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    Jack Scribe
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Different Choices - 1. Short Story


Brad Reynolds was standing alone at the bar in Spike, a quasi-leather joint on Santa Monica Boulevard in West Hollywood, checking out the male scenery. The small, dimly lit room featured erotic poster art including bikers, buff males in leather attire, and Tom of Finland lithographs on the black walls. It was barely 10:30 p.m. on an early September Friday evening.

He watched a few of the guys playing pool in macho-drag: torn, frayed Levi’s with crotches obviously sandpapered for effect, faded tank tops one size too small, and construction boots. Several had various colored hankies hanging from either the right or left back pocket. ‘Jeez,’ he thought. ‘I can never remember what all the color codes are.’

While some of the other men were in ‘uniform,’ several, like Brad, were in more conventional polo shirts and chinos. Because of the warm night, some chose cargo shorts for a little ventilation. Spike seemed to draw a mixed male crowd. However, this was not a place for disco-twinks.

Brad wistfully regretted that his cubicle office mate at the CPA firm, Jeff Lamaki, couldn’t join him this evening. They were a real “Mutt and Jeff” pair. Brad was a wiry 5’7” with reddish blond hair. He was in great shape at 150 lbs through a strength-building regimen at the 24 Hour Fitness further west on the boulevard. Jeff was a complete opposite. Like Brad, Jeff was 23 but had finalized a growth spurt in high school that stopped at 6’3” and 190 lbs. While Jeff kept his body toned, his real love was martial arts. He kept his light brown hair clipped in a traditional preppy style.

They were both recruited for Bronsky Associates as junior accountants after college graduation over a year ago. Brad, a local valley boy, earned a degree in accounting from Cal State Northridge. He achieved his goal of being accepted to one of Southern California’s leading CPA firms. Jeff, a graduate of BYU – Idaho, a LSD school in Rexford, was anxious to move to the L.A. area, so he was grateful to have found a job at Bronsky. His older brother was in the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s department as a Deputy and had offered Jeff temporary housing last year until he found an apartment.

Brad and Jeff immediately bonded as the two junior accountants hired in 2004. One day, about two months after they met, Brad let it slip that he was gay. “I hope that this isn’t going to interfere with our working relationship,” Brad said, as the two were getting to know each other better by having a beer at Houston’s in the Century City mall after work one night. ‘Might as well write off any hope of a friendship,’ Brad thought.

“Shit, man,” Jeff answered with a smile, “I couldn’t be happier that you’ve opened up to me. The reason I came to L.A. is that I didn’t want to be in the closet living in Boise.” Jeff was no longer a member of the LDS Church because of the oppressive influence against gays and lesbians. There was a huge grin on Brad’s face as they shook hands.

“That’s super. I feel so much better. If there is a possibility of a friendship, I did’t want to lie to you, Jeff.”

“Friendship? Yeah, I’d like that,” Jeff said, as he considered what exactly Brad meant.

“Um, Jeff, just so you know, I do want us to be friends. Good friends, but nothing more.Brad seemed to gravitate to darker men his height with pronounced muscular definition.

“I’m cool with that,” replied Jeff, with a smile just a little forced.

It was very comfortable working together in their cubicle after each came out to the other. By September in 2004, they decided to share a small two-bedroom apartment in the Fairfax district. It was a short commute to Bronsky’s Century City offices and allowed them to car pool most days. Tonight, however, Jeff had gone out to dinner with his brother, leaving Brad to entertain himself.

Brad had just bought a second bottle of Bud when a man about his height, fitting Brad’s type, came up to him and bought a beer. Turning to Brad, the mystery man said, “Hi, buddy, here alone?” Brad looked at his new bar neighbor. With a muscular neck, defined pecs and a six-pack beneath the tight tank top, this guy filled out the faded 501’s with an intriguing bulge and a compressed tubular impression running down his left thigh.

“Ah, yeah. Decided to get out and see what’s happening. My name’s Brad.”

“Tony. Here’s lookin’ at ya,” he said, with a concentrated smile rolling over his average-looking dark-skinned Mediterranean face with brown, intense eyes. ‘Must be Italian or Greek,’ Brad considered. They clinked the bottoms of each other’s beer bottles.

“Where are you from? Your accent sounds like it’s from back east somewhere?” Brad asked.

“New Jersey. Might as well get the rest out of the way. I’m 28, moved out here four years ago, work in Beverly Hills as a stockbroker, and like to ‘top’ the right guy with a little heavy foreplay.” His smile turned to a slight leer. “How about you?”

“Local, 23, work in Century City as an accountant, and can be versatile.” ‘Christ, this guy works fast,’ Brad considered. ‘I don’t know about heavy foreplay, though.’

For the next half-hour and another round of beers, they chatted about life in L.A. and commented about the hot guys passing by. Around 11:30 p.m., Tony said, “Listen, I’d really like to know you better. Wanna come home with me? I don’t live too far from here on Sweetzer?” They’d already traded last names and where they worked. Tony’s last name was Mancuso.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that, Tony. Let me go back for a whiz and then we’ll leave.” Brad went to the back to the toilet area but ducked out the back door for a moment and turned on his cell. Immediately, he called Directory Assistance and asked for the number of an Anthony Mancuso on Sweetzer in West Hollywood. Within moments, Brad had the number. Returning to the toilet, he pulled out his dick for a piss while punching in all the information just received.

“All set?” Tony said, as Brad returned. There was a hungry look in his eyes that made Brad feel a little uneasy. ‘Prolly just being paranoid,’ he reasoned. ‘Tony’s a stockbroker, for Christ’s sake.’

“Yeah. Why don’t I follow you in my car? I need to get home later.”

“Um, okay. Let’s go,” Tony replied.

They weren’t parked too far from each other. Traveling west, both cars were at Sweetzer and Franklin within minutes. As we came closer to Tony’s house, Brad called Jeff’s home number and let him know where he was. Being cautious was part of Brad’s accountant background. “Jeff, I’ve gone home with a guy I met at Spike. My dick may be leading me astray. If I’m not back by early morning, would you please check out 1287 Sweetzer? The guy’s name is Mancuso. Anthony Mancuso. His number is in the book. I may need help. I repeat: If I’m not home in the morning, come looking for me.” Putting the cell back in his pocket, Brad got out of his 1999 Civic and joined Tony at the front door.

“I think we’ll enjoy tonight,” Tony said as they went into the small cottage home that was prevalent in Los Angeles during the 1930’s. Turning on a light and the CD player, Tony asked, “You want another beer?”

“Ah, I’m fine.” With that said, Tony moved up to Brad and pressed his lips into Brad’s firmly and snaked his tongue around to force Brad’s mouth open. There was little resistance.


‘Wow,’ I thought, ‘He is really aggressive.’ While kissing, Tony roughly massaged my pecs and rolled my nipples in his fingers. Suddenly, he squeezed hard, making me jump. “Hey buddy,” I said pulling away. “That’s pretty rough.”

“Ah, sorry, Brad. My fun comes in gestures of a little pain.”

“Not the same with me,” I answered.

“Okay, Brad. I think you’re hot and we’ll find something with which to amuse ourselves. Sit down on the couch. I’m going to get a beer. How about you?”

“I’m fine.” As he left the room, his round butt seductively moving in synch with his steps, I wondered if I should leave now. ‘Naw,’ I concluded. ‘I’m just being a little too cautious.’ He returned with a beer and one hand behind his back. He placed the beer bottle on the coffee table as he sat down next to me. I smelled something like gasoline as Tony moved rapidly and reached around my shoulders and held me tightly. He forced a cold, wet, strong-smelling cloth over my nose and mouth.

“Just breathe normally and everything will be fine,” he calmly ordered. I tried squirming away and held my breath. Finally, in desperation, I relented and took in a deep breath, inhaling a full dose of this gasoline-smelling odor. Slowly, my resistance to Tony broke down and he lessened his strong hold.

As he pulled the cloth away from my face, I said, “Ohhh Tony…what have you…”

“Just helping you enter my world, boy. You don’t want to admit it but you want to…” I heard no more as my mind went totally dark.

At some point, my senses started to regain reception of light, sound and smell. Touch kicked in as I felt my hands bound behind my slumped body. Slowly opening my eyes, I recognized that I was in a bathtub in a non-descript deco-tiled bathroom. I had apparently been handcuffed to grab bars on the wall above the tub. I also realized I had been stripped of my clothes and was completely nude. My ankles were shackled with a two-foot chain.

“Well, junior, welcome back to the real world,” Tony said as he strode into the bathroom. He was nude except for some black leather metal-studded chest straps, and carried a gym bag. It registered in my mind that he was a real buffed-out stud with an impressive dick and low-hanging balls. His pubes were neatly manicured in a masculine way.

“This might be your world but it’s not mine. Let me loose right now,” I demanded.

“Boy, it’s going to be your world this weekend,” Tony growled with a smirk.

I felt strange down in my crotch area. A stinging, cool feeling. Looking down, I saw that I now had no pubic hair. In place of my usual slightly trimmed bush was red irritated skin. “What the fuck have you done, Mancuso?” I asked indignantly.

“Getting your cute boy pussy ready for me. All that hair is a distraction. You’ll thank me for that when we’re finished.”

“Tony, what are you…”

“First, you will address me as Master. You are my boy or slave. Brad won’t return until Sunday night. By that time, you’ll be mine and begging for more next weekend. If you’re good, I’ll share you with my friends.”

“What the fuck are you talking about Mancuso, I…Ohhh…uhhh,” I uttered as Tony slapped my face and roughly squeezed my balls.

“Slave, don’t you dare address me as anything other than Master. Capisci?”

“Bullshit. This is bullshit. Let me go now,” I angrily demanded. Tony grabbed a dirty rag and held it in front of me as he soaked it with yellow liquid from a bottle. Wadding it up, he forcefully opened my mouth and shoved in the piss-marinated material.

“That should shut you up, boy cunt.” He took out a roll of electrical tape and secured the rag in my mouth. ‘Fuck,’ I thought, ‘What a revolting odor and taste.’ I could only imagine what the other stains were. Next, he lowered the plastic bottle with a wide mouth to my crotch. “It’s about 1:30 a.m. With a couple of beers down, I’m sure you need to pee. Do so now.”

“Urrgh,” was all I could utter in my throat as drops of the vile juice traveled down my gullet. He held my flaccid cock and directed the glans into the bottle. ‘Oh shit,’ I wondered ‘What have I got myself into?’ Concentrating on the mission at hand, I felt relief as the warm urine left my urethra.

“Good boy. You filled it half way,” Tony commented. He took the bottle away but kept his hand on my cock that was having a mind of its own. I felt myself getting red in the face as my dick responded to his ministrations. “I think the slave cock likes this, hmm?” Looking down, I saw my member grow to its normal 6 ½” size as it started dribbling out clear pre cum.

“Uggh…ummm…ohhh…” was all I could do in a groaning, desperate attempt to communicate. ‘Oh, Mother of Mercy,’ I thought, ‘what humiliation to have a pee-soaked cum rag in my mouth as I’m being jerked off.’ I started breathing irregularly and my body tensed. The hand motions stopped. ‘Fuck,’ I thought, ‘this piece of shit thinks I like this scene.’

“No, no, boy. You’ll cum when I’m ready. If you cum without my permission, you will be punished. Understand?” I looked at him wide-eyed, and nodded yes. “Ready for more fun?” he asked. ‘More fun than a barrel of monkeys,’ I thought sarcastically. Almost reading my mind, he slapped me in the face with his backhand.

“I saw your expression, slave. I’ll ask one more time. Are you ready for more fun?” I shook my head affirmatively. Tony unfastened the handcuffs from the grab bars and took one to secure my hands behind my back. “Turn around, slave.” In frog walk fashion, I pivoted 180 degrees. Feeling his fingers probing my asshole, I cringed at what might happen.

“Urrrrrrrrrrrrgh,” was all I could utter as an object slammed up my hole. The pain was almost unbearable. The sharp burning sensation of my tender ass ring repeated as the object…a dildo…a butt plug…explored my interior cavity. As he twisted this object, I felt some sort of feelers on the end grabbing and playing at my prostate. The pain soon reduced as the electric tingling of the probes started giving me a trip into ecstasy. ‘Oh, my god,’ I considered, I actually enjoyed this for a moment. What else is this sick fuck up to?’ I was being brought to climax again. But he stopped the movement.

“You should thank me. If you had cum, the punishment would have been beyond your ability to handle it. Instead, I’ve got a treat for you. Face me, boy.” By rote, I obeyed. Almost immediately, he placed some sort of elastic mask that covered half my face. I could breath but all sensations of sight were obliterated.

“Ohhh.” A moan was all that came out as I felt one, and then two metal clamps severely pinch my nipples. With those little probes dinging my prostate anytime I moved, the pain of the clamps created a sensory overload. Without having time to consider the impact, I felt a cold piece of metal roughly surround and tightly slip around my cock and balls, one orb at a time.

“I think we’re just about ready. But first, slave, have a drink of your finest. Spill one drop and I’ll be very disappointed. You don’t want to disappoint me, boy.” Tony ripped the tape securing the urine-soaked rag from my head and retrieved the disgusting material. I recognized a fresher smell of urine as the bottle was brought to my lips. Not wishing to experience the consequences of disappointing this asshole, I started drinking my own piss. “One final rule. Do not speak to me unless I order you to,” he snapped.

‘How fucking revolting,’ I thought as I finished consuming the contents. ‘What did I say or do at the bar to signal my desire to be drugged and humiliated by this sadistic cocksucker?’ I felt tears forming in my ducts.

“Good boy. You didn’t spill a drop. Now for your reward.” I felt his hands under my pits as he lifted me out of the bathtub. Once I was on the floor, he grabbed my dick and pulled roughly. “Follow me. I’ll lead the way,” he said, as I frog walked forward. I felt carpet below leaving the bathroom as my shoulder bumped into the doorframe. We continued down a hall to another room. Entering, we moved until a bed frame and mattress stopped me at the legs. “Get on the bed,” Tony ordered as he roughly pushed me forward. I fell and felt the cold vinyl surface covering the bed.

“Uhhh,” was all I expelled as he pushed me up the bed further. The nipple clamps painfully adjusted to the movement by digging into my body, as did the butt plug. Tony momentarily unlocked the cuffs only to secure my wrists to the bedposts at the head of the bed.

“Get on your knees, slave.” With my feet still shackled, I managed to pull myself up so that my newly shaved balls and naked asshole were in the air.

“Ahhhhhhhh,” I groaned, as he roughly ripped out the butt plug.

“Ready for a hot dick, boy. A manly big love pole to fuck your boy pussy?” I kept my asshole clamped shut in spite of his thumbs prying. “You want this…open up. Oh, I know what it is. You don’t think I’m going to use a rubber? Well, don’t worry. I always use protection…for myself.” ‘That arrogant bastard,’ I concluded.

I was confused as a hard plastic probe entered me, followed by a spray of liquid. “A little more gold nectar, slave,” he said as he removed the probe.

“Ohhhhhh, shit…urghhhhhh…” was all that came out of my mouth as he rammed his hard cock up my chute in one stroke. I saw stars and rockets exploding in my head in reaction to the intense, burning pain. ‘This guy must have some donkey dick when he’s hard,’ I judged, wincing at the human object that had entered the most intimate area of a man’s body. I felt my dick shrinking and almost withdrawing inward as I resigned myself to this rape.

“Not another word, slave…I’m going to treat you to my marvelous cock,” he shouted as he started fucking like a jackrabbit. He was only attempting to get off at my expense. The deviant was sodomizing me against my will. ‘Oh, Jesus,’ I prayed, ‘Please let Jeff hear my message.’ I started sobbing as he slammed into me repeatedly. Finally, I felt his cock exploding inside me with a rush of warmness filling the condom. He slowed down as his dick started deflating. Pulling out, he placed some sort of dish at my bowel entry. “I want you to push out and expel the fluids, slave.”

“Grrrruuunnnt,” I gasped following his command. This was the best I felt all evening as I emptied the contents of my chute into this dish.

“Lay down, boy.” I forced my body back down on the cold vinyl. He unlocked the handcuffs and ordered me to flip over on my back. After I had done so, he re-secured my wrists. Swatting my balls hard with his hand, he continued, “I may let you drain your nuts tomorrow, boy. We are going to play all weekend. I promise you that little Brad will be back home Sunday night. You may now ask one question.”

“Ah…master…I’m hungry. Do I get food?” I cringed at the use of the title.

“Good question. The answer is yes. I have added the contents of my used rubber to your liquid nourishment. You’ll get it now.” He propped up my head and brought a dish to my lips.

‘Oh fuck, he’s going to make me drink his cum and whatever else was up my butt,’ I concluded.

“Drink my manmade protein. Don’t dare spill anything, slut slave.”

“Ahhh,” I uttered in disgust. ‘I had never intended eating cum this way,’ I thought, grimacing.

“Time for bedtime. Rest well. I am rewarding you for offering such a tight pussy by removing the clamps from your nipples for the night. But, they will return in the morning, along with a few other surprises. You will become a good slave. Good night, boy.”

I heard the door close and another one open down the hall. ‘A good night?’ I asked. ‘Who’s he kidding?’ Fuck.


Walking from the ‘dungeon’ to my bedroom, I felt satisfied at what had been accomplished tonight. My boy, Brad, had been an ideal candidate. First, I could easily physically dominate him. Second, the cute little fuck turned me on. ‘By Sunday night,’ I calculated, ‘He will be mine whenever I want him. Like the others, he will submit to me at my command and be very profitable when I rent him to my clients.’

After taking off the leather chest straps, I went to the master bath to do my nightly regimen of a long hot shower when entertaining a ‘visitor.’ I considered the best way to video-record the boy tomorrow in the dungeon. By the time I had an edited DVD of him blowing me, jerking off, self-fucking with a large black dildo, drinking piss, and taking my 8” cock, he would be mine as long as I wanted. Grinning, I thought about the rest of the DVD collection filed alphabetically in my bedside desk. None of the other visitors had wanted the recorded material to find its way to the Internet or to their place of employment.

I climbed into bed and felt very satisfied.



With one eye open, I looked over at the clock. ‘Fuck,’ I thought, ‘6:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning.’ I’d always been an early riser and was disappointed that I never felt comfortable lying in bed in the morning. With my hand around the morning woodie, I considered stoking the hard on. However, taking a morning whiz won out.

I found my way down the hall to the bathroom that I shared with Brad. As I passed his room, I noticed that it was empty and the bed still made. ‘Good for my buddy,’ I silently cheered. ‘He found love last night. Maybe I’ll get lucky tonight?’ After finishing the morning nature call, I scrubbed my hands, splashed cold water on a still-sleepy face, and brushed my teeth.

When I returned to the bedroom, I saw my telephone answering machine red light flashing and wondered when the call came in? I pushed the message button and the machine mechanically announced in the irritating monotone electronic voice that the call had been received at 11:30 p.m. last night.

“Jeff, I’ve gone home with a guy I met at Spike. My dick may be leading me astray. If I’m not back by early morning, would you please check out 1287 Sweetzer? The guy’s name is Mancuso. Anthony Mancuso. His number is in the book. I may need help. I repeat: If I’m not home in the morning, come looking for me.”

‘Holy shit,’ I reacted, suddenly waking up, ‘Brad may be in trouble.’ I was always concerned about Brad’s habit of going to Spike. The crowd seemed harmless and most of the guys were pretty nice. In fact, I’d become friends with a couple of lovers into heavy leather who lived on the floor above our apartment. Nevertheless, the danger of meeting an aggressive, kinky leather guy was always a risk. ‘Let them do their thing. Just don’t include me,’ I had always judged.

It was time to think rationally. At a little after six in the morning, there were a couple of hours to come up with a plan. I walked into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. My options were few. While the coffee was dripping, I considered calling my brother. ‘Naw,’ I reasoned, ‘Calling the Sheriff’s department would be like hanging out the family laundry on the front yard.’ Plus, most of the deputy sheriffs were usually reluctant to get in the middle of gay boyfriend spats.

Pouring milk over a bowl of cereal, I judged that I needed a quasi-valid ruse to get into the house. I wasn’t about to get involved in a breaking and entering violation because some observant neighbor called the cops. Saturday morning repairs were not uncommon. ‘Hmmm,’ I pondered, ‘would the next door neighbor allow me to borrow one of his uniforms?’ Chris, a gay-friendly straight guy who worked for Time-Warner Cable and was about my size, lived next door with his girlfriend. We all frequently got together for drinks and dinner. Considering a plan that was formulating, I finished my cereal and coffee.

I quickly showered and shaved. Might as well play the image of a working guy on a Saturday. Putting on shorts, tee and flip-flops, I left the apartment and approached Chris and Janet’s door across the hall. It was 6:50 when I loudly knocked on the door. Getting no response, I knocked again.

“Okay, okay,” I heard from the other side of the door, “I hear you.” It was Chris’s voice. The door unlocked and tentatively opened. Before me was a partially awake buff man my age in his wrinkled boxers with a partial hard on angling off to the left. “Hey, man. Whazzup?”

“Chris, can I come in for a moment. Brad’s in trouble, I think, and I need to help him. I’m worried.”

“In trouble? Like, with the police?” he asked with puzzlement.

“Naw, in trouble like going home with the wrong guy last night. Can you come over and listen to a message I received.”

Looking down his torso, Chris smiled and said, “I’m not so sure it’s good idea to go over to a gay guy’s apartment with just my boxers and a morning woodie. I’ll put on some pants and be right over, buddy.” We both smiled.

“Please, Chris. I need your help.” I went back to the apartment, left the door ajar, and poured two cups of coffee. Moments later, Chris, in jeans and a Lakers tee, walked in.

“Thanks,” he said, accepting the coffee.

“Come back to the bedroom…and no wise cracks,” I said with a solemn expression. We kidded about bringing him over to our side all the time. I punched the message button again and Brad’s voice came on. We both listened intently.

“Sounds serious, Jeff. How can I help?” he asked as we walked back to the living room and sat down on the couch.

“I need to get in the house. What I propose, if you feel comfortable, is for you to lend me one of your uniforms. I need to be let in and find out what’s happened. Brad would have called back it he meant to stay for the night. You okay with that?”

“Yeah, absolutely. Here’s an idea that might help. You dress in my uniform and I’ll drive you over in my truck. Parking in front of the house will give you more visible validity. I could come in and help.”

“I appreciate that, Chris. The truck’s a great idea. But I don’t want to get you involved beyond that. Once I get in and find out what’s happening, I can give you a ‘thumbs up’ from the door. You can leave ‘cuz Brad’s car is there for us to return home.”

“What about timing?”

“It’s a little after seven. Let me have the uniform and we can leave a little before eight. I figure that it’s feasible that a service call could be made that early?”

“Sure, in an emergency, eight would be about right. Come on over and I’ll give you pants, shirt and a cap. You’ve got boots?”

“Yeah. Thanks for the assist.” We went back to his place and I retrieved the uniform. Returning, I nervously considered my options as I changed. ‘My martial arts training may come in handy this morning,’ I figured. I grabbed a gym bag and packed it with necessary supplies and a change of clothes.

We approached the Sweetzer address and Chris double-parked in front of the house. All looked very quiet on this early overcast September weekend morning. “Wish me luck, Chris. If I don’t signal you in ten minutes, call 911.”

Carrying the bag and a clipboard, I approached the house and rang the bell. After waiting a few moments, I knocked on the door. I saw a shadow of a head appear behind the opaque glass panels in the door. “Yeah?” a loud voice asked.

“Good morning, Sir. I’m from the cable company. We’ve had some connection problems this morning. I just need to take a few minutes to check your line. I’m sorry to trouble you. I’ll be in and out in five minutes.”

“Oh, all right. But make it fast,” the voice replied as the door was unlocked. Standing before me was a well-built guy with dark features in gym shorts about Brad’s height but with a body builder’s definition. I admired his smooth chest and six pack. The bulge in his shorts was obviously not a sock. Looking around casually, I spotted clothing and shoes I recognized as Brad’s in a corner of the living room.

“I just need to go out to the kitchen and check the rear,” I said setting down the bag on the floor. I took out a pen and pretended to write something on the clipboard as he closed the door.

“Follow me,” he said, walking toward the kitchen.

“Just let me complete this information. May I have your name?”

“What do you mean, my name? Don’t you have…?” He turned around as I brought up my boot-encased foot and energetically karate-kicked him in the stomach. “Uhhh,” was all that he uttered as he doubled over with air rushing out of his mouth. Rapidly moving forward, I brought my knee vigorously up to his head. We met with a violent impact and he landed hard on the carpeted floor. He was out cold.

“You miserable cocksucker, what have you done with my friend?” I asked the crumpled body. Taking out electrical tape, I quickly bound his arms behind him, his bare ankles tightly together, and covered his mouth and eyes. That done, I quickly surveyed the house. Sensing that the open door led to his bedroom, I opened the other one. Turning on the surprisingly bright lights, I was immediately repulsed by the sight of my friend on a bed. He was nude with a skin rash where his pubes had once flourished, in cuffs and shackles, wearing a hood over his eyes. “Brad, are you all right? It’s Jeff,” I urgently said rushing up to the bed.

“Oh Jeff, thank God you’re here. What a fucking mess I’m in,” he said squirming against the restraints.

“Not for long. I’ll be right back, buddy.”

Going back to the living room, I saw that Mancuso was still out as I went to the front door and gave Chris the heads up sign. As he drove off, I closed the door and saw that he was starting to stir. “Be still, asshole or you’ll be in worse trouble than you’re in now.” I smiled when I saw that he had shit in his pants and on the plush carpet. ‘That will be the least of his problems,’ I resolved, as I stunned him with a chop to the Anterolateral neck muscle using the heal of my hand.

Returning to the room, I said, “Let’s get you out of these things.”

“Jeff. You don’t know how good it is to see you,” he said slightly trembling as I removed the hood. He blinked several times to focus.

“It’s okay. I gotcha covered,” I replied as I leaned down and gently kissed Brad on the lips. Moving into action, I then opened the blinds and window to let in natural light and air to freshen the stale atmosphere. On a nightstand, was a set of keys, along with candles, tit clamps, and other leather accoutrement I had only seen displayed at Pleasure Island and in a porno film. The cat o’ nine tails whip would come in handy today.

“Where is that asshole? The fucker raped me last night,” Brad said, tearing up.

“Let’s say he’s resting not too comfortably in the next room.” I found the proper keys and unlocked the cuffs and shackles. Pulling Brad up in my arms, I warmly hugged him, ignoring to vile stale body odors.

“Thank you, Jeff. I didn’t know where this would lead. I really feared for my life,” he said with his head buried in my chest and clung on tightly. “He was going to keep me here all weekend.”

“Buddy, why don’t you go down to the master bath and take a shower to get cleaned up? I want to hear all the details but you need to wash his filth away. I’ll deal with that creep.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty raunchy,” he said with a frightened expression.

“We’re going to get through this, Brad.” I pulled him up and pointed the way to the other bedroom. I watched as he walked in still a little dazed. Hearing the water run, I went back to the living room with the cat o’ nine tails whip. I saw that Mancuso had tried to scoot into the kitchen.

“Where do you think you’re going, fuck head?” I said grabbing his bound feet and pulling him back to the living room. “That was against my orders,” I added as I flogged away at his chest with the whip until small red welts appeared. Also appearing was a large wet spot in the crotch of his gym shorts. “Got you so excited that you pissed in your pants, asshole? You need to be cleaned up.” I went to the kitchen and found a pair of scissors. Returning, I cut one side of the shorts and roughly removed them. Finding the soiled area of excrement from his earlier accident, I mashed the shorts into his face in nose and used more tape to secure the shit and piss-saturated garment.

“Urrgh,” was all he could say and I could only imagine what he was breathing. Seeing he was occupied experiencing an olfactory overload, I grabbed Brad’s clothes and my bag and returned to the master bedroom. Looking around at the furnishings and electrical gear, it appeared that Mancuso was in a good income bracket.

“Hey, buddy, are you feeling better?” Brad was standing in the bathroom drying off. He and I felt comfortable in various stages of undress as two close friends and roommates. And while I would love to take the friendship further, I respected Brad’s limitations expressed when we came out to each other.

“Yeah, thanks. The shower was great and I found some mouthwash.”

“Do you need any help?” I asked sympathetically.

“Naw, other than being a little stiff and very sore, I’m okay. Um, I hate to ask this, but if I bent down and spread my cheeks, could you see if everything’s okay? I didn’t see any blood, but he was pretty rough last night.”

“Hey, friend, I’m okay with that. It’s not like I’m a stranger to that part of the anatomy close up,” I said with a wink. Checking closely, I just saw puffy skin rash. “Brad, I think you’ll be fine with a little lotion. Just to play safe, next week you might want to go to the doctor.” Opening the door under the washbasin I found a bottle of Eucerin moisturizer. “Apply this. It should help,” I said.

“Thanks, Jeff.” Without any modesty, he proceeded to reach back with a gob of the creamy liquid.

“I’m going to get out of this uniform that Chris loaned me. Why don’t you find a couple pairs of Mancuso’s shorts for us to wear? I think we’ll be a little messy before the day is over.”

“He seems to be a clothes horse. I’m sure we’ve got lots to choose from,” Brad said while I stripped out of the uniform. By the time I had hung up the borrowed garments, he had found some boxers for both of us. They were a little big on him and a little snug on me but they worked. No reason to mess up our stuff.

“I’m pretty hungry,” Brad said as we walked back to the living room. Mancuso hadn’t moved. After making sure that the bindings were still secure, we went into the kitchen.

“Let’s find something for you to eat while you tell me what exactly happened last night.” Rummaging through the cupboards yielded cereal. Brad said that was all he wanted right now. I found milk and yogurt in the refrigerator that I mixed together with his cereal for additional nourishment. All the time, I watched Mancuso’s body for any sign of movement. He was obeying me.

“It was awful, Jeff. We got back here and the next thing I knew I had been drugged and knocked out.” I looked around and saw the bottle of ether. Slowly, he gave me all the details as he remembered them.

“I don’t know about you, Brad, but I think we’ve got some work to do,” I said as we moved back to the living room. “First, I think he needs to be cleaned up with a good shave. Brad if you can find a bucket in the laundry room I noticed off the kitchen, fill it with water and meet me back here. ‘Mancuso will have a different look after we shave him…all over,’ I mused, as I returned to his bathroom for razors and shaving cream.

“I think I should wet him completely so the shaving goes well,” Brad said, getting into the morning activities.

“Good idea. Pour the water all over the body except for the face,” I suggested. He was still ‘wearing’ his soiled shorts over the mouth and nostrils. Mancuso wiggled a little and made a muffled sound as Brad poured the water. Applying the shaving cream, I started scraping the Bic on his chest hair. “Bring a few towels with you,” I asked Brad. Moving lower, next went his tempting treasure trail, and finally the manicured pubes.

“Hey, looks like we got an Italian boy pussy in the making,” Brad said returning. “Let me take care of the dick and balls.”

“Make sure the razor is sharp,” I replied. “No reason to cut that area.” Brad took the razor and swiftly, with no mistakes, shaved the base of his dick. Grabbing Mancuso’s balls roughly, he squeezed them tightly, encouraging a grunt.

“Gotta have a smooth surface,” Brad said squeezing them harder before shaving. Finished with the veined gonads, he continued down both legs. “Help me roll him over.” That accomplished, the shaving proceeded up the back calves and thighs to the buttocks. Within moments, the curly short hairs around his rosebud disappeared.

“Good work, Brad. Might as well go up to his head. He really needs a whole new look. Wouldn’t be surprised if he sets a trend.”

“While he’s on his stomach, there’s a toy in the other room that Tony baby might like to experience up his wazoo,” Brad said with vengeful smile.

“I’ll be right back. I know which one you mean,” I said, returning to the small bedroom.


“Hey master, how do you feel now? Make no mistake about what your status is. You’re not a slave or boy. That’s too good for you. You’re like whale shit. You don’t go any lower than that. You drugged, humiliated, abused and raped me. I bet you really had fun. How many others have had your treats, Tony?” I was constantly talking to him while the shaving continued. I felt him wince as I moved up to his scalp.

“Are this the toy you wanted?” Jeff asked as he returned to the living room.

“Yeah, give me that butt plug with personality.”

“Personality?” Jeff asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Look,” I answered. When pushing in the bottom of the 7” plug, four antenna probes came out of the top. “These little puppies really play havoc with your prostate.” I retracted the probes and immediately jammed the plug into Tony’s asshole.

“Arrrrrrrrrrrrrgh,” was his abrupt reply as I plunged it in and out. Pushing in the base, I next roughly rotated the plug around his chute so he could experience the extra features of the device.

“Master Tony, am I turning you on, you fuck?” I asked. His body continued to twitch. Rolling him over, I noticed his cock was rock hard. “Don’t you dare cum, pal. And, oh, by the way, don’t worry about me fucking you. You’re not worth my cock.” I stood and kicked him in the balls with my bare foot.

“Ummmph,” was the only reply.

“Brad, are you going to continue shaving his head? It’s only half way done.” Jeff asked.

“No, I think that a professional barber should finish that. However, there is one final grooming step I need to accomplish.” I reached up and roughly removed the electrical tape from his eyes. He looked at me fearfully as I smiled. “Good morning, master,” I said as I shot the shaving cream at both eyes.

“Ohhh…uggh…ahhh…” he uttered while squirming.

“Unless you want to hurt yourself, hold still,” I commanded while shaving his eyebrow hairs. “Ah, yes…a GQ masterpiece. What do you think, Tony? Oh, of course, you can’t see. I think you’ll be pleased. Maybe a little eyebrow liner will help when you go to work Monday.” Wiping away the excess shaving cream, I covered his head with the hood I had worn last night. ‘There was still enough for a stinging effect,’ I judged.

“Let’s explore his little lair,” I suggested. “Perhaps we should put him on the dungeon bed so he can rest?”

“Good idea. Let him enjoy the comforts of his home.” Jeff replied. We carried him back to my guest room of last night and dumped Tony on the soiled vinyl-covered bed. It looked pretty crummy. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something in one corner of the ceiling. Without saying anything, I caught Jeff’s attention to look up. He shook his head and smiled. Looking around, he nodded at the other corners.

“Let’s cuff him comfortably to the bed like I found you.”

“Oh yeah, very comfortable,” I answered before we cut the electrical tape binding his hands. Once he was secured to the bedposts with handcuffs, Jeff motioned me to follow him. We ended up in Tony’s bedroom.

“A TV camera lens in each corner means that the room has been used before for video-recording…probably many times,” I suggested. “This explains the bright lights. I was probably going to be the next target. Wanna check out the closets?”

“You do that and I’ll go through his desk and night stand,” Jeff added.

Within moments, I found the wires leading from the other room to three DVD recorders. “Jeff, I hit the mother lode. Each DVD must record any action in the room from various angles.”

“Look what I found. Mr. Neat Freak asshole has a DVD collection filed by name with address and telephone number. There must be almost two-dozen files. Also, there are accounting books with revenue sales next to each man. I think this fucker was pimping these guys. Shall I call my brother?”

“As much as I’d like to, I think we should handle this personally,” I suggested. “I’ve got a plan. If you’ll entertain Mr. Mancuso, I’m going to call this personal list of his.”

Promptly at 7:00 p.m., the party guests started arriving. Jeff and I changed into our clothes and went over to Ralph’s for several cases of beer that we iced down in the kitchen sinks. Without exception, all the guests accepted the invitation to entertain Mr. Mancuso. They all had been victims of the drugging, rape and abuse before the cameras. Several brought their own toys. I recognized the Jeff Stryker dildo model.

We explained that all the files were on the dining room table and theirs to retrieve at the end of the party. I recognized a few of the guys from the gym and the bars. Jeff cautioned the crowd of 20 men not to be noisy. No reason to get a visit from a deputy sheriff.

With the hood still over his head, hands cuffed, and legs shackled, the guests ripped off the tape and fabric from his mouth and force-fed beer and golden sprays to the master. When everyone had assembled in the dungeon, Jeff announced, “Before you leave tonight, please go to the master bedroom. I’m sure our host won’t object to you donating the clothing in there to Out of the Closet.” This was an L.A.-based re-sale clothing store with several outlets that supported AIDS charities.

Every sort of humiliation short of maiming occurred that night. By 9:00 p.m., the party wound down. The guests departed, taking their portfolios and items of clothing for the donation with them. Each warmly thanked us at the door. I unlocked one handcuff. ‘The asshole should be able to fend for himself with one hand free,’ I reasoned. He was a mess with every form of bodily expulsions of the group covering him.

“Okay, Mancuso,” Jeff said, “The party’s over and so are you. My brother is a deputy sheriff and you will be watched. You are not to even entertain finding us or bothering us. If that happens, you’re mincemeat. If you see either of us in a bar or other gathering, you are to leave immediately.”

“If I find that you are pulling these tricks again, we will call the authorities. Do you understand?” He nodded. “I can’t hear you,” I shouted.

“I won’t.” I slapped him vigorously!

“My name is Sir,” I slapped him again for good measure.

“I won’t, Sir. No, Sir.”

“What are you, Mancuso?” I asked.

“Whale shit, Sir.”

“Well, whale shit, I strongly suggest that you seek professional help before it’s too late. Capisci?” I asked, using the Italian word he had used last night.

“Yes, Sir,” he replied, nodding his head affirmatively.

Jeff grabbed the uniform and bag and we left, Mancuso to literally stew in everyone’s juices.

We went back to our apartment, content that there was one less predator on the prowl. I thanked my friend one more time before we went to our respective bedrooms. Lying in my bed with only a pair of briefs on replaying the last 24 hours in my mind, I became terribly cold. Trembling, I went across the hall to Jeff’s room and walked up to this big lug of a guy lightly breathing, lying under a sheet.

“Jeff,” I said softly, “Can I sleep with you tonight? I don’t feel safe.”

From the evening lighting coming through the window, lowly illuminating the room, I saw his eyes slowly open as he said, “Hi, Brad. You want some company?”

“If you don’t mind? I feel kinda lonely and a little frightened tonight,” I answered.

Scooting over smiling, Jeff replied, “Hop in. A little buddy cuddling might be good for both of us. I gotta warn ya, though. I don’t wear anything to bed.”

“That’s no problem.” Removing my briefs, I eased in under the covers. “I guess this makes us even,” I concluded moving into his arms.

“I could get used to this,” Jeff quietly whispered.

Nuzzling my head into his chest, I added, “Me, too.”


Copyright © 2011 Jack Scribe; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
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This is a fairly good story and with a good point. I did find it a bit overdramatic at times, though. Especially when they called all of Tony's previous victims and they showed up. I don't know... I just think it seemed a bit... excessive...

Anyway, aside from a few minor grammatical and spelling errors, the language was really good.

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