Chapter 3
"Yo!"
Dak turned. He grinned at the lanky youth loping up the hill from the parking lot.
"Whassup, bro?"
"'Tcha doin', my man?" The tall, lean man breathed deeply, catching his breath, and dropped down beside Dak on the freshly cut grass.
"Catchin' some rays. Thinking. I like the view up here." Both men looked out over the vista. Below them the river parted around a small, densely wooded islet. A footbridge led across to the island, and another on the far side completed the span to the other shore of the narrow, placid river. Students and local kids used the isle as a trysting place. So did birds and chipmunks.
"And what brings you up to these Arcadian climes, Widdie-bro?" Dak asked his friend.
"Arcadian climes? Ain't that far away from student housing that I'm gonna call this any Arcadian climes, my brother. Nice imagery, though."
"Truly, I thank you, kind sir, noble lord, and all that shit."
"Ek-tually," Widdie drawled in his best Bertie the Butler imitation, "I've come searching for you, dontchu know. Coach wants you. Your coach, that is. Freemont. My coach wouldn't know you from nose drools."
Friends since childhood, veterans of the African-American experience of stayin' alive in white-man's land, the two men supported, teased, and loved each other like brothers. Dak had, in fact, been unofficially adopted by the Widdoes family when his mother disappeared from the scene not long after Dak's fifth birthday. The Widdoes had moved the little boy - lock, stock, and battered suitcase - into a hastily purchased bunkbed in their son Russ's bedroom. And there Dak and Russ, known as Widdie to his friends and just about everybody else, had stayed, usually in harmony, until graduation from high school.
Both young men were scholarship winners, Dak in football, the taller Widdie for his basketball prowess. With the newfound financial leeway their stipends allowed, the friends had decided to try their wings solo, and sought out separate apartments. Neither could afford anything fancy, but at least each had his privacy.
Widdie was a long, lean, smooth muscled 6'4" in height. His chiseled features well complemented his athlete's body. Dak knew that his buddy had lost his virginity somewhere back in junior high, though Russ hadn't boasted of the conquest. In fact he'd shown remarkable restraint and sensitivity, knowing that his friend Dak was awkward in the sexual arena, and deeply conscious of his scarred and pitted face. Eventually Dak's time came, though, and the difference in frequency of their sexual activities hadn't really bothered either young man.
In their junior year in high school, Widdie had hesitantly confided that he enjoyed boys as much as girls. Dak had given it a few moments thought, then said, "Right on, man. Best of both worlds." Dak didn't go that way, except to maybe once in a while let a guy swing on his dick, but it didn't make any difference to him that his best friend got off on it.
Dak tilted his head so as to look sternly down his nose at Widdie.
"You lie and falsify. Your coach, one Pearson by name, does indeed, so too know me from that stuff you said. Only the other day he called out to me, 'You there, boy!' as I was shuffling along, pushin' my broom an' mindin' mah own business."
"No, no, no! You's the one wid a prej-a-dissed coach. Ain't no basketball coach in his right mind gonna think anything but loving thoughts about us black boys. Because, you see, we is they's bread and buttah, thank you very much."
"An' you love it, you shameless hussy. What's Freemont want?"
"Dunno. Didn't confide in me, as it were. Just said get your ass over to his office, or words to that ee-ffect."
"Oh, well. I don't think I'm in trouble. Wanna ride along?"
"Oh, Daddy! Can I ride on your shoulders? Huh? Can I, pleeeease, huh?"
"You can ride on my dick, is what you can ride on."
"Now don't you go sayin' that unless you reeeealy mean it! Nah. Uh, uh. That'd be incest. I do have some taste, ya know."
"As if!"
The two set off down the hill toward the footbridge.
"You're mighty chipper today, come to think of it," Widdie said. "Feelin' fine?"
"Yup."
"Uh, huh. Most forthcoming. C'mon. Tell your bro, who wants to know."
"Nothin'. Just doin' okay. Okay?"
"Okay!"
"Catch ya later, bro," Widdie said, as they stepped onto the island. "Think I'll hang out here for a wee bit. See what's shakin', so to speak."
"Good hunting, noble Dimrod. Sorry, I meant Nimrod!"
Five minutes later Dak jogged into the stadium and descended to the sub-basement where the coaches' offices and exercise rooms were located. Coach Freemont's door was open. Seeing another man in the chair across from Coach's desk, Dak rapped on the door frame. Coach looked up. "C'mon in, Dak."
"Son, I want you to meet Tom Carlisle from the Dill Foundation. He's got a proposal for you."
"How do you do, sir?"
"Well, I'm certainly glad to meet you, young man!" the other man said. An older man, young middle age, Dak guessed, forty-five, maybe fifty. But fit, strong and muscular in his tailored suit.
"The Foundation's looking for a point man for our new Family Values campaign. And I think I'm looking at him right now."
"Do you have a minute, Dak?" Freemont asked.
"Yeah. Sure, Coach. What's it all about?"
The coach gestured to the chairs on the other side of his cluttered desk.
"Have a seat, gentlemen. Mr. Carlisle will fill you in, Dak."
Seated, the foundation man turned to Dak. He grinned. "Son," he said, "could you use a little stipend? Something in the neighborhood of, say, $500 a week for the rest of the school year?
Jason Twill sat in the office shared by the soccer and gymnastics coaches. Twill was thinking about offering his services as student manager or some such thing. Whatever would get him in close to the gymnastics guys. To Ion. Whatever it takes, buddy, he thought. Whatever it takes. I'm gonna have that sweet, round, firm ass of yours, roomie.
Neither coach was in at the moment. That didn't bother Twill. He was occupying his time listening in on the conversation across the hall in Coach Freemont's office.
"Widdie speakin'" Water sluiced down his lanky, coffee 'n cream colored frame.
"Man, you're not gonna believe this shit!"
"Hold on a sec, bro. Lemme turn off the water."
Widdie grabbed up a towel from the rack, shut off the spray and came back to the phone. "Yeah, what? Better be good to drag me kickin' and screamin' from mah beauty bath, suh," he drawled.
"I say. I'm terribly sorry. I'll call you back next year. Terribly sorry. Ta ta."
"Hoooold that phone, blackboy. Whatchu gotcher knickers in a twist about, hmmm?" Widdie swabbed his body as best he could, one handed, and tried to wrap the damp towel around his midsection.
"Big stuff, man. These guys are offering me like, major bucks, to be their poster boy for the rest of the school year."
"Wild. How big bucks?" The towel slid inexorably down Widdie's thighs. "Shit, hang a sec, okay?" He laid the phone down and knotted the towel firmly in place. "'Kay, shoot. You were sayin'?"
"Five hundred dollars, Brother Russ! A week, Brother Russ! Man, we are rich, and I ain't shittin' you!"
"Wait. Wait a minute. Like, calm down or something. Take a big breath and let it out slow. See, watch me and then you do the same. Iiiinnnnnn and oooouuuutttt. Good, that's good. You got it now. No. Hold on, I don't hear you deep breathin' if you're laughing your fool ass off, over there. Now hush, now. Start at the start and don't leave nothing out."
"That's what Coach wanted this afternoon. When you came to find me? Have I lost you yet? You still with me? Okay. There was this guy from, like, a talent agency or something, over in Coach's office. He was scouting for this Dill Foundation? They're, I don't know,, some kind of think-tank deal, and they set up surveys and ad campaigns and stuff like that for other organizations."
"Okay, so far."
"So, there's some kind of consortium of church groups --"
"Uh, oh."
"No, now shut up. These guys want me to do these ads and appearances and stuff where I just talk about how good it is to play sports and go to church and all that, and they pay me every week, week in, week out, till I graduate next June. And it's legal. Coach says it doesn't affect my eligibility in any way, and he's an expert on that kind of stuff."
"Doesn't hurt that you're prime, grade-a Heismann meat, I 'spect?"
"No. Of course not. Hey, I know they didn't pick me for my looks, for God's sake. The guy says bein' a candidate is great, it'll help the campaign and all. But they still want me even if I don't win it. Man, there's a contract and everything. They can't back out after Heismann time, 'cause the campaign will be halfway done already. Starring yours truly."
"The money sounds great and all, but churches and stuff...?"
"Hey, I go to church. Well, anyway I did when we were livin' at home. Real regular, too."
"Maple Street Baptist ain't exactly the same thing as "consortiums" that put on ad campaigns, bro. Know what I mean?"
"You're rainin..."
"...on your parade. Naw, man. I don't mean to do that. Listen, if you sleep on it and it still looks good to you, then fine. I mean, if it's righteous then I rejoice with you. Hell, you know that, little brother."
"Ain't yo little brother. I'se wider, I'se stronger, and for all we know, I'se older. Only thing you are is about one little dickhead taller than me." Dak gave a raspberry sound, and laughed. "But I know you rejoice with me. Thanks, man."
"For what, home?"
"Bein' there, home."
"Yeah, yeah. Call me tomorrow. Lemme know how it all feels."
"'Kay. Man! Great sex and big bucks! I can't fuckin' believe it."
"Great sex! Great sex? I knew you was lookin' a lot perkier'n usual today! You got you a honey, don't you?!? Summbitch, you found you a regular supply! Now, I'm rejoicin' with you, my brother. About time, too. Whooeee! Right on, brother."
"Oops. Shit. Damn, I knew you'd get carried away. Never mind. I gotta go. Gotta get in a run yet tonight. Keep the body pretty for those nice folks at the foundation.
"Lotsa luck with that! And congratulations, buddy. Good goin', man."
Hope this isn't a scam, Widdie thought, hanging up the phone. Ol' Dak can use some good breaks. Damn, I'm glad he found a girl friend. Some ways, that's more important for him than the money.
"May I speak to Yon, please?"
"Sure, hold on just a sec." Twill held the phone out to his roommate.
"Ion speaking."
"Hi. This is Dak. You wanna go for a run?"
"Yes. Now?"
"Yeah. I'm downstairs in the lobby."
"I will be there in two minutes."
As always, Twill watched his roommate surreptitiously as the boy hurriedly prepared to go out. No skin this time, just running shoes.
"I will see you later," Ion called over his shoulder.
"'Night. Have a good run."
Patient as ever, Twill sat on the bench farthest from the street light. He could see Dak's house fine from here. He'd figured an hour would just about do for the athletes' run. He wondered if his hot little roommate would be coming home with the footballer again. And if so, whether he had anything to do with the offer Dak had received earlier in the day. You never knew what might further the cause, Twill reckoned. Information is always useful one way or the other.
As he looked up from lighting the third cigarette since he'd sat down, he saw two figures jogging slowly up the street. Very good, he thought. Right on schedule. The two slowed to a halt in front of Dak's house. Twill heard a voice, but couldn't make out the words. The pair went in the house, the big man's arm over the smaller man's shoulders. In a moment lights flicked on inside. Twill looked around. No one in sight. What the hell? Might as well get a closer look. He crossed the street and sidled up next to the house, peered cautiously in the window.
Dak was sprawled on a sofa, shirtless, muscles gleaming in the light of a small table lamp. Ion was standing before Dak. As Twill watched, fascinated, Ion sank down right in between Dak's knees! The boy reached out, caught at Dak's zipper and slowly pulled it down, down, until he was able to part the trousers and pull them down off Dak's thighs. Twill's cock began to rise in unison with the giant prong coming up from Dak's crotch. Holy shit! Twill had never seen anything like the size of the black dude's prick. And what now? His sweet lookin' little roommate was taking the flesh sword in his hands, licking the underside! God, he was putting his mouth around the head and... No! No way! The young man was half standing, his mouth and throat sinking down, down on the immense dong. He was swallowing it whole!
As quietly as he could, Twill got the hell out of there. In another minute he'd have had his own sizable pecker out and been jerking off in the front yard of somebody else's house! It was hard to walk naturally with a full-on boner. Lucky nobody was around. Sure as hell gotta do something with this hard-on, he thought. Well, he knew where to go to find what he needed. And he needed it, like, now!
Bobby Shale groaned with just the slightest sound as he tried to stand straighter to relieve the pressure on his arms. His hands were tied high over his head, pulling him up toward the rafter and the halters and braces that hung from it. He was already on tiptoes, he couldn't stand any taller, and the strain in his sinewy arms and shoulders was getting pretty unbearable. Damn Twill! If he wasn't so fuckin hot for the blond bastard. Man, what he'd put up with just to get to swing on Jason's dick. He really didn't like this pain and whips and stuff. But Twill got off on it, so that's how it had to be. Thinking about Twill and what was going to be happening shortly made his cock begin to swell in spite of the pain that was racking his whole torso now.
The young man heard steps coming down the dimly lit hallway. He bit his tongue to stifle any possible sound that might try to break loose from his shuddering frame. Oh, shit. Oh, God no. Twill was wearing that fucking leather hood that wrapped tight all around his head. Bad sign. It was gonna be rough. But, God, lookit that dick!
Apart from the Master's hood, Twill wore only leather leggings. His crotch was bare, large balls hanging free, his 9 inch cock already partly swollen. He swigged at a beer, the rest of a 6-pack dangling from the other hand. Bobby watched the rhythmic movements as the lean, whipcord hard chest and arms worked to chug the liquid. Done, Twill tossed the can and immediately ripped another out of it's plastic harness, popped the top and continued his power drinking.
The leather clad figure approached the naked, dangling slave.
"Want a beer, baby?" Twill asked, giving a snort of harsh laughter. "Yeah, you're gonna have a beer, all right. Oh, yeah. We're workin' on that right now."
An involuntary sound escaped Bobby's lips.
"What the fuck! Did I say you could talk back to me?" Twill reached out and grasped one of Shale's nipples between finger and thumb, pinched. "I'll tell you when I want you to talk. Or piss, or shit, or anything! You understand?" he yelled, twisting roughly on the nipple.
"Or maybe you like that a little too much. How's this?" The master reached his hand further up, grasped a hank of Bobby's flaming red armpit hair and pulled. Hard. "Like this better, baby?" he asked, pulling and twisting the tuft in his fist. "Oh, yeah. You like that. Look at your dick, you little whore. Got a fuckin' hard-on like there's no tomorrow."
Face flaming, Bobby realized Twill was right. His traitorous prick was at full tilt despite the pain lancing through his body!
"Fuck it," Twill said. He walked to the wall and flipped a switch. Shale's hands, still tied together, were released from the ceiling catch, and he tumbled down to his knees, failed to catch himself with his bound hands and fell onto his side. He rocked there, now feeling the pain of released muscles as they tried to pull back into shape.
"Clumsy asshole." Twill stood over the man on the floor. He poured the remains of his beer on the recumbent man. "Here's your beer." He laughed uproariously, drunk, and suddenly happily having a good time. "Nah, that's not your beer is it, baby? Here's your beer!" And Twill took hold of his prick and shot a scalding stream of pressurized piss up and down the man's body. "Open wide, you little pussy, or I'll kick the shit out of you!"
Shale know he had no choice. Already wet from head to feet with the man's urine, he knew there was no escaping the final indignity. He opened his mouth and closed his eyes down to narrow slits. He might have to drink his Master's piss, but by God at least he was going to watch that big, downhanging cock while it delivered the stream. It came. Shale didn't love this hot, sour-salty drink, but he wasn't any stranger to it. He opened his throat and glugged it down like a man. Already his own prick was expanding, as he pictured the next scene. When the golden stream was finished, Twill would finally let him get up on his knees and lick his long, hardening dong, tongue the head, and then... Well, that's what this was all for. Then he'd be allowed to suck and frig the beautiful tool until it blasted it's sweet, hot load of cum deep in his throat. Yeah. Bobby felt his own load building, building. It was gonna be good. Piss stream already slowing, just a trickle now. Shut the eyes! Fucker liked to flick the last drops all over his face. But Shale knew that trick. Okay. Safe now.
Bobby clambered to his knees. Reached out his tethered hands for the prick rising in front of him.
"Want it, cocksucker?" Twill taunted. He backed away from the reaching youth.
"Shit, yeah! Come on, man. You know how bad I want it!"
"Yeah. You sure do, you pathetic little cunt. You gotta have my big dick in your mouth, eh? Gotta have a cum chaser, yeah?"
"Please, Jason. I'll do anything, just lemme suck you off!"
Twill neared the kneeling man. His tone softened. "It's okay, baby. Don't worry. You're gonna get your lollipop. All you can eat." He reached out a hand, caressed the boy's face gently. "Hey, Bobby. You know I need it just as much as you do. I'm not gonna miss out on blowin' my nuts down your throat. Just, I got a little job I need you to do for me first, okay?" Twill hands stroked Bobby's throat, cupped his chin. "Soon as we get it done, we pick right up where we left off, yeah? Tell you what, I'll even let you lick my balls and my asshole 'cause you been such a good boy."
Shale gasped in pleasurable anticipation.
"Yeah. You like my big cock and balls, don't you baby. That's my good little stud slave. Your daddy treats you pretty good, now doesn't he?" Twill's hands crept lower, splaying out over the thickly haired muscles of Shale's chest. Stopping to rub lightly over his painfully hard nipples. "In fact, here's something to tide you over." Twill bent forward, his mouth softly covering Bobby's parted lips. Twill suddenly, harshly twisted the boy's tits just as his tongue plunged deep into the other's mouth.
The two men stood in the shadows at the edge of the park.
"You got everything you need for this?" Twill asked.
"Yeah. This's the best camera for night work. And you said no flash, so I got the fastest film. Shouldn't be any problem."
Twill lit a cigarette from the butt of the one before. Anxiously he peered at the house across the way. There were no lights in the lower apartment. This should be about the right time, he thought. If it was like the other nights.
Bobby Shale checked that his camera was advanced and ready. Damn, his tits hurt. That bastard. Covertly his touched first one, than the other of his bruised nipples, through his T-shirt. At his touch, another sensation welled up underneath the hurt, supplanting it with a tingle of desire.
Twill had seen Shale's furtive motions. Hanging the butt from his lips, he lifted both hands to the other man's chest. Gently he stroked the fiery, erect nipples through the cloth. Abruptly he yanked on the shirt, loosening it from Shale's jeans and rucking it up. He leaned forward and licked one of the tits, slowly, sweetly, maddeningly. Then the other. His right hand cupped the growing bulge in Bobby's jeans, stroked it, grasped.
At a sound, he broke off. "All right! They're coming." He drew back further into the shadows, pulling Shale with him.
Across the street, the tall, heavily muscled figure and his compact companion slowed and turned in at the unlighted house. Moments later they entered, and a light beamed from the front windows.
"Okay, let's get set. Remember, I want you to use the whole roll of film. Lot of different shots. Whatever you can get." The two men silently crossed the street and crept into the yard. Shale readied his camera, and peered through the slit left by a missing blind.
"Holy shit!" he breathed. "Lookit the size of that thing!"