Taste of Power

Taste of Power by: Krazytop ---

Part XII

God. Oh God.

This can't be happening.

"Let's play a quick game right now," Zane says, stepping out of his jeans so that he is in only his blood-red jockstrap. "I'm going to say a body part of mine—and you are going to say three reasons why you love it, punctuating each reason with a nice big, wet, smacking kiss. Does that sound nice?"

My mind is melting.

"Yessir."

Calvin is watching. My heart pounds on my ribcage like it wants out. Calvin is watching me do this.

"Feet."

And somehow—it doesn't matter.

Calvin finally finds his voice—but it is grainy and weak. "Travis—you don't have to do this!"

"Yes, he does," Zane says.

I sink into him.

I plant a kiss on Zane's left foot—MNMPWA--and then the right foot—MNMPWA. "I love your feet—because they are masculine."

MNMPWAH.

`Raw."

MNMPWAH.

"And musky."

MNMPWAH.

"Hamstrings," Zane says.

"Travis!" Calvin calls out. "This is SICK!" His voice gets a bit softer, weaker. "I can't believe what I'm seeing."

Part of me is glad that Calvin can see me for what I really am. Pretending for him always felt so dishonest and dirty and effortful.

I drag my lips against Zane's leg muscles. "I love your hamstrings—because they are limber."

MNMPWAH.

" Lithe."

MNMPWAH.

"And tight as fuck."

MNMPWAH.

"Quads," Zane says.

"Travis—please—can't you see he's poisoned your mind?" Calvin wails.

"I love your quads—because they are thick."

MNMPWAH.

"Warm."

MNMPWAH.

"And vice-grip strong."

MNMPWAH.

"Balls."

"TRAVIS. NO."

The fabric of his jockstrap is covering them, so I get his jockstrap wet.

"I love your balls—because they are big."

MNMPWAH.

"Sweaty."

MNMPWAH.

"And I get drunk off their musk."

MNMPWAH.

"Cock."

"YOU SNAKE, ZANE."

I nuzzle into Zane's cock, spreading my lips around it, barely mumbling out the words.

"I love your cock—because it is meaty."

MNMPWAH.

"And luscious."

MNMPWAH.

"And stretches my holes good."

MNMPWAH.

"You are a total fag for my cock, aren't you?" Zane says.

"Yessir," I mumble, my lips trapped along the outline of Zane's pole. "I need it fucking me hard and deep, sir."

"When you latch on like this, it's hard to shake you off my cock."

"Yessir," I whisper, clamping down with my lips as he humps and wobbles my face.

"Whip it out, cunt-face. Whip it out and make your faggot dreams come true."

Slowly, I roll Zane's jockstrap down. His cock flips up, and I open wide, leaning in...

Zane stumbles away from me, leaning back into the wall to catch his balance, and I realize he has been pushed. Calvin stands above me, his face ashen—almost a ghostly white. He is panting, gripping his hair with one hand and pulling it away from his head like a madman.

"Can't wrap your head around the fact—that I turned your best friend into my doting, doe-eyed slaveboy?"

"You are a MONSTER! Can't you tell he's been an emotional wreck? What the FUCK do you think you are doing to him? Screw drawing straws; I want to wrestle you right here, RIGHT NOW."

"Did you forget how long it's been since you beat me, Calvin? Are you sure--that you are up for getting humiliated again--for the umpteenth time? But anyway--rules are rules. You drew the other half of Travis's straw. So you'll have to get through him to get to me. Travis—why don't you keep Calvin from pushing me again?"

I scramble to my feet and stand between Zane and Calvin, glaring into Calvin's eyes. "Don't touch my master."

"Your—your master? YOU are your own master!"

"DON'T TOUCH HIM," I growl, shoving Calvin backwards.

Calvin takes a few steps backwards. "I don't want to fight you Travis."

The stairs creak behind us, and Chris makes his way back down. "Too bad, Calvin," he says. "That's the way the game is played."

Calvin's expression softens. "You don't have to, Travis."

"Yes I do, Calvin. This game--is where I belong."

"Looks like you two are eager to get at it," Chris says. "So maybe it's time I showed you one of my secrets."

Chris beckons and we trace his footprints in the dust between a line of cider shelves. He opens a dirty door and flicks on a light. My jaw drops.

"You have your own wrestling—room? When do you ever use it?"

"My father trained me in there. I've wrestled Zane a couple times here too. Well, slaughtered him is more like it."

Zane shrugs.

Chris rolls his eyes. "Alright fuckers—no shirts. Nothing but boxers, actually."

Calvin and I stretch out, strip down to underwear, and stand in the starting pose on the mat.

"This isn't what I wanted, Travis," Calvin says. "But if this is what it takes to knock some sense into you—then my hands are tied."

"Beat him," Zane says, thumping me in the back. "He was never really good anyway. EXPOSE him."

My heart is racing. Calvin, like Chris, is trying to keep Zane away from me. He is trying to make me feel guilty about what I've become. Zane wants me to fight him, and that's what I will do.

"Ready?" Chris asks.

We nod.

I've heard that outsiders think wrestling is erotic. During the match, there isn't any time to think about the sweat, the muscles, the heat, the tight clothes, the constant, overwhelming body contact, and the masculinity. There is only enough time to think about how you are going to win.

Whenever matches end--when I feel how beat my body is--it dawns on me that my libido has caught fire. But I would have to be outside myself to notice it in the moment.

I try to force it out of my mind.

Zane wants Calvin to lose, and if I fight right, I can make that happen.

"Go!"

My eyes jump as I see Calvin standing across from me. I bask in the swimmer's build; the flowing muscles that swell into his chest and thread his tender neck to his face. His blue eyes dig into me; the light glittering in them like waves breaking under sunlight. And when I look into them, each of them oscillates between existing as a shroud—a woven mystery that I can break down into little threads till I realize I know nothing—and existing as a halo—a ring of inexplicable truth.

I blink until the feeling is gone.

We scope out one another's shoulders, flexing. We lean in till our heads collide. I snarl. Wrestling can be like this. It isn't all rolling around—in fact, most of it isn't. Mostly it is standing, circling, as well as changing your pose and angle of attack. The rolling around part is sudden, flashy, and fleeting—and you either bloom in the moment, or you shrivel.

I'm winning, I realize. Calvin is quivering under my strength. I feel rage swelling in me, that Calvin would threaten me, that he would make me feel like I need to be something other than what I am.

I don't need Calvin's lies.

My muscles are shaking.

I had been doing well, but Calvin had found a position where he could outlast me.

I snarl.

He's going to break me down. I've lasted a while, but it won't be much longer.

My breathing grows louder; Calvin and I look briefly into one another's eyes.

Calvin's arms retreat back to mine and he pulls me toward him and throws me to the ground. He launches himself on top of me; I flex and push against him, writhing; his legs intertwine with my legs; I look up into his twinkling eyes; I try to roll; he bats my arm away and find my shoulders again; I flex my abs, flailing my arms, as he pushes me down; I grunt; he frowns; my shoulders are close to the ground—

My shoulders hit the mat; a second passes; I soften underneath Calvin, defeated, and he collapses on top of me.

"Gotcha," he whispers in my ear.

I bite my lip.

"Calvin takes it," Chris says, pulling him to his feet.

Zane grabs me roughly by the arm and hoists me up.

Calvin looks at me, his mouth half-open--his eyes searching.

"Let's cool off with a game of Big Bang Brothers," Chris says.

Calvin nods in agreement, dazed and drained from the fight.

Hopefully for his sake he gets enough time to recover before his next round of wrestling, because right now, he looks like he could lose to a gust of wind.

There are only three spots on the couch, so I sit down on the floor with my back against it. Zane sits over me, with his legs to my left and right. I'm not sure if he is mad that I lost, but I feel him run his hand through my hair.

"Don't touch him," Calvin says.

"Hm. Feeling—possessive?"

Chris plugs in the controllers, and we start the match. It's hard to focus, with Zane's legs draped on either side of me. He wiggles them from time to time, grazing my cheek or my shoulder.

I'm playing even worse than last time.

Before we can finish, a small box on the wall beeps and Zane has to pause the game.

Chris turns on the intercom.

"Who is it?" Chris asks.

"Pizza delivery," the box says. It's gravelly from the static.

"Just a minute," Chris says. "I'll rustle up a salad for you," He says, nodding at Zane. Then he sighs, climbing the stairs and disappearing out of sight.

Zane flips off the game. "So what are you going to do with the faggot?"

"Nothing. He's a person, and I don't want to force him to do anything."

"Travis," Zane says, scowling at me, his eyes narrowing. He drags me between Calvin's legs. "Why don't you beg Calvin for his cock?"

I look up at Calvin's soft blue eyes. They are rippling in the dim light.

"Calvin," I whisper, looking down. "Can I suck your cock?"

Calvin stutters, "I—I don't want to use you, man."

Zane walks next to Calvin, shaking his jock-clad junk in front of his face. "Maybe you don't want to use him—because you are after something else."

"I am not a fag," Calvin says, shoving Zane again.

Zane chuckles. "Not a fag—not like Travis. Is that what you mean to say?"

"No—I didn't mean..."

"Because it's embarrassing," Zane says, "to be what Travis is. It's a dishonor in your mind. You could never be—as low as him."

Calvin turns red, gripping his hair again. "That's not what I said! You've crossed all kinds of lines today, Zane. I don't even know where to start."

Zane chuckles, tightening his grip on my hair. He forces me forward so I am inches from Calvin's crotch. "He likes being shared, Calvin. The fag let Chris into my house so we could fuck him from both ends. He begged for our cocks. C'mon faggot. Give an encore performance. Make him see you for what you are."

"Please, Calvin," I say softly, shuddering. "Please. I'm a faggot. Why won't you let me be a faggot?"

Calvin bats Zane's hand away and holds me at a distance by my hair.

"No, Travis."

I look down at the ground.

"See, coin?" Zane asks. "Your best friend is disgusted with what you've done—with what you are. He abandoned you for years because he couldn't stand a weakling like you, and now he won't even let you give him the ultimate pleasure because being near a fag like you is the ultimate insult. He hates you."

I start to shiver. I clench my eyes shut.

"It's not true," Calvin whispers. "It's not. Travis—look at me."

I look up at him.

"Travis—what do you want? Honestly?"

The light in his eyes rises and falls like the ocean.

"Calvin—I want you to kiss me."

Calvin's eyes flash.

Calvin grips my hair; his other hand finds on my shoulder. He lifts me off my knees, which lurch forward. They dig into the couch between Calvin's legs and just miss his crotch; my face is level with his face; I can feel the heat coming off of him.

I get lost in the rolling depths of his eyes. My nose grazes his and our eyelashes mingle. His lips are voluptuous and wet. They meet mine and my eyes clench shut. I moan as his tongue pushes my mouth open and wrestles into me. He pins my tongue after a few short rolls, then he scopes out my insides as I moan softly.

His arms find my back and make short circles. I soften into him. He's already defeated my body today; he's already got me under his spell; but I let him continue to work me over as long as he wants. One of his hands finds my hair and pulls me back till I am sucking at air.

"How was that?" Calvin asks.

I dive into his sweaty, cream-colored chest and lap at it. Warm, rolling beads of sweat find my tongue and dissolve into me. He tastes salty, sweet, and slightly piquant. I swallow more sweat down, rolling my lips over his nipples and his pectorals before finding his smooth, swimmer's abs and bathing them softly.

"Holy..." Calvin whimpers.

I grope for his boxers and pull them down. His dick springs out and flops against his belly. It's very shapely—I'm drooling. A meaty, well-proportioned, slightly curved shaft, with a smooth pink bell-shaped head leaking already.

I lunge for it, but he catches my head before I reach it.

"Are you sure you are okay with this?" Calvin asks, his cool blue eyes searching mine.

I nod and he sighs. "Aww, hell."

Then, he shoves my face down into his crotch.

The head of his dick brushes my lips and I kiss it, sucking the precum down.

"Damn," Calvin whimpers. He kicks his feet out and he grips the back of my head and neck, making more soft circles there.

"He likes it when you get a little rough with him," Zane says, shoving me down deep on Calvin's dick. I gag slightly as he forces me to take it all at once. Zane laughs. "Don't fool us faggot. We know you have taken bigger."

I flail my arms, and Calvin gasps.

"You are hurting him."

I feel Zane releasing me. I look up into Calvin's soft eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asks softly.

I nod and he rubs my head again. I submit to his motions, sucking his dick deeper inside me and feeling the warm skin press against my mouth and throat.

"Oh god," Calvin says.

I start to move up and down and Calvin flexes his arms and massages my shoulders.

"Well, well," Chris says from the stairs. He chuckles. "That didn't take long."

"You know him," Zane says. "No one snivels for it quite like Travis."

"Pizza, anyone?" Chris asks.

"Don't you think—it would be a little disrespectful—" Calvin says. He has difficulty finishing his sentences without gasping for breath. "Disrespectful to eat pizza—while this is happening?" he asks.

"Travis likes being disrespected," Zane says. "Moan, faggot," he says, slapping me in the ear. Everything echoes for a moment, as though I am underwater. I whimper, then close my eyes again.

I hear Chris clear space on the table next to the couch for the pizza boxes. "Last time he was here we played video games while he gave us head. I'm pretty sure it turns him on to be—" Chris pauses.

"Just another party favor," Zane concludes.

"You two need to shut up..." Calvin says.

I look up, my mouth stretched around Calvin's dick, and see Zane shoving a piece of pizza into Calvin's half-open mouth.

"Eat it, dude," Zane says. The pizza won't go further into Calvin's mouth so Zane rubs it around his lips, until grease and sauce start to drip out. Calvin coughs, biting off a piece and starting to chew. Zane laughs. Calvin swallows the first bite and grabs the pizza from Zane, eating it slowly.

"That's the idea," Zane says. "Indulge in yourself. Travis doesn't even like thinking about himself, let alone others thinking about him. Just do what comes naturally. Eat the yummy pizza and fuck the soft throat."

Calvin grunts, thrusting his hips into me. His balls drag against my lips. He leaks and I gulp reflexively.

"Fuck," Calvin groans.

Calvin forages for the back of my head, circling it in his palm, twisting it coarser. He finishes chewing.

Zane slaps my ear again. "Rougher!" Zane says. "How does it feel, Travis? To know that your last hold-out and supporter—deep down, he never thought you belonged. You are not just one of the guys. You are a FAGGOT, Travis. It's time to accept it, once and for all."

Calvin growls. His abdominals slap my face harder now, and his dick plunges deep inside my throat. Sweat rolls off his abs and balls and coats my face. Calvin's noises are jagged; he tightens his grip on my head. He thrusts faster and faster into me, crashing over me like waves--like a tide drawing me in.

"Fuck. Fuck. Oh—fuck Travis," he whimpers. "Forgive me."

His dick is pulsing inside me; his balls press against my chin and his swimmer's abdominals smother my face. Then, suddenly, wave after wave of cum rushes from his dick and into my waiting mouth. I take it all, feeling it roll across my tongue, down my throat, and into my stomach. I can't stop sucking and swallowing, drawing out all I can and taking it deep inside me.

Calvin massages the back of my head.

I look up into Calvin's eyes.

"How sweet," Zane says. "But you should know—in its heart, that faggot is mine."

I look away from Calvin, and away from Chris, and into Zane's slicing green eyes.

Zane flashes a half-smile and I shudder, collapsing into Calvin, and resting my head on his knees.

It strikes me that my true self is visible to everyone that matters.

Things are coming to a head.

Zane and Chris came from different cultures in a way, from different worlds, with different ways of seeing things, and different ways of living life.

I have lived out their words, the primeval echoes of barking dogs.

When decisions are to be made, the pretense of words as the building blocks of collective logic is exposed as an utterly ridiculous fantasy.

It isn't about words. It isn't about ideas. It isn't even about reality.

Words and ideas and truth can be in a man's toolbox in the game of power, but that doesn't mean that when gamesmanship calls for it, these things can't be dropped for superior tools.

When decisions are made, the pretense of collective logic is exposed as an afterthought.

It is about will; it is about strength; it is about inveigling.

It is about power.

--- Feedback keeps me in the mood to write and brainstorm and is always appreciated. :) email: krazytop@gmail.com tumblr: krazytop.tumblr.com