See original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritaria/ravens-claw/) for warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex between young-adult and adult men. Go away if any of that is against the rules for who/where you are. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to Nifty TODAY at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.
Jackson and Paul had their heads together and were whispering furiously on tactics. The looks that Jackson had given Aaron made it abundantly clear who his target would be, but it was equally-clear that Paul had the same prey in mind. Vinny was less dejected now but still ostracized by the team. Overall, though, the mood was upbeat, and looking at the swinging (or bobbing) dicks, there was an incredibly-apt pun in there as well.
Raven's Claw 6: The Art of Romance (N2)
By Bear Pup
Vinny was dying inside a little at a time. He had resolved to do everything in the homework, which meant getting someone else off. He looked around at the guys, none of whom seemed willing to meet his eye and Vinny quailed at the thought. He finally decided to approach Bobby who was just coming back from the food machine. "Um, Bobby? Can I, um, can I talk to you while you eat?"
Bobby looked at him, thinking how lost and terrified the normally-cocky bruiser was. Even with the guy's constant taunts, he didn't really have it in him to crush the kid any further. He jerked his head and the two went into the alcove across from the door. The Social Room was shaped like a T. The long, thick axis contained the furniture and screens, and let onto six rooms, four of which they knew to be bedrooms. You entered the space from the hallways through one bar of the T, with the food machine to your right and the long axis to the left. Both the entry area and the alcove across offered some modicum of privacy, at least enough for a soft-spoken conversation.
Bobby started eating his sandwich and drinking his smoothie. He just cocked an eyebrow and Vinny sputtered a moment before getting himself under control.
"I. Uh, I'm really sorry that I used to be so nasty to you and all."
Bobby mumbled around his food, "Used to? When did it change?"
Vinny swallowed the bile that brought into his throat. "T-T-T-Today. I."
"What are you getting at, Vinny?" Bobby watched as a tear formed at the corner of the normally-unflappable bully's eye.
"C-C-C-Can I... Can I get you off?"
Bobby couldn't help it. The laugh escaped before he could squash it. He saw, though, how much it had cost Vinny to say that, and just how brutalizing his own laugh had been. He swallowed his bite. "No, Vinny." The tear actually fell and Bobby realized just how hard it was to be a heartless prick. "But, Vinny, I'm sorry I laughed. Tell me why you asked me of all people?"
Vinny couldn't look up at the younger, beautiful teammate. "N-N-N-N-No. It will make it worse," he mumbled.
"Ya know, I don't think it will."
Vinny shot him an eye-blink glance then away. He was approaching his breaking point and knew it, but who else could he talk to? "Bec-c-c-cause you're the one I'm least afraid of."
Bobby rocked back like he'd been slapped. It was seriously the last answer on Earth he could ever have expected. "Vinny? But you're NEVER afraid, dude. I've never seen you afraid."
Vinny finally looked up to see if Bobby was baiting or mocking him and only saw genuine confusions and, he prayed he was right, a little compassion as well.
His voice was small and young, utterly devoid of Made Man accent and cocky assurance, the voice of a lost child in a terrifying world. "No. I've never let anyone see. But I'm so, so scared. I've always been scared. And now, everything I thought I knew is wrong and everything, everything," he hiccoughed, "everything is all fucked up and I don't know how to fix it."
Bobby sat, stunned, and waited until Vinny composed himself. "Vinny, I'm not gonna lie to you man. You really did fuck up with some of the shit you said since, you know, since they brought us back from whatever. But you know damned good and well how to fix this."
Vinny's head popped up, "Huh?"
"Man up, dude. Start by being human to us. Start by apologizing, and then prove you mean it. Stop being Vinny for a change. Be whoever is underneath. I don't know who that is, but there's got to be a human in there someplace."
Vinny stared for a long, long time as Bobby finished his meal. He coughed his voice back into operation. "You're right. I'm. I. I am really sorry."
"Dude, I am the last one you need to apologize to. Other than the fag-fest comment when Ned and I realized we were both alive, you haven't fucked with me. There's two people you seriously need to make it right with. I'll tell you what." Bobby said, considering. "I won't tell you I'm gonna let you put your hands on me, at least not yet. But you make it right, or at least start to, with Ned and Matt and I promise I won't laugh you off if you ask again."
"Matt? Why Matt?"
"Jesus. You really don't know how big a fuckwad you've been, do you? You do everything but spit whenever he's nearby. You make it clear that you only tolerate him on the team because of the AC and you think he's weak and useless. You think he doesn't see that? Christ, Bianchi, pull your head out of your ass."
Vinny just stared at Bobby, jaw working without a sound.
"I'll tell you what. Since I know for a fact that neither would let you get close enough to say boo, I'll get whichever one you want to start with to come down here. And I'll make sure they listen for a minimum of a ten-count. Orrrrrrrrr, you can rot in the bully-barred hell that you've made for yourself. Offer expires in Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six."
"Junior! I mean Matt."
Bobby shrugged. "Wait here."
Bobby went to Matt who was trying unsuccessfully (but lusciously) to recreate that pose Sean had given him. He had a small audience and was enjoying it. Bobby walked up and spoke softly. "Matt. Can you do me a favor? No, not THAT favor. This one is gonna be a lot har-- more difficult." Bobby caught himself just in time and could see that Matt had been ready to pounce on the pun.
Matt shrugged. "Sure."
Matt froze like a statue when he rounded the corner with Bobby behind him. Vinny was there, leaning nervously against the wall in front of the padded bench. Bobby knew it was terror and shame, but Matt clearly read the other's face as fury. He spun to flee and gave Bobby such a look of betrayal that Bobby had to speak.
"Matt. Give Vinny a chance to talk, then you leave. Okay?"
"What's he gonna do to me?" Matt was clearly and understandably expecting to get his ass kicked.
"Nothing. I swear." Vinny's voice was heart-wrenching to hear. The calm, arrogant bravado crushed to oblivion. Matt turned slowly. "I just wanted to say how s-s-s-sorry I am. I've, I, uh, I've been a prick and a, a, a..."
"A bully and an asshole? That what you were going for?" Matt's voice was brittle, still expecting a fight of some sort.
Vinny just hung his head and nodded miserably. Matt spun to face Bobby, fury and confusion battling for control of his features. "What the fuck is this about, Wagner?"
"Vinny has decided he'd like to try joining the human race. I, just me I mean, I think it's fair to help him out a little. At least until we find out if there's a human under all that." Bobby lowered his voice until only Matt could possibly hear. "The tables are turned, Matt. The bully is the one cowering in a corner. I... I thought I'd like it. But it makes me a little queasy. Does it really feel good to you knowing that you can crush him like he did us?" He let Matt look at Vinny. "You don't have to help, but I just think I want to prove that I'm better than he was, than all the bullies were. That I had the chance to kick his nuts to pulp... to make him cry like a girl... and I said no."
Matt turned back to Bobby and scowled. "You are a Grade A dick, you know that? I've dreamed of... never mind. Just... never mind." He pushed past with one last, loathing, near-murderous look at Vinny, but Bobby knew he had won at least enough that Matt would get out of the way if he didn't actually help.
Bobby wandered out and found Ned trying to cajole Aaron into a quick 20 points. Aaron, though, was trying to decide which seduction was getting to him more, Paul or Jackson. "Ned, a word?" Ned sighed, knowing he'd lost anyway.
Before they reached the other end, Bobby stopped him cold, and whispered. "Ned, you gotta trust me on this, okay?"
Ned looked perplexed. "I thought you wanted to, you know, have a few points of fun?" He smirked.
"I want that in the worst fucking way Ned. You have no idea." Ned's smell was doing incredibly things to Bobby, just as his own beauty was about to undo Ned's control. "But I need something a lot more difficult right now. Okay?"
Ned was openly worried now, as well as aroused. "Of course, Bobby. You know that. Anything."
Bobby sighed and pulled Ned around the corner. After a single glance, he threw off Bobby's arm. "No! Fuck that!"
"You said anything."
"I fucking lied!"
"Vinny? Ten count!"
"Ned. I. I'm sorry. I fucked up real bad. You covered for me even after what I d-d-d-did. I know you won't forgive me, but can you let me t-t-t-try to be better?"
"No! Not just no, FUCK no!" He whirled, "And fuck you for tricking me into listening to this prick whine at me. Get off me, Wagner." He stormed back to the other end of the room, getting a lot of stunned stares as he vented fumes of pure rage.
Bobby turned to the openly-crying Vinny and sighed deeply. "Well, that was a flat loss, but at least the other match will go to the judges. Stay here for a while. Pull yourself together. Decide who and what you're gonna be. I won't get in your way, and if you stop being a prick I'll even try to help. Best offer I got, dude." He reached out and patted the grieving Vinny on the shoulder and returned to the group at large.
Paul's wrist DINGed and he sighed. It was clear that Jackson was gonna score on Aaron after all and the best he could do was retire gracefully. The DING gave him the excuse he needed. He pulled himself together and willed every single muscle into place, rolling his walk down the middle and attracting plenty of licked lips and attention from those not already committed (or those already complete). He pulled something that he thought of as a fruit burrito out of the machine just as he heard the snuffle.
Paul turned to see Vinny, face to the wall, clearly either crying or just finishing a jag. Paolo thought back and could not recall a single time, ever, when Vinny let anyone see him cry. Even the time he and an opponent fell wrong and everyone, including Vinny, thought his knee was gone forever -- not a drop. Paul took a bite of his whatever and sauntered over. Vinny looked up, then did a double-take. Paul saw undisguised lust there for a moment before something, something ashamed or desperate, shut it down.
"Dude, you look like fuck. What up wit dat?"
Vinny looked down. "I'm a bully and a prick and an asshole."
"Well, yeah. Like, duh."
Vinny looked up and saw the smirk and tried his own wan smile. "And I don't wanna be that anymore."
"Tall order, camarada, that's a lot of undoing to be doing. You finally getting it into your head that our pussy-centric world ain't there no more, boy?" Vinny nodded miserably again. "And since you called every swinging caralho on your own damn team a faggot pussy, you thinking it might be tough for you to bounce back?" Vinny nodded again. "Yeah, you got a problem. What you gonna do about it?"
"I tried apologizing." Vinny's voice was flat and dead. "I don't know what now."
"Well, I got an idea. You got the colhoes to show you in this for real? Get you-self together and come in there and ask to jack me off, right in front of ever-body. Then do it. And first person ask you to let him do you, say yes and you moan like a fuckin whore. Maybe then they listen you apologizing. Tell you this. You can't lose no more respect, camarada."
About ten minutes later as Paolo posed and was just getting Ned's attention, Vinny walked out. His signature strut was missing, but in its place was simple determination. He was going into a ring with someone he knew was gonna kick his ass all over the mat, but he was up for it.
Paul and Bobby, ears already tuned to listen for it, could hear the tremor of real fear in his voice, but they doubted anyone else could. "Yo, di Silva, you gonna let me milk you dry, camarada?"
Paolo smiled. "And why I do dat ting?"
"Cuz I'm a-gonna make youse scream for mercy then scream for more, big man." Vinny knelt between Paul's stretched legs. "Youse up for dat?" Paul chuckled.
"You got eyes, caralho? How much more up you want me?"
Vinny reached up and began to quite simply make love to Paul's dick with his hands, letting them roam around his teammate's body until he really did have the Brazilian moaning. Everything else in the room stopped as they watched Vinny, his face transformed from arrogant bully to driven, focused stud milking and massaging the ripped, tanned teammate into a frenzy. In about seven minutes, Paolo began to cuss a blue streak in his native tongue and blew like a cannon, complete with roar.
Even Paul was stunned and it showed on his face as Vinny stood and ran his hand through the mess on Paul's smooth belly. He brought the hand to his own erection and gave himself a couple of slow strokes. "Damn, you really are the stud" Vinny smiled down at the gasping Paul, "and smooth as fucking butter to boot." Every single eye followed Vinny as he lazily laid back on a different couch, still stroking softly, and grabbed a digidesk.
Ned's eyes were narrow and Matt's wide, but Aaron was calculating. He walked up and said, "You take as well as you give, big man?"
"Oh, fuck yeah. Aaron, do me and I will make yose fucking night."
Aaron leaned into Vinny, determined to test this to the limits. He knew -- well, he was pretty sure -- this was an act and he was going to break it. Aaron captured Vinny in a kiss and felt the tremor as Vinny instinctively tried to pull away then overrode the reaction. If anything, he kissed back harder, moaning into it. Aaron set to work. Having already cum explosively thanks to Jackson's skilled work, he could focus and find all of Vinny's hidden buttons.
Vinny had never been touched before, except for Ben that day, and his nerves were on fire. Like a switch thrown, the moaning act vanished, replaced with involuntary whimpers and whines and cries of pleasure as Aaron worked magic on his body. Far, far too soon, he started to moan higher and higher and used both his arms to lock Aaron's head in the kiss as he screamed in exultation into his teammate's mouth, blowing like a firehose and bucking like one as well.
When he came back down, Aaron was still locked in his embrace, looking a bit shell-shocked and waiting for the vindictive Vinny to return. Instead, Vinny pulled him gently close and looked into his eyes. "Youse are fucking amazing, man. Fucking amazing," before bringing him into a new and tender kiss.
Leo damn near crowed in joy, but stifled his reaction as he looked around at the tense, fierce faces in the glow of the monitors. He had his headphones on, but still couldn't escape the pervasive mood of the room. Rob and Wilkins were both at stations, and both were sweating. Devon was so tense that, with his incredibly tall, thin frame, he looked like a bow-string ready to snap. Howie, though, Howie was the determined calm in the midst of the circus.
They'd brought Assistant Coach Matt Sparks, Senior, affectionately known as that Sick Fucking Bastard, out of forced unconsciousness just minutes before, right when the cocktail of hallucinogens went into full swing.
From the AC's perspective, he floated from a sea of nothingness to one of blackness and silence. The difference was subtle, but profound. He was in a strange position with no clear understanding of up or down, and his limbs wouldn't move or at least not that he could tell.
In fact, he was in a suede sling, immobilized at nearly every joint with bindings that, even were he not stoned out of his mind, he still would have had a hard time feeling. Over his entire face was a full-vision 3D visor with soft puffs of skin-temp air keeping them from steaming up. What they showed right then was a textured black-on-black world. The slightly-modified Shure headphones isolated his auditory world just as perfectly.
The AC gradually became aware of soft and distant sounds. A heartbeat, a rattle, simple musical notes, a baby's laughter. He smiled contentedly as Wilkins peered closely at the readouts. "He seems to be susceptible. Starting the visual." The AC's world slowly took on depth and color. Images were vague, but every color was intensely-crisp and rich. The sounds were disjointed but strangely clear, distinct, bell-like. It was a Fischer Price world of simple shapes, pure sound and powerful colors. A toddler's world. Scents came and went quickly; grass, a rainstorm, bacon, earth, salt spray. He was suspended in a world over which he had no control, not even to turn and look at other things. He was happy about that, though.
"Pfwewwwwwww. Okay. I've got some basics. Stressor colors and scents, relaxation triggers, a few that are pretty clearly fear-related. Where do you want him, Howie?"
"Give me relaxation colors and the mildest stress triggers. Devon, you're up."
The AC heard someone calling in the distance but couldn't make anything out. Several voices came and went, then a woman's voice was there with a high timbre and a brittle sound. "Aunt Mary? Is that you?" The men in the control room shared satisfied glances. It was working. They got several other names, all of which were actually throw-aways. Mild stress was not useful.
"Let's try for maximum relaxers and safety triggers." They only got three names from that, Peter, Gloria and Mr Painter.
"Okay, give me some fear, Wilkin. Devon, next set, please." They got a lot more names this time, including Momma and Daddy and Uncle Rick along with a dozen others. "Okay. Devon, isolate those voices only and play them in quick succession. Wilkin, give me max stressors all across the board... now."
The AC was in terrible trouble but he couldn't recall what he'd done. He'd been bad. So bad. He could hear his cousin coming for him. "No. NO! Bad Randy! Don't do that!" Then his Momma's voice and he cowered screaming he was sorry, then his pulse quickened and he cried out, "Please, Uncle Ricky! Please let me but please don't do THAT!" He almost wept with relief when things went back to calm and steady and peaceful, back to safety. Then to dimness. Then to darkness. Then to nothingness.
Daniel finally spoke. "Okay, guys. We have what we need. Let this batch of meds work out of his system and give him at least eight hours of actual sleep. We'll hop him up first thing in the morning. Howie, tell Ben he's on his own for the AM session and, yes, I know he's pulling a triple with the overnight. I have a feeling, though, that he just won't mind that much."
Jackson was in shock as he watched Vinny do the unthinkable and really lay into a kiss that for all the world looked sincere and loving. He jumped a foot when he felt a small, sad, timid voice in his ear. "I'm sorry about yesterday. I tried really hard when I did that for you and I'm kinda bummed you didn't really like it that much."
Jackson flipped over. "What you talkin bout, white boy?" Matt's face was sad and pouty.
"You never, you know, even looked at me after. I'm sorry I did it wrong, Jackson." Matt sighed tremulously and walked off and Jackson stared, dumbfounded at that amazingly-beautiful ass writhed away from him. He was on his feet in an instant and easily caught the other boy. He spun the smaller kid around and dropped to one knee.
"Matt, baby. Don't say shit like that. You did great. I mean great." Matt's lip trembled and he looked into the giant black man's eyes through long, seemingly-wet lashes, as if he'd been crying.
"You d-d-d-don't have to pretend. I know I'm not, you know, Aaron..."
"Huh?"
"Well, Aaron got you all hot and everything. And you looked like it was Christmas when he let you, you know, get him off. And I get it. After you two had each other th-th-th-this afternoon. I'll try and get better. I p-p-p-promise. Just don't, you know... just give me a chance again? Please?"
Jackson was beside himself. His mind echoed with his own words, 'I always pay with interest, baby.' Matt, well, Junior then as far as Jackson had known, had damned near extracted his gonads through his cock with the best hand-job of his life. And now the poor kid felt like Pampers that Jackson had shit in and thrown away. He grabbed Matt who was just turning away.
"Don't you do that, baby. Them was assignments, kid. You did things I never thought about, baby. You're magic, honey. You know that."
Matt sniffled miserably. "Don't lie to make me feel good Jackson. I mean, soon as they announced assignments, you and Paul were all over Aaron like cats on cream. You n-n-n-never even looked at me." Deep sigh. "Never mind, just promise you'll let me try again some time?"
"You kidding? I'd give a dozen Aarons for one touch from you, baby. You gotta know that."
Matt's face shone with a glimmer of hope that died instantly. "It's okay, Jackson. I get it. If you meant it you'd have already asked me to do you again. But I promise, swar-ta-god, I really will get better and you'll like it next time."
"Baby! Baby don't say that. You can have me just by snapping a finger, Matt. You special you are. You magic. You want this big black thing, you just whistle."
"I don't know how to whistle." Jackson's heart leapt at the vaguest hint of a smile.
"Come on, give me a touch now, baby. Just a little? Just a taste?"
"You're just teasing me. I feel bad enough, Jackson, without that."
"No. God, baby, look. You got me leaking just thinkin of your sweet hands on me. Come on, baby, make daddy feel good. I'm begging here, honey. You gonna leave your man with blue balls? Ain't nobody else getting this load." Matt tentatively reached forward and Jackson let out and exaggerate moan of delight that echoed across the room.
Rob laughed loudly in the control room and Leo looked up, the only one left after the AC work was over. A cocked eyebrow and Rob pushed him the footage. Leo started to giggle, then roar. "Damn. That little white boy's got both Guilt Trip and Makeup Sex down stone cold and Carter ain't even taught that lesson yet! Dude, this in one hell of a subject group!"
It was a bit unsettling to hear the animalistic howls of ecstasy echo through the room as Matt turned Jackson into a blubbering mass of orgasmic flesh. Ned went up to Bobby and nudged him. "Can we talk?" They peeled away and found a corner to sit in near the utterly-ignored Protectorate News Feed screen, volume all the way off. Bobby was cautious and more than a little unhappy. Actually, he was pissed at the way Ned had thrown him off.
"Bobby, I'm sorry. The Vinny thing? We roomed that first, horrible night. And he was such an evil prick I, I, I cried myself to sleep, Bobby. You gotta understand. I can't just let that shit go."
"So, well, what? Until they m-m-m... ma... make us get h-h-husbands... we're stuck here. With each other. A team, Ned; you remember the whole team thing? And you just, what, want to stew in it? He's one seventh of our entire universe, Ned. He's a prick and a bastard and he's bullied me a fucking hell of a lot longer than you, but so what? I can't be miserable and hateful forever, Ned. I just can't. I'm sorry. But you know something? You know Matt? The guy that everyone on the team including YOU has dissed and that Vinny took every opportunity to cut? HE can get past it. HE can man up. HE can deal, Ned. Fuck. Never mind. Forget it. I'm done."
Ned spun Bobby around as he tried to march off. "Bobby, I'm sorry. You're gonna hate me forever and I don't fucking care. I've wanted to say this since fifth grade. I have wanted... wanted you, Bobby, ever since we met." Bobby's eyes got wide. "There are guys I jacked off over," he chose not to mention that the leading suspect was Bobby's brother, "but you are the only one I dreamed of. I hate Vinny with every cell in my body. I hate him so much it makes me want to puke, Bobby. But if you want me to cut Vinny slack, I-I-I-I'll really try. I can't promise, Bobby, but I'll try."
Bobby flicked his gaze from eye to eye. "You wanted... me? Back in fifth grade?"
"FUCK! Out of all that, THAT is the part you pick? GOD! Yes, Bobby, I have been q-q-q-queer for you since before I even knew what my dick was for. Is that what you want to hear? That I'm a fucking queer? I am, Bobby. I really, really am."
Bobby's voice was low and thoughtful. "N-N-N-N-No. I d-d-didn't want to hear you say you're, well, that. I've wanted since, HA! fifth grade for you to say you l-l-liked me. To admit that I lo... l-l-l-- FUCK IT, that I loved you. It was never sexual, well, fuck; now I've got to question that too! I never thought it was sexual. I just wanted to be around you. Wanted to hear your v-v-v-voice. Wanted to have my arm over your shoulder or yours over mine. Wanted that... that, well, that closeness. FUCK! I am making no sense at all."
"No, Bobby, you're not only making sense, you're making me happier and sadder than I ever thought I could be. Happy that you wanted it and sad that I never had the g-guts to tell you, to ask you. Well, I'm asking you now. Can I, oh God, can I t-t-touch you, Bobby?"
"Every fucking day, Ned."
It wasn't elegant or artful, but the two were suddenly making love to each other with their hands. There was no screaming, no posing, no howls of ecstasy. A few minutes in, Bobby found himself kissing away the tears that were flowing freely from Ned's eyes. With a great, gasping sob, Ned exploded then, coating them both in his slime. The slickness was all it took for Bobby to follow suit a few strokes later.
"I'm so really sorry, Paul. I wanted that to be you, you know." Paul started at Matt's tiny, sad, worried, crushed voice. He'd been watching the clumsy lovemaking of Ned and Bobby that, for all its lack of elegance, was somehow far more erotic and alluring. "I thought, you know, after this m-m-m-morning in the shower, that you... that you'd see how much I wanted you and let-let me try again."
"Huh?"
"But then you d-d-d-didn't even really look at me again. You just kept staring at, flirting with, Aaron. And then you let Vinny," Matt's voice dripped with venom and loathing; Vinny had made it his mission to make 'Junior's' life hell, and Paul had never interfered, "get you off. I am really sorry. You were so nice to me that I thought, that I tried, that I... and you... but I'm just not good enough yet. D-D-D-D-D-Do you think I might be as good as Aaron one day? As good as that fucking b-b-bastard, V-V-V-Vinny?"
Paolo's mind was blown so completely he started speaking in Portuguese before catching himself. "Vinny is a nothing, Matt. You know that. I did it to help the man out, nothing more. And you are already better than Aaron."
Matt reached up and gently touched the side of his hero's face, voice and posture radiating grief and sadness. "I love you for saying that, but it's okay. I get it. I just wanted to say I'm sorry for letting you down." Before Paul could react at all, he was walking away, his rolling ass setting fires inside Paul that he didn't even understand. Matt's resignation and mourning fanned the flames to a conflagration.
Matt felt the breath leave him as his back was flung against the wall. He was instantly wrapped in the arms and body of Paul, his hero and protector for the previous year who had him in a kiss for the ages. Paul pulled back and growled. "Never say that again, my filhone. You are my puppy -- mine, you hear me? I may be a dawg and play the field, but you are the puppy I will always come back to. You hear me, filhone? You feel what you do to me?"
Paul ground his rampant cock into the soft belly of the younger guy, relishing the whimper it brought. Matt looked up, "C-C-C-Can I, um, can I t-t-t-touch it again?" Paul growled ferociously in Matt's ear and Leo and Rob both shared a raucous laugh at the predatory smile of triumph in Matt's face. To two young men began to writhe like snakes, right there against the wall, Paul flushed with his conquest having no idea how well and skillfully he'd been snared. Regardless, it was a vocal and energetic union, and no mistake.
"Okay, got it. No trouble. You know I'd be in the gym in the morning anyway, and it's no trouble taking the guys. You gonna be okay, Howie? You look thrashed, man." Ben was sitting on the counter drinking a cup of gahwah, the thick, black sludge redolent of cardamom traditional from his youth. He nibbled dates to balance the acrid and intense boiled coffee.
"I'll be fine. The Sick Fucking Bastard gets to me. Everything we find out shows just how jacked up this guy is, and I know we've gotten nowhere close to figuring out how badly he screwed up his kid. Keep an eye on Junior -- well, Matt now -- while you're around. I worry about that kid."
"You got it. So, what's new on Sicko? What's the delta?"
"Wilkin regressed him pretty well, we think, and it's pretty clear his psychosexual demons are from far, far earlier than I ever expected. I guess at some level, the bastard is also a victim, but he's a rotten one to the core and no mistake. Anyway, I'm off. I need some good sleep to get ready for tomorrow."
"Okay, but take care, my friend. Don't let his sickness poison you, Howie. Promise?" Howie nodded and smiled sadly, then headed out of the break room. Ben watched as the massive man left, looking sad, sure, but sexy as all fuck. He'd gotten a detailed play-by-play from Rob and his own ass twitched at the thought. Ben was mostly a top, but for Howie? Fuck. Anybody would drop trou and spread 'em for that hunk.
Ben sighed, shot the rest of his gahwah, shuddered, and headed back to the Social Room. It was getting close to time for Room Lock and he would need his strength for Aaron, assuming the stories were to be believed. He entered quietly, unnoticed. No wonder, he smiled, as the overwhelming scent of teen jism smacked him in the face.
Paul and Matt were locked together, literally dripping cum as they continued to writhe and wriggle into each other against the far wall. Bobby and Ned were locked in a tight kiss with Aaron looking on in open bewilderment as Jackson stared, in turn, at the delectable Aaron. Vinny, for the first time Ben had ever seen, was smiling softly and contentedly, languidly caressing his cock and balls.
"Gentlemen," Ben said softly but clearly. Paolo and Matt came apart with the sound of a plunger suddenly extracted from a stubborn drain; Ned and Bobby turned their faces without losing a single square inch of skin contact. "I'm guessing there's about a forty-five minute span before Room-Lock. Remember that the reminder from your band will only give you a thirty-minute window. From the smell in here and the amount of drippage I see, I'm thinking that some of you might want a nice long shower before that? I'd suggest facilities, then a rinse. You have just about enough time."
The guys all smiled, blushing, but made their way across the hall with plenty of locker-room banter and good-natured ribbing. As he'd predicted, they were not even halfway through when the bands all chimed at once announcing the thirty-minute warning.
Ben made his way to the room he'd share that night with Aaron, who came in shyly perhaps twenty minutes later. "I know it's got to be a terrible shock," Ben said in his slow and comforting voice, "but how are you doing, Aaron?"
Aaron sat and stared at the floor for a minute then looked up. His lip was trembling but his voice was fairly steady. "I'm in shock, I guess. Everything I ever learned is wrong. More than wrong; it's upside down! And the way the guys look at me. It's scary. I, well, honestly? I never thought of guys that way, but now? Well, now it's not that bad. But having them so obviously thinking that way about me is... I don't even have words."
Aaron got up and walked slowly over, putting one hand on Ben's arm. In a very soft, tentative voice, he said, "Is it true, what Sean said? That I can t-t-touch guys without even asking?"
Ben had gasped at the touch, his entire body suddenly focused on the spot on his arm where Aaron's fingers lay. He looked up into Aaron's face and nodded, then took his other hand and ran it along the boy's flank. Both sighed.
The frenzy of Sean's lovemaking the night before had left Aaron almost shell-shocked. The exquisite tenderness of Ben, though, blew his mind in completely different ways. As with Sean's energetic drive, Aaron found himself flowing into the gentle lovemaking of his husband-for-the-night. The orgasms -- there were two for each -- were wondrous, but little more than chapter-markers in the overall bliss of hands and skin and lips. They heeded the voice calling for sleep, but ignored the suggestion of separate beds.
The door had just closed behind Vinny and his eyes were still adjusting when he heard Matt say, "Please, Vinny. Please don't hurt me tonight. Please?" Matt's voice was a small, timid, pleading thing. With Paul and Jackson, there had been artifice and calculation. Now there was only raw, pleading fear. It was clear that he believed Vinny's earlier contrition was just a ruse, something to get him by until he could really get Matt alone for the first time since waking in this terrible/wonderful new world.
Vinny stared at the obvious terror on the younger guy's face and felt his heart break yet again. It was, frankly, more than he could take. He sank to corner where floor and wall met his bed and curled into a ball, trying desperately not to cry again. He sat and rocked for a while, vaguely hearing the bed shift across from him.
"Vinny?" The voice was tiny, scared, worried. "Vinny? You okay? You sick?"
"YES!" Matt jumped back a couple yards, shaking. "YES! All right? Yes! I'm sick. I'm a sick fucking bastard and a bully and a useless piece of shit. Okay? Is that what you want to hear? Is that what EVERYONE wants to hear? To hear me admit it? Well, you got it, kid. Vinny is a worthless, sick, evil fuck. Okay? Now just, just, just... just leave me alone." He did cry then, unable to keep in the self-loathing and pain any longer.
"Y-Y-Y-Ya know what I always wanted? When someone -- well, usually you -- said something so mean that it kicked my balls in?" Matt's voice grew closer, slowly. Vinny didn't look up, but yelped and jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "I just wanted someone to say, 'It's gonna be okay.' Well, Vinny, I don't know what's happening to you, to us. But it--it's gonna be okay."
Vinny looked up, red eyes fierce and lost and terrified. Before Matt could react, Vinny has locked his hand around Matt's arm and pulled him down hard. Matt screamed in shock and fright, then gasped when Vinny entire body curled around his smaller frame, clinging to Matt so ferociously that it both scared and awed the younger teammate. Vinny rocked them, sobbing, saying nothing, but clutching Matt like the last parachute on a plummeting plane.
He waited a long while, then muttered, "Uh, Vinny? The, uh, the floor is cold? Can we, you know, get in bed?"
Vinny, beyond the scope of words, finally tugged the unresisting Matt with him and got them under the covers of his bed, still cradling and clutching desperately.
Matt laid there for a long while, thinking of... nothing. His last real thought as he drifted to sleep in Vinny's embrace was, 'Matt, what the fuck have you gotten yourself into now?'
Perhaps the strangest room that night was at the far end. Paul and Bobby just stared at each other, each shocked beyond mere words at all that had transpired that evening. After the longest time, both just snuggled into the covers and were out like a light without hint of passion or need.
Not so much in the next room, though. Jackson was smiling slyly. "You gonna tell me what's up between you and Bobby, Ned?"
Ned cocked his head to one side. "Um... no. No, I don't think so."
"Good. So, you horny still? Wanna fool around?"
"Um... yeah. Yeah I do."
As they wrestled and tickled and teased, Ned suddenly burst out laughing. Jackson pulled back, bemused. "What's that about?"
"I'm really sorry, Jackson," Ned chuckled, "but a phrase just got stuck in my head. 'No, of course romance isn't dead. Why do you ask?'"
Abdullah bin Assam was up early and used his digidesk to enter a single line and shoot it to Daniel, 'Not a fluke. Holy fuck!' Aaron began to stir next to him and the tightly-muscled man just watched. When the youth finally came fully awake, there was the obligatory moment of Morning Amnesia before his eyes cleared and he smiled up at Ben who was propped on one elbow to get a better view of the young man. "Morning, sunshine. How do you feel today? Sleep well?"
Aaron stretched and yawned, dragging the sheet off him completely, unveiling his morning wood like a new statue outside a library. "I've never slept better in my life, Ben. And I know why, too." He leaned up into the older man and kissed him softly, then deeper until it became a passionate embrace. Ben melted into the young, lithe, powerful body, moaning in surrender.
He tried to think of a time when he'd felt such overwhelming need and desire, and not just the desire to take, but the intense drive to give this kid more pleasure than he could imagine. Ben recalled the intensity of passion in his youth as every cell of his body screamed in the hormone swamp of teen sexual obsession, and that felt... close to this. When he'd first come to Raven's Claw and experienced the effects of Redmond's and Wilkin's separate sexual magics, it certainly created a nearly-insatiable hunger, but still, this was utterly different.
He guided Aaron on top of him and used his superior strength to match their bodies so each writhe, each wriggle, each hunch would maximize Aaron's pleasure. Forcing the young man's glans through the deep crevasse next to his balls and scraping the shaft with his own hair-drenched bollocks. Gripping the boy's ass and petting it to increase the stimulation.
That is when the thunderbolt finally struck. It wasn't that he wanted Aaron to have as much pleasure as he himself enjoyed; he thirsted for Aaron's pleasure itself. His own pleasure was, at best, a nice bonus. His body, mind and soul demanded without respite or evasion that he please his young lover to the exclusion of all other considerations. He flowed into that, allowing it to take over.
Every moan or whimper he dragged from Aaron was now a tiny orgasm for Ben. A smile was a benediction; a bit lip, a glory; each shudder, a validation of Ben's very existence. When Aaron finally came, he felt every drop of seed hit his belly and chest and exploded in his own release, utterly consumed and fulfilled at once, as if he had completed his magnum opus. And instantly, that incredibly accomplishment was erased with a single thought: 'More. Again. Forever.'
Ben was never really able to understand how he got them out of that bedroom; how he pried himself away from Aaron's all-ensnaring power, but he did after only two orgasms apiece. Shaking visibly, he pulled Aaron to the door, letting go of his treasure only through a lifetime of training and dedication. The Protocols were specific; staff must let go and actively encourage subject-to-subject interplay whenever outside the bedchamber.
I turned out not to be quite as complicated as expected. They emerged into the Social Room just as Paolo did. Even without the sensors of Monitor/Psych, Ben could see Paul's nostrils flare and eyes light with fire. Aaron blushed but allowed Paul to slowly come up, kiss him gently and, as if it were the most obvious choice in the world, take him by the hand and drag him toward the showers.
Bobby emerged moments later and his jaw dropped. Ben thought of what his powerful but short body must look like after a night of Aaron: Sweaty, grimy, cum-drenched, disheveled, wild-eyed, scruffy. Bobby saw the same things but only had a single adjectival phrase: Sexiest man ever. Bobby moved forward like he was controlled by faulty springs and froze just before touching the small god of a man.
"It's okay," Ben cooed, "Touch me if you want. Anything you like, you beautiful, stunning, wonderful young man." Bobby was on him like a starved dog and they cuddled and caressed and stroked and teased their way to the showers.
The brothers, Aaron and Bobby, were intensely-aware of what Paul and Ben were doing to and with their bodies and especially that they were side by side in the showers. Bobby had always wondered if he were gay, especially when he saw Aaron naked. Aaron had never really had such thoughts, but had always been worried about letting his little brother see him aroused. Any such ideas -- all ideas of any type -- vanished as Paul and Ben, as if at the direction of a maestro, let their soapy hands touch cocks and assholes at the same time.
Travis nearly came in his shorts as the four writhed in the warm, sudsy water. But that was not the only attraction that he was desperately using to avoid seeing the work that Rob and Howie were doing next to him, assisted by Wilkins at the third console.
Devon had worked through the night with his voice actors, scattered around the globe. There were six that they'd highlighted, three that echoed with positive energy for the Assistant Coach Sparks and three that echoed with dread and fear.
Peter was voiced by Lance Gorton and sounded young which was his specialty. His voice was soft and strong. Gentle. Caring. The friend upon whose shoulder you would cry.
Gloria was a bit bubbly and was played by, ironically, Gloria Evers. She was a middle-aged widow but played the teen stereotypes perfectly and reliably.
Mr Painter was a gruff, black voice played by Mohan Lincoln. If not for recent developments, he might have been called an 'older Mr Huxtable' type, the patient and loving grandfather or father-of-a-friend.
They had lucked out with Uncle Ricky, the strongest reaction in stress and fear where the AC also spiked with sexual need. Orland Miller, a Monitor/Psych guy over in the Induced OCD unit, had supplied the initial voice samples on which Sparks triggered. Daniel had gotten Orland temporarily assigned to their unit for the week.
Momma would be voiced by Evangeline Wilson (no relation to Rob), a veteran voice actress who specialized in people who would be right at home saying, "But you are, Blanche! You are in that chair!" or, "And your little dog, too," or, "No wire hangers, EVER!" or, " As I told you, Mr. Potter, naughty children deserve to be punished," or even, "Just say no to drugs." In this case, a whining and vindictive sound dominated.
Lastly, Coach Young was played by William Jonathan Smythe, a British actor who had made a career of ruthless schoolmasters, lieutenants and fathers, always the villain and proud of it.
The four had started around three in the morning. 'Matty' drifted up from nothingness into blackness again, at peace and comfortable in the strange and unknowable place. Slow, dark colors gradually filled his vision and the silence took on a texture as well. Blue and green and red so deep as to be nearly indistinguishable from a velvet black moved languidly. It was night, and he had been scared.
Peter: It's okay now. What happened, Matty?
"Oh, God, Peter. I did it again!"
Peter: What? Why?
"He LET me! You don't understand. I need it so bad. And just as, as, I can't say it! Momma knocked and Unc-c-c-c-cle Ricky started yelling at me, saying he'd been asleep. Calling me everything. And Momma took me home and, oh Peter. It hurt so b-b-b-bad."
Peter: Why keep doing it then?
"NO! NO! You don't understand. I have to. And he always explains that he's only allowing me to do it to help me and it disgusts him. If anyone finds out how much I n-n-n-need it they'll sent me to a, a, a hospital. So he has to pretend neither of us wanted it or it was an accident, but then he, he always make it right next time. If there's a next time." The guys in the monitoring room shuddered as the AC, regressed to adolescence, wept. "He said, he told Momma he never wanted me near him again. What do I DO?"
~~~~~~~~~
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I wrote the rest of that scene, breaking through Matty's life to find the key to the pathologies and perversions of Assistant Coach Matt Sparks, Senior. I can't bring myself to actually publish it. This is not a tease; the result was sickening and not at all sexy or stimulating. I'll summarize the findings instead.
Matty had been obsessed with his uncle since his early youth. Around puberty, he began acting on those obsessions. Uncle Ricky subtly encouraged him while at the same time condemning him and throwing the boy on the not-so-tender mercies of his sister, Matty's Momma. The cycle escalated continually until Matty was convinced of his reprehensible sickness. Uncle Ricky took every possible liberty with the boy in often-horrific, humiliating and destructive ways, with his sister there to cover (and punish Matty) for each episode.
Matty found refuge with Peter, his best friend, for much of the first year of abuse. Peter tried to intervene and eventually called the Florida Department of Children and Families. Uncle Ricky, though, was not new to the hideous game. An 'anonymous tip' led the DCF to check Peter's family computer.
Peter's folders and those of his father were stuffed with thousands of child porn pictures, mainly of pre-pubescent boys. They found a note as well, written from father to son reading, 'Get Matty to play or get rid of interfering Uncle.' The father went to prison, Peter to reform school and Matty was left with no one. Uncle Ricky explained that he, Matty, had destroyed their lives by infecting them with his perversion.
When Matty found Gloria, the retribution was much quicker. She went to the police. Two days later, she was brutally raped and the family moved away, never letting Matty see her. Uncle Ricky again explained how Matty had brought this on his friend. Mr Painter, Matty's neighbor, became a sympathetic ear, but refused to get involved having seen what had happened to Peter and Gloria. He listened and gave useless advice about trying not to be so sexy or attractive or alluring to his uncle. How to make himself small and quiet and avoid the situations that led to Matty's 'failures' and 'backsliding'.
The final straw, though, was Coach Young. Matty was a born athlete, talented in several sports. His idol was his JV coach, a rough and tumble Brit who was both strict and effective, and seemed to care deeply about 'his boys'. Matty finally worked up the courage to approach his respected and beloved coach who heard him out, then raped him for "teasing and enticing him beyond endurance." For the next two years, not only did the abuse by Uncle Ricky continue, Coach Young used Matty brutally and, after every rape, forced the boy to confess to deliberately seducing and molesting his Coach, often on video, and whipped him severely.
By 14, the newly-named 'Matt' took back control of his life. He was big and strong enough to fend off Uncle Ricky, who had slowly lost interested in the aging boy anyway. Coach Young no longer had easy access since Matt was now in High School, and Matt sealed himself off from any other men since help did not exist and exploitative sexual abuse was his universal expectation. The pattern had been set. Under Matt's iron control was an insatiable and cruel lust, coupled with an absolute conviction of his own culpability but also superiority, as he'd found a way to subdue and conquer those drives.
His sexual conquests in college were uniformly brutal and degrading. He found Lillie, herself a victim of childhood sexual abuse and their codependence produced Matt Sparks, Junior, as well as the woman's overdose when the boy was only seven. Sensing weakness in his own son, the AC had done everything in his power to crush the budding sexuality of 'Junior'.
~~~~~~~~~
Howie had a haunted look in his eye by the end of the hours-long session and all of the men had either puked or wept (or both) at several points. About the time the guys were eating breakfast, the ad hoc Sick Fucking Bastard Committee reconvened.
"Is there anyone here," Howie asked in a defeated voice, "who can honestly think of any way to correct or even moderate the AC's pathologies? Yeah, I didn't think so. I see no option here but to break the man and rebuild him as a traditional ego-suppressed, subservient slave. I thought we'd moved past that, and I honestly believe that we have protocols that will produce mentally-stable, productive, talented, loving men for the sexual-slavery marketplace, but I think we have to acknowledge that there are some who simply cannot be rescued. The AC is the model of that type."
Daniel spoke up, "I think that is a fair summary. But let's not lose sight of the essential fact: We have nothing here but upside. The Sick Fucking Bastard was well on his way to destroying his son just as he had his wife and countless 'lovers' before and since. He would go on destroying lives for as long as he remained capable. We can stop that. It doesn't make the task less abhorrent, but perhaps it makes it less of a karmic burden." He dismissed the guys, shaking his head. A small pilot light in his brain still burned, though. He looked at the image of the brutal, magnificent bruiser and thought again, 'What a slave to own once broken and rebuilt, to have kneeling and begging... begging to be used...'
The AC's son, Matt, awoke slowly and sighed deeply. His dream was so nice. He was wrapped in a warm embrace, comfortable and sexy and happy. He froze when he realized that it wasn't a dream, except for the happy part. His breath shortened as he recalled that he was wrapped in the arms of a boy who had relentlessly tormented him since he arrived at High School.
Vinny felt Matt stir, having been awake and in a torment of his own for hours. He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Matt, listen to me before you get up, please? I was a horrible person. I don't want to be him anymore. Please, don't forgive me. I couldn't take that. But can I try and make it up to you somehow?"
Matt didn't turn, but took a moment to feel Vinny's strong and powerful embrace. His musky and alluring aroma. The tremor in his voice that spoke of emotions that Vinny had never before shown to anyone. Matt spoke to the pillow, not to the man-child holding him.
"What you did hurt me, Vinny. It still does. You can't unsay things. No, shut up. But, fuck only knows how, you got Bobby to believe that you mean it, and he's the best of us. Don't worry about me forgiving you; unlike Bobby, I am not a saint. But," Matt too a long, deep breath and let out a near-mournful sigh, "I won't get in your way and I won't shut you down. Until you h-h-h-hurt me again, I'll try, Vinny."
"Can we start with that?"
"What?"
"I d-d-d-don't want to be Vinny anymore. I always felt like I was playing a part with Vinny. Maybe, well, maybe Vinny was the mean one? Maybe if I s-s-s-stop being V-Vinny, I can make it work?"
"Then who do you want to be 'toof guy'?" Matt dropped the last two words in Vinny's Made Man accent.
"Can I, you know, do what you did? Just drop the nickname entirely? Maybe just be... Vincent?"
"I can handle that." For the first time, Matt turned to his bedmate. These were heady topics but they were both teens waking from a night's sleep and Matt could not pretend that Vinny's rampant cock hadn't been jammed against his ass-cheek. "First question I've got, though... Does Vincent fool around?"
Vincent's eyes brimmed with unshed tears but his heart nearly burst at the question. His voice was soft, fragile, worried, hopeful, "Only if you'll let him?"
The newly-minted Vincent proved to be a formidable and talented lover, especially to the shockingly-horny Matt that morning. He pulled two loads, the first copious and the second long and drawn-out, from the stunned young man who only got into the action slowly and brought Vincent off only once. Matt tried to apologize and Vincent simply kissed him slowly. "Consider it partial payment for being the ultimate prick. By my count," Vincent smiled slowly, "I only have to bring you off six billion and seven more times before I break even?"
Jackson slowly came up from a vivid and utterly-amazing dream. Some chick, he couldn't recall which, was doing the dirtiest, filthiest, most amazing things to his prick. "Oh, uh-uh-uh-uh. Baby. Baby don't stop. Please don't stop. Uh-uh-uh."
His eyes flew open when Ned's voice replied, "Hadn't planned on it stud." The shock of that should have sent him to softsville instantly. A guy was messing with his prick? A fucking teammate? Fuck! Instead, the thought sent him into orbit and he unloaded explosively.
"Damn, that was a fucking load and a half! Dude, what were you dreaming about?"
Jackson looked at the smaller hunky white kid, and growled, "You..." before hitting every 'Sexually-Charged Zone' his hands could find while smearing his own baby-batter into Ned's cock and balls, gradually building the movements into a frenzy and driving Ned to a shattering, screaming eruption of his own. Jackson's deep voice was now in the quivering boy's ear as he came down from his orgasmic high, "It's always you, baby."
When the guys had finished their morning ablutions -- all of them felt compelled to shower for aromatically-obvious reasons -- they gathered back in the Social Room. All had finally fished munching one breakfasty-thing or another and chatting. They gathered on the benches where Ben and Sean stood ready to address them. Vinny, however, raised his hand. Sean nodded to him.
"Um, first, I, um, um." Matt and Bobby, who'd been sitting on either side, each kicked him. "Ow! Um," the next came out as if it were a single, long, desperate word, "Vinny-was-a-grade-a-prick-and-evil-to-boot- I-don't-want-to-be-him-anymore- I'm-Vincent-and-want-to-be-on-the-team-again?"
They all took a moment to figure out where the spaces were supposed to have been between the words. Paul grinned and said, "Prove it and I'll buy it."
Jackson chimed in with, "Whatever works for you, dude. You wanna be Vincent, you Vincent. You wanna be a prick, you Vinny."
Aaron shrugged and nodded. Ned stared, furious. He caught Matt's glare and Vinny's desperate and sincere look, but it was Bobby's look of disappointed, confused, almost-betrayed sadness that broke him. He took a deep, shuddering breath and followed it with a long sigh. "I don't know this Vincent guy, but he's welcome to join the team. I'll give him the same shot as every newb." His jaw, though, was working hard from side to side. He was livid and hurt at Bobby's apparent shift in loyalty, but he'd loved the guy since they'd met and would, honestly, do anything Bobby asked not to see that disappointment pointed at him again.
Vinny/Vincent was bright red and breathing hard when he finally sat, but he raised his hand again. Sean's eyebrows went up even further.
"Um, can you tell me where the razors are? I couldn't find them and I'm gonna look like a cheap Wolverine soon." With a shared gasp, Aaron, Paul, Matt and Ned shot hands to their chins.
Ben stepped forward, "You don't have to worry about that. You won't grow facial hair again unless your First Husband asks to have the inhibitors removed once you're married." A soft murmur in the key of 'wow' ran through the group. In actually fact, simple laser hair removal had been done on all the guys and they'd be growing hair again in a few months. By that time, though, they'd already be married / bought / adopted from the Raven's Claw program by the highest bidder and beards would be the least of their concerns.
"So on to points," Sean finally continued, "When you ended your day, Top Dog was Matt, Stallion was Ned and Stud was Bobby. Considering the points earned by Room-Lock last night, those standings only change in one way. Ned is replaced by Aaron for Stallion, leapfrogging his poor brother Bobby. Check your digidesks for more specifics." The order was Matt, Aaron, Bobby, Paul, Ned, Jackson and Vinny. Jackson felt frustration build as he tried to figure out how to climb the chart.
"Slight change-up today. Aaron, Jackson and Bobby, your bands will chime momentarily with a Move signal. Simply follow their direction. I think you have some simple medical follow-ups, something all of you will have many times as you move through the protocols."
The three shared a look. Physicals were ubiquitous and none of them really minded. The standing joke was it's just as easy to piss in a cup as a urinal, so what's the big deal? Medical, however, was a long and far cry for what they expected.
Three large cylinders awaited them, not noticeably different from the ones in Avatar or Aliens any other Sci Fi flick. They were upright and a technician had each of them step into a 'pod'. They were instructed to hold tightly to a pair of bars and make sure their feet stayed firmly planted on the base.
"Um, are we, um, allowed to ask questions?" Bobby's very small, very scared voice asked.
"Of course." The tech's distracted reply was thick with an accent that might have been German. "It will not interfere with ze readings."
"W-w-w-what about all those, um, Protectorate whatsits?"
"Ah! True, true. The sensors are amazink. But there are certain thinks, especially chemical analyses, that are much easier and more-accurately done outside za body." He proceeded to put a butterfly-tap in the vein where blood was drawn in all three, then hook that to the pod. "Blood, urine, breath and semen are uniquely difficult to measure outside a controlled laboratory." The slightly-hard la-BOR-a-TOR-y along with the accent flashed a single phrase through the minds of all three boys, 'Herr Doktor Frankenstein'.
"S-s-s-s-semen? YIPES!" The tech attached what for all the world looked like a fleshlight to his dick.
"So sorry. Are you sensitive zere?"
"N-No! It's cold!"
"Ah. Of course. A zouzand yearz of medical knowledge and there are only two temperatures for any instrument, too hot or too cold. Same with dicks, only too big and too small. Sorry, I forget how new you are to ze Protectorate. I did not mean to shock you. I recall when a colleague talked to me not long after Arrival Day on the language used by the Raven's Claw, 'the whole world is now a locker room'. It must be quite a shock. Anyway, time to start," he said, having finished attaching the penile collectors to each guy.
"If you are able, please product a urine sample. Simply let go. You cannot splash." Each of the boys thought it would be utterly impossible, and each was rather surprised how easily the piss came. They couldn't see each other at all which nixed pee-shy and the tube seemed to... well, almost beg for it. Since they'd all relieved themselves earlier, there wasn't much, but apparently it was enough.
"Okay, gentlemen, please keep your hands on ze bars. I will tilt you back slightly to make the rest of this easier. As I do, a mask will come down zat will seal around your neck. A screen will cover your field of view. It displays non-random colors and patterns and is useful in detecting certain subtle problems with the body's electrical system. Ze mask collects all your exhalations. You may be familiar with the concept from athletic conditioning that measures your rate of metabolism. Zis is similar but measures very much more. You will also hear soundz."
The pods smoothly tilted back until they were at 45° and a soothing rhythm of light appeared to fill the entire universe. Soft sound could be heard but remained indistinct as subtle vibrations moved through the pod itself. Small tingles or pleasant shocks could be felt in various places and the colors swirled and combined beautifully. It was, honestly, incredible.
"At times," The voice came through the same invisible speakers as the background sounds, "I will need to take a sample of sweat you produce at various places on your body. I will touch your knee like zis, Jackson; Aaron; Bobby." He touched each of the boys in turn.
"I will zen rub a collector, usually a swab or a pad, across some part of you, usually near your crotch or pits, but some in other areas. Nothing that happens throughout za test can or will cause pain in any way, and it cannot damage you. Quite ze opposite, in fact! Please be as vocal as you like as some of za tests will be very enjoyable. If you are concerned, please call out to me. You may call me Frank or Doktor." That did little to settle the nerves of the guys, but the colors, sounds and sensations were making each feel a little lightheaded.
Frank Didinger flashed a big thumbs-up to the camera. Rob initiated a routine and Dr Wilkin, exhausted but essential to this piece, played the AV controls like a jazz improv master. Sub-second flashes of primal shapes began to feed through the swirls of color, too fast to be consciously recognized but still impactful. He calibrated quickly on the three and then started feeding in the programmed images of males and females in various sexual and non-sexual poses.
From the perspective of the guys, all the rhythms seemed to click and the cock-sock started doing... amazing things. Against a wonderful background of pleasure would come fleeting spikes of sensual or sexual delight. Some were nice and some were almost-delirious in their sudden power. Most fell between those poles. All of the guys had long ago forgotten the entire concept of a medical test and simply rode the crest of pleasure, moaning and crying out as they came just sooooo close to cumming... for a while.
Bobby again was the first to speak, "Fa-Fa-Frank? I think it'ssss, a, not workinggGGG!"
"And vy is zat, Bobby?"
"B-B-B-B-B'cuz it won't let me, you know, f-f-f-finishhhhh!"
"Ah. I see ze problem, let me open comm to all three of you. Zere. Gentlemen, Bobby has pointed out that I might have left you with a falze imprezzion. This test is not solely about collectink samples. It is testing many of your body's responsez to stress by keepink you very close to completion. Don't vorry, it is still extremely pleasurable and ze release will be quite... potent."
Jackson was the first to move from cussing and fuck-noises to a demand for the Doktor. "Frank! Frank! Why can't I move my hands?" He sounded slightly panicked.
"Gentlemen, please do not try to move your handz from ze bar. Jackson has just noted that he is unable to do zo. Zis is correct and is for your own safety and the accuracy of the tests. Please simply relax and do not try to pull away."
Wilkin smiled at that. It was actually funny in a way. By using a highly targeted e-stim method, the fingers themselves were locked in their grip on the steel bars, preventing any 'manual intervention' the boys might try to reach orgasm before the tests played out. Ironically, these muscle-studs were uniquely unable to break the bonds. Someone with virtually no hand- and forearm-strength could have simply pushed down and broken the connection; against their own robust and powerful muscles, Jackson and his friends had no such hope.
Frank was suddenly a whirlwind of activity as various sensors demands sweat samples from a dozen areas on all three young men. Jackson had simply been the luck of the draw as a control, since he had clearly shown himself susceptible to Aaron's 'influence'. Bobby was essential since he was both Aaron's brother and (truthfully) far more sexually attractive in abstract measures and yet created no noticeable sexual-obsession in others.
Aaron's previously-unrecorded effect on other men, if it could be isolated and lab-replicated, could become the greatest single pharmaceutical triumph since Sildenafil in the nineties. The angina medication failed miserably to impact hypertension and heart disease in its field trials but a side-effect was noted: many of the men had lasting and extremely-satisfying erections. Within a decade, under the name Viagra, it was pulling in two billion in sales each year in the US alone since it helped men ensure they were able to pleasure themselves and others. A drug that guaranteed that someone else would do virtually anything to pleasure you? The profits would be incalculable.
Bobby had another purpose as well. He had tested as mostly-gay, probably around the 85th percentile in the complex Raven's Claw scoring system. Built partially on the obsolete and naïve Kinsey Scale, the multi-dimensional RC Score viewed self-perception, role-perception, physical, romantic, emotional and other responses as tensors for a biologically- and gender-identified male (they had not worked on other sexes yet). Those were used to create a multidimensional 'shape' that could be defined and described. Each shape could then be graphed by its 'projection' onto various scales like sexuality, role-alignment, malleability, etc.
For the simplest, sexual inclination, 100% would be a man who could only really reach a maximum sexual response with a hyper-masculine and hyper-sexual man. A 1% would view every traditionally-masculine trait as a turn-off and overt sexual interest off-putting. In the high eighties -- and considering the reactions from Ben, Sean, Jackson and Paul -- Bobby should have spent every day since puberty trying to find a way into Aaron's bed to please him at any cost. Yet it was clear they had never sexually interacted at all. Aaron's 'talent' would be useless if most humans were simply immune.
Jackson, Bobby and Aaron didn't know or care about any of that. All they knew is that they were having the longest, most-sensational, most-frustrating and, when finally allowed to reach completion, most-amazing, fucking-mind-blowing, explosive orgasm they'd ever imagined. Jackson and Bobby actually passed out on their own and Wilkin only needed to give Aaron a tiny nudge with the C2/C3 implant to turn him off as well.
The techs unhooked the boys and turned the massive set of samples over the Dr Miles Redmond, Ravensclaw Inc.'s biochemical genius. The three boys were cleaned up then gurneyed to one of the 'mystery' room off the Social Hall, one with a bed equal in size to two over-long queen-sized mattresses. They were tucked in and allowed to pass into REM sleep naturally. They'd be awakened before the rest of the guys transitioned from the Gym to the Classroom... adding a little time for post-sleep play if any of them were up for it.
Vincent again drove himself relentlessly in the gym. For the first time, though, it was with the encouragement of his teammates. Even Ned fist-bumped him a couple times after especially-intense push-throughs where one spotted the other. Today, with Jackson otherwise occupied, was an ideal day for the Protectorate version of weight training, Muscle-Mass Enhancement, something that Jackson needed about as much as a fish needed tap shoes. Matt was pathetic but dedicated, refusing to give a single inch to his weaker muscles; Vincent was a machine. Paul and Ned were both impressed and worked their best not to be outdone by the other two.
Vincent kept coming back to Matt, though, getting him to push through one more rep, that one last press. Ben smiled. It was a common pattern at Raven's Claw. The toughest and most resistant to the entire myth would crack and, for reasons not clearly understood, get more support from the weakest subject than all the others put together. At least three such sets in the past had to be sold as 'bonded pairs' at the end of the program, and it was looking as if Vincent and Matt might end up there as well.
In the previous cases, it had been clear that their cores had been tied so tightly, and without a clear understanding of why, that separating them would have diminished their value to less the cost of the program alone. Per Protocol, the team would work hard to prevent further bonding between the two, maximizing the individual value of each subject. Silently, Ben hope they failed. Vincent -- tough, ready, pragmatic, fierce, intense with a big, brash physique and dark color -- and Matt -- determined, loyal, idealistic, vulnerable and loving with his quick grace and towheaded looks -- were a great match for each other, and for any man strong and rich enough to acquire and care for them.
For the first time ever, the post-gym shower held no new surprises. They showered each other, Ned assigned to Matt and Vinny with Paolo. Muscle-exhaustion and the combined drop of eleven loads between the four guys in just 24 hours limited the intensity of sexual expression. The same was true as the guys sleeping off the epic cum.
Jackson snored himself awake which amused Aaron who'd woken earlier. One gurgle-roar was finally loud enough that Jackson went, "Gnh? Huh? Whzzat?"
"Your snoring woke you up, dude."
Jackson scratched his sweaty nuts then ran his palm over his face, froze for a second as his action penetrated, then smiled and huffed his scent even deeper. 'Ya know, I could get used to this,' he thought. "I don't snore, you asshole. Other people snore."
"Trust me, preto, you snore like mule with gas." Aaron started running his hands idly over the ebon giant's ropy muscles. Jackson sucked in a shallow, almost inaudible gasp and Aaron froze. "You, uh, don't mind, do you?"
Jackson turned and purred, "Never one bit. I wish people had always just touched me, you know. I love touching." He ran his hand over the silky-smooth white skin of Aaron and felt himself chub up.
He jumped at a viscous pinch to his nipple. "You know there's three people in this bed you obnoxious lunk." Jackson curled toward Bobby and let his long arm trail down the beauty's back and play with the top of his ass-crack.
"Fuuuuuck," he growled, "I'm a mirror-Oreo, a thick layer of black cream between two tender white cookies. Damn, that's nice." The two brothers were lightly stroking and admiring the thick muscles. Bobby's hand found the chubby snake and flipped it up to Jackson's belly. "Sorry, white boy, I think that ride is out of order. Try some other part of the carnivalllllllllyeahhhhh," he groaned as both Wagner brothers started strumming his nipples. Aaron licked along the giant's jawline and sighed.
"Sorry, guys, but you need to get up and about."
Jackson laughed at the disembodied voice. "I jus' finish tellin honky here that getting it up ain't gonna happen. Go way!" Aaron and Bobby snickered as well.
In the control booth, Rob grinningly triggered a recording he'd had Leo make the day before for just such a situation. A thick, incredibly-loud, gangsta-ghetto bellow rang through the room, "Take you fuckin' paws off'n dat white boy BUTT and get you lazy black ASS outta dat bed. Don' make me be telling you twice! You hear me, son?" All three of the guys jumped a foot. "That work better for you Jackson?" Rob's calm and quiet voice returned. The three dissolved in laughter and finally pulled themselves, all of them chubbed but not railed, to the door.
"Wait a minute!" The voice was Aaron's. "Where did we get rooms with beds that fit, like, twelve?"
Rob's voice was teasingly-aloof, "Some mysteries are not yet for you to know, little boys."
"Fuck the 'boys'. Actually, yeah. That's exactly what I had in mind, really. How do I get me one of these?" Bobby's cocky, cheeky retort had Rob snorting in laughter before he could mute the microphone and he just went with it.
"I'll work on it, kid. God knows you only got laid, um, let me check, five times in the last 24 hours? You poor, poor deprived boy. Now get your asses over the classroom before I have to get mean."
Still flirty, Bobby retorted, "Do you worst, Mr Big Brother." A low, muffled, needy moan, the sound of a wounded animal trying desperately to get eaten more quickly than he already was, echoed briefly through the room. Jackson and Aaron looked at each other nonplussed, but Bobby turned a vivid crimson and, grabbing them both, rushed the door. "Um, yeah, we need to get over there, like, now." Bobby was the only one who knew the sound to be his attempt a couple nights earlier to swallow Matt's entire cock in a single piece as his own was being sent into a heaven of previously-unexplored pleasure by Matt's amateur fellatio.
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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay... Canvas Hell: 31 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/ Beaux Thibodaux: 22 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/ The Heathens: 24 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/ Lake Desolation: 16 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/ Shark Reef: 9 chapters .../adult-youth/shark-reef/ Culberhouse Rules: 6 chapters .../incest/culberhouse-rules/ Raven's Claw: 6 chapters .../authoritarian/ravens-claw/
Special collaboration with Brad Borris: In God's Love (5 installments) .../incest/in-gods-love/