Taste of Power

Taste of Power by: Krazytop ---

Part XVII

Zane strokes my hair as I gurgle on his thick, bulbous cock-head.

Calvin lies motionless against the cabinet, hand-cuffed, still refusing to open his eyes.

Chris teeters in the hammock, hanging from the chandelier, his groans muffled by the ball-gag. His gargled protests rise in pitch as he realizes what I'm doing.

"What's wrong, Chris? Don't like watching your cocksucker worship me? You had your chance with him, and you blew it. You should really stop drawing attention to yourself up there. Better to be forgotten, I should think. What do you suppose is going to happen when I let you down?"

I feel a sting against my cheeks as Zane claps them.

"Did I say you could stop?"

Slowly, I lick the vein of his grungy cock.

"Good boy," he says, tickling my neck.

I cough and start to gag. Zane holds my head down, making me choke around his cock. I shudder; I whimper; my vision blanches.

He lets me go and I gasp for air.

"You should let Chris go," I croak. "Does he really need to watch this?"

I flinch as Zane raises a fist, but he looks over at Chris instead.

"Let him go?" Zane asks, standing, thumbing circles into his curled up pointer finger. With one foot, he pushes my face into his other foot, and I take the hint, drooping my tongue out and licking softly.

"I'm not going to give up something for nothing," Zane adds. "Care to take his place?"

I suck the raunchy space between his toes. "Yes," I whisper.

"Can't bear to see your idol in a compromised position?"

"Please, Zane. You've made your point."

"I suppose that's one way to look at it." He pushes my face away with his foot. "Faggot pussy position."

I crouch, pressing my face down into the carpet, and jutting my ass into the air.

Zane tugs my boxers down, exposing my ass. He pulls the boxers off and throws them into the corner. I maintain the position, my breathing heavy.

Zane reaches down and gropes my ass cheeks. "You'd let me do anything, wouldn't you?"

I nod, my mouth half-open. "Let Chris down."

He circles me and presses his other foot against my lips.

I kiss it, my lips smacking.

Zane steps on my face with one foot. Not hard enough to break anything, but enough that I feel a light stab of pain. "Don't move a muscle."

I look into his eyes, my ass still pointing up.

He drags his feet away from my face, one after another.

He saunters over to Chris. "Having fun?"

Chris shakes his head slightly.

"Bummer," Zane says. He punches Chris in the gut. Then winds up and does it again. "You think I should let you down?"

Chris nods gingerly.

Zane unties the hammock, and Chris--still trapped inside it--falls flat on the floor. There's nothing to break his fall but the carpet.

The thud reverberates through the floor; the chandelier shakes. Zane chuckles, rolling Chris over, freeing the space over the hammock. Chris cringes, his face flushed. I think he got the wind knocked out of him.

"Get over here," Zane says, beckoning me. I crawl toward him. He bundles me up in the hammock, then lifts me up moments later, tying me in place. I'm suspended in space, naked, hanging above the scene, the cross-weave digging into me. My hardening dick has nowhere to hide, instead burrowing through a gap and pointing down at them.

Zane paces in front of his prize, finally bending down to take the ball-gag out of Chris's mouth.

"You fucking asshole," Chris says, his voice breaking.

Zane walks back to me, shoving the gag in my mouth. "It's cute, see? It's like you get to make out with your hero. Do you like the taste of his spit?"

I teeter back and forth.

Zane sneers and slaps my dick. My dick springs around.

Unsure of what to do, I nod.

"I wonder if Chris feels the same way," Zane says, pacing back over to Chris.

"This has gone way too far," Chris says. "I didn't agree to this."

"Good point, Chris. You agreed--to kiss my feet. Since you lost."

"You already had Travis do that."

"But I want you to do it, Chris." He looms over Chris, who lies on his stomach, crippled for the time-being, his hands still tied behind his back. Zane grabs him by the hair, tilting his face up to make eye contact. "And you are going to do what I want."

He drops Chris, who flops back to the floor, his face landing on Zane's foot.

"Aren't you good for your word, Chris?"

Chris cranes his neck up at Zane, reshaping his shattered expression into a blank one. Chris pecks Zane's foot with a short smack. "There. You had your fun. Now let me out of here."

"Are you just going to leave Calvin and Travis here with me then?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Does anyone?"

"Enough bullshit, Zane, let me go!"

"Hmm. You know, that wasn't much of a kiss. Everyone knows a good kiss has some tongue."

"Go to hell, Zane!"

"I want a good kiss, Chris."

"Fuck off."

Zane smirks. "How long are you going to put on a show, Chris? You want to prove you won't just do as you're told? You aren't some little bitch? Can't we just skip ahead to the part where you decide it's best to just get it over with?"

"No," Chris spits.

Zane hunches over and pulls down Chris's silk boxers, exposing his ass. "Look at that ass. So muscled and masculine. Just like the rest of you. Except your mind. The human mind...is such a malleable thing."

"I'm not gay," Chris says.

"Maybe not yet."

"You can't just make someone gay!" Chris says. "Get real."

Zane's cock bounces freely as he walks. He never bothered to put it away. He rounds on Chris, squatting behind him.

Zane massages Chris's ass. "During the whole gay rights episode, people loved to parrot that. `People are born a certain way!' It's genetic—or something. There is no environmental cause for sucking cock; there is no one to blame. And thus it's convenient for all those who didn't want to blame themselves. But if there is nothing wrong with being gay--then there is nothing wrong with causing someone to be gay either. At any rate, it isn't a question of what is convenient. It's a question of what makes sense. I've seen people talk about identical twins—how if one is gay, the other one has a 50-50 chance of being gay as well. Therefore, being gay must be at least partly genetic, one supposes."

In a soft motion, he pulls Chris's ass cheeks to the sides, exposing the rosy star. "The flip side is that being gay is NOT totally ingrained. So what is it then? Some experiences people have must MAKE them gay. In prison, there were guys you would never imagine...who let me make their ass into my fuck-sleeve. For protection. For social order. For peace of mind. For a perverted sense of brotherhood. Because I made them feel SOO good."

"Get the hell away from my ass."

"It's always `straight' studs like you that make the greatest show of how averse to gay stuff they are. Why the passion? It's not like you would be so perturbed if I accused you of being a doorknob. Falsehood has no bearing on offensiveness. It's the status you read into the insult. It makes you seem prejudiced. It also makes the truth about you ambiguous. Maybe most truths are."

"I'm not letting you get a `perverse sense of brotherhood' with my ass to prove some point."

Zane drags his finger over Chris's hole, who shudders.

"Are you going to kiss my feet? For real this time?"

"Fine," Chris grumbles. Zane walks back around, and pushes his foot under Chris's face. Chris steals a glance up at him. "Look—since for whatever reason, fags like Travis drive you completely BONKERS, maybe you should just find a girl instead, and save everyone some trouble."

"Aren't you listening?" Zane asks, kneeling and stroking Chris's cheek. "I have found my girl."

"Why are you so--hateful?" Chris croaks.

"You've got it all backwards. I'm not hateful. I think faggots are--misunderstood. They lacked the tools, historically, to explain what was wrong. They want to become their true selves. Society wouldn't let that happen. So they appealed to society's bogus promise of freedom as a pathway to get there. An ends to a means." Zane smirks. "Kiss my foot—NOW."

Chris groans. He opens his mouth and presses his lips against Zane's foot. His tongue prods the crown of Zane's foot gently.

"Our society hates sex, because sex is subversive. It forms bonds between persons, but not between peoples--at least--not at society's convenience. That's why betrothals dominated for so damn long. Gay acts are very subversive. And thus society hates gays too. And that's why you are the one who hates gays—not me. Because you are society's little envoy. I hate society just as much as Travis does. A real person loves sex, naturally, but the weight of culture makes people two-faced."

Zane wiggles his foot.

Chris drops one more slow kiss on Zane, his expression blank.

"Gay people thought that by asking for respect, they might be able to make a good case for why they deserved rights. That's fine for them as a people, but not for them as persons. As individuals, they are tired of being so respectable. They want to lick balls. They want a big dong up their ass. They want the subversive stuff that is the opposite of what society told them they should want; in many cases, the opposite of status and power. They want the self-determination promised in the civic phrase `all men are created equal, endowed with the unalienable right of liberty.' It lets them pivot and be utterly emasculated in private."

"We're not in private," Chris says.

"But we have been before," Zane says. "Why don't you tell them?"

Chris looks up at Zane, not blinking, not cringing.

"Tell them why you let me have my fun with Travis in the basement, showing off for Calvin? Why you let me test my theories out on Calvin just hours ago? Why you even agreed to this game, even though you had already won?"

Chris looks down.

Zane turns and looks at me. "Chris here has already sucked my cock."

I can't react, so I just look at him, swinging in space.

"That's right Travis! Your hero, your DREAM here, is a fraud. It happened when we were twelve. After playing car-jacking video games in his basement. With his parents upstairs. We were curious about sex, you see? We agreed that I'd suck his if he'd suck mine. He wasn't very good, but somehow, after a desperate effort, he managed to get me off. Anyway, by the time it was my turn—I didn't want to. People are always entitled to have a change of heart."

Chris didn't move a muscle.

"Now I can get you to do it whenever I want, can't I?"

"Liar," Chris says. "You're a liar."

"But I wasn't before the last part?"

Chris freezes up.

"Your honor gives you away—again! But now—I think it's about time for you to redeem yourself. I want to feel your wet lips on my cock again. C'mon Chris—won't you be my girl?"

"No fucking way."

"You were so afraid they'd find out what happened. Well, now they know anyway. And I want to give them some firsthand knowledge." Zane jacks down on his cock-shaft, pulling back foreskin and exposing his bulbous cock-head. His cock jumps and thickens in his palm. "Things don't have to be so complicated. Stop puffing out your chest in mock pride. Stop trying to ascend. Stop trying to prove you are a man. Sink down, into the depths of what you really are meant to be. Be my girl, Chris."

"Go fuck yourself, you white trash piece of garbage! You're the faggot, or you'd have a girlfriend of your own."

"That's not a very nice thing to say. I think you owe me an apology."

Chris spits on Zane's foot.

"Well, if you aren't going to apologize like a civilized person, then you can apologize like a brute. Do you know how people apologize in prison?"

Chris closes his eyes.

Zane prods Chris's mouth with his foot, and Chris looks up tentatively.

"People apologize by kissing ass, Chris."

Chris struggles against the twine, and Zane steps on his back.

"You owe me an apology, Chris."

"Gross."

Zane shrugs, rolling Chris onto his back. "Two apologies then."

Chris falls silent.

"There are ways you can avoid this, you know? Just say what I want to hear."

Chris looks away.

"Well, if you want my ass that bad..."

Zane sits on Chris's face.

"Kiss my ass, Chris. I want to feel those wet lips."

Zane closes his eyes—moaning--subtly rising up and down. "Mmn. Don't forget--good kisses have tongue."

Zane bites down on his lip, snarling. "I wanna feel that tongue—kinda like you wanna breathe."

His eyes roll up into his head and he arches his back, flexing his thick, tattooed pectorals out. "Fu-u-uck! Fu--uck yeah, girl. Fuck."

Chris writhes fruitlessly as Zane heckles him. "Are you sorry now, girl? Now that I'm about to make you my faggot?"

Chris kicks into the air in futility. Zane sneers. "Maybe you are, maybe you aren't."

Zane rises up, balancing on his knees and outstretched fists, far enough that Chris gets a chance to gasp for air. Before Chris can catch his breath, Zane lowers his ass on his face again, making Chris inhale right into Zane's crack.

"Time for the second apology," Zane says, sneering, grinding around. "For calling my ass gross. Are you hard yet?" He reaches down and grips Chris's cock, which is limp in his hand. "Nope, not yet. Not as spirited as Travis, I guess. Well—it's easier to think of you as a dickless bitch this way."

Zane bides his time, holding onto the sides of Chris's head. He farts, then after another chuckle, crawls off of him, twisting around to look at his work.

It looks foreign to me: the historically groomed face and hair of the boy who may as well be the school's patron saint...is now a barely recognizable, sweaty, grungy, mess. Some of his hair is downcast over his eyes, while other portions jut outward.

He gasps for air, trying to control himself, trembling in place.

"Still think I'm gross, Chris?" Zane asks.

Chris looks at the ceiling, stunned.

"Answer me," Zane says, prodding him in the balls.

"No, Zane."

Zane grips tightly on Chris's balls. "I know you like to call Travis a bitch. But everyone can see that you are my bitch now. Wouldn't you say?"

A glazed look spreads across Chris's face, and he surprises me by starting to hum the mokimon theme.

"WOULDN'T YOU SAY?" Zane shrieks. He rolls Chris back onto his stomach. "I needed to teach Travis how to rim. Now it looks like I'll need to teach you."

Our patron saint doesn't register a reaction as Zane spreads Chris's ass out and licks. His eyes fall shut and he continues humming.

Zane either decides he's done enough, or he isn't satisfied with Chris's meltdown, because he sidles up Chris's back and slaps him in the face. "Snap out of it, bitch."

Chris blinks a few times, his mouth falling open. "Don't do this, Zane. Please. I befriended you—even though you were on the other side of the tracks. Even though everyone thought you were crazy. Don't prove them right."

"Your face may not make a good cunt. But your ass begs to differ."

"I'm a man, Zane. I'm a straight man."

"Not anymore."

Zane lines up his cock.

"STOP."

Zane freezes, surprised to hear the voice from over the couch.

Calvin's voice rumbles. "Stop Zane."

"You must be joking."

"If you keep going, it's a crime."

I am pretty sure Zane already passed that marker by assaulting us, but I'm in no position to qualify Calvin's statement.

"A crime would be letting this opportunity slip through my fingers."

Calvin shudders. "If you keep going, you'll get sent back to prison. Let him go, and you won't regret it in the long run. I swear."

"I'm not going to give up a virgin jock hole when I'm this pumped up."

"So take mine instead."

Zane perks up. "And that wouldn't be a crime?"

"No. I'm asking you to do it. You get the same prize, with no guilt."

"Guilt is a social construction," Zane says, chewing on Chris's ear, his cock sliding precariously along Chris's crack. "People get embarrassed around other people. They feel anxious about being embarrassed. And society rebrands that anxiety as `guilt.' They hope people will relieve that anxiety in a way that serves society. Guilt isn't real."

"Whatever. Believe that if you must. But jail cells are real in any case. You don't even like being suspended from school."

Zane snarls. "If I let Chris go, I'm going to take out my rage on you ten-fold, Calvin. You really think you are ready for that?"

"Yes," Calvin says, finally looking him in the eye.

"The word `no' will drop out of your vocabulary?"

"Yes."

"You'll call me master?"

"Yes--master."

Zane crouches and scoops Chris into his arms. Chris doesn't even recoil.

"Take him," Zane says, thrusting Chris over the couch towards Calvin. "He's a piece of shit anyway." With one arm shackled down, Calvin is barely able to guide Chris to the ground without another thunderous landing.

Zane hops over the couch, towing Chris to the back door by his tied up wrists.

"You think I should take the deal, Chris? Calvin is still on my checklist, after all."

Chris nods.

"So brave you are. Look at your hero, Travis. Look at her beg!" Zane laughs. "If I let you go, Chris, there are a few more stipulations. First, you cede the first spot in our weight class to me."

"Okay," Chris whispers.

"And secondly—and you have to get this one right—you have to answer one simple question. Chris—who is my girl?"

Chris and Zane look into one another's eyes, the serpentine green ones boring into the glittering gold.

"I am," Chris croaks.

"Great answer," Zane says.

Zane gathers up Chris's clothes, pickpocketing his wallet and phone. "If you don't run and tattletale, I'll get these back to you on Monday," Zane says. "Not that I really need insurance. Eduardo and the others still respect you, after all. Wouldn't want to give me a reason to change that."

My dick is half-hard now, as I make brief eye contact with Chris. It protrudes out of the hammock pathetically.

Zane slides the door open, and drops Chris's clothes and keys outside. He unties Chris's wrists, grabs him by the waist, and heaves him onto the back porch.

Then he pulls the door shut behind him. We watch through the glass as Chris stoically dons his clothes and walks gingerly into the forest, the scene augmented by Zane's jeering and laughter.

"It's for the best, Calvin," Zane says, turning back toward us. "Chris was hitting her limits. She'll need time for things to sink in and build anew. Just like she didn't get stacked muscles after a single workout. It takes a bit of time..." He struts back over to Calvin, retrieving the lock pick from his bag.

He unshackles Calvin from the cabinet, then cuffs Calvin's arms behind his back. He pulls off Calvin's boxers, smirking, slapping Calvin's balls.

"Any regrets?" Zane asks.

Calvin whimpers.

They stare into each other.

Calvin's cherubic blue eyes, flecked with pain, alive under the assault of Zane's vile glare.

A touch of fear invades Zane's expression; Calvin seems to score an unthinkable point.

Zane slams Calvin's shoulders into the cabinet.

Zane snakes his tongue into Calvin's ear, and Calvin juts out his chest. Zane whispers something, and Calvin bites his lip. They look into each other's eyes again, but this time, the light in Calvin's eyes fades, moment by moment, until he closes his eyes.

When Calvin opens them again, the hope has been snuffed out. He bites his tongue, his expression mirroring Zane's lust.

Zane vaults the couch again, then pulls Calvin after him, dropping him onto the floor underneath me.

"Calvin—get in the faggot pussy position."

Calvin draws his knees in toward his chest, shoving his ass into the air.

I think of myself, for a fleeting moment.

Even though I'm swinging slowly, it feels like whiplash. So much; so fast; I'm dizzy from the rapid movements; like watching the old seizure-inducing mokimon. I want to close my eyes, but a morbid curiosity keeps me tuned out of myself—and tuned into them.

Though the view of Calvin is partially obscured by my drooping dick.

Zane spits on his own cock, jacking it in short, violent clicks.

Zane crouches down behind Calvin. He grabs each of Calvin's creamy ass cheeks, pulling on them crudely. He spits on Calvin's hole. "I'm a bit too worked up for foreplay."

"Fine," Calvin breathes.

Zane slides his cock along Calvin's crack. Zane's tan, sinewy, inked up body makes friction with the monochrome, pale, voluptuous complexion of Calvin's ass.

Zane grabs his jockstrap and shoves it into Calvin's face. "Bite down on this, faggot."

Calvin bites.

Zane plunges his cock inside.

The image is surreal—watching Calvin's wet hole bloom open just enough to swallow half of Zane's adamant, fuming, corkscrew cock.

Calvin whines fiercely; his cries are muffled until he spits the jock strap out. Calvin moans in pain.

"It's a good thing you've fucked yourself dreaming of this, isn't it?"

"Yes, master," Calvin croaks, clearly on the verge of tears. "Please—go slow."

Zane grips Calvin by the back of the head, pulling on his hair, making him arch his back. Fury etches across his face. I expect him to ignore Calvin's protests and take what he wants, but he pauses, holding Calvin's trembling upper body in place.

Zane doesn't just like fucking guys.

Into submission. Into emasculation. Into oblivion.

He likes making them want him to.

"Fuck," Calvin whimpers. "Oh, fuck."

With one hand tugging on Calvin's hair, Zane employs his other hand to coax Calvin's ass, rubbing the left cheek in slow circles, slowly nurturing the hole.

Another chunk of Zane's cock digs inside.

Zane switches to the right, gripping Calvin's ass tightly, his thumb impressing into the skin, making a rosy blemish in its wake.

Calvin's asshole winks open again, and the brunt of Zane's thick cock sticks it.

"Hell," Calvin whimpers.

"That's good," Zane coos. "Good job."

He drops his grip on Calvin's hair, grabbing Calvin's ass with both hands and spreading it apart. Then, he buries the rest of his cock into Calvin's trembling hole.

Calvin collapses forward onto his stomach, rooting his head around in Zane's jockstrap and gnawing on it. He breathes in slowly, closing his eyes and relaxing.

Zane puts both hands on the back of Calvin's head, establishing a rhythm of thrusts. Dimples form in Zane's strong ass on each upstroke; his shoulderblades rise in triumph. Zane pushes Calvin's head through the leg of the jockstrap and into the carpet.

"Aren't you grateful I gave you an excuse to play the angel? To volunteer yourself as my cunt for the right reasons?"

"Yes."

"This is what you wanted anyway."

"Yes."

"And what do you think of me now? Honestly?"

"You are still--a terrible person."

"I know. Isn't it hot?"

Zane grabs the back of Calvin's head again, twisting it sideways against the floor. Zane droops down, coiling into position, nibbling on Calvin's lips.

Calvin's mouth hangs ajar.

Zane licks the underside of Calvin's upper lip before lurching his tongue into Calvin's open mouth. Calvin's mouth softens into an `o' and he sucks on Zane's tongue, moaning. Zane humps Calvin harder, his abs clapping against Calvin's ass. Calvin opens his mouth again and their lips interlock. Calvin's handcuffs rattle; Zane's arms dig underneath Calvin and do something that makes him squeal like a pig.

"C'mon, pussy faggot, shove that ass up for me."

"God, I hate you." Calvin smirks in spite of himself, pushing his ass up, meeting Zane's thrust.

"I hate you, too," Zane says, kissing and humping him again.

Calvin whines sporadically, each noise rising in pitch and duration.

Zane's thrusts clink like a miner's axe, each one forcing its way a bit deeper into the glimmering, wet hole. Calvin is prone on the floor now, fucked out of the pussy faggot position and into a position that is stiff like a board, but flexed and warped under pressure.

Calvin sniffs on the jockstrap until he snorts.

"Wish we'd unleashed your inner pig earlier," Zane says. He starts biting Calvin's ear and whispering too quietly for me to hear. Calvin's irises seem to swim halfway into his head; he lets out another crackling moan, shuddering; he sucks on the jockstrap and struggles against his cuffs.

"Faggot," Zane says, massaging Calvin's ass with both hands. He snarls, pulling on Calvin's ass, pinching it, before lining up a few brutish slaps. "I said I'd take out my anger ten-fold..."

"That hurts, master."

"Good. I'm just getting started."

Zane grabs the back of Calvin's neck, pummeling him like a jackhammer. "Shove your ass up, retard."

"I'm trying," Calvin breathes.

"God, yeah," Zane growls, letting loose a bit more, raining down thrusts and clawing up Calvin's back. "Remember how ghost-faced you were, watching me wreck Travis? That was all jealousy, wasn't it?"

"Half-jealously," Calvin whimpers. "Half-disgust."

"Don't lie to yourself."

"Maybe 60-40," Calvin says. He tries to shrug, but Zane's hammering compels him to arch his spine and to throw his head back.

"I said to push out your ass, not arch your back," Zane says, pushing Calvin's face back into the carpet and pulling his ass up into the air again. Zane holds it in place and wallops it. He inhales, rising up, before spitting onto Calvin's cheek.

He reaches underneath Calvin again, flexing.

Calvin jolts his ass up, wrinkling his face.

Zane smirks. "If you think I'm so gross why do I make you so hard?"

"Disgust and lust aren't opposites."

"Fair point," Zane says. He uses two fingers to push the spit across Calvin's cheek and into his mouth.

Zane snarls, shoving his spit-covered fingers past the edge Calvin's lips. Calvin pushes his tongue out in order to roll it around Zane's fingers, drawing them into his mouth.

Zane shoves his fingers knuckle-deep into Calvin's cunt-face, using his free hand to spank Calvin's ass over and over. Calvin doesn't even begin to protest; he just moans and sucks Zane's fingers as his ass gets redder and redder. Zane snarls, pulling Calvin's hair back and driving into his ass like a man possessed.

"I'm losing my mind here," Zane murmurs. "I'm not sure I can handle how much of a faggot you are."

Calvin babbles incoherently on Zane's fingers.

Zane pulls them out of Calvin's mouth, wringing his neck again. "What was that?"

"Fuck me. Please--destroy me."

Calvin clenches his shackled fists, wriggling his butt into the air one last time.

Zane claps down--palming it--before striking down with the full force of his body.

"YOU FAGGOT PIECE OF SHIT."

"Yes, master."

Zane wraps his arms around Calvin, marking his body with pools of sweat, crushing him. His flexing arms quiver.

"YOU SELF-RIGHTEOUS PIG. YOU CUNT-FACED WHORE."

"Yes, master."

Zane's breathing accelerates in time with his vicious clobbering.

"YOU PUSSY PUNK BITCH. YOU MUTHERFUCKING, COCKSUCKING, DESPERATE-ASS, BASTARD FAGGOT!"

Zane hammers down, abandoning any sense of restraint. Calvin's asshole glints in anticipation.

"You're getting a bit redundant, Zane."

Zane claps Calvin's mouth shut. "Piss off."

I close my eyes, trying to process what I feel. It's hard to concentrate with the progressively louder `FWAP FWAP FWAP' of a man reaming my friend into a faggot.

The cross-weave chafes my skin. It's been digging in too long. Several of my limbs have fallen asleep; it feels like thousands of little pins shooting into my skin over and over. My blood has run to the wrong places, like the vertigo of a ghetto carnival ride, and still I float, in a nauseous half-jealousy, half-disgust.

FWAP FWAP FWAP.

Calvin moans into Zane's palm, distending his ass in abject submission. I wonder if I seem as much of a slut when Zane abuses my hole. But mostly I wonder if I look as ghostly as Calvin did watching me—hovering in place—pale--prone to my own fits of invisibility.

"Who's you're hero, Calvin?" Zane asks.

"Albert Schweitzer?"

Zane spanks him so hard it echoes. "TRY AGAIN."

"You, Zane," Calvin says, breathing hard through the pain. "Is that what you want to hear?"

Zane lets loose; Calvin's ass emits undignified slurping noises.

"Yeah," Zane says, clenching his eyes shut. "Fuck yeah. Hear that, TRAVIS?" He shoots me a look. "Don't think I've completely forgotten about you up there."

His glare says two things.

The first, I will be punished.

The second, I can't quite place, but it's a deeper castigation that seems to pierce the soul.

"Lick till you blow, faggot." Zane twists Calvin's head and shoves it into his armpit, flexing. He sneers at me, tonguing his lips and biting down as Calvin laps at the sweaty, mind-numbing reservoir.

Calvin whimpers, sniffing and closing his eyes.

Zane slaps Calvin across the face. Did I say you could smell, you stupid jocksniffer? You've got to earn it now. No more stealing my essence."

"Yes master," Calvin whispers, licking Zane's pit. He starts whimpering, flexing his ass, his voice getting higher.

The battering of Calvin's ass gets loud enough to compete with Chris's fall.

"Who's your hero, Calvin?"

"You are."

Calvin's ass starts to clench in rhythmic bursts as he licks and licks and licks.

Zane moans at the servile stimulation, then whispers again into Calvin's ear.

"Fuck," Calvin whines, his body cohering like an old sponge. "FUCK!"

"Go ahead and cum, now, slaveboy. You earned it."

"Mmn. Fuck it out of me, master. Please."

Zane grabs his jockstrap and shoves it under Calvin's body, making Calvin twitch as he clouts him.

Zane refuses to pass up the opportunity to consummate Calvin's gripping virgin cumhole--unleashing his primal rage in a half-dozen wicked-hard FWAPS--and an unintelligible torrent of swear words.

Then, he finishes—gasping wide--beaming from ear to ear.

"You are my faggot."

"Yes master," Calvin whimpers.

Zane runs his hand through Calvin's hair before holding him tightly, still buried inside him. Zane nuzzles into Calvin's neck and their eyes fall closed again.

They take their time to cool down. When Zane finally pulls out, sticky and spent, Calvin curls up on the ground, motionless, refusing to open his eyes.

Zane rises, walking toward me and pulling off my ball-gag.

"Zane, I—"

He shoves the jockstrap into my face. "Suck Calvin's cum out, cunt-face."

I slurp down, looking into Zane's eyes.

"Don't you dare think you are going to get off easy," he says, punching me in the gut.

Pain shards nick my body like falling onto a crag of ice.

I shake my head, biting down on the jock, milking out Calvin's sweet cum.

"You won't. Not at all. I've got the whole weekend to make you fags get it." He grips my rock-hard dick. "Capiche?"

I stare into his glimmering green eyes, and slowly, I nod.

"Good," Zane says. He turns back to Calvin. "Now that we squared that away—I think you owe me an apology or two. Don't you?"

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