Reno recovered his fuck-addled senses enough to push Torres away and wrench the dildo out of his over-stretched asshole. He staggered up off the couch and made his way over to where his clothes were folded on the easy chair.
"No way, man," he shouted, "That's it, I'm out of here. You aren't going to make me into any fuck-boy."
He had his briefs and muscle shirt back on when Torres came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. Reno wheeled around and fell into a defensive stance.
Torres just shook his head and began to unbutton his own shirt. Reno could only watch, dumbly, as Torres pulled the silk shirt off and tossed it over his shoulder to Malik. He then undid his trousers and let them fall down around his ankles. Of course, he wore nothing underneath.
Naked and hard, Torres stepped up and slowly reached a hand in through Reno's defenses to cup his chin. With his other hand, he pushed one arm aside and stepped in close to face Reno.
With the one hand on Reno' chin, Torres guided the biker's lips towards his own, and, as their kiss deepened, Torres wrapped his arms around Reno and ground his cock into the biker's crotch.
"Yes, kiss me, my sweet jack-of-all-trades," Torres husked in Reno's ear, "Kiss me."
Reno felt Malik's strong hands sliding his muscle shirt back up over his head, and when it was gone, he eagerly surrendered to Torres' passionate kisses once again. The butler's hands then caressed the biker's ass and reached between his legs to toy with his dick and balls. Eventually, Malik disposed of Reno's briefs as well, and the biker felt his own long dick bumping up against Torres' thick, uncut, olive cock, the two of them grinding together as Torres steered them both back towards the couch.
Once there, Torres pushed the naked biker back on the couch in pretty much the same position he had been in before. This time, though, he knelt down, straddling Reno's chest, and wrapped a hand around his beefy dick, pointing it towards the long-haired stud's lips.
"Open up, boy," he said, "It's time for you to learn what doing a man is all about."
Reno stared at the fat shaft in wonder. He knew he was straight, but he also knew beyond doubt that he was about to suck this man's rod. He shut his eyes, opened his mouth, and felt the pressure on his tongue as Torres' cock slid in. It was hard like steel, but silky smooth, and it knew what it wanted to do. Reno let it, and when he could he tried to suck the fat shaft.
"Oh yeah," the Latino moaned, "You've got one hot, wet mouth, boy. Use your tongue. Suck me good."
Reno licked and sucked and worshipped the olive meat any way he could think of, listening as Torres corrected his technique and praised his progress as a cock-sucker. He lost track of how long he'd actually been worshipping Torres' shaft when the man grabbed the back of the biker's head and made several desperate, quaky thrusts to the back of his throat causing Reno to gag.
During the last of these plunges, Torres threw his head back and cried out.
"Yes! Take my load in your fucking mouth, boy!"
Torres spewed cum into Reno's mouth, and it ran out around his slave-fucking cock, leaving a film of sex all over the biker's face. When he was done shooting, he pulled his dick out and wiped it off in the stubble of Reno's beard.
"Yeah, good boy," he said, "Now, wipe that cum all over your face before you swallow a single drop."
Reno reached one hand and then the other up to his face and wiped Torres' cum across his face, through his hair and finally down onto his chest. Then he swallowed the warm salty goo. When he looked up again, Torres was smiling.
"Now," he said, "How would you like to cum too?"
Not only did Reno want to, he was desperate to.
"Yes, please," Reno moaned, as close to begging as the remnants of his male pride would let him, "I've got to cum. I'm so hard it hurts."
"Good. You can grab hold of your meat, but don't do a thing yet."
Reno wrapped his right hand around his cock and watched as Torres retrieved the big dildo from the floor beside the couch.
"If you want to cum in this house, you can only do it while something long and hard is stretching your ass. Dildo or finger or cock. You are going to have a shaft inside you every time you cum. Got it?"
Reno nodded, desperately.
"All right then, spread your legs and relax that ass again."
The big dildo slid into Reno's hole, and Torres resumed the fucking motion he had been using earlier. While the fat shaft filled him and explored his insides, Reno pounded his meat with a vengeance, adding to the experience by pulling his balls tight with his left hand. Eventually, Torres hit Reno's prostate so many times in short succession that the biker's eyes opened wide and his mouth pulled back in feral grin. With a howl, he shot a huge load over his chest, and then he collapsed back into the couch.
When he opened his eyes, Torres was kneeling between his spread legs, one hand tracing patterns in the cum on the hair of the conquered stud's chest and stomach.
Torres felt Reno watching him and said, "There. That was jack-of-all-trades lesson number one. I'd say we're off to a great start on your new career as a fuck-boy. Shall we watch another video?"
Reno nodded, and Malik moved to play back another humiliating (and totally hot) rape. In short order, Torres' fingers were back inside the biker stud driving him towards yet another humiliating orgasm, and all the while Malik sat beside him and recited the litany, "You are a slave, and your body is to be used."
By the third orgasm, Reno was chanting along under his breath.
"I am a slave..."
Author's note: This story was written back in the 90s, and I cast certain men in given roles. You may want to imagine someone else, and that's okay. The same caveats as to the sexuality of my cast of actors apply here.
Lorenzo Lamas (Reno): from Renegade, natch. Malik Yoba (Malik): from New York Undercover. Michael DeLorenzo (Torres): from New York Undercover.