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 70 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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Vince lay there on the leather table, still outstretched, leather cuffs binding his wrists and ankles in place, taking away his freedom. He had a mix of fear, anger and frustration after being taken to the edge twice and not finding release, thinking it worse torture than the beard's' flogger thrashing over his chest, stomach and pubes. Things flashed through his mind at this hopeless moment, times his life seemed to turn around, being a mentor to Jarrett, then his chance meeting up with Kyle and Alex, Carlos' concert at Manhattan School of Music and the smirk which turned his lip up right now thinking on meeting Stephen Braddock, the nice evening they had, his nice' sexual encounter at the Waldorf, a more intent grin, showing his happiness associating himself with the likes of Kyle and Scotty while cooking in the kitchen. He lost the happy attire on his face when he returned to the reality of his plight, cursing the likes of Desmond
Figueroa. Instant fear returned when the lights from above were turned on, blinding him to the fact the room was slowly being occupied. Approaching the table, the `bearded one' wasn't alone, a young guy accompanying him, wheeling a metal, multi-tiered table in front of him. He was curious about the bowl of water, double-edged razor, wash cloth and other things on the table, but too, Vince eyed up the guy pushing the cart, tall and lanky.
"You can set up your cameras wherever you think you can capture him at the best advantage," he heard the `beard' say, yelling over his shoulder.
"Huh?" Vince said to himself, again lifting his head to see what was transpiring around him. He saw the `beard' direct a gruffy looking dude, decked out in leather, complete with hat and boots, carrying a duffle bag over his shoulder.
"You can spread your toys out over here, Hans."
`Hans?' Vince thought. But when the tall, gruff guy unveiled the hat, took off the leather jacket, underneath the facade revealed the true nature of a scruffy individual, Scandinavian heritage, blond hair, very white skin and upon approaching his bod splayed out on the table, took notice of the blue eyes. But what he didn't care for at all, are the things he took out of the duffle bag, starting with the largest butt plug he's ever seen.
Then, handling Vince's balls once again, tenderly, letting them fall a ballsac at a time around in his hand, the beard' told him, "David here is going to be doing some work' on you boy." Then, picking up the razor, he warned Vince, "You can thrash about all you want to, but I'm not holding David responsible for any cuts or abrasions. After all, it doesn't take much for a slip of the hand and... well I think you get the picture," he places the razor back down on the tray making a `ching' sound. "Have fun, David," he patted the lad's arm.
"Yeah, thanks!" the lad replied with negative attitude. He followed up with a sigh of pain, the beard's hand having slapped him aside the face.
He warned, "Next time it'll be... second thought, there better not be a `next time'. Got that boy?"
David didn't respond quick enough and it resulted in another slap. "I got it," he rendered. When Hans, the `beard' and everyone else seemed to disappear, David said, "Sorry I have to do this to you mister."
If anything, Vince didn't feel like conversation, but this kid seemed `different' than the rest. Not so high-strung and bossy. More a follower than a leader. "I take it you don't care much about being around the likes of this place?"
"I do what I'm told," David replied.
"Right." Then, instead of feeling arrogant, Vince lowered his guard and struck up conversation, "It's not your fault for what you have to do, so go ahead. Shave my balls if you have to."
"Thanks," David said. But then he enlightened Vince, "but it's `more' than your balls."
Still his mind on his pubes, Vince says, "Well okay, then do the pubes."
"No. You don't understand. I've got to," he lay a warm cloth on Vince's right pec, "shave a circle around each of your nips."
"What tha?" Vince said with a strange look on his face. "Around my nips? What on earth..."
"It's required. By the big blond brute. It's his style. One inch exactly shaved around each nip, so he can..."
Even though Vince wasn't eager to know the details, he didn't want question hanging in the balance. "You can tell me David. So he can what?"
"Hans has this thing for playing with a guy's nips. I... I'm real sorry mister."
Vince gulped. But David's attitude towards him also it startled him to think, "So why is it you're the only one showing concern for me?"
As David lifted the cloth he took a horsehair shaving brush, dipped it in the bowl of hot water, swished it around a cup containing shaving soap and lathered it up. "You're gay, right?"
He didn't know whether this was a trick question, so said, "Oh no. I'm straight."
"Good!" David replied, painting Vince's right pec with the soapy lather. "You keep telling them that. Keep hurling gay insults at them and it'll be better off for you."
"I don't get it."
"Desmond led you here right?"
Vince acknowledged, saying, "That fuckin' dirtbag!"
"You're not the first one. Desmond's passed off quite a few gay guys as straight."
"And why would he want to do that?" Vince questioned.
"Money."
It still left Vince sketchy on the details, David seeing it.
"There's more bounty if Desmond brings in a straight guys. In this business straight guys are a hot commodity."
"Business. Just what kind of a business is this?"
David tells as he expertly draws the razor around in a circle, following the outer edge of Vince's nip, "Call it a movie studio, but they don't make any Hollywood Academy Award nominated movies here. Maybe you never heard of it, but guys'll pay big bucks to buy a DVD of some guy..." David halted both the shaving, dipping the razor in the pan of water to wash Vince's shaved chest hair off.
"Yeah?" Vince provoked.
"Just keep saying you're straight. For the straight guys you'll endure more sexual filming."
"What about the gay guys?"
"For gay guys it's all about `torture'. Sure, a little sex is thrown in, but mostly they get filmed enduring painful stuff."
Vince looks at his shaved pec, a perfect circle shaved around his nip, about an inch wide of circumference. "And for me it's mostly sex with a little `torture' thrown in?"
"Sorry mister."
"And why should you be `sorry' for me? As you have said there's been a number of guys in my predicament?"
"I don't know. It's just that... that... well, I just think you're the perfect man and I'm sorry I have to mess up your chest with this razor."
"Hair will grow back," Vince told him.
In their conversation, they hadn't noticed someone coming towards them, out of the shadows. Suddenly David arches his back and screams, throws his head back and belches out, "Akkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!"
"You should be fuckin' finished by now boy!"
From the force of the strap landing across David's shoulders, it has catapulted him forwards, his barechest butting against the table, his bod slapping Vince right in the stomach, the razor flung across the room.
"Now get that razor and carve out his other nip. Hans is getting edgy and we've got a deadline to meet!" the beard barked out orders, the leather strap in his hand helping to deliver the threat of inaction on David's part.
"Yes, sir," David replied.
The `beard' went one way, David in the other direction to find the razor. Vince felt real bad for him, the two red welts painted across David's back.
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"We brought you some flowers," Kyle said as he and Alex entered Chris' room. Their intention was giving them to Darryl, but from what Raul had sprung on them, it seemed Chris needed some cheering up.
"Thank you," Chris replied, far from a smile and cheery attitude.
"Um," Jakov went to tell the reason.
Alex raised his hand, stopping him from getting up out of the chair next to Chris' bed and said, "We ran into Raul outside the hospital."
"Sorry about Asaf, Chris," Kyle extended his sympathies.
"I'm not much into praying, but I started," Chris replied.
"Might be a good thing for all of us to do," Jacov suggests. "It's been a long time since I've been to temple, but I don't think it matters where a person is. It's said God is everywhere."
Alex can relate, saying, "My mom was religious. She used to say the same thing."
"Oh really?" Kyle directed to Alex. It's one of many subjects they hadn't conversed about, it not ever coming up.
"Yeah. She said it doesn't matter if somebody's Catholic, Jewish, Protestant or Muslim. We all worship God. It's organized religion which gives worship it's variation. Kind of cool. It's like we're all not the same and how boring the world would be if we all were."
Chris says to Alex, a bit uplifted, "Someday I would like to meet your God, Alex."
Holding Chris' hand, Alex says, "And God is going to help Asaf come out of this. I know."
Jakov couldn't make Chris smile, but Alex did. "Thanks Alex," he bestowed upon him.
"No problem," Alex replied. Then he alluded to, "We have to be going. We're supposed to meet Scotty and Michael in the waiting room. They came to see Darryl."
Chris says, "Another one who needs our prayers to God."
"Yeah and lots of them," Kyle says.
Jakov asks, "Is he burned badly?"
"I don't know what percent," Alex tells. "We haven't been able to get into see him. Germs you know. We have only what the doctor says to go on, which hasn't been discussed. Darryl's family gets the first word and as far as we know they can't find any. I don't know what the answer is."
"We better go," Kyle says, a hand nagging at Alex's sweater.
"Take care," Alex tells as they leave. His thumb pointing up, he leaves with the two, "Think positive!"
Out in the hallway Kyle quizzes Alex, "Wow! I didn't know you were such a religious guy!"
"I'm not. I mean I guess I should be all the time instead of only at times when I need him... God... you know. And you?" Alex bats it back into Kyle's court.
"I dunno. I guess I believe like you. There hasn't been a lot of religion in our family life."
"Doesn't matter. I guess what counts is starting. Maybe we should find a church to go to."
Kyle didn't put Alex's idea out of his head, saying, "Yeah. Maybe. I think there are some gay churches in the city... somewhere."
By the time they were winding up their conversation they entered the special lounge afforded them by their association with Swifty. Other than Michael and Scotty, there was one unfamiliar face gracing the room.
"Oh Alex! You're here!" Michael said, greeting him with a hug.
Of course Kyle wondered where he fitted in!
But Alex sensed something, Michael's more cheery disposition. "What's up?" he asked on a lighter note, since Michael had addressed him in the same manner.
"Darryl. He's going to be okay. Dr. Azayzeh says his burns are only like eighteen percent of his body. Cool, huh?"
Standing right behind Michael, Scotty and the bearded doctor waited til Michael started to come down from his high.
"Hello," the soft-spoken doctor greets them with a hand shake, "I am Dr. Azayzeh. If you would like you may call me Mohamed."
"Nice to meet you Dr. Azayzeh... Mohamed," Alex changed his mind, but still accepted the doctor's handshake.
Before Mohamed made too many goo-goo eyes over Alex, Kyle steps in, "Hi there Mohamed. I'm Kyle Dryfiss. I'm Alex's boyfriend."
He switched hands, from lingering with Alex's in his too long, to greeting Kyle, "It is a pleasure to meet you." Then he quickly diverted his attention to, "I understand you also have a young friend in the hospital, a young man called `Asaf'?"
"Oh yeah," Alex responded, since it was directed at him, "Raul communicated to us he's not doing so hot. So, what's the story?"
"Some of the doctors don't share my opinion. I have not been here long, but as far as I can tell I think Asaf needs his rest." And then like some soothsayer, Mohamed shares with them, "Given time I have a strong belief Asaf will recover."
Then Michael butts in, "Tell them about Darryl." But before Dr. Azayzeh can intervine, Michael is telling, "Mohamed says Darryl can be up and around in a week, but..." this is where the downer came, "I don't think he has anyplace to go. Do you think he could... um.... like...." Michael beat around the bush, "stay with us at the townhouse?"
Kyle said fine', but didn't elaborate, neither him nor Alex saying anything about the big move'.
"Cool," Michael replies, stepping back, putting his arm around Scotty's shoulder as if long lost pals from another lifetime.
"It is very good to meet you. I need to get back to making my rounds," the doc said, shaking hands and departing.
To Alex, Kyle says, "Hot, don't you think?"
"He's okay," Alex replied, even though he had a difference of opinion than the one he spoke out. As they sat there, waiting, Kyle chatting it up with Scotty and Michael, Alex tried thinking the age of Mohamed. The beard made him look older, but he swore to himself he couldn't be more than twenty-eight or twenty-nine. `Nah' he thought to himself, still in the guessing stages, he could possibly be older than thirty-two. He tried erasing the beard from the face, coming to the conclusion the dark-haired doc couldn't be over thirty years old.
"Earth to Alex?"
"Oh yeah. What?" he snapped out of his reverie.
"I told Michael and Scotty about our new residence and they want to go see it right away?"
"Does it include a stop someplace to eat? My stomach is growling!" Alex replies.
So, with nothing more they could do at the hospital, the four headed off downtown, towards 49th St., to take in some lunch at Chin-Chin's.
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Finishing up on Vince's chest, David again apologized for having to shave complete circles around his nips.
"Like I said... you gotta do what they tell you to do."
Cracking a little smile, the twenty-two year old tells him back, "You're sweet." Then with the lights and action starting up, David tips him, "Don't forget to act as `straight' as you know how. Curse them out. Do anything you can to convince them, if you know what's good for you!"
While shaving him David filled him in on the `gay guys', how after they were filmed being physically and sexually abused, they were shipped downtown to a prostitution facility. Of course the question came up why the same fate didn't fall on David's shoulders. He made excuse he had to go, so he didn't get to tell. Yet, this afternoon would not be the same as any other afternoon. In fact David was looking forwards to being a part of the making of the studio's new production.
If anything, it was a boost in morale for Vince, however when he saw Hans returning, all decked out in his leather harness and chaps he clammed up. He looked at his own hairy chest and his vulnerable nips, wondering what was in store for him. One thing he didn't forget, is what David told him. He intended on playing his part to the hilt. Sure, he wasn't too keen on spending days, weeks, nor months in the predicament he was in, being a film star catapulted to stardom by having his ass raked over or his nips punished, but by David's words it was better than being shipped downtown.
"Oh very nice!" Hans said, a wicked grin on his face as he pinched and twisted Vince's nips, at Vince's expense, him howling like a hyena. "Nice and tender. Just the way I like them!" He chuckled in an evil way, loosening his grip.
Vince couldn't see but he heard plenty, Hans rummaging through some apparatus as he lay waiting with anxiousness.
"Here we go," Hans said as he dangled a pair of croc clamps in front of Vince's face.
Vince went into action, "Fuck you faggot!"
Hans just laughed.
The `beard' interrupted, "Just a minute there Hans. We need to zoom in on his nips before you attach them."
Then Vince went through more anxiety, hearing the `beard' give direction for one camera to film the clamps being attached to each nip, another hand around his cock, stroking, still another camera filming Hans, his enjoyment of torturing Vince, his own hand stroking himself up, using his own precum to lubricate his hand stroking and finally a camera taking in a picture of Vince's face, his reaction to the rough stimulation.
David sat on a stool not far away. Unlike the others, his attention didn't focus on Vince, Hans, nor anyone else, but his occasional glance around the room. At times he looked towards the exit door, but then away, as if he was hiding something. His own private agenda was interrupted when he heard his name being called out.
"David, get your ass over here!" the head honcho called over.
Slipping his bareass off the stool, he more quickly to where Vince's bod lay.
"Do what Hans tells you to do!"
With an authoritarian tone, Hans instructs, "Wrap your lips around his cock boy!"
Vince wondered what it meant when David looked up at him as he bent over, opening his mouth, a sly smile imprinted on his face.
Nevertheless, David opened up, put his mouth over the head of Vince's cock and from inside his oral cavity, began pleasuring Vince with his tongue.
"Now you will see... where pain crosses over to pleasure!" Hans rubbed both tips of the croc clips over Vince's nips.
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Upon making their exit from Chin-Chin's, Alex is mumbling away, "Y'know I might not have liked some of the things Darryl did, but right now, him laying there in the bed with his chest all bandaged up, I... I... I don't know how to put it, but I feel something."
"You've got a big heart, Alex. Plain and simple."
"You think so?"
"You picked me, didn't you?" Kyle made it sound like he was the last man left on earth.
"Well I wasn't sure whether I was taking a chance or..."
"Oh? How's that go?"
As they climbed the steps of the townhouse, Alex told, "That ass of a brother you have. I mean it's like day and night, you' and him'. If you hadn't told me," Kyle puts the key in the security port, "I would never have guessed you were from the same family."
When they stepped in the front door, put the light on, Kyle just stood there.
"What's up?" Alex sensed something amiss.
"I can't begin to guess where to start with the packing."
Then getting cuddly, Alex asks, "Oh now. There's more to it than that. What's wrong?"
Cracking a smile, Kyle fills Alex in, "Nothing's wrong. It's just... I suppose I'm just getting sentimental. This place holds a lot of memories. Mainly most recent ones."
"Let me guess. They kind of originate from the time you and I got back from Pennsy?"
Then Kyle rattles off, "You, Devon, Dominic, Carlos, um..."
"Vince, Jarrett and Jason?"
"Them and Scotty."
"And Michael. I feel so bad for him."
"He's got Scotty. Why are you feeling sorry for him?"
"Oh I'm not saying anything about him and Scotty. I think it's great they've become more than friends. It's just that. Well, if you haven't noticed Michael is still kind of depressed over Darryl having saved his life and then winding up with all those burns on his chest and stomach."
"I know," Kyle says. "I don't even know the guy and I feel bad for him."
Then Alex accuses him, "Now who has the `big heart'?"
Holding each other in each others' arms, Kyle responds, "I guess we were made for each other, huh?"
Alex confirmed, his lips pressing into Kyles'.
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Copyright 2009 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.....