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, in towns, cities, countries, nor governmental areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most state 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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FoR SaLE By OwNEr 60 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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"Do I smell something sort of overdone?" Kyle asks Alex.
"Nooooo. You don't think Vince would....."
The two didn't even think to cover up their flesh, rushing out to the kitchen.
"What'd I tell ya?" Alex spelled out the truth of his assumption.
Leaning over his shoulder, Vince's eyes grab a quick look, as Kyle asks, "Vince, what on earth are you trying to make?"
"Breakfast in bed for Breaux, what else?"
"And what about the rest of us?" Kyle comments on his selfishness.
"I'm not the only one who cooks around here." Then realizing his rudeness, "But I'll make you up some more?"
Alex steps in, "Um, no thanks Vince. Mighty kind of you though." He directs Kyle away from projecting anymore comments.
As Vince departs with the tray of `breakfast', Kyle makes judgement, "You don't know how bad I feel for Breaux!"
"Yeah," Alex concludes, "if you brought me `that' in bed I'd be forced to divorce ya!"
"Would it help if I added this?" Kyle jokes, but doesn't joke when he forces his lips to Alex.
"Um, excuse us?"
"No," Michael replies, "keep going. I love porn early in the morning!"
Even Scotty laughs along with Michael this time, when Alex and Kyle try hiding their pubes behind potholders.
Alex excuses himself, bringing back from the bedroom the same briefs they wore the day before. "A little ripe, but better than nothing," Alex states, handing one to Kyle. It's another rib-tickler when Alex and Kyle turn their asses towards their unwelcomed kitchen guests to don their briefs.
"So tempting, huh Scotty?" Michael asks in gest.
"I'm not that kind of guy," Scotty replies.
"Lighten up Scotty," Michael says.
"Yeah, lighten up Scotty," Alex repeats.
Kyle finalizes it, "Yeah, lighten up Scotty."
Ignoring the three of them, Scotty changes the subject, "So what are you burning for breakfast, Kyle?"
Alex and Michael joined in on the laughter, Kyle shucking the responsibility of the burnt pan off on Vince.
Meanwhile, up in the loft, Breaux tasted `enough' of the prepared meal, telling Vince, "I loved the breakfast you cooked up for me but you should have saved some of your cream last night for the coffee!"
"Oh. You take milk. I guess you don't take it black. I could go get some for you?"
"Why bother when I can get it straight from the source?"
After Vince's removal of the tray, Breaux slipped down in the bed. When Vince turned towards the bed, Breaux asks, "I'm kind of horny, you?"
"I think I can work up to fucking you again!" He juggled around underneath his boxer shorts, well Kyle's boxer shorts!
"Get your head in the pillow. I can't wait to pounce on that bod!"
"Mmmmmmm," Vince replied. He made even louder and more profuse sounds, stating his enjoyment as the twenty-four year old model did indeed, pounce on him.
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"Hey... how did I?" Jack must've been so worn out from handling two men in the bed last night he didn't even recall how he' was the one who wound up cuffed to the top of the bed, rope passed between the two rings on the leather restraining devices. As his head pushed back in the pillow he tried to think back that far'. It's then he noticed something else peculiar. There in the bed next to him Jim lay snuggled up to John's back, one arm under John's neck and the other slouched over his side, wedged in between ribs and arm. Jack tried to turn to see what was happening between the two, but his actions took a toll on his wrists. "Owwwch! Dang it!"
"You say something?" Jim asks as he turns over.
"Yes I said something and if you don't get these dang-blasted cuffs off of me there's going to be a waterfall raining down on the three of us!"
Smiling, Jim replies, "Bet you don't even remember how they got on you, do you?"
"It crossed my mind," Jack replied as he rubbed his cock between his legs. More with concern, he voices opinion, "You better just get them off before `you know who' sees them on me."
"Who, John? Too late." Then he assesses, "You really don't remember John and me working your hot bod over with our tongues," Jim says as his replays the past evening's events, hand grazing over Jack's stomach.
"No I don't... quite..." Jack slows down as Jim's hand gets dangerously close to his stiff shaft. He swallows, "...remember...."
Again, with a smile on his lips, this time evil with intention, Jim slips his hand down, traveling through the dense over-growth of pubic hair and then fit-forms his hand around Jack's stiff 9.5c.
"Mmmmmm....ohhhhh..." Jack sighs, his back arching, head grinding into the pillow as the hand begins transforming him from the urge to pee, to something else.
"Need some help with that?"
Forgetting what Jim just told him, Jack nervously looks up at his cuffed wrists.
Before he can even think it, John comes out with, "I hope you were having aS good a time as Jim and I. I don't think there was anyplace on you last night where our tongues didn't go!"
Relaxing, Jack says, "Why don't you get down there between my legs? Maybe if you `do' something it'll refresh my memory!"
"Do you want him to do what he did last night?" Jim asks.
It probably slipped his mind, Jack not knowing which of the two did what to him, when. But not wanting to admit failure to remember he replies, "Um, sure. Whatever floats your boat."
Then asking Jim like asking for permission, "Alright if I?"
"Got him nice and hard... would be a shame to let an erection go to waste!"
Put in the position of a spectator, Jack lay there with his arms stretched above his head, dark hairy pits flaunted as he waitS for the show to begin all over again. When John got up, turned his back to him, sank to his knees, his ass dropped to an inch above Jack's sword.
"Need help?" Jim asked after allowing Jack's shaft to slip from his hand.
"I think I can manage," John said with a smile to Jim.
"Cool, because you two aren't the only two who are horny!"
And how could Jim not be, with John slowly lowering his glutes, enveloping Jack's cock. How could he ignore both moans from Jack and John, Jack being impaled and Jack feeling the sides of his shaft getting eaten alive.
"Looks like you two are getting into a rhythm," Jim says as his hand starts making music with his own cock.
John asks, "Why not repeat what we did last night?"
Jack couldn't remember, it being dark and all. He didn't know which guy was riding his cock, yet suspected it wasn't Jim. Paying attention to only his own joy he didn't realize Jim had found his way to standing on the bed. It's not until he heard slurping sounds did he realize John licking away at his beloved's hard shaft. He grinned when he saw Jim play hard to get', having John fish around with his mouth as Jim used his own cock for the fish'. He did mention, "Nice," softly, his own opinion after watching John's head move about, trying to latch on to Jim's fuck tool without using his hands. Little did he know of John having the cuffs on last night which stood firm around his own wrists! However his thoughts dissapated when John caught his prize, Jim rewarding him with holding John's head between his hands and use his mouth to massage his cock. But the view wasn't the only thing keeping Jack hard. He began to pulse his
hips when he realized the pounding on his own balls were that of John's as John stroked himself.
Looking over John's head, Jim saw Jack struggling to fuck John, though John was doing half the work.
Pulling out made John whimper, "Where you goin'?" his head following Jim hop off the bed, follow him around the side.
"Now what did I do with that key?" Jim asks, feeling himself up as if he were wearing a shirt and pants.
"I hope you're kidding?" Jack said, forgetting momentarily the ecstasy encasing his shaft.
Snapping his fingers, Jim responds, "Under the pillow!" Sure enough, as Jim lifted the pillow the shiny brass key was underneath.
"So... what's your plan?" Jack asked as Jim unlocked him from his bondage.
"What I was thinking," Jim replied as John `sat there', "I figured maybe using you as the innards of a sandwich while you fuck the hell out of John?"
Being he hadn't enjoyed the top position in a few nights, the idea grew on Jack. "Might prove interesting." Then as his hands became free, Jack directs to John, "You heard the man, boy!"
A glutton for the bdsm life, John says over his shoulder, "If I get to wear the bracelets?"
Neither Jim nor Jack argued the point, John putting the leather cuffs on his own wrists. As Jack had been, Jim looped John's wrists around the wrought iron headboard, securing them to the top. With his hand on his cock, stroking, Jim watched Jack in action, telling John, "Spread'em boy!" Adding the hard slap to John's ass, Jack's big hand landing like fire, made Jim's balls boil.
"Doggie style, boy!" Jack called out.
Scrambling, the twenty-seven year old farm-boy hastily got to his knees.
Not wasting anytime, Jack announced his intentions, "Gonna tear your ass wide open!" Again he added a hard whack of his hand, making John's other asscheek sport a red mark.
Jim had already had thoughts of mischief. So, after Jack's cock was buried deep inside of John, he gave the same treatment, his hand-to-ass gesture.
"Heeeeeeeeeey!" Jack called out after receiving the first spanking since he was twelve years old.
Jim's response was, "Just trying to plow you in deeper!" But it wasn't anything compared to when Jim sent his own tool boring into Jack's ass.
Thus, the threeway tryst got underway!
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As the townhouse became lively with everyone deserting him except Vince, Kyle and he had a chance to catch up for lost time.
"So what do you know about Breaux other than him being a successful model, Vince?"
"Which reminds me," Vince says after sipping some coffee, "To show his apprecitation for allowing him to spend the night, Breaux has invited you, Alex, Michael and Scotty... I suppose Chris and Jakov too could come, to a pool party at Cayman's estate.
"Cayman?"
"Cayman Karlyle. Breaux's boss. I guess you never heard of Cayman Karlyle Modeling Agency?" Vince asks in an affluent-type vocal rendition.
"Can't say that I have. Is it based in the city?"
"Don't know," Vince scratches his head. "I'll have to inquire."
Skipping over it, Kyle asks, "What else do you know about Breaux? Where's his apartment?"
"He lives with his grandmother out in Queens. He figures when he's got enough saved up he'll move closer now that he's signed with Cayman."
"Where's his folks?"
"'Don't know. We didn't get that far. He didn't mention them so I figured I'd let it go til another time. Anyway," Vince ditches the personal matters, "if you, Alex and the guys are free this weekend, Breaux says one of the Karlyle limos can pick us up."
"I'm not sure. I'm almost positive Alex will be working. Michael and Scotty might be also." Kyle then giggles, adding, "That Michael has turned into something of a dishwasher I tell you. Alex keeps giving him new chores to keep him busy. He's a real hustler."
"Hustler, huh?" Vince asks with a straight face.
"Not `that' kind of hustler!" Kyle busts on Vince, throwing a crunched up napkin at him.
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Whittling away the minutes, Alex was putting Adrian to the test. It wasn't about Adrian's performance at the Coffee Bean but rather the mid-week happening, David Sonnemaker's ten-in-the-morning visit to the cafe. At two minutes of, Alex glanced at the clock in the kitchen above the door. Usually not a time-watcher, Alex says, "I better go see."
"Go see what?" Michael asks Scotty.
"His secret admirer. This rich guy has been hassling Alex ever since he didn't show up for the party he gave at his estate up in Westchester," Scotty filled him in.
"Where is West Chester?" Michael asks.
It's part of the puzzle Scott was working on, a clue showing Michael surely wasn't from around here. "Up north of the city. Kind of on the affluent side. They've got lots of dough. Something neither you or me have!"
"Which kind of makes it special for us, don't you think?" Michael asks as he rinses a pan.
Ever since he's met Michael, Michael has had this affect on Scotty. Standing there with his hands rolling dough in flour, Scotty tells, "If I didn't have my hands in something at the moment I might just show you what we have special going between us!"
Wiping his hands on the apron around his waist, Michael comes around the counter to stand next to Scotty. "Nothing wrong with my hands!"
Not open to hanky-panky on the job, being the all-too-serious guy he is, Scotty was forced to lighten up when Michael started playing with him under his apron. "Stop that Michael!" Scotty argued, with a soft smile following.
Using Scotty's comment as an excuse to carry on, Michael found his way under the apron and down the front of Scotty's pants!
"Now you've `really' got to stop that! Or else... I'm going to get so hot my hands are going to bake this dough before it gets to the oven!"
"Wouldn't want to spoil your cordon blue," Michael said, withdrawing his hands.
Scotty only smiled back, not letting on the dough he was kneading hadn't anything to do with cheesy-chicken.
"By the way," Michael says as he returns to his dishwashing, "Kyle says he and Jacov are going to take us all out to the Greenhouse some night."
"I hope that means he's paying," Scotty says.
"Me too," Michael replies.
Standing there, the two gazed at each other with smiles on their faces.
"What?" Scotty asks.
Michael too asks, "What?"
"I asked you first."
"I asked you second," Michael came back with.
"Nothing other than.. I suppose it's fitting I met up with a guy in the same boat as me."
"Oh? How's that go?" Michael asks as he finishes up the last of the pots.
"Well look at Alex and Chris. They've got two rich guys. And me? I've got a guy just like me."
He could have taken it wrong, but instead Michael once again rounds the table, Scotty ready for him.
"Some day, when I figure out what I want to do, I'm going to go to college just like you and after I've made my first million I'm going to get us a swanky apartment someplace and..." Michael makes up the story as he goes along.
"I wish it could be sooner than `someday'," Scotty says, responding with more than words as he places his hands on the sides of Michael's torso.
Frozen in time the two stood there until....
"Whew! Have I lucked out!" Alex said robustly as he entered the kitchen. Then snagging the two, "I hope I'm not interrupting anything?"
If the trio wasn't already developing into a ratpack', Alex could have come across nastily. However, it wasn't in Alex to be that way and two, he was happy to see Scotty finally involved'. Scotty dropping his hands from Michael's hips, Alex tells them, "Maybe you two can pick that up from where you left off, later?"
"Yeah," Scotty says.
Michael adds, "Yeah and thanks for not having a cow, Alex!"
All was forgiven and the three went their separate ways.
Outside the kitchen, Adrian led David Sonnemaker to a table. This time it wasn't the one behind the palm tree, but rather his usual, the table near the front window where one could see the goings on out in the streets.
"Norberto thought you were really hot last night," Adrian started to slowly drop the bomb.
But David wasn't on the theme of him and Adrian playing out any more scenes, as he carefully tread onwards, "He was okay. I see you and Petr had a nice time?"
Yesterday at the Coffee Bean it seemed the two had locked up their budding relationship, but today was a different story, the morning after the morning. To distract each other, the two used Kief Decado as a scapegoat to telling each of how they really felt.
"Funny how after awhile you surrendered to Kief," Adrian leads in as he pours coffee.
"Yes. I never would have guessed from the evening we had in the dungeon that night..." but then David skips over the details, "He really proved himself last night."
Whimsically, Adrian says, "It would have proved interesting to see Norberto and Kief double-fuck you?"
"Not this hole!" David exclaims, looking about to see if anyone overheard.
Coming out of his laugh, Adrian slips, "You can't be as tight as Petr!"
With the forthright of knowing, like intuition, gaydar and the likes, David can see the writing on the wall. "You really like Petr, don't you?"
Moving his head about as if tossing things this-away-and-that, Adrian levels with him, "I think Petr and I might have something between us." But then he quickly tosses the ball back in David's court, "What about you and Norberto?"
Both seeing the change in partners, David responds, "Don't forget Kief."
Well knowing it, Adrian tells him, "Sorry it didn't work out. No offense though David. You would have been a hot `bottom' to play with."
"I wasn't only into myself last night. I saw how you and Petr got along. I'm sure you and he will make a fine `master and slave'!"
Both knew what went on behind closed doors was meant to stay there, so out in the open David was wishing Adrian the best in his new relationship.
"Likewise," Adrian replied. "So, what'll it be this morning?"
"My usual," David replied.
And joking around, Adrian supplies, "You mean the way I served you yesterday morning?"
Smiling, David says on the soft side, "I don't think my cock and balls could stand it!"
As the morning went on, Adrian and David acted like patron and waiter. Before David finished up his visit to the Coffee Bean, he left Adrian with two invitations. One was for his next dungeon party, he and Petr invited and an invitation to a party, Petr and him as his guests, a party for the new up and coming models, at the Karlyle estate.
When Adrian began busing David's table, after he had gone, under his plate were five crisp one hundred dollar bills. Later Adrian would be accused of leading the ranks, Alex being number two, of the biggest tippers!
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Going their separate ways, Jakov headed off towards Braddock's, Chris returning to the family home out in Brooklyn.
With his key in the door, Chris unlocked it, walking in and from habit locked the top lock, chaining the bottom. Doing an about face he almost bumped into his father, standing there with arms across his chest.
"Oh. Good morning father," Chris cordially greeted him.
"Where were you last night?"
"I was at work late." Chris lied, then made more up, "I had a business client who's meeting went into overtime." He then waited for belief or another reaction.
"I see," his father, standing there at six feet tall retaliated, his voice with suspicion. "That is not what I hear from Asaf."
"Asaf?" Chris questions. Then realizing something strangely out of place, he asks, "What of Asaf?"
"He is in the basement, Khalaf," His father addresses Chris with his given name.
Chris replies in a nervous manner, "The basement?" Like walking on shakey ground, Chris takes each step of the wooden stairway, trying to piece things together. He gets a bad feeling about all of this. "What is Asaf doing here?" he addresses his father who is leading him down to the musty, windowless, cement-blocked, walled in room.
"In good time you will see."
And that Chris did as his father pushed open the heavy wooden door at the base of the stairway. There, tied eagle-spread, hanging by his arms from a wooden piece, suspended from the ceiling by chains, Asaf hung. "Asaf?" Chris more breathed out, aghast at the sight of his lifetime friend, more lifeless than alive. Running to him, he called out, "What have you done?" Passing by Asaf's bloody back, welts crisscrossing it, Chris faced him, lifting his head by the chin. Asaf's eyes were closed and other than his chest slightly rising and falling with the tiny breaths he exhaled, Chris could detect very little life about him.
"Before Asaf passed out he told us something about you and him," His father said.
Out of the shadows also walks Asaf's father.
It's then the puzzle Chris has been trying to weave together becomes plain as daylight. Seeing himself in deepshit, he tries to talk himself out of this, "Father, these are different times. We are in a different country now, with different customs...."
"Remove your shirt, Khalaf," Chris' father orders.
It's then he sees the piece of leather in his father's hand, more substance as if a cowboy's bullwhip, stained with blood. The picture comes in clearer when Asaf's father, saying nothing, uses a winch to lower Asaf's bod, his knees buckling as his retraints are loosened. He makes no sound as first his stomach touches the basement concrete, then chest. The side of his cheek grazes the cold floor.
Breaking Chris' concentration, his father reiterates, "You `will' remove your shirt now, Khalaf!" To get his point across, Chris' father belts him across the face with his hand, the one holding the strap.
Sighing out loud in a cry of pain, Khalaf is thrown to the floor, right next to where Asaf now lays faced down. Even though he feels for his own doom, he places his hand on Asaf's hair, stroking the black follicles. Before he can feel too much tenderness a hand grabs the back of his shirt, the collar, pulling him upwards. Before he knows it, Chris' arms are joined behind his back by Asaf's father.
"Since you will not cooperate," Chris' father tears his shirt down the middle, buttons popping off on their own trajectory, he forces it off behind Chris' shoulders.
Thrashing about, protesting, Chris' father doesn't stand for it, rather taking his hand and hitting him on the left side of his face, his backhand catching Chris on the right cheek. In his shocking state, Chris can do nothing by now, Asaf's father, build like a weightlifter, manhandles him.
"You will learn we do not tolerate `your kind'."
Then calling out to Asaf's father, the two strip Chris of his shirt and place the same pieces of wood, which held Asaf's arms in place, around Chris' wrists. Making light work of the ordeal, the winch is turned and Chris feels his arms rise above his head. Soon his feet barely touch the floor. Even though it is damp in the old basement Chris is sweating profusely. He tries looking over his shoulder, then under his armpit, trying to get a glimpse of what's happening, full well aware of his impending punishment. Protesting does nothing for his welfare as he feels the first lash of the whip across his back, his pleas of mercy turning to those of harrassing pain.
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It's never too late to read a holiday story! DeCeMBer LuLLaBy by T. Chase McPhee nifty/gay/adult-friends/december-lullaby/
Copyright 2008 T. Chase McPhee
This story may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.
The more you stretch, the more you can fit in... 'spread' happiness! TCMcP.....