Chapter 25
Shortly after I'd left them, Dave decided to test Greg. GOOD bottoms will do that, to make sure their tops are also good. Dave commented, "It feels good having your tits played with. Let me show you."
Before Greg could do anything, Dave had reached up and had taken hold of his tits. The two of them stood there for a couple of minutes, each twisting and tweaking and rubbing the other's tits. Dave's tits could take more abuse, they'd had more practice, and Greg realized he was in danger of losing control.
Greg looked around frantically. He saw Ron and Jerry, the two guys we'd been talking to, watching him. Handcuffs hung from the back of Ron's belt, just above the gray hanky sticking out of his back left pocket. "Can I borrow your handcuffs?" Greg asked.
Ron grinned and unfastened the cuffs and held them out. Greg looked Dave in the eyes and ordered, "Put your hands behind your back!" Dave looked at him, wide-eyed. He knew how new Greg was to all of this, and was surprised that he was being topped by him.
Dave stopped working on Greg's tits and put his hands behind his back, waiting for Greg's next command. "Turn around," Greg ordered. Dave turned around, and Greg soon had the cuffs fastened around Dave's wrists. Greg swears he heard Dave sigh as he latched them. He also swears Dave wiggled his ass at him, inviting Greg to do some exploring. Greg told him he might want to do that some time-with my permission, he added.
Greg had remembered that he'd found a piece of leather thong in one of the pockets of the vest I'd lent him. "Turn around," he once again commanded. Dave turned, and again was surprised when Greg reached for his right tit and tied one end of the thong through it. Greg gave an experimental tug and Dave moved towards him.
Satisfied that Dave was securely leashed, Greg said, "On your knees, um, boy." He wasn't sure whether a "boy" could have a "boy" of his own. Dave, however, didn't make such distinctions, and was soon on his knees, his ass resting on his ankles. Greg decided that Dave looked too relaxed, so he tugged on the thong and shortened the length separating Dave's tit from his hand. "Get up," he ordered. "Straighten your back and stay at attention." Dave straightened up (it was either that or have his tit pulled off). Greg, with perfect aplomb, turned to Ron and started conversing as though he had been manhandling wayward bottoms all his life. Shortly thereafter, I returned to where Greg, Ron, and his friend were chatting and Dave was on his knees, fully under Greg's control.
I looked down at Dave. "Get up," I said. To give him encouragement to rise, I pulled up sharply on the thong. Dave struggled to get up without using his hands. When he was standing, he quickly moved to attention, awaiting my next command. "You're going to pay Tuesday night," I said. Dave just grinned at me. I swear I could see his cock twitching through his leather pants.
"We don't have time for you now, so I'm going to let you go. You're going to behave the rest of the day. Tuesday night you're going to bring over LOTS of toys for me to use on you, aren't you?" I reached for Dave's balls through his pants and squeezed. "These are going to get a REAL workout. Now turn around."
Dave turned around and I uncuffed him. I handed the cuffs back to Ron, who quickly had them hanging again from his back belt. I untied the thong running through Dave's tit. He stood there, so I gave that same tit a tight squeeze and said, "Go. Beat it. Vamoose. See you Tuesday." Dave grinned, turned around, and went out looking for someone else to taunt and be topped by. I handed Greg the thong and said, "Good job. You handled that well! I'm proud of you!" Greg stood there, beaming. Ron and his friend chuckled, then moved off to get beers.
The music had switched to C&W, so I led Greg back onto the dance floor. We stayed out for a couple of numbers, then headed back towards the bar. In a quiet moment, Greg whispered to me, "I think that guy is, um, checking me out." I knew the guy he was talking about; he'd been eyeing us almost like an unclaimed puppy that had decided who his masters would be. Whenever I'd glanced at him, leaning against the modelers' wall, a sneer had replaced his almost-wistful countenance. After all, he had to keep up his superior appearance and put us low-lifes in our places.
The guy Greg was talking about WAS worth noting. He looked to be close to six-feet tall. He had dusty-blond hair (which look natural, not store-bought), cut in a modern cut. Surprisingly, it looked hardly moussed and not at all spiked or rough or whatever they call it when it's an inch or so long and is greased so that it sticks up at random. He had a small goatee (or else hadn't washed around his mouth--it was hard to tell at that distance).
Our guy had on a white ruffled shirt that clung to his body and showed off the efforts of long hours at the gym--enough that we could see a buffed chest, six-pack of abs, and could imagine the cut biceps even across the room. His pants draped to show off a tight ass, and a sparkle or two from the dance floor lights gave evidence of a bracelet or two on one wrist. All in all, it was a package that GQ would be proud of. It was also a package that we--Greg and I--would be happy to unwrap. Only his superior attitude and carefully-practiced show-offish, or rather stand-offish, stance made his less than perfect.
"Do you like what you see?" I asked Greg.
"Well, kind of," Greg said, glancing over at our guy. "But he looks so sneery, like we're beneath him. It almost makes me want to take him down a notch, put him in his place, show him who's boss." Greg realized what he'd said and looked at me and grinned. "You know what I mean, Daddy," he said. "Every boy needs a puppy!" So Greg, too, had seen the guy's more vulnerable side.
"Shall we take him home with us?" I asked Greg.
"Sure," Greg said. "It would be fun to train him, teach him to sit, give him a bath [Greg grinned again when he said this], punish him when he's a bad puppy." Now THAT was a side of Greg I hadn't seen. "What do I do?"
"There's a couple of ways to do it," I said. "It depends sometimes on what he's wearing. It also depends on how good an actor you are. If he was wearing a necklace or collar, you could go over with a leash and bring him back. Since he's not, you're going to have to let your arrogance and his desire not to be rejected be your leash." I gave Greg his instructions and off he went.
Greg sauntered over towards the S&M wall, then moved along it as if heading towards the men's room. He slowed down as he approached the guy. When he was squarely in front, Greg turned to face him head-on. Greg kind of cocked his head to one side and eyed the guy from crown to toe, almost like he was inspecting a horse. Greg's eyes moved upward again, paused when they reached the guy's own eyes, then headed upward as he continued checking out the guy's hair.
Greg kind of shook his head, as if he'd decided the guy had failed in some test, and headed off to the bathroom. I could not have done such a magnificent performance myself. The guy acted as I'd expected him to. He reached out to grab Greg's arm as Greg walked away. "How DARE a low-life like Greg measure him and find him wanting!"
At the last moment the guy pulled his arm back, as if he'd realized he was letting down his wall of superiority. He leaned back against the wall, and then began chatting with a guy standing near him, trying to look nonchalant and as if he hadn't just almost fallen off the pedestal he'd built for himself.
Greg came out of the men's room (Greg told me later about all he'd seen in the men's room-the same stuff I'd seen. Greg was MOST impressed.) Greg headed back along the wall towards the guy. Greg had almost made it past him when he [Greg] stopped suddenly and turned to face him. Greg once again gave the guy a quick once-over, then turned away. This time the guy took a couple of steps and grabbed Greg's arm.
Greg turned to look at him. I saw them exchange a few words. Once, Greg looked over his shoulder in my direction. After a few moments, Greg turned and again headed around the dance floor to where I was standing. With his back towards the guy Greg looked at me, grinned, and mouthed 'Yes!" as his hand made that clenched-fist, elbow-bent gesture of victory.
When Greg got back to me he couldn't wait to tell me what had happened. "When the guy stopped me--hey, I still don't know his name--he said, 'What's the matter? Aren't I good enough for you?' Then I said to him, 'Well, I guess you'd do.' The guy got really mad when I said that."
Greg paused to take a sip of the beer I'd handed him (I'm a GOOD Daddy. I take care of my boys). "The guy said, 'I'll DO! I'll have you know I'm great!' When he said that, I poked him in the chest and said, 'We'll see. I have to check with HIM,' that was when I nodded in your direction. Then I said to the guy, 'Of course you'll have to be punished.'"
Greg continued, "The guy said to me, 'What do you mean?' So I told him, 'You grabbed my arm. That's not okay for a boy to do. And you're arrogant. And, well, just because I want to" Greg grinned at me when he realized HE had called someone ELSE a "boy." Greg then said, "Then I told the guy, 'I'll check with HIM, and if he says it's okay, you can come over.'"
Greg turned to me and said, "Can I keep him, Dad? I promise I'll take care of him and walk him and feed him and bathe him. Huh? Can I? Please?" Greg and I almost lost it when Greg finished his most hilarious imitation of Beaver Cleaver.
I managed to stop myself from cracking up, and assumed a stern visage. I turned to look at the guy. He looked almost pathetic as he stood there waiting for our approval. Already his veneer of arrogance was starting to crack. I cocked my head as if studying the guy. Finally I turned to Greg and playing MY part said, "Okay. But if you don't take care of him, I'm taking him back to the pound!"
Greg grinned and turned towards the guy. Greg cocked a finger at him. The guy almost ran over to where we stood, he was so eager that he'd been found "acceptable."
When the guy reached us, and I could check him out close up, I could see we'd made a VERY fine catch. The guy certainly worked out--his chest and arms looked even yummier from close up. And he had the most darling dimples just outside what could almost pass for a goatee. And yes, his clothes WERE immaculate and had obviously been tailored for HIS body.
Before the guy could regain his composure, Greg asked, "What's your name?"
"Kevin," the guy replied.
Greg waited for him to continue. When Kevin said nothing, Greg asked, "Kevin what?"
"Kevin, SIR!" Kevin replied, thinking he had figured it out.
"No," Greg said. "What's your last name?"
"Kevin Clark, SIR!" Kevin replied, almost coming to attention.
Greg reached out his hand to shake Kevin's hand, to put him at ease. "I'm Greg," Greg said. "And THIS [gesturing to me] is, well, you can call HIM 'Sir.' You address me as 'Greg' and HIM as 'Sir.'"
Kevin turned in my direction and reached out his hand to shake mine. "Please to meet you, Sir," he said.
I just looked at his hand. Kevin waited a moment, then withdrew it back to his side. "Take off your shirt," I said to him.
Kevin's mouth opened, then snapped shut. "WHAT did you say?" he asked in amazement.
"I said, 'Take off your shirt.' Do I stutter?" I asked.
"No," Kevin said. Then he realized he'd erred, and added, "Sir. No, Sir. You don't stutter, Sir. I just thought I'd misheard you, Sir."
"Then why is your shirt still on?" I asked, querulously.
Kevin looked at me, then at Greg. Greg was doing his best not to crack up--his face looked frozen as he tried to look stern. "Why should I take it off?" Kevin asked, kind of speaking to a spot between Greg and me.
"Because I told you to," I said. "Because he told you to," Greg said simultaneously.
Kevin looked at me with defiance. Then he looked at Greg, as if he was looking for an ally. He found no solace there. He kind of shrugged his shoulders (in defiance? In acceptance of his position?) and untucked the bottom of his pullover. His muscles rippled as he pulled the shirt over his head. I was right, he WAS gorgeous. He had a smooth, hairless chest, deeply cut and with the most amazing six-pack. His arms could be used in an anatomy class; his biceps and triceps and every other kind of ceps were large and cut and defined. And his hair WASN'T moussed, it was just clean and neat and laid perfectly as only a sixty dollar haircut can make it.
Kevin finished taking off his shirt and stood there. HE knew he had a great chest, and didn't mind our admiring it. He looked around for something to do with his shirt.
"I'll take that," Greg said. "If you're good, you can have it back." After a pause he added, "Maybe."
Kevin shrugged his shoulders again--boy did his tits perk out when he did that--and handed his shirt to Greg. Greg stuck it in his back waistband next to his own shirt.
I moved forward, then ran my finger down the middle of Kevin's magnificent chest. I reached and tweaked one of his tits. "How come you're not pierced?" I asked. "Isn't that the fashionable thing to do?"
"I don't like piercings, Sir," Kevin said, as if defying me to disagree. "I don't have any tattoos, either. I like my body the way it is. Tit rings and tattoos are for guys who have something to cover up, guys who need to distract you from what's underneath. I work hard on my body. I don't need artificial adornments."
Gorgeous, and erudite too! Greg interrupted us by reaching into his pocket and thrusting a bill at Kevin. Just as he was about to speak he remembered his manners and turned to me. "Would you like anything, Sir?"
"I could use another water," I told him. Turning to Kevin, who'd be serving us, I added, "Unflavored, with a lime." Then to Greg, "Thanks."
Greg turned back to Kevin and said, "And I could use a Miller Lite." Two beers? We'd have to work on that. It's not like Greg was getting drunk, it's just that alcohol has lots of calories and I'll be damned if I'll let my boy get a beer belly. "Get yourself whatever you want," Greg added.
Kevin headed off to get our drinks. Greg looked a little smug with himself that he'd gotten Kevin to do his bidding. I said to Greg, "What are you going to do with him to show him YOU are in charge?" Greg looked at me. I suppose he thought I was running the show. "He's YOUR puppy, remember?" I said to Greg.
Kevin came back with my water, Greg's beer and a beer for himself. We chatted a bit, learning that Kevin was 22, just out of college, and working as a stockbroker, because he couldn't think of anything better to do. He had been on his college lacrosse and track teams, but liked working out just for fun, hence the great body.
Apropos of nothing, Greg asked Kevin, "Are you wearing underwear?"
That startled Kevin, who almost choked on a mouthful of beer. "Yes, Sir, I mean, Greg," he responded. "Why do you ask, Sir, um, I mean Greg?" Jesus, was he trying to suck up or was he really "cute but dumb?" (I decided later he was a bit for both, but mostly "cute but dumb.") After all, how hard IS it to remember that I'm "Sir" and he's "Greg?"
"I noticed a lot of guys where you were standing didn't look like they had underwear on," Greg said. "So I thought that THAT was the rule--that you S&Mers didn't wear underwear." I looked at Greg. I'd have to tell him later that "S&M" was a pejorative term; that they called themselves "fashion trend setters."
Kevin just looked at Greg, more puzzled, I think, than offended. Then the elevator finally reached the top floor. Kevin confided, "I wear underwear um, Greg, because I'm, like, you know, well-endowed, as they say. I kind of bulge in front with my um, flat stomach, when I don't wear them." Kevin almost looked embarrassed as he explained, like he wasn't necessarily happy about being so well-endowed. I should have such problems!
Greg said, "Why don't you let US see whether we're bothered by the bulge? It's only Sir and me who you have to worry about."
Kevin again looked at Greg blankly, slow on the uptake. Finally he figured it out. "You want me to take them off, Greg?" Kevin asked. Greg nodded. Kevin looked around and said, "Here, Sir? I mean, here, Greg?"
Greg gave a chuckle then told him, "You would probably cause a riot if you did that." Kevin nodded, as if Greg had told him something serious. "Why don't you go into the men's room and take them off?"
Kevin looked at Greg, then shrugged his shoulders again and headed off. Kevin looked cute when he shrugged his shoulders, but I was beginning to recognize it as a sign he wasn't necessarily getting it. He seemed to be "a few French fries short of a Happy Meal," as they say. Oh, well, he had a great body and that's what counted; we weren't planning to take him home with us to discuss nuclear physics.
Greg and I stood there drinking for a couple of minutes. Then we saw Kevin come out of the men's room, holding something bunched up in one hand. Even from across the room we could see a noticeable bulge as his tight pants tried to accommodate him. Evidently others could also see that Kevin was well hung; I saw several guys eyeing him, either enviously or lustfully, as he walked back towards us.
When Kevin got back to us, Greg reached out his hand and said,. "I'll take those." Kevin gave the inevitable shrug of his shoulders and handed Greg what was in his hand. Kevin had been wearing a sort-of black jock strap, only with sides. It certainly looked sturdy, sturdy enough to hold in what had to be a seven-inch long snake running down one of Kevin's legs. And that was when it was soft!
Greg held them up and examined them, more to show off that he had them, I think, than to check them for cum stains or whatever. Greg finally nodded, then stuck them under his belt next to his shirt. Again Kevin shrugged, then waited to see what was next.
The music changed from a set of disco, or techno, or whatever they call it these days, to another round of C&W. I asked Kevin whether he two-stepped. Kevin said, "Yes," then shrugged his shoulders when I handed Greg my drink and led Kevin onto the dance floor. Kevin was a pretty good follower. I'd have liked to think that people were watching us because we danced well together or made a good couple, the handsome bearded leather daddy and a cute, young, shirtless (and underwear-less and well-hung) boy. I suspect, however, that they were only watching the cute, young shirtless, underwear-less boy. However, he was in MY arms, so let them look.
After dancing a couple of numbers with Kevin, I led him back to where Greg was waiting. I told Kevin, who obviously had wanted to lead, to take Greg out onto the floor. "Have fun," I told them.
Kevin and Greg headed out. Greg's natural dance ability almost made up for his awkwardness in being new at two-stepping backwards and, I suppose, being new at dancing with another guy. They may not have been the best dancers on the floor, but in my mind they were the best-looking couple. And they were mine, at least for the next few hours.