The Exam

Disclaimer/Reminder: The following story is a work of gay fiction although based on non-fictional occurrences. It contains sexual acts between males in high school as well as with males beyond high school age. There are scenes of definite humiliation, some of them graphic. If this subject matter is offensive to you or if you are too young to be reading it, please exit now. You have been warned. This story is the property of the author under U.S. copyright laws, and may not be used elsewhere without written consent. Otherwise enjoy. Emails expressing interest or wishing further information can be sent to: mtnuda@hotmail.com.

Note: All names and locations have been altered to protect the innocent. The state in which the story originally happened - coincidentally - has a legal age of sixteen; the "fictionalized" location does not. Also descriptions of unprotected sex are fictional due to story restraints. You understand you are reading a work of fiction; behave accordingly. Again, do not read this if you're a minor or are offended by gay situations or activities which can be classified as bdsm. Finally, thanks to all you loyal readers who have stuck with this story through all the years. This final chapter took too long, but hope you enjoy it. So many guys wanted their story told, and all I could do was agree.

WARNING: IF THIS IS YOUR FIRST ENCOUNTER WITH THIS STORY YOU ARE STRONGLY ENCOURAGED TO BEGIN THE TALE AT THE BEGINNING! READING THIS CHAPTER INITIALLY WILL ONLY PROVE CONFUSING AND DISAPPOINTING. VERY LITTLE WILL MAKE SENSE IF YOU BEGIN THIS NARRATIVE AT THIS POINT! THANK YOU.

Chapter One Hundred Five

Wednesday Aug 15

"For a long long time it had a almost kind of religious

significance for me, in that people would always want

to know, well what happens after the End of History?

And it was like asking what happens when you die?

In fact it is precisely that question. And I would always

say, my theory does not address that question, because

at that point my formal description goes off the graph.

Well when a formal description leaves the domain

of its own self-description it no longer is making any

statement about what is going on..."

Terence McKenna, Vertigo at History's Edge, October, 1988

Big mean Ed Wilson wrestled his bulky muscles out of bed, out of HIS bed! after the third futile attempt to fall asleep. Not that the little punk Walter "assigned" to his bed was keeping him awake. Even though everyone in his room was getting into all kinds of nasty-ass shit, he let that little punk Walter know if he tried anything, if he so much as breathed on him! he'd be spending the rest of the week hanging from the wall. Upside down. By your puny-ass ankles punk! At first Ed convinced himself he was having problems sleeping because of all those damn green-ass trees giving off all that funky fresh air, then it was because of all those freaky weird-ass lights, then it was the fault of those dumber-than-fuck roommates trying their punk-ass bullshit version of strip poker? With the muthafuckin lights out? Ed pulled the blanket - HIS blanket! - over his head, gave one final growl at Walter's direction, then told himself he was out cold. When in fact he was sweating his ass off, all those residual images from those queer-ass games in that auditorium earlier just continuing to play and replay on the back of his eyelids! He had never not EVER let another dude touch his shit, hell even his meets consisting of nothing more than body-slamming his opponent into a quick five-second record pin. It was all thug strength, no technique. His coaches rode his ass the first season or two, all the while he kept chalking up pin after pin, then they just stepped back and let him steamroll his way to Semis. Yeah, just toss some meat in the cage every now and then, and offer a desperate prayer the big killer don't kill somebody. Which was why Ed was still freaked he lost the jackoff contest with that asshole Niels last night. There was NO WAY he ever expected a dude's fist to bring him off! The only reason he entered the contest was to give all those little fags a first and last view of his brutal dick once and for all. Anyone with any sense would steer clear of him from that point on. And having some blond faggot lose his load at the same time... sweet! But it all backfired big time on him; and his huge outburst later did little to help him recover some sense of dignity. Talk about blowing it! And then some!

What really gave Ed a hardon was strolling down the halls at school and watching the disheveled masses of kids split down the middle, like Moses parting the Red Sea or shit. A few of his teammates even started calling him Moses, or just Mo for short, in honor of that little trick. Yeah, Big Moses, or his favorite "Mo' Mo", that one really got his - whatDAFUCK?!?

He tried flushing the muthafucker again, the fucking handle almost snapping off in his thick fist. Fuck it, he thought, let those nasty-ass pussies deal with it. Bet some of them even gonna bone seeing his piss in the bowl like that. He stepped into the shower, turning nozzles, but again nothing! Who the dickhead forget to pay the muthafuckin water bill?

He flipped off the light and staggered back over the bodies scattered all over the room, grabbed his work-out clothes and bag and plowed his way towards the door, the light from the hall one-tenth what he remembered it being. At least the juice is on, he thought, even if it's nasty dark out here. He made his way down the stairs and through the common area, perhaps hearing or seeing a few half-hidden bodies wandering around. Maybe it was later than he thought, but once outside he noticed the faintest trace of dawn over the trees, so it was still before five like he thought. That fuckin gym better have water! He punched open the outside door and stormed across the lawn one eye over his shoulder as he yanked open the door entering the complex. Yeah this place better be workin, or else one of those muthahs is goin down!

Only when he was sitting in front of a locker, in front of HIS locker, did he even begin to process what he had seen crossing the yard. Did he really see all those tents? And even what looked like a few jeeps? And half-hidden behind that line of tents, and some of those make-shift fences, could those really have been the blades of helicopters? He slammed his locker open, daring the echoing silence to challenge him. Daring the echoes to provide a better explanation for what he just saw. Or didn't see, as he convinced himself.

He grabbed his raggedy-ass workout clothes and those stolen towels, yeah somebody would be pissed but too fuckin bad! and headed for the shower area. When he turned on the first showerhead, it sounded sweeter than the church choir to his ears!

"Well awRIGHT!" he yelled, jumping under the spray. It was even warm! About TIME! He soaked and lathered three or four times, chuckling at the idea he was using up the last of their water.

"Somethin funny?" Ed spun around at the voice. Standing there was a big blond guy he remembered from last night's competition, Dan or Dave something. Just like that, Ed hated his guts remembering this guy did nothing worse than take off his shirt, and Ed? His dick jumped with the memory.

"Thought this's private gig" daring him to invade his space.

"Water in my wing ain't workin" Doug came in, undid his towel, and turned on another shower head, neither right next to Ed nor farthest from him. Doug was in too good of a mood to let big mean Ed Wilson ruin his morning workout "ain't botherin nobody."

"Ain't in the mood Dan" Ed growled at him.

"Name's Doug... Ed" turning away from him, putting his head under the water, what little tension remaining in his shoulders responding to the hot water, all his bruised strained aches and pains running down the drain. He knew it was too early for Ed to do anything stupid.

"Whatever, just don't gimme shit" about last night, almost slipped out.

"Wasn't plannin on it" and Doug was back in his own thoughts. And man did he have a shopping list of them. He felt the tension in the noisy room subside until he heard a third shower start. He kept his eyes closed, knowing Ed would be all over the intruder in record time. When Doug heard nothing but a series of faint grunts he had to crack his eyes. He waited until the appropriate amount of time had passed before he turned. Doug's eyes just about popped out of their sockets!

Doug was not sure which was worse: the fact that this stud of a talent scout was standing there naked and dripping wet, or Doug could not remember his name to save his life!

"Morning... coach...?" was the best Doug could do when they finally noticed each other noticing each other.

"Morning Doug" Bradshaw smiled and nodded, a bit too distant for anything like a handshake. Doug nodded back, one eye on Ed who was making a point of not scrutinizing their exchange. But Doug could hear Ed's brain grinding away even from across the room. And damn if he was going to let Ed catch him stealing looks at him below the waist, registering Ed's reaction to his two naked shower mates.

"Coach...?" now Doug felt even more embarrassed "sorry, but I don't know all the football coaches..."

"I ain't a football coach" Bradshaw started again to soap down his stocky fireplug body, ignoring the variety of looks his motions were provoking "nothing so glamorous" seeing the confusion on Doug's face worsen "Russ... Russ Bradshaw" this time he did take the three steps to hold out his hand. Doug grabbed it soap-slick and all, not ignoring Ed's attempts to ignore all this "they collared me into scouting talent from this camp."

"Football talent right?" Doug was not going to break the grip. He was getting better at recognizing the electricity shooting between them, almost wishing Moose were here to congratulate him on his ass-backwards progress. Like Moose kept reminding him: trust yer bonehead hunches Dougie.

"All kinds of talent" looking back at Ed "like today they got me scouting out you wrestlers" seeing the slight jerk of Ed's shoulders "especially the higher weight classes."

"We ain't wrestlin now..." Ed grumbled in their general direction. Only then did Russ break the handshake with Doug and return to his own shower. Doug could not help but stare at those two lathered cheeks bounce away from him. This dude just knew how to make his thick muscles look even hotter.

"Well I hope to see that later this morning" Russ didn't miss a beat "your coach, Coach Fabersten - "

"Farbersten? Figures" Ed said too loud.

"Say wha?" from Doug, not sure what he heard.

"Nothin, nothin at all" Ed turned off his water reaching for his towel, in a hurry to dry his large frame and leave. But not in such a hurry he wanted to miss one word of this.

"Coach Fabersten told me Ed here was definitely one of the wrestlers to check out" turning back to Doug "you were also on that short list."

"Thanks, I think" Doug was doing everything he could not to let his eyes travel below Russ' chest, but every time he slipped Russ nailed him good. If Ed did or not he was too preoccupied to notice. But Doug did notice when a fourth naked body joined them; he could not help but notice.

The guy was taller than Russ yet just as stocky. Where Russ had brown hair, lots of brown hair! this guy's was red. Very red. Bright red hair like some poster for Travel Scotland or something. Even his pubes were fire-engine red.

"My fuckin luck..." the intruder grumbled to himself waiting for someone to take the bait. When no one took it he turned his back on them, making sure his glutes were flexing for their benefit "so this where the flunkies meeting?" glaring at the other three over his shoulder, already communicating his piss-poor mood.

"Flunkies?" Russ was anything but a flunkie.

"Y'know..." Red made a point of running his eyes up and down Russ' soapy body, barely concealing his arrogant sneer "morning detention! This where they send the flunkies, all us dudes not putting out, not going with the program, like last night's bullshit!" hurling that last word at Russ' crotch "so we're the last of the - "

"Last of what?" Ed did not know what clique this red-haired creep was trying to form, but he wanted no part of it!

"Last of the real men" Red was already figuring out which one of these dudes he would deck in which order "or you all a buncha pussies too!"

Doug was already lunging into the space in front of Ed, expecting him to destroy this asshole. He almost slipped and fell on his ass when Ed just thrust his shoulders at him and laughed in his face.

"Yeah I'm the biggest pussy here, asswipe! Whatya gonna do about it!"

"Scottie Farley right?" Russ even extended his hand. Talk about unnerving Red fast "Russell Bradshaw from Midwest Sports? Maybe you remember I'm here to scout out talent this year and..." seeing Scottie's face get redder for a new variety of reasons "and yeah, from what your coach, Coach Fleicher right? from what he briefed me, you are one of several guys who we needed to have a 'talk' with this morning before the rest of the wrestling teams show up for morning practice. Most of the others are being met by the coaches, but you gentlemen" looking around the room "were even earlier than we were expecting."

"But..." Doug felt like he had been caught cheating at a test he never took "but I..."

"Not you Doug" turning to face Ed's stony glare "or you either Ed. But you Scottie..." finally rinsing himself off, his work done for the moment "yes, you and I and Coach Fleicher need to have a little 'motivational' meeting. So as soon as you're cleaned up meet us in the locker room."

"Us?" Scottie glared at Doug, the smaller of the two. Not that he would admit big mean Ed Wilson could intimidate him. Even if he did "suppose you two fags just sneaked in here to see this bod naked, right?"

"Us two... fags..." Ed was just adding more reasons to pound this asshole into mush "got other things t'worry about."

"Yeah I can imagine" he turned his back on them, even giving his hips a shake or two.

"Not yet" Doug looked at Russ "but you will" and grabbed his towel. He did not get a chance to shave or brush his teeth but those elements of his morning routine would have to wait. He felt something bad coming, like a dam about to burst. He did not know if he wanted to be in the vicinity when it happened.

When Ed entered the locker room and saw Farbersten standing there he knew his morning was going down the crapper fast,

"Mornin coach."

"Morning Wilson" trying not to look sleep-deprived "here early huh?"

"All I wanted'z to get a workout before - "

"Before we had our talk about your behavior last night?"

"Look coach, all that shit - "

"That what?"

"I mean that... stuff y'know... c'mon Coach! How y'expect regular guys t'do that sh-I mean stuff, y'know?"

"If my memory ain't playing tricks on me" Coach Farbersten nodded at Wilson's locker "you and Swensen were - "

"Coach!"

"And you would've been doing fine until your outburst, almost storming out of there after swearing at everyone, especially us coaches. And you know I do NOT tolerate that, don't you Wilson!" talked about steamed! Ed figured out fast it was his fault Don was up this early, and Don was NOT a morning person.

"Look, I'm really sorry Coach okay?" Ed knew he was in deep shit "but y'gotta let me wrestle okay? I mean - "

"You wanna wrestle?" his coach looked at him "fine, I'll let ya wrestle" nodding at the open locker again "grab your stuff and follow me."

"Ain't I gotta get suited up first?" tugging at his towel, the white material in stark contrast to his very dark skin.

"Bring your stuff we're already late" yeah let that sink in, Don thought. He stormed along the row until he found another locker, grabbed two gymbags from there and headed for the door, hearing big mean Ed Wilson's lopsided steps behind him, trying to keep up.

When Don went down the stairs and not up to the practice rooms, Ed got nervous. He tried a few times to stop his coach and ask what was up, but Don continued down the stairs until they entered the main auditorium, the same as the prior night's, but now the center of the room no longer had that humiliating stage. Much worse it was set up for wrestling. And not the type Ed was expecting; this was mock-up of a professional-wrestling style platform, ropes and all, but not full size. Ed was almost fell out of his towel, trying to take it in.

"What the FUCK?" he looked at the ring, at his coach, and all those chairs! "what is THIS?"

"You said you wanted to wrestle, well okay Wilson, you'll get your chance to wrestle."

"Not this kinda wrestlin! This is like WWF shit!"

"At this point swear all you want" Don turned on him, almost colliding with Ed "because you had your chance last night to do the right thing by your team, for all of us. Now, it's time to face the music."

"C'mon coach, y'know that faggy pro wrestling shit is all bogus like. You really expect me to..."

"I expect you to do what you were brought to this camp to do. Wilson I expect you to wrestle" Don jammed his finger into Ed's huge bare chest "and I expect you to put on one fucking amazing show."

"I don't know that fake shit wrestling!"

"You better learn" Don shook his head "or your ass is gonna be in one helluva sling, got it Wilson?"

"You really expect me to - "

"You had such a super opportunity last night but you just threw it all away like soggy garbage. Now Wilson you can learn to deal with the consequences" and he led him over to the first row of seats almost touching the ring apron. Ed looked at the small, professional-style ring, at Coach Farbersten, then down at his towel. He knew he was totally fucked now. And when he saw some guys wheeling in large tv-studio sized cameras, he was doubly-fucked. And when he realized the cameramen were all wearing army fatigues, he just about doubled over. He was several miles past "fucked"! And it was his own fuckin fault!

When Ed saw that red-haired cracker mutant Scottie and Coach Fleicher come through the door as well, it only got worse. At least Ed had a towel to wear; Scottie was bare-ass naked! And still wet from the shower. Like Fleicher was too furious reading him the riot act to give him time to dry off or anything. And then Coach Mo and another coach he did not recognize, short, bald and stocky, came through the door, blocking Scottie's escape route if that was what he had been planning.

"Figures" Scottie took a seat in Ed's row, snearing at him as he sat down, already grabbing a sports drink from one of several coolers in front of them.

"Forgettin somethin?" Ed nodded down at Scottie's crotch, tugging at his own towel with his free hand.

"Farley, you wanna tell Wilson there about the whole truckload of demerits and penalties you needs to work off?" Coach Fleicher took the seat between the two "or you want me to?" Scottie shaking his head, the color flooding his blotchy freckled cheeks. Fleicher shrugged, already opening and downing half a bottle of the cool water.

"Fu-no coach" Scottie looked at the ground, muttering something under his breath. When Fleicher started talking with Coach Morrison about something involving "exhibition" Ed did his best to tune it out, all the while stealing super-quick glances at the big redhead sitting there, either dripping wet or sweating. He caught Ed's gaze, shook his head and mouthed "fuck" under his breath. Ed was about to needle him again about his dumbass dress code when the main doors opened with a big whoosh. If Ed was panicking before, now he was sweating bullets puddling the floor beneath him. Most heads turned as a whole group of guys who could only be Army started jostling in, looking haggard but freshly showered. And for some odd reason, today's dresscode for the newbies was nothing but drab green t-shirts and shorts. Like their uniforms were lost at the cleaners or some shit. They began to file in, some of them giving close looks at the coaches, as well as Scottie and Ed, in that order. By the time they began to swarm the second and third rows of chairs behind Ed, they were being joined by several guys wearing suits! Even sunglasses! Ed turned around to get a better look at these guys, something about "government agents" written all over them. He almost expected them to start talking into their lapels, like some cheap spy movie or something. There must have been seven or eight of them, enough to give Ed a bad case of the paranoia shakes. And when they started making some commotion about seating arrangements, Ed knew they were nothing but bad news. By the time everyone settled down, and the grumbling quieted to manageable levels, Ed noticed each G-man got himself flanked by two of the squeaky-clean but exhausted-looking Army grunts. Like some kind of security detail flanking each of the bosses. Which meant there were at least fourteen of those Army guys here. Where the fuck did they come from? Then Ed remembered seeing those tents on the grounds before. So he wasn't hallucinating? Somehow overnight their sports camp had been invaded by the Army! Maybe they were here to clamp down on all this kinky fag shit been going down. Finally!

"Good morning men" the bald coach Ed did not recognize had jumped into the ring during the distraction "and guests" getting some scattered applause "we are very relieved to see we have been joined by members of the Second and Fourth Army divisions" holding up his hands as the cheering and clapping grew "and we extend our congratulations and heartfelt appreciation to you for all you have done to reach us here as well as to keep our camp a viable program not to mention our continuing security" which sounded kind of weird to Ed to say the least "and as most of you are aware we are now under severe restraints for resources, both food and shelter" holding up both hands "but we can assure you we have been stockpiling provisions to last us at least through early spring."

Spring? What the fuck was that about spring? Ed tried to get the attention of some of the coaches but they were busy talking back and forth, scribbling words on their clipboads, even passing notes up to that coach from time to time. This was supposed to be a one-week camp! So what the fuck he talking about next year!

"When do we eat?" a few verbalized what almost everyone was thinking at this early hour.

"Please help yourself to the drinks in the coolers under your seats while we get ready breakfast in bed for four hundred" four hundred? That many were camped out on the grounds? "with our limited resources" sharing smiles with the other coaches "but the one resource with which we are well provided is our sports and recreational facilities" hearing the cheering and clapping again "as well as our own distinct and unassailable form of entertainment for which we have worked hard to be renowned throughout the entire quadrant, something about which we are justifiably proud" waving down the clapping "something you are all eager to experience first hand, something which up to this point has been nothing more than rumor and innuendo, but something for which you have all worked diligently to get yourselves here this morning!" some scattering cheering "am I right?" now a few whistles and stomping feet as well as cheers. Ed turned around slightly, a bit unnerved by the growing excitement beginning to surround him. One or two guys even slapped him on the back, and that made Ed even more paranoid. Entertainment? What entertainment? His eyes returned to the ring, something in his gut giving a scared flip-flop.

"To give you gentlemen a preview of what we have in store for you this morning - and may I remind you this morning is but a small sample of what we have prepared for you and the rest of your group tonight - a small token of our gratitude to keep you entertained while breakfast is readied" yeah that got them clapping and cheering "let me introduce two of our star high-school wrestlers. First, from Minnesota" hearing some claps and cheers "at two hundred and twenty pounds, Scott Farley!"

Some guys were even standing and whistling as Ed leaned over, noting that quick flurry of words between Scottie and Coach Fleicher. Scottie sat there red and angry even for him, Fleicher whispering a few quick words into his ear, his finger jabbing into Scottie's large shoulder with every other word. Scottie spat on the floor but stood up, again a few hands slapping him on both shoulders. Ed even thought he saw a few hands land on those big freckled butt cheeks for good measure. Scottie went to the edge of the ring, flipped himself beneath the bottom rope, his big pink stomach cushioning the impact and dragged himself into the middle of the ring and up to his feet, the small scale of the ring giving him little room to maneuver. He stood next to that coach, his hands plastered over his red pubes. By that point his entire front, from his face to his thighs, was one big blush of outrage and humiliation. If there was one thing worse than standing there naked like so much prime beef, it was a proud Iowa wrestler called a Minnesotan!

"You're up next" Coach Farbersten leaned towards Ed, snapping him out of his daze.

"What?!?!"

"Get up there" he glared down at Ed. If that was not sucker-punch enough, he added "towel stays here."

"WHAT?!?!?"

"If you wanna make it through today, you'll do it. And you'll do it with a big smile on that mug of yours! Now Wilson!"

Big mean Ed Wilson did not know what to do, other than try to punch his way out of the room, taking as many down in the process. He lept to his feet, his fists cocked, already turning towards the first hand he felt on his shoulder, then it hit him! Even if he cleared a path of broken jaws and cracked ribs to the door, then what? Even if he made it as far as the yard outside, there was that entire army bivoacked between him and the main buildings! Even if he made it somehow back to his room, then what? Even if he could barricade himself in there, the beds jammed up against the door, the towels stuffed in the cracks, how long could he hold out? Hours? Days?

All these thoughts sped through his overheated brain before the second hand came down on his shoulder. He froze with his fists in mid-air, then all the air rushed out him in a loud gust, the flat tire could go no farther. He was SO FUCKED!

Biting his lip so he didn't freak out even more, big mean Ed Wilson untied his towel and let it fall to the floor with a loud wet slap. He ignored the hands on his ass, the cheers and whistles as he slid sideways onto the platform, no longer aware of anything but his teeth in his lip. He stood up and found himself positioned right next to big red Scottie, almost feeling the heat and fury radiating off his flank, guessing he himself must be as bad. With all three in the ring, Ed noticed how inferior this was to a regulation-sized ring; it felt half the size of what he had seen on tv. As soon as Ed was announced as well - both of them hearing Ed being called an Iowan! - Scottie and Ed had another reason to kill each other. That short coach held both their hands high and the cheers from the guys in their chairs was only so much white noise at that point. All Ed could process was his own pounding heartbeat, his blood rushing to his ears drowning out everything except his growing anger.

He stood there naked and sweating for what seemed like hours before he heard a voice repeating over and over "okay sit down okay sit down." It took a while before Ed realized his ordeal was over; he could leave the ring and find his chair again. In some kind of slow motion he crouched down and slid beneath the bottom rope and down to the cold hard floor. As soon as his feet registered that shock, his head cleared and he opened his eyes again. Then he saw all those guys grinning at him, at his naked body, at his club of a dick, and it hit him like a two-by-four! He threw himself into his chair fast, the towel stuffed in his lap, his body hunched over and away from all those guys wailing on the back. He could do little but squeeze his eyes shut and hope he would wake up next to that little faggot Walter soon. Somehow this nightmare had to end.

"As you can see Farley and Wilson represent two of our larger weight classes" the coach continued as the noise died down "and we will be seeing them in action a little later in the morning. But to give you a better idea of what we have in store for you gentlemen this morning, Coach?" and he was looking right at Farbersten.

Coach Don Farbersten turned and set his clipboard down on the chair next to Ed, went to the stairs on the side of the ring and climbed up until he was standing next to the turnbuckle. With a curious shy smile he flipped himself over the top rope and flew into the ring. His eyes circled the crowd until he found Russ already on the stairs, and like Don before him was jumping over the ropes and joining the two already in the ring.

"For our first match-up" the bald coach continued, trying to quiet the clamor and cheers "Don the Bomb Fabersten, five ten, two oh two" turning to Russ "versus Russ the Renegade Bradshaw, five nine, two twelve" slapping him on the back "and one mean mutherfucker!" watching him work the crowd like this was second nature to him "gentlemen take your corners" as they spread apart and found neutral corners "bidding starts at one..."

"How we supposed t'bid?" Ed's eyes flew open hearing that question screamed him. Bid? What the fuck kinda bid? How are they bidding? And on what? "if we can't see shit?"

It was one of the army guys, one of the many army guys barely into their twenties, buzz cut, unshaven, dark rings under his eyes. But man was he hanging on every new development! Like he had not slept in weeks just so he could be here this morning. Ed gave him a quick glance then turned away fast.

"Don? Russ?" the coach looked at the two, and right in front of the whole group both guys started pulling off their shirts. Beneath those it looked like they were wearing wife-beaters, but as their pants came down next, Ed recognized their outfits. They had singlets beneath their street clothes! Like this was all planned! And when Ed saw the bald coach pull his own t-shirt over his head, showing off a healthy collection of smooth muscles himself, then pull something from his gymbag from one of the corners, a white-and-black-striped referee shirt yanked over his head, Ed got the picture fast. Those guys in the chairs behind him were here to see wrestling matches. Fake staged wrestling matches. So why the fuck did he and that redhead asshole need to get up there naked?

"Awright!" the guys in the audience clapped when they saw Don and Russ stripped down to their singlets "now we got a much better idea what we're bidding on!"

"Yeah, one for sure!" from that same sleep-deprived army guy.

"Two!" from one of the G-men, a nasty curl to his lip.

"Three" from another army guy, a bit older, maybe salt-and-pepper showing at his buzzed temples, but with some serious arms poking out of that drab-green t-shirt "even if I'm gonna regret it tomorrow."

Ed wanted to ask Coach Farbersten what the fuck he meant. Three what? Sure as fuck not dollars. He turned a bit to see who else might bid but hearing a few "three? you're fuckin nuts!" guessed that sargeant or whatever he was had won this bid.

Ed turned back to ring, almost expecting to hear that cheezy recorded music start coming from hidden speakers with smoke machines and bimbos in bikinis or something equally bogus. At least a ring-side bell. But instead, the bald coach blew his whistle and the two guys left their corners and started circling each other, crouching and weaving, dancing around as they tried to get a slight advantage, a better grip, a faster ploy. It wasn't long before Don made a wild lunge, grabbing Russ's left leg and toppling him onto his ass with a loud crash. Ed was close enough to feel the air rush from below the stage. But the ring held, to Ed's dismay. As he watched Don try to wrestle Russ' shoulders to the mat he looked at the supports beneath the apron, looking for a weakness. Maybe if he crept beneath the stage and somehow pulled the supports apart, it would sabotage their plans - whatever their plans - for him and that Scottie dude. Like they would not notice his big black ass crawling around down there unfastening bolts, yeah right!

Just when it looked like Russ was tied into a neat little meat package, he broke free and lept across the ring, bouncing off the far ropes. Neither one of them knew all those pro-wrestling moves and counter-moves, how to take turns bouncing off the ropes and each other, how to mug for the cameras, the fake punches, the staged flips, but after Russ' second attempt to tackle Don he succeeded in toppling him backwards onto the ropes and then spun him around tripping him on his ass. As soon as he had Don on his back, he grabbed a handful of that blue singlet, ripping the seam just along the left hip. It was nothing critical but once he did that, Don exploded from beneath him, reversing their positions, flipping each other this way and that, both of them using their full array of skills, until Russ was flat on his face with Don's weight on top of him. Whatever material their singlets were made from, Russ' left shoulder strap gave way after the third sharp tug of Don's fist. Russ pulled free, looked down at his heaving chest, one pec bare and shiny, and left the material hang there.

Again the two circled around each other, this time slower, both knowing the stakes were getting higher. So when Russ made his lunge at Don's right leg, Don balanced and turned on his left foot, sending Russ flying forward with his own momentum. He could not slow himself until he collided with the far ropes, Don right behind him. When Russ toppled backwards, Don added enough force to keep Russ from regaining his balance, flipping him over his shoulder, landing them both on their backs. Russ got the wind knocked out of him, Don not much better. Both men were trained in collegiate wrestling, neither reckoning on that amount of recoil from those ropes. Russ' face was smashed into Don's ribs, a mouthful of his sweat adding to his predicament. The way his arms were twisted under and behind him meant he only had his legs to twist and flip himself free. He was almost ready to knee Don to get his attention when he felt a warm hand digging between his thighs. When Don gave a yank at the material in a attempt to redirect Russ' hip away from his own, the entire crotch gave way! And it was not like Russ was wearing a jockstrap to prevent his balls and cock from tumbling free. Some guys were on their feet cheering and clapping, even one of the cameras coming around to the side for a better angle once that happened. Seeing his torn singlet as little more than a liability at that point, something to be used for a choke-hold or worse, Russ' strong legs kicked himself free and he rolled across the ring, using the chance to pull the remnants completely off. The two of them squared off again, circling and catching their breath. Seeing this horrific development Ed had a better reason to be paranoid; if these two were not going to stop the match at this point, these army guys were here to see something like Ed had been avoiding all along. It was last night's activities all over again, except this time they had the whole fuckin army in the audience to boot, clapping and cheering. Just when Ed thought it couldn't get worse, when he thought he had seen everthing, he was proven wrong. And then some.

Ed glanced over at Scottie, hoping the big killer would have the balls to stop this, like Ed could not. Instead of seeing all the rage and fury from earlier, Scottie now looked more shocked than pissed, his nornally red flush replaced by a pasty-white expression of serious foreboding. And something worse. Something like shocked resignation. So much for help from that quarter, Ed guessed. Then who could he turn to for help now? Who had the nads to stop this shit? It was a desperate gamble but Ed had to risk it. He turned to the face behind him,

"Is this totally wacked or what?"

"Totally."

Ed turned to see his expression. It was some grunt, looking eighteen if that, and looking as bad as Ed felt.

"Y'ever seen fucked-up shit like this before?"

"Fuck no" he whispered back "just rumors... y'know..."

"What rumors?" Ed was not eager for the answer.

"Shit... y'know... guys... like all sorts of shit goin on..."

"What sorts of shit?"

"Dude!" he looked at Ed, careful not to let his eyes go lower "you been here all week! You tell me!"

"What'd they tell you guys?" Ed had to know.

"Y'wouldn't believe me if I told ya."

"Try me."

"Shit..." lowering his voice again, leaning into Ed's ear "total sex shit okay?"

"Fuck..."

"That too" he shook Ed's shoulder, directing his attention back to the ring. Unlike Russ, Don decided to keep his singlet on, even though the entire front was ripped open and hanging to the side. When he twisted Russ over his shoulder and spun him back down to the mat, Ed could see the back of Don's singlet was in no better condition, barely attached to his left leg. All Ed could see was himself and that Scottie thug up there looking as bad as these two coaches, with the entire army sitting there in their underwear, their eyes burning into two naked crotches.

Russ decided wrestling butt naked was better than what Don was attempting to do. Several times he managed to trip Don, or twist his arm behind him when the torn singlet got in the way. Was he trying to throw this intentionally? Russ let Don get to his feet, needing a chance to catch his breath as well. But Don did not use the opportunity to pull the singlet off him, even after Russ nodded at it a few times, giving him an unsubtle hint. Russ circled around him, sweat pouring off his face and shouders, one of his hands scratching his balls slow and steady, not like he needed to sneak that in during a commercial break or anything. Yeah he could see the camera, maybe a second, zooming in on his motions. Like it mattered much at this point. They wanted a show; he'd give them a show. Don saw the motion as well, his response was to send his right paw to the gap in his singlet, scratching his belly all the way down to and into his pubes. Knowing he would regret it, Russ stood there and waited for Don to finish. Again they circled and this time it was easy to flip Don onto his back, Russ' knees pinning his shoulders to the mat long enough for Russ to lean forward, his balls bouncing off Don's chin before Don arched his back, sending Russ flying forward.. When Russ tried to use the ropes to lift himself up, Don was right behind him, pressing Russ' neck onto the bottom rope, a cheap choke-hold, pure pay-per-view. And what looked worse, Russ did not try to break away, running the risk of asphixiating himself in front of all these guys, how would that look! After all, there were many in the audience who knew his career, who remembered him taking State Finals, even as far as the semi-pros. He never took them up on the offer to join the Vikings but that did not mean he had a great run until his shoulder gave way, the rotator cuff putting an end to his career. But several teams were eager to grab him up for the coaching squads, but the bigger money was in the private sector. Even more money he found in the VERY private sector. And how was he to know that kid from Iowa had set him up?

So when Don pressed his neck down onto the rope Russ made a show of resisting, trying to get that dead weight off his back, reaching behind him to get an arm around Don's neck, only to have both arms yanked forward, caught between the middle and lower rope. He had to keep the smirk off his face it was too corny. But damn, he was pinned in the ropes, never realizing how much tension they could create, how hard it was to pull himself free. And what the fuck, the audience was sure as hell enjoying it, recognizing the stunt from pro-wrestling, but never with the trapped wrestler completely bare-ass naked! Hell, give the customer what they want. However when he felt Don raining fake and some not fake blows down into his kidneys he had enough. He pulled Don forward over him, almost tossing him through the gap and out the ring in the process, the middle rope giving way enough for him to break free. He rolled back onto his ass, almost toppling Don backwards in the process. When Don recovered enough to come at Russ lying there on his back, Russ' feet were up and he flipped Don's gut backwards over his head. Don flew through the air and hit the mat with a loud crash, almost collapsing it in the process. Russ was on his feet in a flash assessing the damage, looking at the thick fireplug lying there, his torn singlet now showing more than it was hiding, his hairy legs shiny and smeared with sweat and lotion. It did not take much work for Russ to roll him onto his stomach, and cover his with his own naked body. When the audience saw Russ rubbing his crotch up and down Don's covered butt, there were more grunts than cheers.

Scottie's sweaty ass pressed down on his hard metal folding chair, feeling his butt muscles get tighter and tighter. As long as he kept his hands covering his fat dick and red balls, as long as he kept his eyes on that one small rip in the ring apron directly in front of him, he might be able to hold it together. Getting up in the ring naked, even showing dick for a brief moment or so, was now little more than a bad dream, in spite of the slight raw bruise below his navel, his trail of red hairs somehow snagging on the mat in his haste to leave the ring. Except for that one reminder, most of this morning was pushed clear out of his mind. Everything was being erased, sponged clean, rinsed down the drain. Everything was being replaced by his growing anger. How could he let himself be cornered into this horrible scenario? Watching - no don't look! - hearing the sound of those two coaches or scouts or whatever they were, rolling around in the ring the sound of naked flesh slamming against naked flesh, hell this was EXACTLY the kind of thing he lived on twenty-four seven since he was in seventh grade, right? Being in a roomful of guys wrestling, man he lived for the sights and sounds - okay yeah and smells - of all the guys flying and twisting around on the practice mats, refining their skills, developing newer and better holds, newer and better escapes, everything and everyone heading for the chapionships. And that first state meet when he was still a freshmen, his opponent all bulk and zero technique, Scottie just wrapping him around his finger like he was only there to be manhandled, to help Scottie rack up the points. Pure chump! His coach congratulated him after his pin, the team fought over themselves to slap him on his back, not two but three of his sometimes girlfriends getting into a nasty-ass fight over who would get his dick that night, man... but in spite of everything, Scottie felt cheated. Like it was too easy or something, like some final prize component was still missing. So this training camp thing sounded too good to be true, too amazing to miss even if he tried. His coach told him it would be "a crippling career mistake", his exact words, if Scottie did not attend. And working out with the cream of the Iowa boys, the most successful, most admired, most feared wrestling program in the nation, was a dream come true for Scottie, especially when he realized he really was holding his own against the best in his state. He almost could hear the scholarship money start to roll in already. The first night in their dorm rooms when things got a bit kinky for Scottie's tastes, he was able to retreat to his bed, feigning sleep, even when those hands found his pubes in the dark. Not that he wasn't horny enough to jump one of those pussies right then and there, wondering how a dude's ass would compare to his girfriends'. But even after the second and then last night's attempts to get him to "join the party", and all the totally fucked-up shit he had to watch right in this very auditorium last night, the more he resisted the better it made him feel. Like this whole camp was one huge trial, one huge exam to see if Scottie Farley, two months shy of his eighteenth birthday, from Red Falls, Iowa, home of the Red Falls Wrestling Rangers! would let his guard down enough to fall for any of this crap! If this was some elaborate hoax or stunt, some trap they set for him, then Scottie would get the last laugh! If they wanted him to stand up there naked in the wrestling ring, with a bunch of Army grunts hooting and hollering at him, fine! He still wouldn't bite! Not Scottie Farley! Not Scottie Farley, whose only goal was to make it through the rest of the week, and deposit a two-week's load of his precious jizz deep inside Marsha's tight ass! With his middle finger raised against all of them when he shot!

So Scottie just sat there, staring at the rip in his semi-stupor, ignoring the sounds and smells coming from up above his head, from those two naked coaches throwing each other around the ring, when he heard an impossible sound, several impossible sounds, behind him. Not that he would lift his head and turn to see what was making those low rhythmic grunts. Just when he was dying of curiosity the sounds slowed and quieted, Scottie's eyes closing again, and then they would start up, barely audible except to Scottie's ears now tuned into that frequency. After the fourth or fifth - fuck was he starting to count? - time Scottie's eye cracked open, not that he would turn around, but maybe just try to detect something out of the corner of his eye. Maybe there was some movement going on in the row behind him, but fuck if he was going to look. Even when he realized the slow sub-audible grunts were synchronized to the slight motions he was detecting with his tipped head, the slightest stretching, no not turning, of his neck. His ears were so keyed in to that sound, that jet-crash shriek of the scraping folding chair startled him into turning his head those fatal three inches towards the sound, pure knee-jerk. Scottie lost it when he saw what was going on back there!

The dude in the suit and the sunglasses had his hands in the two crotches on either side of him, the flies of those army-drab shorts open and displaying two unmistakeably erect cocks, which the guy was jacking in a slow steady fashion. Both of the army guys were leaning back in their chairs, allowing themselves to be masturbated while all three watched the worsening wrestling match in front of them. Scottie was so shocked he almost shouted something, but then his eyes took in the fact these three were not the only ones engaged in this early morning exercise regimen; up and down the row behind him, even groups in the back row from what Scottie could see as he turned his head back and forth again and again, were doing the same blatant thing. The suits were rubbing and jacking the young army guys beside them, bare hard cocks sticking out of army-issue skivvies up and down the row! Scottie's head snapped forward, his eyes pinched tight. What the hell was going on here? These Army dudes were NOT here to rescue him? They were brought here to get their rocks off? Like this was some fucked-up version of a strip club? Scottie almost lept from his chair when it hit him. And he was the entertainment!

"Farley!"

Scottie heard his name but no way was he going to open his eyes and see who was calling him.

"Hey..." this time he recognized whose voice it was. It was that damn Wilson sitting two seats away from him. But damn if he was going to budge an inch. Only when he felt the chairs next to him shudder and then a warm damp butt press next to his did Scottie crack open his eyes "we gotta do somethin" Wilson whispered to him after he shifted seats, kicking their cooler closer in the process.

"What? How?" if he hated Wilson, he hated all of this more.

"This is totally fucked" Ed continued to mutter into Scottie's ear "we gotta get outa here before we're next" nodding up at the ring. Only then did Scottie look up and see what was going on. By that point both Russ and Don were all but exhausted. And that bald ref instead of calling it a draw, he was doing what? Damn, it looked like he was pouring something from a bottle onto their intertwined bodies. When Russ tried to pull away, his hands slippery with the stuff, only then did Scottie figure out what it was. The ref was dousing them with some kind of oil, making it impossible for either of them to get a good grip on each other. Instead they began to roll around on and under each other, Russ starting to run out of steam. When it looked like Don had him pinned on his back, one leg locked in place, Russ wriggled from beneath him, more accident than technique, and then Don was flat on his stomach again, his arms pinned behind him with Russ flat atop him, both of them gasping for air. Several times Don's arm slipped free of Russ' grip, and each time he reapplied the hold with less effort. Finally both of them lay there not moving, except for the slow steady rocking of Russ' pelvis against Don's hairy butt. The ref was about to pour more oil on Russ' back when Don grunted and flattened his head down into the mat. The ref threw himself down, hit the mat three times with his hand and it was over. Don lay there too exhausted to move, even after Russ rolled off him. Russ came up to a crouch, his crotch all shiny with the oil, his cock hard, but not enough to have penetrated Don as he lay beneath him.

"Three bidder?" the ref got to his feet, looking as sweaty and out of breath as either of the two combatants, as if he had been wrestling as well. His eyes scanned the crowd until he saw the guy again.

Ed turned to see if it was the same guy from before, and sure enough it was. Except now the guy stood with his hard cock sticking free of the fly of his standard issue shorts. Ed thought for sure he would cover himself, or at least stuff his boy back inside his fly when he strugged to his feet, when most faces turned towards him. Instead he sidestepped down to the end of his row, turning so his cock brushed a few faces of those four guys he passed. Ed heard the army guys were a bunch of dickheads but this was more literal than he imagined. And when the guy just looked at his and Scottie's faces as he went up those three steps and stepped into the ring, Ed thought that soldier might be the next wrestler for the next match. But what he did next almost launched Ed right out of his chair, roadblocks or no roadblocks. Ed's mouth fell open when he saw the guy help Don off the mat and lean him over the top rope closest to them. The ref grabbed one of Don's arms, Russ the other, immobilizing Don as the bidder came up behind his bent-over ass. He straddled Don's legs, then bent forward until he was lying on top of that naked sweaty body. When Ed saw him reach between their two bodies, adjust something in his crotch, then press forward, Ed had no doubts what was happening. Especially when Don let out a loud yell and bucked his shoulders, arching his back. When the army guy began a series of hard fast thrusts against Don's ass, cheers and applause broke out, the army guys watching one of their own start to fuck Don Farbersten hard and deep. Don could do little but struggle there with both arms yanked sideways and allow himself to be fucked for the enjoyment of the room, his hole burning with the violent penetration, all the oil and lube from earlier not enough to ease the pain as the guy continued to slam himself faster and faster into his ass, until there was one final ferocious animal lunge and Don felt his ass filling with the hot cum of the winner. As soon as he finished dumping his load, the guy was off him, waving his big red cock shiny with oil and cum around for the benefit of his platoon, the front of his underwear stained with his sweat and Don's oil. He looked at the ref then Russ, nodded and rolled, then dropped to his knees lowering his head. As soon as he did that, the place went nuts!

Scottie was way too freaked to look at Ed, or the coaches or anybody! Is this what they had planned for those two? They were going to set those two at each other like a cockfight? Scottie tried to laugh at the analogy but felt the bile rise in his gut, glad he did not have breakfast down there to heave up. A part of him heard the commotion behind him, several guys arguing at once, some even in some language sounding like Russian or shit? Scottie was not going to turn around, and heard more than saw three of those army fellows pushed to their feet, the sound of empty plastic bottles hitting the floor right behind his chair. Two were almost fighting to climb into the ring first, the third guy, taller and thinner was taking his time. As soon as they justled their way inside the ropes, their cocks out and hard, Ed had a bad hunch what the bidding was about; Scottie was staring at the floor. Soon three cocks, some thick some long, were taking turns ramming into the winning bidder's mouth. It didn't take more than ten seconds or so before he had the first one blowing his load into his mouth and down his chin. As soon as that happened, the other two started jacking and whipping their cocks against each other's, a race to see who would be last. When number two started splattering all over the kneeling guy's t-shirt, the third one started swearing a blue streak, his hand giving himself a few quick yanks, but he had lost the three-way race. While the first two as well as the kneeling bidder stuffed their cocks back into their flies and made their way from the ring and then the room, the last guy had to return to his seat, stripping off his only two pieces of clothing as he did. Ed feared that dude was in the same deep shit as well, but what his penalty would be, Ed did not want or need to know.

Scottie sat there feeling the burning flesh next to him, knowing big mean Ed Wilson was as pissed - yeah and scared! - as he was but no way would he turn to him and say anything. It was hard enough to sit there butt naked and watch this fucked-up idea of x-rated pro-wrestling. When he saw the army grunts show up, he hoped he was out of the woods. That hope went down in flames when he saw the two coaches - or talent scouts - or whatever they were, do their naked wrestling routine and not bring down the house! And seeing those army dudes were even in on it. And what the fuck was going on with those G-men back there? He could here them grunting and groaning behind him and fuck if he was going to turn around! When the high bidder got into the ring to claim his prize Scottie almost lost his breakfast. Had he eaten breakfast. Then seeing the same dude blow not one but three guys? Like it was the most normal thing in the world? This had to stop but how? It wasn't like he could call 911 and get the sheriff's department to send in the swat teams or anything. Hell that's what the army was there for, and a fat lot of help they were! So all he could do was sit there as hunched over as possible, doing everything he could to keep his leg away from Ed's and guzzle his fifth bottle of sports drink like this was all he was going to get in this fuckin prison. Fuck, he reminded himself, not like he didn't need to shed a few pounds to hit his weight class. When his bladder started reminding him he had been overdoing it he tried to catch Fleicher's attention, but his coach had bigger worries right just then.

Scottie was about to toss one of the empty bottles at Fleicher's head when the locker room door opened again and two guys Scottie recognized were ushered into the room, escorted by their coach, Connor or Connelly or something. He left Scottie alone most of time during practice, bothering him maybe once or twice to give him what Scottie thought were actually good pointers. Weird, but appreciated. The way the two big goons were being "escorted" into the room, it looked like they would as soon be rearranging each other's faces, rather than this. And "this" meant a few careful shoves to their shoulders to keep them moving away from each other and towards the ring. Hell, if Scottie was wearing nothing but a jock and wristbands, he'd be needing "escorting" as well.

Ed continued to watch big dumb Scottie guzzle those bottles of water while he sipped his, knowing a trip to the pissers was not in the foreseeable future. Just his hunch these perverts wanted to see him empty his hose in front of everyone! Yeah, he was getting the picture loud and clear. Like seeing the gang-fuck in the ring did not clarify the issue already. At one point he wanted to lean over to warn the dumb redhead, but every time he got closer, the asshole pulled away like his black skin might rub off on his pasty-ass freckled butt. Fuck'm, he thought, serves his racist cracker ass right!

Ed was thinking of evil things to do, like jab Scottie in the gut and make him start flooding the floor! when the door opened and who should it be but his new main dog, Dave Daniels! For a damn cheezehead, the brothah sure as fuck was one mean somabitch! Even if his taste in rap ran a few months behind the charts. But the dog was strong! And mean if crossed! And this hairy-ass gorilla next to him was the one dude stupid enough to pull that shit with Dave! Something about being from rival schools or shit, like a blood feud older and deeper than just these two. Like going back to the fuckin civil war or shit. Several times Ed saw either the gorilla's or Dave's teammates throw themselves between them before the fists started flying. Not that the two did more than exchange a murderous look or a snarled word or two. Even the coaches knew enough to keep them in separate practice areas, consulting their clipboards and jotting notes too often for Ed's comfort. Like the days leading up to this were just that; they were priming these two for the battle royale to beat all battle royales! And here was big mean Ed Wilson sitting ringside with a towel stuffed in his lap pretending he was not hot to see this go down inches from his nose.

Dave lumbered into the room, doing his best to ignore the assholes assembled to watch this. He had been briefed there might be "a few guys" there at this early hour to watch the two "just practice like" but when he was given the dress code he knew this was payback for his unwillingness to participate in any of the nasty-ass shit been going down since he got here. And when he saw Moose come around the corner of the lockers dressed in his two-sizes-too-small jock as well he would have lunged for him right there, but O'Connoll was already in his face telling him to save it for the match. Moose just nodded at him, with the stupidest smile on his faggot face, like this was all one big costume party or shit. Well Dave was going to rub that face in the mat until it came off in pieces.

He almost freaked when he saw the only other cool brothah in the camp, that big dog Wilson sitting there. And what the fuck's up with Wilson all naked? Like that towel he stuffed into his crotch was hiding anything. So that killer Wilson already did this shit? Whatever this shit was supposed to be? When he heard Wilson grunt at him "hey dog!" he was too spooked to do more than give him a half-nod and just keep moving. It was bad enough having to parade his bare ass around this room in front of a bunch of what? Army pervs? But doing this in front of Wilson was worse than bad; it was just ugly wrong!

Moose tried to convince Coach O'Connell he was fine to do "a practice match", but not at six o'clock in the fuckin morning okay? Coach assured Moose because of his stellar cooperation so far, he would not let any harm come to him. A little late for that, huh coach? But O'Connell reassured him time and again it would not be a repeat of previous ordeals. Hell O'Connell would step in and tag-team with him if he felt Moose was in any serious harm. In that case who would be Daniels' partner then? Moose asked. But when O'Connell looked away fast with a nervous expression Moose suspected O'Connell was making promises he had no intentions to keep.

Moose got into the ring first, almost eager to jump over the ropes like he had seen a million times on pay-per-view. But not at six o-fuckin-clock in the morning! Or whatever time it was. He even had to suppress a yawn as he did, disguising it with a mean-ass growl seeing Daniels follow him into the ring next. Everything was going according to plan until he heard the accent on that bald ref,

"Gentlemen gentlemen" Moose shuddered at the sound "for our next event we have an unscheduled bonus for you. Two of our star high-school wrestlers have volunteered - "

"I ain't volunteered for shit!" Dave was crouching in his corner, trying to pretend there were not dozens of eyes on his near-naked body.

"Volunteered to entertain you gentlemen while we put the finishing touches on your five-course breakfast" waving down the scattered clappings "and as you can see we needed to enlist the larger weight class to 'accomodate' your requirements. On my left from Wisconsin" hearing cheers and one or two boo's even "weighing in at two fifty" Moose almost laughed! He had not been as low as two fifty since the previous summer "at six feet three, Northwest region semi-finalist Mark 'Moose' Muscowski!"

Hearing the cheers, Moose clapped his hands over his head and did a circle of the ring, almost enjoying the applause, knowing it was so much b.s. but it still felt good. And it gave him a chance to get a better look at all the guys sitting in the audience. Even behind the sunglasses he recognized Mister "Jones" and Mister "Smith", ignoring their slight smiles and nods, pretending not to recognize them. But it was difficult to ignore what they were doing to the guys on either side of them. Shit, almost all the suits were either openly jacking exposed hards cocks, or if the guy was still trying to get over the shock, at least sliding their hand inside the flies of those drab-green shorts. If Moose had been dragged out of bed to provide jack-off material for a bunch of soldiers on leave... fuck! he'd done worse!

"His opponent this morning" the ref interrupted Moose's little show, complete with a few muscle poses and even a butt shot "also from Wisconsin" less boo's more claps "Northwest region finalist!" Moose almost interrupted him right there. Hell, Daniels never made it to finals! What a load of bull! "at six feet one and two thirty-six" now that was closer to the mark "Dave Daniels!"

In Daniels' case it took a bit of "persuasion" to get him out of his corner and make a circle around the ring. Despite having a better response from the group, Dave was not so eager to parade around wearing nothing but his white jockstrap. In spite of his developed musculature, his impressive bulked body, he looked almost embarrassed to be on display like that. Where Moose was big and almost musclebound, Dave was big and ripped, very little extra weight on him. Although Moose looked like he was the one slipping the steroids into his cereal, it was Dave who had been suspended almost every semester for something irregular in his tests. Twice he failed for steroids, and once for another performance-enhancing substance that somehow made its way over the border and into his arm. He would have been tossed off the team - and worse! - but each time the athletic committee was told to overlook his "minor infractions" due to various minority initiatives brought to bear in his case time and time again. Moose's team, as well as the football team at North, somehow found themselves happily integrated without all the melodrama, so when he heard about all the ways everyone was bending over backwards so Daniels could continue to wrestle it made Moose laugh. Then it made him nervous. Then it made him angry. Now hearing about Daniels taking regional finals only brought up all the old bitterness all over again. Just the way the whole town always capitulated to him and his "issues" made Moose want to put the bastard in his place once and for all. But he couldn't do that, not with Daniels being the poster child for Affirmative Action! And it didn't help Daniels was physically such a stud on top of it. Moose almost wished he had been there when Dave had been forced to do his "exam". He would have liked to see all those thick hard muscles tied to the table, squirming and bulging when the probe went up his big hard ass, see that black dick on him shooting out load after load, that handsome face on him all twisted and -

"Thank you Mister Daniels" the ref had to steer him once around the small ring so everyone could see him in all his glory "bidding starts at - "

"Hell!" a large dark-skinned balding soldier stood up "I'll suck off the whole platoon if it means gettin some of that!" pointing at the two kids in the ring "hurry up and get this thing done cause I can't make up my mind which of those sweet asses would feel better on this!" shaking something large still half-hidden in his shorts.

"Bidding starts at - "

"Two!" on of the sunglassed suits yelled.

"Three!" the big soldier shouted back.

"Four!" a thin dark-haired guy yelled next.

"Five!" baldy yelled again. Another guy was about to say something when baldy snapped "five! and if any of you dogs so much as breathes they gonna do it through broken ribs!" hearing one or two withdraw their bid, finally ending the round. He sat his big ass down with a loud bang, and this time the suit next to him was allowed to get his hand inside baldy's fly. The surprised grunt that came from him sent a few chuckles and more nervous groans around the room. It was loud enough even Moose had to turn and see if he was interpreting this right. Did he really understand these guys to be bidding on fucking either him or Dave? He shot a panicked look at O'Connell having a quick conference with the bald ref who looked like he could be a long-lost brother of Coach O'Connoll, but sounded like Kroos! Moose was hoping this was all some weird play-acting, and these guys were not serious. Had he been in the room fifteen minutes earlier, Moose would have had a better idea of what their idea of "play-acting" might involve.

As soon as Dave heard the big dude - black? hispanic? something else combined? - start his bidding he just tuned it out. If they really thought he would do anything more than wrestle, in a fuckin jock to boot! and maybe break a few of Muskowski's bones in the process, they were smokin crack! He didn't fight off all those guys in his room - rooms! - as well as that fucked-up group shit last night, only to be dragged out of bed this morning so guys could bid on busting his cherry! It ain't happening assholes, so just fuckin guess again. But the idea of sitting here and watching that hairy asshole Muskowski take it up the shitter in front of the whole room, man now that was one sweet way to start the day. And even if the big dumb fag - yeah Dave heard all the rumors - outweighed him by at least twenty pounds Dave didn't care, knowing it was all fat. And for what Moose outmanned him in sheer bulk, Dave knew enough dirty tricks to make sure he would never have to worry about anything as unlikely as spreading for any of these dickheads. But the more he thought about it, the more the idea of sitting in one of those chairs and watching the gorilla take a dick up his ass was turning his crank in a major way. Especially if one of these army boys was on his knees with Dave's dick down his white throat when it happened. He looked across the ring and glared at Moose. Again. Dude, you goin down!

The bald referee went to the middle of the ring and threw down his flattened hand, signaling the start. Moose smiled at him with a "thanks Kroos" and came out of his corner, enjoying no end the surprised reaction from the ref as he jumped backwards. Then Daniels came flying at him and the bald ref's reaction was no longer Moose's primary concern. Even with his lack of sleep, Moose knew better than to try to match Daniels force for force. So he twisted both of them backwards and sideways, using Daniel's momentum to propel him onward into the ropes. Daniels was a Regional semi-finalist! But in collegiate style wrestling! Nothing like what he found himself hurling into at a hundred miles an hour. He managed to brace himself enough not to go flying over the top rope and down to the floor, but that only threw him off balance and then backwards where Moose was waiting for him. Unlike Daniels who spent every free moment either in the gym or at the clubs, Moose was a hardcore WWF fan. For that he had Ernie to blame. Or thank in this case. Daniels came toppling backwards and Moose was there to greet him when he did, his extended right leg just enough to send him spinning down to the mat, Moose's significant tonnage right on top of him when he did. Before he knew what hit him, Moose had one of those hard muscled black shoulders pressed against the mat!

"Point!" the bald Kroos ref slammed his fist into the mat and blew his whistle.

Dave Daniels, all two thirty-six pounds of fury, had been planning to cripple Moose without so much as breaking a sweat, now found himself flat onto his back. He was not even pinned and was about to turn Moose into a pile of broken bones when he heard that whistle go off,

"WHAT?!?!?" he bellowed like a skewered bull, directing his fury now at that bald jerk and not Moose. Moose used the distraction to roll off the pile of muscled fury and back his furry butt into his corner ropes.

"Takedown one point!" Kroos yelled right back "forfeit your attire!"

"Whatdafuck y'jus say?" Dave crouched there, in no hurry to grab that bastard by his throat and get himself life without parole for premeditated homicide. He could wait. Time was on his side now.

"According to the rules, each point earns one forfeiture."

"What rules?" from Dave.

"Forfeiture?" from Moose.

"Correct" from ref Kroos.

"Better explain those, ref" Moose looked at the audience "y'never said anything about no forfeits! We never agreed to this so y'better start explainin yerself... just so we all understand this like" and yeah Moose was stalling, catching his breath. And if truth be told, his eyes were scanning the audience again, still looking for a familiar face. He saw the two empty chairs and had to keep his fingers crossed. And use his time carefully so he could get a better sense of what these army guys were all about. But all he could read from them was enough pent-up sexual energy to keep those turbines running for the next hundred years. So why did they need him? And this peculiar staged winner-takes-ass wrestling match?

"While you catch your breaths" Kroos started, knowing Moose was on the same wavelength reading each other loud and clear now "I will explain again to our guests the point system. Each point requires a penalty, a forfeiture as it were. The first point is forfeiture of uniform, the second - "

"There ain't gonna be no second" Dave started leaving the ring "cause there ain't gonna be no first! I'm outa here!" and he was already though the ropes and had his first foot on the floor when Kroos spoke,

"Of course the contestant may leave any time" loud enough to slow Dave's next step "providing his partner, his tag-team partner, will replace him until - "

"His WHAT?" Dave spun around "my WHAT?"

"Your tag-team partner of course" and if he did not turn until he was looking right at big mean Ed Wilson! Dave and Ed almost outdid each other with their loud yell.

"Who?"

"Me?"

"Him?"

"WHAT?"

"Are you tagging off?" Kroos turned back to Dave hunched in the corner, his smooth hairless deep-brown muscles shiny with sweat, bulging and popping just as planned "well?"

"Fuck! This is fucked UP!" Dave looked Ed right in the eyes the first time all morning "man!" As much as Dave wanted nothing more at this moment than to enjoy a fast hard blowjob watching Moose get stuck like a pig, he was not going to stick around, especially if they were making up these totally fucked-up rules whenever they felt like it.

"Don't look at me!" Ed shrugged, but did not look away "ain't my problem dog."

"Bro!" Dave was not pleading, but it was not a snarl either "Wilson..."

"C'mon D" Ed was not capitulating, but it was not a snarl either "y'don't really like f'one muthahfuckin minute expectin me to..." stick my ass in your sling, dog. But something about getting up there and wrestling the shit outa that big goofy ape was almost appealing to Ed. Anything to prevent him from getting into the ring with this whitey asshole sitting next to him. Maybe if he just did this, if he showed them he was almost doing something like cooperating with these bastards, they just might cut him some slack right?

"Forget it!" Dave said to Kroos, not Ed "ain't happenin."

"Then this is your choice" Kroos looked at Fleicher "Coach Fleicher, could you escort our contestant to the procedure rooms? Where he can - "

"NO!" Moose's scream was the loudest.

"Not that! Not those machines!" Dave yelled. Moose could smell his panic all the way across the ring. But whether it was because he had already experienced those basement rooms, or only shuddered at the stories circulating, Moose could not read.

"Not for you, of course" Kroos continued "but you will be expected simply to witness your assistant coach, Coach Fleicher there, as he is subjected to the - "

"That's FUCKED UP!" Dave put two and two together fast.

"The decision is entirely yours" Kroos looked at Moose for some odd reason, then back at Dave "either you continue with your match, either with or without a tag-team partner, or you will be forced to observe your assistant coach as he is subjected to experiments even more thorough than you can possibly imagine. And know the whole time it was your cowardice and immaturity that brought him to such a terrible fate."

Dave looked at the floor, then at Fleicher already getting to his feet. Then at the audience looking at him like he was something lower than dogshit. Even when he lost that critical match, when his entire team was too angry and disappointed to look at him, not talking to him for days afterwards, Dave Daniels did not feel more disgusted or humiliated. What the hell could he do? He was pinned. Pinned under a ton of rocks and if he so much as moved a finger,

"D!" he turned and it was Wilson trying to get his attention "dog!"

"Daaaaaaamn...." Dave expected to see something like contempt on Ed's big ugly mug. Instead the guy was getting out of his seat.

"We can do this dog" and he tossed the towel on the seat behind him "like I already got this point thing down" pointing at his crotch.

"You muthahfuckin nuts?"

"C'mon D" Ed went over to him "you can do this - we can do this" nodding up at Moose still in the ring "let's kick some white ass!"

"You really gonna?" but Ed pushed past him and was already in the ring. He went to "their" corner holding out his hand.

"Tag me D!"

"You really REALLY serious here?"

"Do it!" and damn but if Dave Daniels, all two-thirty-six pounds of kick-ass muscle, did not reach over and tag his new best bud. Seeing these two in closer proximity, the guys in the audience could make a better comparison between their physiques. Ed outweighed Dave by at least twenty pounds, a lot of it in his big shoulders, but most of it in his round gut. Where Ed's legs were thick and full, Dave's were hard-muscled and corded, the veins popping out of his thighs and calves. But what was filling Dave's pouch could not be more menacing than what Ed was bouncing and flipping around the ring, his nakedness just something else to psyche out his opponent. And the way that hairy moose was watching his fat uncut meat flop around, the way his big heavy balls swung back and forth, Ed knew it was having the proper effect. Man this was gonna be just too easy...

As soon as Dave's hand slapped Ed's he knew he did the right thing. Even if he still felt like a scumbag. At least now he was only half a scumbag, he thought. But to be made to look like a wuss in front of Moose, that was the worst. Like Moose and this whole bunch of perverts had planned this whole morning just to call him out. He got a small pleasure from knowing Moose was in just as deep as he was. If Moose was here this morning then he was just as much on the shitlist as Ed. And all because Ed refused to participate in any of that faggy shit they been throwing in his face since he fuckin got here! And Ed was guessing Moose was just as disgusted by all this shit as well, and that's why he was up there wearing nothing but a damn jock, circling around that big muthah Ed, doing the full naked thing because Dave - damn! and Ed did a double-fake at Moose, grabbing for the right but flipping him back while holding his left knee. Moose toppled and either would have fallen backwards or been bounced out the circle - but there was no circle, and instead Moose let himself tumble into the ropes he hoped were still behind him. The two of them slammed into each other as Moose's back found the ropes, all of Ed's weight on top of him, forcing the air out of his lungs. In a pro-style match, Ed would have grabbed Moose's arm and flung him backwards across the ring to the far ropes and been waiting for him with a clothesline or something equally choreographed, but Ed only knew to grab the ropes behind Moose and press into him more. Something about the way their sweaty bodies were mashed together, Ed feeling all that hair against his front, the way Moose's belly rubbed against his, the way their two crotches pushed together, the feel of Moose's jock against his naked dick -

"Break!"

Ed was enjoying squeezing the air out of this tattooed gorilla way too much to stop. And once their sweaty bodies were joined together, Moose started downloading all of big mean Ed Wilson's secrets as fast as his dumbjock brain could process them. He almost wished they were in a regulation meet, because the two-ton tank would broadcast his every move in time for Moose to counter. And to top it off, Moose was getting real clear signals from below the border. Like nothing Wilson would like more - or admit less - than to flatten Moose into the mat. And it only had a little to do with wrestling. No wonder this big dumptruck of a dude was not on the football squad; he wanted one-on-one with other half-clothed dudes. Moose even could see the piles of cumrags he had hidden in his closet for all those nights he went home and "reviewed" that day's match-ups. Not like he could get dates and relieve the tension that way, not with that ugly mug. Those droopy wide-set eyes, the flat almost-broken nose, the heavy jowls, no way he would be homecoming king this year. But something about him drew a bit of sympathy from Moose, maybe because they both had spent time in the "too dumpy to date" penalty box. But Moose returned from his summer European trip suddenly the center of attention. Too much attention for him to process that first week. But when he got the light-bulb moment he was more than a top-dog captain to his team, he was like this huge jack-off fantasy to how many? hell, the big Moose had to make some adjustments fast. And when he did, and when he realized he was surrounded by guys who would walk on burning coals to do anything for him, he knew his ship had come in. Now if he could just get big mean Ed Wilson to make that leap as well. But all those cumrags indicated he was half the way there.

"Break!" they heard again, this time Moose letting himself fall back farther into the ropes until he felt sufficient spring to recoil both of them into the ring. Moose grabbed Ed in a half-nelson, hoping he knew the counter-maneuver. Which he did. The next thing Moose knew he was lifted off his feet - the dude was strong! - and toppled like a ton of bricks onto the mat with a deafening bang!

"Point!" the bald Kroos ref yelled.

Moose used the five seconds to press his hip against Ed's crotch, knowing it would take him as long to figure out what he was doing. And by the time he felt his blood heading south he was already pulling away and crouching on his ankles with the most perplexed look on his face. Unlike Daniels, Ed and Moose had no history, other than a few grunted "heys" back and forth at practice. They both knew if and when they were forced to wrestle each other it would not be pretty, but aside from making sure neither one made the other look the fool on the mat, they had no beef. Ed knew he could take him. And it would be a match to make himself look awesome. Moose's feeling were not much different. Except they added another more erotic component to the equation. Not that this big broken-down bruiser was someone Moose would cross the street to get to know. Hell, if that was his scene, he and Will, or even he and Bo would be getting into it on a regular basis! But remembering that scene with Bo on his knees, almost begging Moose to deliver the goods...

"Now what?" Moose rolled away, feeling himself swelling down there.

"Forfeit the attire" Kroos nodded at Moose's jock. Like he had x-ray vision and could see the blood already pumping into his dick. Instead Moose got to his feet, bounced over the top ropes like he had been practicing for it - damn it really worked just like on tv! - and dropped to the floor right in front of that big thick redhead.

"Tag!" and Moose held out his hand.

"What?" Scottie looked at that piece of flesh like it was attached to a world-class nutcase "what???"

"Dude, you're up! Tag!"

"Like the fuck I am..." Scottie glared at the ground, not daring to make eye contact with this big hairy testosterone-poisoned lunatic "who the fuck -"

"Name's Moose... Scottie" hand still out.

"How the fuck you know - "

"Same way I know what you did - or actually did NOT do - t'get your freckled naked butt here in the first place."

"Fuck you" slamming his hands down harder into his crotch, hoping to solder them there if need be "I ain't no fag like - "

"Don't matter" Moose shrugged "goes easier if y'ain't."

"What the fuck that supposed to mean?"

"Okay I'll spell this one out for ya" and Moose leaned down and whispered something in Scottie's bright red ear. Scottie listened a few seconds and almost fell out of his chair,

"WHAT?"

"Do it! Easiest point y'ever made!"

"That the sickest shit I ever - "

"Imagine HIS reaction!"

"You're totally fucked up y'know that right?"

"You ain't go no idea..." Moose's hand went out again "sooner y'do, sooner y'get it over with."

"You are one sick fuck..." but Scottie eased himself to his feet, looking like he was hurting bad. Almost as an afterthought he reached behind himself and took Moose's hand, both of them holding the grip longer than expected, Scottie because he was in no hurry to get into that ring, Moose because he was kicking holes in that wall, bits and pieces of Scottie's story trickling through. The abuse at home, both of his older brothers, even his father, sexual from that one brother Todd, emotional and physical from his dad. How he hid himself away in that one gym, the owner taking him under his wing, Scottie enjoying the non-destructive male contact, even developing strong friendship feelings for the guy. That all changed that one evening when Scottie was showering at the gym and for no reason whatsoever he sprung the biggest meanest hardon he could imagine. When John the owner commented on it, hell it was just a compliment not a lewd come-on, Scottie bolted out of there and never went back. With that sole outlet for his frustration lost to him, he poured all his anger into the wrestling season, and heaven help anyone - teammates, opponents, did not matter to him! - who got in his way. When he got that mysterious "scholarship" to attend this training camp, Scottie saw it as his ticket out of his nightmare. But when all the kinky shit started up, all the attempts to include him in activities he spent every waking hour blocking from his mind, he wanted to run into the woods and never return. Then those damn lights started and even that escape route was blocked. He felt so trapped he did not know where to turn. And then out of the clear blue here was this big dog shaking his hand, and something about him told Scottie he maybe could be an okay dude, maybe this lunatic could be trusted. Scottie had seen him at the practices, even watching him now and again out of the corner of his eye. And the way he conducted himself, like he was dead serious about wrestling, and at the same time totally joking about everything else, like it was all a game to him, but a game he took very seriously, almost made Scottie go over and talk to him once or twice. But what could Scottie say? Hey dude y'don't know me but can we talk? I can't handle this shit and you can? How? And then seing the big dog do his thing last night on stage, like it was no worse than giving a speech in English class! like this was second-nature to the dude! And it wasn't like the big hairy tattooed monster would ever ever strike Scottie as being a fag, no fuckin way! More like he saw all this guy shit as just one more part of the training camp, like the odd food, like the hastily built accomodations, like these army guys! Like those lights! Just part of the scenery Scottie, don't get bent outa shape over it! Hell, you'll look back and laugh at this some day!

So when the big guy, Moose his name? leaned down and told him how to solve his growing problem, he was too shocked to deck him. Any other time if someone said something like that to him, Scottie would fly into his red rage and when he came crashed back to earth the other dude would be lying in a crumpled heap at his feet. But this time Scottie was way way too freaked to react in time. And something about the guy's, Moose's, tone of voice convinced him it would be too funny, too easy, too logical, too dog hot! and sick! not to do it. And this Moose guy somehow knew Scottie was at the end of his rope. And no matter how ridiculous or stupid or impossible this escape hatch looked from Scottie's angle, it was being offered to him by somebody resembling a friend. That was good enough; it had to be good enough.

Scottie took a few careful steps towards the ring and eased himself under the rope, not the showman his new "semi"-bud Moose appeared to be. He went to "their" corner, feeling every eye on his fire pubes, on his shriveled fat dick, his big red balls. Somehow this felt worse than before, more revealing, more humiliating. He was too busy blocking out the comments and stares to notice something even worse; Ed had tagged off to that Daniels dude!

Scottie tried to shoot a desperate look back at Moose getting up on the apron behind him, but Daniels came flying through the ropes and into the middle of the ring. And there was that bald ref with his hand out, just waiting for Scottie to do it. Scottie took a few steps and before he knew what hit him, Dave Daniels came at him, arms and legs flying spinning like a pinwheel. Somehow Scottie went into auto-mode, his muscles and training took over and the two grappled against and over each other, turning and twisting until Scottie had him pinned against the ropes. It was enough to get Scottie to realize he outweighed the guy, but had not out-wrestled him. What Scottie made up in size, this Dave guy made up in coiled explosive skilled strength.

"Break!" and Scottie released his hold. As soon as he did Dave came at him and tried to get him in a headlock, but Scottie twisted him sideways and they both hit the mat with a double crash. Scottie's bulk came into play then and before he could stop rolling, Dave's shoulders were pressed against something hard beneath him. It was the briefest instant before Dave's shoulders levitated off the mat, rolling Scottie's left shoulder down in turn. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the ref coming down to announce the pin and slam his hand but then it happened! Scottie could hold it no more and something hot and wet started flooding Dave's crotch!

Dave freaked when he felt the scalding piss hit him, and right on his balls! Whatever thought of pinning the bastard disappeared and the next thing he knew he was twisted backwards until his body was rolled into a ball, both shoulders slammed against the mat.

"Point!" Kroos was down on his belly, slamming the mat. But nobody heard him over Dave's screaming,

"FUCK! Fuck fuck fuck!" he pulled away from Scottie, crabbing away on his hands, looking down at his wet front "muthahfuck! y'pissed me y'fuck!" not sure what to do, too freaked to fly into a blind fury. Dave had a few meets when his opponent leaked a drop or two, hell even he lost control once or twice. But only enough to stain his singlet with a circle or two of "sweat". But this! The dude like unloaded gallons on him! He looked down at his dripping jock, his first reaction to yank it off him before it got any worse "muthahfuckin shit!" and he started screaming every vile word he knew and boy was that list long!

Scottie wanted to crawl into a hole and just die from embarrassment! Talk about losing all self-control. He was about to crawl from the ring and hide somewhere when he felt a warm comforting arm around his shoulder,

"Dude that was too fuckin awesome!" and the next thing he knew Moose was shoving an empty plastic bottle into Scottie's paw "y'shoulda seen his face!"

"Fuck!" Scottie's bladder was killing him now. It was taking all his willpower not to finish what he started by "accident". He tried to pull away from Moose and bolt for the bathrooms before he embarrassed himself anymore "I gotta go - "

"Y'already did" Moose nodded down at the container in his hand "go on, finish drainin it."

"What? Here?" not daring to look at anything or anyone, doing his best to ignore the loud noises coming from Dave's direction while Wilson and the ref held him back and away from Scottie.

"Do it okay?" Moose's grip around his shoulder tightened "y'believe me so far right?"

"Fuck" Scottie's bladder decided for him. He had barely turned away from most of the group, the bottle almost there in time, before he started exploding his morning piss out his fat cut dick. All he could do was stand there and lose control, knowing it must look disgusting, expecting to hear guys in the audience making retching sounds or something. Instead he heard something unimaginable.

"Forfeiture!" came from one of those suits.

"What?" Kroos was toweling up the spill in the middle of the ring, hoping Ed could keep Dave under control by himself.

"Let me go! Least lemme change or somethin - " Dave knew Ed did not want any of the piss to get on him either.

"Forfeiture!" the suit shouted out again "show them" forcing the army guy on his right to stand. Amidst the sniggers and the groans, a young unshaven grunt stood up, his drooping cock hanging from his fly, two or three streaks of darkening cumstains splattered up his army-drab t-shirt. He looked both embarrassed and deeply satisfied.

"Y'just made the dude lose his load" Moose elbowed Scottie, nodding in that direction "you the stud!"

"Knock it off!" Scottie finished pulling the last drops into the container filled to the brim. He was scared shitless it would not be big enough, a close call by maybe two ounces if that. He looked over and sure enough the dude was standing there, his cumstains in dark lines down his stomach. Scottie had to laugh at the total absurdity of it "oughta make him drink this!" holding up the bottle by a few inches. Moose pulled it back down and yanked it away from him.

"Don't kid about that, they'll hear ya."

Scottie looked at him expecting to see that goofy grin. But Moose's face was squeezed into a serious frown. And it wasn't from watching the oversexed guy in the audience being directed out of his chair and up towards the ring. Or from watching him having to leave his two pieces of clothing behind on his chair. Moose and Scottie almost expected to see the naked guy get into the ring with them next. They looked over at Dave who was now trying to dry himself off with his piss-stained towel.

"We earned the point" Moose looked at the ref "don't he forfeit his jock?"

"Gentleman there" bald Krooz nodded at the naked soldier standing in front of the ring at parade rest, head down "took the forfeiture for them."

"What?" from all four guys at once.

"Any point you lose" Kroos explained to them as best he could "can be... how you say..."

"Y'mean if we get one of those dudes to blow a load" Moose started translating the internal voice "it don't count?"

"Basically, yes."

"Y'mean I gotta wear this stinkin shit?" Dave looked down at himself.

"Up t'you Daniels" Moose tugged at his own jock, his very dry jock, for emphasis "go monty if y'want. Or not, up t'you."

"Ain't given ya fag boys the satisfaction" Dave took a step squaring his shoulders.

"Gentlemen" Kroos finished the clean-up "who are the two current wrestlers?"

"Tag me partner" Moose held out his hand.

"Y'sure?" Scottie was already naked and humiliated "what more - "

"Trust me" Moose gave him the look. The same one that would melt Ernie when the two were arguing. The same one he pulled out of his bag for special occasions, knowing his big brown eyes and dopey smile would always work. Scottie rolled his eyes and tagged him, knowing he was taking advantage of this guy. But they were not THAT good friends. Yet. He slipped beneath the rope and behind their turnbuckle.

Moose came to the middle of the ring next to the bald Kroos, not sure if he was seeing the next phase correctly. When he saw Dave tag Ed he thought his abilities were failing him.

"Wait!" Dave grunted "changed my mind" and they tagged again "this punk's mine" all but pushing Ed from the ring. Like anyone could move that much mass without his cooperation.

The two came together and as soon as the hand went down they grabbed each other by the shoulders, circling and tugging, balancing and maneuvering. Moose was not outweighed but a bit out-muscled, and as soon as their bodies connected all Moose had to do was sort through all the garbled signals until he found those that were critical to the matter at hand. Something kept coming back to Dave's ass, all the signals and images returned there. So the next time Dave's superior upper body strength threatened to topple Moose off his feet, he let him. Moose went down on his left flank and as soon as he did his free hand went to Dave's crack. Somebody would have thought Moose hit him with a tazer the way he flew to his feet.

"Keep yer faggot hands off me ya PERV!" he screamed, almost losing his balance against the ropes behind his back. But that gave Moose the information he needed. He was flying up and at him faster than Dave expected, pressing him back against the ropes. All those hours of WWF paid off as Moose grabbed Dave's arm and sent him flying across the ring. Dave could only keep from tripping as he bounced off the rope and there was Moose waiting for him, flipping him over his shoulder and down to the mat. It was over before Dave realized what happened, the air knocked out of him.

"Point!" Moose heard next to his left ear, Kroos' face close enough Moose could feel his breath on his sweaty shoulder. He only thought one of Dave's shoulders was down but he would not argue the point?

Moose pulled off Dave's sweaty body still getting that hodge-podge of signals from him. Talk about one angry dude! No wonder he was wrestling so poorly; all his rage now directed at Scottie back there. All the years of bitter feuds between them seriously undermined by Scottie's recent stunt, Dave not sure who to kill first! Just as Moose foresaw. But his partner better watch his ass, because now he had two very pissed dudes coming after him.

Moose knelt on the mat, rocking back onto his heels, a bit surprised how out of breath he was as well.

"I ain't taggin" he heard behind him. Moose turned and there was Scottie offering him a chilled bottle of that ever-available sports drink "but y'need this I'm guessin."

"Guessin right" Moose took the open bottle from him and took a swig. He downed half of it before he realized what he was doing. Fuck, it's coming anyways, no use pretending it won't. He looked over at Dave who was looking back at Ed.

"Point" Kroos announced again "forfeit the outfit."

"Maybe y'can get an army dude to blow his load instead" Scottie mocked before Moose shushed him down. But that put the idea into Dave's head. He got to this feet and looked at the audience, the first time he really gave them his full attention. He was not prepared for the sight of all those soldiers sitting there, getting their dicks jacked watching HIM! Talk about too nasty and too interesting at the same time.

"Guys?" he tried, like that would get one of them to blow. After a bit of a stand-off he heard the ref behind him.

"Forfeit to Dave Daniels."

"Come ON!" Dave looked around, his eyes settling on Ed "tag?"

"Dude!" Ed gave his ugly gnarly dick a tug "already done that play."

"Come on... ref?"

"If you refuse your team forfeits the match" nodding at the big guy in the audience "and you know what that means."

"No fuckin way!" was he going to let anyone come near him like that. No way was anyone going near his ass!

"Then forfeit the attire."

"Y'want me t'piss on it again?" Scottie did not know he was already a marked man. Or if he did he no longer cared "y'were sure in a hurry before - "

"Fuck you asshole!" Dave wheeled on him.

"Just tryin t'help..." Scottie smirked "can't say I didn't offer."

Dave knew he was trapped. Maybe if his coach could intervene, but no that would not happen. After a long tense moment he convinced himself he did not want to wear some smelly pissed jock anyway and started to tug it past his big round ass. When it was around his knees he looked down at his shrived dick and regretted it enough he almost started tugging it up again.

"Don't let'm give ya shit" he heard Ed's voice to the side, and that broke the stalemate. Dave bent over and pushed the clingy wet elastic down to his ankles and stepped free. He was hoping either Moose or that red-haired freak asshole would say just one word and give him permission to kill them, damn the consequences. Scottie was about to make a comment but Moose silenced him fast. What Scottie was going to say was something like: dude, is that all of it? Because big musclebound Dave Daniels was showing maybe two or three inches of rolled up skin, his dick somewhere inside hiding from all their gazes. His shaved balls were not much bigger. Even the trimmed pubes could not make up for what Dave was lacking down there. Moose made a point of looking everywhere but at what Dave did not have. Shit, no wonder the dude was suffering with a chronic case of roid rage; he had traded his boys for a stupid regional title! Moose almost felt sorry for the dude. And total outrage at his coaches! Fuck, they allowed this to happen to some idiot still in high school for crissakes!

Moose went back to the middle of the ring in his crouch, his eyes never leaving Dave's. So he was surprised when Dave tagged off. And as surprised Ed accepted. He came into the ring like an angry rhino,

"Y'gonna pay for that" he growled at Moose "botha ya."

"Already did" he locked eyes with Ed then the hand went down. This time Ed did not make the reckless lunge but instead circled Moose with a certain calculated ease. Moose noted the difference right away and adjusted accordingly. But that did not stop Moose from making the first move, a fast attempt at a shoulder grab. Ed saw it coming and countered with a grab around Moose's thick waist and soon the two of them were toppling each other down to the mat, a slow-motion train wreck instead of the lightning speed four-car pile-up. The two of them rolled back and forth sending Kroos here and there trying to find a pin. Several times they almost crushed him in the process, not that he was small enough to crush. Moose took the time to continue the body contact, learning to read his moves, anticipate when the arm or the leg would come around or over him. After several minutes of this, and feeling a certain impatience coming from the crowd, Moose decided to play a hunch. The next time they broke apart, panting and sweating, Moose let Ed make the next move. But this time Moose let Ed know with very clear body language he was wise to his every move. The first time it happened Ed's follow-up motions were more puzzled than aggressive. The next time Ed got the message loud and clear. When Ed gave him the oddest look, Moose went in for the kill, flipping him over his shoulder and down with a thud. To drive home the point, instead of going for the easy pin, Moose threw his hand between Ed's legs and whispered,

"Left fake then right you were thinking, right?" his hand behind Ed's balls making sure he had his attention. When Moose lifted off him, he let Ed try to reverse him, even letting him get one of Moose's shoulders to the mat for a second "next one off the far ropes, right?" and twisted away before Kroos made it down to the mat.

Moose pulled away and waited for Ed to recover, both from the recent effort as well as the shock of his comments. He did not have to wait long for Ed's face to register what had just passed between them. Ed's expression went from killer instinct to something more complex, trying to digest what just happened. Instead of coming at Moose in a weak moment he rolled sideways and held out his hand.

"Tag!" towards Dave.

"Y'got it!" and Dave Daniels came at his arch-nemesis - one of them! - Moose expecting this would be over in seconds. He was fresh and rested and Moose was still panting like a racehorse. When Moose did not go crawling for his tag as well, Dave smelled blood, barely waiting for the hand to come down before he barreled into Moose like he was going to push his THROUGH the ropes, not over them. Moose saw the runaway semi come at him and let himself be slammed backwards into the ropes, praying they would hold with the strain. He thought he heard something go sproing! but it was not his concern. As soon as their bare fronts were plastered together, all the images came rushing out again, including Dave's idea to try a kidney punch to Moose's left side. When Moose twisted sideways and the blow went wild, Moose used the chance to twist him into the turnbuckle, a body slam to Dave's front instead of the knee to the balls he deserved. Moose backed away and as he did he slid by Ed in their corner.

"Bearhug off my feet" Moose whispered fast before Dave came at him and grabbed him around the chest, lifted him a few inches off the mat and twisted him behind and down, sending Moose down with a loud thud! This time Moose allowed himself to be pinned, hoping it did not look too odd during the long wait for the ref to join them on the mat.

"Point!" he slammed and yelled "forfeit the attire."

Seeing as how Moose was the last one still in his jockstrap, stripping out of it and then sending it flying at the soldiers was no huge sacrifice. Even if it did take Ed and Dave, even Scottie! by complete surprise. Moose was too busy observing - and enjoying he had to admit - the various expressions when they saw his shaved crotch, his uncut cock, his major stud presentation, everything Dave's wasn't.

"Fuck that's gross!" Dave sneared at him, green eyes flashing "y'some kinda porn star or shit?"

"Don't say anything" Moose smiled, turning to Kroos. The bald ref looked he had just been outed "come'n get it Daniels" Moose did not need to shake it at him; just standing there with his hands framing his hips was red cape enough. Dave came flying at him, ignoring what Ed was trying to whisper at him. Again they squared off all but ignoring the hand coming down as they piled into each other in a head-on collision. Knowing where Dave would go next only helped Moose flip him onto his back, this time cartwheeling around until they were faced head to toe. Rather than worry about keeping his shoulders up, Ed's tactic was to buck his crotch up into Moose's face.

"Geta faceful of that funk ya sick punk!" slamming his piss-stink at Moose, knowing he would recoil in disgust and then he would flip Moose over and pin the bastard. Instead Moose's mouth pressed down as Dave's crotch came up, the two colliding with Moose's mouth full of Dave's balls! Not enough to cause permanent damage, but enough to get his attention! Dave's concentration and strategy went down in flames "FUCK!"

"Gotcha!" Moose grunted down at him. He almost had to pull Dave over him to complete his planned flip reversal. It looked as fake as pay-per-view, but without the FCC-required padded singlets it was blatant enough to cause a few cheers. This time when Moose found himself on his back, Dave lowering his cock into Moose's chin, Moose was too busy opening his mouth to hear two shouts go off simultaneously.

"Point!" came from a voice near his shoulder.

"Forfeit!" came from somewhere in the far distance.

"Yeah!" Dave gave Moose's face a final lunge before he struggled to his feet, hoping no one could see the spit stains on his balls and dick area. Moose lay there for a while catching his breath, finally seeing an inverted red face looming over him.

"Dude! Moose!" it was his partner Scottie looking down at him, expecting to see a very pissed or embarrassed Moose. When Moose got to his knees and then to his feet, he could understand Scottie's expression right side up "man... y'let him teabag ya!"

"Hey, shit happens" Moose shrugged and grabbed the towel offered, wiping his face "hell if that'd been you I woulda let ya splooge."

"What?" Scottie recoiled "say what?" hoping he was kidding. But Moose just shrugged not smiling. Scottie was not handling it well.

"Just yankin ya, bud!" Moose's face erupted into the delayed smile, slugging him in his shoulder. When he saw the relief on Scottie's face he leaned forward "or not" and turned to see what just happened.

It took Moose a few seconds to reconstruct what had happened during the time Dave pinned him and he crawled his ass over to his corner. Apparently the catcher of Moose's tossed jockstrap was one of the suits. Instead of batting the nasty smelly thing aside or onto the floor he grabbed it and proceeded to use it to jack the young black recruit on his left. Either the dude was already primed or else the suit made a lucky guess, but as soon as the guy felt Moose's damp jock rubbing up and down his cock it was all over for him. He only lasted as long as he did because the suit was delaying it to coincide with the approaching pin. So when Moose's shoulders went down, the soldier's cum shots went up. All over his t-shirt, even up to his smooth cheek. And talk about mortified! It wasn't bad enough losing your load in front of your friends, but doing it with some high school wrestler's jock around your meat! Totally busted!

Moose looked at the soldier, looked at Dave, then at Kroos trying to keep this show together,

"Okay what's my forfeit?" knowing that dude's shot cleared him of anything.

"He took it for you" Kroos nodded at the soldier being shoved down the row until he was free of the hands patting his ass, some friendly, some harder. By the time he was clear of those flying hands, his stained shorts were already down around his knees. He tried pulling them up again, but the closest suit directed him beside the first naked soldier, ordering him out of the clothes in the process. One white soldier, one black, and not a stitch of clothes between them.

"What if he hadn't?" Moose knew the outcome of this game, and knew why he was here now "just for instance like?"

"That" the ref nodded at Moose's wristband "goes there" nodding at his crotch.

"Like a cockring?" and damn if Moose didn't yank the elastic band off his wrist and loop it around his balls, then around his cock in a tight figure-eight "like this?"

"You do not need to - "

"Too late" Moose shrugged, looking at Scottie's jaw hanging halfway to his navel "cool right? All the goons're wearin'm this summer" hearing a few chuckles, even one or two claps from the soldiers. It could have been from those two misters, but Moose forgot if their claps sounded foreign as well. Knowing what was coming somehow made this that much easier. And knowing all this was just making Daniels more and more freaked added to Moose's perverse ideas of fun.

"Y'know you're totally nuts right?" Scottie looked at his new ally with growing panic.

"What I do know" Moose looked at him "is no one will hurt you anymore" lowering his voice even more "unless they come through me first" holding his fist forward "deal?"

"But!"

"Deal?" Moose repeated louder.

"Damn!" but big Scottie Farley, naked and dripping sweat knocked fists with the oddest person he ever met. And meant it.

"That was NOT a tag!" Moose announced over his shoulder.

"Fuck it wasn't!" and Scottie lept over the top rope Moose-style, amazing himself he didn't trip his big frame as he did. But that knock somehow sent a huge surge of energy right into his chest and he felt invincible. Even when Dave tagged big mean Ed Wilson, and the rested black monster came roaring at him, Kroos almost not getting his hand down in time, the two flew at each other like long-lost lovers. Moose almost expected them to roar right through each other in an explosion of sparks or something. They grabbed each other in a mutual bearhug, neither one wanting to let go. So it was more the slippery sweat-stained surface that toppled Scottie down to the mat, Ed right on top of him. They rolled and wrestled around, more pure gut instinct than technique until somehow Kroos was down next to them slamming his hand down next to Ed's pinned shoulder, no shoulders! Both of them were flattened against the mat and Scottie more surprised than anyone.

"Point!" Kroos yelled.

"Really?" Scottie yelled.

"Do over!" Ed yelled.

"He didn't pin him!" Dave yelled.

"Wristband!" Moose yelled. Even the audience took up the chant "wrist! band! wrist! band!" clapping and stomping. Then Moose knew things were getting hairy.

Ed looked at his wrists like he wanted to chop them off. He looked at Moose's crotch, noticing the slight filling. He knew as soon as he started doing anything at all down there it would happen. And no way on earth was he going to let any of these dickheads see him hard. And the sight of all these dudes, naked or at least showing dick, should be enough to keep him so turned off nothing like that could happen, right? He went to his corner and finished his second bottle ringside.

"Keep this up I'm gonna be the one pissin" Ed looked down at himself "this is sooooooo fucked."

"We're waitin Ed" Moose stood there not trying to hide the effect his wristband was having on his stuff. His balls were now two tight eggs, his uncut dick pulled forward and out. Yeah, and swelling enough to keep the guys in the chairs chanting.

"Do you want me to do it?" Ed almost expected to hear that from Scottie, but it was baldy's foreign accent he heard behind him. He spun around, expecting to see some weird ironic smirk, but the ref looked totally serious.

"Y'kiddin right?"

"I will give you one minute, and then I will do it for you" and he was not being ironic.

"This is totally fucked" but big mean Ed Wilson started tugging at the elastic piece around his thick wrist, slowly inching it past his basher knuckles and off. He looked at it like it needed instructions or something, almost ignoring Moose coming over and standing next to him.

"Like this" Moose lifted his thick tool, showing Ed how his was looped around those big shaved balls "pull it around yer balls first" waiting for Ed to work his way through step one.

"Fucker won't fit" hoping to hear some chuckles, but except for Dave the room was still chanting "wrist! band!" like that would speed the process somehow.

"It stretches" Moose gave one of the loops a gentle tug "see?"

Like Ed was going to stare at Moose's boys while he was struggling with his own. With something resembling surgical delicacy Ed stretched the cord around his balls, then following Moose's step-by-step directions, got it twisted and looped around the base of his knotty, veiny, misshapen cock as well. Giving it a final tug he realized Moose's wisdom of trimming his pubes, a few loose hairs getting caught with a certain stab of pain. Even that was not enough to prevent the inevitable swelling and filling.

"Damn shit" Ed trying to keep his hands in front of his newly-bound genitals "it's..."

"Yer gonna throw a bone if y'want it or not" Moose gave himself a tug to demonstrate his point "see?" and Moose's big tube was almost sticking straight forward.

"But... shit... that's..."

"Get useta it... stud" Moose even slapped him on the shoulder to the cheers of the audience.

"Gentlemen" Kroos was crouching in the middle of the ring, his hand extended "we can continue."

Moose looked at Scottie knowing he could handle this now, but decided to test his endurance one more time. He took his place, not expecting Ed to join him. When a very angry Dave Daniels came into the ring next he tried to act surprised.

"Yer gonna pay for pullin that shit" he muttered at Moose "y'bastard."

The hand went down and Dave lunged for Moose's leg, expecting him to be wearing down, his reaction time not at peak anymore. But Moose saw it coming long before Dave even entered the ring and stepped aside while Dave ended up with an armful of ropes. He expected Moose to come flying after him but Moose still was standing in the middle, waiting for Dave to join him eventually. This time when they locked together they grabbed each other's shoulders and did not let go. Just as Moose planned. Again all the images came flooding in, including Dave's most guarded vulnerability, his right knee. Moose had no idea he had been on major pain killers all summer from the injury and Moose would use that to his benefit. With a certain recourse to his weight advantage Moose pushed the two of them back into the ropes, hooking his foot behind Dave right leg. When they twisted away from the ropes, Dave started to topple sideways. Instead of continuing the flip, Moose only needed to whisper "knee damage" then pulled him back up to his feet. That was enough to get Dave to lose whatever concentration - and fury! - he had, and allow Moose to tumble him back and over his huge shoulders. This time there was more than a small metallic ping! from beneath the apron; it sounded like the transmission had fallen out!

It was an easy pin and they both knew it, but Moose had bigger game in his crosshairs. When Kroos came flying down next to them, Moose pressed down Dave's big wet shoulder then rolled sideways until Moose's back was flat on the mat.

"Point!" Kroos yelled.

"What?" Dave yelled.

"Right knee" Moose whispered, enough of a punch to the gut to bring Dave off him fast.

"Who told - "

"You did" Moose lay there, suspecting the worst "just now."

"But..."

"Bigger'n you" Moose was watching Kroos' reactions now "bigger'n me, bigger'n all of us."

"Point and forfeit" Kroos even helped Moose to his feet, giving Dave a long hard look.

"What's the forfeit?" Moose looked down at himself. He was already naked and harder than he needed to be "ain't got a lot left here."

"Well there are one of two options at this point. Let us have the group decide" he turned to the guys in the audience "gentlemen?"

"What options? What ya talking about?" from all the army guys, the suits just keeping a tight grip on things.

"The wrestler here can do the next forfeit..." Kroos went to one of several gymbags balanced precariously on the edge of the ring apron. He rummaged around until he found what he wanted then returned to the middle of the ring holding something Moose and a few others recognized all too readily "either with or without this" holding up a medium sized buttplug. Compared to what Moose had seen, and experienced, in the past this one would not be a major challenge. But he would still make it a good performance.

"With! With! With!" the grunts cheered, egged on by the suits.

"That's disgusting! Sick!" came from all the wrestlers except Moose. He stood there facing everyone, hoping he did not look relieved this would be the worst of it. Moose was the only one thinking ahead, knowing as long at that rubber plug was up his butt, nothing or no one else could go there. If he had to wrestle plugged it only meant his ass was off limits. Sweet.

"Tag!" Moose heard someone call him, then realized he didn't heard "fag". He looked around and there was Scottie Farley, red hair, red skin, freckled within an inch of his life holding out his hand!

"Scottie!" Moose frowned at him "y'crazy or somethin? Dude!"

"Y'been takin mosta the hits, my turn" and he stepped under the ropes and slapped Moose's lowered hand before he could pull away.

"Scottie no, this is something I - "

"Need to do, I know" Scottie looked deep into Moose's eyes like he would bore a hole right through the back "your partner is slow" patting him on the back "but not totally dense okay? I been keepin my eyes open all week okay? I always keep hearin this 'noose noose noose' thinkin I was... shit why am I tellin you this shit! Y'already know. It wasn't 'noose' it was 'moose' right?"

"Scottie y'don't need t'do this."

"Yer turn t'trust me partner" Scottie looked at Kroos "suppose y'want me tied up too right?" already tugging at the elastic on his wrist.

"Gentlemen?" Kroos had the plug in one hand and started pulling a tube of unlabled gel from his pants pocket.

"Wrist! Band! Wrist! Band!" came the response.

"Had to be coming sooner or later right?" Scottie looked at Moose then glared at Ed "you're next ya big ass" and before Ed could compose a suitable response big Scottie Farley was looping the band not once but twice around the base of his thick beercan dick, tugging it tighter and farther back into his fire pubes, and only as an afterthought once around those cherry red balls. Before the full effect took hold he grabbed the nearest ropes and leaned over, spreading his stance and closing his eyes, waiting for the invasion up his virgin hole. Well virgin except for his left middle finger which was more often than not finding itself lodged deep inside his shithole whenever he was beating his meat. Which he had not done since last Wednesday now that his mind was back on that track. He had been so busy with the preparations for the trip, then the crazy weekend, and once he got to the lodges he was too busy tiptoeing through the sexual landmines to have a free moment to himself. All of those realizations came flooding back as he bent over the ropes facing the army guys who were glued to their seats, or to those hands in their laps as the case may be. Now Scottie had the time to look into their faces one by one, expecting to see some expressions of disgust or contempt, and there was one or two of those, but like that one big bald brazilian? iranian? phillipino? most were so charged up by that point a sixty-year old librarian with a short skirt would have turned their crank. When he felt the finger pushing the cool gel into his crack Scottie let out a hiss and told his cock to knock it off! When that finger entered him again then slid out only to return with more gel his cock stopped listening. And the way he tied those knots, once the blood went south it never returned. Not that his beet-red face lost any of its color. Not one bit. He felt the finger push a third dollop of the gel into him before he noticed the stinging and itching deep inside him. The way his ass started flexing and squirming only signaled one thing to those with eyes to see.

"Hey! Wait!" it was Dave yelling? "what's the other thing? What he gotta do with that fucker up his butt?"

"Once this is in" Kroos was already greasing it, making it shiny and green "then he must fellate his teammate for three minutes!"

"What?" from all over the room.

"Fellate?" Kroos ran his internal translator "you know, a blow job?"

"Hey Farley!" Ed yelled "make me yer teammate!"

"Tag!" Moose didn't wait for Scottie's head to come off the ropes before his hand slapped Scottie's "I mean it, don't argue!"

"But!"

"Y'made yer point partner" Moose pulled him off the ropes like he would pin him next "but this is my forfeit still" holding his fist in front of Scottie's nose "black eye or blow job, your call!"

"Moose!"

"Get that ass to our corner! Now!" and there were only three people in a thousand mile radius who would argue with Moose when he sounded like that. And Ernie and Billy and Big Hank were not around. Even Dave flinched before he caught himself.

Scottie took a few steps and stopped to turn, then stepped out of the ring when he saw Moose was NOT playing! For a change most eyes were not on his flexing glutes, his now bright-red, bone-hard super-thick cock, the cut head flairing like it would explode if he so much as touched it. He crouched behind the turnbuckle knowing Moose should not be doing this, yet knowing why Moose was doing this. But he still felt the fuckup, and what was happening below his waist only made it worse.

Moose was already tied where it mattered so all he had to do was crouch over the top rope Scottie-fashion and wait for the familiar green gel to do its number on his already sensitive hole. As soon as the finger slid in with little resistance, Moose wondered if this bald ref might give it away. But when that finger entered him, Moose was in full communication with this Kroos then, and yeah he was related to Moose's Kroos, hell almost the whole family was over here! The stories Kroos told about being the "little brother" were not completely true, but Moose could see his brothers now, his uncles, his cousins even. This guy with his finger, no fingers! up Moose now was "Little Ioano" to his family, due to his height, and no other reason. It was Moose's "Kroos" who had started the military experiments during his last year with the special branch, but it was his brother "The D'youze"? was the best Moose could register, who raised the red flag. For a while it had caused a major feud within the family, some wanting to continue with the military involvement, some not, and that's when some members defected to the States, taking their secrets with them. The realization hit Moose like a sledgehammer! He almost did not notice the rubber plug ramming into him when he saw "his" Kroos with his wife and their two sons! Kroos truly was for all purposes straight! All of this, all the involvements and even last Saturday -

"Very well" Kroos sounded a bit out of breath "you have three minutes, starting now!"

Moose muttered something at the ref, knowing his accent was inept, but Kroos heard "understood" in his native Romanian well enough to catch him by surprise. Moose nodded down at what was pushing out the front of his black slacks and grunted "big Ioano" this time in English, for all the good it did to the others in the ring. He heard Kroos swear in Romanian under his breath, something to the effect of "you fucker tricked me!" but Moose was on his knees next to his turnbuckle, his arms behind his back, his mouth open. Scottie knew no one alive could take his cock and live, but he never ran into someone like Moose before. The head alone was all but dislocating Moose's jaw, but was that going to stop him? Moose was gagging and bobbing like a trooper for maybe a minute when everyone heard,

"Forfeit!" then a second "forfeit here too!" and even a third before the suits as well as Kroos were trying to bring order to the yelling and grunting from all over the room.

By the time three more guys were lined up next to the ring, two chunky victims, one hispanic, one redneck to the bone, the third a thin black kid nineteen if that, Moose was back on his feet and Scottie was grabbing the ropes with very white knuckles. Even in that short time, it took all of Moose's skills to keep that wrist-thick cock from unloading down his throat prematurely. Moose could still taste the salty pre-cum his partner was burping onto his tongue like he could produce the stuff by the gallon.

"Thanks partner" Moose slapped Scottie on the back, leaving an even redder mark there.

"Wow... Moose... maaaaan..." Scottie was not going to win any prizes for speechmaking at that point. Even without blowing his load, Scottie would remember that blowjob as the most amazing thing that had ever happened to him or his dick in his entire life. And the ants crawling around inside his butt only added to the intensity.

"Gentlemen?" Kroos' voice even cracked as he came back to the middle of the ring, extending his hand.

This time Scottie would not take no for an answer and stepped into the ring, almost proud to wave his newly-sucked hard cock around for everyone's benefit. Big mean Ed Wilson was eager to get at the bastard but Dave overruled him with a few shocking whispers. There was a brief tug-of-war but it was Dave's naked frame that stepped into the ring to face off against big red Scottie.

At the signal they started to circle each other, fast and slow, careful and reckless. Dave had no pounds over this guy but was going to use his superior skills to make this a slow and painful ordeal for the freckle-faced pink-assed boner-waving cracker. The contrast between them could not have been dramatic, like they had been planning this match-up all morning, both in superb physical shape, all the training and lifting paying off and then some. The slight difference in height more than compensated by Dave's longer arms and legs. So it was going to be a fight to the death if something did not tip the scales somehow. Dave was the first to flip Scottie to the mat, pressing his face down while he spun around to get the maximum leverage over his shoulders. When Scottie felt one of his arms wrenched behind him he knew he had to do something and fast. He didn't intend to headbutt into Dave's chin but by the time he pulled free and spun to his knees, there was a trickle of blood coming from the corner of Dave's mouth. He reached up and rubbed some onto his fingers, and man did he see red! He lunged at Scottie despite not being in position and the two rolled over and over, threatening to take it out of the ring and onto the floor. Kroos was there to push them back into the ring and then Dave's fists started raining down on Scottie's face and chest. Kroos was about to blow the whistle when Scottie's knee came up and found those lowhangers. Dave grabbed himself and rolled sideways into a ball, moaning and suffering. This time the whistle stopped the fistfight.

It took some coaxing but he got the two back into position and down came the hand. Scottie knew Dave was no longer interested in a fair match; now he was out to cripple him if not kill him. When Dave exploded onto him and flipped him into the mat face-first, it was Scottie's turn to speckle the mat with blood. And when Dave reached between Scottie's legs and gave his already-tied balls a violent squeeze Scottie knew he had to do something desperate or he would be taken out on a stretcher. That's when he heard a voice in his head, or was is out loud? saying over and over "his knee, his knee, his right knee!" before he recognized it as Moose's voice. But Moose was too far away for Scottie to have heard him speak. Scottie's elbow came up and caught Dave in the ribcage, enought to break his grip on Scottie's balls but not enough to get free. Scottie reached behind him, finding Dave's neck and started twisting, this time enough to spin to the side, more the result of all the sweat and even the gel than any kind of technique. Not waiting for either Kroos or Dave to make the next move Scottie flew to his feet and pressed back against the far ropes, hoping Dave would come at him in a blind fury. Which he did. And when he came flying at him Scottie was ready. Instead of going for Dave's shoulders, Scottie brought his leg up and into Dave's right knee, sending him spinning wildly sideways and down. Scottie was on top of him so fast he held Dave's shoulders to the mat for what would have been a ten count.

"Point!" gasped Kroos, the front of his shirt now red as well as black and white.

"Bullshit! He cheated!" from Dave moaning in pain as well as Ed at the top of his lungs jumping up and down and threatening to come into the ring.

"Both combatants used illegal holds and moves" Kroos struggled to his feet looking down at himself. Seeing the bloodstains on his shirt as well as the floor he pulled his shirt over his head and used it to mop up the damage. Like Moose's jock it went sailing into the crowd. He stood there bare-chested and sweating, his smooth muscled chest heaving and sweating "and thus cancel each other out. Neither will we mention who initiated the unsportsmanlike tactics first" looking at Dave "point to Scott and forfeit to Dave there."

"Bullshit! He cheated!"

"Forfeiture before final pin is..." Moose closed his eyes and braced himself, knowing it would bring down the house "fellate both members of opposing team while -"

"Go fuck yerself!" for all his pain Dave was struggling to his feet and sliding off the platform "FUCK YOU!"

Scottie realized the wisdom of having those five naked guys stationed ringside. No sooner had Dave's feet hit the floor than they had him surrounded. Dave tried to throw one punch and then his arms were out of commission. Had he been fresh from the shower perhaps he might have gotten in a few jabs but Dave and his sore knee were running on fumes at that point so it didn't take much effort to twist his arms behind his back and immobilize him against the ring apron. After all it was five adults again one kid. One big strong hard-muscled kid but the effect was the same. Even when Ed jumped down and tried to intervene and Kroos managed to neutralize that threat, it was no more than a minute or two of swearing and shoving before the two saw the error of their ways.

When the five guys felt the struggling relax, Dave was tossed back into the ring with little warning. He lay there sweaty and blood-smeared until Moose offered him a towel.

"Fuck you! This is all your fault!" Dave looked up at him, one eye starting to swell and discolor a bit where he tried to headbutt that one round redneck and missed.

"Y'don't know the half of it Dewie" Moose crouched down, still offering the towel "but it will hurt..." seeing his reaction to those two code words.

"How the fuck!"

"What he did was wrong okay?" Moose left the towel where he could reach it "raping a kid like that... 'it won't hurt Dewie it won't hurt Dewie' but it did, didn't it Dave? And y'couldn't say shit cause he was family n'all, right?"

"Who told you - "

"You did, just now."

"I didn't say - "

"But y'thought it okay? Y'been thinkin about it all these years, all the shots, all the exercising, even those beatings, hoping to get back at him - "

"You don't know -"

"Even without hearin yer thoughts, it don't take a mindreader to see your story dude. Time for your forfeit..." offering his hand. Dave looked at it, like it was more of a blow than his words. No way could he take it.

"Tag!" the enraged bully pleading for mercy looked at Ed.

"What?" Ed was happy to get out of the grips of that ref, their fronts pressing together, Ed's bone bare and stretched, Kroos' covered but still showing.

"Tag off!"

"Not a chance!"

Dave got to his feet but not before grabbing Moose's towel. Like that alone was not humiliating enough. He wiped and dabbed at various parts of his bruised flesh,

"C'mon dog" lowering his voice "I can't do that" in a whisper "please..."

Ed had a grocery list of shocks this morning, but hearing Dave say "please" had to be at the top. If there was one thing he never expected to hear, it was this big killdoser of a musclehead pleading with him! Like it was not really Dave Daniels standing there, but some Martian alien transplant or shit.

"You forreal?" meaning not are-you-serious? but are-you-really-human?

"Please dog" yeah he was begging, yeah he was an alien! "anything okay? Tag me and..."

"And what?" here he was, bargaining with a Martian?

"Anything okay?"

"Anything?" like maybe you could beam both of us back to the mothership and out of this shit?

"Anything dog! Anything! Just - "

"Deal!" big mean Ed Wilson slapped his hand "that was a tag fools!" and stepped back into the ring, pushing the stunned Daniels out.

"You truly tagging off for your partner?" Kroos went rummaging around in that damn gymbag of his again. Ed tried to see what he had in his hand.

"Yeah, fuck... okay."

"And you do not even know what - "

"I said okay! Okay?" looking back at Dave "you so owe me now."

"I owe ya I owe ya, okay?"

"What's the fuckin forfeit? I gotta suck off those two assholes? That's it?" Ed looked at Moose like it was his fault.

"You must fellate both members of the opposite team" Kroos repeated himself, bracing for the inevitable fight again. Which never came "while..." again producing the item he retrieved earlier "your own partner inserts this" holding up another of those vibrating eggs "into your rectum - "

"Fuck..." Ed looked at Dave "you are so gonna regret this."

"With his penis."

"WHAT?!?!" from all areas of the room at once.

"He will push this as far as he can inside you" Kroos handed it to Dave like a hot potato, expecting him to overhand it across the room. He had more in his bag if he did "using his penis, his cock" Kroos knew the slang when he needed it "as a applicator."

"Kroos?" Moose almost enjoyed acting as translator "y'mean while Ed is on his hands and knees blowing us, Daniels there gotta buttfuck Ed with that egg up his ass?"

"In plain English, yes."

"For how long?" Scottie looked scared and Moose knew why. Scottie could deal with a mouth on his hard cock for maybe thirty seconds before it would be unloading. If that.

"Three minutes total" Kroos was panting.

"That's all?" Dave felt the egg in his hand, registering less disgust than he would have imagined. He never touched a dude's butt like that, and never wanted to. But this was that big fucker Wilson he had to touch. His brain started short-circuiting, too many impossible conflicting messages colliding at once.

"That's NOT ENOUGH?!?!" Ed looked at him. He was already thinking of ways to make the dog pay. The agreement was Daniels would do anything Ed told him to, for the rest of the whole fuckin week! At first Ed was thinking in terms of running errands, menial tasks, maybe a few humiliating tasks in front of the other guys, but nothing outright pervy. Hearing what he had to do, Ed started to add more and more ordeals to his growing list. And he had all week! He hated to admit it to himself, but one of the new tasks was just this. But Ed only had imagined making Dave play with his hole while he jacked his meat one night. In total privacy and in total darkness. And in total silence only after swearing him to total secrecy. But not like this! Not in front of half the world! Did Moose and Dave somehow conspire to bring him to this? Knowing - okay suspecting! - what Ed did with his finger when he pulled the spunk from his gnarly cock? Even with all those bands around his boys, Ed just knew his cock would shrivel up worse than Dave's there. FUCK! it hit him like a fist! He had to push that thing into him using his cock? His three-inch mess of wrinkled steroid-shrunk cock? How the fuck...

"Everyone understand what is expected of them?" Kroos handed the tube of green gel to Dave, then motioned for both Moose and big-dicked Scottie to take their place inside the ring. Ed was already on his hands and knees, his head almost touching the mat. He had no intention of making eye contact with anyone. Ever again.

"I really gotta do this, huh?" Dave's anger was withering like his cock.

"Or y'can tag again" Scottie smart-mouthed him, rubbing his bruised face, still tasting blood. Because Scottie would rather get into another all-out fight with that bastard rather than have Ed's mouth on his cock. Because he knew he would be cumming in seconds. Then he felt Moose's hand around his shoulder.

"Don't sweat it" Moose felt the expected automatic lurch away from his arm before Scottie remembered it was Moose. Scottie's fears went right through his wet shoulder "I'll make sure y'don't lose yer load" he whispered "but y'gotta trust me."

"Wha?" was all Scottie could get out.

"Trust me, okay?"

"Fuck..." Scottie began to entertain doubts about the big hairy s.o.b. What was he suggesting? Scottie had little choice "okay."

"Need help with that Daniels?" Moose looked at him. It took Dave a few seconds to realized Moose did not call him Dewie this time. It took longer for the implication to sink in. Even longer for Dave to juggle the two items in his hand.

"N-n-no..." Dave felt himself shinking, his whole body, not just his dick. Like the cold sweat was pulling all strength from him, his shoulders collapsing like a slowly deflating balloon. No way he could do this. No way on earth!

"Let me help" he heard a distant voice. Kroos was taking the tube from his shaking grasp and opening it "hold out your hand, Dave" and something about the calm authority in that voice snapped something inside Dave's brain. A small puff of smoke escaped his ears then, something inside his skull went pop! something in his wall of belligerent resistance just blew up, shrapnel and smoke flying everywhere. Only the itchy tingling on his fingers snapped him back to reality. He looked down at the gel on his hand and knew where it had to go. When he found that burning hot asscrack and started worming his middle finger up and down until he found a pucker of skin and his greasy fingertip pressed forward, he never expected it to open the way it did. He never expected to have his finger inside another guy, and never expected it to feel like that! "now the egg, Dave."

"But that's nasty!" Dave tried, feeling his other hand directed to that same damp valley between Ed's buttcheeks. It wasn't like he was staring, like he wanted to perv on all that shiny black butt. He did not remember Kroos directing him to his knees between Ed's spread legs, neither did he see Kroos join him down on the mat. Somehow he was too busy concentrating on what his hands were doing down there, somehow directing that small bit of round plastic where his finger had been. He was not really watching how every muscle in Ed's ass flexed and shivered when the egg found his hole, how his glutes were shining and quivering with every little touch, how they responded to Dave's strokes and rubs.

"Now use this" was Kroos' hand really on his cock? Was he really rubbing that burning gel under his wrinkled foreskin? And fuck! was his cock really starting to fill Kroos' hand? "and push that egg in as far as you can. Now Dave!"

Dave somehow felt himself leaning forward, felt a hot greasy hand direct the head of his cock, his now hardening cock! up and between those hot cheeks, hotter and sexier than anything he had ever seen on any of those babes he fucked, hotter than Darleena's flabby ass, all floppy and wiggly when he fucked her. This was what an ass was supposed to look like, how it was supposed to flex and tense when his cock entered it!

Ed cowered on the mat, his face hidden and tense when he felt those fingers playing with his butt. And he NEVER felt someone else's fingers near his butt. Well except for a match or two, maybe that one time - NO! Ed did everything he could to block that memory from his brain! No way he was kneeling there when that stud dog - no, that mean-ass wrestler! - behind him started to do things to his crack no one ever did, except for... And when that gel started getting jammed inside him it was all over. Ed crouched there with his eyes squeezed shut, trying to block from his sight all those images of all those practices, all those matches, their bodies slammed into each other so tight they could feel each other - NO! He would not think about it, he would not remember any of that. When that bowling ball got rammed up his hole he almost forgot about what he was replaying on his internal tv screen, that one match with the thick dude from upstate, the one who had no problems grabbing him in the - NO! Ed tried to concentrate on all the pain that basketball was causing inside his ass, trying to convince himself it really was painful, trying to convince himself that beachball was not pushing even more blood into his cock. Trying to convince himself he needed both hands to balance his weight so he could not reach down and start jacking off right now, right in front of all these guys. He could not grab his hard cock just like that guy did at that meet when - NO! Ed felt something warm and wet pressing against his ass and almost let his instincts try to flip him backwards, knowing the way that crotch was plastered against his cheeks he was off balance just like that one guy when he tried to push Ed down into the mat, but Ed reversed on him and then their two crotches were slammed together so tight Ed could feel - NO! The ever-growing chorus of NO!s were getting so loud and so insistent Ed almost did not notice something pressing against his already stretched and greased crack, but when it started pressing against his asshole he knew Dave's cock, his stud musclehead partner's cock was trying to force its way into - FUCK!

Ed lurched with the invasion, trying to pull away from the tapered head, realizing it was a guy - another guy! - trying to do to his ass what his cock always - NO! Then Ed felt something so amazing, so impossible, something deep inside his guts started vibrating and tickling, started sending impossible electric signals right into his - NO! but it was too late. The head of Dave's very hard cock had broken through his defenses and was now an inch or two inside him.

"Gentlemen" Kroos was dripping sweat and out of breath "three minutes begins... now!" and Ed's ugly mug was lifted up and his closed eyes could see a crotch coming towards him, smelling the funk from somebody's balls, and before he could adjust to the amazing sensations radiating to his painfully distended cock, there was his cock - no another cock!- pressing against his lips. Ed did not know why he opened his mouth or why he knew it was Moose's shaved crotch pressing forward. All he knew was once that uncut dick pressed against his tongue all the pain of that boulder in his ass, that dick in his ass! ceased and was replaced by something humming around his balls, making his dick start to throb and flex. He could hear Moose's voice telling him "don't cum don't cum" over and over. And if anything was going to push him over the edge, not the baseball bat inching into his ass, not the vibrating cannonball against his cock, not the images of that wrestling meet when their two crotches were glued against each other and Ed could feel that guy's cock hardening and bumping into him, not even when he gave a few sharp lunges and Ed just knew the dude was unloading into his jock, none of that was going to make him empty his balls faster than that voice in his head repeating "don't cum don't cum" over and over. When that voice stopped suddenly, when that uncut dick in his mouth was replaced by that fat thick head of Scottie's wide cock, only then did Ed get an idea of how this looked, how he looked on his hands and knees, taking too many inches of Dave's black tube into his ass, those red pubes pressed against his face, two cocks at once, his big ugly body nothing but a place to shove hard cocks until -

"Forfeit!" he heard from miles away then another "forfeit!" then a third, maybe more. But all of those repressed images, all those technicolor images flooded over Ed's body, his mouth and ass both exploding, something deep inside him vibrating and exploding out his cock, all his pent-up cum just gushing out, just flying out of his cock and splattering down on the mat, loud and wet, and then the kaleidoscope spinning before Ed's eyes went dark.

When Scottie looked down at Moose's cock sliding into Ed's mouth he almost shot off right then and there. And having Moose's warm reassuring arm around his shaking shoulder did not help matters one bit. And when Moose pulled that shiny tube of prime uncut cock free of Ed's gaping mouth and steered Scottie's fat red sausage towards that same mouth he tried to pull away, but Moose's hold was strong enough. Scottie watched as his thick swollen head pressed into Ed's mouth and he felt his balls start to empty. Then Moose's fingers were at his tube, pressing into the underside at the same time digging into his nads. The pain was enough to stop the gusher in its tracks. He heard Moose's breathing next to him and before he realized what he was doing, started to fall into the same rhythm. Faster and faster, then slower and slower, until he was more focused on his chest than on that hot tongue and what it was doing to the area right behind the crown along the underside of his meat. Each time he felt himself closing in on the inevitable, there were Moose's fingers, there was Moose's chest pressed against his. His whole body started humming, the vibrations from that egg pressing against Ed's prostate radiating up to his chest, up to his mouth, and right into Scottie's cock. And it continued up to Scottie's chest, his lungs breathing that energy in and out, until it felt like his whole body was shuddering with the impending orgasm. When it felt like Moose's body could no longer sustain the tension coming from Scottie they both felt the scattered explosions coming from the audience, as one after another of those army-boy cocks shot off for them. And when Ed began to shudder and then collapse in his own orgasm, Scottie knew he dodged his own bullet by maybe four seconds if that.

Scottie and Moose, with Kroos' help, eased Ed's oversized lumpy limbs over to the side of the ring and onto his back, disconnecting a reluctant Dave in the process. With a cool damp towel over Ed's forehead he began to come around after a few moments. By the time his eyes fluttered open, there were five more naked guys standing at ringside. Moose counted heads and unfortunately that big bald guy was not among them. But now there was a total of ten guys standing naked and busted, the last group with drooping cocks still slimy with cum.

"Gentlemen" the shirtless Kroos came back to the middle of the ring, looking sweatier and hornier than would be expected "perhaps one of our hosts could address the issue of these empty chairs?"

Moose gulped when he heard that, fearing to look up from the groggy pile of limp flesh lying at his feet, hoping against hope he heard those words correctly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the line of naked butts in front of their ring, not sure how they could proceed if those soldiers were blocking the view. Moose could almost hear someone yelling "hey you in front yeah you with the wet dick siddown we can't see shit!" not wanting to laugh. But then he heard the squeak of some folding chairs as one of the suits got up and went back through the main double doors. By the time they had Ed propped against the ropes in their corner, Moose and Scottie were in a huddle.

"Dude we need to talk" how many times had Moose heard that line. It rarely led to anything expected.

"Talk Scottie. Whassup?"

"Dude..." Scottie looked into Moose's eyes, no hedging, no fidgeting "why even bother..."

"Bother?"

"Dude..." Scottie's stare did not budge "if y'can read my mind why should I - "

"I can't read minds okay?"

"Tellin me yer just a lucky guesser?" Scottie looked down at their two dissimilar crotches "like I got any secrets anymore."

"I can't read your mind" Moose put the hand on his shoulder again "I just get some sensations, ideas, images..."

"What 'image' y'gettin now?" Scottie never looked at anyone's eyes with such precision before. Even his girlfriend would give a nervous laugh and look away after a few seconds.

"You wanna figure out how y'can go back to shovin that" nodding down at Scottie's trapped cock "into Marsha's ass after what you felt almost blowin your two-week's worth of cum into Ed's mouth there - shit! that was your first ever full-out blowjob!"

"Like that! How you know?"

"Even a blind man could tell the way you were grunting and panting" Moose tried to joke but Scottie was spooked. And dead serious.

"Yeah that too! What was with that breathing?"

"It worked didn't it? Wait!" Moose jerked backwards "holy fuck! That was the first time you ever... y'know... held off from cumming right away! Shit! All those hard stabs into Marsha, her moaning and crying and all, shit no wonder it was a quick fuck. Like in her butt and finishing in like ten seconds?"

"Shutafuck up okay?" Scottie was pissed. But more fascinated than pissed "how you DO that?"

"When we get outa here - if we get outa here in one piece" Moose lowered his voice, but knew "Ioano" Kroos could hear him "anything y'wanna learn, anything y'wanna do..." nodding at their two crotches "any kind of 'wrestling' you wanna do, I'll let ya... yeah, just what your thinking, just like that."

"Fuck I fuckin HATE you!" Scottie laughed "get the fuck outa my head!"

"Deal?"

"Fuck..." Scottie looked at Moose's body, knowing it was his for the asking "yeah."

"But first we got a..." the smile on Moose's face collapsed as another group of ten army guys, same dress code as before, was ushered into the room, taking the empty seats here and there. Their shocked reactions were hushed down fast. The hands of those suits were back in place after a bit of struggling back and forth. But once the newbies saw the lay of the land, they had little choice but to play along. It took all of Moose's concentration not to look into the eyes of that face - damn both their faces! - once he recognized them. He would give his right nut now to rush down there and grab them in a huge bear hug, feeling all the fears and panic wash out of their brains and into his, relieving their concerns. But which one first? Which one Moose?

"Gentlemen, thank you for joining us on such short notice" Kroos nodded at them, giving the smallest of winks at his cousin "we are in the midst of our second from the last match, with only one last pin to go. All the customary rules apply" nodding at the big bald guy looking less and less patient. When the suit next to him fished out his cock and started waving it around for the first time, a variety of reactions washed through the crowd. Luckily, from their vantage point the wrestlers could not see what rose up from his fly "now to our final pin. For this, the five bidder will be able to avail himself of both of the members of the losing team. In other words, tagging off will be to no avail. Gentlemen any questions?"

"Okay in English Kroos" Moose looked at Scottie, then at Ed leaning against the ropes "you saying you expect that dude there to fuck BOTH of the losers?"

"Basically, yes."

"Who cares?" Scottie muttered "cause we ain't gonna lose" looking at Ed "Wilson there is gonna be one easy pin now."

"Unfortunately..." Kroos waited for the room to quiet from the revelations "he will not continue."

"Then we win!" Scottie yelled, already jumping around the ring "we win we win!"

"Not exactly" Kroos went over to Scottie, pulling his arms down "there."

"There what?"

"You just tagged your new partner" Kroos shot a sly sideways glance at Moose, nailing him where he stood.

"But I already got me a - "

"For this last point, the teams shift" looking at Moose then at Dave "now Moose and Dave, you will be partners."

"Like hell I will!" Dave knew this was the final set-up. Everything had been building to this. The entire complex knew he and Moose were sworn enemies, and no way on earth they would agree to tag team like this. It was a guaranteed recipe for defeat! And that defeat meant both of them would be fucked. Literally. "y'can all go to hell!" and he was already on the floor and heading for the door. Of all the things he had to put up with, making him wrestle with Moose was the worst.

"The choice is yours" Kroos continued, knowing there was nothing they could use to bargain with him. Not loyalty to his coach, not his team, his family, nothing! Except... "if you return to the ring, and continue the match" Kroos waited for him to turn "there are some pictures you would like to see."

"What fuckin pictures?" stopping Dave dead in his tracks. Did they have pictures of him doing things? Illegal things? Like... oh shit! Not that! "y'better not be tryin what I'm thinkin you - "

"Show him these" Kroos reached into his magic bag of tricks and produced a crumpled, folded manila envelope. He handed it to one of the naked sentry guards at ringside who shrugged and passed it to Dave. Dave had a bad feeling he already knew what he was going to see. He was so wrong he had to look at the first three pictures before he knew what he was looking at. Instead of pics of himself caught doing things that should never ever see the light of day, instead his surprised eyes were looking at before and after pictures of guys. Specifically guys' crotches. Specifically guys' dicks!

"This is bullshit!" shoving the packet back at the naked guy for no reason "y'expect me t'believe - "

"Moose?" Kroos spun on him "have you seen your schoolmate Jimmy Guenther naked this week?"

"Yeah" Moose chuckled "like is there anybody I haven't?" remembering who was out there in the crowd "so?"

"You notice anything different about him? Any physical differences?"

"Y'mean his dick?" Moose looked at Kroos like he was a moron "so?"

"What would you say was different - "

"Just he went from like two inch stub to..." bang! it hit him "it that what you're offering Dave here? To give him a foot-long dick too?"

"What?" Dave was already naked, hell he had just fucked a guy in front of the whole room! Not like he had much to hide anymore "a foot-long dick? What?!?!"

"Well not necessarily something twelve inches in length... but... yes we have developed certain... procedures...NON-surgical procedures" Kroos nodded down at the envelope "you have seen the dramatic results with your own eyes. Men with below-average endowments having their penis increase by two- or three-fold, even more."

"Leave my dick out of this!"

"Too late for that... partner" Ed snarled at him. Now it was his turn to leave the ring, knocking one on the newcomers out of his chair.

"Choice is yours" Kroos knew where to apply the pressure and exactly how much "you may leave and join the others now assembling for wrestling practice, continuing to be concerned and embarrassed about your... condition, ignoring their looks and comments, continuing to suffer a lifetime of frustrations all because of your... shortcomings."

"Shuttup!"

"Or, you may enjoy the looks and comments from your fellows this very afternoon when you undress and they see something like that" pointing at what that one suit was keeping hard and full in his left hand, the bald guy even leaning back so Dave had a better view from his closer location "or perhaps even larger, hanging down from your groin. Five seconds. One..."

"You're totally insane nuts y'know that?"

"Two!"

"What? More drugs?"

"No drugs, three."

"Or worse, a fuckin knife!"

"No surgery, no prosthetic implants, all you. Four!"

"This is nuts!"

"Five!"

"Okay okay OKAY!" like Dave was thinking straight at that point. There was scattered applause as he inched his way back towards the ring and up those stairs. He was not in the ring five seconds before he looked at Kroos "this afternoon?"

"Precisely."

"It's gonna hurt right?"

"Not if y'think three loads in three minutes is hurtin" Moose laughed. He knew, or at least heard rumors, about the so-called side effects of some of those machines. He almost gave it a thought, but then he laughed at himself. Moose, like you need a bigger dick!

"Bull!" but Dave was trying to talk with a hook in his mouth now. He almost forgot about this last hurdle to overcome.

"Wait!" Scottie watched all of these reversals with growing concern "no fair!" too many ideas were bouncing around in his head not the least was "y'ain't no wrestler!"

"Are you sure?" Kroos stood there looking around the ring "ask my cousin there" indicating Kroos, Moose's Kroos, sitting in the third row, the t-shirt much too small for his big frame, his arms beginning to rip the sleeves. And having his big uncut cock pulled out the fly did not help his too-small shorts for that matter.

"Little Ioan- Little John" Kroos translated "was province champion" in soccer! Kroos did not need to add the last part. He suspected the proper people could figure that out if they needed.

"You see?" bald Kroos had his pants and shorts pulled down, giving them a sight they would not soon forget. Moose figured out fast "Little" John was huge even before he received his treatments.

"Is that...?" Dave took in the hard muscles, the ripped physique, especially what was hanging a good nine inches down from those shaved pubes.

"I am not sure of your question" Kroos lied "but the answer is yes."

"Daaaaaaang..." sign me up! Dave whistled.

"One problem" Scottie looked at his new partner, smaller than Moose but in much better shape "who's gonna referee?"

"I will" Russ got back into the ring limping a bit.

"Impartial, my ass!" Dave groaned.

"Impartial. Your ass" Russ crouched down losing the towel in the process. He rolled his eyes and kicked it off the mat, again naked and on view to the world. Out went his hand "two contestants!"

Moose looked at Dave who just sneered back.

"Look Daniels" Moose glared at him "if I throw this, we both go down got it?"

"You won't throw it" Dave narrowed his eyes "you don't want that anymore'n I do."

"Wanna bet?"

"Bull..." but Dave now had doubts. Did Moose hate him enough to allow himself to be buttfucked by that monster-dicked soldier just to see Dave suffer? Was Moose that crazy? He would not take the chance "tag!" and Dave was in the ring in all his hard-muscled naked glory. Scottie looked at him, looked at his less than inspiring partner and got into the ring.

"Y'try that shit with the knee again and..."

"And what?"

"I'm warning ya!" Dave growled and then the two were at each other. This time they were both wrestling a known adversary, no surprises left. When they grabbed each other around the shoulders and started trying to topple each other, it was Scottie's bulk that was able to twist Dave back into the ropes. But now Dave knew how they worked and soon had them both flying across the ring. They ricocheted off the far ropes neither one letting go. When they returned to their original position, Dave made sure it was Scottie's back that took the full force of their combined mass. He felt the air forced from his lungs and went toppling down to the mat. Dave flew down on top of him, getting a knee to his gut for his effort. It seemed Moose and Ernie were not the only ones taking notes watching WWF. Dave fell sideways off Scottie, arms flailing about. But when he did his hand bounced against Moose's who was leaning half-way into the ring.

"Tag!" Russ yelled, keeping a close eye on all four, especially that bald bundle of muscles.

Moose got into the ring with a half-smile, looking forward to wrestling his former partner.

"No fair!" Scottie looked at him "you cheat!"

"Think about something else" and the two slammed into each other, the weight inequality obvious then. Moose pressed against him and grabbed Scottie in a bear-hug, hearing the panic in Scottie's head, knowing his head was leaking like a sieve. But he heard Moose whisper "chill" and then he was bodyslammed down to the mat! Hard! Scottie saw stars, knowing he had been betrayed. That brought the fury bursting out of him. He was about to grab Moose in his big nuts when he noticed neither one of his shoulders was pressed against the mat. Even after Moose hooked one of Scottie's leg up, knowing Scottie knew the counter-move. Scottie's instincts kicked in, flipping Moose up and to the side. When he saw no surprise on Moose's face he knew the whole thing was as fake as one of those pay-per-views. He grabbed Moose in a headlock and ran him into a turnbuckle, knowing it did little more than bruise his shoulder. When Moose pulled away and flipped him towards the ropes, Scottie veered his trajectory and slapped his partner.

"Tag!" Russ yelled and crouched lower. This was what he volunteered to see. As soon as his hand went down, Moose and "Little John" Kroos went at each other, Moose barreling into him with his huge bulk, Kroos sidestepping him and tripping him down to the mat with some evil judo move. Moose was as pleased as startled, cursing himself for losing concentration. He had lots of time to chastise himself lying flat on his back, Kroos pressed on top of him, spinning around until he had Moose's legs lifted and hooked together. Perfect angle for fucking, Moose thought. As soon as he did, Kroos spun around again and brought his crotch down against Moose's upturned ass, humping him enough to get the desired effect. Moose felt one of his shoulders dangerously close to the mat and twisted onto his side, sending Kroos toppling in the process. Before he could regain his balance, Kroos was pressing his face into the mat straddling his shoulders. He knew it was not a pin, neither was it a position he could maintain for long. Only long enough for Kroos beneath him to control his growing hardon. When he bucked Moose off him with a slight bump and jumped to his feet, Moose saw he did not give him enough time. When they went back into a crouch waiting for Russ' hand to come down, it almost looked like Kroos was giving himself a casual tug or two.

"Tag! Tag!" they heard both of their new partners yelling but Moose had foreign game in his crosshairs now. This time when their shoulders locked, Moose was full of questions. The two of the them circled and yanked, each trying to toss the other, neither one serious about it. "Little John" Kroos got the whole story about Moose, his return from Europe, his Saturday "fundraiser", his revelations about all his teammates and what "cousin" Kroos had subjected them to, even Joel's backfire revenge on Saturday, all of it. In turn Moose pryed and poked around in Little John's head to see how much he knew, how much he saw. The two locked eyes, knowing each other knew what was happening around them, and what they both needed to do in the time remaining. Little John told him how he was helping his other cousin secret whole groups of guys away to safehouses, explaining how Moose's allies could appear in the audience a few moments ago. Moose thanked him as he felt himself flipped head over heels through the air, landing on the ropes, bouncing once then tumbling into a heap somewhere on the floor. He was ready to pass out when he felt something slap his limp hand.

"Tag!"

Moose half-staggered, half-lifted out of the ring as Dave took over. Because the two had no mental connection, they had to communicate the hard way, with punches and lunges and flips and slams. If wrestling with Moose was a turn-on for Little John, throwing Dave around the ring was even better. And if tossing his black ass here and there got his dick hard, having Dave do the tossing and flipping instead got his dick leaking. Not that it could get much longer, but man did it ever get harder! It was too big to lift up so it stuck out and to the side like a crooked flagpole. And more often than not, that crooked flagpole found its way between Dave's balls. Almost like Little John was giving Dave a test drive of his new, improved dick. And boy did Dave take note of that idea. By the time Dave thought he had Little John's muscled shoulder pressed down into the mat, his three-inch collection of wrinkles was more like six inches. And not a wrinkle to be seen, the narrow head pushing out from the foreskin like hibernation was finally over. So much blood was pushing into his dick he let the bastard slip down and through his grip.

"Tag!" and then he was squared off against the redhead Scottie, both of them harder than expected. Dave swore at himself, no loop around his cock to justify his display. He thought about calling a time-out so he could fix that problem but the hand came down and the two of them were at each other, two seasoned wrestlers at the peak of their form. Except Dave was distracted and tiring, so he didn't react to the lunge for his left leg in time. He hobbled around on his right, wincing at the additional weight to his bad knee and then over he went, catching the rope on the way down. He landed on his side and Scottie had him on his back, one shoulder already down. Dave twisted and arched his back up, not wanting it to end like this. He almost wished it was that freak Moose on tope of him instead, so he could hear what he was thinking, so he could hear him in his desperate cry.

"Tag! Tag!" Moose was yelling, hearing Dave's thoughts from across the ring. But Dave was tiring and trapped beneath Scottie's muscled bulk. He twisted this way and that, but all it did was press his left then his right shoulder down in turn. Dave could see Russ flipping down on his stomach on either side of him, looking for the pin. And when he felt those red pubes pressing against his hard dick, his HARD dick damnit! he knew sooner or later he would be finished. He could hear Moose screaming, he could feel his rod pressing up into Scottie's, he could feel the hot breath on his shoulder as Russ pressed down and then BANG! down came his hand.

"Pin!" Russ grunted, in no hurry to get up. The first eyes he found were those of Little John Kroos, both of them knowing what that pin meant.

"No no no no..." Dave lay under Scottie's naked body, too tired and too scared to move. All he could think about was Moose coming over and beating the shit out of him. He almost hoped he would. Better to die from a beating from Moose than to... NO! he could not even allow the thought. So when Scottie rolled off him and onto his back, his chafed red cock pointing straight up, Dave looked up and saw Moose's face over him. His arms flew to cover his face automatically "don't kill me don't kill me!"

"Ain't gonna kill ya!" Moose bellowed down at him "shit!" looking around the ring "did I really say that?"

"Fuckin funny ain't it?" Scottie looked up at Moose, watching his body for the slightest sign of fear "your sworn enemy huh?"

"Get up 'enemy'... jeez" Moose held out his hand. When Dave grabbed it, Moose knew Dave might survive this after all "get up and face the music!"

"I'm sorry I'm sorry" Dave staggered to his feet, not daring to look Moose in the eye.

"Don't beg me for mercy" Moose looked around and damn, but that big dude was already on his feet, making his way down the row. Something about the way the guys grabbed that monster cock as he passed, like rubbing it for good luck or shit, made Moose shudder. With enough preparation he might, just might be able to take that thing up his butt. But Dave? No way! He'd freak and clench up and it would be curtains for him.

"Okay how's this gonna go down?" Moose saw him coming up the steps, already pulling off his shorts. Man could that fucker be any bigger! "I mean who's gonna get fucked by that king kong dick first?" and Moose heard familiar voices in the audience screaming "and don't anybody try to intervene okay? This all happened fair and square, nobody blackmailed me okay?" not having the balls to look out there, not wanting to see their faces. He knew he could do this, but Dave? Fuck, here is worrying about that bastard fucker? What a joke!

"Moose, right?" the guy even came over to him and held out his hand. Moose shrugged and shook it "name's Bastian, short for Sebastiano okay?"

"Sebastiano?" Moose hated to admit it, but from the waist down, this big bull was not bad looking. Bull was right! Bull balls and a cock worthy of a real bull "Italian?" hearing the chuckle from Kroos in the audience, sharing their private joke.

"No... my mother was Turkish, my father born in Rio... like me" throwing out his chest. Add bull chest to the list, Moose sighed "but my bloodline is no concern, my semen is something else entirely" grabbing his cock, making the cut head swell for effect "now this is how it will be. You will agree or this will not go easy for you" looking at Dave "either of you. You agree to my conditions - "

"No conditions!" Little John Kroos and Russ yelled together, as well as a few accented voices from the audience.

"MY conditions" Bastian continued "and I will make this as gentle and painless on our two wrestlers as possible. Otherwise it will be a trip to hospital - "

"What?" Little John Kroos yelled, seeing the danger growing below that t-shirt.

"You do have hospital up here correct? Of course you do" Bastian did not leer or smirk. He did not need to. He was a big man with a big presence and right now he was holding most of the cards "my men have been brought here, assembled at your facilities and we all want a 'friendly' cooperation between us, correct?"

Was that it? They were now an occupied camp? And this dude was in charge now?

"Of course we can reach an understanding" it was Mister Jones on his feet "perhaps you could explain what you mean by 'conditions' please."

"I'm gonna take these two cherries got it?" Bastian looked at Dave then Moose "and I'll do it my way. No force, no violence, just slow and deep, got it boys? And..." looking back at the audience "there is a little matter of some blowjobs, correct?"

"F-five, yes" even Russ was on the ropes now.

"A condition is I decide who they will be, understood?"

"Yes... well..." Mister Jones looked around "usually they are picked based on their - "

"Level of horniness, yes" he continued to look at them one by one. Now the guys were not sure if they wanted to be on the receiving end of his blowjob or not "but not this time. You!" his finger shot out towards the naked black guy standing, or rather cowering, beside the ring, the same soldier who thought Moose's jock on his dick was more than his balls could handle.

"Me?"

"Up here, now."

"Dude I already shot okay?"

"Then you do it again" scanning the crowd "you!"

"Who me?" he pulled his hands off the guys beside him.

"Yeah you."

"Only soldiers" he leaned forward "or staff. Not - "

"You just enlisted" Bastian leaned forward as well "up here now."

"This is not - "

"Tough shit! Up here NOW!"

Mister "Jones" again rose from his chair turning to Kroos "does he know who I am?"

"Yeah I have a real good idea who you. Even if that forged passport says "Jones", yes I have a hunch you are one of the ringleaders of all this..."

"Then you know why..."

"And I know you and your brother... 'Yaldi' something or other, are in the thick of this. Let's see if what they say about you is true. Up here Jones or should I call you-"

"Jones will do" and Mister "Jones" eased his way down the row. This time nobody dared grab his dick, luck or no luck. If they had they would not have believed it. After his first session with the test models of their machines that one night visiting Kroos' office, Mister "Jones" decided to test personally each successive improvement, each refinement of the technique. His only regret was that first assistant, Joel his name? could not accompany him as he flew around the country, visiting each clinic, scrutinizing each of the "Kroos" family members for signs of further sedition. But he was only too happy to secure Joel's presence at this training camp this week, hoping for a repeat of that first session. Something about the way that Joel assistant fellated both him and the other patient whose name he could not remember. What he did remember was Kroos explaining to him that his fellow patient experiencing one of the first trials of the eroto-stim machines happened to be the father of another of Kroos' assistants. Jones asked if they were aware of each other's involvement. Kroos had some suspicions but answered no. So it would not be possible for both father and son to experience the machine simultaneously? Jones asked. Because what he really wished was to see his own son, his big strong twenty-three year old Alexi strapped down beside him, both of their penises hard and strong, both sets of eyes on each other as orgasm after orgasm were wrenched from their bodies. And if that Joel assistant were there to provide oral stimulation to either or both, all the better. But seeing that Joel youth, somewhat reminiscent of his own Alexi even down to their circumcized penises, fellating that father, his own father? Alexi fellating him? Mister Jones headed for the wrestling arena already regretting acting so peevish, his pants filling with the growing tube. If Dave thought the before and after pics in that folder were impressive, he was about to see what an overdose looked like.

"Five correct?" big Bastian continued to scan the crowd, his eyes like the turret of a cannon looking for victims "you!"

"Me?" from a young soldier looking barely eighteen. If he shaved that week it would have been his third attempt at it. His round baby cheeks were already blotchy with embarrassment.

"Stand up soldier" which the guy did. His uncut dick was already out of his fly, even wet like somebody had been sucking on it. The suit next to him looked smug, and jealous "yeah, nice dick."

"Ah... er... thanks I guess."

"So y'like guys blowing you?"

"No! I mean..." face even redder "well..."

"Tough life in the army right? So how many blowjobs y'get so far?"

"Sheeez..." not looking at one or two faces "I dunno..."

"Well you're getting another one this morning" his eyes traveling around "you!"

"Funny!" Coach Morrison looked back at him "stick with the army grunts. My dick's a bit worn out" getting a laugh from some of the wrestlers, who knew exactly what he meant.

"From what? Wanna tell us where that dick of yours has - "

"Fuck no!"

"Choice is yours. Tell us what your other head has been up to the last two days or-"

"Okay you win" and Coach Morrison put down his clipboard and headed for the group entering in the ring.

"Last but not least..." Bastian's eyes scanned the group "you!" finding a red-haired lanky kid "are you sure you're old enough - "

"Not him!" Moose yelled out "leave him - "

"Young kid like him? How old are you son?"

"E-e-eighteen" Ernie lied. The last thing he wanted now, after all he did to get himself smuggled out of their camp and into one of the last helicoptors, was to blow his cover now. After their grueling midnight flight, getting lost a few times, running low on fuel, the pilot so jacked full of drugs he was babbling non-stop after the first hour, a few close calls circling the supposed landing area, then finally at the last second that homing beacon appearing from nowhere, guiding them in just as the engine started to sputter before the auxiliary tank kicked in, hell after his nightmare escape there was no way -

"Good enough kid, you're up here."

"Wait... no..." Moose tried to intercede, knowing Ernie needed to be kept under wraps "can't we..."

"Young kid, full balls..." seeing the red tube sticking out of Ernie's shorts "nice dick, yeah, good choice if I do say so myself. Sorry guys" looking at the others "your turn comes next round."

"Next round?" from Mister "Jones" as well as a few others.

"Yeah, your hosts're saving the best for last" Bastian shrugged "okay so it's not a surprise now" looking at the coaches "tough break."

"Look, this is not what - "

"You had in mind? Maybe, maybe not. But it's what THIS" shaking his monster dick "had it mind okay? I learned never to argue with him, debate yes. Cajole, yes. Argue? No."

"Look" Moose could see the alarm on Ernie's face "I agreed to go along with this okay? But you gotta agree nothin bad's gonna happen to these guys" looking at all of them except Ernie "they ain't a part of this shit okay?"

"Like I said, as long as you cooperate nobody gets an unscheduled trip to hospital" looking at Dave "but you are the one should be worrying, not your hairy friend there."

"Fucker ain't my friend" Dave glared at the floor.

"First, I am the fucker here" Bastian chuckled "and two, he is very much your friend. Several times during your match-up this big apeboy - "

"Apeboy?" Moose laughed out loud "APEBOY?"

"Yes, I will call you Apeboy, and you" looking at Dave "will be Buttboy."

"Fuck you" Dave snapped.

"Again, I will be doing the fucking. And to show you how much of a friend to you Apeboy is, he will go first" seeing something other than fear in Moose's face he know he made the rights choices so far "because as much as I would like to, as much as this" shaking himself again, filling it with more blood "is actually big enough to fill two holes, that cannot happen. Unless someone has any ideas?" looking right at Mister "Jones" again "perhaps you know a way?"

"Our research has not reached that stage... yet" he snarled at him. Was he threatening to castrate the big guy?

"But on this stage" Bastian looked at Moose "this handsome and studly wrestler is about to feel my 'research' project. On your hands and knees, Apeboy."

"But!" Moose grunted.

"No 'but's now" Bastian was already running his hand over Moose's thick furred thighs and up to his round glutes. When his fingers went into the greased crack he chuckled "ah yes, you are right. I am sorry, but you will have to remove your little friend."

"Huh?" Ernie started before he checked himself. He swore he heard Moose's voice say: shuttup already!

"Why not let YOU do the honor" Bastian pointed at the black naked soldier "something you would enjoy, I believe."

"Why me?" he tried to look shocked, being singled out again was not his idea of fun. But playing with Moose's ass was.

"I should not need to answer that" Bastian pointed to the spot behind Moose "your dick will be indication enough."

Moose looked at everyone except Ernie and dropped to his knees, then lowered his head down to the mat. Several guys let out a grunt, realizing Moose had finished the last half-hour of wrestling with that plug still in him! And he didn't say a word about it. With the token amount of prodding, Bastian got the soldier down behind Moose, directing him to remove Moose's plug. What they never expected was the guy to bend down and remove Moose's friend. With his teeth! Some of the guys made groaning, disgusted sounds; some of them, like Ernie, just watched with their eyes wide open and their dicks hanging out.

The soldier took the plug and tossed it onto a towel handed him for the occasion. He was about to crawl away when Bastian ordered him to clean it and stand with the rest. When he did, his dick was bone hard and sticking straight out. Bastian just smiled and looked at Dave next.

"You! Buttboy!" Bastian pointed to the mat next to Moose "down on your hands and knees. There!"

"Wait! I thought you were gonna fuck Moose!"

"I am. And while I do I will need..." scanning the group "you! to prepare Buttboy for his turn."

"Hey!" Coach Morrison grunted "don't expect me to - "

"With something other than what you have getting hard between your legs. And something a bit..." seeing their faces "larger than what Apeboy was forced to wrestle with. I suspect you have a variety of devices in those gymbags of yours. Do it!"

Moose had enough to worry about now; he did not need to watch his arch-enemy big Dave Daniels forced to his hands and knees so close to him their shoulders and butts were touching. After having wrestled each other all morning Dave was sure acting all squeamish. Or was he finally figuring out Moose could bootleg his brain when they were in physical contact? Regardless Moose had bigger fish to net now. Like the way that soldier pulled his plug out with his fuckin teeth! Man, he thought the dude was so into it Moose was going to get a soldier-plug up his ass next. He could feel the hot lust burning from that dude's face between his cheeks, and it went right to his already bound dick. And there was Ernie right above him, his sorely missed red dick almost poking Moose in the eye. But someone had briefed Ernie well, and their long-delayed bearhug would have to wait. They waited this long; they could wait a few more minutes. That is if Ernie could hold his load that long!

Moose lowered his head when he felt some fingers pushing more of that green gel deep into him. He waited for the increaseed itching but instead it was gone! This wasn't the green shit, it was something else. He reached down behind his balls and brought back two slimy fingers. Two slimy red fingers! Moose panicked at first, thinking he was bleeding back there but looked again and it wasn't blood, it was a different kind of ointment. His eyes shot to Mister "Jones" who was trying to look all innocent.

"Something new?" holding his fingers at him. A few guys yelled, guessing Moose was giving him the finger.

"Perhaps..." was all he would say. Moose wanted to know if those stories from Billy, or was it Joel? were true. If this dude really had the dick from hell. No, the "dick from hell" was about to be going into Moose as soon as... damn!

Moose leaned back into it, feeling something large and blunt pressing into him. He felt his hole open, and open some more. Moose relaxed and pushed out knowing this could rip him open if he was not careful, but instead of shooting pain all he felt was something very thick stretching him. No more. When the guy leaned forward, Moose reached behind him and lifted his t-shirt "so it don't get dirty" he grunted. But he really wanted to feel his bare stomach against his back, skin on skin. Moose wished he hit the "record" button, for all the images coming at him a hundred frames a second. He saw the camps along the border, the hastily prepared exit the night before, how the sleep-deprived, amphetimine-enhanced pilots almost overshot the camp, hell he even saw that white beam of light shooting up to the sky from those interconnected bodies in the woods! How the beacon brought the first chopper in and then one after another they made their landing on the baseball fields. How most of these army grunts were bone-tired, some of then without sleep for the last night? two nights? How Ernie and a bunch of other high-school kids were "reassigned" from those interment camps when the riots started on Monday, smuggling them out disguised as soldiers. The more Moose looked the more signals radiated down from this Bastian guy on top of him, the more Moose realized how lucky he was to be in the deceptively labeled "sports camp" while most the Midwest was sliding into chaos, martial law already declared on both coasts! Moose was so busy processing all this he almost did not realize there was a large hard tube inching its way deeper into his hole. Bastian was as much in the dark as Moose about the "red gel", only told it would "make it a super fuck!" The accent was Kroos' or Mister Jones' but the language was neither of theirs.

"Fuck yer killin me!" Moose groaned, leaning back into him, taking another inch of that thick uncut cock into his ass.

"Relax Moose, Apeboy stud" Bastian was none the wiser. When his sensitive head first pressed into Moose's ring, he felt some of the residual tingling from the green gel. But as soon as the red neutralized it, all he felt was tight hot ass opening beneath him. He had been told some of the "trainees" at their destination might display certain "talents". But he never imagined a high-school jock like this could take his cock and live! And yet when he saw the big dogs wrestling, seeing the way they went from wrestling, to naked wrestling, even making a show of their bound hardons, their plugged asses, he knew he hit the jackpot! Five blowjobs was a small price to pay for the opportunity to bury his freak-show cock in not one, but two young asses! Like he said, he would have sucked off the whole platoon just to feel his primed cock going into something as hot and tight as this!

"Ah... oh... yer splitting me open!" Moose groaned, rocking back and forth a few millimeters on his impalement "fuck!"

"Fuck... fuck..." Bastian felt something inside that hole bump against the head of his dick. He rammed into it a few times, hearing the slight whine come from deep inside Moose's chest. Yeah, this dude was no virgin. Maybe he never had something like this up his butt, but that plug today was not his first.

Moose closed his eyes, feeling another foot of that pole slide deeper into him. Then he remembered where he saw this dick before! It was almost a carbon copy of the one on Billy's friend Juan! Only longer! But the same blunt uncut head, the same untapered tube. Moose started ransacking Bastian's family tree, wondering if they were related.

"Fuck... yeah... Apeboy take my meat... take it..." Bastian looked down and saw almost all of his dick disappearing into that hairy crack. It was a sight he had never seen before, and his balls started to tighten in response. He had to do something fast to prevent himself from blowing his load prematurely. Like sitting all morning with a hardon burping pre-cum into that boss's hand was not foreplay enough for crissakes.

"You!" catching the eye of that naked black soldier again "here. Straddle Apeboy so I can get at that nice dick of yours."

"Y-y-ya really gonna do it? I'mean suck my dick?"

"Deal's a deal remember?" Bastian directed him over Moose's broad shoulders until he was straddling his waist "but..."

"But what?" the guy was so horned up again he almost toppled over pulling his crotch away from Bastian's face.

"Deal was to blow you dudes, NOT swallow your nasty loads. For that..." those searchlights went around the ring again "you are in charge" singling out none other than big mean Ed Wilson.

"No fuckin way!" he flew from his chair ready to topple this whole sex-crazed apple cart right here.

"You got off easy, now pay up!"

"Fuck you!"

"Or Apeboy here gets a new asshole!" thrusting hard into Moose again. Moose screamed more from the shock than the pain. By that point his butt and Bastian's monster dick had come to an agreement, with the help of that new red ointment.

"Do what he says!" Moose yelled "he's killing me!" shooting Ernie his trademarked frown. Ernie bit his lip to keep from giving Moose away. But that did not make the scene any less shorts-swelling. Watching Moose on his hands and knees taking this bazooka up his ass was the oddest, hottest welcome gift he could imagine "he's killing me Ed! Do it!"

"Muthahfuckah..." Ed waddled up to the ring and glared at the soldier "ain't suckin yer dick bro!"

"Don't gotta suck it" Bastian pulled the guy back into position "just let'm dump his load on your face."

"No fuckin way!"

"Ahhhhh!" Moose yelled, almost winking at Ernie "DO IT!"

"Fuck..." Ed did little more than get to his knees next to Bastian and scrunch his face shut, hoping this would be over fast. Even when he heard those wet slurping noises inches from him he refused to open his eyes. But judging from the way that army dude was bucking his hips, even slamming into Ed's shoulder a few time, he could tell the guy was primed and loaded. Again. Bastian established a steady rocking into Moose, simply amazing how the guy could take most of his cock into him. His mouth and throat were getting a major workout from that long thin dick on that army guy, not expecting him to cum anytime soon. So when the guy started yelping and grunting, pulling his cock out of Bastian's mouth with a loud wet pop! Bastian opened his eyes to see him jacking himself right at Ed's face! It took maybe four strokes and he was unloading all over Ed's shoulder and right pec. Soon as he finished he was tumbling off Moose and leaping from the ring. Ed opened his eyes, looked down at his barrel chest and groaned,

"Gimme a fuckin towel!"

"It stays!" Bastian slammed into Moose again, enjoying the deep loud groan "you!"

"Sombody else!" the baby-faced soldier threw his hands down over his crotch like that would help. He looked around the ring, hoping somebody, anybody else would take his turn. Just feeling the eyes of one or two of the guys made him feel like he was the next course, and they wanted a double helping. Danny had barely enlisted, barely survived boot camp when he was thrown into the lions' den. At first he assumed all the rumors were just that. But when their copter landed and he got a better look at the layout of the place, he knew it was like no "re-education camp" he ever saw before, not like he saw many. He had maybe two hours of rest in his tent before the sargeant told them they "earned themselves some shower time", as he put it. And when he joined half his group in those showers, all the guys naked and soaping the crud off their bodies, throwing hardons left and right, Danny did not know what to do or think. But when they were marched into this auditorium in their skivvies, and then hands started landing in crotches as the show in the ring got more and more blatant, and the hand on his cock was replaced by a mouth or two Danny did not know whether to laugh or cry. He would have flooded the soldier's mouth next to him with his month-long supply of cum had the creep in the sunglasses on his other side not interrupted. Again and again, like he knew when Danny's balls were ready to empty each time "I gotta..."

"What's your name kid?"

"Darrell" he lied.

"Okay Danny" Bastian had him pegged "let this big Apeboy here feel your balls on his back now. Like a piggy-back ride okay?" directing him to straddle Moose's back in the same manner. Bastian just knelt there with his dick deep in Moose's ass like it was an afterthought. And yes, Bastian was using all these distractions to postpone the inevitable. He even felt that muscle lug beneath him start to milk his dick with his ass muscles! The big stud was enjoying this!

As soon as Danny was in place Bastian's big paws started playing with the kid's balls, rubbing them against Moose's hairy back, seeing the kid shudder with the sensation.

"Feels good don't it?"

"F-I mean hell yeah."

"This will feel better" Bastian grabbed those balls and lifted him up, sending the kid's uncut cock right into Bastian's mouth. He was afraid he would knock out some teeth the way his dick sprang back to full hard in seconds. It wasn't long before the kid was panting and thrusting his dick into Bastian's mouth, no finesse just a crazed desire to get off fast! Bastian grabbed those balls tight and pulled him out.

"You wanna blow a load don't ya?"

"Yes!" Danny yelped between gulps of air.

"You!" Bastian was getting to enjoy this, rearranging the bodies like so many toy soldiers.

"What?" Russ jumped from his conversation with Morrison.

"Your turn, right here" pointing at the spot next to him "better hurry because this volcano is ready to blow."

"You don't expect me to - "

"Yeah, when the kid explodes, you're gonna be on the receiving end, got it?"

Russ looked at Moose suffering beneath this huge dictator's cock so he had little recourse. He knelt down next to Bastian, their hips rubbing together as Bastian continued the slow steady humping and immediately got hard. And seeing the young guy's cock back in Bastian's mouth only got him harder. And when the kid started panting and reddening Russ' hand was yanking on his own cock. And when Bastian pulled his mouth away fast, Russ' was there to replace it. Pure reflex. And when the kid started flooding his mouth Russ could do nothing but swallow. But the kid was cumming faster than Russ could handle, the excess running down his chest, down his chest to his belly, into his pubes it kept cumming and when it drooled down to Russ' cock, the lubrication brought him off as well. Even after the kid started to soften a bit, Russ' mouth continued the suction action.

"Fuck yeah!" Bastian looked to his other side, seeing Dave squirming on that dildo "he ready yet?"

"No!" Moose yelled "no, not yet!" The time when Moose would disguise enjoying the deep fucking he was getting from that award-winning dick was long gone. The look in Ernie's eyes watching all this continued to tell Moose he was doing the right thing. So Moose reaching behind himself and trying to pull Bastian deeper into his ass was nothing to raise eyebrows any more "he's not ready!"

"Is he ready Coach?" Bastian knelt there, trying to ease that battering ram from Moose's stretched hole. Each time he leaned back, Moose reached back and pulled him forward again. Bastian knew Moose was no longer in pain; rather he was dreading the sensation of his ass emptied of its prize "let everyone see."

Morrison leaned back, displaying the blunt red end of a dildo sticking out of Dave's spasming, shaking glutes. The yells and groans were long gone; now Dave was burying his face in the mat, not daring to look anyone in the face, now they were making him crouch naked on the mat, his plugged ass in their faces, whatever pride he had felt in himself and his hard body long gone. When the first tube was shoved inside him he thought his ass would rip in two. Then that lube started working its magic and a certain soothing numbness spread through his insides. Not like he was worrying about losing his hard or anything, like he had a hard to lose. So this larger dildo was causing him some serious discomfort, but nothing he could not handle. When he felt it sliding from him, and something larger and softer press against his ring, his first thought was that Morrison was trying to sneak in an actual fuck with his cock next! The fat rubbery head was pressed into him, and man this time Dave felt it!

"Yes, much better" Dave heard that Bastian guy panting next to him. Then another inch or so forced its way into him and Dave just knew it was Morrison buttfucking him in front of the whole group. If that bastard was fool enough to do one of his own wrestlers in front of all these witnesses, then Dave was going to make sure he put his entire muthahfuckin head in the fuckin noose! Dave took a deep breath and leaned back into it, in a hurry to get this over with once and for all. But the tube just went in deeper, getting thicker and fuller and it did, stretching him both ways now, a relentless invader going deeper and harder into him, and that widening threat opening his hole more and more with each thrust. Then that head started presssing against something deep inside him and Dave saw stars. It felt like he had to piss and cum all at the same time, like his balls were going to start unloading and then it pushed harder into him and the damn thing just kept getting thicker and thicker! What the hell did that Morrison have between his legs, a traffic cone? He would pull out, allowing the red lube to relax Dave's butt, then it would force itself forward again, deeper and thicker, deeper and thicker, in and out, back and forth until Dave did not know if he was spinning or the room was. He was glad his head was already flat against the mat otherwise he would be toppling like a drunken bum. But would Coach Morrison's relentless thrusts ever let up?

"Straddle him now, I will finish this" Dave heard Bastian's voice behind him, garbled and distorted like his ears were filled with bathwater. The next thing Dave felt were those thick bare legs of the coach pressing against his ribs as that tube shoved the last few inches into him. His rattled brain figured out the punching bag up his ass was not attached to Morrison, and he clamped down in panic. But a different rhythm was applied to that plug in him as he began to hear sucking sounds coming from behind him, and then the treetrunk started easing out of him. Before the lining of his hole had a chance to react to the blast of cold air there was something blunt and very warm pressing into his hole and before he could recognize it for what it was, the thick uncut head was inside him. Dave Daniels, star high-school wrestler, had a guy's live cock in his ass! He tried to fly out of the ring but a very large Mo Morrison was all but sitting on his back and Dave could do nothing but buck and scream. And the more he bucked the deeper that tube slid into him. Unlike the forearm-shaped dildo before, Bastian's dick tapered much less as it pressed deeper, the neck thicker than the head by only a few inches. But it was that fat head that was finding Dave's prostate and once it did, and once Bastian heard the squeals coming from Dave's chest change pitch, a heathy glob of gel was slathered over Dave's wrinkled foreskin. But this time it was not the red; it was the green. Dave yelped when he felt the burning inside the wrinkled opening, and yelped several times more when Bastian's hand started a slow tugging at his cock. Between the fat head rubbing into his knob and that greasy hand yanking at his meat, Dave had no choice but to let those impossible sensations flood his crotch. By the time Coach Morrison's cock was hard and pumping like crazy into Bastian's gagging throat, Dave was almost enjoying what that torpedo was doing inside his ass, his cock bigger and harder than he wanted to admit.

"No! Stop! Y'killin me!" Dave groaned and yelled, more for show than anything. Hell, like he really wanted all these dudes, even these army guys, to think he was going to let some big thug take his cherry without a fight? He struggled and twisted, protesting at the top of his lungs now he could breathe without radiating more pain to his ass, but Bastian continued the relentless pressing into the tightly muscled ass, the cock in his throat thrusting deeper and deeper with each flex of the coach's hips.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Mo was grunting and yelling almost as loud as Dave "shit I'm gonna cum!"

Bastian pulled his head back from Mo's crotch, one free hand tight around the coach's balls. He pushed him off Dave's back fast, almost sending him back on his butt, but that Mister "Jones" was so close to the action he broke his fall. "Jones" grabbed Mo and held him by his shoulders as Bastian grabbed Dave around his chest and pulled his elbows off the mat, both of them balanced on their knees, glued together in one heaving sweating mass. Bastian's grip on Mo's boys did not loosen either. Instead he pulled the coach's crotch forward again. But this time it was Dave's mouth that was open and filling with Mo's hard dick. Mo felt the hot lips on his cock, the grip around his balls relax enough for them to start emptying their contents down Dave's throat and then down his chin and chest as he started gagging. No one could blame him for not doing a better job because Bastian's other hand was pulling a gigantic load from Dave's now very hard cock, his cum splattering all over Morrison's legs and down to the mat between his feet. Dave let out a ragged scream as his cock erupted. Not many guessed it had as much to do with the fact Bastian's cock had hit paydirt.

Dave wanted out of his terrible position fast, now that his cum had splattered all over Bastian's hand and down to the mat in shocking erratic patterns. Between the monster dick rearranging his insides and that green gel burning his cock, he wanted to pull away and run for the showers. If for no other reason that to see if his cock really had filled out as much as he was guessing. He wanted to reach beneath him and give it a grab, but Coach Morrison's giant thighs kept him pinned between his two assailants like a bug. A big muscled plugged bug. When Dave felt that slimy dick move away from his face he was about to try his escape, but before he could catch his breath, his cum still oozing from his barely softening cock, another pair of legs was straddling him, pushing him back down to the mat. Then Dave's back felt a pile of expensive material land on him. Based on the texture of those expensive duds he knew it was that "Mister Jones" guy. He wanted to turn somehow and see if the guy was as hung as he looked. All he knew was the dumptruck up his ass was not budging and then he heard loud sucking noises behind him as those legs around his sides started bucking like crazy. Fuck yeah! Dave thought, hope the jerk doesn't know to hold his jizz, hope he nuts like a kid on his first date!

"You!" damn but Bastian was panting like he just ran ten miles "here!"

"Me?" big mean Ed Wilson "what?"

"Our host is ready to give you his sperm" Bastian got out between gulps of air.

"Gross!" Ed grunted back "besides I already took some dude's load, and don't forget I won!" but he heard a voice in his head saying "over here! over here!" sounding like the big hairy Moose still on his knees next to his homie Daniels. Maybe if Ed steered that gangster Jones over by Moose - by Moose's mouth! - he could con him into sucking off the suit instead. But the way Jones and Bastian were panting he had to move fast. For reasons unknown he got down on his knees in front of Moose's face and no sooner had he taken that position Mister "Jones" was shoving his cock into Ed's mouth. He gagged and wanted to bite the fucker off when he felt the damn thing start to spasm! Ed twisted his mouth away just as Moose came off his hands, and his mouth was on Jones' cock not a moment too soon. Jones shoved his cock as far down Moose's throat as possible, furious he had been tricked. He wanted nothing better than to lord over the black high-school kid, superior and caucasian, as his cock erupted into this lowly smelly lump of a jock. Instead it was Moose's throat receiving his precious sperm. But the way Moose could swallow the full length of his impressive cock, taking it down his throat without gagging, even milking it with his neck muscles almost made up for whatever disappointment he felt, spasm by spasm.

Moose's esophagus accepted jet after jet from Mister "Jones", accepting it like so many zipped files of liquid information. If Moose's mouth had been the cum bucket instead, he would have wasted too much energy trying to swallow it all, not wanting to spill a drop. Not that he feared retaliation from this guy any longer; rather Moose knew each precious drop of the man's sperm was like pure information, all the research, all the data, even such startling images as troops massing at the borders, some under the auspices of the UN, most not, went right down Moose's gullet and right to his brain. He saw the concentration camp where Ernie's family along with several other prominent families from town had been "assigned", the less lucky ones left to fend for themselves once the army cleared out. The reasons for this so-called "state of readiness" as the high-level briefings labeled it had something to do with... Moose swallowed again, not sure he was "seeing" this right. Something was causing the electro-magnetic belt, Moose got the name Vanillen? to buckle and twist like a woman delivering twins. The European scientific community was insisting it was man-made, the unintended side effect of the launches of the most recent top-secret satellites, but the Japanese continued to flood the transmission links with data pointing towards polar magnetic shiftings. Moose swallowed again, getting something about "south atlantic nominees" which evolved to "anomalies" with the next spasm deep in his throat. The need to breathe took over and Moose pulled back from that ten-incher, just as he was about to get the data-stream on something to do with something "crossing Mars orbit". He could not "hear" the rest; what he did hear was the near-hysteria in the voice screaming that into the microphone. Moose never wanted to hear anything like that again, anything like the voice of someone looking out the window of his plane, seeing the ground rushing up to meet him, knowing he had only seconds to live. Moose shuddered with the echo of that voice, hearing Mister "Jones" chuckling at him for all the wrong reasons.

Bastian disappointed Mister "Jones" with the quick change he staged with Moose. And when his third leg started to ease free of Dave's stretched hole, Dave felt something deeper than disappointment; it was a severe sense of outraged hollowness. Had it been only the two of them, Dave would have pinned Bastian backwards so he could impale himself again with that colossal monstrosity. In one brief morning Dave went from never even looking at a guy's dick to never wanting his ass to be free of a dick. The idea of Moose walking around, even wrestling with that plug up his butt, made glaring sense to him then. So that meant Moose was no stranger to having dudes buttfuck him! And now he was in that same camp himself? Dave's mind was racing full speed, thinking of all the guys around him, the whole goddamn camp! All these dudes trading blowjobs, trading trips up the ass, all of it! So if Moose could walk around like this was no big thing, then Dave could get away with it too? He had this horrible thought: what if he confided in someone like big mean Wilson dog there? Like he wanted, really WANTED another guy to fuck his ass? And Wilson's reaction was nothing worse than: yeah, so?

Dave collapsed onto the mat, lying in his pool of jizz, in no hurry to get up and face the music. When he felt a warm hand on his shoulder he did not have the usual knee-jerk reaction of busting the dude in the face. Like he had the energy for that.

"Dude... Daniels... let's get ya cleaned up..."

"Huh?"

"C'mon time to more yer ass" Coach Morrison was trying to lift him up "you're finished here."

"Y'mean...?"

"Yeah, show's over" one shoulder then both coming up "at least for you" and me, under his breath.

"Fuck..." Dave let himself be lifted to his feet, seeing Bastian re-applying more of that red gel to the giant tube sticking out of his crotch, making it look even better - no bigger! - Dave corrected himself. No way he was feeling jealousy watching him get ready to plow it back into Moose's big thick ass again. He followed Morrison out of the ring, watching Bastian's cock force itself back into Moose's ass from the viewpoints of the guys in the ring, not understanding the expressions on their faces. All Dave knew and could feel was how his ass was aching. Not so much with the pain, as with the loss. Like the ugly runt tossed aside for someone more popular. Like he just lost his match. Which in a way he had. Coach Morrison recognized the sagging shoulders and ushered him out of the auditorium, past the guys patting him on the back - and places lower - and back through the doors. Before Dave knew what he was doing, the two were back in the locker room and before Dave could collapse in front of his locker, Coach Morrison was directing him towards the showers.

Dave barely noted more and more of their teammates filling the locker room, changing out of their clothes and into their wrestling gear; he was too buried in his growing worries to do more than nod and say hey to one or two, oblivious to the fact he was still naked and covered in sweat and lube. His dark pubes were shiny with his cum which maybe one of two recognized by the smell if nothing else. Dave found himself under one of the showers before his situation came crashing back to him. He stood there under the cool pounding spray, his skin very sensitive to its refreshing quality, his muscles aching and sore from his early morning "workout". And his ass reminded him what it had endured for everyone's benefit. He did not know if he wanted to stay there forever or slip away and hide for the rest of the week.

"How y'holdin up?" he heard Morrison next to him.

"Like I been run over by a muthahfuckin truck" he turned sideways, several ribs moaning their disapproval "like it backed up several times and plowed into me" opening his eyes, seeing his coach's face "and I fuckin mean INTO me."

"Any pain?"

"Y'fuckin kiddin?" Dave's voice shot up a few decibels "pain?"

"Lemme see, bend over."

Dave knew he had entered an unknown foreign territory when he had no hesitation doing just that. Those grunts and gasps he heard could have come from his own throat for all he cared. He felt his coach next to his pulling off what little clothes he had left, again those grunts and gasps could have been his. When he felt those fingers easing into his ruined ass, rubbing all around the inside of his sore lining, the lube mixing with the water from the shower, all Dave could do was lean back and close his eyes. The way those fingers crawled around in him let him know he would live; there was no damage back there. And when the fingers were replaced by what Dave knew to be his coach's hard cock, he pressed back into it so the coach, so everyone, could tell he not only tolerated this public fucking, he was initiating it. Those gasps and groans around him were not his own. He was breathing slow and steady, reaching beneath his belly to pull on his cock. At the touch of someone's mouth on his hip he almost opened his eyes and moved his hand. But who it was, or why they were so eager to replace his hand with their mouth Dave no longer cared. All he cared about was filling his aching cavity with another cock. It may not have been as gargantuan as Bastian's before, but his coach's dick was big enough to make Dave feel desired and complete. And the way that mouth was suctioning back and forth on his filling cock told him he was the object of lust from more than one quarter. The faster Morrison pistoned into him, the more that mouth on his proudly growing cock, the more Dave realized everything he knew, everything he believed had changed. That thought slammed through his cooked brain just as someone turned off his shower, the sound of the guys around him growing louder and closer. That's when Dave felt something hot splatter his left shoulder, then something else land on his right. He raised his head and something was rubbing against his cheeks, then his lips. He opened his mouth, knowing whose hardon was demanding a blowjob. Sometime around his own second orgasm into that dude's mouth below him he felt his coach lube his hole with his cum, then Dave's mouth was filling with something salty and sticky. He let it roll around on his tongue then his coach's big plugger was easing out of him and something thinner was replacing it. But Dave was more concerned with the fleshy wrinkled cock sliding into his mouth, a long foreskin something novel and very very hot. As long as something was fucking his hole Dave Daniels had no intention of moving his ass away from a hard cock, or his mouth from a jizzing dick ever again.

Moose was not dumb; he knew there was one more army grunt Bastian needed to finish off. And knowing it was his Ern made the re-invasion of his ass that much better. When Ernie's red cock entered Bastian's mouth, his nervous wince caught Moose's glance, the two of them locking eyes. Considering Ernie was getting one helluva blowjob from the big dude he sure looked spooked. Moose wanted to know why, but that ten-foot python entering him again was throwing off his concentration. Even with that battering ram threatening to come out his mouth Moose could see Ernie was quivering like he did just before his balls emptied. Moose's contractions around Bastian's cock alerted him to that fact.

"You!" Bastian's arm was around Moose's gut, lifting him off his hands.

"Who?"

"You!" he drilled his fearful stare into Scottie's eyes "down!"

"Where?"

"Here!" his grip around Moose's ribs like an arrow. Scottie had seen this scene go down with the others, knowing it was going to be his turn to swallow a load. After all he had done and witnessed so far, having this wiry, hard-muscled redheaded kid pump that perfect cut dick into his mouth, his sweat cream coating his tongue with - bang! his knees hit the mat with a loud thud like someone dropped him with a sucker punch to the gut. And the way his face was right next to Moose's, their breaths in each other's noses, their eyes watching Ern's firepubes approaching and then Scottie Farley's mouth was licking Bastian's spit off Ernie's cock like honey, then fuck! his tongue found Moose's tongue fighting for that spot just below Ernie's glowing red head, then Scottie's mouth taking Ernie's dick away from Moose, a sweet sweaty prize he did not want to lose in the last seconds of the meet, the soft spongy hardness of Ernie's cock starting to spasm, and then Scottie Farley's mouth was flooded with Ernie's cum, Moose's mouth at Ernie's balls licking and pressing more and more cum from them. Scottie coughed with the volume and it was Moose's mouth taking the last of his spurts.

Moose's mouth tried to do double-duty, eavesdropping on Ernie's contradictory, frenzied thoughts while signaling him how relieved and overjoyed Moose was to see him and know he was out of harm's way. And yeah, having his dick back in Moose's mouth was the second best thing to happen to him all week! Only the second best? Moose thought he heard Ernie think. Best would have been where Bastian's dick is now, bud! I'm only a bud now? Fuck no ya bonehead, you know I love your bony ass! Just for my ass? Moose felt the chuckle all the way down Ernie's tube. Why are you cummin buckets Ern? I'm sorry Moose I'm sorry I tried to to be loyal but one night this soldier... That's all? Shit Ern I woulda expected you to have a line of soldiers as buds now! I'm sorry Moose I wanted to save it all for you and now this! Y'know this big sweaty dog thinks yer hot shit right Ern? But I don't think Scottie's on the same wavelength we are! Like hell I ain't! they both heard Scottie's voice in their heads, as Scottie's mouth pushed Moose's back down to Ernie's balls.

Scottie Farley felt a terrible flip-flop in his gut when the young redhaired soldier joined them on stage. Even watching his new bud Moose get skewered by that life-threatening fuckstick right in front of his nose could not keep Scottie from sneaking glances at the young guy. He figured out fast the kid was no eighteen-year-old soldier! So what the hell was he doing in the standard-issue skivvies? And more important, what the fuck was he doing HERE?

It kept getting worse when that porn star Bastian started up with some variation of a damn mindreading stage act. Like maybe he was watching Scottie's every move, making notes of his every twitch and jerk, watching his eyes like a hawk. Even with his perpetual hardon back in poor Moose's tortured butt, even with his face full of those amazing red pubes, the same color as Scottie's own, just like the guy was his long lost kid brother, the brother Scottie always wanted, those freckles, those thin but muscled arms, even his blushing blotchy nose, damn! Yeah Bastian had his number big time! And it wasn't like Scottie was wearing a jock, or anything to hide his returning hardon. When Bastian barked at him to drop to his knees and get his mouth ready for his kid brother's - no! Moose's number one Ernie Olson! - erupting cock - FUCK! How did he know this? When his mouth connected with that red cock, Scottie knew, he just knew, this was some totally flipped-out dream come true. But how could a dream come true if he never dreamed it? Then all those long-buried fantasies came bubbling up from some long-lost mineshaft in his brain. He was sitting in his room in his white briefs, his kid brother in the other bed, also in his underwear. They did not say anything to each other, but they both were noticing the swelling starting behind their protective cotton shields. Scottie's hand was the first to find his brother's hard cock. By maybe two seconds. Once their hands were on bare flesh things spun out of control so fast neither one could halt the runaway bullet train, even after both their mouths were tasting cum. And when Ernie erupted in Scottie's mouth it even tasted the same! Just like all those times years ago when Scottie's lubed fist was pulling loads from his sore cock over and over, trying to bury the image deeper with each painful orgasm.

Scottie had enough problems trying to deal with the fact he was on his knees blowing his kid brother, okay not his blood brother but still... and then somehow knowing Moose and Ernie were discussing him. He knew it the same way he knew those cheerleaders at their lunch table were talking about his sexual exploits the previous Saturday night, just by the way they fluttered their fingers, the way they tossed their hair, avoided his glance, suppressed the excited, horny giggle. Scottie just knew. The same way he could hear his bud Moose's voice in his head, again? And he was picking up his bro's voice, that was Ernie's voice? at the same time. Ernie's cum was telling him he was feeling guilty about one - just one? - incident with that soldier with the gentle eyes, just like Moose's eyes when Ernie was fucking Moose - what? And Ernie was all upset Moose would be pissed, but Moose was almost chuckling. But that chuckling stopped in Scottie's head when Moose noticed Scottie was somehow privy to their internal dialog. And once all three started babbling away it was a free-for-all. Scottie was too busy juggling all the messages to notice Moose's greased hand was pulling a load from Scottie's cock. But not too busy he did not hear Ernie's reaction. No longer shocked when Moose lifted his cum-smeared hand to Ernie's mouth so he could lick up his stud of a big brother's first load...

"Hey what about me?" Moose grunted out loud for a change, Scottie and Ernie shooting each other guilty looks, then laughing out loud.

"So you do not feel left out" Bastian had been overhearing the whole thing "this is from Ern" and Bastian's cock plunged in and out twice and then Moose felt himself filling like a water balloon. He bent forward losing contact with Ernie but not Scottie as that hose inside him started unloading all of Bastian's three-day load. Moose could do little but crouch there and wait for him to finish. Not that Moose wanted it to end. Ever. Even the way Bastian flipped it up and down into his prostate, exactly the way Ernie learned to do it, Moose lay there and felt the vibes coming off Bastian, then Ernie and even Scottie in turn. He never felt more loved and desired and connected in his life.

Ernie felt those two mouths fighting over his dick and that was all it took for him to let go. Finally getting the chance to cum without the guilt like last time was exactly what Ernie needed at that point. He started to black out with the intensity, all those hours and days with little sleep slamming into him like a linebacker. Like Moose slamming into him and flipping him onto his bed. Like Harry the soldier slamming into him, so overcome with lust he almost squashed Ernie in the process. Not the Harry would hurt a fly, but he was so overcome with emotions when Ernie did not pull away from him in disgust, when Harry's hand found Ernie's neck, pulling him into the faintest ghost of a kiss on Ernie's ear. Ernie let the big ox topple him down on those boxes, anything so the guy would not cry anymore. Ernie never saw such a big bruiser like that just lose it. He thought Harry would either shatter into bits or else fly into a psychotic fit. Only when their clothes were off and Harry would not stop running his fingers up and down Ernie's tight body like it was some fragile piece of art did he figure out Harry would never do anything to hurt him. Just give him a scare to put at the top of Ernie's growing list of awful scares. After they had managed to produce two amazing orgasms Ernie was overcome by the guilt and worry. What would Moose do when he found out? Would he be forced into a fight with Harry? Would they kill each other before Ernie could explain... what? How could he explain it? But now with his cum in both their mouths, and Moose offering Scottie's cum to him like Moose was the one making peace offerings, Ernie did not know what to do or think next. But Moose was practically radiating his ecstasy being reunited with him, and now Scottie was like Ern's bigger stronger self, the three of them filling in each other's pieces. Ern's guilt and fear just melted away, just draining from him like his pent-up load. And into that void rushed all the signals Moose was trying to relay to him, all the messages he "borrowed" from that Mister "Jones" - yeah Ernie THAT Mister "Jones" as you recognized - without panicking Ernie even more. Soon Moose realized he had two "Ernie"s to deal with now, "big" Ernie and "original" Ernie, the two of them trying to make sense of what Moose was telling them. Moose was just getting to the part about something "sub-lunar near-impact" when Bastian pulled free of Moose's butt.

"Very well gentlemen" Kroos' voice cut through the mental noise "you have earned a chance to rest and get refreshed before practice."

"Practice?" big mean Ed Wilson yelled "you still expectin- "

"In fifteen minutes gentlemen" already helping to clear bodies from the stage.

The two "brothers" helped Moose to his feet and then out of the ring. It was one thing seeing Scottie hoist Moose's thick arm around his shoulder and half-drag him from the stage. But Ernie on Moose's other side looked like a mismatched bookend. The three staggered like sailors on shore leave towards the locker room door talking quietly among themselves, all but ignoring the hands clapping them on the shoulders. And butts.

"You really said sub-lunar - okay not 'said' said but... sub-lunar orbit right?"

"I heard it too" Ernie looked at Scottie, then Moose "you know what you were saying?"

"Fuck no" Moose let the two carry a large part of his weight, directing him through the door and into the locker area "sub-lunar... close approach... hell no! What does it mean?"

"You don't know?" Scottie felt the cold goosebumps spreading over all three bodies. The locker room was cooler but not that cool.

"You tell me! And another thing Jones was thinking" Moose lowered his voice, very hoarse now "a yellow stone called darrell? Something to do with that babyfaced soldier calling himself Darrell? What the fuck is that? Some kind of alias?"

"You heard Jones thinking that too?" Ernie looked at Scottie "any idea?"

Scottie lowered all three to the bench. It was easier talking with the two out loud rather than the rush of all their thoughts colliding at once. Ernie nodded in agreement, but Moose was white and pasty like he was going into shock. Ernie ran through Moose's thoughts, taking stock of his internal signals, but Moose was suffering mentally not physically. Regardless Ernie was going to check every square inch of Moose's body once they were in the showers. Knowing exactly how that would look.

"Moose? Are you sure that's what you heard?"

"Sounds crazy right?"

"Sure you didn't hear 'yellowstone caldera'?"

"Right, a yellow stone called - oh!" hearing Scottie in his head "I get it! Like Yellowstone Park!"

"If this means what I think it does..." Scottie held both of them tight so he could convey to them what he was thinking. He picked through Moose's thoughts, sorting and rearranging them like puzzle pieces. When he could see the finished image it gave them all a visible jolt. If Scottie was right, something large, something very dangerous, was flying in their direction, already well inside the orbit of Mars, heading for their planet with deadly intent, not precise enough to slam into their blue round home but coming close enough to fly past them inside the Moon, the tug of its ugly brown mass enough to buckle a few techtonic plates on the way by, a celestial drive-by shooting. And when it was gone, most of Montana and Wyoming would be gone too.

Scottie grabbed Ernie, instinctive preservation of his kid brother. When he realized what he had done, he looked at Moose fearing a flying fist. Instead Moose grabbed both of them in turn.

"Sorry... I mean..." Scottie looked at Moose "no way I can come between you two."

"You already did" Ernie smiled.

"But you two are like... buds... fuck, more than buds!"

"Fuckbuds?" Moose jabbed his finger into Scottie's side "that's what we are?"

"Fuck no! I mean you and Ernie here and like... MAN! I'm glad you two made it back together again!"

"Y'mean us three, right?" Ernie looked at Scottie.

"Fuck... compared to what you two got... I'm like..." Scottie did not want to lose the connection, now that he crossed the hurdle after all his stupid fumblings.

"You're learning, okay? Okay partner?" Moose held out his hand.

"Yeah... partners... man that feels good" Scottie would not let himself tear up in front of these two "just... please... just gimme time okay?"

"Only thing we don't got" Ernie felt the heat bouncing back and forth among them. His dick started getting hard again in spite of himself.

"Maybe, maybe not" Moose saw the red tube growing "Scottie partner, your kid bro here ain't seen our labs, has he?" he ain't seen what might save us yet!

Big Hank sat next to one of the men in the suits, his dick out of his recently issued clothes and pointing at the roof. Considering the liberties this guy was taking with his goods, Big Hank at least should know who he was.

"Do you know any of those wrestlers?" he turned towards the guy, expecting a smile at least.

"No" was all Big Hank got for his efforts. But hearing that accent was enough to let him know where his paycheck came from. He continued to scrutinize that profile, even seeing some of Kroos in him. But this guy looked more like that bald ref in the ring, and less like Billy's Kroos.

Big Hank had exchanged a few words with the red-haired kid who had been next to him until he was singled out by their camp commander. Well their former camp commander, Big Hank guessed. Now in this new location, all bets were off. He got enough from Arnie, the same Arnie?, to figure out he also was being shipped through special channels to get to this place, papers forged, strings pulled, whatever it took. He tried to bring up the topic of Saturday night and the police raid but Arnie clammed up tight. Only the magic word "Moose" got a reaction from him. Big Hank got a few waves of worried concern when Arnie was dragged up on stage, thinking it might be retaliation for their guarded exchange. So sitting here and letting this big guy play with his cock was a measly form of penance for him. Big Hank wanted to push the issue so his left hand found itself on those dress pants.

"Huh..." the guy grunted and pushed Big Hank's hand back onto his own thigh. The two played a variant of foosball with that hand all the while that black kid, Moose's mortal enemy, was on the receiving end of his former commander's killer cock. Big Hank's hand returned to this suit's leg several times, for maybe ten seconds total. When Mister "Jones" lost his control and started blowing his load on stage, Big Hank's hand found less resistance. It stayed on the man's thigh a total of sixty seconds, even worming its way towards his crotch before it was pushed away "no..." was all he said.

When the grand finale started, Moose again bending over and receiving that monster like he even was enjoying it, then Arnie was getting his long narrow dick sucked by Big Hank's former officer, Big Hank's hand went back to that thigh. This time when it edged its way towards the middle, over the crease and to the bulge, Big Hank felt little resistance. He got the fly open before the guy's hand slammed down on top of his.

"No!" he grunted, but their hands stayed where they were. Big Hank's fingers inched the zipper down and dug around in the silk? the dude was wearing silk? undershorts, finding the fly and soon his fingers were connecting with hot hairy flesh "no..."

Big Hank struggled to find and then release the guy's hard cock, the uncut head trapped in the tight folds of material. Big Hank withdrew his hand long enough to tug at the man's white shirt, causing him to buck up from his folding chair. That was enough motion to move his cock lower and this time Big Hank's hand found that hard meat almost out of the fly.

"No..." he groaned but Big Hank's fingers dug around and then it was free and blinking in the bright light. It was maybe the same size and shape as Big Hank's, but the head was still covered with a circle of foreskin. Big Hank did not see Ernie's cock bouncing back and forth between Scottie's and Moose's mouth, because his own was down on that dick, licking and sucking it like crazy "no... no... no..." tasting all the pent-up horniness under the fold of skin, feeling it swell and throb against his tongue. Big Hank barely had time to adjust his weight when he felt it throb and start to erupt into his mouth like the guy was more surprised than Big Hank at his cock's ability to shoot cum.

"No! No! No!" he grunted in time with each volley into Big Hank's mouth. He swallowed and gulped it down as fast as he could, suspecting a lot depended on this blowjob. When he felt it start to deflate in his mouth, he gave it a final suck, cleaning it with his tongue. Before he heard that word again, it was tucked back into those silk boxers and the fly was zipped up, good as new.

"What is your name?" he muttered under his breath.

"H-h-hank, why?"

"Hank..." the man rolled it around in his mouth like a wad of cum "hmmm.... Hank... thank you Hank."

"Wow!" Big Hank's eyes returned to the ring, seeing the after-effects of what had happened between Moose and Ernie, not to mention that Scottie guy as well. Something like jealousy and regret hit Big Hank right in his chest, watching Moose limp away from him. He knew he was here to find Billy, to save Billy even! but watching those three together pulled at something in his heart he never knew existed. Until that moment. And sitting here hard as a rock, with this guy's hand back on his cock, slower and more gentle now, only made Big Hank's thoughts bounce around his brain in a more erratic, contradictory manner. His brain went from Daytona Beach to Demolition Derby in the span of four seconds. And all the spilled fuel from those car wrecks seemed to head south, making his meat harder. Big Hank looked down at it, never more appalled or aroused.

Big Hank was pulled back from the brink of orgasm by more soldiers entering the room and filling in all the vacant seats until the room was packed to capacity, some even standing behind Big Hank's row. He could smell those bodies fresh from their showers, the scent of that standard issue soap added to the smells already competing with the pinewood in the room. Big Hank remembered those camp outings as a kid, even his own sports camps which were NOTHING like this. It was the first time he saw his best bud totally hard. When he suggested a midnight wank under the sheets, Big Hank pretended to be tired, even though his cock was up for the challenge. But it was that same smell, warm sweaty bodies and fresh pine mixed together.

"Gentlemen gentlemen please take your seats" the bald ref was back in his striped shirt, like it mattered at that point "or places as the case may be. For our final event today..." Coach O'Connoll waved ref Kroos over and whispered something in his ear "a moment gentlemen" listening to the rest "I see. Gentlemen, there appears to be a last minute substitution. Instead of our previously scheduled contestants we bring you two very special wrestlers..." looking towards the locker room doors "yes bring them in."

Some heads turned towards the inner doors waiting... for what? There started some grumbling and a few bawdy remarks before the wait was interrupted by two guys entering the room. Then a third.

"Wow!" several voices shouted out, but it could have been a reaction either to the two guys wearing suits and "lucha libre"-style masks beneath their sunglasses, or the dark-skinned guy walking between them. Even though he was wearing a striped shirt like the bald Kroos in the ring, this coach - it must be a coach! - was so corded with tight muscles stretching the sleeves of his shirt as well as those two-sizes-too-small slacks, he was impressive enough to distract many eyes away from the two identically dressed wrestlers he was escorting to the ring.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen please!" the bald ref Kroos raised his hands and even blew his whistle a few times to restore order. By the time he had the roar quieted, the other coach took over.

"Thank you, thank you" and it was the Brooklyn accent of "Rod" Rodriquez "the match you have ALL been waiting for" hearing the clapping and whistling "on my left, hailing from the farmlands of Iowa, it's Killer Kroller!" gesturing for the smaller of the two competitors to stand up and take a walk around the ring. The guy kept shooting looks at his opponent, not sure what was going to happen. He made his circuit then went to the corner where the bald ref was waiting for him. Instead of asking him to remove his street clothes, the ref only took the guy's sunglasses.

"And from the farmlands of Kansas, it's Mangler MacLean!" and this time the larger of the two made his circuit, even clasping his hands together over his head. He gave his opponent a long look when he passed that corner, hoping he might recognize his uncovered eyes, but "Killer" looked everywhere but at his opponent. To the restless audience it looked like the bigger one were trying to stare down his lesser opponent.

Rod went to the center of the ring and held out his palm. The two wrestlers looked at him, and at each other, not believing they wanted them to wrestle dressed like that. They went into their crouch, and the bigger one got the idea. He barely had hunched over before he felt a shoulder seam start to rip. He was so fucked...

"Killer" and "Mangler" approached each other with a great deal of caution, the slightly smaller one doing everything he could to figure out who his opponent was, and why he seemed so familiar. He replayed all those guys he knew from practice, looking into the blue eyes closely, and then it hit him! He knew who he was; it was that big blond dude from the previous night's show, but he was a baseball player wasn't he? What the hell was he - and then the two plowed into each other and "Killer" figured out fast, this guy knew how to wrestle! Before he knew it he was flat on his back, one shoulder already down. Killer flipped out of it fast, his opponent bigger but slower. By the time they were both on their feet again, Killer's left sleeve was almost off. He gave it a yank and both the suitcoat sleeve and the white shirt beneath came off in one motion. He was set up! These were fake clothes!

Mangler felt the rip along his back, coming to the same conclusion as his opponent, watching him discard the unnecessary material. He saw the exposed arm, hoping to see a tattoo or something so he might recognize him. The heavily muscled arm could belong to any number of these high school wrestlers, even... but he blocked that out of his mind. Then they were circling again, and this time Mangler found himself being whipped backwards as his opponent grabbed his left knee and threatened to topple him against the ropes. By the time they had bounced once or twice off the ropes and sent each other spiraling down to the mat, Mangler's crotch was a mess, the seam along his ass ripped all the way forward to the fly. At least these shoes are real, he told himself.

They rolled around, Mangler's additional weight offset by Killer's better skills. The smaller guy was in better shape, although they both were matched in the shoulders and arms, but Mangler's midsection was not that of a high-school kid's, neither were his thick thighs. Those same thighs that were testing the strength of those pants, more ripping sounds as the two twisted over until Mangler was on his back, one shoulder down.

"Pin!" Rod yelled "forfeit the attire!"

"Fuckin about time!" Mangler yelled and struggled to his feet. The mask stayed on but the suit, or what was left of it, came off in pieces. Beneath he was wearing a red singlet. And maybe a jock beneath.

"Da-!" Otto almost yelled, recognizing both the voice and the body. It could not have been worse.

If the Mangler heard the half-grunt he did not acknowledge it. Neither did he want to draw attention to how his jock was filling out a bit. It was hard enough wrestling this stranger, fearing it might be someone he knew. But getting aroused doing it, in front of this group, was making it so much worse. And knowing this match was only going to end one way just compounded his problems. And he was having a hard enough time concentrating with that damn thing up his ass!

Again Rod was there with his hand out and again the two lunged for each other. This time Mangler went for the loose material on his opponent's shoulder. Killer spun away from his grasp but not before half the suit broke away, revealing a bare shoulder and half his chest covered with a white singlet. Seeing more hard muscled flesh exposed like that only made him harder. And more determined to figure out who he was and why he looked so gawdawful familiar. Mangler was enjoying the advantage for maybe a second before Killer came at him with a bearhug and threatened to lift him off his feet. But Mangler was bigger and used the advantage to lift Killer's foot off the mat instead. The two balanced then Killer felt himself twisting and crashing down. By the time his side hit the mat, Mangler was yanking at the fake belt, his hand tugging and pulling at whatever it could grab. What it did not expect to find was crotch! Killer was so freaked, and in such a hurry to get his balls away from that hand, both shoulders twisted back into the mat.

"Pin!" Rod grunted "lose the attire."

"Let me up!" Killer moaned "please dad!"

Oliver "Ollie" Rulfsen flew to his feet so fast he forgot his jock was bulging with his half-hard. He backed into his corner and would have kept going but Kroos was there, anticipating his panic and desire to flee. He turned away, not wanting to see his son Otto pull away his torn suit, revealing his now-familiar body to him. And no way would Ollie look at his son's crotch, or whether or not he also was wearing a jock. And he prayed he did not have a plug up his ass as well.

Otto had been told he would be wrestling someone he knew, and that was all. He rattled off about ten names, hoping one of them might get a reaction from the coaches in the locker room, but they all kept their poker faces. When they told him to suit up - HOW to suit up! - Otto knew he was going to be on the receiving end of at least one dick. He tried bargaining with them, reminding them how he had agreed to that nasty scene in the room with that Billy kid, but Rod just smiled and told him to get ready. When Otto asked him if Rod was going to be the one buttfucking him on stage, Rod just smiled and said: maybe, when the others are finished. Otto tried to break away and run out the locker room then, but Farbersten caught him, and told him both he and his opponent would be in the same boat.

"So even if I win?" Otto was shaking and struggling under Farbersten "I still gotta let some dickhead fuck me in front of...?"

"You both do" Don yanked him off the bench and told him to get dressed. When Don helped him get that greased plug inside him, Otto knew they were not expecting a real wrestling match. The fake suit and the stupid mask only confirmed it.

All these thoughts went through Otto's head as he pulled off those clothes, watching the reaction on his dad's face the whole time. Of all the people in the world, of all the names he had been guessing, his own dad's would never EVER have occurred to him. Not that he never wrestled his dad. Hell it was his dad who got him interested in the sport in sixth grade! And when his dad saw him following in his footsteps the two became even closer. That changed when Otto started noticing "things happen" when he was in ninth grade and they would wrestle. The first time he threw a rod he hoped and prayed his dad did not notice. Fuck, how could he not! After the third time it happened Otto bullshitted his dad, saying he was getting too good for him and "don't wanna hurt ya pops!" His dad threw him into a headlock and jabbed him in the ribs, but they no longer wrestled together. But his dad never stopped coming to every meet of his, cheering and screaming like a madman. It became a running joke with them, Otto making fun of the fact his dad was silent on the rides home. Otto would ask for favors, the use of the car, money, boats, hookers! anything, knowing his dad was too hoarse to say no. Or even yes for that matter. The two would laugh, one out loud, one in silence all the way back to their home.

When Otto was down to his singlet and mask, Rod's hand went out again. This time both wrestlers knew what they were up against, and WHO they were up against.

"Dad..." Otto started "it's not what..."

"Sorry Otter" using his nickname "it was the only way I could get here" and the two went into more of a hug than a grapple. They circled around until Ollie got the idea his son wanted to throw the match. Ollie knew it did not matter, knowing what fate awaited both of them. But he was not going to let his son embarrass himself in front of all these guys "c'mon son..." bouncing him off the ropes to get his attention "wrestle goddamnit!"

Otto had heard his father swear maybe once or twice in his life. Both occasions scared the crap out of him. Even beneath the mask, he could tell his dad was not kidding. So his dad figured out he was trying to take the fall. Boy did that backfire or what! The two held tight as they bounced again off the far ropes and this time Otto sent his dad flying. What he did not bargain for, or did not remember, was all those nights his dad was home alone watching pro wrestling on tv. The next thing Otto knew he was spinning over his dad's head and slamming into the mat with a deafening bang!

"Pin!" Rod yelled "forfeit the singlet!"

"NO!" Ollie yelled "not that! The mask! The mask!"

"Singlet! Singlet!" came the chant from the audience. Big Hank looked around at could see the bloodlust in their faces. He had a bad idea where this was heading.

"It's okay dad" Otto's hands were already pulling the shoulder straps down "sooner or later" and down the white singlet went. He stepped out of it, knowing many eyes were on the bulge in his jock "sorry" he lowered his head, knowing his dad could see his arousal.

"Serves me proud Otter" down went the hand and the two roared into each other "chip off the old block" and then they were at each other, no fake acting this time. Ollie went down first, but taking his half-naked son down with him. They rolled and twisted, muscles bulging as each fought for control. A few times Ollie's hand was between his son's legs, at first for positioning so he could counter Otto's hold, but once his fingers slid into that hairy crack, feeling what he thought he glimpsed. Yeah, his son was plugged just like he was. They were both doomed men. As soon as he felt that plastic ring, all the fight went out of him. He felt both shoulders against the mat and heard that

"Pin!" from Rod "forfeit the singlet. Match over."

That was it, Rod was calling a end to the terrible display. Otto helped his dad to his feet, almost glad the two no longer needed to be rolling around in each other's sweat, their asses sore, their cocks hard. Once Ollie was standing he knew what came next. His hands went to his shoulders, and the red shoulder straps came down. As they did, he could not help but notice Otto's eyes all over him. Hell, his kid had not seen him in anything less than a t-shirt and jeans since... since they stopped wrestling years back. Ollie felt his eyes, many eyes, on his bare chest, the dark blond hairs accentuating the valley between his large pecs, running down to his navel, okay his beergut, and down to... he pushed the singlet down to his knees, knowing his son had never seen this! He stepped out of the tangled heap around his feet and stood there, trying not to compare the size of their hardons. If Otto's expression was shock or something else, he could not tell beneath that mask. But then Otto could not see the weary resignation on his face either.

"Winner of final pin and game" Rod pulled Otto into the middle of the ring and held his right arm high "at five feet nine and one ninety, Minnesota State finalist, seventeen year old Otto Rulfsen!" a loud cheer went up, drowning out any Iowan loyalty boo's. But the real fun was about to start.

"Loser of final pin and game" Ollie stood next to Rod, knowing it did little good to fight now "at five feet eleven and two eighteen, also State finalist, thirty-six year old OLIVER Rulfsen!" hearing some cheers, and more than a few "oh my god"s from around the room, as most of the army guys made the connection.

"Gentlemen..." Rod pointed at the ropes facing the audience "if you please."

"I don't please!" Ollie snapped at him "a lotta good it'd do right?"

"A great deal of good it will do" Rod looked at him, dead serious "as you will discover."

"I'm sorry son... sorry you gotta see this, sorry you gotta - "

"It's okay dad, really" Otto went over and pressed his front against the ropes next to his dad. Being able to look at him now, and not having to worry about having his legs flipped out from beneath him, Otto could take in all of his dad's physique. He could see where he got his musculature from, the same big shoulders, the same hard biceps, the same thick pecs. But where his dad had that dark blond hair in the middle of his chest, on his forearms and... yeah, down there below the waist, Otto was all but hairless except for small patches around his sensitive nipples. His ass and thighs had a thin dusting, but only in bright light. As for... Otto did not want to think about it, his dick was already chafing in his sweaty jock. When he was bent forward onto the top rope, he knew this was going to happen. Hands began to apply straps to his biceps and then his forearms along the top rope as he turned and saw his dad bent and tied the same way. They were close enough, their hands were against each other's thick triceps. When they were both secure Rod continued,

"As some of you may have been guessing, yes, Otto and Oliver here are father and son!" hearing some gasps and a few "yeahs!" from the group "and if there are any doubters out there, this should prove the case" and Otto felt fingers at the laces behind his head and before he could resist, his mask was pulled up and off. Everyone, including his dad, could see his bald head, his blue eyes beneath those blond brows, even the faintest hint of a moustache above his sore lips. He looked over at his dad's eyes as his mask was removed as well. Actually looking at each face to face brought their situation home in a jolt of recognition. Not that either one ever doubted the identity of the other, but seeing each other's expression banished the last bit of doubt, and seeing his dad's wide eyes looking at him, his slightly haggard, unshaved face, made Otto flinch against his ropes.

"Yes gentlemen, you can see the resemblance can't you?" and Rod's hands started to travel over their bodies "the same square face, the same blond hair" rubbing Otto's head "or lack of in this case, the same Rulfsen nose, thick jaw, wide neck" damn, his hands are not stopping! "the same developed shoulders, and..." Rod crouched down "the same family jewels!" both hands flying out, yanking both their pouches to the side. Standing next to each so close their shoulders were almost touching, Otto and Ollie felt their semi-hard cocks and thick balls fall out, exposed and wrinkling in the cool air "yes, only father and son would have such similar equipment" and then Rod's two hands started tugging at those danglers "same circumcized cocks, both in the seven-inch range, even the same thick shafts" and his hands were pulling on them with the same rhythm "and these!" lifting and weighing their balls together "can only be filled with genuine Rolfsen cum!" and that brought louder cheers from the group "and your job gentlemen" Rod was standing up straight again, his hands now on their ass cheeks "is to make sure these two produce some of that creamy Rolfsen cum this morning. You may form into two lines and enjoy this father and son duo, until either every one of you has had a turn up either of their asses!" that brought the house down! "or until they produce that primo grade-A white jizz for us all, whichever comes first" a wicked smile scarring his face "hands-free of course!" his hands running up and down those two asses, one tight and hard muscled smooth, the other larger and hairier "oh... how could I forget... I believe they won't be needing these any longer" his fingers digging around in those two cracks, until two loud pops! were heard, the two buttplugs free and discarded onto the apron. Like everything else about Otto and his dad, their two plugs were similar if not identical.

"How do we do this?" a soldier with a raging hardon stood up "I mean - "

"Shit Conrad!" another yelled at him "don't ya know how to fuck with that thing?"

"Simple... form two lines" the bald Kroos was already helping guys into the ring "no particular order."

"How long?" another guy yelled out.

"About ten inches!" another waved his cock at him.

"If you cannot finish in three minutes" Rod stood there, wiping his face with a dirty towel "the next soldier takes his turn. But..." looking around the group, taking in their desperate bones "my guess is most of you dogs won't need more than ten seconds!" and everyone laughed and cheered.

Ollie let himself be bent over the top ring, his wrists secured to the ropes in spite of his protests not to try to escape. When he felt his son's wrist secured below his as well, both of them tied side by side, he wanted to stop but then it was too late. His groans and grunts took on a higher note when he felt someone's front pressing against his sweaty slippery ass. Before he could adjust his footing he felt that familiar pressure of someone's cock stretching open his hole!

He turned over and over in his head what had happened the night before, what had brought him to this. He was with his wife and their other son Billy in their tent, hearing the low conversations and even some sobbing from the nearer tents and it just gnawed at him. Everytime he asked about Otto, his prize-winning heroic Otto, they told him he was fine and not to worry. Which made him worry more. Once his wife and son were in their cots, even dozing a bit, he slid away, looking for a shower, but really wanting to snoop around and finally get some answers. He walked around the camp, amazed how much it had grown in the last twenty-four hours even, as he passed by his usual rest facilities. He could hear how crowded it was, and when he saw four, no five guys, lining up with their messkits over their shoulders, Oliver knew to keep going. Maybe the other facility down closer to the river might be less crowded. He changed directions and headed downhill, the path worn smooth and slippery. Once or twice he almost lost his balance before he found the larger building. There was no line and that was a good sign. He headed inside and there were four, no five, guys already under the showers. Oliver took one of the five open spots and started rinsing off the sweat and dirt of the day. Before he knew it he was lathered and relaxing.

"Work out here?" he heard a voice behind him. He turned and it was the big hairy guy he passed coming in.

"No..." Oliver stared at the tiles "I'm a civilian, not work crew."

"No, not that" he heard the guy continue "I mean you find a chance to get in a workout?"

"Wish I could" Oliver nodded at him and resumed his shower.

"Me too" the guy continued "might help this."

Oliver did not need to turn, he did not want to turn. But he turned his head. He saw the guy grab himself in his firm beer-belly and give it a shake. As he did, his thick cock did a little dance.

"Exercise and this lousy camp food" Oliver turned away "that'll be gone before ya know it" hoping the guy would let it go.

"So how you stay in such good shape?" he was not letting it go.

"Dunno" Oliver put his head under the spray, trying to blot out the world.

"You like a professional sports guy or something?"

"Naw..." Oliver did not want anything to spoil this moment "not anymore."

"What did you do?" the voice continued behind him "I mean what - "

"Wrestled" Oliver concentrated on the water hitting his face, running down into the hair between his pecs, down to... damn! "high school... college..."

"Not any more?" the guy was making wet slurping sounds "like..."

Oliver did not want to look, he did not need to look. It wasn't like he needed to know what was making that sound. His eyes opened and it was nothing worse than the big hairy dude rubbing that lather all over his upper torso, smearing it around in his pelt, the black hair and the white soap... damn!

"No more..." Oliver almost groaned and turned away, but he knew his cock was starting to fill. And he was hoping against hope the guy didn't notice.

"Fooled me" he heard from that guy "looks like you work out... hard..."

That did it. Whatever hope of his cock going down was destroyed. He could feel the granddaddy of all hardons coursing through his cock now and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"Damn..." Oliver said too loud.

"Guy... it's okay..." he heard behind him. He did not want to turn, but he turned. Standing there still covered in suds was the big dude. With an even bigger hardon "see? It happens okay?"

"But... I mean..."

"Look!" the guy started to rinse off, plastering the hair down and making his tube stick out more. Oliver hated to admit it but the guy was bigger than he was, that head alone was dwarfing his "this fucked up camp, no privacy, me'n the wife with six other couples..."

"No shit..." Oliver turned sideways, letting the guy know he was in the same situation "no privacy at all!"

"I ain't gay but..." the guy looked around, seeing one or two guys at the other end ignoring them "you go ahead and take care of that, I'll keep lookout okay?"

"What?"

"Go ahead and... " making a jack-off motion "y'know. I'll make sure nobody bothers ya."

"But you're right there!"

"Keeping watch okay?" the guy's eyes were all over the room, but always returning to Oliver's front "least I can do. Go on... y'know that dick ain't going down any time soon."

"Damn..." Oliver was trapped. He knew the guy was right. Even if he didn't, how could he get out of here, and back up that hill, without showing the entire world how bad he wanted it.

"A minute or two and it's over" the guy was panting under his own shower "what's the option?"

"Little option" Oliver's hand went down to his full belly. And kept going. When he saw the guy turn his back on him, Oliver's hand returned with a lot of soap. He was jacking away like crazy when he heard that slapping sound again. He looked over and there was the guy doing the same thing! Oliver wanted to yell at him to stop and pay attention, but he could feel his orgasm rushing at him full speed. And there was something about jacking off with someone else, something he had not done since he was thirteen? And the guy's cock was amazing! Oliver was bucking his hips into his soapy fist, his eyes closing as the headlights of the train started bearing down on him -

"Good work!" Oliver's eyes flew open and there was a light in his face! Somebody was standing next to that guy, shining a huge flashlight in Oliver's face "you did good Stan."

"WHAT?!?!" Oliver's hand froze on his cock.

"You!" the beam of the flashlight bounced up and down him twice "rinse off and follow me!"

"What? I was just - "

"Dude I can SEE what you just... now!" the guy's bark was starting to draw attention. What choice did Oliver have? He rinsed off, telling himself this must be a common occurrence in this crowded facility. Maybe they were going to escort him to someplace more private where he could finish himself without scandalizing any more people. He rinsed off and started to reach for his clothes.

"Wear this!" a huge clean towel was tossed at him "bring those!" the beam bouncing on his clothes and shower kit "now!"

Oliver wrapped the wonderful towel around his waist several times and grabbed his belongings. He was too embarrassed to look at that guy, Stan? as they passed him. Then he heard the voice behind the flashlight say "good job, double ration tomorrow."

"Thank you sir!" Stan answered but then Oliver was directed out of the building and back outside. They were not heading up the hill; they were continuing along the river.

"Look this is a mistake okay? I was just cleaning up and - "

"Sorry sir" the guy lowered his flashlight. Oliver could see it was a soldier in his early twenties, with the armband of camp security "I didn't mean to scare you back there. But sometimes we get complaints... well... you understand with children everywhere."

"Of course I understand" Oliver held out his hand and they shook "I'm not under arrest or anything?"

"Arrest?" the guy laughed. It was that same deep, sexy voice from before, but without the menace "hell no! Sorry if I frightened you back there."

"Frightened?" Oliver laughed as well "I thought my - "

"Your dick would disappear?" a broad smile broke out on his handsome face. He looked maybe Italian or Greek, all smooth muscled features, black hair and eyes, smooth hairless chin "look..." he slowed in his tracks.

"What?"

"Y'know..." he kicked some pebbles around the path "guess a night does not go by and that stuff does not happen okay? We understand the limits placed on our guests here, and..."

"And?"

"Well..." he bit his lip "never mind. I'm sure your wife back there is waiting for you to return and... y'know..."

"Yes she is" Oliver looked at him, his shy boyish smile "and no we can't. No privacy, no opportunity to..."

"If that's so..." he started walking again "and if you would like some privacy" he indicated for Oliver to follow him "there is a place... a shower facility just for the officers and..."

"I'm no officer! I'm a civilian!"

"That's okay" he turned over his collar lapel "I am. I'm just trying to do what I can to make the stay here less..."

"Impossible?"

"Frustrating" that handsome face broke into that shy smile again "up to you. Either way you can keep the towel, okay?"

"Look" Oliver's turn to stop "let me get this straight. You're offering to let me use your private facilities so I can..."

"Relieve some tension correct."

"Private?"

"Very. You'll have the place to yourself, I'll stand out front. Ten minutes?"

"Hell" Oliver started walking again "maybe ten seconds!"

"Fine! This way" and the two headed down the path, then a second, until they were among some small one-roomed buildings almost over the river.

"What's your name?" the soldier asked.

"Oliver, most guys call me Ollie. You?"

"Dem, nobody called me Demetrius okay?"

"Okay Dem... and thanks."

"Glad to help" Dem went to the door of the second building and knocked. As he expected nobody was inside "all yours... sir."

"Don't call me that, makes me sound old."

"Old? Hardly" pushing open the door and turning on the light. Oliver could see it was a latrine to one end, and a shower area to the other, room for four shower heads "what are you, thirty?"

"More like thirty-six" Oliver went in and looked around. Before he changed his mind, he went to the nearest shower and turned it on. Wonderful warm water came pouring out. Before he knew it, the towel was gone and he was rinsing the nervous sweat off him. He glanced at Dem who was already half out the door.

"I'll turn this off" his hand at the switch "unless you want mosquito bites in hard-to-explain places" and off went the light. As soon as it did, Oliver felt himself harden. Like zero to sixty in two seconds "I will leave now..." if that didn't sound like a question?

"Dem?"

"Yeah?" sounding hoarse and hesitant.

"Y'know y'don't have to leave. I mean this is your place right?" not hearing any response, just breathing over by the door "I mean how can I find the light switch after..."

"Are you sure?"

"Remember I already was jacking off in front of someone" the soap started making those slapping sounds "and that was with the lights on, okay?"

"Okay..." even hoarser and more hesitant "if you're sure..."

"Man am I sure" Oliver was panting, already feeling his orgasm building. The way it was building in his balls, nothing could stop him now if he tried.

"Could I take a shower as well?"

That was something Oliver NEVER imagined hearing. Neither did he expect to hear himself say,

"Hell why not? It's a free country" hearing someone fumbling with clothes in the darkness. In a very short time he heard another shower come on behind him. How the hell did he sneak by him? "and this is your place..."

Oliver's eyes started to adjust to the dark, seeing some light bouncing off the river and through that one window. Then he could see the form of someone behind him, but it was no more than a shiny arm or a white hip. The guy turned and Oliver could then see more of that white skin, even those dark pubes as his eyes adjusted more. He was too carried away with his hand on his dick to be too worried about the motions coming from below the other guy's waist. Soon there was the sound of two guys pulling on their cocks.

"Man... " Oliver groaned "I ain't ever jacked off with someone else since I was a kid. Sure is something..." his hand speeding up "kinda interesting, y'know. Kinda..." and then he felt a second hand on his cock! If he was not seconds away from draining his balls he would have flown through the ceiling and away from this guy! But that hand felt like nothing he ever imagined, even his wife's was awkward and self-conscious compared to this! When he felt the hand replaced by something warm and wet, something that could only be a mouth, Oliver Rulfsen, two hundred and twenty pounds of pent-up sexual frustration, could do nothing but stand there and hold his breath! Another ten seconds and he would -

The lights came on with a bang! blinding Oliver so badly his hands flew to his face! He did not know what to do or say!

"Very good sargeant" Oliver heard a voice near the door, a cool draft of air following him in "very very good" and that mouth came off his hardon. Pain shot through his eyes as he looked down and almost fell over! Crouching down at his feet was not Dem!

"What? What I mean who I mean what" Oliver was babbling, trying to pull away, trying to back himself in the wall and maybe through "who -"

"You have met Sargeant Demetrius - shit I can't pronounce it either! Dem. That naked soldier at your feet, or rather on your cock, is Sargeant Karl Hastells" Oliver looking down, his eyes burning but starting to focus. That dark-haired compact soldier was definitely NOT Dem. Oliver looked back to the door, seeing Dem and this big black soldier both standing there. Both fully dressed.

"Wait! I can explain!"

"Explain what you're doing in an area off-limits to civilians? With you cock down Hastells' throat there? And a mighty fine cock it is? Your wife is one lucky lady!"

"When she can find enough privacy to enjoy it, sir" Dem filling in the obvious detail to his commanding officer.

"Look this is a terrible mistake! I can go and we can forget this ever happened!" Oliver looked around for his towel - their towel! - or his clothes. But they were over by the door, within reach of Dem.

"Yes you can, yes you can do that... sir" now it was the black colonel? Oliver tried looking for the insignia calling him sir? "yes you can do that... Oliver Rulfsen."

"How you know my name?"

"Tags" pointing at Oliver's chest "besides..." looking over at Karl huddled in the corner "some of us follow collegiate wrestling, right Dem?"

"Yes sir" he looked at his superior then back at Oliver "high-school as well."

"What?!?!" Oliver got scared then "what about Otto?" came rushing out of his lungs before he realized what he had said.

"Yes, Otto Rulfsen, one-eighty-five if he busts ass" Dem's eyes sparkled.

"Leave him outa this! Don't hurt him!"

"Hurt him?" Dem recoiled like he was suckerpunched "what?"

"Just don't do anything - "

"Maybe you better explain it, sir" Dem looked at his superior officer.

"What Dem is trying to say, is Otto is in one of the safest places right now - "

"Where? Here?"

"Not here, not even close to here. But you can join him, you and your family can join him, if..."

"Money? We don't have - "

"Not money!" Karl behind him laughed "money's worthless now... sorry sir."

"What Karl is too shy to say is..." Dem looked at Oliver, up and down several times until he noticed the looks "you let Karl finish what he started - "

"What?"

"And everyone one of us leaves here with empty balls" the commander continued "and the three of you will be on the next chopper leaving for Camp Apple Baker Apple - where your son Otto is now."

"What? I gotta do what?"

"Simple" Dem started tugging at the collar of his shirt "we're all adults, we enjoy each other's... company... everyone enjoys at least one release like you came here to enjoy, and you and Otto are together again."

"No! I mean..." Oliver covered his face again, not because of the light. His brain was not processing this fast enough. Did he really hear what they were saying? "you want me to - "

"You're a guy, we're guys" Dem's shirt was off, displaying the smoothest chest Oliver had seen since high school. Two perfect flat pecs, two perfect dark nipples, a perfect hard set of abs, the perfect v-shaped torso, man, Oliver was very impressed "guys get off. Sometimes by themselves" nodding at Oliver's crotch "sometimes with each other."

"Look, this is a terrible mistake! I ain't gay!"

"No one here is gay" the black officer looked at Karl "well... maybe very horny..."

"And you expect me to do what?"

"Anything, nothing, everything" Karl piped up "but you sure liked my mouth on your dick, no denying that!"

"But I thought it was" Dem! Oliver almost said.

"In the dark, guys can make mistakes" Dem showed that shy smile again "it happens."

"So there's the door" the big officer stepped aside "up to you. Stay and enjoy our... hospitality? Or leave" right between the eyes "and you may never see Otto again."

"What?"

"We're not saying any harm will come to him" Dem looked hard into Oliver's eyes "and we have all the armies mobilized to make sure he is safe - you are ALL safe. But..."

"But what?"

"Look around you Rulfsen!" the black commander boomed "you blind? Can't you see what kind of shit you're in? We're all in? Even Otto is in? Would you and your family rather stay separated for how long? Or be reunited in a matter of hours?"

"Reunited! Of course!"

"Okay" damn but if Karl was not back on his knees "then you're staying?"

"Damn..." Oliver rubbed his face, knowing what they were asking him to do. They wanted him to stay so they could have sex with him! Maybe even... "shit... but you promise I'll - we'll see Otto again?"

"You have the solemn promise of the Joint Forces Army sir!" the big guy held out his hand "Master Sargeant Oliver Jackson, at your service!"

"Then you better call me Ollie, sir" Oliver shook hands with him. With that gesture he sealed his fate "but... I mean... what..."

"Just relax, sir" and then Jackson was tugging at his shirt "you're in good hands" nodding at Karl "and mouths" which was his cue. Karl crawled over and pushed Ollie's hands away from his shriveled dick. At first Ollie pushed his away, pure gut instinct, but then realized he really HAD agreed to this. When he felt that mouth on his leg, then his balls, then the head of his cock, he knew he was doing something he could never undo. Even before he felt himself stiffening, Dem was standing next to him, still in his drab-green shorts. But Ollie barely noticed that, because his mouth was on Dem's before he knew what hit him. Again he stiffened and tried to pull away but once their tongues found each other it was all over. Ollie had never felt such a good kisser like that, and his dick was gagging Karl down there and any thoughts of leaving were out the window.

"I'm pullin rank soldier!" Ollie heard Jackson's voice somewhere beside him. He opened his eyes, seeing those dark sexy eyes of Dem's right in front of his face. Then Dem was kissing his neck, his hands all over Ollie's chest and hairy stomach. Ollie looked down and there was Master Sargeant Jackson on his hands and knees, his mouth close enough to Ollie's dick to cause some concern. Because out of his clothes, the guy was frightening! He had enough muscles to make short work of all of them. Together. His arms alone were enough to cause Ollie to swallow his tongue. But what happened next almost caused Ollie to fall over!

Jackson twisted around and was pushing his ass back towards Ollie's knees. And when Dem started pressing down on Ollie's shoulders, he knew in a lightning flash what was supposed to happen. He never ever entertained ideas of putting his cock in a guy's ass! Never! Even when he was wrestling and their two bodies intertwined in such a way Ollie was pressing against his opponent with his crotch, he never thought such a thing could happen. Not that he never heard the jokes, the vulgar slang, the locker room filth. But that was just guys shooting shit, it was not real! But there was Karl soaping up his hairy crotch as Dem pushed him into position. Then it was Dem's hand on his raging hardon, pressing it deeper and deeper between those amazing muscled glutes, into the hidden recess between them. Ollie knew it could not happen, his dick was too big to go inside a guy's asshole. Then he felt the head bang into something, flesh met flesh, and before he could brace himself, Dem pressed his butt forward and something gave way and his cock started entering something wet and slippery and very very warm. Before his brain caught up with his genitals, the head was in and the thicker neck not far behind. When Dem's mouth found his again, and then Karl's mouth was on his right nipple Ollie just started emptying his load into that hole, sliding in even further as he did. By the time his cock stopped spasming, he was pressed as deep as he could go.

"Fuck that was fast!" Jackson started milking that cock with his ass muscles "how soon can you go again!"

"What?" Ollie gasped, very out of breath and very hard of hearing "what you say?"

"How long before that dick of yours can go again?"

"You mean have sex again? Get hard again?"

"Smart dude!" Karl laughed "he shoulda joined up."

"Okay... I like a challenge" Dem was running his hands all over Ollie's shoulders and chest "if I can't get you aroused again in five minutes, you can call it a night. BUT!" holding his finger over Ollie's mouth "if that stud cock of yours gets hard... we get to make you cum again."

"Good luck!" Ollie almost chuckled. His wife hated the fact once Ollie ejaculated, it was lights out, good night, the end! And after that time he fell asleep still inside her...

"Deal!" Karl's mouth was back on Ollie's nipple, starting the clock. He felt something hot and tight pull off his still rubbery cock, and then he was being lifted up to his feet again. Before he knew what was happening he was under the shower, soapy hands all over his front. Ollie was enjoying it so much, all the attention, all the stimulation, his own hands started reaching out to their bodies as well. Then that amazing mouth was back on his, his hands were rubbing down that tight muscled chest down the hairless ripped stomach, down to an amazing outie of a navel, down to something wet and elastic. His brain caught up with his hands: Oliver, you are feeling up a guy's body! His brain registered the oddity of it, then the hands felt cascades of soap running down Dem's body as well as his own. So his hands kept sliding down the front of his wet shorts, and before he knew it, inside the gaping fly. He had his fist around a hard dick before he could stop. Then there was another dick pressing into his groin. His other hand went down to explore that one as well. It found the soapy head, but it was covered with something fleshy! He gave it a tug or two, then his brain flashed: he's uncircumsized! And Ollie had pulled on only one - now two! - other cocks in life up to that point. When his hand felt the unusual texture and sensation of all that flesh sliding loosely back and forth over that chiseled crown, then down the shaft and down and down and Ollie's eyes flew open. He looked down and his hand covered not even a third of its length. He was pulling on the longest, blackest dick he had ever seen. He almost stopped tugging on Dem's, all their fronts covered in soap, Karl's hand cleaning Ollie's, Jackson's hand on Karl's, cocks, hands, soap everywhere! Then that mouth was back on his and Ollie lost track of who was doing what to whom. Then there were soapy fingers rubbing up and down his crack, and Ollie thought NO WAY! Then "no way" became "probably not" then it became "maybe not" then "maybe" then "what if" before he realized somebody had two fingers inside his ass! And the worst part was that Karl's mouth was alternating between his cock and that foot-long sausage poking him in his pubes. And everytime that mouth returned to his cock, his cock filled it more. By the time Ollie had stopped feeling the stabbing in his backside, his cock was as hard, if not harder than before.

Dem eased into position in front of him, again those strong hands on his shoulders. This time Ollie wanted to know what his mouth felt like on Dem's perfect pecs, then on those ripped ab muscles, then that button of a navel. When those hands pushed him down farther, Ollie knew what was about to happen; he was about to discover what a dick tasted like. His mouth found those black hairy pubes, surprised by the dramatic change in texture from all that smooth skin, and then his chin felt it. It was hard and smooth and before he stopped himself, his lips were rubbing against the spongy head of Dem's cock, the cock he thought he was watching in the darkness while he was - damn!

"Karl is the smallest one here" Jackson was behind Dem, pressed up close against his back "his will be the easiest."

The easiest to... and Ollie felt something blunt and very slippery bump against all that stretched loose skin back there. Ollie never got a good look at Karl's crotch before, too busy enjoying his mouth on his dick. But the thing poking him felt only a little bigger than - ouch! Something bullet-shaped pressed into him!

"Relax! Breathe! OUT!" Dem grunted between sucks on his hard cut dick. Ollie took his mouth away from it long enough to catch his breath. As soon as he did, the bullet went into him. Ollie gasped, more at the realization he was being "cornholed" as they would say, than from the actual pain. It felt like he needed to dump, but other than than he could handle it. Then it slid out and in a few times, and Ollie knew he would live. If this is what he needed to do to bring his family together again, it was a small price to pay. Then his mouth was back on the most handsome dick he ever saw, and that thing in his ass plunged in all the way. Once it was home Ollie could relax a bit, knowing the worst was over. It began a series of thrusts into him, his ass telling his brain he was being fucked! Just like he did to his wife, his girlfriends, but now he was the one on the receiving end. He had a cock in his mouth and one in his ass, and he knew nothing would ever scare him again. When he felt that cock in him swell and damn! was that what cumming felt like? His insides felt something hot and liquid and then Karl was yanking it out of him fast.

Dem raised Ollie up from his cock, and began to kiss him again. Ollie thought that earlier kiss was amazing; this one was something beyond that. And he felt a mouth on his cock again, on his swelling cock again!

"What do you want now?" Dem looked into his eyes "you have only to ask."

"Wow!" was the best Ollie could answer "did all this really just happen?"

"Yes" Dem smiled "but I suspect this" his hand grasping the neck where it disappeared into Jackson's mouth "wants to do more, right?"

"Damn..." Ollie had just been sucked off, he had sucked a cock, fucked into a guy's asshole, even taken a cock up his. What was left? "you decide okay?"

"You want my cum here?" his mouth on Ollie's again "or there" rubbing his hands up and down Ollie's hairy butt.

"I dunno..." don't make me say it out loud, Ollie thought.

"Karl!" Jackson barked "assume the position."

"Yessir!" Karl dropped to his hands and knees.

"Okay wrestler!" Jackson barked at Ollie loud enough to create two echoes "pin him."

"What?"

"Return the favor soldier" Dem nodded at the guy below them.

"You mean I can - "

"That's an order soldier" Jackson chuckled at him. He got up from his knees, his hands already full of soap. He had Ollie lubed and hard before he could count to ten. Ollie got on his knees behind Karl, both arms around the guy's tight waist. His dick went into auto mode and found the opening in the dam. His slicked cock pressed forward, expecting a great deal of resistance and pain from Karl. His cock was buried to the hilt in that hot hole before he realized what he had done. He looked up for Dem, but instead saw a very dark crotch approaching his face. He knew it was going to happen; he was going to let Jackson put that dick in his mouth. And that is what he did. Ollie was just getting used to the sensation of only the second cock on earth to rub his tongue, and this one had all that loose skin tickling his throat. Then he felt someone crouching behind him, very smooth flesh pressing against his hairy back, then something hard and warm pressing into his crack again. He had felt that cock in his mouth, and knew exactly its dimensions. And it was nothing like Karl's cock before; this one was serious!

"Relax, breathe out, squeeze out, breathe out" he heard Dem's voice against his ear, chanting over and over. Then something pressed against him and Ollie clamped shut. He could not do it! He could not let that amazing perfect cock go into the nastiest part of his body! He would be defiling Dem, not the other way around. Dem pulled back and then there were fingers, two? three? playing tag with his tight hole. Then they were pushing him forward and back, Ollie almost forgetting about something hard and numb inside something hot and tight. And those fingers teasing and tickling his ring until it opened like a safe. And opened more and even more until Ollie thought he could take a baseball bat up there and barely feel it. Then something very much like a baseball bat was pressing into his crack, again that chant "breathe out squeeze out" in his ear. Ollie took a deep breath, remembering something hard and wrinkly pressing against his tonsils. No wonder! He had been holding his breath the whole time! He gasped for air like a surfacing diver and something pressed into him, something thick and hard and perfect!

"Yeah, just like that!" Ollie heard booming over him "that tongue, yeah soldier just like that!" the tube in his mouth pressing and releasing, pressing and releasing. Ollie did not know where to turn his attention, the numb tube inching in and out of something by his balls, something huge and perfect making his ass turn to jelly, or something pressing in and out of his mouth, the flap of loose skin doing things to his throat that were downright awesome! When those arms reached around his chest and started playing with his nipples, Ollie gave up trying to figure out what was entering where.

"Damn! Damn! Soldier's gonna make me... AGGHHHHH!" and something long pushed all the way down Ollie's throat and started pumping liquid right into his gut. Ollie tried swallowing but that only squeezed that cock more, milking more and more out of it. Jackson pulled back and finished jacking his load all over Ollie's face, smearing it on his cheeks, his forehead, his chin, everywhere "damn! make me nut! make me nut!" he grunted as the last of his cum smeared Ollie's lips. Again he realized he had been holding his breath, the sweet oxygen going straight to his cock. Then he felt it, that perfect shape inside his body started rubbing, then slamming into something deep inside him, something that was making his dick want to explode! And then it did, Ollie humping like a frantic dog harder and harder into that ass beneath him, his pelvic muscles spasming again and again and then that baseball bat inside him filled out like a balloon and this time Ollie recognized the hot lava filling his butt. That perfect cock on the handsome Dem was pumping him full of his semen. Ollie never felt such a prize in his life.

"Sorry dad..." Otto wanted to hang his head in shame, but more than that he wanted to watch his dad's face when the first soldier lined up his cock with his dad's ass and press forward. He did not have to wait for more than ten seconds before he saw the grimace and heard the howl as his dad lurched forward into the ropes, toppling Otto with him. He almost lost his footing as he felt the tickling of someone's shorts against his butt cheeks. When the ropes snapped him and his dad backwards, there was a cock waiting for him. Otto yelled and tried to twist away but the black soldier's arms were around Otto's waist and something long and thin was sliding into his greased hole fast. It was more a surprise than pain as Otto felt him continue to slide further and further into him. When he hit that knob inside him, Otto was back on that bed with his dick in that mouth and Niels Swensen's giant monster pumping his jizz out of him. Then Otto felt it; he felt something molten hot start to coat his insides. Fuckin bastard came in me! Fucker! Before Otto could raise his head, another cock, this one thicker was forcing its way into him. With all the lube and now that dude's slimy cum in him, he could do nothing but let it slide into his hard ass. When it was all the way in, and Otto could feel the dude's balls? bouncing against his crack he knew he could survive this. But could his dad?

"Don't apologize son, it's my fault" Oliver Rulfsen ignored the penis penetrating his own rectum watching his son's reaction to being buttfucked. Right under his nose! When he made his bargain with the devil, he never imagined he would be forced to watch his own son being raped alongside him. He would have cut off his right nut to avoid this sight. Hell he would have cut off both his balls rather than admit there was a certain curious arousal to it "very painful?"

"I'm... ah... ah... okay" Otto grunted and clenched his hip muscles, adjusting to the newest invasion "you?"

"We can handle this son! Hold on!"

This third? fourth? cock entering him now almost reminded Ollie of that one on Dem. He wanted to reach behind him and feel that perfect smooth skin, but his hands were still tied. He opened his eyes and looked right into Otto's eyes, all of it flooding back. He would have done everything ten times over, just to see Otto's face like that. It was a combination of lust, and love and total sexual abandon all rolled into one.

"Love you Otter" Ollie groaned at he felt that pole inside him hit that sweet spot again. He could see his son's cock from his angle but not his own. He only hoped his was as big and hard as what was bouncing in front of Otto's crotch.

"Love you dad" Otto moaned, feeling the fifth guy unload inside him. He could feel the overflow running down his balls and legs, hoping this would end soon. Then he remembered this gangbang would continue until both Rulfsen cocks were emptying on the apron. The look in his dad's eyes, and the way his cock was swelling and twitching told Otto his dad would get there first. Wow! Otto would see that? He would see his dad's cock blow its load? Talk about the ultimate image! And knowing it was because some soldier was hitting his prostate so hard it was slamming his dad's cum right out the end of that missile-shaped dick, his own but better! redder and thicker and harder! Otto wanted to look down at his own but it was somewhere beneath his chest. Then the cock in his ass was withdrawn and another, even longer, was plugging him next. And would keep plugging him until he came. He looked at his dad again, totally aroused and flushed with those intense sensations. Otto's eyes returned again and again to his dad's cock, wishing he could touch it, taste it, even bury it up his... fuck! the guy was already unloading into him, more slime running down his balls, more greasing his legs. It was yanked out and another was in him. Man, did this one feel different! Then he heard it! The dick was talking to him! Saying it was his dad's cock, his dad was fucking him now. Otto tried to turn his head to see if it was true, but he could see and feel his dad's strong arm strapped to his, he could see his dad's hips rocking both of them forward and backward against the ropes, each time his dad's cock pressed deeper into him, each time it found that knob inside him. Otto looked down at his dad's cock almost willing it to erupt, he wanted to see that cock explode his white ropey juice all over the place. He wanted to feel that torpedo cock explode into him! And then he felt it! That cock inside him was slamming again and again against his prostate: this is your dad's! this is your dad's! and a painful wracking spasm gripped Otto's balls, then his cock, then something was wrenching like the worst cramp he ever felt and he heard guys shouting as his cum was pistoned out of him, onto the apron, even down to the floor below. But Otto was not home when it happened.

When he came to, Otto was lying on the mat on his back. He looked down at himself still covered in sweat and cum, so he could not have been unconscious long. He sat up, ignoring the foot still up his butt, and saw his dad still strapped to the ropes, a thick dark-skinned back hunched over him. Before anyone could stop him, Otto staggered to his unsteady feet and was through the ropes. A few hands tried to stop him, thinking he would fall, or escape or both, but Otto's direction was taking him to a spot on the apron right in front of his dad!

Ollie opened his eyes, knowing this had to end soon now that his Otter had someone survived his ordeal. When he looked up and there were those trimmed blond pubes right in front of his nose, so close he could smell his son! Ollie did not know what to do. But when he felt his son's cock against his lips, his tongue went out and he tasted his son! He tasted his son's cock, still sticky with his cum, his son's cum! And when he felt it turn to rubber in his mouth, a miraculous swelling after what he had endured, Ollie's own cock swelled along with it! By the time they were both hard, the big soldier behind him was cumming up his ass, the sight of this stud sucking off his own son enough to pull him over the edge. Like he could last longer than a minute regardless. The last five soldiers were lining up behind Ollie fast, knowing this show was speeding to a conclusion soon. And when they saw Otto turn around, stepping backwards through the bottom two ropes, they knew he was up to something.

Ollie looked down at his son's backside bending almost in half, trying to get himself under the ropes and against his dad's front.

"No Otter! NO!" Ollie grunted, hoping his son was not planning what it looked like. When he felt his son's slime-covered ass pressing backwards into his crotch he tried to pull away. Then the next cock was in him, pressing him forward against the ropes. Pressing him forward into Otto's crack. Ollie bucked and twisted, almost toppling Otto off the apron, but it happened. His still-hard cock found his son's ass and slipped right in. Just like it slipped into that Karl guy, just like it slipped into that perfect ass of Dem's when they switched places. But this was his son's rectum he was fucking now. His cock protested and protested, promising it would never erupt into Otto, it would never swell like it was swelling, it would never respond to that dick pressing into his knob inside him, it would never unleash all his sperm like it was releasing it now. Ollie gasped and screamed with the shock, causing Otto to fall forward and almost off the apron, catching himself on the rope in time. Ollie rocked back and forth with the swaying ropes, his cock still oozing a rope or two, his Rulfsen seed tossed here and there. It was over.

"My problem was I always saw this tremendous

transformation ahead of us, but as strong as my

intuition of the transformation was also my resistance

to the miraculous. So that I didn't want the transformation

to be that ships the size of New Jersey come from the

Galactic Center and appear over every [major] city on Earth.

Or that Atlantis rises from beneath the waves, and the

Crystal Tablets reveal the correct agenda.

I always thought that these things were sort of hokey..."

Terence McKenna, Vertigo at History's Edge

Frank Messman was in the dugout enjoying the relatively fresh air now they were upwind of that ever-growning, obviously improvised army camp. He remembered a vacation with his family to a national park once, but he must have been all of six. It was his dad's idea to go during the Fourth of July weekend, something about developing a sense of national pride. What John developed was an aversion to hot sweaty people under the noon-day sun, all the barbeques and sun-tan lotion in the world could not mask the effect of too many people and not enough facilities. Twice he escaped from their trailer to "explore nature", hiking several miles until there were only trees everywhere and that wonderful smell of freedom in the fresh mountain air. And the pure delight of having outwitted all the grown-ups at their own game. He was so distracted with the memory and the weird similarity between the two situations he did not hear his coach tell him he was next at bat. There was his pop-up ball which the left fielder caught with little effort and the inning was ended.

"You been distracted all game Messman" Tyler was in his face.

"Sorry coach, I'll pull it together."

"Ortiz you're at catcher, Messman you're in left field now" and Fritzie again "borrowed" Frank's catchers mitt. This wasn't a real game; they were playing against another early-morning practice team, some guys Frank knew. Some he really knew, both clothed and unclothed. He dragged his ass out on the field to gather his wits.

He had been having weird nightmares on and off since Tuesday morning and with the midde-of-the-night arrivals of the helicopters they only got worse. The only time prior to these recurring bad dreams was when he and John and Kelly were staying at that fleabag motel somewhere down by the Illinois border, trying to see how many nights they could hide out there before the manager got wise to their game. They were laughing so hard over breakfast the last morning the waitress threatened to throw them out of the place. Greasy spoon like that it would have been doing them a favor. To keep a straight face Frank decided to go the bathroom, the long way around. He ended up in the truckers' store next to the restaurant section and was looking around for something that could be shoplifted down his pants when his bladder told him that third cup of coffee was going to be his undoing. No wonder he was laughing like a lunatic, he was ripped to the gills with caffeine. He saw the door in back for rooms and lockers, suspecting they had a bathroom back there. He ignored somebody shouting as him from the store as he went through the door. Frankie was on a mission.

He found himself in a locker area and there were the urinals off to the side. He was standing there pissing, shedding several pounds when he felt a warm shadow looming beside him. Frankie was fast and loud enough to defend himself if need be, so he was not spooked. Even when the dude said,

"Hot today."

"No shit."

"Kinda young to be back here ain't ya?" Frankie turned and there was this dusty trucker, maybe twenty-eight or so. He had brown hair stuffed under his cap but if this guy had shaved in the last week it was with a plastic knife. Frankie guessed he was either at the end of a long haul or discovering life after divorce.

"No, I'm twenty-one" Frankie lied.

"And horny like all teenagers" Frankie almost slapped himself if he heard that right. Did this dude just call him out twice?

"I... I dunno..." he stared down at himself, telling his bladder to hurry.

"And I ain't even a teenager anymore" and he shifted his weight away from the urinal and there was the proof. A long trucker cock and he wasn't even hard!

"Fuuuuuuu....." Frankie's wit failed him big time. Even his diaphragm was on break.

"Dudes come in here all the time lookin for blowjobs, I'm hearin" Frankie bit his lip if he heard that right. Did the dude just say blowjob?

"Horny teenager like you I'm guessin in that group, right?"

"N-n-n-n..." Frankie knew he should leave, already making up a story to tell his buds about the drunken mexican leering at him in the john.

"So ya horny or not?"

"N-n-n-no" a major accomplishment. A real word for a change.

"Prove it" the trucker stepped back and let Frankie get a real good, up-close-and-personal look. The numbers of dicks he had seen up close like this in his locker room he could count on one hand. The number of adult dicks he could count on one thumb. The number of dicks this long... He felt himself hardening for no reason whatsoever "show me a limp dick and I leave ya be."

"B-b-b-b-b..."

"If yer soft I'll leave, if yer not I'll suck it."

"B-b-b-b-b..." but Frankie stepped back, intending to leave. His hard cock had other plans that morning. The guy was on his knees so fast Frankie thought he would break the tiles. And when that hot mouth hit his cool dick, Frankie knew he had to come up with a really really good story to explain the delay. The delay lasted all of fifty seconds before the trucker was drinking his breakfast right from the spout.

"Wow thanks kid, I needed that" the guy got to his feet, the knees of his jeans dirty. To anybody else it would look like road dirt. But to Frankie it looked like a flashing neon sign. He glanced at the tile floor to see if it was that dirty and that's when he saw the globs of cum there. And Frankie knew they weren't his. The trucker left it hanging out of his fly for full effect. Another first for Frankie's list: a huge adult dick dripping cum. He had no idea why but he reached out to grab it, maybe just to see if it was real!

The guy let Frankie give it a tug, knowing the kid was still trying to recover from that award-winning blowjob.

"Name's Jeff, and that's Big Jeff y'got there" the trucker smiled "you?"

"Frankie!" he heard his voice "dude snap out of it!" Scottie was calling him from third base pointing to the dude at bat. It was the guest star in most of those nightmares, his roommate Pat O'Toole giving him a thumbs up. The first pitch flew at him and he popped it right at Frankie. He was under it and had every intention of letting it slide from his butterfingers, but in stayed in his mitt. Pat was out and the inning was over.

"We win?" he looked at Scottie, ignoring the look of shock on his face.

"You don't know?"

"Know what?"

"Earth to Frankie" he jogged over to him and steered him towards the dugout "tell me this ain't some kinda fun!"

"This place is the best" sounding oddly familiar, like he was quoting a punchline to a joke he never heard.

"This place is the best?" Scottie looked at him with crossed eyes "so we gotta tell the coach y'been catching balls with your forehead again? Frank Messman, the Concussion Kid."

"Knock it off" they slid back into the dugout, grabbing the plastic bottles held out to them "just got things on my mind, okay?"

"Like all that trouble you didn't get into last night?"

"I... er... shut up Durson!" Frank felt some of the guys looking up at his outburst. He already had a rep even before the "bus bust" as they were calling it around camp. Somebody threw a hat at him telling him it was from his bus driver friend. Frank shot him the finger, but that only got several more laughs.

"Fuckin weird" Scottie looked around after a suitable amout of time elapsed, but nobody was paying them attention any more "y'know you the one started it all with that bus ride" but no heads turned "the bus bust!" loud enough to draw attention. Some guys were starting to leave the dugout pointing and even running off the field. Frank felt that heavy greasy breakfast lurch in his stomach.

"What now?" expecting Martians to start pouring out of the woods behind right field. Or worse, swat teams with their rifles popping away.

"What?" Scottie tried to catch the attention of some of the guys tearing around the back of the dugout.

"C'mon y'gotta see this!" Pat yelled over his shoulder and was dematerializing in a cloud of gray dust.

"See what?" then Scottie was heading up the steps to see where everyone was heading. He had a feeling it had everything to do with all these soldiers everywhere that popped up like quackgrass on their lawn. At first he saw their presence as salvation, knowing they were going to get things straightened out. And fast. Now he was not so sure.

"What the fuck" Frankie lowered his voice fast. Swearing on the field was punishable by several laps around the track circling the diamonds but the coaches were long gone as well "wait up!"

Frankie was the last one across the field, even round, thick Scottie was outpacing him. Everyone was heading for the football field, and that meant everyone! The first thing Frankie thought was all this tension finally spilled over into a full-tilt fistfight. The way they could hear cheering and yelling from over there sure sounded like those football teams were going at each other big time. But the way there was that cordon of those soldiers lining the field, he could not see, only hear something was up. And judging from the activities of the last few days, it was not the Dallas Cheerleaders doing their Halftime salute to Velcro!

"What is it? What's going on?" Frankie yelled at the back of Scottie's head.

"Pat! Pat!" Scottie was yelling ahead "what happened?"

"Holy shit!" Pat yelled, the ban on swearing long gone "y'gotta see this! Y'gotta SEE this!"

"See what?" Scottie made it to the thirty-yard line two seconds later "no WAY!"

"Way!" Frankie heard. He broke into a trot, hoping to find a gap in the line of bystanders.

Fourteen seconds later, Frank Messman took his place at the sidelines, finding - or rather forcing - a gap between Scottie and a thin soldier too distracted to push back. He looked once, then looked again, almost rubbing his eyes to make sure he was seeing what he was seeing. Two football teams were facing each other at the line of scrimmage, Frankie could even here the quarterback grunting his signals. Everything looked and sounded normal. Except all the guys on the offensive line were not wearing their regulation pants; they were not wearing any pants! The ball was hiked and the quarterback fell back, sent the ball sailing into the hands of a receiver Frankie knew, who was immediately tackled. Judging by all the dirt and grass stains on his legs, on all the legs of that one team, this was not the first play they were forced to do wearing only - yeah, Frankie looked a few times before he noticed the jockstraps. Jockstraps and knee protectors, and of course shoes. But that was the extent of it below the loose flapping jerseys. What the hell was going on here?

"What the fuck?" Frankie asked out loud.

"Too fuckin funny or what?" the soldier next to him laughed.

"What - I mean why? What are they - "

"They lost the first quarter, see?" pointing at the scoreboard. Frankie could see "Home 13, Guest 7" Obviously, the team in possession was that "guest" team. Because of the helmets, Frankie could not recognize any faces as such, but the "Home" team sure had a taller, more ethnically-diverse group.

"Who's who? I can't tell!" Frank asked Scottie but the soldier answered.

"We're beating your ass!"

"We?"

"Yeah, Army against Iowa all-stars! More like bare-ass all-stars now!"

"But you're Army? You're the Home team?"

"Some kinda coin flip I guess, okay?" he looked at Frankie "you two football too? High school obviously."

"Do we look like football players?" big round Scottie asked, regretting it as soon as he saw the look "okay, okay, we're both baseball. Hell most of these guys here are, okay?"

"You know those guys?" he was watching the "guest" team try for their third down, a hand-off to number eighty-three which gained maybe two yards beneath a multi-body pile-up.

"Yeah we know them" Pat O'Toole yelled past two soldiers next to him "but this is still a real eyeful!"

"Bare-ass football!" another soldier yelled "too fuckin funny!"

"What happened? I mean..."

"Simple!" the soldier next to Frankie continued "at the coin-flip the coaches - you dudes got some REALLY interesting coaches here!" high-fiving the soldier next to him "after the flip they put it out there. First quarter losers lose their pants, at the half, man you gotta stick around and see that for yourself! third quarter even worse - "

"What?" Pat yelled over "whatdya mean worse?"

"Yeah" the soldier laughed "third quarter, who knows what they're planning, that's if - "

"Final score?" Scottie knew it before he heard it.

"Final score..." the soldier next to Pat was rubbing his hands and almost licking his lips "that's the real thing! Final score, losing team bends over!"

"No WAY!"

"Way!" the other soldier hi-fived him "I gotta get IN this game!"

"What's stopping you?" Pat looked at him "no subs?"

"Fuck I wish!" he smirked "nice high-school ass, too sweet!"

"Even if it's a dude's ass?"

"Dude, chick, ass is ass right?" again those hands clapped "after we been cooped up in that camp all week?" hearing the grunts up and down the sidelines.

Pat headed down the group of guys lined up single-file getting closer to the line of scrimmage. He got close enough to recognize some of those bare asses, the straps of their jocks digging into all that dirt-smeared flesh. When he heard the quarterback barking the signals, he recognized the voice. Yeah it was Pat Moore, the hotshot quarterback from his own school, the voice confirming the suspected identity of those prize-winning thighs and butt. When he turned at the hand-off, O'Toole even recognized that birthmark when he jersey flipped up. He had few opportunities to talk with Moore since he "broke it off" with his sister Gayle - well Gaylemarie for the record - what with his family preparing for the move and everything. Pat suspected Gayle's big brother thought the break-up was as odd as their two-year on-again off-again dating pattern in the first place. A few times he saw Moore roll his eyes at him like: what do you see in that uptight corked bottle of a sister? What Pat never told him was the two were very good friends, due in part to Gayle never pressuring Pat to "do it" like all her girlfriends were bragging. Besides, she had a wicked sense of humor, even giving Pat a run for his money in that department. So Pat became a semi-regular fixture at the Moore household, even joining them for some four-day weekend vacation trips to South Dakota of all places. Of course the two Pat's wound up sharing a bed this last time; their virginal daughter would sleep with Moore's girlfriend, a wild red-head who made a point of flirting with O'Toole right in front of her boyfriend. Pat ignored her as best he could. Although it made for interesting bed conversation, the two of them pressed together, both hard enough to let the other know their girlfriends were not having any of it, wildness, primness, the effect was the same. At one point during that last outing, O'Toole thought Moore was getting very "chummy" with him, especially after he caught O'Toole in the shower and got a real eyeful! Okay, maybe Pat had been interrupted pulling on it a bit. But Moore kept his eyes away from it, not mentioning it all day. That night in bed, O'Toole felt Moore's frustration pressing against his back. There was a brief brushing of hands on body parts before a pillow came flying over from the other bed, Pat's dad and younger brother telling them to stop the racket and get some sleep. O'Toole always suspected things could have gone farther in a different situation, but that situation never came.

O'Toole saw Moore around the camp, slapping and hi-fiving. Only the previous night after dinner Moore pulled him aside with a "O'Toole we really gotta talk" and then his football buds pulled him away with so much wrestling and punching. So watching him and his bare ass on the field now was almost a step closer to reaching an understanding. Pat watched Moore try for the fourth down, his receiver double-covered into a near-interception. When the offensive line left the field, Pat was there waiting for him.

"Pat!" Moore yelled removing his helmet, his brown bangs plastered to his forehead.

"Hey Pat" O'Toole yelled back and went over to slug him. Instead he was on the receiving end of a big wet hug "what you doing here?"

"Watching Iowa NOT get beat okay?" looking down at his jock "stakes already steep enough, huh Pat?"

"We gotta talk" Pat could see the semi-hard pressing out O'Toole's uniform "c'mon and hang with us" nodding to where most of the Iowa boys were toweling off and inhaling more bottles of that sports drink.

"Sure okay" Pat fell in step next to him "but maybe we should talk private first?"

"Fuck no" Moore rubbed the sweat from his face with the bottom of his jersey, catching Pat give his bare stomach a good look "it's all cool... now..."

"Cool? What is?"

"Hey guys!" Moore yelled at his teammates "y'remember Saint O'Toole here right?"

"Hey Pat!" several of the guys yelled and waved at him. He recognized most of them. He waved at Big Jim and his friend, the guy from Europe. Next to them was Loftsen, acting as tough and cocky as his little frame could manage, that musclehead Dano talking to punker Fred and boy was that something Pat never thought he would live to see. Dano tended to run with his homeys and guys like Fred and his skateboard crowd were either ignored or dismissed as whiteboy posers. But here were the two, talking in low hushed voices, only looking up to nod at O'Toole. Next to them were some guys he had seen around, another division perhaps, two big dudes, one thinner running back, then the twins Tim and Tom, looking like they could use more than those bottles of sports drink now. Maybe some aspirin and a long nap! Pat nodded at Carlito, one of the bigger guys from his school. He called him Carlos, only his closest buds got away with calling him "little Carl" to his face. He was easily two-thirty, some of it muscle, most of it pure ferocity. Next to his was another unknown face, then Carlito's friend Juan who was giving shit to the little guy who was always hanging with Carlito and Juan, a kid named Kenny or something? Then two more guys Pat nodded at, friendly but nameless.

"Saint O'Toole?" Pat took a bottle handed to him.

"Hey guys?" Moore yelled as a few head popped up "Pat wants t'know where the 'saint' comes from?"

"Ha!" Dano laughed "anybody put up with that sister of his" smirking at Moore "all that time, and not... y'know - shit y'HAD t'be a saint right?"

"What a waste of prime beef" Moore nodded down at Pat's front "man..."

"Hey! We're talkin about your sister here."

"Yeah her loss, right?" downing his bottle and finding another.

"Hey Pat go easy on those okay?" sipping his "y'know they put stuff in these."

"Hey guys!" Moore chuckled "lay off the Viagra water, Saint O'Toole's worried about -"

"Wearing these" Loftsen tugged at his jock "don't much matter right?"

"Look Pat" Moore put his arm around his shoulder and steered him a few steps away "we gotta talk."

"Y'keep sayin that. So talk already."

"Don't know where to start okay? I mean you're almost family like and..."

"Like a half-brother okay?"

"Yeah, like that... and..." his eyes kept traveling between his sweaty stained jock and O'Toole's front "y'know we been gettin kinda close n'all, and..."

"Look Pat" he lowered his voice "we both been through a lotta shit okay?"

"No kidding."

"So we're like buds, better'n buds okay? So spit it out okay?"

"Don't know how much y'know about this game here and - "

"I know y'better not lose it Moore" Pat swore one or both of them was swelling "cause I'm not sure I wanna watch you bend over and take Army dick up your ass, if that's what you're getting at."

"You know?"

"Shit the whole camp knows" Pat looked at the guys gathering along the sidelines. Okay maybe it was just some army guys and a lot of the baseball players, but there were enough guys to make it a public humiliation if it came to that.

"And what if..."

"What if what?"

"I mean HELL I ain't expecting to lose but..." Moore's jock was starting to grow a point in front "what if we lost. And you really hadda watch that, see me get fucked. Would that gross ya out? Would y'think I'm some kinda sick creap - "

"I would just wish I was on that army team okay? Like I was the one bending over ya okay? Okay Moore?"

"No WAY!" the pouch was pulling out so bad Pat could see one of his balls "but I mean..."

"All the shit goin down at this camp, don't know about you and the guys there" O'Toole nodded at the group huddled on their benches "but I know the baseball players been having a real educational week so far."

"Y'mean... you and the guys been...?"

"In the rooms, in the showers" Pat rolled his eyes "those damn 'competitions' after supper! And I'm guessin y'don't know about those rooms in the basement right?"

"What?" Moore no longer tried to hide the fact he was staring at Pat's crotch "those're real? I mean the guys... I mean we been hearing rumors - "

"They're all true okay? All of it's true, okay Moore? Y'tellin me you and your buds not been gettin into it?"

"Shit..." his hand went to his crotch, tugging and adjusting until the hard tube was pinned inside the elastic waistband "I mean..."

"You and what? Two or three guys in that bed last night, and you're tellin me nobody sucked that totally impressive hardon of yours? Nobody leaned back into your dick?"

"Damnit O'Toole" Pat was chewing his finger "I thought it was just our room okay?"

"How about the whole damn camp okay? Didn't you football players have your 'fundraiser' last night?"

"Ha!" Pat laughed out loud, drawing the attention of a few guys. Some of them made comments like "lookin good Moore" or "hot to trot?" or "gonna get Army pussy?" but he smiled and shooed them away "shit Pat y'shoulda been there! They tried to get us to do all this nasty, naked shit? But the guys just sat there and blew them off. Then they tried to get us to do shit back in our rooms outa pure spite. We just - "

"Shit? What kinda shit?"

"You'd freak if I told ya okay?"

"How about... taking pictures of each other, naked, boned, sucking? Fucking?"

"Fuck! How'd you know?!?!"

"And now you guys are playing Army to see who gets buttfucked! Shit Pat, can't you see just a bit of a pattern here?"

"But they ain't really serious!" Pat felt his bone shriveling "c'mon! Broad daylight?"

"Dude they're total serious okay?" and they all heard guys start screaming and running! Pat looked up expecting something falling from the sky but heard "Interception! Way t'go Iowa! Okay Moore y'better not lose!"

"Fuck!" Pat and his team were running onto the field, the ball sitting on the seven-yard line like it was ticking! They flew into action with a little over a minute on the clock. The first attempt was met by a wall of fully-padded Army dudes. In the huddle punker Fred had a quick exchange of words with Pat and they flew back to the line of scrimmage. The ball was hiked and Pat saw little Kenny in the end-zone, nobody bothering to cover the runt. The ball went flying right into his hands.

"Touchdown!" everyone yelled. Watching the time tick down, they made their conversion in a matter of seconds, the score 14 to 13 in their favor! The kick-off went flying and two Army guys came barreling at them, the big thick one acting like a snow-plow for the ball carrier. He did not even register Fred coming around his blind side and tackling the guy flying down the field. The ball was at Army's forty-five yard line and the clocked stopped at thirty-four seconds. Pat and his team poured off the field again, while the defensive line took over.

"Way to GO!" O'Toole was waiting for him "that was some kinda awesome pass!"

"Frallick's idea" Pat looked at Fred trying to fade into the background "some kinda mindreader or something. Like he just KNEW Loftsen would be open! Fuckin amazing!"

"Now we gotta hold'em is all" they watched the Army team advance down the field. When they were within striking range they tried for the field goal. They missed.

"We did it!" the Iowa boys were jumping up and down like it was the Super Bowl or something. Considering their asses were on the line, it might as well have been.

"Halftime!" the twins yelled "Cheerleaders!"

"Naked cheerleaders!" Dano yelled as well!

"Any kind of cheerleaders! I want tits!" Loftsen yelled, getting a loud reaction to that.

"Not today Loftsen" Coach Kramer blew the whistle at him "okay! Locker room! Now!" and the teams struggled to their feet and started the short walk to the fieldhouse.

"C'mon O'Toole, come with, we can talk" Pat tried to direct him back towards the doors. They both turned when they heard whistles from the other end of the field.

"Okay break's over" Tyler yelled "back on the field."

"Gotta go" O'Toole looked at Moore "don't get - "

"See ya second half okay? We can talk then okay?"

"See ya" Pat's hand went to that bare butt "keep that outa trouble okay?"

"Hope to" and they ran in opposite directions. Did he really grab Moore's butt? His bare butt? And did he really smile like it was nothing? Pat knew something was changed - for the better he hoped - as he wandered back to the ball diamonds and their interrupted game. The final fifth inning was still to be played and Pat was glad there were none of those army guys in their green fatigues hanging around their dugouts. He went back and found that talent scout Ricky Ruiz, talking with their coach Barstow, nothing unusual about that. At least not until both of them started tugging off their shirts. Pat knew it was a warm morning, but that warm?

"Okay guys listen up!" Barstow blew his whistle to get the attention of the two closest ball diamonds "we're going to be getting some visitors in a few minutes for the last inning" hearning the slow grumbling grow "yes as you may suspect there will be some soldiers here to enjoy the games."

"Why?" it was that green-eyed Pat elbowing his roommate Fritzie next to him "I mean what're they doing here? And like that football game? What's that all about?"

"What it's all about" Ruiz tag-teaming Barstow "is we are now under military 'protection' and - "

"Protection from what?" another guy's voice lept over the mutterings.

"That's the concern of the Army, not ours right now gentlemen" Barstow continued "your concern is to help us out with a - "

"With what, coach?"

"Gentlemen" Ricky chimed in like it was rehearsed "rather than propose an incentive for the winning team..."

"And a penalty for the losing team" Barstow knew his lines.

"We thought it best if you guys yourselves came up with the suitable rewards and penalties."

"We gotta do what?"

"If you don't then we will" Ricky ran his hand down his bare front. That got their attention loud and clear.

"Okay okay" Pat O'Toole saw it coming "y'don't gotta draw a picture, we saw what the football players are being forced to do" he looked at the other baseball players "winning team gets free front-row tickets to that football game outcome over there."

"Fair enough" Barstow shrugged, his tight shoulders flexing under the sun "and losing team?"

"Well losing team... I mean lowest score of all four teams gotta...

"Gotta what?" screams from all around. Ruiz held up his hand,

"Gentlemen gentlemen" looking at Barstow "we were not sure how to come up with a fair proposal but O'Toole gives us all something to motivate us, something to give us food for thought . Well?"

But there were no suggestions, no comments. By that point most of the guys knew the losing team would have to do something nasty. And the way too many eyes were shooting between Frankie and O'Toole, like this was all their fault of something, deepened their concerns further.

"Last chance?" Ruiz shrugged his bare shoulders "Well then I suggest the lowest scoring team this morning can meet me and Coach Barstow in the locker room facilities in Gym B after the game. Coach Barstow, do you wish to add anything to that?"

"What?" John Johnson yelled "that's the penalty? So the losers get to use the real facilities and the rest of us either gotta stand around under this hot sun or worse, gotta haul ass back to our rooms?"

"Correct?"

"Sounds wrong."

"Gentlemen last inning!" Barstow yelled, whistling them all back to their diamonds.

Frank dragged himself back into the dug-out, the scoreboard almost flashing in his face: five to three. In that odd pick-up team's favor. He looked at the other board, the Iowa team against the Minnesota dudes, and saw seven to three. So his team was currently tied for last place? Something lurched in his stomach and he grabbed himself.

"Feeling sick?" Scottie elbowed him in the stomach for full effect.

"No kidding."

"Got a bad feeling about this, like if we lose this..."

"It's just a practice game okay?"

"Tell Coach Tyler that" Frank looked up and he saw his coach talking with that exhibitionist Ruiz guy then. They exchanged a few words and then Tyler's shirt was off next "like that?"

"What?"

"Y'ever see coach shirtless before?"

"Ah... er... no... not..."

"Shit, don't tell me" Frank lowered his head "sex games with the coach?"

"Fuck no!"

"Tell me about it later" and they were on the field.

The last inning did not go well for Frankie, in spite of Sam's stellar pitching. At one point they were tied six all, wondering how that would be resolved. They did not have to wonder long when that George guy on the other team bunted, sending Sam and Mitch their shortstop scrambling. But not before bringing in that lightning quick kid from third. With their team leading seven six, their next batter hit a pop-up right at Frank which he caught, what little good it did. They cheered their out, knowing they had won. Frankie looked at his team, hoping that Iowa team on the other diamond had less than six runs. Frankie almost swore when he saw their scoreboard, ten to seven. The Iowa guys somehow rallied to take down Minnesota. Frankie told himself it was rigged, but deep down he knew how good they were, especially when they were fired up.

There was the usual line-up for handshakes, Frankie expecting sneers and chuckles but what he saw in their faces was something else. Something odder. Something like resentment, even jealousy. He wanted to blurt out: okay then YOU get your asses to Gym fuckin B!

He started to clean up his equipment when Tyler announced,

"Leave it. We'll have the assistant coaches do that. Right now just get yourselves inside and out of this heat" pointing at the doors in the other building already held open by some guys Frankie could not recognize from that distance.

He dropped the bats and gloves where he stood and started heading across the field to that other, newer building.

"So we gonna do this huh?" James "Peachfuzz" fell in step next to him.

"Looks like it" Frankie saw how badly James was sweating, assuming it was from that last bust-ass inning "you got any ideas what - "

"Was hoping you did" James nodded at Mitch.

"Dudes" he nodded at the two, in no hurry to join the other stragglers "Messman, y'gonna fill me in on - "

"Why's everybody think I know what this is about?"

"Cause you always seem to be front row whenever shits starts flyin, right?"

"Like what?"

"Lemme think" Mitch rolled his eyes "bus ride for one, sex games with cards for two - "

"How you know? You weren't there okay?"

"You're like famous okay? Not even mentioning that little show last night."

"Y'think it's gonna be like that?" James picked up the rear.

"Ask Messman here" Mitch grabbed James like he was going to slip away when they weren't looking "so Frankie, shower room for ten points: what will Messmen do?"

"Knock it off you two" Frankie punched Mitch in his bony shoulder "I keep tellin ya I don't know shit!"

"If I go in there and see cameras I'm outa there" James spat on the ground. Frankie knew he was bluffing. He could see the fear in his face.

"Shit if that's all it is" Mitch flexed his thin arms "film away! But nothin's stopping me from cleanin this grime off me."

"Yeah what is all this shit anyway?" Frankie rubbed the pale dust from his uniform "thought we were supposed to have clean air up here."

"Tree pollen" James announced. But he knew it was not tree pollen. That stuff was sticky and yellow; this stuff was brown and powdery. But it didn't smell like the dusty infield. More like chemicals.

"Ain't no tree pollen" Mitch was already to the door "baby powder, for your baby ass, Teeters" he jumped inside, expecting James to direct a punch at him. But all of them were in no hurry to speed the inevitable.

The first thing James saw was the cameras. Two of them. Even before he heard the voices already coming from the shower area. But his teammates were still in their clothes!

"Okay gentlemen" it was Coach Callaher, trying not to look nervous "everyone gather around" he looked at one or two guys who appeared to be wearing army underwear "before you get out of your grimy dirty clothes and into the shower, Captain Jones here would like to say a few words."

Amid the grunts of "who?" and "oh fuck!" a not too tall, but very fit black guy in his late twenties looked up from his clipboard and surveyed the highschool baseball players with something like calculated indifference.

"Guys..." he started slowly, not sure what the best approach might be "as your coaches mentioned to you, because you were the lowest scoring team this morning, some of the platoon expressed an interest in getting to know you a bit better" which made no sense at all. If he was nervous, he was hiding it behind a grim set expression. Only his voice gave him away "so this is what we have in store for you guys. Everyone of you is gonna pick a card - I hear you have some familiarity with cards, is that right?" looking around, noticing more than a few looking at one brown-haired guy in particular "good. Pick a card and then line up in order of the cards - "

"What about our showers?" Keith Trastosky yelled. He was mopping his forehead with a towel and looking very unhappy.

"First things first guys" Coach Tyler had shuffled the cards and put them on the table "who first?"

"Still ain't tellin us what this is for" but Stewart Connors III walked over to the table and picked a card "show and grow?"

"What?" several guys yelled, not the least Tyler.

"No just hold it until everyone has picked one" Tyler answered, as one by one each of the guys selected one card. When everyone had his, and was looking more confused with each passing moment Tyler continued "okay, line up now in order of cards. Ace low here" pointing at the left side of the line of benches "up to King high at the other end. Easy right?"

"Seems weird" Frankie looked at Sam, wondering what he drew. He did not have to wait long to see who was where. He showed Sam his Jack of Clubs; Sam flashed his Three of Clubs "okay?"

"So line up guys" Captain Jones "and let's get a good look at you."

"What more ya need?" John Johnson looked at his Three of Hearts, then at Sam's Three of Clubs "Coach? Now what?"

"You two decide between yourselves" Tyler looked at Callaher.

"You heard the Captain" Callaher went to the camera and turned it on "before the rest of the group joins us" nodding at the voices coming from the shower area "show the Captain what you guys are made of."

"How? What?" Stewie saw his Two of Diamonds and took the spot farthest on the left, not expecting anyone to ace him. Soon as he did Lou Nuersten, their first baseman, jumped to his number two spot, showing Stewie his Two of Spades.

"Got a feeling I don't wanna be first in line" Lou also wanted to hear Coach Callaher's answer.

"Okay guys" Callaher had the camera rolling and went to the second one "pants and anything underneath. Off."

"What?" from several directions at once. Mitch was already pulling off his sweaty team shirt but stopped fast.

"Wanna see what scrawny asses you guys hidin" Captain Jones did not bat an eye. His face looked like it was incapable of expression "y'heard your coach. Strip!"

"Hey wait!" Stewie came around the bench "what's the all about?" We ain't - "

"Okay gentlemen here's your penalty" Callaher started slow and deadly "in case you guys forgot, we're still accumulating points for tonight's final competition. So here's the deal. Ten points to each guy - you heard me EACH guy - who follows orders now. And an additional TEN points to the guy who..." looking at the Army guy "y'wanna tell them?"

"Nope, they'll figure it out soon enough."

"Figure what out?" John knew a ten pointer was not going to be any easy task.

"First things first" Tyler and his favorite line "anybody wants to leave can go with Coach Callaher here."

"I'm outa here" Mitch knew enough to suspect something super foul was coming his way fast.

"Okay Mozelsen" Callaher hit record on the second camera and came over to him "you can leave your clothes here. You won't need them once we get to the labs."

"What?" from Mitch.

"NO!" from just about everyone else.

"This is stupid!" Stewie added "if this is just an ass-backwards way of gettin us to the labs - "

"What labs?" Captain Jones shot Callaher a surprising look. Many of the guys figured out fast he was not briefed on that critical component of their facility. And if the army presence was unaware of the labs then all bets were off. Which could either be a very good or very bad thing, depending on one's viewpoint.

"The labs we should be blowin off steam in if Kroos had anything to say- "

"What if I -" Mitch saw the expressions sweeping the room.

"Up to you Mitch" Tyler decided to play the good cop versus Callaher's bad "it's your choice. Stay here and stand by your teammates, or it's the labs and an hour or two-"

"Two?" from half the room.

"Or two of first-hand experience with the machines. Something that engineering brain of yours would find very - "

"Don't do it" Stewie grabbed him and almost shook the stubbornness out of him "you're gonna see the machines soon enough - if you have not already! - but if you are as ignorant of those things as... well?"

"They can't be worse than the ones at Doc Kroos' right?" he tried to look tough.

"Guess you and the Captain there are both none the wiser, Mitch" Stewie shook him hard "this ain't the time for heroics. I mean it Mozelsen!"

"Just because you - "

"Because this AIN'T the TIME! Got it?"

"Fuck..." he yanked away from Stewart's grip with an angry scowl.

"Okay" Callaher had to intervene before Captain Jones did "gentlemen, line up and lose the pants. And anything beneath."

"Can't we just clean up first?" James knew how sweaty and grimy he was. What he really knew was he wanted to see who was making all that racket from the showers and how much time it could buy him "I know I stink."

"Ain't an issue" Captain Jones was back in charge "unless someone wants to volunteer and brief me on those labs you keep mentioning, I expect everyone in line and out of their pants in five seconds!"

It took longer but after a minute or two all the guys were lined up facing those benches, naked from the waist down. Stewie looked down the row, past big Lou on his left, then Sam and John who jostled back and forth with their two Threes. Seeing that they were in the middle of the pack they did not think it a major issue who was where, Sam deciding it might be better to keep himself between John and Lou, not the best of friends. Then came Pat Fields, one of their best players with his Seven of Spades, then James "Peachfuzz" who thought his Eight of Diamonds was good luck or something. Next to him was tall Keith Trastowsky with his Ten of Hearts, then Frankie and his Jack of Clubs. Half hidden at the end was Mick Keilly, very short and very red, with his Queen of Hearts, then the equally short Kelly Donnahy, his King of Diamonds assuring him of a dodged bullet.

"What about you? Where's your card?" Tyler looked at Mitch.

"He had a Queen of Spades" Mick butted in "show'm."

"Okay Mitch" Callaher almost cracked a smile "to show you I'm not such an asshole, I'll let you decide. Either between Mick and Kelly, or Mick and Frankie."

"The farther down I am, the better I feel" Mitch elbowed his way next to Kelly. The two high-fived then waited while Mitch pulled down his pants and briefs "y'happy now?"

"Okay gentlemen" Callaher surveyed the line of half-naked guys "knowing how shy you all are around cameras" his face cracking a wicked smile "you can lean forward and grab the bench in front of you. That way you don't have to worry about showing dick to the whole world, right? Now here's the deal you were all so eager to hear. Your hands stay on that bench no matter what! Do I make myself clear?"

"But what - "

"Or else you will take Mitch's place and accompany me to the labs. And I cannot guarantee you a pleasant experience, do I make myself understood?"

"But coach!"

"If you understand, nod your head! If not, you can come with me now!"

One by one, here and there, some heads began to nod. When everyone had signaled their reluctant agreement, Callaher and Tyler went to their lockers and returned with two tubes of ointment which most of them recognized. There was a great deal of moaning and yelling before Tyler shouted,

"Gentlemen! You have agreed! You know what this is" squeezing some into his hand, then holding it up until all could see the green goo on his fingers "I repeat, if your hands leave the bench you forfeit your ten points and you will be escorted to the labs. Coach?"

Callaher took his tube and stood behind Kelly, his greased hand already rubbing the gel into his slightly furry crack. Kelly yelped and tried to pull away, but Callaher would have none of it. By the time Tyler had finished lubing Stewie and was trying to force a finger deep into Lou's large ass, Kelly was as lubed and stretched as Callaher saw fit.

Working from each end, the two coaches managed to lube and open all the guys until they met in the middle. They were wiping their hands when John looked up at Captain Jones,

"So that's it?" he grunted, his ass already starting to burn and tingle with the gel "you just gonna stand there not doing shit, and watch the coaches fuck our asses next?"

"Well?" Stewie added "is John right? After everything's happened so far, our penalty is to just bend over for you coaches now? Let you guys take turns buttfucking us? Like it would be a big shocker after everthing. Like last night" his hands flew off the bench with the realization. He made a big show of putting them back down "cause a lot of the guys here know what happens when these group sex things get out of control - with the blue lights and shit and - "

"What blue lights?" Captain Jones looked at the coaches. The crack in his poker-face expression told Stewie and a few others he was truly was ignorant of what lay hidden two floors beneath their feet.

"Keep talking like that and I'll throw you off the team for drugs!" Tyler's voice cracked a few times but it did a pisspoor job of shutting Stewie up. Tyler whispered a few words to the officer who nodded and almost smiled. The coaches finished lubing the line-up then offered a tube to Jones.

Instead of accepting the curious offer, Captain Jones lifted the whistle from around his neck and gave three short bursts. As soon as he did the guys heard several cheers coming from the shower area, then the the sound of one shower after another going silent.

When the guys saw who was pouring out of the shower area some of them tried to run their asses out of there. Callaher managed to stop them and remind them where their hands needed to be. The way his hand worked their bare asses convinced them it was their final warning. So they returned to their spots, shoulders down, asses out, eyes shut.

"Have you dogs figured out who goes first?" Captain Jones looked at his men. Now they were cleaned up they looked almost human again. All those long days and longer nights back at their camp, trying to keep the peace as more and more refugees poured in from miles around, was enough to fray their already over-caffeinated nerves and then some. Had the guys opened their eyes they could have seen the lack of sleep and proper diet in their faces. They could also have seen the reaction when they got a good look at what was lined up for their viewing. Just as promised!

"Yeeeeeehah!" a big black soldier with an even bigger dick stood there naked and dripping wet "me!"

"At ease Washington!" Captain Jones snapped "you go first you're gonna kill these here... volunteers! We been told we can fuck'm not kill'm!"

When the team heard that, they screamed. In spite of their shock at hearing their fate blurted out in plain english their hands stayed on those damn wooden benches. This time Callaher used his whistle.

"Then I'm second in line, how about me Captain?" a tall hispanic guy was jacking his already hard cock, all nine-plus inches of it.

"You'll get your turn Ramirez" Captain Jones shook his head "but not for starters. You!" pointing at a stocky furball "Evans, and you!" a young black kid barely nineteen "Jones! Choose which end."

"Which end?" furball looked at the guys lined up like so much pussy on a platter, like it was an all-you-can-eat buffet and he hadn't eaten in weeks "like mouth or ass?"

"No moron" his hispanic friend jabbed him "like which end of the line you want? Left to right or..."

The chunky furball chuckled, already making his decision behind Stewie, while the black private inched his way over towards Kelly!

"Hey! Wait!" Kelly lifted his head as far as he could without removing his hands "I thought - "

"You thought wrong" Callaher growled at him "here's the playbook. Captain, have your men arrange themselves into two groups. One starts at Stewie's end, the other with Kelly there. You get one minute, ONE MINUTE! in each guy, then move on to the next. If you make it as far as the middle without blowing your load well... we'll worry about then when we get there."

"You heard our... host" Captain Jones nodded at him "you! Evans and Jones got one minute starting now!" and those two were jacking their meat so fast. Jones had it up and pressed against Kelly's ass first, his long thin dick meeting with a great deal of resistance but before his time was up he had most of his cut meat past the tight ring of the much smaller kid. Kelly was screaming and gasping for air and then that tube was pulling out of him, and another dick, harder but just as desperate, was pressing into his ring. He barely had time to adjust before this one was sailing past the resistance and deeper inside him than he thought possible. Kelly's knees buckled as he toppled forward, the weight of both bodies supported on his shaking arms. All the activities of the last few days had not prepared him for the brutal assault, the frantic need to get off in his hole. Last night's games in his room had gotten him over the shock of having a guy's cock up his small, tight ass, but this was something else! This was pure, unbridled lust! Long before his hole adjusted to the pain of being used like a punching bag he felt something hot and wet pumping into him. That soldier had just nutted up his butt! Callaher saw the soldier pull out of Kelly before the whistle blew, seeing that cock shiny with green lube, the tip even showing a bit of white cream at the end.

"One for Kelly" Tyler annouced, throwing a card down in front of him "okay team, every load you take you get a card. Guy with the most cards, the guy who takes the most loads up his ass this morning - "

"Without dying!" Stewie grunted beneath his own battering.

"Or cumming" big Lou next to him grunted. All the activities of the previous few days had been some perverse kind of warm-up, leading up to this. If there was one thing the big kid had fantasized about for much too long it had been this: being bent over and drilled by guy after guy, just so many anonymous dicks pounding him into uncontrollable madness. His roommates last night at first thought he was kidding, then it was kinda funny, then almost scary, the way big Lou just knelt there begging for more. After the third roommate unloaded into him, and Lou still would not let up, his roommates begged off, telling him they needed their sleep, and tomorrow morning he might get his wish. So when Lou tossed and turned all night with dreams of dozens and dozens of soldiers lining up to bend him over and fuck him crazy he had no idea it was neither nightmares nor the delirious result of those weird northern lights as he told himself. But bent over the bench, with the second, and then the third grunt slamming his hole silly, all Lou lacked were the uniforms!

"Ten points to guy with the most cards" Tyler repeated.

"And ten points to any of you 'volunteers' who manages to empty your balls as well" Callaher shrugged "not that it could happen after all you been doing."

A third guy was filling the vacancy behind Kelly when the whistle went off again. But not before another soldier was eliminated, the card flying down in front of Lou's big frame. Sam next to him shared a pained smile with John on his other side, nodding at Lou's card.

"Maybe we lucked out" John whispered "maybe Lou..."

"Maybe..." Sam was betting Lou might accumulate so many cards the guys farther down the line would be spared. When they heard a second guy unload deep into Lou's ass, a second card flying to the floor, they nodded and lowered their heads. Lou might save their asses. With his.

Either Lou was lucky - or unlucky depending on the viewpoint - or else he was figuring out each successive cum blast lessened the stinging effect of the green goo. But from that point on Callaher made sure each additional soldier was well lubed before he took his turn. Much to the discomfort of Stewie and Kelly on the ends. The next soldier found the combition too overwhelming and had barely dipped his cock into Stewie's spasming ass before he was unloading his month's worth of jizz like the teenage kid he was.

There were eleven cards on the floor before Callaher delivered the sight he had promised: ten high school kids lined up and bent over taking ten army dicks up their asses. The bent-over guys towards the middle were feeling their luck turn, either because of the constant reapplication of green goo to the newer additions or else those asses were filling with too much cum for it to make much of a difference. Only Kelly was keeping up with Lou, both of them having the odious distinction of having four cards in front of them. Stewie's two cards and Keith's one were not much competition.

Callaher adjusted the second camera and blew the whistle a few seconds late. Captain Jones was about to suggest a solution to the present problem when that black soldier screamed and pulled free of Stewie's ass,

"Fuck! Fuck!" he swore "fucker made me cum!" easing his log free of Stewie's stretched hole "finally get my turn and the kid makes me lose my load! And I wanted to keep going until every one of these punks felt the real thing!"

"Tough luck Washington!" Captain Jones barked "y'heard the whistles! Switch!"

"But how..." a wide-shouldered, red-faced soldier eased his long cut dick free of Keith's pale ass "damnit!"

"What?" Tyler took a few steps towards the line.

"Damnit Jensen!" he looked at the grunt next to him, or rather his dick "how long y'been fuckin the kid with a limp dick!"

"Too sweet to stop" Jensen gave him a nasty sneer "even if I could."

"Jensen!" Captain Jones yelled "you cum in that kid's butt?"

"Yes sir!" he hi-fived his friend next to him.

"And not say anything?"

"Ah, er, no Captain!"

"Any of you scumbags cum and not let on" Jones continued "gonna end up replacing one of these kids. And I do mean end up! Who else?"

"Ah.. "another two soldiers held up their hands. It became apparent several of the guys had blown their loads and just kept going, not wanting the party to end. Once Captain Jones and Callaher got the three out of line and cards distributed, there were openings for four more guys. But it looked like that one tall hispanic soldier would make it from Stewie all the way down the line to Kelly. He had to switch places with one or two guys proceeding from the other end, but he was already plowing into Mick's tight butt with no sign of fatigue.

"Okay Ramirez" Captain Jones was watching him like a hawk "you give all these guys a ride on that dick of yours without cumming, then you're just shit outa luck, got it? No second turns, y'hearin me?"

"C'mon! Sir!" he was plowing his nine-plus in and out of Mick's small ass, never wanting this to end. Hell, this was the best reward he could imagine for all the shit he had to put up with the last few weeks, the overcrowding, the shortages of damn near everything, all the double-shifts, the heat, the dust, everything! So getting to treat all these kids to what had to be the best dick in the world, well hell! When he heard the whistle he switched with that scrawny punk who was finally getting his turn, looking at Kelly's ass like he could not wait. Instead his first taste of ass was Mick's as Ramirez eased his monster into Kelly. But damn! that fuckin glowing just stayed with him, even with this last kid! He was hoping it was just some trick of the light or something, but he looked down at Westerberg's dick finally getting some action next to him and damn! his crotch was glowing too! He had seen enough and before his minute was up, Ramirez got enough short fast jabs into Kelly's bruised ass to bring himself over the edge. He even deposited a few bursts on the kid's back, and damn! if his jizz didn't look greenish-blue! It better be that damn burning lube they made them use!

"What the fuck!" the soldier next to Westerberg, the guy plowing fast and deep into Frankie's ass shouted "what the hell is this?"

Some of the other soldiers turned, but most were too distracted by the sensations coming from their dicks slamming in and out of those tight, slimy holes. In spite of everything a few could see what prompted his outburst; a steady glow forming around their crotches. The shiny asses bent over to receive their cocks were turning blue!

"Fuck!" Captain Jones came closer "what the FUCK IS THAT?"

"Oh yeah oh yeah... " big Lou was doubled over, slamming his ass back into the new soldier's cock as hard as the young guy was slamming his crotch forward. He had traded two cartons of cigarettes to get his ass on that chopper, only because he had to see with his own eyes if the rumors were true. If they were really running a sex camp for horny soldiers hidden somewhere in the north woods. Not that he ever had any desire to buttfuck a guy's ass before. But the combination of lack of sleep and a week's worth of cum backed up in his nads was enough to undo any resistance he had earlier in the showers with his buds. Feeling the high school jock beneath him, that tingling hole all slimy with the green goo as well as how many previous loads was enough to make him entertain serious thoughts of adding one more card to the kid's collection.

"Y'like that?" he slammed again and again into that butt, then slowing a bit to let the kid do most of the work. After a while all he had to do was stand still and let the big lug fuck himself on that uncut piece of bone propped there for his benefit.

"Fuck me, fuck me!" Lou no longer cared how it sounded. But the soldier behind him was starting to care about the blue haze forming around his pubes.

"What the fuck is that?" he tried to pull back, but Lou's ass had other plans "why is that - "

"Make him cum" Stewie next to Lou muttered "then we'll tell ya."

"Oh fuck!" from both the soldier and Lou, as he unloaded his blasts of burning cum into Lou's ass. The crackling blue light and getting the kid off were no longer any concern. All that mattered at that point was the overwhelming sensation of emptying his nuts like he forgot how he could. When he pulled out, there was a loud crack! of static electricity.

"What the hell just happened?" Captain Jones came around to get a better look, fuck the cameras "what is going on here?"

"Fuck!" Lou straightened up, his back killing him "I was SO CLOSE!"

"What WERE YOU DOING?" Jones grabbed Lou. He got a bad jolt for his efforts "HEY!"

"I tried to warn ya" Lou was cheated of his orgasm and he was pissed! And when Big Lou got pissed whole rooms emptied! "okay? The coaches won't tell ya but I will!"

"Shut up Nuersten!" Tyler yelled.

"Don't bother Lou!" Stewie yelled.

"Tell him!" from several voices down the row.

Before Callaher or Tyler could get to him Lou shouted "we're ALL CONTAGIOUS! WE'RE RADIOACTIVE!"

"WHAT?" from all over the room. Even with little sleep, even though they were dog-tired, and in the midst of plugging amazing butt, those soldiers were halfway across the room in milliseconds, cameras and bodies flying in all directions. The baseball players were the only calm ones in the room, using the chaos to get to their feet and sidestep their way to the shower room. There were a few close calls, a few fist fights were interrupted before they became serious, the worst between Captain Jones and Coach Tyler. It took a good fifteen minutes before Callaher could intervene, calm down the Captain, reassure the soldiers none of them were in any danger - at least not from that quarter - and convince them all a visit to the labs would defuse all their concerns. He even told them there were Geiger counters there and they could see for themselves no one was "radioactive" as they feared.

"You really believing a bunch of dumb faggot high shool jocks?" Callaher sneared "thought you guys were smarter than to buy that kinda shit!"

Those heatstroke-damaged horndogs expecting silicon-enhanced cheerleaders doing their halftime salute to Spandex instead was treated to the army team returning to the field wearing... bullseyes! On their bare asses!

Unlike the Iowa team before, the army guys were not even wearing jockstraps; they were given the luxury of helmets and shoulder pads, and that was it. A few of them groused until elbow- and knee-pads were added to a few guys complaining of prior "sports injuries" but after the fourth guy parroted the same excuse the coaches got wise to that stunt.

"Piece of cake!" O'Toole slapped Pat Moore on the back "now y'can't help but wipe the field with'm!"

"Y'think?"

"Y'really gotta win this, y'know Pat?" the big blond baseball player put his arm around his friend's shoulder "I really don't wanna stand here and watch - "

"Watch what?"

"Watch you and the team take it up the butt from a buncha - "

"Fuck! Like we want that?"

"Really doubt it!" O'Toole chuckled a bit, then dropped into his serious register "and yet..."

"Yet what, Tool?" something he rarely called him, unless he was really pissed.

"Tool?" Pat's gaze went to his friends full jock "looks like you the one showin tool, Moore."

"Don't remind me" Pat gave it a tug, noticing his bud not look away with embarrassment "gettin an eyeful?"

"Just startin is what I'm thinkin" O'Toole gave himself a tug as well, his perpetual semi-hard harder to hide with each passing moment.

"Damn will you stop that?"

"What?"

"Fuck O'Toole, if I didn't know better I'd say you get off on this" rubbing his pouch for emphasis.

"So..." Pat knew he had him now "so buddy, what did you need to talk to me about before?"

"Shit..." trying to keep his eyes off O'Toole's growing tube "this is so fucked..."

"Lemme guess" Pat removed his hand, letting Moore take in the full effect "you're not sure which you should be pissed about more: both of us figuring out now what almost happened on one of those vacations was something we were both down with... or" nodding at the coaches whistling the Iowa team back onto the field "or having it all come out like this, right?"

"Fuck..." Moose really wished he was wearing something over his jock at that point "you serious?"

"Serious Moore" Pat nodded again at the field "just don't lose okay? We gotta settle this, just the two of us, got it?"

"Got it" Moore put on his helmet and ran off.

"Don't LOSE!"

O'Toole waved over his shoulder at his bud as he was called back to the baseball diamonds. He was not there to witness the third quarter, or witness the penalty the army team had to perform with their score of twenty versus Iowa's twenty-four. Maybe they were not too keen on having to play bareass naked, all those sensative areas unprotected from full-bore tackles and such. If they had been playing flag football they might have continued with their regular aggressive game. But with the new dress code none were that eager to take risks with the family jewels. To some on the sidelines it even appeared they were trying to throw the game; they were trying to blow it. But when the third quarter penalty was announced, no one thought the army team would have wanted to play the entire fourth quarter wearing butt plugs!

Granted they were not as large or thick as some these the football players had seen the night before; these were more the "beginners' model" size, but still! When the shouts for "green shit! green shit! give'm the green shit!" were ignored the Iowa boys knew something was queer. The stink of a rigged game hung over the field thoughout the fourth quarter.

Moore was playing like his ass was on the line, which it was. He knew if he did not execute his best game this morning, there would be hell to pay. And his wide receivers, Ted and Louie were as surefooted as cheetahs. Cheetahs with glue-covered paws! Not a single fumble, not a single error. In one huddle Moore kidded they ought to play more games in their jocks if this was the result. They chuckled nervously but went on to make the first down.

So they were a bit surprised when those naked, plugged army guys managed to tie the score at twenty-seven all. That one army running back just broke free and once he was away no one could stop him. Even though he was running with a distracting rubber handicap up his ass. The way he returned to his scrimmage line after his score his smile looked like he was not minding it one bit. And his long uncut black dick was showing as much pride in his touchdown as his face. If that wasn't weird enough, seeing the place kicker tie the score with a full-blown hardon was worse. Like these army guys were enjoying this! Like they played naked and plugged all the time! The Iowa boys felt the goosebumps although it was well over eighty degrees by that point.

The final quarter dragged on from that score, neither team able to break though the other's defense. So it was almost an accident when Moore brought the Iowa team to their six-yard line, well within scoring distance. And it was pure accident when Durrell Davis, their short black fireplug of a linebacker just muscled his way over and then through the wall of the naked army defensive line and toppled himself for a touchdown. The Iowa team went wild!"

"We did it! We did it! We won!" Moore and half the team screamed, seeing less than a minute on the clock. No way could army score in that time, and they still had the conversion kick to do. Then they heard a few whistles from the coaches,

"Offsides! Number forty-six!"

"No WAY!" Howie screamed "I was way back here the whole time!" He was too small to rush the line and usually held back to protect the quarterback from any last-minute trickery. Howie barely had broken a sweat during the second half for all the plays he had.

"Coach he was NOT offsides" Moore joined in "he was never in front of me the whole fuckin game!"

"Swearing on the field" Coach Kramer yelled "Moore you're benched!"

"No way Coach! We only got fifty seconds left!"

"Frallicks! You're quarterback!" Kramer announced to the shock of the whole group.

"What?" Fred yelled "me? You're fuckin jokin right?"

"Fourth down, on twelve" Bill Driscoe brought his large frame to bear "clock's tickin boys."

"THIS AIN'T FAIR!" they yelled but they knew they had to do something. And fast! They went into the fastest huddle of their young careers, Fred shouting things only some of them understood then dashed to the scrimmage line. He yelled his play and then the two piles of bodies collided.

Fred could read the intentions of many of the army guys and reacted accordingly. When the two naked bodies came for him he dodged and went wide, avoiding a few hands as he crossed the line and started gaining yard after yard. Unfortunately only a few of his team knew he was going for the score himself. After all he was a runner, not a hotshot razzle-dazzle quarterback. But Fred ran. He was skipping and flipping here and there, doubling back once or twice and then he was crossing the two, then the one-yard line and

"Fumble!" an elbow rammed into Fred's right kidney and the ball went flying from his hands high into the air!

"Interception!" and a pair of long white legs was flying away from them. They were half-way down the field and flying away from the last Iowa boys, approaching the army ten-yard line long after the buzzer had gone off! He kept running and scored.

"Touchdown!" the army team yelled.

"Too late!" Iowa yelled.

"We were cheated!" Moore yelled.

Everyone was screaming and yelling too loud to hear Fred moaning at the one-yard line. He was not hurt, but his head was killing him. And he just knew the guys were going to blame him for his mistake, the fumble that cost them the game. He knew there was a "yellow square" in his immediate future, if not worse.

"Okay gentlemen" Coach Kramer whistled time and time again, getting little reaction "HEY!"

Even that familiar bellow of authority did not get the desired effect. But reinforcements were on the way across the field. And it wasn't the Third Army. It was two large men jogging at a good clip from the direction of the main building, both already sweating in the growing heat. The football players took no heed of them until there were arms grabbing various guys and separating the groups based on their uniforms, naked guys to the right, high school kids to the right. When the guys felt those huge hands on their shoulders - if they were lucky - or more sensative parts further south if they were really making a stink - they calmed down fast as the shock of recognition went from face to face.

"You!" Durrell yelled "Kruizer! What the fuck you - "

"Hoping ya might recognize me" giving him a shake and a punch for good measure "now ya gonna calm down or we gonna get serious here!"

"What the hell you DOIN here?"

"Here t'keep the peace, right Coach?" the huge black guy got Kramer's attention "hey Coach! Y'want me to break a few knees or - "

"Not yet!" the coach yelled back over the lessening chaos "might still need these guys for tonight. So you guys gonna settle down or - "

"Or we gotta start wailin on some of you girls!" the big guy known as "Kruiser" added "cause some of you known what a mean-ass bastard I can be, ain't that right Davis?"

"No do not hurt them" the other enforcer added "they will calm down now."

"C'mon Kroozhee" Jerry tried to break the hold his "Kroos" had on Fred "this ain't like you! You ain't all violent like - "

"There come times when a simple show of force proves necessary" the big musclebound sledgehammer the Iowa guys knew as "Doctor Kroozie" gave Fred's arm a hard shake for good measure then released his hold "now what about all this fighting? Why are you not practicing as - "

"They want us to..." Big Al started.

"The game was rigged!" Pat Moore yelled "we were supposed to - "

"Ya lost fair and square!" the naked quarterback of the army team yelled as well.

"I wasn't offsides!" Howie yelled "the call was BOGUS!"

"That is hardly a display of good sportsmanship" from the blond hairy "doctor" Kroose.

"Buncha candy-ass crybabies!" from the black, tattooed "Kruiser" next to him "so ya lost big deal!"

"Tell'm! Tell'm!" Moore yelled at Kramer "this ain't none of your 'yellow square' bull, tell them what you threaten us with if we - "

"We ain't doin it" Fred said. He did not scream or jump up and down. He stood there with his arms folded, his chin up "not this time. Not the way you intentionally threw the game like you did!"

"We didn't throw the game!" Moore yelled.

"No you" turning to Kramer and Driscoe "you two. You two planned this thing all along. And I know why! I know you were planning on using our asses as so many bargaining chips now the army here has taken over the camp - " waving down the yells and screams "and the only way to keep the peace around here was use us as a bunch of... what? Army whores? Well forget it Coach! It's over! Ain't happening!"

"Where the hell you think you're going?" Kramer saw Frallicks pick up his gear and start to leave.

"I'm going to shower and get some lunch" looking at his teammates "guys?"

"You leave and..."

"And what?" now Moore was turning the tide as well "you're gonna what? Kick us off the team? Send up home? Call our parents?" snorting a cynical laugh "yeah right! Cause we figured out we ain't goin nowhere anytime soon, ain't that right? Huh Coach?"

"Goddamnit Moore! Frallicks! Get your asses back here NOW!"

"Too late for that bullshit now coach" Big Al was defecting as well "I may be big but I ain't fuckin stupid!"

"Okay Puulsen! You just earned yourself time in the yellow square!" Kramer could see the massive mutiny forming, knowing he didn't have the manpower to back up his threats unless he somehow enlisted all these army guys as enforcers fast "I mean it!"

"Sorry Coach" Big Al shrugged "time for that bullshit is like way long gone."

"I mean it Pullsen!" seeing two or three more guys picking up their gear ready to leave "Frallicks! Moore!"

"Not so fast!" that one army guy finished a quick conference with his teammates "there's still the matter of penalty you guys - "

"Forget it!" Howie waved him away as well "we ain't - "

"Okay STOP!" blong Krooze blew his whistle "nobody will leave this field unless they want more trouble than they can possibly ever imagine. Back here NOW!"

"NOW!!" black Kruiser's voice boomed so loud there was an echo!

"We seem to have a... how you say?" Kroose looked at Kramer.

"A stand-off gentlemen" Kramer was very relieved to see the guys returning to the huddle "an impasse like..."

"An impasse that could bring more disruption and problems to this camp than..." Krooze started.

"What our boss here is trying to say" the army quarterback cut in "is right now we are all guests of our hosts" nodding at Krooze "but with the presence of our forces..."

"We're under martial law, just say it!" Fred glared at him.

"Not yet" Krooze's gaze scanned the group of naked army guys fast "but we hope to keep our new non-civilian guests placated as long as - "

"And that's where we come in" Fred knew he could not stop this avalanche, but he could push as many friends out of the way as he had time "ain't that right doc?"

"Yes, that is where you come in" Krooze looked at Kruiser then Driscoe.

"Okay guys... maybe a compromise... maybe we can work out a deal here with these guys" not daring to look at the growing tension forming in the ranks.

"Compromise?" Moore asked.

"Compromise" Fred tried to hide the smirk "yeah, here it comes..."

"Maybe we can settle this between the two of us" Moore looked at the army quarterback "you! What's your name?"

"Sargeant Sam Aronson" the fit, tightly muscled guy, barely into his twenties almost came to attention "you?"

"Pat Moore" sizing up his foe "looks like you and me gotta come up with something."

"We can jaw all we want" his hand trailing down the sweat on his chest and belly, down to his brown pubes "after you give it up. Like we agreed."

"So that's it?" one of the linebackers, a chunky brown-skinned guy also sweating bullets in the sun jumped forward "only you two get yer rocks off? The rest of us bust our ass and now shit outa luck?"

"No way!" the army guys started yelling and protesting. Now the two "Krooses" had a different group to quiet, the coaches wanting no part of this now.

"Compromise, men!" Krooze held up his hands "a plan?"

"We played naked and worse!" another army guy, a round redhead his pale skin already starting to burn yelled out "now we get to pop our rocks! Like you promised!"

"But not all of us!" Fred knew he was falling into their trap, but at least it was that horrible compromise like Doc Krooze kept suggesting "just the two quarterbacks!"

"No way!" the army guys yelled back.

"Okay!" Aronson held up his hands "I'm pullin rank here! Okay only HALF the team! Just to show I ain't playing favorites, just the... defensive line!"

"What about us?" some of his fellow offensive line yelled.

"No way!" Big Al yelled, all two-ten pounds of defensive lineback was not looking forward to bending over and taking army dick up his ass "too many!"

"Yes all!" from the army.

"Only one!" from the Iowa team. And Fred knew it would stall or worse if he didn't do something "hey Howie?"

"What?"

"You got any cards here?"

"What do you think I am? Some kinda - "

"Never mind" Fred found Kramer "coach!"

"What?"

"Gimme your clipboard!"

"What for?"

"To avoid nuclear war here, okay?"

"What kinda shit you pulling, Frallicks?" but Kramer handed Fred what he needed. Fred found a blank sheet of paper, and started scrawling on it fast. Before Kramer could catch up, he tore them into twelve pieces, crumpled them up and tossed the scraps into a nearby helmet.

"Guys!" Fred yelled over the arguing "GUYS!" and Kramer blew his whistle to get their attention.

"Better!"

"What is it you are doing?" Krooze came over to him.

"Like you don't know" Fred looked at him, muttering something under his breath. Krooze jumped back a step before he could compose himself. He was not expecting to hear Fred explain himself. In Romanian!

"Gentlemen!" Krooze yelled until everyone quieted, giving himself time to recover as well "Mister Frallicks here has proposed a rather..." narrowing his eyes at Fred "clever compromise. Here is the suggestion: your quarterback, Mister - I am sorry - Sargeant Aronson will draw a piece of paper from this helmet. It will be a number between one and twelve. That many... volunteers... will agree to the terms of the outcome of your game. Do you understand?"

"You mean we don't all...?" another one of the army guys whined.

"Maybe, maybe not. Only the number of the draw. It could be as many as twelve..."

"Or only one" Sargeant Aronson held the helmet high "if any of your grunts don't like it, you gonna settle with me later, got it?"

There was a great deal of mumbling and grumbling but after Aronson singled out one or two of the loudest guys, they nodded their heads.

"Aren't y'forgettin somethin?" Fred looked at Krooze.

"What?"

"You remember what I said" in Romanian, he almost added.

"But! You do not expect - "

"The good doctor here is too shy to say it so I will. For him!" shouting over Krooze's protests "just so you know there are no hard feelings, if the number's five or higher, Krooze himself volunteered to take one of our places" waving at his Iowa team "ain't that right?"

"But! No! Wait! I mean..."

"He means he would be happy to be an honorary member of our football team, just this once!" hearing the cheers from both groups "remember Doc, it's all about teamwork and compromise!"

"You play a dangerous game, Fred" but he was pulling off his shirt. Beneath it his body hair displayed a darker hue than the blond on his head, but what it lacked in lightness it made up in volume. The family resemblance was jaw dropping "for this insignificant stunt you may expect to earn many points... tonight" drilling into Fred's eyes.

"Wouldn't have it any other way sir" Fred looked at the army quarterback "well?"

"This better not be rigged!" his hand was swirling around inside the helmet.

"Y'mean like that game?" Howie was past being intimidated by these guys. But he knew a lot was riding on the outcome. And a voice in his head told him he and his fellow Iowa team had the slimmest advantage now. Even though he could not see it more clearly. And until he could he had no intentions of letting anyone get away with the usual shit any more "so?"

Aronson pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and set the helmet down. He opened the wad and read "five!"

"No fuckin way! Ain't fair!" the expected protest from the army guys "it's rigged!"

"Are you sure?" Krooze was down to his boxer briefs already. The sun was beginning to bake his exposed flesh, the waistband of the shorts already damp with the sweat running down from his pelt "look. Check the other slips."

"Wait!" Aronson grabbed the helmet again, some of the pieces of paper flying "no!" picking up the loose ones and returning them inside "okay men. This is how it's gonna be! Each of you defenses pick one of these papers - there're only eleven left so ya snooze y'lose! Do it!" a collision of fists digging into the helmet almost knocking it from Aronson's fist "better hurry, Stevens! Collson! Dewsky!" as the last of the slips were taken.

"What a rip-off! It's all rigged!" Stevens got one of the last ones.

"Okay" Aronson was back in charge "you guys look at your numbers. If you see any duplicates, or any blanks, these high school punks're are roadkill! If the numbers are legit like this big ape says" nodding at the half-naked Krooze "then this is how it goes down: Any dudes holding one through five - oh yeah I got five!" chuckling "one through four, you guys stay. The rest of you get your sorry asses back to camp and clean up!"

"We can at least offer the use of our facilities in Gymnasium C" Driscoe piped up.

"And Coach Driscoe can help them find the way?" Kramer wanted to send the suddenly quiet Driscoe on his mission "and provide any assistance they may need?"

"AwRIGHT!" Private Dewsky held up his crumpled piece of paper "lucky two!"

"Shit!" Private Collson held up his "six! Do over!"

"Take a lap soldier" Aronson pointed where Coach Driscoe was collecting the unlucky soldiers.

"Okay we're burnin daylight here" Aronson looked at his men "who got one?"

"Me sir" it was a stubby barrel of a guy, his bare shoulders already red under the sun.

"Okay Griff" Aronson looked again "we know who got two. Number three?"

"Too sweet to eat!" from a big shouldered black guy.

"Figures" Aronson smirked "that dick of yours finally gettin some play huh Tyler? And who got winning number four?"

"I got eight!" a buzzed guy with strawberry stubble already turning into a lobster "can I just do half a guy?" looking at little Kenny "like that kid?"

"Nice try Sawyer" Aronson nodded at the guys leaving "make tracks. Okay last call. Who got four?"

"Do we haveta?" it was that big ox, Private Second Class Harry Garrells, looking almost ashamed to have a winning number.

"Shit Garrells!" from his buddy, Sam Johnson "if y'ain't interested I sure as fuck'll take yer place!"

"Garrells what's the problem?" Aronson came over to him "y'ain't interested?" like asking the big guy if he didn't like cheeseburgers!

"It's just y'know..." he looked at the ground "like forcin kids'n all. Ain't right, y'know?" like it was his ass on the line or something.

"What if we volunteered" several heads almost got whiplash spinning around so fast. It was big round Dano of all people!

"What you pullin Dano?" Carlito looked at his friend "you got fuckin sunstroke or shit?"

"Just for instance like..." Dano Alverez, all two hundred pounds of bulked muscle shrugged those huge delts, his traps disappearing into his thick neck "coach?"

"Dano, I haven't picked which five of you guys played the worst - "

"Or best!" Fred and Pat answered simultaneously "cause if you want us to do this, then WE the ones deciding. Got it coach?"

"I'm still the coach here" Kramer got right into Moore's face "and don't you for-"

"Too late for that shit" Fred was right there as well "you ain't any more a coach than this is still a sports camp! We're all playin along with our army 'guests' now. And that means you too coach! So when this goes down, WE the ones deciding. Dano?"

"Yeah?"

"You really volunteering?"

"Ah... well... maybe" looking at Carlito "if that ain't too - "

"Dude it's your funeral" but Carlito started to give him a big hug then pulled away. Instead they bounced bellies and chuckled "this I gotta see!"

"Gary?" Dano went up to the big teddy bear of a soldier.

"Garrells, call me Harry."

"If nobody's like forcin me... then...?"

"You are one big dude" Harry leaned in and whispered "y'ever do anything like this before?"

Dano just shrugged "ain't being forced here..."

"Number four" Harry tossed his wadded up piece of paper back in the helmet "I guess..."

"Two down, three to go" Sargeant Aronson looked at the Iowa team "so you guys decide yet?"

"Decide on...?" Kenny was not dealing with this well. He should have been off the field long before with the other offensive team, but seeing his two buds, Dano and Carlito, his "buddy guards" as he called them, almost eager to stick their heads in this noose, was something he could not handle. Since he joined the team those two had "adopted" him, like their little anglo mascot, tormenting him and hassling him non-stop, usually in fun, but sometimes their jiving had a nasty edge, usually when the jokes turned sexual. They tortured him endlessly about still being a virgin, even accusing him of being all homo on them, cause he never got any pussy. And they buried Kenny under endless monologs about their own conquests, but Kenny knew most of it was pure bullshit. Hell they couldn't even keep the names and dates straight, they were so full of it. So the last few days were a real education to all three of them. Because Kenny would never admit what their mascot always wanted was to bury his face in the crotches of his "buddy guards" or worse. The previous night in their room it almost came to that, but at the last minute, when the cameras were rolling and flashing, Kenny sucked off another roommate, Big Al instead, but was watching blond Tim out of the corner of his eye as he went down on Carlito instead. Between big Al's thick lob in his mouth and the sight of Carlito hard and spasming his load onto Tim's face, Kenny's cock erupted all by itself. The rest of the night he had to endure constant digs about having the hots for big Al! Al thought it was flattering; Kenny did not have the guts to correct them.

Everyone assumed the twins, Tom and Tim, would be the ones to "volunteer" to fill the final spots. But Pat told them to hit the showers, this was for the defensive line only.

"But you're volunteering!" Tom countered "and you're the quarterback!"

"So that's why I gotta stay, got it?" not that Pat was looking forward to being buttfucked in broad daylight with the whole world watching. But it was a matter of pride now. And there was a nagging voice barely acknowledged, reminding him one of the people watching would be Pat O'Toole! Why that was important he could not sort out to save his life.

"So we gotta pick numbers again?" Kramer checked his watch "or I gotta start callin out names?"

"Y'ain't callin nothin" Big Al looked at somebody who owed him major favors "Jeff and me volunteering!"

Jeff Simmons had been hanging towards the back, trying to see if anyone would notice him leaving with the offensive line. He did owe Al many favors, the biggest of them when Al covered for him the night he caught Jeff emerging from that adult bookstore twenty miles out of town. And when Al caught of glimpse of what kind of mags he had lifted from that place, Jeff swore Al to secrecy. Big Al would only agree to keep those gay mags a secret if Jeff let Al suck that big dick of his whenever and wherever he wanted. Once or twice they almost got caught in the locker room at school, but the sight of that huge guy on his knees in front of the homecoming king was too incredible for anyone to believe. So they didn't. And what really sealed their pact was the one time they were down by the river, in the middle of the day! and Big Al rolled onto his stomach and did not so much ask, but tell Jeff he was going to fuck him right then and there, even with all those other people sunbathing not fifty yards away, even a few going past in boats, some returning time and time again. Only a few of the closer ones could see the fat cow under that muscular teenager was not a girl!

"C'mon Al! This ain't the time!" Jeff tried to laugh it off "just because - "

"Because what?" Al shrugged right back "because of all that shit last night?"

"You weren't there!"

"Don't need to be. Just saw what we did in my room and used my imagination. Tellin me you and Driscoe and those Minnesota animals - "

"Minnesota?" Howie tried to look shock and disgusted "you did shit with - "

"And got the film to prove it" Driscoe was returning across the field "last night was too - "

"So Jeff, y'volunteering or do I gotta volunteer ya?" Al was kicking the rusty gears around in his head, trying to figure out a way to switch things around so Jeff here could be the one riding his ass instead of that big lummox with the gentle eyes. He would have to settle for a close second, he guessed.

"Puulsen remind me to - "

"Yeah yeah, beat my ass, got it, Simmons" Al looked around "one slot left..."

"Keep it" Tim looked at Krooze "y'don't gotta say anything" looking at the other linemen "these dudes don't know we got history, right doc? Guess only us guys in Western Division know your whole story, huh doc?"

"Look Tim, just because you and those two - "

"Y'can fill these guys in some other time" Tim shrugged "as long as you keep Morrison away from me and" scanning the faces of his fellow football players "yeah Coach Morrison, that guy. We had a little... disagreement last night, y'might say. But the good doctor here is going to take care of that, right Krooze?"

"Yes, of course, if that is what you want."

"That's what Jerry and I both want" looking around to make sure he had left with the other offensive players "so we got an agreement?"

"Yes of course" Krooze knew he was responsible for Tim being at the camp this week. He had been one of the first to be part of the experiments conducted in his Iowa jurisdiction. At first he was not sure such young patients were optimal, but his brother Jaros in Wisconsin was reporting great success with members of a wrestling team who had been put at his disposal. When the sponsors saw firsthand the results of an ordeal between a local amateur bodybuilder and one of the larger wrestlers named Mark, Krooze could not believe his ears. But as his brother explained to him, if these young recruits could produce such amazing results, think of what might happen when the machines were incorporated as well! And then Krooze heard about his brother's initial experiments with the machines; then he heard no further. So what was Krooze to do except try to reduplicate some of his brother's earlier results with his own patients. And then Tim returned to his office to get the verdict on his initial exam.

Krooze had Tim out of his clothes and into a gown as fast as he could without arousing further suspicions. Krooze used the ploy of a broken air conditioner which his brother had used with such success during the exam of one of wrestler's fathers, a former weight lifter he referred to as "Mister B". So when Krooze mentioned the heating issue to Tim, he was surprised it was Tim who suggested he should lose the lab coat. By the time Tim was on the table, naked and strapped, it seemed only logical Krooze's shirt and then his pants should join his coat in the cabinet. Krooze tried to mask Tim's hardon with some slight massages to his inner thighs, but they both knew what it was that got the young blond musclehead's thick dick so hard; it was where the kid's eyes returned again and again.

"S-s-s-so... y'like y'know... work out and stuff?" Tim knew he was just digging himself deeper and deeper. And if word of this got out to the other guys on his football team, he was would wish he were dead. And if his bud Jerry found out! Or if the doc found out about Jerry either! And here he lay with the biggest, most incriminating hardon possible! Tim knew he was in an impossible situation.

"As a matter of fact I did" Krooze did all he could to keep a straight face "does this bother you?" pointing at his sweat-stained athletic shirt. His baggy undershorts were not much drier.

"N-n-n-no..." Tim lied "it's just..."

"It is just what?" Krooze continued to palpate various lymph nodes in no particular order "does the camera make you nervous? Shall I turn if off?"

"NO!" Tim shouted "no... I mean..." keep it on! he thought. At least as long as it's on, I know things won't get REAL nasty, he assured himself.

"Very well..." Kroos returned to the counter and his clipboard "all of your results look fine except..."

"Except what?" oh shit here it comes, Tim thought.

"Well..." Kroos made sure he was standing where Tim got a good look at the fly of his boxers "were you aware your blood tests would return positive for steroid use?"

"What?" Tim prayed he did not hear that right "my what?"

"According to your last visit, you show a slightly elevated steroid level - "

"No doc that can't be!"

"As well as HGH levels. Do you know what - "

"Yeah doc I know what that means!"

"Are you saying these results are in error? Should I communicate with your coach we need to repeat - "

"No! Leave him out of this okay?"

"So you admit - "

"We did it once! Okay? Like way back last September okay?" Tim was hoping this would kill that hardon if nothing else. But everytime he lifted his head, there was all that hairy flesh poking out of those damp clothes, all those muscles on that guy more shotputter than doctor, just standing there in his lumpy underwear, almost like he was taunting Tim, like he knew it was a matter of time before he would crack "but I swear never again! Okay? Please don't tell my - "

"Well Mister Tucker" Krooze put down his clipboard and returned to Tim's side, his right hand scratching at his belly "we have a problem here..."

"No doc, please. I'll do anything, just don't tell - "

"I imagine your coach, not to mention your parents, would look upon your use of controlled substances with something less than enthusiasm, am I correct?"

"Please doc. What I gotta do to - "

"Well there is one thing that might... how wouldwe say... put your one-time mistake in the proper light..."

"Please doc, anything! Just tell me!"

"Well as you know or may have heard..." Krooze's hand homed in on Tim's scrotum "we are beginning certain... research. Certain types of... exams..." his hand not needing to touch Tim's cock to get it up and hard again "for which you appear to be... a most worthy candidate."

"What? How? Me?"

"Yes Tim, you."

"What do I gotta do, tell me!"

"Well..." Krooze's hand wormed its way between Tim's thighs, back towards the forbidden zone "what would be your reaction if..." Krooze's hand left Tim's crack and returned to his own front, lifting the front of his athletic shirt "if I were to remove this."

"Shit, fine... I don't care..."

"You don't?" Krooze needed to make his point, so he undid Tim's wrist straps "what if I asked you to do it?"

"What?"

"This is what we will do" Krooze looked deep in thought "you remove the last of my clothes, and if your erection remains in its current impressive shape, it will be your tacit permission for this afternoon to continue and your blood tests will... let us say remain as private as that" nodding at the camera "you agree?"

"You saying...?" we gonna do the nasty here?

"If you demostrate a certain... enthusiasm... and willingness to take a certain initiative then we will proceed with a new procedure."

"What 'new' procedure?"

"Do you wish to demostrate the... endurance of what is between your legs?"

"Do I have a choice?" and Tim pulled off Krooze's white top, having as much difficulty keeping his hands from rubbing all over that hairy chest as keeping his dick down. By the time Tim pulled down Krooze's boxers, his big uncut dick was already sticking out of the fly. Tim's mouth followed his hand down into the doc's crotch and before he knew it, Krooze's cock was being replaced by something larger and metallic in Tim's ass. By the time the machines milked the third orgasm from his muscular body, Tim knew he had sealed his fate. And the worst part was he could not run home and call Jerry and tell him everything. He put himself through the torturous exam just so Jerry did NOT know.

"Okay!" Kramer yelled "Tucker, Pullsen, Duena, Moore..." looking at Krooze "you four guys takin the hit for the team..."

"As must I" Krooze just like that yanked down his khaki shorts, letting everyone get a good look at his freshly-shaved crotch. Like his red chafed meat needed more attention.

"What the hell happened to you?" Tim knew that cock intimately, and could see the difference.

"Last night was very..." Krooze looked at Kramer "busy."

"Awright!" Sargeant Aronson was making no attempts to hide his jacking "who goes first?"

"And where?" Moore looked around the field, seeing as many guys arriving as leaving "we really doin it here huh?"

"Yeah we're doin it here!" Kramer was doing all he could to hide his frustration. As much as his dick wished to be on the army team right now, he had to bide his time. His chance to pound some nice jock ass was still to come "you! Pullsen! Go get that bench from the sidelines!"

"So we don't get grass stains?" Moore tried to joke, but this was no joke. He was going to take dick up the ass, and just lay there on his stomach with the entire place watching.

"Ain't no need!" Kruizer yelled over at Big Al already muscling one of the benches over his shoulder like it was nothing "leave it!"

"And?" Kramer knew that look, dreading what the black monster was contemplating.

"Just showin these boys we mean business" his huge fist was down at his waist undoing his belt.

"No!" Moore yelled, giving himself away as he did.

"Time to show these boys how deep they in now" and Kruizer pulled down his jeans, then down went his white briefs as well. His crotch was shaved as well, the large blue tattoo where his pubes would have been. Before anyone could run from what was hanging between his legs, he went over to his gymbag and pulled something from the bottom, tossing it at Krooze. By the time Krooze had the cap off and the red gel smeared onto his fingers, Kruizer had found a spot in the middle of the field on Iowa's thirty yard line. The way he planted himself there on his hands and knees, almost daring anyone to budge his two-eighty pounds of tattooed bulk, he let his intentions become clear to even the most dense in the group.

"Holy fuck!" Dano yelled "what the hell..."

"We do not have all morning" Krooze was right behind that wide black ass, already rubbing the smooth crack with more than enough gel. When he applied even more to his own abused cock, then pressed forward into that waiting ass, the guys went nuts!

"What the hell? What the fuck you DOING?" Sargeant Aronson's voice the loudest "what about - "

"You army grunts supposed t'be smart" Kramer took another tube from his own bag and started smearing something green deep into that furry crack on Krooze "number one!"

"What?" from that macktruck of a bruiser Griff "who?"

"Okay Griff" Sargeant Aronson shook his head, not believing what he was seeing "you need a diagram? Ya expect me t'hold it for ya?"

"Y'mean...?" Griff looked at the two already fucking in the middle of the field "like...?"

"Give ya ten seconds or lose your turn."

"Can I at least get this fucker outa my ass?" reminding his sargeant most of the army guys were still wearing their plugs from before.

"After you do your duty soldier!"

"Damn..." beer belly and all strode over to that upturned ass, all that light brown hair letting Griff know there was no mistake he was fucking a dude's ass, not a chick's. He did not need to crouch much before he felt a greased hand reach around and start to smear something green and slippery all over his fat dickhead. By the time the burning and itching signals got to his brain, Krooze's hand was guiding Griff's hardening dick into his crack. Griff's cock made contact with that green pucker and he barely had the head past the ring when he was emptying his balls all over Krooze's ass. Talk about turning beet red under the morning sun!

"Two!" Aronson yelled "Dewsky! You're up."

"Watch out for this fuckin shit!" Griff was doing what he could to wipe the green gel off himself, struggling to remove the plug at the same time "it's like spanish fly or shit!"

"Just because y'can't hold your load" Dewsky saw the big hairy guy pull off that human bench "oKAY!" not that he needed to tug on himself to get himself hard. Ever since Krooze had impaled the black hulk beneath him, Dewsky knew he had died and gone to heaven. His seven inches of uncut meat was ready and able "I get to pick right?"

"You get to pick" Kramer looked at the Iowa boys "just don't take all - "

"You!" Dewsky found his victim "blond kid!"

"Me?" Tim knew his time was up.

"Assume the position!" Kramer barked. Not that Tim was adverse to his uncut meat going up that huge muscled ass on Kruiser. Before he knew it, Tim had his cock lubed and was guided into Kruiser's hole. Tim had barely processed the fact this guy must have been on the receiving end of several cocks - several BIG cocks! - all week he was so loose, before his own ass was being rubbed with what he could feel was that damn green lube. He settled on top of that very warm, moist back beneath him when his own ass was penetrated by yet another cock, this one as hard and thin as Jerry's before. When he felt it plunging deep and hit that zinger inside him, Tim realized where he was! He was bent over Morrison's ass, with Jerry pounding his beautiful, sexy dick deep into his willing ass, but he could hear voices, LOTS of voices, surrounding him everywhere. Some were coming from the guys forming a circle around them, some football players returning from their showers, many of the army guys, wet towels wrapped around their still dripping bodies, and even some baseball players joining the throng, all of them standing around the three joined bodies, cheering and yelling out encouragement. But Tim could also hear other voices, from all over the camp! Even some in communication with the radio operators in that one tent, various voices muffled and crackling through the atmospherics. Tim was starting to separate the various transmissions when he felt something slimy and hot pumping into him, knowing the connection would be severed as soon as Dewsky's cum was deposited in his butt, and then he was pulling the plug. All Tim could hear were cheers then.

"Three!" boomed over the growing crowd. All eyes turned to that wide-shouldered black soldier. And his eyes turned to

"You!"

"Me?" Big Al looked at Harry "but..."

"I'm one mean muthahfuckerin asshole" sneering at Harry "takin yer pussy away from ya like this!"

"Tyler!" Tim yelled "Private Tyler!"

"What?" he spun around, his rage pouring off him "stay outa this boy!"

"How you get in the army in the first place?" Tim looked at Harry, reading the emotions the big soldier was walling up behind his calm sweating face. Then Tim looked at Aronson "you know about this guy?"

"ShutUP fool!"

"What about Tyler?" Aronson did not want problems at this point, not now with a growing audience for their victory-lap as it were "what about - "

"You know this guy has warrants out - "

"Shut UP!"

"Dude has a rapsheet as long as - "

"Pick somebody else" was all Harry said. Those three words brought the House of Tyler tumbling down around his ears.

"I'll get yer sorry ass!" Tyler spat at Tim, then turned to Dano "homey!"

"What?" but Dano knew this was coming for a long time. Even when he saw that fearsome Kruiser bend over and let everyone pile on top of him, Dano could see their three bodies slammed together, black brown black, with him as the cream filling "like it's all that..." knowing he out-dicked the cocky soldier by half. At least. And if there was something Dano had put on his wish list since he came to this fucked-up camp it was feeling his thick uncut dick pressing deep into... damn!

Dano had no experience with the green gel until it was being jammed into his hole still recovering from the pounding it took not twelve hours before. But he would be willing to have that whole fuckin tube shoved up his shitter for the rest of the week if it meant he could spend just one more minute deep inside Kruizer's perfect fuckhole!

"Hurry up!" Dano yelled behind him, ignoring the cheering and yelling all around him "get that fucker - AAAAHH!"

Dano had braced for the size of Tyler's cock but not the ferocity of his attack. He almost toppled himself and Kruizer onto the grass with the force of that soldier's thrusts into him. Luckily Kruizer was a very very big guy. And somehow the two of them managed to withstand the murderous ramming into Dano's sore ass. Had that dick been as big as his own, Dano would be splitting in two. But the dude was an amateur, even if a very horny amateur. And even if Tyler had the staying power of a first timer, Dano was pumping his morning load deep inside Kruizer's hole again and again, in time to that bruiser beneath him yelling "oh yeah! oh yeah! fuck! fuck!" with each burning spasm. Dano's butt filling with Tyler's load was almost an afterthought compared to the intensity of jizzing inside the biggest, hottest dude in the whole camp!

"Better hurry" Big Al looked into those brown eyes of Harry "I could pop as easy as Dano there..."

"Look... we don't have to... I mean..." Harry's big fat hardon was already leaking.

"Shit stud..." Al smiled "just go slow okay?" and Al eased his cock into Kruizer's slimy oozing hole. When it clamped down on it Al almost shot off then and there "I mean hurry!"

Harry had seen Big Al's glazed look on another face once before. It was that little twig of a red-haired kid back at camp, named Erv or Ern something. He stumbled across him late at night, wandering around in a daze. The two went back to Harry's worksite, the kid resigned to whatever fate awaited him there. When the two just snuggled in Harry's office, the sounds of the midnight shift all around them, Harry was happy to give the kid some quiet time, away from the crazy noisy overcrowded conditions back in the "civilian relocation centers" as they were euphemized. More like DP camps, Harry knew. When Harry felt himself grow hard against the kid he panicked. He did not want the kid to think Harry brought him back there to rape his teenage ass! Not that this sort of thing was happening all over the camp, sometimes in secret, sometimes openly organized for the "relaxation" of the troops. So when Harry felt the kid's hand run down to his uniform-covered bone, and then something warm brush against his face, Harry froze. But after the fourth or fifth time he pushed the kid's hand away from his perpetual hardon, he let the kid kiss him. Nothing felt more wrong or more right in his life. And after the fourth or fifth time he pushed the kid's mouth away from his open fly, he knew it was going to happen. And after he emptied his nuts into the kid's mouth, it only seemed fair Harry return the favor. And there was something endearing about hearing the kid call him Moose! Moose! Somehow being called a moose was better than the usual "fat ox!" which seemed to be the nickname of choice around his platoon. So if Harry did not have a soft spot in his heart after that amazing blowjob, hearing his new nickname sealed the deal.

Harry saw that same expression, that tender yet uncontrollable lust on Big Al's face. Only this time Harry had no fear of breaking his partner. Unlike that slender, almost delicate kid, this guy looked like someone he could go out brawling and boozing with, someone who would cover his ass. The thought of trading fucks with this big ox - shit NOW who's the dumb ox? - of a high school football player was making his dick burp pre-cum like nobody's business! And fuck it if they had about a thousand eyes on their bods, a thousand hoarse voices yelling at them. Like that really was going to matter!

Harry felt the tingling on his fingers before he came anywhere near that big muscled ass on the guy,

"Sorry, this is some nasty shit..."

"I'm useta it. Just go easy okay?"

"Sorry I'm so big - "

"Not that! I can take that totally awesome tool of yours" Big Al smiled over his shoulder "I just wanna make this so fuckin hot for you - "

"Yer doin that now."

"Don't want ya shootin off til ya get yer money's worth stud, okay?" and even before Al's sausage was in place, he was leaning back into Harry's oozing dick "go real slow okay?" reaching behind himself and grabbing Harry in the balls "this will take the edge off."

Harry was buried deep and even getting in a few thrusts before Al could get up the nerve to lean forward into Kruizer's twitching ass. He just knew that once he felt that hole start to milk his cock it would be curtains! For both of them! So when he felt Harry's hands return the favor to his balls, yanking and twisting them like mad, he knew the two were on the same page. Somehow the growing audience got wise to their situation, even starting to count along with each of their thrusts. The two could hear the chants "forty! forty-one! forty-two!" from all around them, even hearing bets being made if they would make it to a hundred! As hard as they tried, the soldier who bet seventy-two won. Both Harry and Big Al lost their holds on each other's balls as they erupted simulaneously into the asses beneath them. They were already in a tight bearhug before the applause diminished.

Moore caught Pat O'Toole's face in the crowd just as he lowered his cock into that green-slimed hole. Kruizer felt the difference and reached beneath himself, jacking his battering ram like crazy, knowing this was the grand finale. O'Toole angled himself closer, until he was in the line of sight in front of Moore. And when Moore felt his cock slide in to the hilt he almost lost it seeing O'Toole lower the front of his pants and started pulling on his hardon like this was his own personal jack-off fantasy.

"Okay quarterback" Moore heard behind him "y'ready for this army enema?"

"Fuck, just get it over with" Moore groaned, feeling the sharp tapered head press into his ungreased hole. But that bastard had no intentions of slamming it into him; instead his game was to tease Moore with just the tip, diddling and poking, prodding and jabbing until Moore was so wound up he reached behind Aronson's back and pulled the sargeant's dick into him. A loud gasp and then cheers went through the dozens and dozens of guys pressing in around them, seeing the star quarterback just begging to get slammed like a sex-crazed nympho. The three were so into it they did not notice Tim Tucker's blond shoulders disappear beneath Kruizer's heaving midsection. But the way Kruizer threw his head back when Tim's mouth found his cock was signal enough to anyone with the eyes to see. And one of those sets of wide eyes belonged to newly-showered Fred Frallicks who was signaled by Tim before he disappeared beneath all those flexing shining black muscles. As soon as Fred's mouth was on Tim's dick in turn, the two of them were downloading everything Sargeant Aronson was pumping into Moore's ass. It was relatively easy to tune out Kruizer's "fuck me fuck me suck me suck me" but not so easy to lower the volume of all those signals coming from their quarterback. There were layers of layers of images having to do with a certain Mister O'Toole wacking off in the outer circle, as well as the head-on collision of lust and guilt that were jamming the remaining signals. But once Tim and Fred crawled over the tumbleweeds that were Kruizer's and Pat Moore's brains, they found the motherlode! Sargeant Aronson had been briefed on what to expect when the choppers under his command landed, how much he could reveal about the imminent global meltdown and to whom! But his orders failed to include two high school kids who were mastering the art of mindreading. But who were inept amateurs when it came to the annoying problem of

"What THE HELL?!?!" voices were screaming around them "what ARE THEY DOING?"

Moore was too into watching O'Toole's fist match his hip thrusts, the two of them getting ready to blow their loads simultaneously. Something they both had wanted but screwed up too many times in the past. Even with Moore mouthing "fuck me Pat! fuck me Pat!" right in O'Toole's face, the threesome, or now fivesome! just assumed the screaming around them was outrage at such total over-the-top out-of-control rutting. None in that pile-up was aware of the growing blue bubble spreading out from their joined jerking bodies. They were not away of the ring of guys backing away from them, some tumbling and falling over feet behind them, screaming as the glowing bubble grew and overtook them where they lay, spreading outward and enveloping the fallen in the brightening haze, some of the bodies spasming and convulsing as the crackling edge reached their crotches, wet stains appearing at the end of the hard tubes showing through their pants. But most of the audience was falling back fast, some breaking into a run to escape heaven-knows-what!

Krooze and Kroos were battling their way in the opposite direction, trying to force their way towards the middle of the field as everyone else was fleeing outwards. Once or twice they had to knock somebody off their feet to make their way towards the five connected bodies. They braced when they penetrated the edge of the bubble, the electric jolt almost knocking them backwards, then they were inside.

From inside the bubble they could see not so much the five guys as five shining beacons of white shimmering light. Kroos was already pulling Aronson off Moore when his brother yelled "look!"

Kroos looked where his brother was pointing. Straight overhead they could see the rippling opalescence of their breaking bubble. And even higher they could make out quite clearly the steady and much larger bubble over their entire camp, the one being produced on a round-the-clock basis from the depths of the those basement labs. And through that membrane of safety they could see something else. A crazy-quilt spiders web of dozens and dozens of multi-colored contrails, green and yellow but primarily bright magentas and purples crisscrossing, slashing the blue summer sky . Except they weren't contrails.

"If a way were found to transfer Information into

the future, and if time travel works in such a way

that Information then from the future could then

be transferred into the past as far as the moment

of the invention of the first time machine, then what

you effectively have is all the resources of the entire

future history of our species becoming available

to us a millisecond after we invent this kind of a device.

It is a perfect and extreme example of what I call

'the forward escape'. It is essentially a siren,

we're building a siren which calls the resources

of future humanity, millions and millions of years

in the future, into the late twentieth century,

or early twenty-first century historical situation.

And it does it without the intervention of flying saucers,

without the violation of natural law, without the

summoning of Galactic Ecologists who come in flying saucers.

It is the generation of the 'perfect tool'. It explains how

the cultural process of tool-making ends in its own

self-transcendence... In the same way in quantum physics

as you get "virtual tunneling" where a particle appears

mysteriously on the other side of an energy barrier,

without ever having acquired enough energy to pass

over the barrier, so that it is said it 'tunneled back'.

I think Information from this hyper-temporal domain

beyond the End of History, a very small of this

information "tunnels backward" naturally,

as a kind of 'leaky process'. And this is what

shamanism and religious sensitivity and poetry

and everything that characterizes our humanism is about.

We are quite literally that animal that can sense the future.

And being able to sense it, over the past one hundred

thousand years, we have gone in search of it,

in the same way that an animal can smell water

on the wind, and can then go in search of water,

and eventual find the water hole. Because of our

large brain capacity, because Information is quantum

mechanically expressed in the brain, we can smell the future,

and have been able to do so for fifty, sixty thousand years...

A definition of a shaman is someone who has seen the end,

that if you see the end a great deal of anxiety leaves you

and then you are able to relate to people, love them,

cure them, advise them. And they sense in you a kindof transparency

about the future that is just not present anywhere else...

And I feel that is what my function is, to talk about this

information flowing out of the future and try and create

metaphors, linguistic nets that can hold it. To the degree

that we can embody and communicate this future information

we embody and communicate the solution. Because to the degree

that we can assure ourselves and communicate among ourselves

that this is happening we can lose some of our anxiety

about what is happening to our species and our planet...

We are bootstrapping ourselves toward our own future..."

Terence McKenna Vertigo at History's Edge

"Will you knock it off!" Moose punched Ernie, then grabbed him in a tight bearhug not letting go.

"Let go" Ernie giggled and tried to pull away, pure Connecticut vervus California "I'm trying to eat here!"

"Eat this!" Moose grabbed himself in his crotch then realized his mistake when Ernie did nosedive into his lap "geez! Not now!"

"Okay you two" Billy laughed, looking across the table at Big Hank "don't just sit there, do something! OWW!" feeling Big Hank's foot in his own lap then "good to see you too!"

"So what WAS it?" Ernie repeated his question "I was inside when it happened and - "

"Fuckin major atmospheric discharge" Mitch yelled over from the baseball knot "like a damm bomb going off!"

"I tell ya it's da end of da woild" howled Jorge in his best fright-night falsetto. He got his tray full of seconds flipped into his face for his efforts.

"Serves ya right, wetback!" Terry the Hulk smirked at him, trying to look innocent.

"Don't make me come over there!" Moose yelled at Terry, rising and looking all threatening.

"And do what?" Terry rose as well. The way he flexed his shoulders and arms it looked like that long-postponed fight was about to break. Moose lept the six strides over to him until they were face to face, chin to chin, their eyes boring into each other "and...?"

"One Two! Make me blue!" they chanted in unison, both hands tugging at each other's crotches in time, repeating the new joke spreading like wildfire all afternoon. When they both started tugging down each other's flies simultaneously Brian jumped between them, pushing them apart.

"Save it for the wives" he chuckled "can't take you two anywhere."

"Let's make Bennings our bitch" Terry pulled away.

"Deal!" Moose grabbed Brian around the waist as Terry grabbed him by the shoulders. Before Brian could pull away from the two overgrown lunatics his pants were around his knees. Moose gave Brian's bare cheeks a good wack! Terry's berry pie landed on the same spot. Jelly side down!

"I'll get you for that!" Brian did not know who to yell at first. But it was Baby Huey who eased him to his feet, even wiping the purple stains off his ass with his napkins. By the time Brian's ass was again red, both were showing major wood.

"Geez!" Ernie got back into his seat while Moose did the same "can't a guy eat in peace any more?"

"You started it Olson" from Mannie, not looking up from his third bison burger.

"No Ernie you can't" Billy laughed "what are you laughing at?" at Big Hank.

"Just watching you smile" Big Hank smiled back. That just melted Billy's heart.

The two had been able to spend some quiet time together that afternoon, just the two of them. They each tried to babble about what they knew, what they didn't know, what they feared. But after the tears and the talking, they settled into a naked tight embrace. Both were surprised they could produce three orgasms apiece in such short time. Especially after the last few days. So that night at dinner, they were content to see the glow in each other's face, knowing they were together. And would never be apart again.

There was some noise from the head table and Kroos stood up flanked by his brothers,

"Gentlemen, gentlemen..." waiting for the inevitable comments and whistles to subside "thank you. As you all know we have been showing a great deal of courage and... maturity" taking a drink of water "under less than ideal circumstances" letting voices from the group make their comments "and for that you should all give yourselves a round of applause!" which the gathered teams did. Kroos allowed them twenty seconds of self-congradulatory cheers before he blew a whistle "and we applaud all of you as well" at which point the coaches, advisors, scouts and all stood and applauded the athletes next "and we all wish to thank the members of the Joint Armed Forces who have joined us" some scattered applause as well as some grumbling, Moose even hearing some boo's "to ensure our continued safety during these most unsettling times. But more about that later. We hope to have General Tryzlenski here by tomorrow morning's breakfast and he can give us an update on events BUT..." ignoring the comments and questions shouted at him from various tables "but... as for this evening, as you all have been made aware, and have been readying yourselves" holding up his hands, his voice louder over the growing unrest "in varying degrees, tonight as promised, we have scheduled our Final Competition!" hearing some clapping being drowned out by more unfavorable responses "which our hosts and sponsors have arranged so no group here will find themselves underfunded in the upcoming scholastic year" again there were whistles, this time from the other coaches "and as promised, dependent upon your participation we hope to have many of you, both individually and as teams finish tonight much richer!" the sound of feet stomping added to the mixed cheers and whistles "yes richer! So most of you need never worry about money again! Gentlemen! Gentlemen!" Kroos' face was bright red, screaming at the top of his lungs to be heard "please finish your meals and we adjourn to Gymnasium A. Five minutes gentlemen!"

Kroos almost collapsed into his chair wiping his forehead with his napkin. There was a quick exchange with his brothers and cousins, then with several of the coaches. Through it all, the six gentlemen in the suits sat with all the calm indifference they could muster. Some guys even wanted to bounce some spitballs off them to see if they were real or wax dummies. Their teammates managed to convince them of the error of that strategy in the long run. But the way they sat without moving except to take the occasional bite of food, was more than annoying. It was downright creepy.

Billy and Big Hank left their seats, their arms around each other's shoulder. They no longer feared comments or reprisals for such actions; in fact they remarked how many other guys were linked together at the neck, some even in groups of threes or fours. A few of them were jostling and jabbing as they did, but many were bonded together in serious, no kidding tightness. The few that were walking by themselves soon were swept up into various amorphous packs, often on the receiving end of ruthless tickling or tackling.

Even when they came to the middle of the field, ambling alongside the make-shift fence demarcating the army camp, the guys continued their good-natured joking and jostling. A few wolf whistles from the camp only increased the high spirits among the groups. So when a few of the soldiers met then at the fence, ribbing them and making lewd comments, the guys just laughed back at them. And when one or two of the soldiers even mooned the guys, what could they do in return except moon them back! By the time the groups were threading their way into the gym, in too good a mood to notice the snow starting to blow high over their heads, many of them were making comments about having caffeine coming out of their ears! But it was not caffeine that had been added to their water pitchers at dinner.

"Here we go..." Moose looked at Billy and Big Hank next to him, seeing Billy's hand already on Big Hank's leg. Moose did the only thing he could; his left hand settled on Big Hank's other leg, his right hand on Ernie's on his other side.

"And here you stay!" Big Hank looked at Billy, then at Moose and Ernie and the rest of his row "I don't want any heroics tonight okay? Anybody thinks they can just get up there and - "

"I know I know..." Billy rolled his eyes, pretending to be peeved.

"Fuck, this ain't Mort's!" Moose jabbed Big Hank in his thigh.

"No it ain't!" Big Hank jabbed Moose in his ribs in turn, all of them chuckling. Big Hank was the first to grow serious "did that really happen?"

"Yeah, we all saw your ordeal" Billy nodded at Moose's expression "during our... fundraiser the other night. As soon as we saw it - "

"We knew who was running this little scam" Moose finished "you were up on that screen" pointing at the identical set-up they were seeing then as well "bigger'n life!" grabbing him in his crotch like it was nothing "and I do mean big!"

"Knock it off Moose" Billy glared at him as best he could "unless you want the two of us to rough ya up!"

"Three of us" Ernie added.

"I vote for 'rough'!" Moose raised his hand.

"Yes Mark" he heard his voice from the stage. It was Coach Fleicher testing out his cordless microphone "you have a question?"

"Now ya did it" Ernie whispered beside him.

"We all got questions" Moose stood up, thrusting out his chest for good measure "so this gonna be the same as last night or...?"

"Yes and no" he boomed into the mike getting too much feedback "and as soon as... yes, here there are" the double doors in the back opened and in streamed dozens and dozens of the army guys. Many already seated turned and watched the arrivals grab folding chairs from the back and bring them towards the middle of the room, unfolding them and forming surprisingly neat rows. It look very rehearsed. But what got the attention of some of the wrestlers was seeing those same olive drab t-shirts and shorts again. And when quite a few of the army guys took their seats and as quickly started peeling off their t-shirts, high-fiving each other, a nervous murmuring of recognition spread through the groups.

"How's that?" Alex Drexel, the baseball player from Minnesota stood up "cause we're getting a good idea what this is about" thumbing behind him at the sea of olive drab forming behind him. Just his luck he was in the last row of high school guys, close enough to feel the hot breath of overheated army's finest on the back of his neck.

"Well..." Fleicher fixed the feedback problem "rather than stand here and try and explain something out of my league" looking at the Kroos clan "after all I'm just a dumb wrestling coach" almost enjoying the jeers "so I'll let Doctor Kruze explain this to you."

Coach Fleicher took a seat with the other "organizers" at their tables to the side, handing the microphone to Doctor Krooz. The Iowa team sunk lower in their chairs recognizing their doctor take center stage.

"Good evening gentlemen" he covered the mike and coughed "please excuse me... it must be all this dust in the air" taking another sip of water "some of you know me" looking at a few faces in the crowd, then finding Pat O'Toole staring back at him without blinking "either as Doctor Krooz, or Doctor Joe" finding a few more faces "or Doctor Chris, but that is not important now. I could stand here tonight and give all of you gentlemen a brief history of how our research has brought us to this most critical moment in history, how we come to balance on the knife edge now with... but I apologize, no history lesson. Instead, let us begin with a simple demonstration" at that cue two of the coaches rolled then juggled two exam tables up to the platform "so that our guests from the armed services can see firsthand how all of this began. You see, initially we were brought here to begin our research... but again I am talking when you can be seeing for yourselves. Corporal?"

A black soldier stood up looking more nervous than his rank would presume, surveying several men beside him,

"You! Garrison!"

"Sir?" a tall thin soldier stood up, ignoring the snickers around him. Only a few wrestlers from earlier that morning recognized him.

"The doc needs a volunteer, and you're volunteering!"

"Wait... sir! Just because I lost the bet this morning - "

"Choice is yours. Volunteer and get double rations, or not and get laudry detail-"

"But sir!"

"Do it!"

Private Garrison edged his way down the end of the row, all too reminiscent of that pre-dawn show that morning. He was about to find out the promised punishment for losing the three-way blow job competition before. All day long guys were ragging on him, calling him "slow hand" and shit. And when his sargeant told him to be ready for the evening's events, including keeping his hand off his dick! he knew he was in deep shit. But it was one thing watching and participating in a private naked wrestling exhibition with a bunch of guys from his platoon; it was something else getting on stage in front of what? A thousand guys?

"And from the ranks of our athletes..." Doc Krooz looked at the front of the audience "a volunteer."

"Ten points guys!" Fleicher took the mike from the doc's hand "easiest tenner y'can make" holding a hand over the mike "can someone check the filters? The air's getting worse in here."

"And yeah we're still keeping score" Coach Morrison did not need any mike "tonight we're goin for the gold!"

There was a great deal of grumbling and mumbling back and forth from the young guys but not a one was standing up. Some of the football players chuckled and high-fived. It was their fundraiser all over again! The organizers had gone though all that planning and scheming at it came down to this. The evening was about to go down in flames and there was nothing they could do about it. Again!

Private Garrison stood on the stage his hands covering his already covered crotch. He looked at the doc and the coaches, everywhere but at the huge audience staring at him like he was one sorry-assed stooge.

"Guys!" Coach Kramer yelled "okay need I remind you anyone who volunteers is off the hook for the rest of the evening! Like before, all y'gotta do in one competition and you're through. If you want to be! Otherwise..." looking at some of the jocks "like some guys I won't mention, you can enter every damn contest until your dick falls off got it? But..."

He was interrupted when one, then a second, then three guys stood up.

"We only need one volunteer" Krooz gave a perplexed look at Kramer "now what?" he whispered over the covered mike "as much as we appreciate your spirit of cooperation" he coughed again "we only need - "

"Bid! Bid! Bid!" a chant started from the audience. The coaches and sponsors could not ascertain if it was coming from the young athletes or the army.

"What do you mean bid?" Krooz asked the group.

"C'mon guys" the first guy broke free, then the other two joined him heading for the stage. Once they got under the lights everyone could see who it was.

"YOU guys decide" it was Kelly Donnahy, the compact baseball player standing next to Will Harrison of all people. The third guy pointing to himself holding his chest out was none other than big blond Mike Sullivan. He found Butthead's shaking head in the dim crowd and gave him a big thumbs up "you dogs vote which one of us three gets..." he raised his hand and wiggled his fingers. Everyone knew exactly what he meant.

"Very... well...?" Krooz took a spot behind them "who votes for Mister Donnahy!" and there was much clapping and cheering "or Mister... Harrison" Will had to whisper his name to him, getting as much if not more reaction "or Mister... Sullivan" and again there was much noise and cheering "well..."

"Guess you win Harrison" Will heard from Coach O'Connell taking a seat off to the side.

"Glad you could join us Coach" Will smirked "too late for your own funeral huh?"

"Let me introduce my cousin, Doctor Yaldi Krooz" Krooz left the stage, leaving the microphone on its stand. As soon as he did, Kroos' big brother Yaldi took the stage, wearing complete surgical gear, even a cap, mask and gloves. His entrance was the cue for the cameras to appear from the back and wheel their way closer to the stage. He ignored the various reactions from the group.

"Thank you and good evening" he lowered his mask to speak "these procedures started as simple experiments among our military but began quickly to assume more significant dimensions as you will soon see. Mister Harrison, Mister - I am sorry Private Garrison, please drink this and then remove your clothing. Yes all of them."

There it was. No preliminaries, no hesitations, Doc Yaldi was going for the kill. Considering the thin soldier only had two pieces of clothing to remove it was surprising Will was naked before he was. Or else Will enjoyed showing off his big hard body to the group, knowing he was making the skinny white guy look like a punk by comparision.

"Now if you could get on these tables, facing the group. On your knees gentlemen. Yes like that Mister Harrison."

Will had downed the bottle in a few quick gulps, making a show of grimacing at the unpleasant taste. As soon as the bottle was tossed into the basket - no net! - he spread his knees as wide as he could without sliding off the table, then put his hands behind his head, wishing he could thrust his dick in every one of their faces. They wanted to see how this worked? He would give them something to remember!

Garrison turned his back on the audience and lowered his drab shorts, his tight sinewy body twisting and flexing. He took the bottle from Doctor Yaldi and took a swig, almost spitting it out. With a certain amount of coaxing he finished it, then got up on the table, looking at Will in spite of himself. His hands went behind his head as well but he was not going to spread his legs like that black kid. Not if it meant...

"As you can see above" Doc Yaldi indicated the screen behind and above their heads flickering to life "our experiments in Europe began quite some time prior to relocating our research here... to your country..."

It was an older video of Doc Yaldi and what appeared to be a soldier removing his baggy white undershorts. He was also giving a similar bottle to drink as well as some pills. He was assisted up to his table face up. His long uncut cock flopped sideways, his low-hanging scrotum swinging between his thighs as Doc Yaldi began his regular exam. When his fingers traced their way between the soldier's thighs and into his crack, his sudden erection was dramatic.

"And as you can witness the effects of the pills, which we found to be almost redundant as well as the drink are very rapid. At first we were content with the compound and its CNS, I am sorry, the central nervous system stimulant effect. In addition to mental acuity and increased response time, yes these were military experiments, we also began to notice the additional effects. As you can see it produces a very enhanced sexual response, both larger and more prolonged erections, as well as... well you will see for yourselves..."

Doc Yaldi produced two small metallic tubes no larger than cigar cases. He had them lubed and pressed against both Will and Private Gilbert Garrison before they had time to lose their balance. Will was already braced for this so his insertion too little effort; Gil's on the other hand was met with a great deal of resistance and protest. By the time both "volunteers" were plugged the young soldier on screen was already erupting stream after stream of white cum, Doc Yaldi doing nothing more than pressing into his sphincter.

"As you witness, the combination of tablets and drink tended to produce premature response. So we developed this" as the screen flickered and it was another soldier, naked like the first but showing the bulk and hairiness of someone much older. The large metal probe being inserted into his rectum, close-ups and all, was enough to bring a loud string of violent profanity from the second soldier. Only a few in the audience could understand what he was saying. But like the first guy, the date showing in the upper-left corner indicated these exams were recorded as early as five years ago! Doc Yaldi went to the console Coach Morrison had wheeled up to the stage. As the audience watched the big rugged soldier on the screen wince and grimace, Doc Yaldi hit a few switches and several buzzing noises came from the stage. Gil's hands went to his cock so fast it looked like someone kicked him in the crotch.

"Private Garrison please return your hands to your head like our young volunteer is doing" Gil's eyes flew open as soon as he realized what he was doing, and how many eyes were watching him "because I do not expect you to succumb to something as disgusting or brazen as masturbating in front of this audience. Now Private Garrison!"

The poor guy lifted his hands away from his front, the buzzing inside his ass as maddening as the tingling from that green gel. He squeezed his eyes shut as his long thin cock began to levitate up from his balls. He was not sure which was worse: the torture in his ass, showing wood in front of the whole world, or having to take a piss so bad his eyes were bugging out!

Will did not need to look down at himself to know his cut piece of Harrison meat was filling out just as they planned. He knew the pressure from his bladder could be held because his balls were going to be emptying long before that. He could hear the grunts and groans coming from the screen behind him, trying not to let the increasing pace stimulate him even more. But as hard as he tried, Will could here the guy getting closer and closer and when he heard that bastard scream and thrash Will's cock expanded and jerked skywards, as one and then several more arcs of white jizz shot out of his cock, his hips thrusting into empty air.

"Awright YEAH!" came shouts from the audience "I GOTTA get me one of those!" the soldiers leaning forward, their tongues hanging out "sign me UP!"

Private Garrison was not having as easy a time. Unlike Will and almost all of the high school guys, his ass was a total stranger to something metallic and vibrating inside its virgin lining. As much as he tried he could not bring himself off. And having his hands plastered behind his head only made it worse.

"Gentlemen as you can see" Doc Yaldi continued "either the compounds in the drink by themselves, or in conjunction with electrical prostatic stimulation proved to have very significant effects. The devices you see here were only prototypes. Later tonight you will witness what many of these high school athletes have experienced in their own exams. And they will be only to happy to agree what they have experienced makes these seem mere childs play. Private Garrison?"

"Damnit doc!" his hips were spasming as he thrust his bright red cock forward again and again, trying to finish this "let me cum! Let me cum!"

"As you see, in a military environment an enemy soldier could be compromised very easily under these circumstances. Very well soldier, when I say three you will ejaculate. One!"

"Fuck!" Gil's hands flew to his dick like lightning.

"Hands behind your head! Now! Two!"

Gil struggled to lift his hands as if they were made of lead. He had them no farther than his chest when the doc yelled "three!" and his cock just exploded! A week's worth of pent-up frustration just blew out of him, past the table and onto the floor several feet in front of him. He collapsed onto his hands and knees, his body jerking and twisting before the doc flipped off the switches.

"Thanks doc" Will snarled at him "about time. Can you get this fucker outa me now?"

"Will!" Coach O'Connoll yelled "ten more points and you leave that in! Easiest hour of your life!"

"One hour?! A whole fuckin hour?" Will mugged for the cameras. Hell he could wear the tube all night if need be. In fact he was thinking the longer it stays in the longer his ass is off limits. He still could not hide his smirk.

"What about me?" Private Garrison was trying to get his sore body off that table. Doc Yaldi did little more than hand them both plastic bottles and direct them offstage so they could piss in relative privacy.

"Now you gentlemen have a better grasp of the origins of our procedures, the chain of events which brought us all here" seeing several guys jumping out of their seats their hands in the air "and yes I could only imagine there are many of you who wish to be entertained in a similar fashion to young Private Garrison here."

"But first" Fliecher was back on stage and behind his favorite microphone "there are points to be earned. We have a competition to finish, don't we team?" raising his hands, orchestrating the applause "to keep this simple all events for starters will be five points" seeing Coach Morrison trying to get his attention "or..." finding Corporal Johnson in the audience again "what was...?"

"Double rations and..." he stood again, surveying his men "your pick."

"Really don't like the sound of that on fuckin bit" Moose whispered at Big Hank "does that mean - "

"What you think? You got it" Big Hank lowered his head and his voice "you shoulda heard those guys on the flight over here. They been promised all the sex they can handle! And guess who's gonna provide - "

"We are" Ernied turned cherry red "I mean..."

"It's okay I keep tellin ya that!" Moose hugged him "we all did what we need to, okay?"

"But..." Ernie wanted to pull the covers over his head. He knew he looked totally busted.

"So ya did a soldier t'get here" Billy shrugged "big deal. If Moose is cool, what the fuck business is it to us?"

"I still feel bad okay?" Ernie hated to admit he felt so bad because the sex was that good. He really liked that big doofus in spite of the terrible circumstance.

"Is he here?" Billy already knew the answer.

"Yeah, I guess..."

"Point him out to me later okay?" Moose punched Ernie's shoulder.

"Why? So you can kill him?"

"Fuck no!" Moose smirked "wanna shake his hand."

"You mean his dick" Big Hank jabbed Moose in turn "quiet" directing their attention back to the stage.

Fleicher pointed at the screen, letting the video run a few more moments "questions?"

"Y'mean we bid?" Sargeant Aronson was back on his feet "on some dude's clothes?"

"Yes, but not money of course" Fleicher had the sound turned down "minutes."

"Minutes?"

"Exactly, minutes on stage, here" Krooze added.

"Doing what?"

"Demonstration of our machines" Krooze continued "but not now. Later in the evening."

"Those machines like those dildoes?" a young soldier stood and asked. His buddies pounded on him for asking "well that's what they are! Sheeyet!"

"Basically yes."

"We just gotta stand there plugged and - "

"Wearing both an anal as well as scrotal device, for the alloted minutes" Krooze waited for the comments to quiet "without ejaculating. Correct."

"Hell I can't do one minute without losing a load" he chuckled and sat down.

"While the volunteer is fellating you" Krooze's face remained immobile.

"What?" the young soldier yelled but was drowned out by someone else yelling "two" then another "three" until they were up to ten.

"Hey!" Niels Swensen threw himself back into his chair "nobody said anything about - "

"You no longer wish to volunteer?" Morrison looked at him "you change your mind?"

"What if he don't make it?" a round black baseball player stood.

"Siddown Jack!" one of his teammates grabbed his arm. But Jack would not be budged

"Your call Jefferson" Driscoe looked at him.

"Y'mean...?" Jack was licking his lips "I can...?"

"Y'ain't won yet" Tyrone next to him elbowed Jack hard "so sit yer ass down!"

But Niels got back on stage "so I gotta earn at least ten points right?"

"Yeah, fine" like it was Morrison's money or something "give'm ten points."

"Very well gentlemen" Fleicher came and stood next to Niels "what am I bid for Mister Swensen's t-shirt here?"

"Damn this is creepy" Moose felt the goosebumps as soon as this event began. All the horrible things he had to do that Saturday came flooding back to him. Yet only Big Hank and Ernie noticed how hard Moose was getting. And only Moose knew one of the things getting him hot was what was happening on the screen above Niels head.

Actually there was a second person who was watching the screen with his eyes popping and his dick growing.

"Ah... er... six!" he blurted out, seeing Sargeant Aronson nod at him then at the screen. Just as he had been warned, Private Jack O'Kenny sat and watched himself on the big screen, larger than life. He had been approached early that morning and told he was going to be joining Aronson in a football game against a bunch of high school jocks. O'Kenny laughed and asked Aronson what the catch was. When he was told the final stakes were to see which team would take it up the butt Jack told him to forget it! That was when Aronson produced a small manila envelope from his camp desk.

"What's this, sir?"

"Take a look soldier."

Jack opened the envelope and looked at the first picture. The rest of them fell from his shaking hand "where did you get - "

"We have the movie, private" Aronson narrowed his eyes "and if you want to get it back this is what you're gonna do!"

Sargeant Aronson explained to Jack he was going to play a little football, and play to win. And if he didn't win he was going to bend over and let some sweaty, pimple-faced punk rip him open! If he did win he was going to join the rest of the men later that night for a little "fundraiser" the sponsors were putting together. And he just might get to see that movie again, the one he and his neighborhood pals made more than five years ago. And if he wanted to see that film destroyed he was going to bid and bid like crazy!

"Bid? Bid on what?"

"You'll see when the time comes" was all Aronson would tell him then.

So Private Jack O'Kenny sat there and watched himself up on that screen. It was an early model camcorder, so the image was lousy, and someone had the sense to pixilate all their faces, well most of them most of the time. But Jack knew he had to win this bid without drawing too much attention to why he was so eager to win. But a few heads were swiveling between the screen and him, Jack praying they were not making the connection.

Moose looked at the guy on the screen, bright red hair, freckled face, solid shoulders and chest even though he looked all of fifteen or so. When that sunburned soldier several rows behind him started bidding, Moose recognized his voice as being the same as the one on the screen more or less. Moose could only wonder how many of his soldier buddies were also connecting the dots.

"Six!" Master Sargeant Oliver Jackson shouted out. He had orders to win this bid. Unless he wanted word getting out he had a bad habit of shanghaing civilians and taking them back to the officer's shower facilities and raping their asses. He knew it was all bull, but could he risk the exposure if word got out what he was really doing? Because if anyone found out about his contraband activities with those guys in the sunglasses, he would not be courtmarshalled, he'd be murdered. So Jackson stayed standing, one eye on that blond kid on stage, one on that red head lobster off to his right.

"C'mon Jellybelly" Niels heard on the screen behind him "you lost fair and square!" At first he thought they were referring to him as he pulled off his t-shirt and handed it to Morrison for seven big ones. At this rate he'd have no problems making his ten points. But when Morrison took his shoes and socks as well, no bidding on those gentlemen! Niels started to worry. Especially when the bidding for his jeans started at one point!

"You guys were joking right?" Jack on the screen appeared to be in someone's garage, surrounded by three or four kids several years younger than himself "Jeff I'll whip your ass!"

"Too late for that cousin" Jack's thirteen year old cousin, also red headed and much skinnier, seemed to be the ringleader "you lost the bet so we got one big fat hour!"

"Fat like you!" another kid, built like Jack but maybe eleven with a very very short buzzcut jabbed Jack in the belly "yeah!"

"Knock it out Fennie!"

"Okay Jellybelly" his cousin Jeff continued "we all get one hour and you gotta do whatever we say, got it?"

"Maybe" Jack looked right into the camera "but turn that fucker off!"

"Oooooo, swearing big brother" came a voice from behind the camera "that's gonna cost ya!"

"Okay Jack" Jeff got on his feet and stood in front of his cousin "you gonna do what we say or we tell your dad about - "

"NO!" both Jacks yelled at once. It was bad enough standing there bidding on some kid's clothes in front of all his army buddies, but now they could hear his name on the tape? "I mean three!"

"Four!" as fast from Jackson, rubbing his chin like he was thinking hard.

"We'll tell dad!" that voice behind the camera again "and he's gonna ground you like the rest of your life!"

"Please don't tell him please!" the on-screen Jack was begging "okay?"

"Okay what?" his cousin Jeff jabbed Jack's shoulder "what?"

"Okay..." Jack lowered his head "okay you win!"

"And you agree? A whole hour?"

"Look guys..." Jack stared at his brother behind the camera "nothing bad okay? Like nothing - "

"We won't hurt ya, ya big baby" his brother's voice interrupted "no broken bones, no bloodstains for mom to - "

"You agree?" Jeff was enjoying watching little Fennie jabbing his cousin in the ribs "huh? huh?"

"Y'little fuckers!" Jack lowered his head.

"Okay I go first" Jeff smiled back at the camera "first y'gotta take off all your clothes. ALL of them got it?"

"No way!"

"I'll tell your dad!" Niels heard behind him. If there was one soundtrack he did not want to hear right now it was that one. He concentrated on the fact he had gotten a whopping eight points for his jeans, his total assured. But the way this movie behind him was getting to him he had to turn away from the group to pull down his pants, his white briefs more tented than he would have wanted. He looked up at the screen, not believing the age of the kids up there. That one sitting in the corner looked all of ten! Even with their faces moving in and out of those distortions, he could not believe what he was seeing. And the bigger, older kid center stage was maybe fifteen or sixteen if that, even if he had the build of someone more mature. Niels looked closely at the guy, his big ruddy face, those freckled forearms. It could be any number of people he knew but who? He was sure as hell built like a football player. Someone on the JV team? Maybe that Woody guy? Or maybe...

"Pants Swensen" Morrison held out his hand.

"Oh yeah sorry" and Niels had to turn and face the music. He was proud of the way his muscles stuck out, not so happy the way his thickening dick stuck out.

"You guys tell!" Niels heard behind him, fearing the worst "that means you too Sean!"

"I promise" came from behind the camera.

Onscreen a younger and less sunburned Jack O'Kenny swore under his breath, then pulled up his favorite sleeveless Steelers sweatshirt.

"Wow he's gonna do it!" from the pipsqueak in the corner.

"Of course he's gonna do it Mouse. Keep going cousin."

"And hurry up" from behind the camera "we only got an hour."

"Fifty-five minutes" Jack snarled.

"Fifty-six" Mouse was keeping one eye on his wristwatch, one on the big red neighbor boy kicking out of his shoes. He always stayed far away from the bigger guy, not because he was a bully but for worse reasons "hurry!"

"I dunno guys..." Jack hesitated "you guys are too young for..."

"From now one" from behind the camera "everytime you wuss out Jeff gets to smack you with his belt, got it?"

"What?" from both of them.

"Y'got it? Y'already earned one. Wanna go for two Jellybelly?"

"No way Sean!" Jack had a bad feeling about how much his younger brother knew "y'know that's - "

"That's two! Wanna go for three?"

"I can't believe you're making me do this..." Jack had his shoes and socks off, his hand hesitating at his belt "guys!"

"Keep going!" Jeff did not believe his older cousin would really go through with this. But the threat of his dad finding out about the stolen car joyride was working like a charm. He stood and watched big dumb Jack undo his belt, his hands shaking as he popped the waist of his pants "unzip it. Then drop'm."

"Damn..." but Jack unzipped himself and lowered his pants until they were around his ankles. Before anyone said anything - like they could they way they were holding their breaths! - he stepped out of them, his hands plastered over his tidy whities.

"Keep going, those too" Jeff could not believe how flushed he felt, how fast his heart was racing. This was worse than wicked; this was just gnarly awesome.

"Look guys maybe we can work out something..."

"That's three!" from the camera.

"Fifty-four" Mouse announced.

"Do it cousin" Jeff took a step "or Jimmy here will for ya!"

"No!" Jack yelped, his voice cracking.

"Good idea!" from behind the camera "Jimmy pull down his underwear. And yeah that's four."

"Why me?"

"Cause you can! And he can't stop you."

"Seems super nasty."

"Up to you."

"Jeez..." Jimmy came into view and his hands grabbed Jack's.

"Take your hands away" Jeff lowered his voice "that's an order. Or you want Jeff to give you five?"

"I thought I just hadda - "

"No thinking, just do what we tell ya. Now put you hands on your head, you can't move them."

"But..." Jack's hands were pushed away from his crotch but Jimmy's smaller pair. Even before Jack's hands were on his head, Jimmy's were tugging at the waistband. He was tugging both sides down and then they all saw it.

"What's that?" Jimmy pulled the front down as far as the red pubes and then stopped "what's all that hair doing there?"

"You never seen pubic hair?" from behind the camera "that's what happens when ya get older."

"Everybody hasta have hair there?" Jimmy did not want to see more "don't that make peeing - "

"Hell no" Jeff pushed Jimmy out of the way "see?"

And boy did they all see! Before Jack could react Jeff had those briefs down as far as his thighs, the material caught between his muscular legs. But they could all see the rest of his pubic hair all the way down to his big red balls. And talk about red!

"Geez cousin!" pushing Jack's hands away again "you been rubbing it raw or what?" because Jack's dick was red and sore, the head still swollen like he had been yanking it all morning "don't you ever - "

"Knock it off!" Jack whimpered but he was outnumbered.

"Okay take them off, all the way, and give them to Mouse there."

"I don't want his smelly underwear" Mouse grumbled but took the cotton briefs and added it to the pile he was sitting on.

"What happened to his wiener?" Mouse's brother Fennie scrunched his face into a prune "why's is so red and - "

"Can't leave it alone can ya?" Jeff chuckled. His cousin had a two year headstart on the joys of wacking off, and it looked like he had been at it like he was worried about losing the skill any moment. Ever since that sleepover a few years back, when Jack showed Jeff how good somebody else's fingers felt on his dick, Jeff had been super grateful to him for his first orgasm. So it was only fair he return the favor somehow "how many times y'cum already today?"

"Eat dirt Jeff!"

"Three? Four? Five?"

"None of your fuckin business!"

"Swearing in front of kids. That's five" Jeff unbuckled his belt and flipped it back and forth in front of Jack's face.

"No... please don't. Please!"

"Tell'm why not bro" Sean sniggered from a safe vantage point "go on!"

"No, I can't!"

"Dad beats him all the time with his belt" Sean continued "and Jellybelly there gets - "

"Shut UP shithead!"

"More swearing" Jeff smiled "six? That right Sean?"

"Close enough."

"So how many times y'drain it today cousin?" Jeff wanted to find out what was making that dick so red.

"None okay?" Jack yelled at him "y'happy now?"

"Then why are - "

"Too funny!" from the camera "Jellybelly there was in the shower for like an hour, but between my dad and me - "

"Too many interruptions?" Jeff smiled, rubbing Jack's balls with the belt "all that jackin and never got off huh?"

"Who is this jacking?" round little Fennie asked "is that you?" coming off his perch in the corner until he was standing in front of the big teenager.

"Not a who, it's a what" Jeff laughed "don't worry. Before too long you'll find out with your own eyes, right cousin?"

"What?"

"Maybe a little demonstration" Jeff's belt started to tease Jack's unprotected cock.

"No! NO! No way! Are you fuckin crazy?"

"I think all that swearing just cost you an even ten wacks with the belt" Sean moved the camera around "okay wise guy, grab your ankles!"

"No!"

"Do it" Jeff raised the looped belt "now! Or else you get twenty!"

"No..." Jack moaned but bent forward, his two big glutes sticking out just asking for it. Jeff rained down two fast blows before Sean had the camera in place.

"Go slow, take your time" Sean prompted "space them out."

And that's what Jeff did. Jack moaned and whimpered, his back and butt muscles quivering with each blow but his grip on his calves held. After all twenty were delivered with a steady pace, Jack continued to lean forward, in no hurry to straighten up. So Sean had the camera moved in plenty of time for what he was guessing.

"Hands back on your head, and straighten up Jack" the camera jiggled.

"No... please!"

"What's the matter cousin?" Jeff's hands replaced that belt on the sore red ass. Jack pulled away from that contact to his stinging butt, thrusting his pelvis forward as he did. Then everyone saw why Jack was in no hurry to show the group his reaction to his whipping. His bright red cock was now standing out hard! The head even more swollen as it bent to the right. He was fully erect in front of the whole group!

"Wow!" Jeff smiled.

"What's wrong with his - " little Stevie's eyes were as big as softballs, his face flushed as red as Jack's.

"Wow, Jellybelly has a major stiffie!" Mouse shifted his weight, tugging at his pants "wow..."

"Did you know your big brother gets boned when he's getting a whipping?" Jeff shook his head.

"I kinda thought so..." the voice behind the camera cracked "everytime dad spanks him he runs into the bathroom. Once he was only wearing underwear, both me and dad saw how boned he got."

"So ya ever seen your brother all naked and hard like this?"

"Now turn that camera OFF!" Niels heard behind him. By that point he was as hard as he expected the guy on the screen to be.

"Okay Swensen" Morrison barked "we get the idea. Some dudes get off exposin themselves n'all. Before ya hog the whole night we got other events okay?"

"Can I get down now?"

"That ever go down?" a few voices yelled from the audience, to a scattering of laughter and applause.

"Okay next ten pointer" Fleicher cleared his parched throat with another swig of sports drink "two volunteers needed. One from among our athletes, one from your men in uniform."

"Or out of it" Coach Tyler stood up "two volunteers, both naked as jaybirds. Don't gotta mince my words anymore, we're all adults here. Both of you grab each other's meat and jack until somebody is emptying their balls. Person left standing wins."

"What?" several guys stood up "we gotta do what?"

"This sucks!" Grunt Jackson stood up to the dismay of his fellow football players "we were supposta have like strength contests, REAL contests tonight!"

"That's enough..." hearing the name whispered at him "Griswald. You will - "

"Name's Grunt!" and several of his teammates started grunting in unison for him "last night y'gave us REAL things t'do, like endurance contests and stuff! You promised us we'd get those tonight too so - "

"Keep your shirt on" Tyler shot back "those feats of strength you and your musclehead friends there are so eager for are coming up sooner than you'd like. But the next event is to get our new guests accustomed to..."

"To what exactly?" Jeff Simmons stood up, hoping to deflect some of the heat away from the big Grunt. And maybe get the soldiers to get a better look at him. All the recent attention was proving to be as addictive as drugs to him.

"You heard the coach" Fleicher mopped his forehead "two contestants, mutual masturbation. The one to ejaculate LAST wins" covering the microphone "for the jock ten points. If it's the soldier...?" looking for Sargeant Aronson.

"Make it interesting..." Aronson looked at his men "ya get the kid to blow first, you and the kid hit the showers... no questions asked. Got it?"

"Y'mean...?" several guys got the picture fast. They could have full use of the kid in the privacy of a shower room for...

"For how long?" a tall latino soldier stood up.

"For you Verrazzo two minutes" Aronson chuckled "if you last that long" motioning down the jeers and whistles "but one hour seems more fair under the circumstances."

"You're on!" Sargeant Karl Hastells jumped up, his hand plastered over the fly of his boxers "Count me in."

"Volunteers?" Fleicher's gaze swept the faces of the various teams, looking for the next victim.

Yeah, if ya call it that..." and who should stand up next, but none other than Otto Rulfsen. As soon as his eyes locked with that soldier, both knew why Otto was going to do this. Karl could not help notice the resemblance between son and father, between the kid staring him down in front of his fellow soldiers, and the father Karl and friends entrapped in the shower room two nights before. But how did Otto know Karl was one of his father's attackers?

"Ah... er..." another soldier stood up. It was a very sunburned guy some of the Iowa team recognized from the football game that morning. He tried to disguise his voice, as he watched Sargeant Aronson's reaction "ah... me too..."

"You too what?" Fleicher looked at the red-faced soldier then at the other coaches.

I... er... I mean... I volunteer... too" Jack O'Kenny stood there, seeing the videotape cut short as promised. Whether he won the prior bid or not, he was told in no uncertain terms he was going to volunteer for the next event no matter what. And no, he would not know what that event would be until Aronson gave him the signal. Well, watching himself and his young playmates on that screen was signal enough as far as he was concerned. Jack was praying like crazy no one would recognize him. It was several years ago, and he was much heavier then.

"We already got a soldier to volunteer" Fleicher looked at the guy like he had a screw loose or something "didn't you hear - "

"Can't two guys... like..."

"Not unless..." Fleicher scanned the faces in the front rows "and it looks like there are no..."

"Ten points right?" of course it was Pat O'Toole "not like I really need..."

"Y'need the points" Johnnie aka "Jack" Jefferson stood up "but that dick of yours really really needs a break O'Toole" chuckling with his buds "besides it's no fun always doin the watchin" finding John Johnson in the audience "right?"

John gulped, not fond of being singled out like that. As soon as those big shoulders cleared the heads he recognized the big black jock from the other night, the one who sat there with his fly open and his dick hanging out, perving on John's show. Now it looked like the guy had every intention of returning the favor in some weird way.

"Jefferson you volunteering?" Morrison grabbed the mike.

"Any law say I can't? Like you can't have two teams?"

"Competin against each other?" Otto hesitated, one foot already on the stage.

"That isn't what we scheduled..." Fleicher was too busy signaling the guys to cue up the next film clip "maybe next time."

"This is next time" Jefferson was not going to let the opportunity slide "right now" and his baggy t-shirt was off. Like it was a cue another movie started, this one showing two masked guys in suits starting a wrestling match. Otto's head wheeled around in a microsecond,

"Turn that off!"

"Why?" Fleicher asked.

"Just do it! Before..." and he saw the trap. If he continued to draw attention to himself, it would only make it worse "fuck it!" he muttered under his breath "too late now."

As Otto pulled off his shirt and pants, the onscreen Otto was having his break-away suit destroyed by his father. By the time Otto was naked, his counterpart was down to his jockstrap.

"Dude..." Karl leaned in closer to Otto "like that's you and your dad up there wrestling half-naked?"

"That's the price he hadda pay to get here" Otto whispered back.

"That's a lotta horseshit" Karl was not sure which was getting his dick to rise more, being next to Oliver's naked stud of a son, or watching those two go at it on the screen. Otto was just about the only one not staring at the screen with a lump in his shorts.

Jack joined the other three on stage, the only one still wearing his shorts. He wanted to postpone the inevitable unveiling as long as he could. When the hulking black kid pulled down the front of his only covering and started fishing around for his cock, he heard the whistle,

"Okay gentlemen" Fleicher coughed into the mike "you have all the time you need. Last one of each team to cum wins, got it?" and right on cue the video clip changed from the half-naked father-son wrestling clip to something that almost make Johnnie Jefferson do a cartwheel right off that stage. If there was something he had not bargained for, something that would make him bone faster than anything, it was that large glowing flashback to that Saturday afternoon in July when he was in his high scool locker room, on his knees with his big muscled arms tied behind his back, and those skater punks taking turns either stuffing his mouth or his ass. He made sure he stayed face forward, applying some of the clear gel to the army dude's bent cock. Judging by the reactions of the audience, they were not able to identify him as the guy getting stuffed on screen. He stole a look behind him and noticed the angle of the shot and then the disguised faces of all involved. They didn't know it was him! But Johnnie knew. And his cock did as well. And the way that red-faced army guy knew his way around uncut meat told Johnnie he better be careful or all this excitement might cost him his prize. Johnnie's hips started an involuntary pumping into that guy's fist, small animal grunts escaping from his throat and then the locker room behind him went silent. It was replaced by more banging and crashing sounds as Johnnie turned and there were those ropes from that wrestling ring again. And tied to them were two guys getting their brains fucked out of them. And one of them was the guy standing right next to him, the blond musclehead trading tugs with that short army guy.

Karl should have taken Otto's lead and closed his eyes when they heard the sounds change behind them. But Karl had to look, expecting to see this wrestling stud and his dad still doing their jockstrap grappling match. But when he saw the two strapped to the ropes, a line of army guys, some of whom he recognized! cueing up to fuck their asses, it was too much for him. Not only had Karl fucked that same ass up there, but now he was pulling on the dude's son! And before he could control himself, Karl was filling Otto's hand with his explosive load, his jizz just oozing out him, a mind of its own. Otto's hand flew off Karl's lubed cock and he threw his hands in the air, jumping down off the stage as he did. He had never felt more victorious or humiliated all at once in his life.

Before the scene came of Otto's onscreen eruption, and more devastating, his ass backing into his dad's hard cock to squeeze that load from him, the audience against saw a few seconds of blue emptiness behind the final two contestants, Jack O'Kenny and Johnnie Jefferson. Whatever doubts some of the guys had about the identity of that bright crooked dick curving from those red pubes on stage was dispelled when the screen flickered back to life and there was the younger Jack with his youthful tormentors.

"Turn that damn this OFF!" Jack heard echoing around the room. Then he recognized his own voice behind him. There was no way on earth he would turn around and confirm his panic. Johnnie felt the crooked dick in his hand almost shrivel; the hand on his own freeze into a death grip around the base. Johnnie feared it would break right off, the dude's fist was that tight.

"It's off! It's off!" Sean's voice behind the camcorder lied. Then a new face came into the frame, a younger less redhaired version of Jack. It was his brother Sean, and in his hands was a small pocket digital camera. Before Jack could twist away, a bright flash caught him right in the crotch.

"Gotcha!"

"No more cameras!" Jack lunged at Sean, but Sean was expecting it "I mean it Turdface!"

"How many minutes left?" Sean looked at Mouse.

"Forty-five" Mouse looked totally bummed "no, forty-four..."

"So we're still callin the shots here cousin" Jeff came between them "forty-four, huh? Don't think it will take ya that long..."

"What won't?"

"Let's see ya jack off in front of these guys and - "

"What? NO WAY!"

"Sean, y'ever seen your bro here beat his meat?"

"Fuck no" Sean made sure to stay out of grabbing distance "too gross!"

"Okay Jack... let's see ya... " Jeff chuckled "jack!"

"Won't do it!"

"Why not? Ya been wantin to all morning! Here's your chance! And nobody to interrupt" Jeff was enjoying this too much "do it!"

"No! It's wrong!"

"Remember the car, cousin!"

"I don't care, it's - "

"Okay, final chance. Either ya start beatin off right now, or..."

"Or what?" Jack's hands were not budging from his crotch, and he was going to stay doubled over as long as his evil little brother was holding that damn camera.

"Or we tie your hands so you ain't tempted" Jeff nodded at Sean "but once I do that, you lose."

"Lose what?"

"Any chance of backing out of anything... ANYTHING! for the rest of the hour. So what is it gonna be? Y'stand there and jack off for these guys or we tie those hands!"

"Well I ain't jackin off in front of a bunch of babies" Jack tried to thrust out his chest and look tough, but he lowered his hands and before his brain caught up, Jeff had secured his hands and arms behind his back with a roll of masking tape he found on the shelf. It was messy and awkward but Jack was restrained. And it was his own fault.

"What about those?" little Fennie looked at Jack's briefs still around his knees.

"Leave'm" Jeff started to see the last pieces fall into place. This was something he had been planning for a long time, and now it was just landed in his lap.

"Fennie? Throw his other clothes on the floor there" Jeff pointed to the spot on the hard concrete where Jack was wiggling his weight around.

"Huh?" but Fennie tossed them down.

"Can't say I'm a total sadist" Jeff looked at Sean, then Jack "okay Jellybelly, kneel!"

"Why?"

"Like y'got a choice! Do it!" giving Jack a slight push. He lost his balance and down he went, Jeff making sure he did not fall flat on his face. When Jack was on his knees Jeff started unlacing one of his shoes "saw this in a movie once" and one lace was free. He crouched down in front of Jack and started looping it around Jack's scrotum "okay y'can take his picture now, he ain't in no position to grab anything!"

"Stop!" Jack tried twisting away from those cold hands on his nads "knock it out!"

But Jeff had several tight loops around those bright red balls, then twice around the base of that crooked cock for good measure.

"Watch this! This is SO cool! His cock will swell up even bigger now" which is what Jack's dick did. All that manipulation was causing it to swing forward again. And Jeff's incessant tugging only pumped more blood into the filling tube.

"You're playing with his wiener" little Fennie scrunched up his nose "that's gross!"

"Just the beginning guys, watch and learn, watch and learn" Jeff looked at Sean "how many pics left?"

"About a hundred."

"Okay Sean, fire away, he can't stop you now."

"No! Wait!" Jack heard himself on screen behind him. He had stopped yanking on that black kid's uncut prick he was so freaked out but the kid's greased paw was somehow making his dick bone again. All he could do was hang his head and keep his eyes closed. If he saw those grinning hyenas in the audience look at the screen and then at his dick, he would just lose it! "stop it Jeff! You too Turdface!"

But another bright flash went off in Jack's face, catching all of his front, including his blood-engorged cock bobbing and flexing with each heartbeat.

"Now we have real fun" Jeff grinned his wicked grin. He looked around until he found what he thought might work. He dragged the dirty cinder block from the corner and placed it between Jack's knees, kicking them apart to make room. Jack's briefs hiked up to his balls in the process.

"What's that for?" from several voices, the most shrill being Jack's. Jeff answered the question by using his other shoelace to connect a lose end beneath Jack's balls through one of the openings of the block. Jack could not move unless the block went with him now. And that weight would rip his balls off at the roots.

"Ow!" Mouse winced "that's gotta hurt!"

"Not as long as y'don't move Jack, right?"

"All tied up..." Jeff nodded at Sean, too shocked to move "no where to go" and another bright flash exploded in their faces. Jack bolted but made it a few inches before he screamed, the tug to his balls surprisingly painful.

"This HURTS muthafucker!" Jack yelled, but could not raise himself up more than a few inches "stop this!"

"We just started" Jeff looked at the guys "using that language in front of these little kids" and bang! Jeff's hand came down hard on Jack's right glute.

Jack screamed and tried to lurch forward, but his balls convinced him it was a real bad idea. So when the hand came down again, not as hard, on the other still-red cheek, Jack knelt there, quivering and whimpering.

"Okay, so ya didn't feel like emptying those nuts before when ya had a chance" Jeff crouched down and his other hand was around Jack's crimson dick "and from what Sean says, this" another slap to his butt "gets ya all hot and bothered right?"

"No..." Jack heard himself moan on the screen. He could feel those slaps on his ass as hard as if Jeff were here now. When his speed on the kid's dick increased, so did Johnnie's on his full-out bone. Jack knew he was in deep deep trouble now, hearing the mutterings and whisperings coming from the audience. Yeah, they were figuring it out fast. Now that he was hard, it was impossible not to see how those two red cocks matched up as planned.

"Sean? Y'got any grease around here?" Jeff's two hands were making Jack squirm and spasm, the cinder block making escape from all that stimulation impossible.

"Uh... er... I dunno" but Sean handed Jeff an unlabed tin of something white and gooey. Whatever it was, it was half-empty.

"I won't ask" Jeff chuckled, figuring out Sean's dirty little secret. He applied a nice layer to Jack's cock, making it even shinier and redder if possible. Jack groaned and tried to pull backwards, but his balls stopped his fast. Jeff had a rhythm going for all of a minute or two before Jack's hips started flexing, the blush spreading down from Jack's face all the way to his shoulders and chest.

"Okay guys, pulling on your hard meat like this" giving that greasy dick a few more tugs for good measure, and sure enough Jack started whining "that's called jacking off, okay? Beatin the meat, pullin the chicken, spanking the monkey - "

"Don't that hurt?" Mouse could see Jack's expression, and it looked like he was dying.

"Nope, feels some kinda awesome" rubbing Jack's balls a few times "ain't that right?"

"Oh fuck... oh fuck..." Jack could not get his hips to stop tugging his balls more.

"Y'wanna finally drain those balls like ya wanted all morning, don't ya stud?"

"Fuck yeah! Pleeeeeeeease!"

"And cumming" Jeff's one hand gave Jack's butt a series of slaps, his other returning to that nice stroking rhythm "is what's gonna happen if I keep pullin his meat like this. If I don't stop" and that hand did "his cum, his jizz, is gonna shoot outa the end of the red tube - "

"He's gonna pee?" little Fennie was watching all this with his eyes bugging several inches out of their sockets.

"Not pee, cum" Jeff's hand started a corkscrew rotation around that thick shiny head. That cinder block kept Jack from flying through the roof "nice..." stroke stroke "thick..." twist stroke "white..." stroke "cream!" his hand pulled away just as Jack's dick swelled even more and a single bead oozed out of the slit, hanging there until Jeff lifted it off with his little finger "like this see?"

"That's it?" Mouse shook his head "that's all?"

"Hell no!" Jeff massaged those stretched balls "there's lots more in these bull balls, ain't that right cousin?"

"Fuck fuck lemme finish lemme cum!" he was thrusting his crotch forward, trying to fuck the air.

"Y'wanna cum?"

"YESSSSS!!!!"

"And if I let you cum...?"

"Please! I'll do anything!"

"Anything?"

"YES!!!!"

"Including suck off your brother?"

Sean's hands almost dropped the camera "what?"

"Here's your first and maybe only chance to get your big jock brother t'blow ya Sean" Jeff took the camera from him before it went crashing to the concrete floor "but ya better hurry up we only got - "

"Thirty-nine minutes" Mouse blurted out.

"I'll kill you Sean!" Jack yelled.

"Promise him you won't!" Jeff's hand came wailing down again on those red globes.

"OW!! Okay okay, I won't!"

"You'll suck him off won't you? Then I 'll let you cum. Deal?"

"You bastards!" Jack's voice so hoase they barely understood him when he said "fuckers. Okay deal."

"Y'heard the man" Jeff smirked "he's gonna blow ya Sean. Free and clear."

Sean looked around the room, forgetting the camcorder was still rolling. But all this time seeing his big cocky brother knocked down to size and in front of the whole group! was too hot for words. So when he unzipped himself and his already hard cock sprang out, he braced himself for the snide comments. Instead he heard Jeff say,

"Dude, you're as big as Jack!"

And that was all it took to convince Sean to lean forward and press his cockhead into his brother's face. He was not as thick as Jack, and his was as straight as a poolcue, but easily as long, as Jack found out the hard way. He was coughing and gagging on it when he felt Jeff's hand seal the bargain. He had been sucking on that dick for all of ten seconds before he lost it. That greased hand pulled his frustrated load from him for all to see. His face was too full of Sean's crotch to notice the flash go off again.

"THAT is what happens when you pull on it too long" Jeff chuckled, scooping up some of the puddles between Sean's feet "see? Thick white cum!"

"Wow..." from the other kids. Except Sean who was holding the back of his brother's head like he would pass out. The way Jack's adams apple was bobbing, his throat muscles contracting, it could only mean Sean was emptying his balls as well.

"Wow..." Sean pulled away fast "wow..." his hard cock shiny with spit and

"Cum?" Jeff was rubbing himself, losing all control "you cum?"

"Wow!" Sean tried to stuff himself back in his fly, but he was nodding and blushing.

"Did you... jizz in Jack's mouth?" Mouse could barely believe the words coming from his mouth.

"It's called a blowjob" Jeff gave himself another tug "sucking him off, yeah. Sean, y'wanna go again? Jack here ain't going anywhere."

"No!" Sean's eyes went wide, then he jumped behind the camcorder, remembering that damn thing was still recording "too sensitive" came an off-camera whisper.

"That right?" Jeff's regreased hand was back on Jack's barely drooping cock "too sensitive to cum again?"

"Ahhhhh!" Jack groaned and tried to pull back "no! I just came!"

"So cum again!" Jeff looked at the other guys "how many times can you cum in a day?"

"Stop! Please!"

"Tell me!"

"I DUNNO... two... three?"

"Okay" the hand started that same slow relentless rhythm "I'm not gonna stop til you cum two more times! Think y'can in the next thirty - "

"Thirty-two" Mouse corrected him.

"Thirty-two minutes?"

"No.. please... stop! I'm real sensitive!" but that only made the hand speed up more.

"Y'want me to stop?" Jeff's non-greasy hand started fumbling at the snap of his own pants "what'll ya do if I stop?"

"Please, it hurts!"

"I'll stop if..." Jeff had his pants open, and was tugging down the front of his boxer briefs. He did not stop until his own cock and balls were out and getting some fresh air. He crouched down behind Jack's ass and leaned forward "tell me what ya want me to do cousin."

"No! Please don't!"

"Don't what?" the greasy hand tugging at Jack's balls for good measure "do this?"

"Make him stop Sean! Please!"

"I... ah..." came a muffled sound from behind the camcorder.

"Okay..." Jeff pulled back, his cock hard and ready for the next step "then I'll do this!" and the free hand slammed down on Jack's tender flesh again and again until Jack was crying real tears.

"What's it gonna be?" Jeff nodded at Sean's camera "this?" the hand came down with a earsplitting crack "or this?" Jeff's crotch pressed against Jack's ass again.

"No please... don't make me" whack! down came the hand.

"No more no more!" Jack was breaking under the strain "no more hitting. Please!"

"Tell me what will make it stop" Jeff's greasy hand took over.

"No... not that!"

"Not what, cousin?"

"No, don't make me say it!"

"Tell me! Or else these two hands will do such a number on your boys you won't sit down, or be able to jack this for a month! Say it!"

"No..."

"Say it!"

"Damnit... fuck... fuck me!"

Johnnie knew that distracted hand on his dick was going to pull his load from him whether he wanted it or not. And the way that sunburned dimwit was tugging and twisting it, Johnnie knew his cock was gonna blow. Just to make this torture stop if no other reason. Knowing he was going to lose the competition, Johnnie started paying more attention to the action behind him. Yeah, he figured out this Jack was the same guy on that screen, "jacking" his prick. And if that Jack up there was real sensitive to someone beating his ass, then... Johnnie's hand started slapping that pale rump next to him, not hard or loud, but enough to get that dude all hot. Whatever combination of elements he stumbled upon, when Johnnie's hand sped up on that crooked cock, and he heard "fuck me!" behind him, the next time his big black paw came down on that nice red ass again, it was over. By the time Johnnie's cock started drooling his babyjuice all over the floor, the soldier next to him had already lost his battle. And man could that redneck pump out the jizz!

"Ten big ones to Jack Jefferson" Morrison cackled "way t'go!"

"Thanks I guess" Johnnie was too distracted to notice the reaction from that chubby little dude in the second row. But when he came alongside that row, there was John Johnson sitting with his fly open, his hard dick pointing towards the ceiling "wow..."

"You're welcome" John smile at him, giving his cock a shake for good measure "you were fuckin awesome!"

"Well..." Fleicher regained the mike, trying not to look as flustered as he was "f-f-for the next ten points..." looking at his clipboard several times "we will try this 'two teams' thing again. Two volunteers from the athletes will compete to..." he froze. Morrison yanked the microphone away from his hand.

"Okay guys, like this: two of you dudes, on your knees in front of two soldiers. Whoever gets a tongue bath first gets his tenner, got it?"

A lot of the jocks were on their feet screaming and protesting. As many if not more soldiers were on theirs, their hands waving while trying to yank down those of the guys around them. It might have been funny had it not been dead serious, had the stakes not been so high.

Seeing the evening collapsing around them, the coaches went into a quick huddle, hoping they could arrive at a solution before they had a riot on their hands. Onscreen, an image of a roomful of naked football players engaged in a series of blowjobs almost went unnoticed. Except for several of the guys who recognized themselves or their teammates caught in the act. Coach O'Connoll's whistle came almost as a welcome interruption.

"GUYS!" he screamed into the microphone, the squeal of feedback by itself was enough to quiet the mob "first let's establish which soldiers" and again there were dozens of guys jumping up and down, waving both hands in the air "which FIVE soldiers! Okay okay the rest of you will get your turn, got it? GOT IT?" again the squeal of feedback "your turn next round. Now... sargeants, you can pick five guys to get on stage..."

Which is what they did. With a great deal of arm-twisting and "negotiating", five army guys were selected to take the stage. Jack O'Kenny was not among them, and he knew he would have hell to pay because of it.

"Okay, okay this is how it's gonna go down" Morrison chuckled at his little pun "we 'go down' the row of soldiers here. We start the bidding at ten points, got it? After five seconds, it goes down to nine, then eight, down to zero. If we get to zero and none of you horndogs 'volunteer' like to do the deed, I'm gonna assign one of you buttheads to do it. For NO points, got it?"

He looked at the first several rows of confused faces, the high school guys turning back and forth, trying to figure out if Morrison had a screw loose or what. When it appeared no one was following him, he went to the first soldier, a lanky black guy in his thirties, receding hairline and big nose, and stood next to him,

"Okay soldier, lose the shorts."

"But..."

"Y'don't expect to get a blowjob wearing those, do ya?"

"I guess not" he hooked his thumbs in the elastic waistband of his olive drabs and pulled them down. Several whooshes of air went through the group, seeing what hung down between his legs.

"Okay" Morrison surveyed the group "which one of you dogs gonna earn your ten points with this dude?"

"Sheeeeet" Klu grunted "y'should pay us by the inch!" getting several chuckles from his buds.

"Clarence, you volunteering?" from Coach Bernan.

"Name's Klu, coach" he shot back "and no I ain't."

"Five seconds... one" looking around, seeing a lot of eyes avoiding his "two..." but no takers. Five seconds came and went, and an angry Morrison barked "okay NINE points! One... two..."

"Okay..." and who should stand up but a blushing Scottie Durson. Both Frankie Messman and John Johnson tried to tug him back into his seat, but the hefty guy would not be dissuaded "look guys..." he shrugged his round shoulders "it ain't like no one - "

"Yeah but in front of the the whole room?"

"So?" he was out the row before he looked at Morrison "I don't gotta strip do it?"

"No one wants to see your fat butt" his friend Peachfuzz yelled at him.

"Up to you" Morrison rolled his eyes.

So chubby Scottie Durson got up on stage and stood next to the soldier, a huge contrast between his babyfat and the soldier's zero-fat trim physique, one short one tall, one blushing, one too dark to blush.

"So I do it now?" Scottie hoped his eagerness was not showing.

"Not until all 'volunteers' are selected."

"Is there like a time limit? Like five minutes to make him..." yeah Scottie was blushing like crazy. But the thought of being on his knees in front of that soldier, that long dick choking the life out of him was a secret forbidden fantasy come true. He hoped he hesitated long enough, even forfeiting a whole big point in the process, but standing there almost licking his lips his sacrifice was out the window.

"Okay..." Morrison did another quick consult with the other coaches "no time limit, but last guy to get his soldier to cum forfeits half his points, got it? So no going-through-the-motions crap, got it?"

"Got it!" Scottie saw Sam's face in the audience, seeing him give the "screwy" gesture at him. Scottie just smiled and lowered his head.

"Next, again for ten points" Morrison went to the next soldier, a young guy with buzzed brown hair and the beginning of a goatee. Morrison nodded at his shorts and the guy winced then pulled them down. What he lacked on his head, the guy made up for in the crotch. Except for a small area around his regulation-sized cut dick and tight balls, his lower belly and thighs were covered with an abundance of hair.

"Shave the fucker first!" someone Moose recognized as one of the Minnesota wrestlers named Larry Something shouted. Moose turned thinking Larry was talking about him, but he and his blond buddy Pete something, were joking and punching each other.

"You volunteering?" the soldier yelled at the loudmouths.

"Not me!" Pete yelled back "but this asswipe is" slugging Larry.

"Hodgkins, get your ass up here!" Morrison growled at them.

"Sorry coach, ain't my scene."

"Like hell it ain't!" Pete punched him again "what about last night?"

"Shut UP a-hole!" Larry wanted to throttle his best friend "just because - "

"Hodgkins, I'm volunteering you" Morrison yelled again "either get your ass up here in the next five seconds, or you're gonna do it for no points, got it?"

"You're gonna pay for this" Larry glared at Pete "you're goin down."

"You first" Pete was all smiles.

Big two-ten pounder Larry Hodgkins got up on stage and stood next to the soldier.

"No teeth" was all he said to Larry, feigning indifference.

"Next dude" Morrison went to the third guy, a tattooed bruiser with a big gut. The guy glared at Morrison, then did his best to stare down the whole room as he tugged down his shorts. The room broke into mumblings and whispers fast. The inked bruiser was already hard!

"What's your area?" Mack Reilly stood up.

"Fucking!" the big lug grunted back.

"No, I mean, your area of specialization?"

"My what?"

"Krocker" Master Sargeant Jackson stood up next "he means what's your current assignment."

"Classified" Krocker spat back.

"This whole base is now classified" Mack shot back as well "so where?"

"Munitions, if it's any of your fuckin business."

"Mack, you volunteering?"

"I'm thinking about it" but he sat down again.

"Okay ten points, one... two... three..." but there were no takers. It was down to eight points before Ernie's twin brother, Fred Fredricks stood up.

"Hey, he's already primed y'know?" Fred smiled at Billy and Moose "all I gotta do is breathe on it..."

Small framed, brown-skinned and freckled Fred lept onto the stage with the grace of a sprinter. Billy growned at that little show-off, but realized how far the shy little kid had come since... when? Since those initial exams under the relentless hands of their good buddy Kroos? Billy looked around and found the big guy in the back, looking very stressed and very concerned, in a heated conversation with Mister "Smith" back there.

"Something's up" Billy elbowed Big Hank, then Moose, directing their gaze towards the back of the room "I can smell it."

"What you smellin is me" Big Hank sniffed himself "it's been a long three days."

"Naw, that smells awesome" Billy looked again at Kroos' animated conversation "but THAT smells like... " looking at his friends "nobody gets on stage unless they have to, okay?"

"Why?" Big Hank scrutinized Billy's face.

"Got a feelin about this..." looking at Moose "what do you see?"

"Billy's right" Moose looked at Ernie next "whatever happens we stay together, got it? Got a feelin it's gonna go down sooner not later, and when it does stay close to me. I'll burn through these boneheads like a runaway train when the time comes. And head for the labs, they're underground, totally reinforced, got it?"

"My plan too" Billy nodded.

Checking his watch Morrison came to the last two guys. Like they rehearsed it, both of them dropped their shorts simultaneously. The latino dude was displaying his fat uncut cock like this was his moment of fame; his bald "mister clean" friend was not much smaller, his smooth pubes showing off his equally impressive cut tube.

"Starting at ten points, this fucker" Morrison almost grabbed that brown sausage. And who ended up volunteering, ten points and all, but compact Jerry the shortstop.

"Dude..." Stewie Connors tried to hold him back "that thing'll dislocate your jaw!"

"Maybe..." was all Jerry said and he headed for the stage.

"Last guy... for ten - "

"Hey..." Moose was on his feet again "what about you? What's your... assignment?"

"Why are you guys so...?" Master Sargeant Jackson was on his feet again, not appreciating all this exercise.

"Call it a fetish" Moose winked at Billy "I get all hot for soldiers who - "

"Communications specialist" baldy looked at Jackson "why?"

"Turns my crack" Moose grabbed himself, showing his bone to prove it "I'm in."

"Moose no" Big Hank frowned "remember we..."

"Trust me on this one, okay? Billy has a hunch what's up" and Moose lumbered his oversize frame down the row, grabbing and getting grabbed as he did. He was onstage and on his knees in front of that hairless wonder before Morrison could continue,

"Okay it looks like some dudes here can't wait to get their mouths on army dick" he smirked "when I say 'go' we wanna see some serious cocksucking. Guy whose soldier is the last to get his nut loses half his points, got it?" he blew the whistle "go!"

"So I can't call ya Baldy" Moose was gnawing at those shaved balls in no big hurry "so what do I call ya?" knowing full well the guy's name was Kenny.

"Call me Roger... Apeboy" the guy lied. Moose jerked when he heard that familiar quasi-insult, but went to town on his nuts alternating with licking the underside of the guy's limp cock. Play hard to get, Moose thought, I'm getting a good reading on all your hot spots. His fingers started worming their way beneath those smooth balls, Moose's expert tongue torturing the guy like he was the one in charge. Which Moose was. But now his gamble was that Roger-Kenny did not also have this curse of intuition, or else he would figure out fast what brought Moose up there, why Moose was so eager to get his hands and face on the guy's naked flesh. Talk about a major security breach! Moose was able to download the last twenty-four hours worth of transmissions between their sports camp Apple, or what he would call Location Alpha, with two of the "relocation centers" as well as the Joint Forces Headquarters somewhere deep under the Rockies. He "overheard" some of the more recent transmissions, some of them concerned with the failure of one of the geo-sychronous satellites, and the suspicions whether it would maintain orbit for much longer. The seriousness of the ill-timed satellite failure, just when that huge chunk of rock was passing the Moon's orbit, hit Moose right between the eyes. He was so busy translating some of the coded signals - with Roger-Kenny's unknowing assistance, to realize something warm and spongy was pressing past his tonsils. Talk about hitting the right spots! Moose wanted to stay on his knees all night, absorbing more and more data from one of the key players, even locate his family or discover the whereabouts of all his other friends as well, when he felt that tube in his throat start to spasm. Moose would not have that; he would not have this dude blow his load until Moose was ready for it. Almost like the guy could tell he was leaking like a faucet he started short fast jabs into Moose's throat, his cum building up and ready to go. But Moose was choking and gagging, and not from what that long dick was doing; it was those images of New York and the Eastern Seaboard, the riots, the devastation, the troops shooting to kill everywhere, trying to maintain some order in areas given over to total chaos! All of Moose's cocksucking skills went out the window witnessing that. ny-Roger-Kenny's hands on the back of Moose's head were there to keep that mouth on his dick, like the big hairy kid suddenly recognized he was on his knees sucking dick and was too shocked to continue. But Roger made sure that mouth was in place when he started pumping out more cum than he wanted, his balls emptying in several huge spurts. He pushed Moose away as he pulled up his shorts and was the first to flee the stage.

It was all too much for Scottie. Not only was he on his knees worshipping the biggest hardest brownest slab of man cock he could imagine, but out of the corner of his eye he could see images on the screen of what? could it be? Yes, Scottie could make out the face of his Coach Tyler, grainy and streaked, but Tyler no mistake. In fact his was the only face not pixilated like the others. It appeared to be some warehouse somewhere, one corner of which was converted into that porno movie set. And boy was it some kind of set! There were chains hanging from the ceiling and a wall full of various implements of torture, whips, dildoes, the real deal, and a specially-constructed padded bench Tyler was bent over and strapped into place. Behind him was a huge black guy he almost recognized from the Y, but his face was obscurred, as were the other three? four? five? black dudes surrounding him. All were taking turns slamming their cocks into Tyler's ass over and over, his coach's mouth stuffed full of... somebody's jockstrap? Scottie's mouth was on auto-pilot with his own black pole, but his ears were picking up various comments whispered in the audience. Somehow his "spiderman" hearing was kicking in at all the weirdest times.

"Will, that's gotta be your dad!"

"Fuck, cannot believe this! Where'd they get that?"

"Hey Hulk, what you know about that?"

"Why the fuck y'askin me?"

"So who are those other dudes?"

"Bunch of mean-ass muthahs!"

"Big-dicked muthahs y'mean!"

Some even bigger than this prize I scored, Scottie thought. He tried to block out the sounds of the grunts and yells from the screen, as well as the various hushed comments from everywhere else, the only thing that mattered was the way the tight-bodied dude above him was feeding him that cock like he knew, he just fucking knew! how much it was getting to Scottie on his knees between his feet.

"Take it out kid" Scottie heard and felt vibrated through those dark muscles "show me how much my cock gets t'ya."

Scottie was past the point of debating the issue. He unzipped himself and out popped his steel-hard cock, already slimy with pre-cum.

"Okay kid, when I count to ten you better swallow every drop, got it?"

Scottie could do little but grunt "ungh-ungh" in response. His bigger concern was not slapping the stage with his own cum before then. His glance was yanked back to the screen, and there was nobody but Mark the Moose's arch-enemy, big Dave Daniels on his knees beneath that padded bench, tugging Tyler's cock projecting through a strategically place hole, pulling a gusher of an orgasm from Tyler writhing body as somebody replaced Bo's dick with one even longer.

"Nine!" Scottie felt vibrating through his mouth and his cock exploded. He was cumming and swallowing and spinning and then he felt two strong hands on his shoulders before he lost it entirely.

Fred Fredericks was bobbing on cock while keeping one eye on that screen as well. The dude already blew his load, but Fred was too good a sport to expose the horny soldier like that. So he continued bobbing and sucking, hearing a soft "thanks kid" above him. But seeing Coach Tyler on that screen getting gang raped by all those guys, one of which he recognized as Will's dad Bo right away. Even with his face all distorted like that, Fred knew that body - and dick! - anywhere. But the guy he continued to scrutinize, the one who tried to stay out of camera range as much as possible, that guy really had Fred's attention. Finally it was the tattoo on his right bicep that caused Fred to freak out. It was his dead-beat dad! The guy he only saw every year or so! And Fred sure as fuck never saw him naked like that! Only when he was taking his turn slamming the trademark "Fredericks" cock deep into the coach's ass, and fuck was that Daniels up there milking the coach's cock? then Fred knew beyond any doubt he was watching his old man buttfucking a dude! Fred had seen enough. He spat the last of the dude's spunk on the ground to signal his successful blowjob and headed off the stage, not looking back.

Terry "the Hulk" heard the comments behind him. He turned until he saw that jerk Dave Daniels two rows behind him.

"Just another afternoon on Union Avenue, huh Daniels?" Terry nodded "say hi to Steve for me" with a knowing smile.

"What?!?!?!" Dave looked at Terry, not connecting the dots. When he saw Terry lean over and get Will's attention, both of them looking back at Dave with set expressions, only then did Dave's boneheaded brain figure it out "you????" but Terry shrugged and turned back to watch Dave replace his hand on Tyler's oozing cock with... his mouth! And lose his pixilation as he did!

Moose was back in his chair, a hurried whispered four-way conversation with the immediate group before other heads including big Scottie Farley and a guy next to him, were turning and eavesdropping as well. All of them were too busy with their own concerns to notice the videotape of Coach Tyler's Gang Rape had been replaced by something else. The room was badly lit but the audience just could make out two bodies in the pale greenish light. Obviously someone was using infrared technology in one of the rooms back in one of the lodges. And the more everyone watched, the more they could see it was two guys going at it like dogs in heat. And from the date stamp in the corner, what they were watching was happening in real time! Les Lubonski was absent from the organizer's table; instead he was on that bed, taking a hard, intense fucking from someone a few of the guys guessed to be his buddy Stevie spread over him.

"Could you please have Mister Lubonski join us?" Krooze looked at Maurice Morrison then "if he has no more pressing engagements?"

"Damn!" Crusher stood up "ain't there such as thing as privacy?" and why was he defending that Lubonski dude?

"No Mister Knullsen, there is not" from Krooze.

"Sure as fuck seems that way" sitting his muscled butt back down on his folding chair, wishing it would break "this just gets creepier and creepier" to Boo Boo sitting next to him.

"Nice goin fuckwad" Boo Boo lowered his voice and head "now they got you on their radar next. Can't you shut up for once?"

"We're all sitting ducks here" he whispered back, hearing a few "no shit"s from all around him "all this point shit is bogus. Y'know that right?"

"Yeah, I know that" Boo Boo muttered to his shoes "but I'm praying they don't know we know..."

"Cause if they do" Grunt stretched his arms and yawned to cover his words "we gonna be spending more time... down there" nodding at the floor beneath them. For some time they had been hearing - and ignoring! - the steady oscillating humming that was vibrating the soles of their shoes. For a while it felt like it was decreasing, but with the last contest, with all ten guys on stage going at it like they thought they were as private as those two fucking like farm animals on the screen, several guys began to notice both the pitch and volume had changed. And not for the better. It sounded like someone was flooring the accelerator, revving up the motors for some kind of crazed joyride. Crusher could almost see the naked bodies writhing on those tables, their cocks pumping out load after load as the machines sucked up their energy like metallic vampires. And the worst part it was making him harder and harder. He looked down and damn, but his pants were spotting all over the place. He looked at Boo Boo's swollen crotch next,

"You too huh?"

"Me too, einstein" he whispered back "and it ain't from that!" nodding at the greenish figures on the screen. As they watched they heard someone knocking at that door, then there was the figure of "Little" Coach Morrison joining the two on the bed. He was about to shove his exposed cock into Les' mouth when they heard him say,

"Okay okay I hear ya" talking into his shirt pocket? "sorry to break up the party. They want you... y'know..."

"Fuck..." Grunt was rubbing his big paws all over his shirt "we bugged now?"

"Y'always had bugs" Levon next to him punched him "got it from that Shermaine chick!" and the two of them started wrestling around. Before they drew any more attention to themselves, Crusher and Boo Boo were intervening. The four of them struggled and slapped each other upside their heads before they calmed down, feeling the burning lustful glare of soldiers' eyes behind them. After several long minutes they returned their attention to a stammering Fleicher at the mike.

"Of course naked" Fleicher was answering a question from one of the soldiers "are you volunteering?"

"A bunch of pushups and shit?" the hispanic soldier laughed "fuck why not?" and he was already pulling off his t-shirt.

"Not totally naked..." Coach Morrison looked at Doc Yaldi returning to their table from the back "right?"

"You would be wearing nothing... except for..." producing an entire box of those metal plugs "one of these."

"Yeah right" the soldier's t-shirt stopped half-way off his shoulder "yer kiddin right?"

"No, not kidding" Morrison shrugged "well?"

"Not happening" the soldier sat down again, but the t-shirt stayed off.

"How many points?" the football player from Iowa "Ollie" Oliver stood up "ten right?"

"No, five Oliver" Driscoe snapped at him.

"Make it ten" and Ollie sat down.

"The deal was for five, got it?" Morrison glared at the group "you punks pullin somethin here?"

The group looked around, seeing a few hands go back down. The seconds ticked away, only a few coughs and chair squeaks breaking the silence in the dusty room.

"I will do it for five" caught the room by surprise. Heads turned at it was that Polish kid, Louie from Iowa. His friends, especially the chunky black-haired guy next to him, were trying to yank him back into his seat "but one condition!" he blurted out before he was pulled down.

"What's the condition?" Morrison narrowed his eyes at him "not that we're - "

"You, Coach Sam Morrison also do this thing. At the same time I do it."

"What?" a chorus of coaches were yelling at Louie "you crazy or something?"

"Ten points he refuse, five he agrees" Louie looked at his bud "it's okay Jim, I know what I'm doing."

"I sure as fuck hope so" Jim shook his head knowing Louie was in over his head. Or maybe not.

"Well?" Louie stood there, folding his arms over chest "you man or little boy like these soldiers here?" taunting Sam, hitting him right in his Achilles heel "I think you are not - "

"I'll show you who's man enough" Sam was on his feet, peeling his polo shirt off like it was on fire. He was stripped and naked before Louie even made it to the stage "gimme that!" grabbing one of the bottles of sports drink from Krooze's hand "we're back to this, I know I know..."

"You gettin any eyeful Maurice?" he glared at his brother trying to sneak back into the room unnoticed "cause your ass is next, don't think it ain't."

Stocky, balding Sam Morrison threw his head back downing the bottle, knowing all eyes were on his rugged, musclebound brown body. The few snickers he heard he ignored. If they wanted to see another hung dude with porno-quality dick, they were shit outa luck. The tight cut head of his cock was almost hidden above his turkey-egg sized balls, but that was not his concern. Even when that lanky running back got up on stage next to him, his pale flesh in contrast with his own dark body, Sam did not blink. They wanted to see a real man with real balls, then they were gonna get it.

"Only five points, sucker" Sam sneered at Louie "tough luck."

"I have more chances" Louie downed his drink as well "do you?"

"What's that supposed t'mean?"

"So what if..." Master Sargeant Oliver Jackson was easing himself to his feet yet again. All this up-and-down was going to make his knees very unhappy tomorrow morning "just for theory like..."

"Any soldiers involved" Krooze took the mike from Fleicher "double rations as well as..."

"As what?" Jackson knew it better be good.

"Unlimited access" was all Krooze said. He checked some of the suits in back, but they just nodded their agreement.

"You say unlimited?" a young black soldier stood. Moose turned and recognized him from earlier that morning, the same one who thought Moose's jockstrap felt just fine on his dick "like...?" his eyes locking into Moose's with an audible click.

"Anyone... anywhere... correct."

Most of the athletes were too shocked to respond. But it sounded like they had been raffled off. All of them! So any soldier could stop any of them, and do anything he wanted with them? No questions asked?

That sure as fuck opened the floodgates! Jackson and Moose's friend were on stage so fast they did not have time to remove their two remaining pieces of clothing. But that big tattooed goon Krocker only had to remove his sweat-stained t-shirt to join the others on stage, his cock still red and swollen from the recent blowjob. The last soldier to join the group was a balding fireplug of a grunt, a furry belly leading down a scant pubic region, his tight little dick nestled above a fat scrotum. Fleicher saw three more soldiers approaching the stage before he called a halt to the parade.

"Next time, next time gentlemen."

"This sucks!" Brian Bennings was on his feet, despite the efforts of those around him "we all just gotta take this? I mean any soldier can now just - "

"Unless..." Krooze was arguing with Kramer and Morrison "no, I feel it is only right and fair..."

"Nothing about this is fair!" Brian interrupted.

"In order to correct the perceived injustice" Krooze continued, interrupted by a distant boom, like thunder but without the reverberations.

"What the FUCK was that?" Brian looked at the soldiers like it was their fault. Two of three of them walked out of the room as quickly as they could without arousing more suspicions. But when Brian and the others saw some of the suits leave as well, they knew something bad was about to go down.

"Do not be concerned" Krooze's face remained calm and fixed "we have been experiencing some power surges with our..." his gaze went around the room "laboratories. With which some of you gentlemen are familiar. If anyone wishes to have their fears allayed or questions addressed, I am sure we can arrange for you to visit our facilities. In the immediate future..." looking around the room. Even Brian knew enough to zip it. The group was so quiet they heard a second, and then a third distant rumble, not as loud as the first.

"But to return to Mister Bennings' concerns..." Krooze took an ominous swig of sports drink "to keep a 'level playing field' I believe is the phrase, any of our prized athletes who participate in this next event will not be eligible for further encounters with our military guests. Do you understand?"

"So if I 'volunteer' like" Brian already had his shirt off "my ass is off-limits to any of these horny soldiers, right?"

"Give the kid a gold star" Morrison yelled, not needing the mike.

"So y'change your mind?" Sam Morrison glared at that Polish kid like all of this was his fault "your last chance."

"Unlike you I have many chances" Louie bent forward and braced himself as the doc slid the lubed tube deep inside his hole. He wanted to thank him for not making any comments about how easy the insertion was. When it was Sam's turn, he made a big show of yelping and wincing. But Sam was in the same situation.

Doc Yaldi worked his way down the row, alternating between the soldiers and the last "volunteers" from among the high school athletes. And like Louie, he did not make any dramatic display of the ease with which the tubes went into the younger participants. The only exception being the big black sargeant Jackson who grimaced and moaned but when he straightened up so did his cock.

"Okay as agreed, beginning with the jumping jacks. Now!" and the naked group began to leap and flip their arms around, no one wanting to quit first. They were at it a good thirty seconds before the doc went to a small laptop sized box and started typing away. Even the guys in the front row could hear the buzzing coming from those next-generation inserts plugged into those bouncing asses. And the expression on those guys faces when they felt those devices begin to rattle and buck like crazy deep inside them was worth the price of admission. Even those guys who had dropped a load not fifteen minutes before looked down and saw the dramatic effect those plugs were having on their cocks. And they could do nothing but continue to jump around on stage, naked and boning.

So when the doc started typing in more commands on his console, the guys in the first few rows were not surprised to hear another, weirder sound come from the direction of the stage. Or else it was the next bit of incriminating blackmail being projected for their entertainment. It sounded like the video of those wrestlers getting buttplugs had been filmed not in a gymnasium, but inside some power plant! Talk about earsplitting! Like someone slamming two locomotives together with the sound turned way up!

"Code Three! Code Three!" an even louder blare came over the intercoms. The screen went dark as the entire room was flooded with the glare of strobe lights above all the exits.

"Code Three! Code Three! All Personnel report to their stations! This is not a drill! Repeat! This is NOT a drill!"

"Okay this is it guys" Moose leaned over and gave Ernie a big hug and kiss, not surprised to receive the same from Billy and Big Hank "this way!"

"But everyone's heading..." Ernie watched the panic stampede of everyone towards the large double doors, the soldiers doing their best to get everyone in some semblance of an ordered rout and at the same time be the first ones through the exit and to their posts. But Moose was bulldozing a path towards the locker room doors as were a few others. The four of them blazed a trail in the tangential direction, many others including Scottie and his teammates following their lead. Once they were threading their way among the benches and lockers, Billy turned to Moose,

"Now where?"

"We can get to the shelters below the labs the other way!" Scottie yelled over the constant sirens and alarms, the locker rooms as well illuminated by the emergency exit lights flashing and little more. The floor beneath them shuddered as they heard something like pipes bursting from the direction of the shower area.

"Y'heard the man! This way!" Big Hank yelled, grabbing bodies and shifting directions for another exit. They were through the doors and approaching the outside exit before Ernie yelled,

"Outside? But - "

"We can't access the labs from this direction" Big Hank started pushing them out the door, hearing more, many more feet approaching behind them. If they did not get out they would be overtaken and trapped. He was the last one through the door just as the stampede caught up with them. They were outside fast, their feet flying down the few stairs to the lawn when their eyes were pulled skyward!

"What THE FUCK!" Moose yelled, hearing other voices echo him as more and more broke through the doors. Above them the sky glowed purple in the late sunset, but it was not the sunset they were watching. The sky itself was shimmering and shivering like one gigantic oilslick, greens and purples predominating. He heard "the lights! the lights!" behind him, but no one was laughing at Grunt now. Moose could hear the swearing and screaming as the seven broke into a run across the grounds.

They made it half-way across the field to safety when something large and round and glowing came out of the sky, screaming and whistling as it fell towards them. Billy and Big Hank lost their footing and tumbled to the ground as that ball of destruction hurtled towards them. It was seconds from slamming into them when it hit something high in the air. There were a loud explosion as the object flew into a thousand pieces, lighting up the protective dome of ionized particles over their encampment. The dome crackled and sizzled with the discharge, but the seven were too busy grabbing each other and running to notice.

"Halt! You're all under arrest!" a soldier was running the length of the fence to intercept them "stop or I'll shoot!" and out of his holster came a gun. He was pointing it right at Billy's head!

"Stop!" Scottie lunged at the outstretched hand, deflecting the soldier's aim. There was a brief struggle before Moose managed to push the soldier's arm upward. But not before the gun went off with a frightful bang! High over their heads the flare exploded as it smashed into the underside of the shimmering iridescent dome.

"You bastard!" Scottie took a swing and dropped the soldier like so much soggy garbage "a fuckin flare gun?" but the soldier was out cold.

"Look!" Ernie screamed as another, then another chunk of something came tumbling towards them. The first one hit the field of the dome and broke into several pieces, two of which continued to fall towards them. The second one fell unimpeded.

"It's down! The dome is down!" Moose screamed at the unconscious soldier "you FUCKER!" like it was his fault. Which in a way it was. They were back on their feet and running after the ground-shaking impact, seeing fires and explosions where the object slammed into several of the choppers.

"This way! Hurry!" Big Hank had them together and at a gallop towards the nearest building as another, then another chunk of glowing chaos came screaming towards them. They were almost to the stairs of the doors leading to the labs when they heard the next bolide slam into the forest with a burst of flames, then another somewhere past the lake.

"Oh no" Moose looked up and the dome was crackling and sputtering back to life. But that did nothing to obscure the sight, the entire sky with one great purple-pink slice rent in two, a deep terrible rumbling coming up from the ground, the entire arch of heaven ripping as they saw it, the outstreched sword of some wrathful god disemboweling the writhing sky with an impossible