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" 07 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
% "Steve?"
"Raavi, how are you doing?"
Raavi tried to rise up out of the bed, but the orderly next to him held him down.
"Whooooa there, young man."
Now Officer Jim Kirk had a predicament on his hands. Here, he had already warmed up to Steve Kestner and now, the orderly holding Raavi down began to stir his loins. Sometimes Jim couldn't understand why his cock would switch guys like that!
"You know this room is off limits?" The punk looking orderly stated.
"What's the matter? You blind?" Jim asks the older twenty-something guy.
"I don't give a shit what some badge says. Just because you're a flatfoot doesn't mean you can throw your weight around!"
Steve, now standing closer to the bed Raavi occupies, watches the confrontation take place. Only knowing a fraction of what Jim Kirk is like, he waits it out, to see how this is going to pan out. For now, Jim, hands on his hips, looks the guy up and down. Steve wasn't sure, but in his own opinion, he thought the orderly might be gay.
"Is that so?"
"Yeah and furthermore...."
Sure as shooting, Steve figured that this is where the shit was going to hit the fan.
The orderly takes Jim's badge in his fingertips and announces, "I don't give a damn what some tin badge cop says. This is my patient and my responsibility and I don't give a shit how you think this," referring to the badge, now pulled away from Jim's shirt, "is used to push people around. Get it through your head, officer, that I'm not one of those guys that can be controlled by authoritative means!"
Looking down, as well as up, Steve noticed Jim's reactions. That bulge in his crotch meant something. He knew about feelings like that. He experienced it just this afternoon with Max Verraros. Like himself, he knew Jim was eating up the verbal abuse, chewing it up and swallowing it all the way down to his churning balls.
"So, what are you going to do about it, if I don't leave, `sir'?"
"Steve, what..." Raavi tried to interject a thought about the two.
"Just a sec, Raavi," Steve replied, his hand on Raavi's bare shoulder.
Two things in progress, the `Jim vs. orderly' confrontation and now, for Raavi, he lost interest in one thing, to take in the manly hand placed on his flesh. Even though his opposite limb contained an intravenous unit, he slowly reached over to his other bicep, touching Steve's hand.
Reacting to the touch of the eighteen year old, Steve looks down, smiles and asks, "You alright?"
Raavi, still in a week, drugged up state, manages to smile, then close his eyes, his hand still on Steve's. Looking down, Steve widens the smile, taking Raavi's hand and placing the needled arm back in place.
"Hey, what are you doing?" The orderly then turned to Steve, seeing him handling Raavi's more sensitive arm, moving Steve's hand away.
Surprising himself, Steve comes out with, "Fuck off, man. You touch me again and I'll break your hand!" While the orderly is trying to formulate his words, Steve thinks to himself, `Where the hell did that come from?'
From Jim's lips, a faint comment surfaces, "Oh shit, is this hot!" His hand has already dove into his pocket. The officer can't believe that, twice in one day, he's let two guys take control of him. Two men, that normally he would have slapped the cuffs on them, hauling their asses off to jail.
"Yeah, uh look. I guess I was a little pretentious, man. The name's Ian Ringold."
Holding out his hand, Steve lets it hang for a moment before extending his own.
"Steve Kestner."
"Nice grip," Ian replies. "Workout?"
"Mostly 5/7."
Another thing that disturbed Steve occurred, in past experiences, when a guy was friendly, he always was the same back. Right now, it was as if he was on his guard for some reason. He couldn't exactly put his finger on the transition involved.
"Um, I have to be on my way, Steve."
As Jim approaches the foot of the bed, Ian changes like day and night, his demeanor, as chatting with Steve.
"Got a piece of paper and a pen, `pig'?"
Lips formed an `o', similar to this morning when Max Verraros was in control, humiliating the hell of him, Steve looked at the police officer. Not at all perturbed by Ian's remark, Jim looked to Steve. With quick thinking, Steve recalled this morning, how he wanted, no, had the strong urge to be dominated by Max Verraros. He then figured Jim Kirk had been experiencing the same.
Steve added to the scenario, in favor of Jim, "What are you waiting for `pig'?"
"Um... sure," Officer Kirk humbly accepted.
As if waiting for confirmation from Steve that it had been alright to comply, Jim whipped out his notebook, tore a page out and produced a pen.
"I want your full name, phone number and schedule for the rest of the week. Got that?"
"Yep."
Recalling Verraros' remarks, regarding respect this morning, Steve adds, without thinking, "I don't believe you're letting the `pig' get away with that disrespectful attitude, Ian!"
Not having much experience himself at this domination stuff, Steve could detect Ian a novice at it, himself. However, Steve knew enough to get the ball rolling. Holding a finger up to signify, `hold on a sec', Steve walks the few paces to where Jim is writing, leaning on the tray table that becomes mobile at will. He places his foot on the bottom track, pressuring it, sliding the table away from Jim's writing implement.
"Heeeey! What tha..." Jim says.
"Don't care much for your attitude, `pig'," is all Steve says, arms folded across his chest.
Taking the hint, Ian approaches from behind.
Daringly, he lightly swats Jim in the back of the head, adding, "Are you as dumb as you look or what?"
"On your knees when you're addressing your..." Steve fished for some more vocabulary that was used this morning, "masters."
If Steve and Ian could be inside Jim's balls, they would have been experiencing a white-water rafting challenge churning up to huge proportions.
Placing his hand on Jim's shoulder, as Ian remembered from the `Superman II' movie, where General Zod places his hand on Superman's shoulder, driving the superhero into submission, he helps press Jim down into the submissive state. So, picture it. The young Indian kid, asleep in the hospital bed, the guy that came to see him standing in front of the cop sitting on his knees, on the hospital room floor and the rough, punk orderly behind the uniformed cop.
"Looks like he's got one thing going for him," Steve notices, as he picks up the piece of paper.
"What's that, Steve?"
"At least he can follow directions. Here's the pig's schedule and phone number," Steve replies to Ian.
"I guess he isn't as stupid as he looks."
"Still, Ian. Training this cop-slut," Steve surprised himself at where these terms came from that poured from his lips, "is going to be a bitch!"
"I'm up for a challenge, if he is..."
"I am!" Jim replied, a slight grin on his face, making sure he's not passed up on this opportunity to be dominated.
Pouring on the lingo from his own experience, Steve reprimands, "Did we say you could talk, Jim?"
He looks back over his shoulder, then at Steve, replying, "Um, no."
Then, as if Verraros himself is standing there, Steve replies, "Twenty-five demerits!"
"Demerits?" Ian questions.
"Demerits?" the police officer utters, from his knees.
"Um, yeah," Steve replies, "a start towards his training," addressing Ian.
Then, stealing the little book from Jim's uniform, shirt pocket, he finds a blank page, writes demerits' at the top, followed by 25' underneath.
"There, Ian. That's a start. Anytime your... um, boy steps out of line, you write in demerits."
Tearing the page out, Steve hands it to Ian. He folds the book shut, pressing it back into Jim's pocket. He smiles to himself, knowing the corner of the book poked Jim in the nip!
Obviously, Steve recognized that Ian didn't get the gist of the `demerit system', so he handled the rest of the protocol.
"Now get up and get your carcass out of here, cop-slut!"
"But...."
"Another 10 demerits," Steve tells Ian, "because your boy hasn't asked permission to speak from his master."
Steve, like Verraros did to him this morning, explained the protocol, while dictating the punishment. He figured he would be informing the master, as well as the boy, what was expected, something he sensed being proud about, making the `good move'.
"10 demerits, it is," Ian Ringold wrote down.
"Permission to speak?" Jim addressed Steve.
"Ian, your boy wants you," Steve redirected Jim's inquiry.
"What is it boy?" Ian played along.
"Will you be calling me tonight?"
Catching the next infraction, Steve says to Ian, "Another 10 demerits for disrespect." Then telling Jim, Steve says, "He's sir' to you, boy'!"
As Ian writes under the 10', another 10', he then tallies it up, "That's a total of 45 demerits, boy." Then, getting in the swing of the dominant master role, Ian tells Jim, "I'll be in touch. After we get these 45 demerits squared away, then we can start on your training."
His cock already at the maximum potential, balls churning away, the twenty-eight year old police officer slowly began to get up.
Getting into the humiliation game himself, Steve utters, "Did your master tell you to get up?"
Looking to Steve, getting a nod, Ian replies, "Yeah, who the fuck gave you permission to rise, slave?"
Ian thought it cool, adding his own vocabulary. Yeah, this domination stuff was really starting to turn him on. Big time!
"May I please get up?" Jim asked quaintly.
"Forget something?" Steve sings out.
They both look at Steve.
Ian then recalls, "10 demerits for not addressing me properly."
With his statement, Jim realizes something. The guy he brought to the hospital wasn't the guy carring away his thoughts. He felt so strong about developing something with Steve, yet it's this orderly that caught his attention, instating a connection. Not paying strict attention to the build, could it be that he's developing a fetish for muscular boys?
"Permission to stand and speak, sir?" Jim applied to Ian.
"Go ahead," Ian replied.
However, instead of facing Ian, Jim looked to Steve.
"I know I tried coming on to you, Steve, but..."
Jim couldn't find the words to express himself.
"Look, Jim. It's okay. I understand. Like the cliche goes, `we weren't meant for each other'."
Then, reaching down, boldly doing something Steve has never even thought of doing to another man, he grabs Jim's balls, not hard, but lightly.
"I think you and Ian are going to have some fun together. See where it leads."
Then, with his other hand, Steve brings Jim's lips to his.
Parting, Jim adds, "You're something, Steve. Really something."
Without thinking, Steve smiles, affirming his friendly affection by giving Jim's balls a little tug.
"Ooooooh," Jim replies.
"Hmmm, Ian. Looks like I found one of Jim's hot spots."
"Is that so?" Ian replies, touching the `hot spot', when Steve releases it.
"Oooooh yeah!" Jim replies, arching his back, closing his eyes, dropping his head back.
Next, as if a test, Ian closes the gap, his fist drawing the space tighter in his grasp.
"Oooooohakkkkkoooooh!"
Smiling, Ian replies, "Oh fuck yeah!"
Within the circumference of thirty seconds, Ian tests Jim, squeezing and loosening up on his balls, sending Jim teetering between pain and pleasure.
After releasing Jim's crotch, Ian replies, "Hell, are we going to have a lot of fun!"
Then, using one of the oldest cliches known to man, Jim asks, "Your place or mine?"
As Jim was leaving, Steve felt a slight melancholy over the brief, affectionate encounter.
Smiling, Steve told the police officer, upon his departure, "And Jim?"
"Yes, Steve?"
"Don't cum until your master gives you permission?" Meant as an instructional device, as well.
Joking, Jim replies, "Fine friend you turned out to be!"
However, with the two, Ian and Steve on the other side of the hospital room door, Jim smiled, a new sense of excitement entering his life.
`Oh shit!' he called out to himself, looking around to see if anyone saw him rubbing his crotch. He giggled to himself, noticing the hallways empty, except for Matthew, way down the end. Snapping his fingers, Jim figured it wouldn't hurt to see what Matthew knows about Ian.
%
Continued.....
Copyright 2006 T. Chase McPhee This story may not be sold or made part of any collection without prior written permission.