Track and Field

Track and Field 1

by GGDC

Author's Note: This is a futuristic tale of a young man's near idyllic existence gone awry. It is set seven or eight decades in the future where STDs are completely under control, nudity taboos are largely absent from social life, and medical advances have extended the human life span to several centuries. The USA is fully on the metric system.

It contains graphic descriptions of the male human body, of consensual and non-consensual sexual activity between adult males, the youngest of whom is seventeen years old, i.e. above the age of consent, with scenes with heavy bondage and pronounced sado-masochistic themes and even forced sex with animals.

If any of this would offend a reader, read no further. This is not intended for persons younger than an age where they may freely and legally select their reading matter in whatever jurisdiction that applies.

It is offered for entertainment. If it manages to both entertain and to provoke prurient interest, it will have succeeded in its aim. Writing this tale has been the most fun the author has had wearing clothes in a very long time.

It is entirely fictional, with no resemblance intended to any person living or dead. If the story strikes you as a bit unrealistic, even over the top, well okay. I am exaggerating for a purpose. That is why it is set in the future. Wait till you read the sexy sequel.

Comments are welcome.

Chapter 1. A College Idyll

Kyle charged down the home stretch, straining to reach the finish line. He was making a maximum effort this afternoon, ignoring the hot red clay soil under his bare feet. This was not just any training run. At a full 25 kilometers (15 miles), it was a qualifier for the team that would represent Colby College for Men at the Georgia state finals.

Never a front runner, Kyle tended to linger behind the leaders till late in the race. He would normally delight at the sight of the bare backsides of the competition, but now was no time for distractions. Coming up to the tree he had marked with a ribbon on practice runs, he poured it on really burning up the track with his final kick. The naked youth ignored the way his unsupported dangly bits bounced about. That came with the territory. All competitors -- males anyway -- went naked and barefoot these days in track and field and in aquatic sports, soccer too.

Kyle's second place finish was quite respectable given that he was a year or two younger than his classmates. Seventeen was young for a college student almost at the end of his freshman year. Though legally of age, he was yet to attain his adult musculature though clearly he would never be taller than his current stature: only 168 centimeters (five and one half feet). He had flagged a bit there at the end. It can be hard to pack away energy in a frame that carried only 56 kilos (122 pounds), especially for a runner with a surprisingly strong upper storey. If he got by so light it was because his body fat percentage had to be in the single digits. All muscle, and tendon and bone. Not that Kyle was actually skinny, but he was definitely on the slender side, boyishly so.

He trotted over to the outdoor shower stand, soaped up, and let the rush of water wash the sweat and dust off his lean, evenly tanned frame. His short blond hair flattened to his head and rivulets ran down and off his small body. The rush of water felt so good as it cleansed and cooled him off. Afterwards, it was time to stretch. Standing feet apart, arms overhead and fingers interlocked, he reached for the sky. Then he wind-milled his arms slowly, getting the kinks out of his lats. Next he leaned against a rail seting one foot well behind him, holding the pose to stretch the Achilles tendon, then switched to the other. Finally Kyle went on to ham-string stretches. With a foot propped on a rail, he bent forward bringing to touch his ankle; the tanned torso glistened with water droplets highlighting the sensuous curves of of his youthful body from shoulders and deltoids, down to the waist and narrow hips and on to the taut globes below. Like all distance runners he was lean. The tracery of veins on arms and legs testifying that his frame carried no excess flesh. All this was complemented by a fine-boned face and pretty-boy good looks. (Think Mitch Hewer of "Skins")

Bent over and concentrating on how good that stretch felt up there in his groin and thigh, Kyle was surprised by the friendly slap on his ass landed by a tall red-head.

"Just hold that pose, Kyle me lad".

"Get you Irish paws back where they belong," he retorted with mock severity.

Tommy Houlihan was his best friend and roommate at the residential college, though not southern born like Kyle. It had taken him a while to fall in with the casual public nudity common in this section of the country, so much affected by global warming. Kyle wore clothing as seldom as possible and, when he had to, as little as practicable. Why bother in this heat? Besides, as he himself would admit, Kyle was a bit of an exhibitionist. He was glad for the chance to run around naked, not just on the track but much of the rest of the time. Not at a restaurant or the movies or the post office of course. And on campus at the refectory and for classes indoors, sure, he slipped on a sarong although usually without a top. Sometimes he wore flip flops, but he mostly went barefoot. All that running had toughened his feet aided by a topical ointment that promoted the growth of calluses.

As Tommy knew so well the blond boy he shared a bed with had a beautiful body, slender yet muscular, tanned, taut and toned with strong shoulders, well defined abdominal muscles, and narrow hips. His hands were small and his legs well muscled with veins prominent under the skin because of his low body fat. No hair interrupted the flow of its faultless lines. His sex was in proportion with a smooth cock, foreskin concealing the head and extending a bit beyond, the scrotum the size of a large peach but with the divided curvature of a plum and held close to the belly.

"OK, boys let's not scandalize the public" the coach remarked with a grin. "We'll go over the pictures tomorrow after an easy jog in the morning. See you at nine."

Kyle wondered how he could shock the public after years of running around nude and hairless, utterly exposed to view. At sports grounds, beaches, parks, in high school athletics, and in back yards across the country, the undraped male physique was a common sight. No surprise then that at their meets fans always wanted to snap post-race pictures with Kyle wearing nothing more than his bright smile. Fans loved shots of the runner all hot and sweaty, looking as he might just after wild sex. His youth and slenderness was emphasized by a smooth and utterly hairless physique. Like many young males these days, he had used the permanent depilatory cream which meant a lifetime of never having to shave his face or anywhere else including down there.

You needed a considerable degree of sang-froid to chat amiably with a group of fellow students most fully dressed, and all focussing their attention of your bare physique. Kyle suspected most of the female spectators were there to watch the runners, not the competition itself. Even girls who knew Kyle wasn't interested, wanted pictures of him bare-ass with closeups of his impossibly pretty face with its dreamy sea green eyes and, more surreptitiously, his firm buttocks and the handsome manhood at the fork of his legs.

Kyle had never made a secret of his preference for his own gender. In the milling around before the team photo, his teammates' hands might brush against him "accidentally" in front, cupping and weighing, or in back slipping into his cleavage, leaving the teen acutely self conscious, especially on those occasions when his cock started to plump up and visibly lift off. Of course everyone was too polite to notice, but Kyle could see a mischievous twinkle in the eyes of several of the boys he had been with in the past.

The coach liked his job and he thought the team was a fine bunch of boys but he couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. Barely thirty himself, he could look forward to maybe another 70 or 80 years, life expectancy being what it was, but he had been born just a decade too soon. Boys Kyle's age would spend the next three or four centuries perpetually youthful, their aging arrested at their late teens, thanks to expensive gene tweaking before birth, a benefit of their social class. Kyle's folks were not super rich, but they were more than comfortable, and Kyle was a member of the first generation to fully benefit from advances in the understanding of obscure structures called telomeres in chromosomes; the gene therapy also protected him against all forms of cancer.

Too bad about the proletariat, but nothing kids like those on his team could do about it. Currently only a quarter of the population could afford extended life treatment, though costs were dropping fast. Everyone was worried about the demographic, social, and political fallout of these trends as the end of the twenty-first century approached.

The two boys chatted a bit as they rested after their race and agreed to meet at the swimming pool after Kyle's conversational French class. In nice weather, classes were often held outdoors in the shade of a big chestnut tree. No need for texts or audio-visual equipment. Just bring yourself. That is just what the boy did and all he did. Monsieur Le Blanc was not surprised to see the blond boy and several others show up entirely bare, or 'ˆ poil' (in his birthday suit). The first time had even led to gentle joshing by those who pointed out with relentless Cartesian logic that boys like Kyle 'un mec ˆ poil' weren't just bare down to their body hair (poil means hair) but even less.

"OK," Kevin had retorted, "let's apply some of that famous French logic to the language itself. Why do the inhabitants of the so-called Hexagone count from seventy to ninety nine in so silly a fashion."

In fact the French said the equivalent of sixty-ten and sixty-eleven instead of seventy and seventy-one; four-twenties and four-twenties-two instead of eighty and eighty-two; and four-twenties-ten and four twenties-thirteen instead of ninety and ninety three. Early Modern French actually had words for seventy, eighty, and ninety. Some were used today in Belgium or French-speaking Switzerland and in Africa.

"Whatever happened to vaunted Cartesian rationalism?"

From then on Kyle deliberately used septante, huitante, and nonante when speaking French. Prenez-garde!

Actually, Le Blanc mused, his own Cartesian logic told him that the boy was perfectly right about counting in French. You couldn't get away with such nonsense in Italian or Spanish. Oui, convention rules in language, but where was the French Academy and the famously centralizing French state? At least much of French speaking Africa had made the switch. Africa had been the saving of Francophone cultural influence around the world, with strong growth in speakers during the twenty-first century as half the continent developed and educated its youth in French. The language now counted well over three hundred million first or second language speakers on five of the six inhabited continents with nearly half again as many cultural speakers. Good news for the employment prospects of teachers like him.

The teacher smiled at this remembered exchange among his students. Nothing like getting the students excited and interested in what the were saying and worrying less about the how of it. Fluency comes from talking even if you made mistakes. He liked his students, even shameless little Kyle, sitting over there legs stretched out and ankles crossed, supporting himself on arms locked behind and to the side. Was the pose just practical to prop up his torso or was it chosen to show off those muscled legs and deltoids, the nice cleavage between his firm pectorals with those tiny red nipples, and the channel down the belly, not to mention sculpted eight-pack abs. The only thing he was wearing was a sheen of sweat, quite flattering really. He positively glowed with good health and sex appeal.

Oops, he realized Kyle must have divined his thoughts for the boy tucked his sex between his thighs making it disappear then smiled sweetly at the prof: an innocent sexless creature, that's what he was. Bien sžr. Le Blanc knew for a fact that Kyle had been with at least two other students in this class alone, and probably with both of his roommates. They all slept naked in one bed, no?

Most boys from the upper classes shared genetically engineered health and good looks, so in the heat few bothered with anything above the waist and little below. A loincloth passed through the legs or lightweight silken shorts covered little and concealed hardly at all. A loincloth might put two layers in front of a boy's manhood, unless the wind lifts it away, but bares the boy's sides entirely. Low rise silken shorts outlined as much as they concealed and allowed glimpses up loose leg openings.

As the instructor knew only too well, over a third of the boys here were oriented toward their own gender either entirely or as a change of pace. Men's colleges these days were like the gymnasiums of the ancient world where boys exercised and often studied in the nude, though sexual relationships between males in today's gymnasia were between persons of the same age not between a grown man and a boy.

The progress of gay liberation over the last century had made straight guys comfortable sharing social spaces with their gay contemporaries. No wonder field sports went back to the ancient ideal of nude competition. It also put all competitors on the same footing. They could bring only original equipment to the contest. No more technological arms races like body length swim suits that helped a swimmer float and reduced turbulence and drag or running shoes equipped with sensors and actuators. Who wants to see a body suit on a swimmer anyway? Everyone wants to ogle their sexy bodies, and yes why not fully naked instead of in skimpy racers that did little to hide the genitals anyway.

Looking at Kyle, the prof conceded it was hard to be critical of such a nice kid as the little blond. A good student in all his classes, a voracious reader with an insatiable curiosity, and an incessant chatterbox, he really was a treasure as a student and a delightful young person -- so bright and cheery and also so very pretty. Le Blanc might have kissed him himself, ladies' man though he was, had Kyle not been a student.

By the time Kyle reached the swimming pool, his red head roommate was already churning up the water. The recreational pool was a natural wide spot in the creek with the near bank shored up with field stone along the deepest stretch where kids could dive. Laughing, Kyle cannonballed into the pool and swam over to Tommy and grappled with the bigger boy. They wrestled and thrashed around, sinking to the bottom briefly then pushed back up to the surface laughing and slapping at each other. Tommy pushed the smaller youth to the side of the pool and held him there, victorious. A leg slipped through the fork of Tommy's legs, and they suddenly found themselves embracing, chests and hips touching. Kevin felt a rush of heat, his pulse pounded and he started to get hard. As much as he liked the close contact with his attractive friend, he let his arms fall away, afraid Tommy wasn't ready for intimacy.

Tommy kept his arms around the little blond and locked his gaze into Kyle's green eyes, his hands sliding down to the curve of his buttocks. He leaned forward and murmured.

"Kyle, you're prettier than any girl around. I'm almost sorry I don't go for guys, but if I ever made an exception, it would be for you. I don't mind your holding me though. It's actually feels kind of nice."

He leaned forward and kissed the blond boy full on the lips, then slipped his tongue into Kyle's mouth. Kyle returned the embrace and the kiss for a long moment then pulled back.

"Yeah, I'd sure like it, Tommy, if we could go all the way. I mean we share a bed already. How about a blow job for starters?" He ducked under the water and took Tommy's cock into his mouth.

"Whoa there. Wouldn't want you to drown on me" Tommy said tugging his friend back up.

Tommy backed away then hiked his backside onto the edge of the pool. Kyle resumed his efforts. Tommy really liked blow jobs and had to admit that guys did it better than girls. They really knew what turned another guy on. So straight boy though (he thought) he was, he willingly let his pal blow him when they got together. Kyle pleasured Tommy's cock with lips and tongue, then tried to get it down his throat. Kevin was very young and still working on his technique, so sometimes his gag reflex got in the way. Tommy actually liked the fact that it wasn't easy for Kevin to take his cock. Something about it made him feel dominant and powerful, with the smaller lad between his knees, struggling submissively to accept another male's fully engorged penis. He used Kyle's hair to pull his face back and forth; the smaller boy kept his locks just long enough for a good grab. He liked to looked down the boy's slender torso, to the split buns at the end. Not that he had any plans for exploring that aspect of Kyle's sexuality, mind you.

"Arrgh, here I come" he said loosing his load into the smaller lad.

Kyle swallowed each spurt as best he could, but with a thick cock blocking his throat, he could not keep all the cum in his mouth, and some of it dribbled down his chin. Tommy pulled out for the final two spurts, letting it hit Kyle's finely drawn features, a male marking his territory. Kyle slurped it up the best he could. Tommy never reciprocated the favor with a blow job of his own, but he did not mind helping his friend out. After all Kyle was his friend and so very pretty. So when Kyle hopped out of the pool next to him working his own cock Tommy kissed Kyle and stroked his friend's ribs and flanks and the inside of his thighs.

For a guy his size, Kyle was quite respectably endowed; it took both of his small hands to cover his erection, but only one when it was soft. Tommy had the blond lie back propping himself on his elbows as he took over. Kyle submitted as another male took complete control of his arousal and of the action at the fork of his legs, watching submissively as his friend took control of his sexuality.

Tommy toyed with Kevin's tiny nipples, pulling and twisting and pinching them hard with his finger nails. Something about the pain turned Kyle on no end. He suddenly wondered what it would be like to be really helpless, tied up or shackled and force to accept sexual torture at the hands of a stronger guy. He never would say anything to Tommy about such perverse desires. Tommy's limit in boy to boy sex was letting Kyle suck his cock and a hand job in return and maybe French kissing.

The blond boy felt his climax build, his belly all aflutter. As Tommy playfully shoved a finger into his boy hole, he came all over his chest and belly then sighed with satisfaction. Tommy, still in control of his sexuality, rubbed the ejaculate into his skin with careful attention to Kyle's belly and nips, gently drawing his softening cock and ball sac through his big hands to coat all the surfaces of the orbs and the shaft with the boy's very own male essence. Kyle lay back all the way, satisfied and drained. The two boys drew a patter of applause from a couple of male students who had watched interestedly from a little ways downstream. Life was good.

After a quick shower and then his yoga class, still naked, Kyle returned to their dorm. He always admired how architects like his dad managed to combine comfort with energy saving features like passive solar cooling from thick walls, green roofs covered with plants instead of tile or tarpaper, and those egg-beater windmills to generate electric power. With fossil fuels reserved for chemical feedstock, marine and air transport or the military these days, renewable sources and conservation were a necessity. Like most dormitories, his had no frigid air conditioning but was still quite comfortable. Windcatcher towers supplied naturally cooled air, exchanging the hot outside air without pumps for cooled air drawn from underground aqueducts fed from the creek upstream. The room he shared with his two roommates was airy and comfortable with cross ventilation where both ceiling and floor fans turned quietly stirring the air to life. Windows had awnings and trees shaded any south facing walls.

Students lived quite simply. In their rooms each student had a desk with a swivel chair though Kyle's was really a stool on casters that fit under his desk. Each had a small chest of drawers and they shared a single wardrobe--no closets. They wore little clothing normally and that mostly lightweight and virtually never in their rooms, and seldom anywhere in or about the dorm. They did not need much storage space for belongings. Indeed they had very few possessions, typical of the generation imbued with the end of century zeitgeist scornful of material accumulation. They didn't even need bookshelves since paper books were obsolete. All you needed was a single book reader.

The padded bench on one side of the room supplied seating for guests and also stored the long roll-out futon all three boys shared. In the daytime it was out of sight and out of the way. At night the futon kept them low to the floor where the air was cooler.

Except of course when Kyle and dark haired Jean-Michel heated the room up with their energetic couplings. Kyle's French had improved dramatically thanks to the tall French-Canadian student who insisted that, to help his new friend perfect his French, they must always speak it in their room, even or especially in bed. Tommy had to improve his French too just to keep up and so they couldn't pull pranks on him. A couple of years older, Jean-Michel also taught the younger boy love making techniques. Sometimes Kyle got two lessons at once as when Jean-Michel put him on his knees and bent him over and slapped his ass with a lusty "Žcarte-toi". Kyle had better figure out that meant 'spread 'em'. The blond also learned words seldom used in polite conversation for parts of the body. There were many words for the naughty parts of the body of course, but Kyle appreciated the simplicity of 'le sexe'. It made up a little for the silly way Frenchmen counted.

Tommy didn't mind sharing a bed with his two romantic roommates as long as they didn't keep him up too late or kick him too hard. He would even help get Kyle in the mood playing with his nipples, stroking his ribs, or kissing him while Jean-Michel probed the blond boy's firm ass. While sleeping, Tommy liked to spoon himself to Kyle's smaller frame, enjoying their physical closeness. So did Jean-Michel, but he didn't mind sharing. Tommy got a tingly feeling listening to the younger boy breathe, feeling his pulse and body heat, nuzzling Kyle's ears and his hair. He would take a deep breathe to draw in the combination of smells from the soap Kyle used, his subtle cologne, traces of sweat and all those lingering aromas that made up the smell of a healthy boy. Tommy got a bit more than he bargained for one day when he woke to find that his blond roommate had pushed his hips back in his sleep and actually mounted Tommy's morning wood.

Naturally Jean-Michel just had to take a photo of their unconscious coupling. Only the most dire threats kept them from publishing it! As for Kyle, Tommy put the smaller boy through a tickle torture that lasted off and on for an hour. After all their time together, Tommy knew just where to attack. But wasn't tickling yet another kind of physical intimacy, Tommy asked himself. His cock had actually felt pretty good up in there -- so warm and slick and tight. He did enjoy their sweet kisses, especially three way kisses with Jean-Michel when the saucy foreigner had offered Tommy a taste of Kyle's precum and he had taken it. Suddenly they were all tasting and kissing each other. Jean-Michel was very nice looking and sexy in his own right.

Tommy sometimes wondered whether he shouldn't explore boy-boy sex further. Kyle had taken his cock in his mouth and swallowed his seed. Should he reciprocate? Maybe he was a switch hitter after all. Did their increasing physical intimacy mean that he was actually falling in love with a boy?

Out of bed too Tommy and his roommates got along famously. They helped each other with their homework, library research, and writing assignments. Tommy laughed at how unself-consiously the boys, himself included now, could sit before their screens writing, running simulations, taking practice quizzes, looking things up, all so intellectual and earnest yet all three of them stark naked. Kyle shrugged at the thought and said

"It's clothing that's artificial. Naked is natural, the default status. When you see me naked you see the real Kyle. When you see me dressed, what you see is my clothing." And hang what those silly nudists said. Naked wasn't just natural, it was too sexy. Nudists were just in denial about that. Casual nudity was also part of the zeitgeist, a reaction against generations inexplicably focussed on clothing of all things. Why not just go naked and cut out all that one-ups manship and posturing. Show yourself as you really were.

Tommy suspected the reason Kyle used that stool of his rather than a desk chair was because it displayed more of his sexy body. An artist would surely appreciate the sensuous curves from shoulder to small of the back, to the flare of narrow hips, and the split curvature of the buttocks. So could passersby in the hallway with the door left open as it often was. The boys were gregarious and liked for friends to drop in. If they looked too busy, their friends could just walk on by, leaving the roommates to their lessons.

Naturally the boys also pitched in for the housekeeping chores around the dorm. Employers couldn't hire cheap workers anymore now that the borders were effectively patrolled by drones. A population over 400 million was starting to make Americans feel crowded. Making a virtue of necessity, the college insisted that ding humble chores was good for building character and comradeship. Indeed it was hard to maintain a snobbish attitude mopping the floors or cleaning the bathrooms, or raking leaves.

Tommy had made a video of Kyle on hands and knees scrubbing the tile around a commode. Naked except for rubber gloves and pads for his knees, he looked like nothing so much as a light brown short-haired doggy with no tail, with its tanned haunches closest to the camera, dangly bits swaying between his slender thighs, crinkly brown anal ring visible as he scrubbed the brush back and forth. Kyle had realized he was on camera and turned to flash a dazzling smile and then a finger at the photographer.

No, whatever his faults, this kid was the genuine article: intelligent, hardworking, cooperative, funny, and certainly not too full of himself despite his many gifts. Of all his chores Kyle prefered to work in the communal vegetable garden which provided them all with the freshest possible produce. Kyle had found that he genuinely liked farm chores: planting, seeding, hoeing, weeding, pruning, staking, watering, whatever. It was deeply satisfying to tend to plants, to make things grow, to grub his hands in the soil piling dirt around celery stalks so they would turn white. Tommy had video of that too: the blond boy kneeling on the ground, brown cheeks resting on bare feet, lithe torso bent over, ribs and spinal bumps prominent as, trowel in hand, he worked at his mundane task firm muscles playing under the skin. He looked so alive, a fine specimen of the human animal.

Hence Kyle was well regarded by his fellow students. Way oversexed many allowed but in a charming way. He was definitely one of the good guys. Quite a few were glad the little blond was the way he was. He was a boy who loved to be naked and not just so for people to see him, to admire him, but also to run their hands over his belly, to caress his buttocks or slip the blade of a hand in between, and to touch him intimately. Kyle was very tactile: ticklish yes but he also like to be fussed over, stroked, petted, and fondled. Some dismissed him as a boy toy -- a label he wore as an honor.

He loved to let his lovers and friends share his physicality and his maleness with all their senses: sight and touch yes, but his sounds, his bodily fragrance, and even his taste. So while they hung out together he let guys rest their heads on his chest or his belly, the better to hear his heartbeat, his respiration, or his inner borborygmus (what a wonderful word), the rumbling or gurgling noise made by the movement of fluid and gas in the intestines. Let them taste his salty sweat out of the pool collected in his navel or even the clear pre-cum that their attentions could stimulate from his generative organs. Let them smell the clean odor of healthy boy in his arm pits, in his groin, in his hair. Let them take his breath into their mouths and let them breathe theirs into his nostrils. Let them taste each other's sweet kisses. Then they would know 'Boy' in the true meaning of that wonderful word.

He encouraged guys to sit on a bench next to him, to put an arm over his shoulder or around his waist. They could talk quietly about their interests getting to know each other better. Even straight students thought it unremarkable to sit on a bench next to a naked youth chatting with him, rubbing his back, stroking his smooth hide from shoulder to ass. A small slender lad with delicate features was more approachable, less threateningly male. He didn't have a man's wiry bush at the fork of his legs. He was also much prettier than their own girl friends and much less standoffish.

Perhaps his fellow males sensed that Kyle's physique was, in an evolutionary sense, an ideal, the build of man the primitive hunter who stalked or ran his prey down on the open savannah. Primitive man was a natural runner but with enough upper body strength to drive a spear into the heart of a two ton beast.

You just had to watch Kyle tossing a frisbee. Kyle was quick and nimble as a squirrel. The sport could have been designed to show off the male physique with all the running, bending, reaching, throwing, jumping, and stooping. Guys like Kyle loved clowning around. bending over to throw the frisbee between their legs calling attention to their pert rumps.

Chapter 2. Town and Gown

The college was just outside of the town of Colby a county seat in rural north east Georgia and an agricultural center for specialty crops like pearl onions, avocados, and berries. Though transport was available, most students, faculty, and staff simply walked to town. The high cost of fuels had been a boon to public health and to the fortunes of small towns. Their compact size made it easy to walk to services and stores instead of driving.

Renewable energy sources like wind, wave power, solar electric and heating, geothermal, and cogeneration to capture waste heat and steam, and other techniques kept the economy going along nicely, but the old days of sprawl and crawl were done with. Older developments used small cars, busses, and delivery vans, powered by fuels made from gas hydrates. Many residents stuck in the old suburbs found jobs where they could telecommute over the web.

Otherwise walkable developments were flourishing up everywhere. Sidewalks led residents from their town houses to close-by services: barber shop, convenience store, drug store, liquor store, pizza parlor, whatever. Clusters of such neighborhoods of houses and services surrounded the main shopping district with supermarket, movie theaters, post office, public library, police sub-station, and so forth. There were no cars parked on the street or in driveways. Indeed there were no driveways on the pedestrian streets, just the occasional robot cart trailing behind, loaded with heavy packages. Residents parked cars in the center of the large housing blocks in a lot, carport or garage. It was a place built for people, not for cars. And the people were healthier from walking there.

Even so, with such far reaching changes, there were winners and losers and political fallout from all that. People were still getting richer just in different ways, especially in health and education, and extended life-spans. Kyle knew a lot about such things because his dad was an architect and city planner. His mother was a medical doctor, an endocrinologist.

Kyle, Jean-Michel and Tommy walked to town one Sunday afternoon for brunch at a new restaurant. The boys were in their second best sarongs and flip flops chatting obliviously. The trio usually drew admiring looks, but a few older men, strangers in town, glared at them resentfully. A guy with a belly on him spit on the ground calling them "Damn Eloi".

"Eloi pansies" his pal corrected him.

So that was it. The 'Morlocks' were a new political movement allegedly speaking for the downtrodden working classes and against the idle Eloi or lotus eaters as in the classic tale 'The Time Machine' by H.G. Wells. They envied the upper classes their longevity. Some people were always looking to blame others for their problems.

"Hey pretty boys! What's with the skirts? What you got under them, huh."

"Is there a problem here?"

The cop who suddenly appeared was the biggest man Kyle had ever seen, almost two meters tall and solidly built. He and his partner gave the bullies a challenging look so they backed down and drifted off.

"Sorry about that kids. Just riff-raff. You know we don't have any real problems here in Colby with you folks at the college."

Indeed relations between town and gown were friendly. Kyle and his two friends talked a bit with Sergeant Harris who turned out to be an alumnus himself. In his day, boys did not run around in sarongs, but he admitted the three of them did look good in the colorful garments. Indeed a sarong drapes close to the body and doesn't flare out. So it emphasizes the slenderness of the boy below the waist and hips and directs attention to the roundness of the rump and the flatness of the bare chest and belly. That and the huge variety of color and pattern made them popular these days with young men especially with the heat. Why bother with boring jeans or chinos when you could sport a beautiful sarong? And it was so easy to get off; just pull the velcro fastener and let it fall. Just great when you were in the mood for frolic or for sports like tossing a frisbee or swimming or running.

The trio also liked visit the gay bars in town. Not that any of them drank very much. They had excellent health habits: no drugs, lots of exercise and fresh air, a diet rich in fresh foods, etc. They did like to spend at least part of Saturday afternoons in the patio behind Jake's Place a popular watering hole. There they could meet townies they had befriended and enjoy a couple of mimosas and crudites or light munchies. If you were really hungry you could have a platter with scrambled eggs, hash browns, sausage or bacon, pancakes or waffles with syrup and fruit. Delicious! You could hang out near the shade of the tall hedge or around the delightful fountain in the center. Since they were nude anyway in the patio, the boys would duck under the spray to cool off.

Jake also maintained a grassy area beyond the hedge as a public amenity. Neighbors as well as patrons were welcome to join in games of volleyball or badminton or both, since there were two courts. Both games were almost as good for displaying the wonder of the youthful male physique as frisbee tossing, so the bar owner had put out a couple of benches for spectators. Sadly, some of the older townies disapproved of such blatant display of naked gay youth.

These days the government actively promoted the gay life style as just as productive and useful as any other choice. Indeed gay males like Kyle were a godsend to economic development and government finances. Their potentially long working lives as healthy young men meant they would contribute for over thirty decades to retirement and medical trust funds before drawing on them for their own needs. The public investment in their education would be paid many times over. True they would go back to school for training and reeducation from time to time for new careers, and they would take periodic paid sabbaticals, but the overall balance was very much to the benefit of society.

Few of them would have children that needed expensive education, nor would their offspring compete for places in college and other venues with those of other citizens. It was a win-win situation like few before it. Most of the other segments of society were supportive of the increasingly visible gay cohort in its midst.

Sexual mores were changing, becoming more like the days of ancient Rome when no one thought the less of a virile male who occasionally enjoyed a tryst with a charming and pretty boy. There was little stigma among straight males nowadays over dalliances with boys as long as they were of age. The active partner had the male role after all. Their women and the girls at Colby's sister institution down the road knew that gay boys were no threat to their own positions as wives, girlfriends, or mistresses. Their only objection were that those so many of these cute boys with their taut buns were hopelessly singleminded in orientation. Otherwise they would have liked to give a boy like Kyle a tumble themselves. Why couldn't more of them be bi. What a waste.

As for the easing of nudity taboos, social historians gave some credit to the boys in low saggers early in the century who pioneered public displays of rear cleavage and bellies bared to the groin. Their successor generations gave up their pointlessly hot and baggy pants and shorts in favor of short shorts so-called hot pants worn low on the hips. Soon the boys started peeling even those brief garments off for frisbee tossing or nude volley ball in the park, swimming at clothing optional beaches, of just bull sessions in the basement or out back, at least when their female relations weren't around.

The movement snowballed from there, with the clothing optional fad for young guys sweeping away the old rules and becoming the new norm. Nowadays all competition in aquatic sports as well as track and field was in the nude, just like in the original Greek Olympics. Athletes trained as they competed on the track, cross country trails, in the parks. And to think athletes had once thought they needed elastic supporters as if their dangly bits would tear off during a run around the track or a workout on the parallel bars. Such quaint notions folks had back then, this said with the typical condescension of the younger for the older generation.

Young males like to be naked with each other regardless of sexual attraction. Same goes with same, and naked young men like to flock together and play their grab ass games. No wonder then, that as the end of the century approached so many of them welcomed the chance to join their gay brothers in rejecting clothing unless really necessary. Virtually all sports were carried out in the nude: track and field, aquatic sports, net sports like volley ball, badminton, and tennis, plus soccer. Only American football (and winter sports) held out for uniforms and padding.

All young men like to show off their sexy bodies, to strut their stuff, to moon the older generation, to wear clothes slung so low you wondered how their garments did not just fall to their ankles at the slightest movement. Males have always liked social spaces where they could mix freely among themselves without conventional accouterments especially clothing. Whether at camp, in the dorm, in the barracks, at the swimming hole, at sea, the nudie beach, men's clubs, wherever they could get away from conventional fussiness and female inspired standards of deportment.

Among the high school crowd, gatherings of young bucks, often athletes who trained and competed in the nude, straight boys mostly, could sometimes be seen hanging at corners, standing, slouching, or squatting entirely bare, happy for a chance to shock their elders while exercising their civil rights. Why should college boys have all the fun?

Cops had to leave them alone. Many officers took it philosophically. The nude and often hairless boys at these occasional gatherings were the least likely to commit an offense. They certainly couldn't conceal a weapon on their persons. They were also unlikely to become a crime victim. Who would try to hold them up for money or for a fancy jacket or pair of running shoes. Some of the athletes like to get a temporary tattoo of their varsity letter on their shoulder or bare ass. And if persons of the opposite sex happened to get a chance to check them out, what could be wrong with that, these cock proud boys might ask.

The big difference in the high schools was that teachers could exercised the pedagogical right 'in loco parentis' to paddle or cane obstreperous or lazy high school students The boys had to strip off right in front of the whole class then bend over a desk. After punishment, they had to spend the rest of the period facing the corner, displaying their fiery red butt cheeks to their classmates. Fortunately for their male pride, classes were gender separated though the schools as a whole were coed, to allow social interaction between girls and boys. Gender separate classes were a pedagogical change that got started decades earlier with science and math classes.

Actually some of the boys learned to like the kiss of the birch or switch on their asses and would act up deliberately, courting punishment. Others took pride in being able to take a caning or paddling better than other boys, without whimpering or pleading. Kyle had been one of this group. Bending over hands on knees, genitals dangling between slender thighs, high school boys had only their pride left. So no sniffles or tears though gasps, flinches, and moans were only to be expected as the strap or cane connected with the tender flesh of the buttocks. Some few would even earn a little pocket money after school letting certain gentlemen paddle or switch their pretty boy butts. Such attitudes carried over into college. Needless to say college students were full adults and no longer had to worry about corporal punishment.

M. Le Blanc's class was caught out in the rain the next day but the students hardly took notice. The professor put up an umbrella, the students, either scantily clad or entirely nude actually welcomed the gentle soothing shower. Again Kyle tucked himself between his thighs smiling shyly at the teacher and looking up at the sky to suggest that of course he was just protecting his assets. Le Blanc hoped the rush of lust he felt was because of the little blond exhibitionist's sudden resemblance to a very pretty flat-chested girl.

The next day Kyle worked at the large communal garden. This was his favorite chore. If he had to he would even trade two for one with other students to take their shift at the 'farm' as they called it. It was sited all the way on the other side of the college property, beyond the low wall encircling the grounds of the college proper and reached through a gate that was always open. It was very large for a garden since it had to provide produce for a student body of over five hundred plus faculty, staff, and their dependents. Passersby on the dirt road just beyond were infrequent but those that did pass were likely to pull over to watch the naked young farmhands industriously at work.

The college had put in a gravel area where a few cars could pull over, and the publicity department had set up interpretive panels to explain the techniques used like drip irrigation. In their own small way, Kyle and the other farmhands were a tourist attraction. Kyle suspected it had more with their being all young, good looking, healthy, and perpetually nude than anything else. A straw hat was the only thing you ever saw on one of the farm hands. They didn't have to worry about skin cancer despite their outdoor lifestyle because of their telomere tweaking, but the sun was hot and strong. Today he felt more like a plumber as he and two other students wrestled drip hoses in place in a field where the earth had just been turned and planted. Crop rotation required relaying hoses because each crop had a different distance between plants and often between rows.

Another attraction was the locally famous outhouse built in the style of the ancient Romans. This far from the main road, the farm did not have access to water mains, so they could not have flush toilets. Actually it wasn't so bad. Several years ago an enthusiastic coalition of classics and engineering students had built a Roman style outhouse.

Quite ingenious really. The Roman design was sheltered from wind and rain, drew no flies and had no smell. Stream fed and gravity powered, it was a two-holer with a constant flow under the seat. A smaller flow ran in a small trough behind the footrest. You did your business and wiped your ass with a sponge on a stick. Then you washed the sponge in the trough and hung it up for the next user. The outhouse had four walls, but the sloping roof covered only two thirds of the space enclosed. You were out of the rain but air could circulate freely. Hence no odors and no flies; the waste flushed by gravity into the stream lower down. All very biodegradable. No need to dig out new pits and fill in the old holes every few years like with old fashioned outhouses. An interpretative panel explained all this for tourists.

Sometimes visitors liked to talk to the boys themselves about their farm chores and what college life was like with so many gay boys on campus. Two farmers in their thirties, brothers obviously, chatted Kyle up. They smirked at the boys' nudity and asked for one of the lovely boys to give a demonstration of the outhouse,and please leave the door open. Right. Take a test drive on your own, thank you. They chuckled and mentioned that they worked a real farm some twelve kilometers away. Yes, this communal garden was all very interesting, and the farmers appreciated the virtues of working the land, but weren't the students really just gentlemen farmers. They didn't make a living off the land.

Maybe not, but the acreage at the college was quite respectable, and the time the student volunteers put in annually added up to several man years of work. They didn't seem convinced. Kyle also did not like the the contemptuous look on the faces of the farmers. He especially disliked the possessive way the older brother Larry reached out entirely uninvited to stroke his bare flank. When he circled Kyle's manhood in a big hand rough with calluses, Kyle backed away, his face showing his displeasure at the unwelcome intimacy. The brothers drove off laughing.

What a bummer those two were. Here he had been so much as ease before those two showed up. Yes he was hot and sweaty and dusty. He had dirt on his knees and feet and hands. He certainly did not look like a member of a social elite, in fact more like a slave boy of ancient times working the land in the nude. None of that excused such rudeness from the farmers.

Chapter 3. The Idyll Shattered

A few days later Kyle went on a training run through the countryside. He loped along at an easy pace, the sun beating down on bare skin as he ran a circuit of mostly dirt roads which were easier on the feet than pavement. By now the farmers in the area were used to the sight of nude students from the college. Still they paused to watch the slender blond run past, utterly naked and hairless. Another one eh, evenly tanned too, so he must be one of those exhibitionist gay boys that were running around all over these days. Still they could admired his fine lines: like a young colt with a long stride, deep chest, strong legs, and from what they could see between those legs, good breeding potential, unlikely though he was to use it.

A farmer watering the plantings in his circular driveway held the hose up to Kyle. A drink? Sure. As his coach had said so many times "Don't drink when you're thirsty. Drink before you're thirsty."

Kyle ducked under the garden hose and let it run over him flushing the sweat away. The water was potable, so he pointed the hose at his mouth and drank deeply. He would just let himself air dry, but he did wipe his feet off on the grass. No point picking up mud.

At the fork he took a road that led away from the college to lengthen the run a bit and to explore new country. At first the farms looked prosperous, but the last few looked more hard scrabble or even abandoned. Maybe the soil was poorer here. Suddenly he heard a dog bark loudly as it took off after him. Damn, a dog, the one problem he had no answer for. Usually when he was in a tight spot he played the charm card with his looks and his outgoing personality. The Irish Wolfhound on his tail was not interested in charm. It quickly caught up with him growling and baring its teeth. Then it began herding him up a long driveway past a screen of trees. He didn't even see the farm buildings till they went past a bend in the drive. Why was the damn dog being so territorial. Just let him go.

A second Irish Wolfhound got off its belly and began sniffing at the frightened boy. These beasts each outweighed him. On their hind legs they would overtop him considerably. He felt very small and vulnerable. One dog jumped at his back and pushed him onto his hands and knees. He stayed there in a huddle trying to shield himself, head to the ground and hands on his head. Would they tear his throat out. Where were the owners? Then one dog began licking his behind, slurping its tongue over his ass and into his crack then down to his balls and shriveled cock. Kyle was petrified with fear. Please don't let it bite him, not there. He whimpered absolutely terrified. Here he was a small naked boy on all fours circled by two huge canines.

Suddenly one dog climbed up on his back, forepaws scrabbling for purchase. Its dewclaws scratched his back. Its powerful muzzle dripped drool on the back of his neck. Kyle felt something poking at his ass. No, not that. He tried crawling out from under but a low growl warned him against it. This couldn't be happening, he told himself. He was getting raped by an Irish Wolfhound, an animal. But it was happening. With mounting excitement, the dog's penis found the boy's hole and forced its way in. Dogs are not very much into foreplay. Gods, it felt huge and got thicker the deeper it went. Now it felt like the dog was trying to push a navel orange through his ass ring. It would never fit.

It did fit. Suffering more pain in those moments than he could recall from his entire life, the boy felt the dog force his sphincters open and push its knot all the way into his guts. He was now just a bitch tied to its mate. As was the way with canines, the Irish Wolfhound pumped his seed in steadily. After a while the dog turned his body and lifted one rear leg over the boy's backside to face in the other direction. The two young male animals were now ass to ass but still tied by the dog's knot. Dogs may stay tied for a quarter hour or more.

Suddenly Kyle heard a screen door swing open followed by a sharp whistle. The big dog took off dragging the frightened boy behind. He scrabbled at the dirt and kicked ineffectually against the gravel but got no purchase on the bare ground. They stopped suddenly before a big pair of boots. How could he explain this: here he was a naked kid all sweaty and dusty, sprawled in the dirt, dragged to the farmer's door by a dog's knot up his ass.

"For cryin' out loud. What a sorry sight you are. Whaddaya mean coming onto our property? Shaking your booty at my Sam here. Don't you college fags get enough cock up your butts?" The boy was confused and embarassed, especially when the farmer went inside and brought out a camera and another guy who looked a lot like him.

"Look what Sam drug home, Ed. Can you believe it?"

It was those farmers from a few days ago. Kyle appealed to them for help to get the dog off him, to get the dog out of him, but they just told him to shut up. He had to play the hand that was dealt to him. Finally done cumming, the dog pulled out of the boy who slumped to the ground in relief. This proved short lived as the second monster dog replaced the first in his ass. His knees and elbows were scraped against the ground as the second hound took him. The two farmers thought that just hilarious. This'll teach those college pansies. Run around buck nekkid all the time would they? Just asking for it, from man or dog, a bitch boy if the truth were known. Kyle couldn't help it, he burst into tears only to find himself taunted as a crybaby.

Finally it was over as the boy sobbed on the ground, his ass on fire and totally humiliated. The farmer raised his face toward him. He wiped his thumb over Kyle's tear stained cheek.

"My my, but you sure are a pretty one, even when you cry. Bring him inside the barn, Ed."

They laid him unresisting over two bales of hay, tying his wrists behind him. For the next two hours they fucked the lad raw. They took him front and back together or separately. They were big men and big there too. Not so big around as the dogs but longer and they could slap his ass while they pronged him or take a strap to it between fucks. They seemed to enjoy his howls but slapped his face if he tried to articulate a protest. After a while they flipped him onto his back. A wild kick from Kyle caught Ed in the chest, so the two farmers jerked Kyle to his feet and punched him hard in the belly four of five times. They then slapped his face one two. Kyle got the message: resistance would be punished. There was nothing he could do against even of of these tough farmers much less both of them and their dogs and the ropes that bound him. These dominant males would use him as their punching bag and fuck toy, and Kyle just had to take it....

Ed took his ass with Kyle's slender legs propped on his shoulders. Larry lunged into his mouth and throat practically suffocating him. Then they traded. Larry liked to pinch the youth's tiny red nipples and pull them out from his chest. He taunted Kyle's erection claiming it showed he liked being raped. He wanted it. He was just begging for it, wasn't he: boy bitch and bitch boy that's he was. Kyle lost count of how many times they mounted him.

When they were through, they put him on the floor of the barn and let the dogs have him again. Only later did they give him some water to drink and dragged him to a stall. Around his left ankle, Ed locked a chain fixed to the heavy post by a strong staple. No sense letting the new livestock wander off now he muttered. The battered boy sank to the straw utterly exhausted, cum both canine and human seeping from his badly abused nether hole.

The next morning they had him wash up under a hose. Although not fettered he knew better than to try to outrun the dogs who stayed close to Ed and Larry. They gave him a halfway decent breakfast of scrambled eggs and hash browns with a bit of sliced fruit for desert and cranberry juice to drink. Of course they fed him like a dog. He had to eat the food without using his hands out of a bowl set on the ground. He knew they were talking about him on the phone, but he couldn't hear what they said. It wouldn't be good news -- he knew that much.

Larry commented that they wouldn't want him to get out of shape while he was with them, and dragged an old exercycle out to the barn for him to peddle on. It sounded to Kyle like they planned to keep him indefinitely. The farmers were making it up as they went along, playing for time. They knew they couldn't just set Kyle free now. He would go to the police. With long hours on the exercycle, fatigue would help keep their captive in line, and they got to watch his sexy body pedal away. A chain locked around his neck meant he wasn't going anywhere, and he even got to work on his tan. Of course the boy got his ass slapped or strapped and his back too as he pedaled away. Afterwards they forced him to dig a long slit trench he would use as an outdoor latrine. Just do his business then throw dirt on the mess to keep down the smell and the flies. They kept him on a leash while he squatted, and the dogs were always nearby. on his nice slender physique and dragged an old fan type exercycle out of the barn for him to peddle on

In the afternoon more men showed up. It was those trouble makers from town a week or so ago. The Morlocks they called themselves. The two brothers were sympathizers though not members. These men were delighted to work over one of their class enemies, an Eloi and what an example of his class he was too: a small, slender, blond pretty-boy, habitually nude and hairless to flaunt his homosexuality, and a coward to boot: look how easily he had been broken, without much of a fight, if the truth were known. This was the privileged punk who actually looked down on straight men like themselves who had to work for a living. That was bad enough, but it really galled them that Kyle would be youthful and healthy for three or four centuries while they would be lucky to reach the normal life expectancy of just about a single century, aging all the time.

They would show him, and they did. At least Ed and Larry abused him only for their own perverse enjoyment. They were not especially angry at the unlucky kid who had fallen into their hands. A great fuck sure and prettier than any girl they had ever had, but go easy on the politics. A piece of tail is a piece of tail, isn't it. The Morlocks were not only mean, they were self-righteous about it. This was no more than the bitch boy deserved: whippings and endless mountings. Maybe they should keep him like that forever, a slave serving generations of Morlocks as a whipping boy and for sexual release. Why not do that to others like him, make their families fear for their pansy boy sons.

The next few days were a living hell for the college youth. He lost whatever lingering faith he might have had in a benevolent deity. Who with the power to save him could look on his plight and do nothing? Either the gods were uncaring fiends or they were figments of the imagination and humanities existential fears. Kyle knew he was no saint, but at his age he had never had the chance to commit great sins. What horrible sins were charged to his account that would justify his being tortured and sexually enslaved. Yes, he was perhaps a little too proud of his good looks. Yes he freely explored his sexuality with those of his own gender. Maybe he didn't need to run around naked quite as much as he did. Did the world wide web really need yet another set of pictures and holograms of a randy youth's arousal, his butt hole and ass, and explicit photos of his performance in bed? He didn't have that much on the plus side either. No, he was not pious, hadn't made a scientific discovery, written a great novel, nor he had sacrificed for the betterment of mankind.

Well, he was only a seventeen year old boy. If he was a bit vain and over-sexed, his faults were minor and those of youth. Kyle knew that basically he was a good kid, someone who had never ever really hurt anyone except by disappointing would-be sex partners he had turned down. Gods he couldn't go to bed with everyone who wanted him.

What right did these men have to string him up by the wrists and take a whip to him day after day, marking his flesh with welts and bruises? What right did they have to fuck him as he hung from a rafter: first from behind, then from the front, then simultaneously with two cocks shoved up his tiny orifice? How had he earned the penance of five kilos of steel weights hung on his balls, set swinging and jiggling by his writhing under the whip? How did snapping alligator clamps on his tits and pulling on the chain between them somehow make the world a better place? No, his abused cock would never be used to plant his seed in a female, but did that mean it was OK to slap his erection, hit it with a tause, drip hot wax on it, even shove acupuncture pins into the head and the shaft and take bets on which wound would drip his life's blood to the floor first? What sins of his had earned him the electrical tortures they used on him, chortling as they did so? Were electric currents passed through a steel cock ring around his genitals, the metal probe up his rectum, or the stainless steel sound forced through his urethra somehow a just punishment for his use or misuse of these organs for perverse sexual pleasure?

Who gave them the right to treat him like a dog, put a collar on him, keep him chained and on all fours, forced to follow the leash and to heel on command. What right did they have to throw a human boy to the Irish Wolfhounds literally as their bitch? Did his helplessness before six grown men and the easy way they beat the fight out of him really deserve punishment as craven cowardice? Was a small youth supposed to simply beat the crap out of the men, like in the movies, and outrun the huge dogs? Did the way he had sobbed and bawled from his whippings, beatings, and endless mountings by man and beast really mean he was a crybaby? Was his light tenor voice really improved by the screams and howls that had reduced it to a hoarse whisper?

Chapter 4. End Game

Finally the two brothers called things to a halt. Their sex toy needed his rest so he would look good at the big annual pow-wow being held the next evening in their barn. The boy would be a sort of party favor for the leaders of the movement. They would decide his fate.

The next day the brothers fed their captive, washing him off with a hose, and put him to work setting things up for the meeting. The principals would sit on benches made of three bales of hay stacked two high in back and a single bale in front.

Larry pointed out the hay shed out back. Kyle was to move twenty-one of the huge brick shaped bales of hay to the barn and arrange them just so along two walls. The bales were much too big to lift and carry. They did not trust the boy with a hand hook to drag them in place. So the slightly built youth had to roll each bale along, standing it on end then pushing it over in the direction of travel. The strain on his belly as he lifted the bale often made his butt hole sputter wetly. He had been fucked so much his hole was loose. Their scorn and laughter at his problem with anal continence was yet another humiliation. The embarrassment caused a flutter in his belly. He felt his hole pucker and a moment later he let loose a long, loud, and smelly fart.

The farmers smiled at these further sounds and smells from his boy hole. It reminded them of the uninhibited behavior of the farm animals they worked with. Animals have no shame. This boy didn't either running around the countryside in the nude, coupling with dogs, dumping his bodily wastes into a hole in the ground. That didn't make him a farm animal exactly, but he had a bare hide and nothing to cover his genitalia or his orifices of excretion. Also he had been put to work like a beast of burden. Finally, his onerous task done, they put their captive back in his stall, chain locked around his ankle to get some beauty rest.

The meeting got started just after dark, over a dozen regional chiefs and the big man himself, a tall lean man with an intelligent face, Vincent Marko. After finishing regular business, they watched video of Kyle's utter degradation over the last few days. They examined him themselves, poking and prodding, weighing and yanking, pinching and slapping as he stood helpless handcuffed between two guards. One man stuck his thumb up the butt hole and then gave it to Kyle to clean with his mouth hole. Several asked for a live performance so two of the Morlocks took the boy front and back, clubbing his face with their heavy cocks, beating his rump with them before thrusting inside, then switched places, afterwards giving everyone a good look at the obedient youth submissively cleaning his own ass juices off both cocks.

Then they watched a demonstration of boy whipping, the slender body upright, stretched out in an X to the rafter overhead, watching the leather hit the rib cage and wrap around, hearing the sharp report as it slashed his buttocks, chortling at his howl as the end circled around his hips to cut his limp cock, laughing at how Kyle's ass cheeks trembled in anticipation between the heavy cuts of the whip. Kyle hung there afterwards sobbing softly, a totally broken boy. Finally the leader Marko opened the discussion of what they should do with this lovely creature at their disposal.

Some wanted to keep him as a mascot for the movement, pass him around to deserving members to use for a few months at a time. Others wanted him tortured to death as a demonstration of the fate the Eloi would face. Another option was to sell them to foreigners, to Arabs maybe, still resentful over the loss of their geopolitical influence as their oil ran out. An American boy you could torture for decades on end would bring quite a premium on the market.

Finally Kyle could stand it no more and finding some last measure of courage and defiance within himself, surprising himself actually, told them all to go to hell. A Morlock slapped the boy's face for his effrontery, but Marko held up his hand to stop the abuse.

"A man on trial has the right to speak in his own defense." he said mildly, then added:

"No, my young friend. It is you who will go to hell, whatever we decide to do with you. You must pay for your crimes."

"What crimes, I'm just a kid, only seventeen years old. I'm still in school. I haven't gotten around to committing crimes yet."

"Your very existence is a crime. Why should you have centuries of youth while we have only a single lifetime, aging every day?"

Kyle pointed out that genetic manipulation was none of his doing. Doctors and scientists tweaked his parents' gametes before they even joined as a zygote implanted in his mother's womb. He reminded his captors that costs were coming down all the time. Eventually everyone in America could afford it for their kids.

"Yes, the next generation, but what about us. It's too late for us." Marko countered.

Kyle was an abomination and an enemy of the people. His genetic gifts were an unearned privilege for a child of privilege. That's what Eloi were: idlers and sons of idlers.

"Wrong. My parents both work hard. My dad designs and builds whole towns. My mom treats and cures disease."

"You have never worked an hour in your life kid, never got your hands dirty."

"And never worked the land either," Larry added.

"Wrong, wrong, wrong." Kyle insisted and described his chores at the dorm scrubbing bath room tile on hands and knees, mopping, chipping and painting. He told of his work in the communal vegetable garden raising produce for their table.

"That's just playing at work. You don't do it for a living. Then there's your looks, obviously genetically enhanced, but why did they not make you taller? You're just a little guy."

Kyle countered that his good looks were entirely natural, as a glance at his parents would confirm. He was their son in that respect as well as his height. Sure they could have made him taller artificially, but they didn't. That actually helped other people since it kept Kyle's carbon footprint smaller. He occupied a smaller niche in the biosphere. Even his homosexuality, not exactly a surprise to his parents, reduced the burden on the ecosystem. Kyle would not sire children over the centuries. His genetic gifts were limited to perpetual youth, good health, quick healing, and just a little extra stamina, strength, and speed.

Marko had to admire the boy's grit and feistiness after all he had just been through, but they all knew this trial would result in a conviction. This was really just the penalty phase of a trial. His guilt was a given. Ultimately they decided Kyle would be sold abroad. That would help finance their cause. Let the Arabs display his endless tortures on the web as an object lesson. This solution combined two of the other proposals and neatly sidestepped all the security issues of perpetual enslavement of a mascot. Let him be sent away to the covert slave markets of the East.

"No one is going anywhere" a loud voice declared seemingly out of the air.

Then the barn was swarming with armed police including Sergeant Harris and the FBI. Harris explained that they had traced Kyle to the farmer who had given him a drink of water the day he disappeared. Law enforcement canvassed the area but had no reason to suspect the brothers. No, Larry and Ed said; they hadn't seen Kyle. They would have remembered a naked boy. Quite a beauty isn't he, but their farm buildings were blocked from sight of the road by trees. Sorry.

Electronic surveillance and intercepts of phone conversations and emails between residents of the area and outsiders about the pow-wow yielded enough clues for a warrant. Hence the successful raid that had freed him. Harris took Kyle to the clinic at the college where his roommates met him after an exam pronounced him battered but OK. His parents were still stuck on their anniversary cruise, their ship had been weathering a hurricane. It might make port tonight. Then his folks would take a high speed train to Atlanta and drive to Colby.

Jean-Michel and Tommy greeted him with hugs and kisses their hands roaming over his still naked form. Kyle had turned down an offer of clothing. Tommy confessed how Kyle's disappearance made him realize how much he was in love with Kyle just like Jean-Michel was. He wanted to make love to Kyle fully and to share him with the other boy. Sure he still liked girls and would get married someday, but he had centuries to start a family. Could they all three be lovers together and spend their first youth as a trio, in college and maybe beyond?

Kyle went from feelings of relief to deliriously happy. Free once again and now both his best friends were his lovers. Now they would never wear clothes again so they could always be naked for each other! Oops, gotta wear sarongs tomorrow for mom and dad. Best anyway they both give the blond boy a few days to heal. Then would come a night to remember. On second thought, better get started in the afternoon!