Disclaimer: If you are under 18 years of age or if it is illegal to read material of this kind where you live, then please stop now. This story contains descriptions of sexual activity between men. It is entirely a work of fictional entertainment.
Trapped Muscle-Cop, Part 19 By Reflex (reflex012004@yahoo.com) Copyright 2006
Part 19: A Blond Having Fun
Tony pulled into his driveway alongside Pete's big truck. When he got out of his car, he noticed the smell of burning charcoals coming from his back yard. He grabbed the two supermarket bags from the backseat, closed the car door, and walked past the kitchen and through the little wooden gate that lead to the back of the house. The soft early evening sun bathed the trees around the perimeter of the yard. The slightly bitter-fresh smell of the lawn mixed with the smell of the charcoal. Tony saw little trails of smoke wafting up from the open vents on the cover of the grill. Pete was sitting in a lawnchair reading the newspaper and drinking a beer.
"P-e-t-e-r-r-r-r, my man, you're here! Sorry I'm late," Tony said.
"Hey guy! You're not late. I got here a little early, so I thought I'd just sit out back, fire up the grill and see what was new in the world," Pete said as he held the newspaper up.
"Great man. Let me go put this stuff inside and get outta these jeans. Back in a sec," Tony said with a big smile.
Tony unpacked the brown paper bags. He laid out the meat patties, hot dogs, and a couple corncobs on a big plate. He put various buns in a basket and started chopping up a couple onions and tomatoes. He grabbed some salt, pepper and bar-b-que sauce and made a mental checklist.
"Anything else, we're gonna need? Grilling tongs... already out there. Check. Spatula? Got it. Check. Something to spread the sauce on the meat? Uh, basting b-r-u-s-h... uhhhh, errrrrr... shit, I didn't rinse it."
Tony picked the brush out of the glass and headed towards the sink. Then he stopped himself. "Oh man, that'd be kind 'a gross and... kind 'a hot too, hehehe." Tony opened the jar of bar-b-que sauce and plunged the unrinsed brush into it. "Fuck, what's a little extra spice? Sheesh, these jeans are tight... pinchin' my fuckin' crotch. I gotta go change clothes." He put everything on a large tray and ran it all back out to Pete.
"Here ya go. Get these cookin' while I get some shorts on," Tony said.
"Ah, EXCELLENT! Way to go, guy. I'm starvin'," Pete replied. He put the newspaper down and eagerly set to work.
Tony noticed that Pete was only wearing some old faded red gym shorts that barely covered his ass, white cotton socks, and what looked like a very worn-out pair of Addidas trainers rather than the high-tech running shoes he usually sported at the gym. He looked up at Pete's face. The square-jawed hunk's eyes were hidden behind a pair of dark wire-framed sunglasses. Tony noticed that even though Pete's thick brown hair was as short as his own, he always parted it on the side, styling it with a bit of gel. There was something serious about that part in Pete's hair, something adult, manly yet kind of cute, like a big overgrown boy-scout. Tony felt a bit sweaty. Pete smiled at him.
"Back in a flash!" Tony said as he returned indoors.
Tony practically ran to his bedroom. He tugged off his jeans. He'd been free-balling it since he had no clean underpants, but he felt less comfortable doing that in a pair of shorts. His eyes fell on the briefs that he had had in his mouth earlier. He rubbed his crotch as he stared at them and before he could think twice about it was already reasoning to himself: "Aw heck, dude, get your stud-crotch all nicely packed into those dirty briefs. Who's gonna know? Pete's all man, he isn't gonna care. It's not like he's gonna have his hands between my legs or nothin'."
Tony slid the briefs up his big hairy thighs and gently tucked his semi-hard dick and full hairy balls inside. He pulled on the white gym shorts from earlier. They were still a little damp in back where the sweat had dripped down his butt crack during his morning run. Tony toyed with leaving his shirt on and then decided that since Pete was bare-chested, he would be too. He crumpled the shirt into a ball and threw it over by his jeans. He looked at himself in the mirror, legs spread, hands on hips, and bounced his magnificent rounded pecs. He ran his hands through the thick pattern of short black hair covering his pecs right up to the base of his neck. He looked at the thick trunk of hair running down his solid abdomen and absent-mindedly scratched his big plump mantits. He'd noticed the large size of Pete's tits and the way they stuck out of the dense forest of brown chest hair like two hard plugs. Tony looked at his own nipples and thought they were almost, but not quite, as big. Other than that, and Pete being an inch taller, Tony thought their bodies were pretty evenly matched in terms of size and muscular development.
"Man, I bet the chicks go wild over his chest. Bet he gets 'em to suck on those big tits of his, that is, before he lets 'em to suck on somethin' else... yee haw!"
Tony put his hands back on his hips and winked at himself.
"Yeah, now this is what it's all about... two beefy studs cookin' up some burgers, downin' a bit 'a brewski, and just bein' guys," he said to his reflection. He noticed that his dick was pushing hard against the front of his shorts. He let it pulse a bit and resisted the temptation to touch it, savoring the pressure of the tight cotton against his hefty tool.
"Hey fella," he said to his stiffening pole, "you keep goin' like that and the whole fuckin' fire brigade is gonna be here tryin' to slide down ya."
Tony paused. "Where the fuck did that thought come from?"
He looked at the chunky metal watch on wrist, and saw the time. "I need a beer," he chuckled as he headed out to the back yard.
Pete was flipping the burgers and toasting the buns. "Hey, what took ya? I put some chips in a bowl and found where you keep paper plates. No reason to add to the washing up."
"Good idea, dude," Tony said. "How's the meat coming along?"
Pete couldn't help but notice the bulge in Tony's crotch. Nor could he resist the temptation to make a joke about it. He pointed towards Tony's shorts with the spatula and said, "From the look of things, I'd say the meat is just about fully cooked."
Tony quickly tried to think of something clever to say. What he came up with was "Hey, can I help it if I'm a HOT DOG?" No sooner had he said it, than he thought that his little riposte sounded kind of gay. Fortunately, Pete came to the rescue.
"HA! Yeah, well, good thing there ain't no babes around or I'd have to put you on a leash, doggie."
Tony was immediately at ease. Pete, behind the protection of his sunglasses was looking at Tony's spectacular body and imagining what the muscle-bound stud would look like with a collar around his neck and a bone in his mouth. He took in Tony's hot hairy chest and made a mental note to go buy a nice big soft brush, the kind used for grooming dogs. He'd slowly run that thing over every inch of Tony's body until he got the small-brained cop to shoot his load just from the tickling sensations on his hard hairy muscles. Yeah, Pete liked that idea. He needed to come up with a variety of ways to train Tony to blow his wad without his hard dick ever getting touched.
"Get yourself a beer from the cooler Tony, dinner's ready," Pete said. Tony popped open two beers and set the bottles on the little table between the deck chairs. He moved the bowl of chips over too, while Pete arrived with the hamburgers loaded up with all the trimmings.
"Oh yeah, dig in chief. This is gonna be good," Pete said to Tony.
Over at the Barrington Arms, Tom was enduring the silent treatment from Rick at the dinner table. Rick didn't feel like cooking and Tom couldn't boil an egg, so they had ordered a pizza to be delivered.
"This place isn't so bad," Tom said cheerily. "It just needs a fresh coat of paint and a bit of scrubbing in the kitchen. I don't think the landlord would mind if we painted the place. We can just use plain ol' white. He can't object to that. I mean, legally, we could ask him to have the place repainted, since we're new here 'n all."
Rick looked about the room and then stared back at Tom. He said nothing. He had not yet forgiven Tom for leaping off Pete's back last night to go chase after Tony. As far as Rick was concerned, they had nearly had Pete in their hands. Through a combination of Tom's chokehold and Rick torturing Pete's dick and nuts, it appeared they might stand a chance of subduing the big guy. Tom's reckless behavior, however, turned the tide decisively in Pete's favor... and now, here they were in this fleabag apartment on the wrong side of downtown.
Tom got up and walked over to one of the kitchen drawers. He pulled out a pair of scissors and started unbuttoning his jeans.
"What are you doing?" Rick asked sternly.
"They put this damn huge rubberband around the top of my shaft last night and I haven't been able to pop it off. It's too tight. Hell, it took the two of them to get it on me. Mister Dubrowski held my dick still while Tony had to use both hands to pull the band wide enough to slip it on. The damn thing makes it really hard to, you know... shoot. All I can do is leak, which is what I've been doin' in my jock all day," Tom said, gingerly rubbing the damp cotton pouch.
Rick stood up, walked over, and took the scissors from Tom's hand.
"Thanks man," Tom said as he pulled his dick out. "See, it's right there. Can ya get it?"
Rick walked over to the window and threw the scissors down into the big open dumpster in the building's garbage collection area three stories below.
Tom's mouth hung open. "What did you do that for? Shit! How am I gonna get this off now?"
Rick walked back over and grabbed hold of Tom's dick. "You're not getting it off. It's staying on. Got it?" he said menacingly as he started rubbing Tom's dick, making the buff blond muscle-stud get hard against his will.
"Oh no... nnnggghhh... ohhhh ffuuuucckkk... whatcha... whatcha gonna do to me, Rick? Aw, dammmm... uuunnnnnnhhhhhh," Tom groaned. His sweaty balls had not fully discharged their load since Thursday night, and here it was the sun setting on Saturday evening. Within minutes Tom's stiff wood began a steady drip. He stood there, his muscular arms hanging at his sides, helpless in Rick's hands... the way he always was, the way he always would be, if Rick had his way.
"I've decided, Tom, that I don't want you ever dating girls again. When I go out for a little pussy huntin', it will be with the guys from the crew. No reason for you to come along. It's kind of a shame seein' as how you are a total babe-magnet with those blond good looks and all these muscles you have built up, but that's how it's going to be, buddy. Your cute face, those big strong biceps, and that sexy hairy chest are gonna be just for me from now on. Well, me and the guys I rent you out to for a little extra cash."
"WHAT! No, dude, no! You wouldn't... aw fuck, UUUNNNGGGHHHH!"
Rick was now basting Tom's dick knob with Tom's own nut slop as it continued to slowly dribble out.
"Don't tell me no. You'll do it, and you'll be happy about it. You'll do whatever I want. You know that, Tom, so don't waist your breath tryin'." Tom groaned. "Man-o-mighty, Rick. How do ya do this to me? Ya... your hand... it... ah fuck dude, it feels so good on my dick... my hot stud-boy dick... oh shit!"
"That's it, Tom," Rick cooed. "How do I do it? That's easy Tom. I'm able to do it because I know what you are... remember? Huh? Back in high school, buddy?" Tom gulped. "Oh, uh, uuunnngggghh... you mean, uh, you mean 'cause I'm a... a... a pea-brained... oohhhhh... musclehead... uuunnnggghh... football jock?"
"Yeah, pal... a big, handsome, pea-brained, musclehead, football jock. That's exactly what you are. You always have been... you always will be. Now you see, football jocks like you, they need to be shown the ROPES... taken care of real good. And that's what we're gonna do. We're finally gonna get you permanently taken care of, all nicely boxed in, just where I want ya... no escape."
"Wha... whad'ya mean... 'no escape'?" Tom asked both afraid and yet more turned on than he had been in ages.
"Raise your arms up and put your hands behind your head. That's it."
Rick trailed his fingers on the insides of Tom's biceps, watching Tom's Adam's apple bob up and down. He grabbed hold of Tom's hard cock again and said, "Now follow me."
Still holding on to Tom's dick like it was some kind of rudder, Rick lead the dumb jock towards one of the two bedrooms. He told Tom to sit on the bed and take off his boots, his jeans and his tee-shirt. Tom actually complied in a hurry. "Fuck," Tom thought, "this is one of the hottest games Rick has played in a while. I guess while we had Tony, we were too busy messin' with him to do some of this hot shit, like we used to."
Tom was down to his jockstrap and his socks. He had tucked his hard cock back into the pouch so it now tented the material obscenely. Tom loved that look. It made him kind of hot and bothered all over. Rick told him to lie down on the bed so he could tie him up. Tom scrambled to get in position so fast he literally bounced on the mattress. He put his hands behind his head awaiting further orders. His mouth hung open as he panted in excitement.
Rick fetched four links of sturdy solid heavy metal chains and a handful of padlocks. Tom saw him lay it out on the floor.
"Whoa! We've never done that before. Cool, dude. Chain me up!" Tom said in rising excitement.
Rick wrapped a link of chain twice around Tom's right ankle, making sure it was secure, but not too tight. Just tight enough so that Tom would not be able to slide his foot out. He then padlocked two rings together, gripped the remaining lengths of chain, and pulled Tom's foot over to the corner of the single mattress. He wrapped the remaining lengths firmly around the horizontal bars of the iron bed frame, just under the edge of the mattress, and padlocked the two ends.
"Okay, how's that, Tom? Try and pry your foot loose," Rick said.
Tom found he could move his right leg more than if he had been tied with rope, but there was no give in the chain itself.
"Hey, this is kind 'a different. It's like, I don't know, a bit more freedom to kick about, but not much, and no way am I getting out of it." Tom had a contemplative look on his face. "Feel's different too... kind 'a heavy... solid. Know what I mean, dude. Fuck, this is hot, Rick. We should 'a done this to Tony. It's like muscle-man versus steel or somethin', ya know? Cool."
"Yeah, fun huh, bug guy!" Rick said looking like he had just one a prize in junior high metal shop. "Okay, let's do the other," he said.
Tom obligingly moved his left foot to the left corner of the bed. Rick was quickly finished and moved on to Tom's wrists.
These chains were a little longer. Rick wrapped each one three times around each of Tom's wrists before closing the padlocks. The visual and physical effect really accentuated the look and feel of being shackled in hard steel. Tom looked at his wrists wide-eyed admiring the contrast between the hard steel and his hard muscles.
Rick took the remaining lengths from each wrist and wrapped them around the bed frame at the corners, below the mattress, as he had done at Tom's feet. This time, however, he left about six inches of slack in the parallel lengths running from Tom's wrists to the iron frame. Tom would be able to move his arms about a little bit. This would help prevent cramping. Rick also thought the sound of the rattling chains would turn Tom on. The idea certainly appealed to Rick. Looking at his buddy chained to the bed was making his balls tingle. Still, he had more fun in mind. He walked over to the side of the bed and looked down at Tom's chest slowly rising and falling with Tom's breath.
"So, how those mosquito bites doing, bro? I know mine are itching. Those bastards... leaving us outside like that..."
Tom raised his head off the pillow and looked down at the muscular perfection of his big pecs. He watched Rick brush the back of his hand across the dirty-blond hair that thickly covered the two jutting mounds. He grinned at the delicate tickle. It made his cock pulse again. He spoke up: "So yours are itchin' too, huh? My chest has been itchin' all day... ever since Tony scratched his fingers across those damn 'skeeter bites this mornin'. I've been tryin' not to scratch 'em so they'd go away."
"Yeah, bud, that's pretty much the only way," Rick said calmly, now running his hands all over Tom's furry chest, pushing Tom further up the steep slope of arousal. "Of course, if they were to get scratched right now, they'd start itching like mad all over again."
Tom nodded his head. "Yeah they... you're not gonna... oh no... duuuuude!"
"Yeah, I am gonna," Rick said as all of a sudden his finger tips started scratching all over Tom's pecs. "Oh yeah, jock-boy, let's get these bites really worked up and itching. Man, it's gonna make you crazy not being able to do anything about it, huh?"
Tom instinctively thrust his hands towards his chest to protect himself from Rick's scrabbling fingers. In a split second, he realized the insidiousness of the chains. The shocked look on his face was priceless.
"Ouch!"
"Ha ha ha ha ha!" Rick laughed. "That's the beauty of this little arrangement, Tom. You can raise your hands and flail your arms around, flexing those big muscles, but there's not enough slack for you to be able to actually do anything!" Tom grunted. "Aw maaaan!" He tugged on the chains again, this time a bit more gently. "Shit, they're pinchin' my skin, Rick."
"Yeah, chains'll do that if you strain against 'em. So here's the fun part. You can tug all you want, but it'll hurt a little. If you don't want to keep pinching and bruising your wrists, then you are gonna have to lie there with your arms still. That's gonna be cool, buddy, because you're not gonna feel like your hands are really restrained. You're gonna feel that loose slack in the chains and that's gonna send a message to your brain that your arms are free... free to rise up and protect your body. Only... they're not free are they? Nope. Get it? Your brain is gonna be tellin' your nerves and muscles to do something, but you're gonna have to fight against it... fight against yourself to avoid the discomfort... and the marks that all the guys at work will see on your wrists on Monday... unless you lay back and keep your arms under control," Rick teased. This was a lot for Tom to take in and Rick enjoyed the look of concentration on the blond construction worker's face as he slowly tried to process what he had just been told.
"Here, let me put it to you simply, Tom. I'm training your reflexes... just like how in sports you have to train your body to make certain kinds of moves in response to the action on the field. Some of those moves may seem kind of uninstinctive - that sort of means 'unnatural', Tom - but with practice, they become natural. You train your body. Understand?"
"Uh, I think so," Tom replied.
"See jock-boy, I'm gonna train your body so that I can play with it however I want, and you are just gonna lie there and take it, eventually not even being tied down. You'll just lie there with your arms above your head and squirm in pleasureful lust like the jock slut you are, and all for my entertainment, well, and that of another guy or two, but we'll get to that later."
"Shit!" Tom gasped.
The fiendishness of Rick's plan was beginning to filter through Tom's brain. He stared at Rick in awed amazement. Tom wondered where Rick came up with this stuff. He thought that Rick was a kind of genius and had no doubts that this was by far the hottest game the two had ever played! As he thought about it more, Tom squirmed a little bit like he was testing all the bonds at his wrists and ankles, submitting to the sensation of being spread out and locked down. Rick always knew which buttons to push! What impressed Tom the most was that Rick made it all sound so real, like his aim really was to take full control of Tom's body, like this wasn't just a game, but a real plan to basically turn the weightlifting, former high-school football stud into... into his slave! Tom could feel the heady stirring in his loins. His balls were churning at maximum capacity and his dick was now so hard the tip was poking out of the top of his jockstrap by at least an inch, maybe two! He didn't think he'd ever been this hard... EVER!
"Aw, fuck yeah Rick... train me like the musclehead sports maniac I am. Get my pecs SUPER itchy. Make me suffer, dude. Force me to lie here and take it like the dumb jock I've always been. Hell yeah!" Tom shouted enjoying the scene. Rick grinned. "That's the plan, buddy... that's the plan." He resumed scratching Tom's chest, watching the mosquito bites get bigger and their irritating venom spread.
Tom kept raising his head to watch his hot chest being tormented. He would moan, let his head drop back onto the pillow and then raise it up again. The sensations on his pecs were driving him crazy. He tried not to lift his arms and wrists, but he couldn't stop his fingers from scrabbling.
After about six or seven minutes, Rick got up and went to the living room. Tom heard what sounded like a couple boxes being unpacked and then he couldn't tell what Rick was doing. It sounded like maybe he was putting something together, but Tom wasn't sure. The itching on his chest was now even worse. It had been bad enough while Rick had been scratching, but Rick's scratching fingernails also soothed while they simultaneously inflamed the sensitive flesh. Tom looked down at his chest. He tried to keep from raising his arms but found his whole body writhing in response to his predicament. He could see his mantits sticking up hard out of the dense swirls of chest hair. He was grunting almost continually. After about forty-five minutes Tom heard the stereo and realized that Rick must have been busy getting that all set up in the living room. It was just like old times, when Rick would tie him up and then leave him to go do something else for a while. Tom heard the music stop, followed by a couple of clicks. What he heard next brought a wry grin to his face.
"You asshole," Tom laughed to himself, "puttin' on that fuckin' tape."
Rick had inserted the cassette tape onto which he had recorded Tom's voice describing wild sex fantasies with the guys from his high school football team. Tom couldn't help but get even hornier as he listened to the tape and thought about that day (and night!) when Rick had forced him to make the recording.
Rick came back into the bedroom and put some things on the table that doubled as a desk in the corner. Tom couldn't see what he had.
"How's it going, cocksucker?" Rick asked.
"How do ya think? My pecs are drivin' me nuts man," Tom replied.
Rick reached over and lightly pinched Tom's nipples. Tom grunted and smiled.
"Good... that's real good," Rick said. "Like the cassette?" he asked.
"Ha ha!" Tom laughed. "You devilish fucker. Damn, those are my buddies I'm talkin' about."
Rick moved his hands up to Tom's armpits and twiddled his fingers in the thick swirls of dark-blond pit hair. Tom's elbows popped off the mattress instinctively before Rick cooed, "Uh uh uhhhhh! Get those arms down..."
"Oh yeah, I forgo...ho, ho!" Tom exhaled. He was trying to stifle a laugh, but soon enough it burst forth. "HA! Hahahahaha! NOT THE PITS! HO HO HO HO haaaaaaaaaaah!"
"That's it baby, flex those big arms of yours, but keep 'em right where they are... frozen above your head in submission... self-imposed submission. Your pits belong to me now... nothing you can do about it, so just calm yourself down, Tom." Rick swirled his fingers around a bit longer, occasionally pulling on clumps of Tom's bushy pit hair like he was trying to straighten it out. Without warning he slid his fingers out of Tom's armpits and let them glide delicately down the sides of his lats, then over his ripped abdominals before going wide again, around the groin and down the tops of the thighs. The lightly teasing fingers trailed down the insides of Tom's hairy tree-trunk legs and began softly tickling the sensitive inner thighs.
Tom whimpered, "Not there dude. You know that makes me horny as shit and... and... it tickles... Come 'on Rick, stop... not there, please."
Rick's fingers kept gently caressing in circular patterns, moving slowly, inexorably, closer to the shackled stud's roiling balls, packed into the tautly stretched jock pouch. Tom had his head raised up, trying to see. He was trying not to jerk on the chains, but couldn't stop flexing the muscles in his thighs.
"Oh shit... huh huh huh... oooohhhhhhhh my... my thighs... oh man, you're fuckin' teasin' my big... muscles... makin' my nuts boil... ha ha hoooooooooo... How... how long are ya gonna... aaahhhhhhhh... keep this up, Rick... fuck my pecs itch... can ya scratch 'em a bit, man... scratch that itch away... fuuuuhhhhhhkkk."
"Soothe the itch? Now why would I want to do that, Tom? Suffering is the name of the game here... hot, sweaty, itchy, tickly, sweet suffering. I'm impressed though. You're doing a very good job of keeping still."
"Yeah... ooohhhhh... but, but, it's hard, man," said Tom breathily.
"Of course it's hard, bro. When you were training on the football team, wasn't that hard?"
"Yeah..."
"Well, this is just like that. You're in training stud, that's all. And you're doing a good job... real good. We'll have you trained up in no time."
"Thanks, Rick... oh my nuts..." Tom wheezed.
Rick wanted to burst out laughing. He was reducing Tom to a mindless sexual object and the big goof was absent-mindedly thanking him for it!
"Sure buddy, I'm gonna take care of you... get you just where I want you and you're gonna help me by being good, right?" Rick said softly, persuasively, as he stroked his hands up and down Tom's flinching thighs.
"Yeah, you know I'm a quick learner, you give the orders and I'll do it, Coa... Rick..."
All the stimulation on his pecs and his thighs, his churning nuts and throbbing trapped cock, and the sturdy feel of the heavy steel chains around his wrists and ankles was too much for Tom. Too many currents were flowing to his brain and he found it harder and harder to think straight. The slow draining sensation of having his cock leak continuously was gradually weakening his control over his muscles. He wanted to cum soooo bad. He couldn't focus on what he was saying. Rick had noticed.
"How is Coach Baxter these days, Tom? You stay in touch with him?" Rick asked as if striking up casual conversation.
"He's... he's fine... UH man! I... I see him now and then... Remember... he was at... the game we went to last May."
"Oh yeah, of course he was. You guys ran into each other in the restroom didn't you?" Rick asked.
"Uh, yeah... yeah, that's right."
Rick thought he detected a note of tension in that reply.
"It was kind of funny that that's where you guys should meet up... in the Men's toilets. Didn't you spill a Coke or something on yourself while you were in there? Yeah, right down the front of your tee-shirt, wasn't it? You came back to the bleachers with your tee-shirt off, if I remember correctly."
"Uh huh, yeah... Coke," Tom replied.
"No wait, it wasn't Coke, it was beer. We were drinking beer, Tom."
"Yeah, beer... hey... hey, nnaaawww, not my nuts... you're playin' with my big hairy balls... Rick, they're so full, come 'on, man, that's torture... oh shit, yeah squeeze those fuckers, I mean... oh fuck, not my shaft too... not when I got this damn super-strength rubberband around it!"
"This is how it's gonna be, Tom. Me rolling your steamy balls in one hand and sliding the fingers of my other hand up and down your stiff shaft... up and down... slowly... gently... not too much... just easing you helplessly to the edge and leaving you there. Enjoy it, dude, this is as close as I'm gonna get to letting you shoot off until next weekend."
A gurgle erupted from Tom's throat. "Shit, I am fucked if ya do that to me. I ain't gonna be able to concert... content... conCENtrate on anything but my damn dick all week. Tell me you're not gonna do that to me," Tom said writhing on top of the mattress in pent up frustration and pleasure.
"It's exactly what I'm gonna do, jock-boy. So tell me, Coach Baxter, he still living in that place off Pine Valley Road?"
"Yessssss."
"Good, good. You guys always got on pretty well, didn't you? Didn't you used to go over to his house a lot?"
"Yeah... ooohhhhh... yeah, that's right. He, uh, he gave me, uh, extra... trainin'! Yeah, trainin'.. you know, football stuff... throwin', tacklin'... oh God... mmmmyyyuuunnnggghhh..."
"That's what I remember, bro. He really trained you up right. On the field you were ace at tackling and getting out of another guy's tackle. Did Coach let you tackle him?"
"Naw, he always tackled me. Told me... oh fuck, I gotta cum..."
"What'd he tell you, Tom," Rick asked, continuing his steady massage of Tom's thick cock.
"Uh, he told me I could learn best from his example."
"Seeing how good you were, man, it goes to figure. Baxter must have tackled you a lot!"
"He'd tackle me for fuckin' hours, dude, sometimes so good I couldn't get outta his grip; he'd just keep me there, pinned to the floor for like ages. If I couldn't get out fast enough, Coach'd make me do a ton of push-ups and squats, stuff like that."
"I bet he did. He was a good Coach, real good. Big beefy guy, too. What is he, about 40 now? Bet he stays in shape, huh? Yeah, I remember him real well. Black hair... going a little gray at the temples. The minute the you guys were out on the field for practice, he always had his tee-shirt off. I asked him about it once and he got kind of pissed off. I wonder what that was about? He said it was important to give you guys a role model... show you what you could have if you followed his orders. Yeah, I think those were his exact words... 'Show you what you could have...'" Rick said. "Hey! Speaking of your old teammates, you know who I saw last week? Rusty Taylor. He said you guys had gone for a drink a couple weeks before. Just catching up, shooting the breeze, talking sports or whatever it is you two talk about. How come you didn't invite me?"
"Geeze, Rick, I don't know. He's one 'a the guys from the team... we... we talk about football and shit. You're not into that... Oh my dick! Woo hoooo! Oh man, you're doin' a job on my big pecker! Shit man, sorry... I hang with the other guys now and then, you know, just us jocks, gettin' together."
"What, like a group pit sniff, hanging tight with these guys you fantasize about?" Rick teased.
The power of Rick's suggestion, combined with the cassette tape playing in the background caused Tom to tug a bit at the chains on his wrists as he involuntarily flexed the muscles in his arms. He licked his lips. He looked at his flexing arms and then at Rick and thought he saw in Rick's eyes the ability to see right through him.
"That's okay, buddy, Rick said with a smile. "You wouldn't happen to have Rusty's address would you?"
"Yeah... nnngggghhhhh, aaawwww... I gotta cum, dude, I just gotta!"
"Well, maybe, jock-boy. You are trying hard, although you tugged on the chains just a minute ago."
"I won't! I won't tug. Yeah, jack me off man! Come 'on! I'm tryin' hard to help with the trainin'!"
Tom thought the end of the game was near, and Rick was going to give him a cum he would remember for weeks.
"Hmmmmm... I think I'd better write that address down before I forget it. What did you say it was?"
"Culworth Lane! I don't know what the number is; it's in my address book over there. Come 'on! I am totally fuckin' ready dude... get me off!"
Rick got up, walked across the room and sorted through a pile of Tom's belongings until he found the address book.
"Hey, you've got everybody in here. There's Coach Baxter's address too," he said casually as he strolled over to the table-desk.
Tom watched from the bed. "Would ya hurry up... I'm dyin' here!" Tom said, lifting his hands a bit for emphasis. He saw Rick pull a wooden chair up to the desk and write something down, presumably Rusty's address. Then he saw him put aside whatever it was he was writing on and start thumbing through the book.
"B, B, B, here we are, Baxter," Rick mumbled to himself.
"Rick, what are ya doin'? What do ya want Coach's address for?"
Rick finished what he was doing and looked over at Tom. He grinned and said to him, "Now you remember what I told you about pulling on those chains. If you tug at them, you are gonna give yourself bruises and the guys at work on Monday are going to wonder what the hell kind of pervert you are, right?"
"I'm not tuggin' on 'em... watch me!" Tom said excitedly.
"Good job, musclehead. Now listen, you know this cassette we're listening to, the one right now that we made of you talking about your sex fantasies with your teammates?"
"Uhhh, yeeeaaahh?" Tom said questioningly.
"This is the original that we're listening too. I made two extra copies... you know, spares for safe-keeping." Rick held the duplicate cassettes up for Tom to see. "One of them is going in this envelope here, addressed to Coach Baxter. The other goes into this envelope, addressed to Rusty."
"Wha... wha... WHAT?"
Rick made a show of putting a cassette in each envelope, dropping in a little "Post-It" note, and sealing the flap. He walked over to the side of the bed with both envelopes in his hand. "I was thinking you could hang out here while I go push these through their letterboxes. Baxter's house is out in the burbs so it could be an hour or more before I'm back, depending on traffic."
Tom didn't know what to make of this. Was it part of the game? It was always hard to tell with Rick. Normally, not knowing what Rick was up to made Tom horny. This occasion was no different. He decided to play along and see where this would lead - maybe to his biggest fucking cum shot of all time! Tom was certainly beginning to think that was likely. He squirmed in the chains and looked at Rick. "DUDE, no way. You can't do that. It would totally fuck me up. I mean, I'd be really fuckin' screwed, man. Rusty? He's like one 'a my best buddies. That would be so humiliating. Shit, he'd tell everyone, all the guys on the old team. I wouldn't be able to hang with 'em any more. Dammit, I'm one of the hottest jocks in the gang. I gotta hang with my football buddies, dude. That's just the way it is... jocks hang with jocks. Man, Rusty gets a hold 'a that thing, and I'd be ruined. None of the guys would talk to me. Shit, if they saw me in the street, they'd probably try to drag me into some dirty back ally and make me suck their cocks! And Rusty! That fucker'd lord it over me for, like, ever!"
"Yeah, you'd be finished with the old football team, that's for sure. And some of those guys are married now. You think they aren't gonna tell their wives about this? And once that happens..." Rick let out a long whistle... "every chick in town'll know. Kind of like when you didn't make that date with, what was her name? Oh yeah, Ashley. It was no more cheerleaders for you, wasn't it? That was so fuckin' funny, pal. Man, I laughed at that!"
Tom kicked with his feet like he was trying to stop himself from slipping down a greased up slide. He was making little panting noises and grinding his butt into the mattress.
"You are so right, though. Wow, you'd be totally up shit creek without a paddle. Ha ha! Man, that'd be hilarious! Picture it, dude. There you are, a big muscley stud in your little wooden canoe, slowly floating down shit creek... call it 'Cow Pie Creek,' ha ha... cow pie creek! And at this point you are SO wishing you had taken heed of - that mean's 'paid attention to', Tom - that you'd taken heed of the warning signs saying 'No Boating in the Creek', because now you are heading for 'Cow Pie Lake' and you can see it just up ahead. You've gotta get out of there! Only, you no longer have a paddle. You dropped it in the creek. So now you're just floating, closer and closer to the little shit lake. What are you gonna do? You're in trouble! Shit! Ha ha! And now you're out in the lake. The waters, oh sorry, the current of cow shit, isn't so strong, so now you're just kind of floating in place. In fact, your canoe isn't moving at all now. You can see the shore, but how the hell are you gonna get there? Maybe paddle with your hands? But damn, Cow Shit Lake is really thick. You can see that you're not moving at all anymore and maybe your hands wouldn't provide enough leverage to propel the boat forward? Could be you'd just get your hands all covered in crap for no reason? Can you see it, buddy? You got this pictured in your mind?" Tom nodded. He was looking off into space, picturing himself stuck in a canoe on Cow Pie Lake.
"So, you're sitting there thinking 'What am I gonna do, hmmm?' While you are thinking you look down and realize that the duct tape you had used to cover up a hole in the bottom of the boat has come loose and now you are sinking! OH MAN! Your little canoe is sinking in Cow Pie Lake! Warm smelly cow poop is now oozing around your sneakers. You've gotta stand up! But now what? It's up to your ankles, dude! You're standing there in your tight little swimming trunks, up to your ankles in thick brown gunk! If you dive in and try to swim to shore, you're just gonna get covered and maybe, maybe there's a rock or something underneath the boat that will keep you from sinking further and give you more time to think. So you stand there and now you have sunk a little lower; it's half way up your strong toned calves and you can feel how soft and warm the cow shit is. You look down at your legs and watch yourself sinking."
Tom raised his head off the pillow and looked down at his legs.
"Now it's up to your knees and still no sign of a rock. 'Shit, there's gotta be a rock, there's gotta be a rock!' you yell out. You watch your thighs, your big hairy muscle-bound thighs, which you worked so hard on at the gym to give you all that power on the field, all that work, all the strength just for you to watch them slowly sink into the ripe steaming crud."
Tom was now flexing the muscles in his thighs, breathing heavily. His fingers were twitching, but he kept his arms in place. He didn't jerk on the chains around his wrists.
"And then you feel it; you are now up to the top of your thighs in Cow Pie Lake. It's about to reach your swimming trunks, and you feel it... you feel your big fat cock getting HARD! Really really HARD! You can see a wet spot on the front of your tight trunks. You reach down and cup your balls in one hand and rub your dick through your tight spandex swim trunks with the other hand. Oh it feels sooooo good to rub your dick and lightly squeeze your tingling nuts. You can't stop. And now the cow shit is starting to cover your hands while you play with yourself. Oh no!"
Tom's fingers were scrabbling frantically. His dick was pulsing above the waistband of his jock. He let out a deep-throated sigh.
"Now it's reached your wrists. You can feel the incredible thickness all around your crotch and your hot firm butt. You look down at those great arms you've got. Man, they are so fuckin' sexy. Not just big bi's and tri's, but big strong forearms too, all tanned and covered in thick dark-blond hair. Soooo masculine. You're such a hot jock. You can see them slowly, slowly sinking into the crusty stinking cow shit as you keep kneading your cock and balls. And you think that maybe you should pull your arms out before you get stuck, but as you look at them sinking into the warm dense gunge it turns you on even more. Your hot body is getting degraded and it's really making your dick tickle. You try to rub your dick a little harder only now you can't move your hands at all. The shit is just too thick! It's sooooo FRUSTRATING! You hadn't thought of that and now you're in past your elbows. The bottom of your biceps are already starting to disappear in the brown goop and as you look down and watch yourself sink further, you realize that your pride and joy is next. Your pecs! Your big, mounded, super hairy, super studly pecs are next! In fact, the cow shit is already lapping at the base of your pec ridge. It's only a matter of minutes. You look from side to side and see that your big upper arms are already half submerged and oohhhhh duuuude, that shit feels funky as the crusty surface scratches your stiff mantits. Aw man, your chest, your big hairy chest, getting coated in cow pie!"
Tom was feverishly grinding his ass into the bed and panting and groaning non-stop now.
"Oh boy, you can really smell that stuff now... it's really really stinky. Down you go jock, down you goooooo... your broad shoulders are almost completely covered. All that's left is the very top of your chest. That thick carpet of hair on your big chest just about totally submerged except for the last inch or so above your collarbone at the base of your thick neck. But then you feel the bottom of the canoe softly land on something firm. It's arrived at the BOTTOM of the lake! You have sunk as far as anyone can go in little Cow Pie Lake. Whew! You've hit BOTTOM and the cow shit isn't quite up to the base of your neck! What a relief! Now you can think about how you are going to get to the shore. You try to step forward, but you can't. You can't move your legs. The cow shit is too thick! No problem. You're a cool-headed dude. You're not going to panic. You'll try to move your arms. Yeah! See if that works. You flex your muscles and grunt: 'NNGH'! Uh oh! No luck. You try it again. Still no luck. You try to twist your torso, but not a chance. You realize you are packed into really thick shit and you can't move! You can't even pry your left hand off your balls or the fingers of your right hand off your dick. 'Oh, man,' you think. 'I'm trapped in thick warm stinky cow shit. I can't move a muscle. I'm totally stuck!' You realize how humiliating that is. Here you are a major jock and you're trapped almost up to your neck in cow shit with no way out. People are gonna think you must be really dumb for having disregarded the warning signs. You realize that you guess you kind of have to agree. Only a really dumb jock would get himself stuck the way you are. As you think about being a dumb muscle-jock stuck in cow shit you feel that tickly-tingly itchy sensation in your hard dick. It feels so good. You want to rub your cock so bad, but you can't even move your fingers. Your cock is throbbing now. It's trying to expand. You know it could probably go about another two inches, but it can't! Your cock is as packed-in as the rest of you. Oh shit! And now your whole body is tingling. You can feel a huge orgasm coming on. Your mouth is hanging open and your nostrils are flaring. You are breathing in huge gulps of super-smelly air and it's turning you on even more. You are filling your lungs with the farty smell of baking cow patties. And at that moment you know that you are right where you need to be. You're a muscle-jock pig trapped in shit, and that's how you are gonna stay! You love it sooo much. It feels soooo good. If only you could blast your cum! But you can't; your trap won't let you. Instead, you are gonna stay hard and horny and leaking, climbing right up to the edge of an orgasm, dripping a little, then coming back down before starting the whole cycle over again... over and over and over... forever. It's so hot to be a dumb jock pig in shit, isn't it Tom?"
"Oh, gggguugg...ohhhhh... duuuuuude!" was all Tom managed to say.
Rick reached over and patted Tom on the top of his head.
"Glad you liked the little picture I painted for you. So, like I was saying Mister Shit-For-Brains Football Jock, you aren't gonna be dating the babes anymore, and once Rusty has possession of this, yeah, you can probably kiss your social life goodbye. But, as luck would have it, that really works out perfectly, because I want my big blond jock-boy slave to be available for whatever I want to do 24/7."
Tom gulped and thought for a second about the mere suggestion of Rick turning him into his slave. His painfully hard woodie shot out a thick slug of gooey cream right onto his abs.
"NNNGGGHHHH! Oh man... this is fuckin' unbelievable Rick; you've got me so turned on, shit! You ought 'a go on stage man, you're talented. You've had me goin' before, but man, this is the bomb."
Rick laughed. "What about Baxter? What do you think he's gonna do when he listens to this?"
"Sweet Jesus, Rick. Most of all, ya can't let Coach get hold of that."
"Why's that, Tom?" Rick asked, sensing he half knew the answer.
Tom was silent for a minute and then said only, "Not Coach Baxter, man." He rolled his eyes. "Holy fuck! Not Coach!"
"Come 'on! Your old tackling buddy? Ha ha ha! I have a feeling, dumbo, that if Coach gets a load of what's on this cassette, you just might actually see more of him. And I'd put money down that you'd secretly like that... you would, wouldn't you?"
Tom's tongue was hanging out of his mouth. He could hardly speak anymore. He was a mass of helplessly flexing muscles and nerves. He was still thinking about being a muscle-jock pig in cow shit.
"Yeah, I knew you would," Rick chortled.
Rick put one of the sealed envelopes into each of Tom's hands, then climbed between the chained hunk's spread naked legs. He took hold of Tom's hard cock and rubbed his thumb around and around the spongy flange, pressing the flaring cockhead down onto Tom's hard stomach now and then to squeeze out more of the sexy stud's slippery splooge. Tom watched and continued to writhe and drip, gripping the two envelopes in his hands. Rick lifted his thumb off the cock-tip and used it to scoop up some of the cum on Tom's torso. He then raised his thumb up so Tom could clearly see it heavily coated in his own jism. Tom felt Rick's left hand fondling his jockstrapped balls and then saw Rick's right cum-coated thumb begin a descent to somewhere between his legs. He felt the fingers of Rick's right hand tickling the tender skin behind his balls, moving slowly downwards. Tom's hard bubble butt was covered in soft little blond hairs that grew thicker towards his ass crack. He felt those hairs in his crack being brushed and tickled by Rick's knuckles and he moaned.
Rick looked down and saw Tom's tight studhole puckering, flexing sensually like the rest of his body. He put his thumb against the sensitive portal and delicately spread Tom's cum in circles, like he was carefully icing a cupcake.
Tom lifted his head again, looking Rick in the eyes. "Awwwwwww, you're smearin' my jock hole with my own cum... just like we did to Tony when we pussified his cop ass... awww fuck that tickles."
"And now it's your turn..."
"Huh? No, wait, what're you gonna do? Wait! Oh no... your thumb... it's pushin' into my ass! Rick, man, we never did this... ooooohhhh nooooooohhh."
Rick wiggled his thumb around rubbing it up against the sides of Tom's tight sphincter, lighting yet another little fire in Tom's body. After a couple of minutes he pushed in a little further and rooted around. He could see Tom turning his head from side to side looking at the triple loops of chains around his wrists. Clearly, Tom was struggling between the impulse to fight and the demand to submit. Rick pulled his thumb out and slid a finger inside the warm wet cavern.
Tom threw his head back on the pillow. His eyes rolled up. His muscular arms stayed where they were. The temptation to struggle mixed with the knowledge that it wouldn't get him anywhere, turned him on hugely. He submitted to the pleasure of it. The chains were quiet.
"Rick, dude... you're... you're actually gonna finger fuck me! Oh no man, that's like, really gay, not just playin' 'n messin' around, you know, the kind 'a guy shit we usually do... FUCK!"
Rick laughed. "This IS 'guy shit' Tom. Some guys get frigged, other guys don't. I'm gonna put you in the first category!"
"Oh that tickles... come 'on, take it out before it's too late!" Tom was helplessly clenching the muscles in his glutes. "Noooohhh, don't get me hooked on having a fuckin' wigglin' finger up my fuckin' jock ass. Ohhh maaan! You're gonna give me, like, serious itchy-butt, man."
Tom started to try to rise up, pulling against the chain restraints.
"JENKINS! WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT STAYING STILL? GET YOUR MUSCLES UNDER CONTROL. NO TUGGING ON THE CHAINS. HEAR ME BOY?"
"Yes Coach... Rick!"
At Rick's outburst, years of following a coach's orders kicked into play. Tom immediately collapsed back onto the mattress and submitted to having his jock butt frigged by Rick's diddling digit.
"This is just the beginning, butt-boy. I'm gonna control your dick AND this hot ass here. It's goodbye Mister Football Jock and hello Mister GAY Football Jock!" Tom wiggled his toes at the delightful sensations in his ass. He flexed his biceps for Rick and had a stupid smile on his face.
"Ah dude, you're doin' it, you're fuckin' pussyin' me. You're really gonna make me gay... damn, you've really got me good this time. Don't stick your dick up my ass, though, huh? I mean... ooooohhhhhh, fuck... I mean... come 'on, I'm a stud. I... ssshhhhhhheeeeeeeee-iiitttttttt-oooooooooohhhhhhhhhh... I can't be gettin' dicked, right? Ah yeah, ah yeah... mmmmmmmmmmmmmmooooohhhh..."
Rick was laughing like he had just heard a great joke. "Buddy, I'm not gonna give you your first dicking. I think that honor should go to Coach Baxter, and I have a hunch he'll be happy to oblige. Real happy... probably make his day, hell, his year! Heh heh heh."
"Yeah, yeah...WHA?" gasped Tom.
Rick pulled his fingers out. He reached down to the floor and wiped them on Tom's tee-shirt. Abruptly, he stood up. He walked over behind Tom's head and lowered his hands into the dark-blond pits, palming the sensitive skin and swirling his fingers through the dense busy tufts of hair. Tom gurgled and grunted. He turned his head back and forth watching Rick's hands slowly massage their way out of his pits and towards his biceps.
"Yeah, dude, squeeze my bi's! They love that. Give 'em lots of attention." Tom loved having his arms worshipped. It was part of why he bonded with Tony so quickly and part of why he knew how to subdue the Italian cop so effectively. Rick was a master at it though, and Tom dreamed of spending an entire night with Rick worshipping just his arms until he fired off a huge load in his shorts. This evening, Rick wasn't planning on lingering. He used his fingernails to tickle the inside of Tom's upper arms and then moved his fingers to the strong forearms, petting the muscle and brushing the thick coating of blond hair.
"Man, those cassettes sure could cause you a lot of trouble, huh? If I got my hands on 'em, well, I could push your little boat right out into the middle of shit creek, with me standing on the bank, holding the paddle... But you're the one who's got hold of the envelopes... right here in your strong hands."
Tom looked at the envelopes, one in each hand, and smiled. Man, this was a hot game, he thought. It was like Rick was taking him right to the limits with the teasing threat of humiliating exposure. He flexed the muscles in his big arms for Rick.
"My hands are getting closer, though. Closer and closer! I'm nearly at your wrists... but it feels so good, huh? My hands are getting closer to those envelopes and you're not going to be able to stop me... I'm taking possession of your arms... they're not gonna do anything I don't want them to... and right now I want them to lay there... helplessly... all that muscle useless... as my fingers dance over the chains around your wrists... my hands reaching your hands... my fingers grasping hold of the envelopes now. If I get them out of your hands, that's it, your fate will be sealed... your days as a pussy chasing jock... over! Your life as a weight-lifting butt-boy will begin..."
Rick teasingly tugged on the envelopes and Tom strengthened his grip as much as he could in his horned-up state. Rick leaned down and started licking Tom's right forearm. He tugged a little more on the envelope and trailed his hot tongue up to Tom's right bicep. Tom groaned.
"Ohhhhh, you're coatin' my arms in your sticky spit... oh man, huh huh huh... I... I'm so much stronger than you, but... but damn... I'm the one gettin' his arms basted... oh fuck... oooohhhhhhhhhh..."
Rick delicately slid the envelope from the weakened grip of the blond hunk's right hand.
"That's one envelope... one more to go! Heh heh heh!" Rick laughed, sounding like some B-movie villain. Tom whimpered as he watched the envelope get taken from him. His stiff cock lurched and he felt a slug of pre-jizz dribble out across the itchy helmet.
Rick turned his attention to Tom's left arm and lavished nearly ten minutes on it, covering every inch in saliva, matting down all the hair. He was enjoying this as much as Tom, who was now all but paralyzed from the hottest muscle-worship session Rick had ever given him. As Rick swiped his tongue for the last time across Tom's bicep and down to the edge of the bushy pit, he s-l-o-w-l-y teased the envelope from Tom's left hand. Rick stood up and looked down at Tom's face.
"And that, my friend, is envelope number two! You didn't do such a good job holding on to these... and now it's all over. You must really want Baxter's coach cock in your mouth? Bet it's a real big and juicy one, Baxter's a stud... like you, huh?"
Tom nodded.
With false innocence Rick asked, "Yeah he's a stud or yeah, you want his cock between your lips?"
Now Tom just stared up at Rick. He swallowed and wiggled his fingers a bit. Rick grinned.
"Okay... time to go take care of this little errand," Rick said. "Glad you liked the game, and thanks for making it so easy, dude. You really just stood in the canoe and sank down into the shit, didn't you? I knew you would. Of course, this time it wasn't really a game. You'll probably be hearing from Coach and Rusty this week, and I wouldn't be so sure that Rusty is gonna tell everyone. I think he'd rather have you to himself. In my brief conversation with him, it struck me that he'd be more than happy to personally turn you into his little pig-boy. And like I said, you and I are gonna work together to get you trained up real nicely. When we're done, you are gonna submit to me or any guy I choose, like the pea-brained, musclehead, cocksucking butt-boy you are. Who knows, maybe there's a website in there somewhere? Huh? We could call it 'Construction-Stud Slave'! Has a nice ring to it, don't ya think?"
Rick started to walk away.
Tom began to yell. "RICK! RIIIIIIIIIICCCKKKK! NOOOOOOO! NOOOOOO! DAMMIT! DO YA HEAR ME? NOOOOOOO! WAIT A MINUTE! YOU CAN'T DO THIS! RIIIIIIIIICCCKKK!" Rick came back into the room with a strip of duct tape.
"I see we are going to have a noise problem. I don't want you bothering the neighbors while I'm out delivering these envelopes."
"No, not duct tape! Aw, you fucker, NO!"
Tom was now thrashing like wild, pulling on the chains and bucking on the mattress, trying to get loose. All to no avail. He was truly and securely locked into place.
"No Rick, no Rick! Come 'on! I don't really wanna be a slave, that was just for fun. I mean, yeah, you talkin' about turnin' me into your pussyboy slave got me real hot, fuck, I could cum just thinkin' about it, but, but, but, that was a game, right? Don't turn me into a gay muscle-pig, huh? Let's just keep things as they are, huh? I'll let ya worship my muscles whenever ya want. How 'bout that? Huh, man? Huh? Come 'on, dude, huh? Rick! Rick! RICMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPHHHHHHHHHH!!!! MMNNG MMMNNNGG MMMMMMMMFFFFFFFF!"
Rick smoothed the heavy silver-colored tape over Tom's protesting mouth like he was applying a sensuous facial. "That's 'Huh, Sir!'" Rick snickered. He patted Tom's cheek. "You have the cutest jock-boy expression when you suspect you have been confounded and bagged. It makes me so horny Tom. You're funny too. I like that! You'll LET me worship your muscles... HA HA HA! Dude, you kill me! As for becoming a gay muscle pig... buddy, don'tcha know? You already are one! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!"
Rick walked down the side of the bed towards the middle. He leaned over and massaged Tom's hefty balls. He gave Tom's dick a little pat and pulled the waistband of the jockstrap down, latching it under the very clearly very full balls so that Tom's cock was standing straight up. Then Rick scooped up the cum and pre-jizz on Tom's belly and spread it across Tom's big hairy pecs.
"Wonder what that does for mosquito bites? I guess we'll find out. Now remember, don't tug on the chains. You're in training, stud! Heh heh heh. Hope you like it? Y-e-a-h, I know you do.... From that first time I tied you up, Tom, I knew you were muscle-slave material. Tonight, we're finally closing the deal. I've got you right where you need to be. That's it, flex those muscles for me, jock-boy! Go on! Flex 'em... yeeaaahhhh... niiiiccccce!"
Rick walked over to the door and turned around, "As I said, this shouldn't take more than an hour or so. See you later, Dumb-ass Football Jock! Ha!"
Tom saw Rick pull the bedroom door closed. A minute later, he heard the apartment door open and then close. He heard the key in the door, bolting the lock. Tom grunted into the gag and clenched his fingers into fists. His cock was vibrating like a tuning rod. He looked down at his sticky, itchy, chest, then turned to look at each of his muscle-bound hairy arms. He flexed his muscles like he was posing for an audience. His dick was aching beyond belief. He looked down at it. It was standing up straight and twitching. Tom wondered if he had ever seen it get quite this hard. He felt a massive orgasm coming on. It slowly spread through his body like the distant swelling roar of a crowd, getting louder and louder... more and more insistent... growing... cheers rising... feet stomping... the ball was in his hands... the prospect of a touchdown getting closer and closer and closer... YES! YES! YES! Tom's whole body quivered. He whimpered, grunted, and squirmed. He expected to see a geyser of cum shoot out of his dick, but the rubberband was still in place! Shit! What he saw instead looked like lava, masses of hot, steaming, creamy lava bubbling out of the tip and dripping like endless rivers of molten wild honey down his thick shaft, coating the entirety of the throbbing piece of man-meat and spreading out into his lush, bushy, fragrant pubes. It was that sweet feeling Tom had like right when he was on the brink of a massive cum, but it seemed to go on and on, not quite tipping over the brink to a big cathartic satisfying relief... And then it slowed and finally stopped. Tom screamed into his gag. His dick was still twitching, still waiting for the friction that would soothe the itch and the blastoff that would quench his unbearable horniness. He lay on the bed sweating and moaning... trying not to pull on the chains but finding himself unable to keep from tugging gently. He was about to become a gay muscle slave and there was nothing he could do about it. "Fuck!" he mumbled through the tape gag. He raised his head and looked down his body. He pictured himself slowly sinking into Cow Pie Lake. He could see the image Rick had painted with words... he could see his hands on his crotch rubbing and squeezing while his big hairy arms sank deeper and deeper into the warm foul muck... his cock was in control... he was stuck... cock-trapped... Oh man! No escape!
Tom watched his dick throb as he helplessly began an inescapable climb to another thwarted ejaculation.