The following story is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any resemblance to real people is entirely coincidental in nature, and is not meant to accurately depict, nor reflect upon persons in towns, cities, or governmental areas, in 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. This is fiction. Do not forget, in real life, to think about 'sexual safety matter'; got condom?
"Muscle Jocks For Domination" 17 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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"I'm in here!" Matt rang out, when he heard the front door slam shut.
Reporting to the bedroom, Steve looked at the full-sized bed.
"I never knew you wore glasses?" He questioned Matt, though Steve took in the whole picture.
Lying there, in his lowrise briefs, a book opened, the binding almost pivoted in his navel.
"Only for reading. Man, do you look beat."
"I am. What a hell of a day," Steve replied, peeling his jacket off the back of his blades.
Closing his book, Matt removed his glasses, placing them one of the two night tables. Approaching Steve, his jacket binding his arms behind him, Matt engulfed him from behind.
"Now I'm got you!"
"Mmmm," Steve replied to Matt's lips on the side of his neck. "This is the one thing I've been looking forward to all day."
"No kidding?"
"Oh yeah... Coming home to you and... and relaxing with you, Matt."
"I can't imagine how it's... no wait. I know how it is to come home to... to nothing, Steve."
Taking hold of Steve's suit jacket, Matt went for the closet, pronto, finding a hanger. Steve gazes around the room.
"Haven't we been the busy little bee?"
"I wondered if you would notice anything different, Steve."
"Hey, what happened to the curtains?"
"Washed them. They're still in the laundry basket. I have to iron them."
"Didn't you go to class today?"
"Sure, but while doing the laundry, I studied."
"Laundry, huh?"
Steve waltzed into the adjoining jon and checked out the hamper.
"This was like, full."
"No, like overflowing? Remember how I said I could fill the tub?"
"Yeah, so?"
"Did that, virtually every window treatment in the condo, plus.... Oh Steve, you are such a pig!"
Steve had to laugh.
"Not funny Steve. Do you know what germs can build up in the kitchen, with stashing tablecovers, towels and shit, Steve! I had to throw out so many sponges."
Now confronting Matt, with more compassionate lips, his shirt stripped as he makes his approach, he matches up bare-bodies, making contact.
"I'm sorry. I'll try to be better from now on."
Matt more than accepted the apology, delivered with a sweet lip lock.
"Hungry?"
"Why?" Steve replied, his hand feeling up Matt's briefs.
"I mean `hungry' hungy," Matt replies, his hand trying to grab at Steve's tight abs.
"Oooooh..."
"Hmm... have I discovered a hot spot?"
"Like all body builders don't prize their abs?"
Slipping his flat hand between Steve's treasure trail and beltline, Matt discovers another hot spot.
"I would think this' comes before that', Steve!"
Groaning with added pleasure, Steve croons as Matt firms his hand around the 8.5c semi-soft rod.
"Hmm... I guess you really do feel something for me, Steve."
"Now, how could you tell a thing like that, Matthew?" Steve chided.
His hand traveled all the way around the outside of Steve's torso, on the inside of the pants. His hand entered the deep, hairy crevice, seeking paydirt.
"Oooooooooooooh!" Steve moaned when he felt a finger touch his drilling well.
"My turn tonight!" Matt informed Steve.
"Oooooooh!" Steve sighed when Matt withdrew the drilling digit.
"C'mon. I have some food to nuke for you."
Steve caught a short glimpse of those black lowrise briefs leaving the room. He kicked off his shoes, dropped the pants, then turned back to pick them up off the floor.
"Ooops!" He replied to himself.
Being nice about it, he folded them nicely over the back of the chair, picked his shoes up and placed them at the foot of the bed, then went seeking food.
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"Sam, you realize what you're getting into, don't you?"
"Hey, like you think I can't handle it, Jim?"
"I'm only looking out for you, Sam. I mean that was a number of years ago we played.... You know."
"Yeah, I know, but it's not like you're the only one in the world that's into that kinky stuff, Jim."
"Oh, so you're cheating on me, are you?"
Sam sat there for a moment, in the police officer's patrol car, trying to search for the proper response.
"Jim, what we had was nice, but...."
Breaking up Sam's obvious feelings, invoked to alleviate hard feelings, Jim tried to smooth things out.
"I know what you're going to say, Sam. I know I became a softee."
"Right," Sam replied, somber.
"Sure. It started out real nice, but after awhile, well, `strings got attached'."
"What's that, Jim?"
"Like they say `no strings attached', well it's like I couldn't be to you what you wanted me to be."
Unlike the relationship Jim was having with Ian, case in point, he blew it when it came to meeting with Sam, in their early college years. What started as bdsm roleplay, evolved into the two caring too much for each other. The dominant couldn't' continue the charade of being a meany.
"Jim, pull over."
"Hey, that's my line!" the twenty-eight year old police offer responded.
Seeing the serious mood dominating Sam, Jim put on his directional signal, swerving from the middle lane to the right, then finally parking on the shoulder, cursing out a motorist.
"No respect, the son-of-a-bitch!"
The patrol car came to a halt, on the side.
"Now. What's so important, Sam?"
"Jim, have you ever gone and done something, found it to be the best you've ever had, then seemed to want more, then searched for more, didn't find it and then want that good thing back?"
Sam's wordy dispatch, assemblage of words, could have been reduced to a few and Jim deciphered it right away.
"You know I'd take you back in a minute," came the response from Jim.
"It's not that easy."
"What in life is, Sam. Yeah, we had it good in college. Two guys, away from the home-nest, fitting into perfect roles."
Smiling, remembering the good ole days of frat-jockery, he chimed in, "Remember the first time you tied me up, Jim?"
Pressing his blades back into the patrol car seat, Jim smiled.
"Yeah. You don't know how good it made me feel."
"Oh yes I do!"
"You do?"
"First time you ever tied a guy up, Jim? Get off it. I spied how your gym shorts perked up, instantly."
The two laughed.
"I hope your knot tying skills have improved."
"After tying you up, what? Forty or fifty times?"
"And everyone of those times you couldn't seem to untie me without a snag, Jim."
"Yeah. Suppose I was a little clumsy at it. Hee hee..."
"What?"
"Remember the time I tied you tightly to the chair, the rope circling under your pecs?"
"Damn, you almost strangled me!" Sam laughed.
"I thought that ropeburn would be there forever."
"Lucky for you it went away, but sure took long enough. The guys at the gym thought I was hiding something."
"Weren't you, Sam?"
"I suppose I had to hide a lot worse."
"I never did anything `that' bad to you."
"Not you, but...."
"What, Sam?"
Sitting there, Jim's arm went to Sam's shoulder, gripping it firmly.
"Want to talk about it?"
Looking to his onetime college roomie, Sam slightly smiled, then looked down to his body. His hands found his shirt, almost as a reflex, unbuttoning.
"I have something to show you."
With both hands, Sam pulled open his shirt, as if Superman unveiling the outfit.
"Ooooh, Sam! What the fuck happened?"
"I played and lost, I suppose. It's bound to happen when a guy's not careful."
"Still hurt?"
His hand reaching out, as well as his invisible, but shown feelings, Jim's hand reached into Sam's shirt cavity, gliding over the red abs.
"Owch!"
"Sorry, Sam. When did you have this done? I mean, when..."
"I know what you mean. This past weekend. Met him in a chat room. I guess I should've checked him out further, but I was so horned up for it. Know what I mean?"
"Let your guard down, I take it and I've always known you to be so careful."
"What can I say, Jim? When the dick takes over, it's tough to put on the brakes."
"So true. Nips look so tender. Hurt?"
"Somewhat. One of his favorite places to play."
"They look raw to me."
"It's not like he didn't apologize."
"What do you mean? Didn't you agree on limits? Safewords?"
"That we did, but he got a little carried away when it came to the nip torture."
"A little? Hey, an agreement is an agreement. If he said safewords are in and doesn't adhere by it then, in my book, that's a crime."
Sam didn't say anything. Jim turned the key, flicked on the overhead blinking lights and traversed the shoulder, till he turned off.
"Sorry Jim."
"For what, Sam?"
"I should have realized how good I had it with you... hey, where are we going?" Sam changed his train of thought, that inner sacredness coming over him, seeing the big `H' sign.
"Get you some treatment."
"Stop the car now, Jim! You know damned well I can't walk into a hospital or a doctor's office with wounds like this and...."
With them entering the hospital grounds, Jim turned into a bus stop, putting it in neutral.
"Listen, Sam. I care about you."
"I know you Jim. Likewise, but..."
"You've got some serious cuts and bruises. I mean your nips look wasted. Also, you know I wouldn't do anything to embarrass you. I'll got a friend who can treat you and `look the other way'."
"What do you mean by that, Jim?"
"Hey, you're not the only one that's walked away from a bdsm session, gone bad."
"You?"
"Not me, but I've known guys, some frat guys, others, who have needed the kind of medical attention you require, `off the record'."
"Precisely why I tried doctoring myself up. Okay, Jim. Let's go."
Sensing the trust, a loving trust, Jim smiled, as he set the patrol car in gear.
"So, who is this friend of your's?"
"Remember, in our junior year at Berkeley, Sam?"
"Oh, do I!"
"Hee hee... the apex of our bdsm play, huh?"
"I have no complaints."
"I know you don't... r'member that guy that came to watch a few times?"
"Red-haired curious kid? Yeah, I remember. Brought a notepad along, to take notes, reading our sessions like a seminar?"
"That's the kid. Well, like us, he got his business degree, then cut loose on another profession."
"Don't tell me. He's a doctor at the hospital here?"
"He delved into sports medicine and is employed by Advantage Fitness and moonlights at the hospital."
"Oooooh, I know who you mean... Freddie?"
"Bingo!" Jim chimed out, as if Sam won the pot.
"He sure liked getting his hands all over me!"
"Yeah, I know. Saved him from fucking your ass, too."
"Freddie wanted to fuck me?"
"Never knew he had a crush on you, did you?"
"Well, I'll be!"
"Hee heeee... all the times he had you right in front of him, bound for the taking and he never took you."
"Um, would he, if you weren't there?"
"One thing you gotta know, Sam. Firstly, Freddie is a real gentleman. Second, he plays fairly. Third, he's a safe player. Fourth, he's a hell of a top in bed!"
That fourth point made Sam laugh out loud.
"So, he had the hots for me, eh?"
"That he did. Might still do."
"And just what are you insinuating, Jim?"
"Oh nothing."
"No, wait. Freddie ever hook up with a guy?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"Hmm..."
"What? Don't you trust me, Sam?"
"Trust you, Jim? After getting fucking tied up in bondage for four years, plus, I don't trust you?"
Fading out on the conversation, Jim parked the patrol car, yellow lining it, then made his exit, opening the opposite door for his passenger.
"Hey, I'm not an invalid, you know?"
"Yeah, well any guy that can't button up his shirt properly, definitely needs assistance, Sam!"
Looking down his front, Sam replies, "Oops," realigning his shirt buttons.
"Forget that now. Pretty soon you'll be stripping it."
As the two walked side by side through the automatic doors of county general, thoughts, past and present began flashing through Sam's mind. He thought of the red-haired hottie that sat in on their bdsm sessions, the hands that afterwards pawed his pectorals, abdomen and other areas of interest. Sam recalled that it wasn't just Jim's presence that gave his cock the `willies'.
"Do you think Freddie remembers me?"
"Let me put it this way, Sam. Do you think asking me how you're doing, every chance I get to see Freddie, tells you something?"
"I'd say it means something."
Not having seen Freddie, since their brief encounter yesterday at Advantage Fitness, Sam remains on edge.
"He saw me yesterday. How come he acted so cool, Jim?"
"Hey, you don't bring up stuff like this in public."
"True, dah!" Sam smiled.
Entering the `Sports Med' department, Jim ushered the twenty-eight year old through the glass door, heralding Dr. Frederic Burkhalter's name, printed on the door, in verdant lettering. Both of their eyes became alert, at the bare-chested jock, unraveling his shirt down the front of his body, upon leaving Dr. Burkhalter's office. Frederic noticed how the two twenty-eight year old buds noticed.
"Sam, Jim... this is Emilio Vasquez."
Exchanging greetings, as well as handshakes, Emilio departed right after.
"Nice shape... I mean guy," Jim replied.
"All `Advantage' men have nice shapes!" Frederic quipped.
"Very nice," Sam added.
However, Sam's mind was on something else.
"So? Is this business or pleasure, Jim?"
"Could be both, but I'd like you to check out Sam here, Freddie."
"Hmm... never had a problem with checking out Sam before... ahem!" he smiled, with intent.
Knowing the keyed in facts, Sam seriously began to think about the pleasure aspect, shelving the professional part.
"Are you going to tell him or I, Sam?"
Dr. Burkhalter looked to each, then asked, "Oh, so this isn't a social call after all?"
"Sam?"
Removing his shirt tail from his pants, Sam began unfastening his shirt buttons.
Going for the latch on the door, Jim warns, "Off the records, Freddie."
It's then that Frederic's demeanor turned from merry to a more serious attitude.
"Oh my... oh my word!"
Right away he set about to tear off the paper on the examination table, left off from Emilio's bare body.
"Here, up on the table," Frederic placed his hand, patting the black, cushy surface, making a slapping sound against the thin tissue paper. "What the fuck happened to you?"
"I..." Sam spoke a bit with embarrassment..."Plain and simple. I wasn't careful enough."
"That I can see. Hot wax?"
"Among other things. Clamps and an over zealous, frisky, obsessed dominant top?"
"That'll do it," the doctor reported. "Hold on a second."
Picking up the phone, Frederic dialed a few numbers.
"Avery? Yes.... I want you to call all my patients scheduled for today and cancel... I know... reschedule them for next week... I know it's going to make it tight, Avery... Very good. Yes... Then step inside the office. I'm going to need your assistance."
Right away, Sam began to panic.
"But..."
However, Frederic put his fingers to his lips, shushing Sam's attempts at protesting that another man should be alerted to his bdsm dilemma.
"Oh don't you worry, Avery," Frederic finished up his conversation, eyes looking over Sam, laid out on the examination table, naked from the waist up, "I do believe missing your lunch will be a small price to pay, Avery."
Sam looked to Jim, who shrugged his shoulders, as much in the dark as he.
After pressing the handheld digit, to disconnect, Frederic replies, "I think you can leave Sam with me now, Jim."
He wanted to stay, to see what treatment' Frederic had in store for Sam, but kept drawing upon the house guest' he had at home, plus it's been a few hours.
"You will keep me informed, Freddie?"
"Of course Jim, but don't you worry. Sam will be in good hands."
With his hand on the inside door knob, a hand reached for the knob on the outside, simultaneously.
"No doubt," Jim replied, referring to the `in good hands'.
Attached to outdoor knob, Jim looked the young man up and down.
"By the way, Jim, this is my receptionist, Avery Giugni."
"Pleasure," Jim shook hands, keyed in to more than the cordial extension of the word.
"Nice to meet you, Officer Kirk."
With a strange look, Jim asks Avery, "Have we met before?"
"Oldest cliché in the book, no Officer Kirk?"
Smiling, Jim didn't give reply.
Avery offered, "Berkeley, six or seven years ago, the bdsm party?"
"Damn, you'd think I'd remember!"
"Really, Jim," Frederic acknowledged, "the kid that taught you all those nifty rope tricks?"
"Yes! I do remember! Yes, Avery, but....."
Laughing, Avery informed Jim, "I went by the name `Rod', to protect my future identity."
"Rod, yes. Hmm.... I meant to tell you the name matched you perfectly."
Avery blushed, but knew darn well his 10c would be the one thing guys wouldn't forget.
"Thanks."
Moving on, Avery glanced towards the examination table.
Joking, he asks, "So, who's the stud on the bondage table today, Dr. Burkhalter?"
Avery didn't wait for a reply.
With his hand gliding over Sam's pecs, purposely missing the red, raw nips, he states, "Somebody did a number on you."
"I know," Sam commented, kind of embarrassed.
His face showed it.
"Hey, babe. Don't fret. You would not be the first guy who's made a mistake."
Being 5 feet and 9 inches tall, Avery stood almost in Sam's face, so it wasn't tough not to stare. A smile begat a smile, as the two connected.
"Ahem! Yes, well I guess I better be going. Nice meeting you `again', Avery."
"Sure," Avery replied, his eyes still glued on Sam.
Whispering to Frederic, Jim softly said, "And I always thought it would be you two."
Smiling, Frederic replies, "Those days are gone. We all have to move on, Jim."
He watched as Frederic, six years older, looked to the two at the examination table.
"By the way, Freddie, I've got a guy waiting for me at home, if you're interested in stopping by later."
"A bottom boy?"
"Well, he still needs to be convinced of that."
"Muscled?"
With an evil grin, Jim replies, "Your type!"
"Um, Avery?"
"Yes, Dr. Burkhalter?"
"How would you like to try out everything I've taught you?"
Inquiring, on the sketchy side, Jim asks Frederic, "He a doctor?"
"Still in training, but on his way. Let's say he knows more than any text book can teach him."
"Well, I know he has a good teacher," Jim offers the congenial comment.
"Thanks, Jim. By the way, do you have enough toys?"
Jim replies, "Does Pavoratti know how to sing?"
"Let me wash up and grab my jacket."
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17 Continued....
Copyright 2006 T. Chase McPhee This story may not be sold or made part of any collection without prior written permission.