24 December, 2009
The Santa suits were barely PG. The red lycra shorts clung to their skin, revealing every bulge, while the oversized, button-less red jackets with the white woollen lapels hung loosely over their torsos, held on by the silk red strap that wrapped around their waists.
Glimpses of their furry chests sent the expectant audience into a frenzy. Dance lights and the techno beat had already worked them into a sweat, but now, with a few drinks under their belt and lust in their groins, they surged against the barricades to witness the annual charity FurTree Face-Off.
The nightclub pulsed, but those in the know had already stopped dancing and were crowding the arena to ensure a good view. Even those not involved with the local bear club turned out for this annual Festive muscle-bear event.
Last year’s champ, Ivan, was a demonstration of muscle over mass, taking down the reigning champion, the 230-pound Colossal Cub. This year, he was facing crowd favourite, Joel, a community worker who had quickly won the hearts of many since moving here to take the Director role of a local community charity. His leadership had earned him the respect of the community, while his and sex appeal had stolen the hearts of almost as many.
Regardless of who won, the money raised would go to charity but Ivan knew that he was fighting both an opponent and an entire community this time. By popular vote, they wanted Joel to win, and Ivan struggled with the idea of throwing the fight for the sake of charity.
That said, the ticket money went to the same charity regardless of who won.
In their sexy Santa suits, the contenders stepped into the ring. Testosterone filled the air as the surrounding crowd cheered to the MC’s announcement of their names and stats.
Joel threw off the Santa hat as his name was announced, delighting a glamorous drag queen who caught the discarded cap. With deliberate eroticism, he gyrated to the music as he untied the silk strap and stripped off the Christmas jacket to the appreciative audience. He discarded the Santa jacket, retaining the silk belt to twirl it like an entertainer.
As reigning champion, Ivan was announced second, and copied the routine, stripping off his Santa hat then jacket for the roaring audience. He was amazed at how loud they sounded over the thumping background music that entertained the patrons on the dance floor in the adjoining room.
Ivan twirled the silk strap like a stripper, almost mirroring Joel’s own routine. His eyes ran over Joel’s torso and he could easily see why Joel was the favourite. In other circumstances, he would gladly have submitted to such a hunk.
The circular arena was small, made from a shallow plastic kid’s swimming pool. But it was enough space for a grapple, and sturdy enough to withstand the slippery oil coating layered on the plastic.
Ivan breathed deeply, retracting his taut stomach and accentuating his powerful chest. Joel grinned; his stocky frame oozing its own sturdy power. They crouched and circle, eyeing each other off.
Joel dove deep, grabbing Ivan’s legs, and Ivan immediately wrapped his arms around Joel’s waist. They grappled for dominance and Joel grabbed Ivan’s ankle’s, ripping his legs from under him. Ivan’s back hit the floor and Joel hauled his legs up and over, sandwiching him against the floor.
Ivan grunted, then crossed his arms and swung his silk strap over Joel’s head. As he pulled out, the strap cut across Joel’s throat, choking him.
Joel’s eyes widened and he pressed his own strap across Ivan’s throat. Ivan gagged and tightened his own choke on Joel.
It was a battle of endurance, but Ivan had got in first. Joel released his choke and grabbed at the strap that squeezed against his throat.
Ivan used the distraction to throw Joel off him. Joel hit the ground gasping and Ivan pounced on top of him. He grabbed Joel’s arm and twisted it behind his back. Joel yelped as Ivan held it firm and wrapped the silk belt around his wrist.
With no thought of compassion, Ivan grabbed Joel’s other arm and forced it behind his back, tying it firmly with the strap too.
Joel cried out as Ivan turned him over. His arms were tied behind his back, rendering him helpless and exposed to Ivan’s advances.
Ivan sat on his stomach and looked down on his prey. With a victorious smile, he grabbed Joel’s pecs and massaged them roughly. Joel groaned, squirming against the torment and trying to free his arms. Ivan taunted Joel with a few light punches to his stomach, then flexed his biceps in victory.
Joel struggled, but was trapped. Ivan grinned and began roughly massaging Joel’s chest again.
“It’s up to you,” Ivan offered as his thumbs tickled Joel’s nipples. Joel thrashed, but couldn’t break free of the straps.
“Give up?” Ivan asked.
“I give!” Joel cried, even as he strained against the straps that bound his arms.
Ivan smiled, and leaned down to plant a kiss firmly on Joel’s lips.
Joel arched, pinned but happy as his broad, furry chest arched up to rub against Ivan’s. He was hard and willing, knowing that beyond this public display, they would satisfy their urges in private.
Ivan flexed again, and slid up Joel’s chest to force his groin in Joel’s face. The lascivious crowd roared, hoping for a live sex show, but that would later, after the commentator had announced Ivan victorious.
07 December, 2009
01 December, 2009
Participants had the option of voting for more than one option.
87 people responded.
31% Hairy chest
26% Slightly hairy
17% Hairy all over
10% With love handles
30 November, 2009
Shannon had no doubt that his cousin would win, though they were the same build and pretty evenly matched in muscle. In the past when they’d arm wrestled, either could come up trumps but this time it was different. This time is was a full blown brawl, out on the back lawn while Jake’s parents were out of town.
They were close cousins, though if Shannon had his way, they’d be even closer. But despite all the things they did together, Shannon’s passion lay in rock climbing while Jake has begun flirting with the armed forces. He had a tougher mentality than Shannon, and his penchant for rough play gave him an added advantage. Not that it would stop Shannon from giving him a run for his money. And if luck were on Shannon’s side tonight…
The wrestle had been Jake’s idea. He equally loved and hated how everyone jokingly called them twins but for some reason, lately, it had begun bothering Jake more. So with his parents out of town, Jake had suggested a grapple on the lawn out back. Shannon agreed, for the fun of it, but knew that for Jake, it was pride at stake.
The match was at night, under the flood lights that partially lit the yard. A night time showdown was Jake’s idea too, so they wouldn’t be interrupted by unexpected visitors or nosey neighbours peaking over the fence.
As they stripped their shirts, Shannon tingled with excitement. They’d be shirtless together many times. They’d even rough-and-tumbled a little in the past, but they’d never seriously faced off with each other. And in a strange way, Shannon found himself not caring whether he won or lost. He just wanted the match, and the feeling of Jake’s body against his.
They stepped barefooted onto the lawn, wearing only their jeans. The lawn was soft and lush, well-maintained by a hired gardener who sadly, wasn’t there to join in the fun. As they stepped onto the grass, it was like a magical signal: the automated sprinklers burst to life and began spraying their jet-streams of water in a circular motion like the Olympic rings.
Shannon hesitated, laughing with surprise but Jake glared at him seriously.
“You’re not chicken of a bit of water, are you?” Jake snapped, stepping further onto the grass and into a fine cool mist of water.
“No,” Shannon grinned and followed his cousin into the false rain. Behind Jake, one of the sprinklers circled in their direction and the jet of water slashed at Jake’s back. Jake arched and grinned, raising his arms like a messiah until the stream moved on in its perpetual circle.
“Game on!” Jake roared, clenching his fists to flex every muscle in his torso before crouching into an attack pose.
“Game on!” Shannon mimicked and lunged at his cousin.
Jake moved in simultaneously. As their hands locked on each other’s shoulders, Jake twisted away, using Shannon’s momentum to unbalance his cousin and slip in behind him. He hauled Shannon into a full nelson, interlocking his fingers behind Shannon’s neck.
Shannon squirmed, catching his breath as Jake hauled back, lifting him off his feet momentarily. With his arms pulled back tight, there was little Shannon could do. He powered his arms downward, but couldn’t break the steel grip he was in.
Jake spun him around to face an oncoming stream of water, which pulsated across Shannon’s exposed chest, pounding against his pecs as it surged over him and continued ever onwards. Shannon spluttered as the spray suffocated him and the icy fingers of the water made him shiver.
Jake lifted Shannon off his feet again, before kicking the backs of his knees, forcing Shannon to kneel.
“Not a good start, Cuz,” Jake chuckled. He released his grip and Shannon fell forward on all fours. His relentless determination to win spurned him on and he dropped on Shannon’s back, knocking him face down into the grass just as another jet of water submerged them both.
Shannon grunted, twisting around to face Jake before he was caught in a choke. He was covered in grass cuttings but was barely aware of it. The resulting headlock hurt too much.
Jake lay across him, squeezing the headlock tight, forcing Shannon to cry out.
“Submit!” Jake ordered but instead, Shannon grabbed at Jake’s most vulnerable spot. He clawed at Jake’s peck, until his fingers found a nipple. Then he squeezed. Unlike himself, Jake’s nipples were ultra sensitive. Every hero has his weakness!
Jake cried out and toppled backwards over the top of Shannon. Finally free and able to fight back, Shannon swung a leg over, locking Jake’s waist between his thighs. He twisted the exposed nipple one more time, then squeezed his legs together. As Jake doubled over, trying to pull away, Shannon wrapped an arm around his cousin’s throat and pulled him back on top.
Jake clawed at Shannon’s arm, but their equal strength meant Shannon now had the advantage. Jake tried bucking, then reached back over his head to claw at Shannon’s face. Neither did any good as Shannon used his free hand to punch lightly into Jake’s stomach then toy with his exposed nipples. Panicked, Jake had no choice but to focus on keeping Shannon’s hand away!
Shannon found himself grinning, a broad, excited grin like a little child let lose in a lolly shop. He released Jake from the headlock, but as Jake tried sitting up, still caught in the leg lock, Shannon cross his arm behind Jake's back and swung it back around over Jake’s neck, pulling him into a reverse headlock.
Jake yelped, now arched over Shannon’s body, his face buried in his foe’s armpit. Shannon playfully slapped at Jake's pecs as they strained upwards into the oncoming sprinkler stream. But they were both lying face up now. Jake’s face was protected from the water sprayed but Shannon’s was not. He spluttered as the stream hit him in the face.
Jake used the moment to blindly reach down and grab Shannon where it would have the most effect. It was time to play dirty, just like his ticklish cousin had.
Shannon squealed as Jake’s fingers dug into his ribs. He twisted away involuntarily, releasing Jake from the hold. The duo separated, both of them grinning.
“You’re gonna pay for that!” Jake laughed and they dove at each other again. Their torsos collided but their hands flew into attack positions: Jake’s grabbed at Shannon’s ribs again, while Shannon bounced off Jake’s torso and clawed at his nipples. The two jerked away from the other's grip and they eyed each other off like animals on all fours.
They began circling each other like prey; minds thinking alike as they lunged at each other in unison, clasping hands in a power vice as their chests strained together. A jet stream of water hit them from side on, finding that minute gap between their faces so it hit both on the chest.
In unison, they arched back to keep their faces out of the spray and for the longest time, the sprinkler seems stuck, hosing them down, the water trickling its way down their torsos in fine slithers, clearing the grass from them in its wake.
The water stopped. The sprinklers switched off and disappeared into the ground to await another night. The two cousins stopped too, releasing their clasped hands and only retaining the eye contact. Their chests heaved against each other’s. Neither moved apart.
“Draw?” Shannon panted.
“Draw,” Jake agreed.
“Good,” Shannon smiled. “Then you won’t mind this.” And his arms snaked around Jake’s waist and squeezed, pressing into the small of his back. Jake cried out, arching away from Shannon. They toppled into the wet grass, but Shannon held tight, rolling Jake on top of him so the ground would restrict his hold.
Jake’s hands slapped fruitlessly behind his back. He couldn’t grasp Shannon’s hands to pull them off. The pain shot through his spine and he could feel tears welling up in his eyes.
“I give!” he cried. “Argh! I give!” And with those words, Shannon let go. Jake rolled off, still arching backwards, reaching behind him to sooth the pain in his lower back.
Shannon rolled on top of him, taking one last chance to feel his cousin’s taut body against his.
“Guess it wasn’t a draw after all,” he grinned. He sat up, straddling Jake, and suddenly, for the hell of it, he twisted those sensitive nipples one last time.
07 November, 2009
24 October, 2009
Buyu massaged the cool water into his aching muscles and turned to let the spray of the waterfall moisten his face. The stiffness felt good. He was a man now, and the aches echoed the challenges he’d faced and conquered in his initiation rites. Now, in the isolation of the jungle, far away from his tribe, he faced the final obstacle of loneliness and survival. His triumphant return in twelve night’s time would let him join the ranks of men that kept his people fed and safe and proud. He couldn’t wait.
He opened his eyes, turning away from the spray and a movement caught his eye; just a slight one by the water’s edge. He swam a little closer until he could see a white, soiled carcass on the ground. Was it an animal? Could the Gods have brought him his supper without having to hunt?
He emerged from the river, brown skin glistening in the spotted sunlight that flickered through the surrounding trees. The creature was a white man, wrapped in torn cloth, dirty and unconscious. He was face down in the dirt, one pale arm outstretched as though he’d been crawling towards the water. Buyu hesitated. He’d never seen a person with such pale skin!
Cautiously, he approached and crouched down at the top of the man’s head. Buyu prodded the figure’s shoulder. The man groaned and Buyu fell back on his arse in surprise. Yes, it was definitely a man, deformed as his skin colour may be. Perhaps there was a tribe nearby that he knew nothing of? Perhaps this man had failed his initiation and was forced to leave the safety of his people?
Various thoughts ran through Buyu’s mind but the loudest was that of his father’s, telling him that the injured and the weak must always be protected. He crouched again and hooked an arm under each of the man’s pulling the figure towards him. Buyu would lift the man up and carrying him back to the campsite.
The man was heavy, and Buyu heaved, sliding the semi-conscious figure towards him. From between Buyu’s legs, the man mumbled “water!” even as Buyu began dripping over the back of the man’s neck. He didn’t understand the word but suddenly the man’s lips were on his thigh, sucking the clear liquid from Buyu’s skin.
Buyu yelped in surprise and toppled backwards, his grip pulling the man over him like a blanket.
“Water!” the man groaned again as his face fell into Buyu’s chest. Dry lips began sucking on Buyu’s torso almost immediately. Buyu froze, his body electrified by the unexpected sensation; his nakedness hiding nothing of his reaction. His mind raced, exploding with sensations he’d yet to encounter and then suddenly panic set in. He threw the white man off and scrambled to his feet, running back into the river for safety. He was panting, and his hand subconsciously reached up to touch the lingering tingles on his skin.
The white man lay on his back unable to move, and there he stayed until Buyu finally returned to him. Taking great care not to let the man’s face near his skin, Buyu dragged him from behind this time, all the way back to his camp.
Days past and the man’s thirst and hunger subsided, although he was still weak and spent much time in sleep. Buyu had discarded the man’s ruined cloths. Until he recovered, the man had no need to protect his midsection from prickly vegetation. And while he lay there in sleep, Buyu got to sit and watch over him, occasionally reaching carefully to touch the islands of hair that covered much of the man’s body. It was hair different to the short, curly sprinkles on the men of his own tribe, and Buyu was fascinated by the difference.
In fact, there was much about this man that fascinated Buyu. During one, lucid moment, he thought the man was trying to communicate with him, pointing to himself and saying “Carlos” over and over. Buyu assumed that must be his name.
And even when hunting for that night’s meal, Buyu couldn’t help but replay those initial sensations that had been caused by the man’s mouth. He knew now that Carlos had been trying to drink water from him, but how can drinking cause such a feeling?
Finally, he could wait no longer to find out. Carlos was still weak, but healing nicely, so Buyu decided to recreate the sensation; to understand what it was that he’d felt. If he could make that intensity return, he may have learned a skill to take back to his tribe!
He gathered water in a bowl that he’d carved from a fallen tree. Splashing his chest with the water, Buyu leaned over the sleeping figure and waited while the water dripped on Carlos’ face. Carlos stirred, but nothing happened, so Buyu leaned closer. No response.
Perhaps Carlos was still too weak, Buyu thought, so he sat beside his ward and gentle lifted Carlos up, holding the man’s face into his chest. This time Carlos stirred, reaching around Buyu to grasp his shoulders. Carlos tried turning his head away but Buyu used force to hold it in place.
Carlos gasped, his open mouth inadvertently capturing Buyu’s nipple, causing the young tribesman to gasp in return. Buyu pressed his pec harder into Carlos’ gaping mouth and he felt a tongue scrapped over the tip of his tip. He jumped with surprise, letting Carlos go in the process.
Carlos looked up at Buyu and tried sitting up, but Buyu took this as a sign he wanted more. Buyu pushed him back down and lay on top of Carlos, pressing his chest into his face again. Carlos grabbed Buyu firmly now, trying to force him off. It was like a game, Buyu thought! A test of strength!
He snatched Carlos’ wrists and pinned them to the ground, high above his head. As Carlos arched, Buyu understood the gesture that he wanted the sensations returned, so he leaned down and sucked the pink nipples until he felt Carlos’ member begin to rise and throb beneath him. He knew now that he’d done the right thing and he slid forward again for Carlos to please him more. But Carlos snatched his hands free and wrapped his powerful arms around Buyu, rolling him over.
Buyu understood, and stretched his arms out above his head, just as he’d pinned Carlos’ arms down. Carlos grabbed Buyu’s wrists to hold them in place and slid up Buyu’s body to look him in the eye. Buyu smiled. The solid muscle on top of him, the soft glide of skin on skin as Carlos had moved… it all added to the new and powerful feelings he was experiencing.
They stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment, and Buyu saw the challenge Carlos was issuing. The smile drained from Buyu’s face, and suddenly their lips met and Carlos kissed him long and hard. Buyu arched up, knowing now what that challenge was. At home, he’d seen his parents kissing, and the man was always in charge. Carlos was making himself in charge and Buyu had let himself be pinned down!
Buyu arched and squirmed, but Carlos’ grip was strong despite the man still being weakened by his ordeal. How much stronger would he be if he had not been weakened, Buyu wondered?! Their chests grated together and Buyu found himself getting harder and harder, the more he strained. Carlos too, seemed to be affected the same.
Carlos sat on Buyu’s chest now, drawing Buyu’s arms down to shoulder height, and securing them in place with his knees. Buyu eyed the thick, dancing shaft directly above him, wondering what was expected of him even as he kicked out trying to break free. Carlos took Buyu’s head, raising it and forcing the erection against Buyu’s lips.
Buyu didn’t understand, and bucked harder, throwing Carlos off balance. He pulled an arm free and struck out at Carlos, hitting him in the ribs. Using the element of surprise, Buyu rolled Carlos off and quickly positioned himself as Carlos had done, holding the white muscleman down with his knees. Carlos arched a little, but lay there as if in defeat, but in the man’s eyes, Buyu saw understanding, not defeat. The man wanted him on top, perhaps to show him what was expected.
He raised Carlos’ head and Carlos kissed Buyu’s thick dark foreskin. Buyu yelped as if struck by a jolt of lightening. Carlo’s arms came free, but instead of fighting back, Carlos grabbed Buyu’s sides and held him there. As Buyu looked down on Carlos confused, Carlos raised his head and wrapped his moist lips around Buyu’s thickened shaft.
If a deep voice could squeal, it would be sound that croaked out of Buyu’s throat. His head fell back, he arched dangerously, and he only stayed in place by the grace of Carlos’ grip. Buyu was blinded by a stirring so intense that he could neither think nor breathe. His body convulsed in sync with the long, moist strokes of Carlos’ lips. Like a distant observer, he became vaguely aware of Carlos’ hands sliding up his ribcage until they held him just under the armpits. Thumbs reached out to stroke Buyu’s nipples and it was then that it became too much.
Buyu threw himself off Carlos and scuttled out of reach. He sat there panting, eyes and mouth wide open, trembling as he looked back at Carlos. Buyu reached down to grasp his own cock and he stroked it a few times. It felt good, but nothing like what he’d just been through.
Carlos smiled at him, propping himself up on one elbow and mumbling something unintelligible in his foreign tongue.
At length, Buyu regained composure. He was a man. He must not run away. And it wasn’t as though Carlos had been hurting him.
He crawled back to Carlos’ and lay down beside him. Carlos smiled and rolled over on top of Buyu. This time, Buyu let him. He had much to learn, and Carlos seemed eager now to teach him all he knew. Buyu told himself not to be scared. These pleasures were secrets of another tribe that he could bring back to his own people. And perhaps, once Carlos had taught him all he could, he would make himself the man again and force Carlos to satisfy him over and over again. But until then…
Buyu closed his eyes, his lips parting ever so slightly as Carlos’ warm breath was replaced by moist lips against his neck…
03 October, 2009
Participants had the option of voting for more than one option.
141 people responded.
47% Young vs Old
35% White vs Black
21% Hairy vs Smooth
21% Same culture
14% Black vs Latino
11% White vs Asian
11% White vs Latino
10% Asian vs Latino
08% Black vs Asian
27 September, 2009
A wicked grin formed on Max’s lips as he tightened his grip either side of Don’s head. He looked down on the kneeling figure and guided Don’s open mouth over his cock. Even now, after letting his arms be tied behind his back, Don was struggling, unable to let go of the control he wielded at the top of his corporate empire.
Max knew Don’s type all too well – a man who spends his days in control, making decisions that effect hundreds or thousands of workers and investors. Even his friends respect him enough to let him take the lead, so in private he just wanted to lose control and let it all go. Don’s fantasy was more common that he would ever know.
But Max could read Don too, and he knew Don wasn’t the kind to be able to forfeit his control on a whim, no matter how much he wanted it. Unlike most men of power, Don kept every part of his life in control, including his fitness. There was no gut on this hunk. So Max knew he’d have to take it from him; force Don to give up control so his desires could be released. That’s why he was paying such a handsome sum, after all.
Don twisted his head, turning away from Max’s dancing dick, spitting out the precum that sprinkled his tongue.
“Not acceptable,” Max growled, trying to make Don take it again, but his captive wouldn’t have it. He was going to be even more difficult that Max had anticipated.
Max pulled Don to his feet and wrapped an arm around his waist. It felt good having such a tight torso pressing into him. He looked Don in the eyes, surprised to see Don returned the gaze unflinching.
“Looks like you’ll have to learn the hard way,” Max snarled.
He wrapped his other arm around Don’s waist and squeezed. Don gasped, his eyes widening with suprise, just before he arched back under the pressure of the bear hug.
“You feel that?” Max asserted. “That’s your life in my hands. That’s you, bending over backwards to make me happy.” He squeezed harder, this time feeling Don’s legs buckle.
Leaning into Don’s chest, Max nipped at a nipple playfully then pulled Don upright before they both lost their balance. He adjusted his grip, sliding his crushing arms up Don’s back to chest-height. They were eye to eye again and this time Max’s gaze was stronger.
He kept the squeeze on tight, enjoying the feel of Don’s powerful frame melting in his grip. Don’s eyes were glazing over as he gasped for breath; his open mouth too tempting to resist. Max surged forward, carefully ramming Don up against the wall. Sliding one of his hands up the back of Don’s neck, Max held Don’s head from behind and kissed him.
Don responded with his tongue while his body squirmed against Max now that it was free from the crushing embrace. But also freed were his wrists. The cloth that bound them loosened in the struggle and now fell unseen to his feet.
There was no question of fight or submit. If Max had seen the bonds release, he would have known what was coming. Don’s hands shot up, catching Max under the arms and lifting him off the floor. Before Max could even utter a cry of surprise, Don had flipped their positions and rammed Max up to the wall, forcing Max’s arms high above his head.
Don pressed in to sandwich Max and glared into his eyes before sealing a kiss that penetrated to the back of Max’s mouth. Don’s panting torso heaved against Max, scraping their hairy chests together like sandpaper.
Max pressed his upper back into the wall to arch out but Don body-slammed their torsos forcing Max back against the wall.
Max grunted but used the movement to yank an arm downward, pulling it free of Don’s steel grip. He wrapped it around Don’s torso and twisted, knocking Don off balance.
The two men stumbled but Max was in charge again. He tripped Don, sending the man crashing to the ground and followed him down, dropping into a sitting position on his chest. As the wind got knocked out of Don, Max pinned his arms under his knees, and looked down satisfied at his prisoner again. That had been a close call. Thank God the bear hug had worn Don down before he’d broken free!
Don bucked like a bull, trying to throw Max off, but a few quick gut punches left Don panting and still again. Max pushed Don’s face into his naked groin and listened to the muffled cries. Between the bear hug, the slam and now this, it would be a miracle if Don had any breath left to fight with.
Max loosened his grip, letting Don suck in a deep breath. While he let Don breathe, Max reached behind, clasping Don’s cock in his palm. He massaged the hard shaft roughly, making sure his fingertips taunted the contracted balls too.
Don’s roared like a wounded animal; the outburst making Max hesitate momentarily. Don twisted and bucked simultaneously, unbalancing Max enough to throw him off. In an instance, Don was on top, coming down with a body slam from behind. A strong arm wrapped around Max’s throat and he was rolled upward, one arm getting hooked into a half nelson. Muscular legs wrapped around Max from behind, trapping his lower half too.
Max strained, arching back over Don’s steel body. He slapped at Don’s choking arm and tried fruitlessly to loosen it. He was seeing flashes of white and his chest burned as he ached for oxygen.
Then suddenly Don released the choke, hooking his arm under Max’s free armpit and hoisting him into a full nelson. Don twisted underneath, sliding Max over him to one side and pulling his arm over his head to grip it in the same vice that held his other arm back.
Weakened by the arch, Max could barely struggle as Don’s free hand now reached around to pull playfully at Max’s nipple ring. Max cried out and Don slapped at his pecs before reaching down to clasp Max’s dancing cock in his hand.
Max froze in shock and Don began gently tugging. His mouth opened in a silent gasp. He could hear Don’s breath, heavy in his ear. If Don made him climax first, the fight would be over and the Master would have been mastered.
Professional pride and humiliation erupted within Max and he arched harder and twisted, breaking the double hold from one of his arms. He twisted further, sliding off Don and springing to his knees ready to attack, but Don was already on his knees and surged forward bowling Max back over. They crashed to the ground and Don pinned him immediately, arms and legs forced out in a grapevine, crucifying Max against the ground.
Max’s cock was stiffer than ever, rigidly slapping against Don’s butt cheeks, threatening to explode. Max knew he’d lost the battle. He was about to cum any moment. Don lay on top of him, playfully sliding Max’s arms above his head and back out to the side like the flapping wings of angel. Don was chuckling, enjoying his obvious victory, fiery eyes staring right into Max’s.
From the hopeless position of having his arms pinned above his head, Max waited for Don to pull them down to shoulder height again. He used the moment to yank downward as hard as he could. The element of surprise let him snap free of Don’s grip. He grabbed Don’s wrists, twisting one arm up behind Don’s back. Don broke the other arm free, but Max let it roam, grabbing the back of Don’s head instead, forcing their lips together. In the momentary shift of fortunes, Max snapped their legs together and wrapped his around Don’s, holding them shut.
“You wanna make me cum?” Max growled before silencing Don with a long, violent kiss. He thrust his groin up, rubbing his shaft against Don; pumping his own organ while Don lay pinned on top of him. The explosion of white relief came sooner than Max would have liked, but he crushed Don into him as his body tensed and convulsed and a choking gasp broke through their kiss.
Don buried his mouth in Max’ neck, sucking the flesh as Max panted and sighed. He felt Don relax on top of him and knew that the fight had ended. He’d climaxed on his own terms and Don was conceding defeat, never knowing just how close he’s come to winning.
Max released the arm lock and pushed down on Don’s shoulder. Don kissed Max’s torso as he made his way down his body.
“Clean me up,” Max ordered, pleased to feel Don’s tongue flick out to lick up the spill below.
Max smiled. Balance was restored. He was in charge and his client was now where he wanted to be. He would make the most of his victory, punishing Don hard and teasing him mercilessly before letting him find relief himself. Don had wanted Max to prove who was boss, and now the boss would ensure he was never questioned again. The clean up was just the beginning…
18 September, 2009
He sat in his private office, day in and day out, quietly number crunching, his obviously intellectual mind constantly churning over behind his thick, black-rimmed glasses. Not even his straight brown hair could hide his palpable intelligence, despite falling flat against his forehead as if to distract one's attention from his mind.
At staff functions he barely said a word, except perhaps to briefly critique a new book he'd just finished reading, or to sprout the virtues of art house cinema. On the rare occasion that Walter spoke of a holiday adventure (like the time he went to Switzerland and spend two weeks snowbound in his hotel suite), a ripple of excitement surged through his work colleagues and they listened intently to how he spent his time. It wasn't that Walter was a particularly good storyteller, but more the fact that he had something to say.
Underneath his neatly pressed suit and matching tie, the girls in the office (and perhaps a few boys) fancied him as a mild mannered Clark Kent, turning into the man of steel every evening to rescue damsels in distress. For one of the few things everyone knew about Walter was the "me" time he spent at the gym several times per week. While the question of why someone so dull should require any time out for himself was beyond everyone's comprehension, but the result was well justified, as evidenced by his V-shaped physique.
Indeed, despite his painful lack of personality, a number of the office flirts had attempted at one time or another to ask Walter out on a date.
"It's the quiet one's you have to watch out for," they'd say, grinning from ear to ear in anticipation of success. Surely someone so tedious must also be lonely and would jump at the chance to have a little company. But Walter always turned them down in his usual polite way and no excuse offered.
Some of the guys even tried occasionally to help Walter out of his shell.
"He just needs a good lay!" they'd proclaim, "and attempt to get Walter out to a strip joint, football match or on a double date with someone's sister. One time they even offered to hire a prostitute for him, but again, Walter declined, politely grateful but adamantly disinterested in the prospect of a night with the boys.
Over time, the offers had become less, much to Walter's relief, though the occasional invitation to a group function or social event still came his way. Of those, he attended very few - namely those held for specific reasons rather than the ones organised for the Hell of it. He was there every Christmas for the obligatory luncheon, and was one of the first to say 'yes' to drinks after work when Barry announced the arrival of his first child. But other than these rare instances, he remained aloof and kept his working life firmly apart from his personal.
In more ways than one, it was probably a good thing that Walter chose to lead his life as such because many people, as he once learned the hard way, simply wouldn't understand.
He led a comfortable life; the proud owner of a Bentley and a four-wheel drive, and he lived alone in the ample space of his own two-storey, beach-side house, paid in cash and cared for by a part time maid who attended three times a week to spring clean.
It was thought, by those supposedly in the know, that the distinct lack of a social circle in Walter's life brought about these fabulous possessions. After all, he had very little to spend his money on, so he was able to save and save and progressively purchase the envious belongings.
But as some had fantasised, the truth was his alone for the keeping. Come 6.00 pm, as the train returned him only a few blocks away from his home, he had already consulted his diary and check for messages outlining any late appointments. Businessmen, politicians, celebrities and other wealthy denizens clamoured for his favours and paid handsomely for his time.
At home from another boring day in the office, Walter would peel off his business attire and refresh himself with a nice long shower, using the moment to playfully examine his tight, smooth frame and to prepare for the evening ahead.
On stepping out of the shower, he would stand before the mahogany-framed full-length mirror and admire his Adonis-like physique. With washboard abs and a powerful protruding chest, his large nipples were like two dark lighthouses, protruding out above the hard, bumpy terrain of muscle.
Inevitably, his 7" cock would be hard, after fondling it under the revitalizing flow of warm water, so he'd stroke it a few times, ensuring the white ammunition was ready to surge out when needed.
A touch of wax, and his flat, lifeless hair would blossom into a mess of youthful design, lowering his age from 30 to an acceptable 24 in the eyes of the beholder. His smooth, baby soft skin was a blessing aided by moisturiser and an asset which he prayed would never go away.
Inside a cabinet, a large array of frames matched every character he played, but on this night he chose contact lenses.
Toothpaste, deodorant, and a touch of mouthwash inevitably preceded the final stages of transformation as Walter made his way to the extensive walk-in wardrobe that offered clothing for all appeal. His tight buns would ripple with each deliberate step and his cock would slowly soften on the journey to the neighbouring room.
Once clothed, Walter would cease to exist. In his place would be 'Steve', the randy ranch hand ready for a ride; or perhaps 'Sir', the harsh bondage master about to punish his slave; or even 'Tommy', the over-developed school captain eager for his first experience off the playing field.
But on this night Walter's companion was the kind which brought him no end of joy. Corey was the son of a New Zealand politician. He was Walter's age and build and he sought no more than 'Adam', a gentle, loving guy of equal standing.
Corey's loneliness stemmed from life in the public eye and his desire for Walter's presence frequently accompanied his journey to Australia deep in his father's shadow.
Corey was a kind, handsome man who sought nothing more than the intimacy he found difficult to achieve back home. His sexuality and the money-hungry hoards that quickly befriended him made romance an impossibility, a difficulty aided by the constant presence of the media. In 'Adam's' arms, he would lose himself completely and become the much loved Everyman of the street, neither known or unknown; neither noticed or unnoticed. Three hours of pure romance and love, beginning with a candle lit dinner and ending when the clock struck 11. And all for only $1,000 a session.
The thought of Corey would always make Walter smile. It was a smile filled with as much fondness as it was pity. He liked Corey, and should fate ever take him that way, he would gladly give it all up for a lifetime of bliss with a man he could respect and admire. For despite the inner sadness, Corey's strength ensured an exterior of smiles and a commitment to go on. After numerous liaisons however, Walter had learned to see through Corey's veneer and found an aching soul that longed for nothing more than to be loved.
It was a need Walter found in all of his clients, but none so profoundly as Corey. He was the only one who paid in advance rather than breaking the spell with the necessary business. All his other clients simply paid on arrival and stated what they wanted. Corey was different. From the moment 'Adam' arrived, the fantasy had to be real.
Every human needs another regardless of how deeply they may bury that emotion. Of that fact, Walter was sure, for he too desired to love and be loved. But his profession had taught him that love can not only be bought, but performed. His evening occupation taught him harshly that caring was a sin and could only lead to pain. As much as he wanted the very thing that he sold, he knew he could no longer give it unless it was paid for in advance.
On this evening of thought, the wanderings of his mind lead to the recent telecast of the Tony Awards and he chuckled to himself at a vision of his personas accepting a joint award for Best Actor in a live performance. But the chuckle soon turned to a sigh as he thought once more about Corey and the hard reality of the vision. Corey was the closest he had ever come to being 'real' with a client. Money or no money, his fondness for Corey was only thinly disguised by the romantic play-acting he bestowed.
The clock struck seven and Walter snapped out of his reverie to select his attire. A tuxedo tonight, with top hat and tails for dancing. Corey's request had been simple - a reunion to celebrate their meeting once more after nine months apart. As governments tightened their belts, Corey's visits had become less frequent, but this recent pause had been longer than ever.
Walter mused over the sense of excitement that infiltrated his stomach as he wrapped the cumberband around his narrow waist. Keeping traditional, he had chosen the black and white tuxedo and he couldn't help but admire the way the cumberband highlighted his narrow waist and broad shoulders. The jacket was next, falling gracefully to the backs of his knees, and he spun around before dancing elegantly with an imaginary partner, softly humming a tune played by the best of orchestras in his mind.
At 7.15, Walter left his house, choosing the Bentley to carry him to Corey. On the seat beside him, he lay a single rose, picked especially to place in Corey's lapel. It was these little touches that had helped to make Walter one of the highest paid and most sought after escorts in the country, though tonight the flower rested there from a simple desire to make the night special.
He pulled up at the Hotel with little more than five minutes to spare and tipped the valet before making his way into the polished marble foyer. Smiling graciously at the attendant, he took the elevator to the upper levels and disembarked with butterflies in his stomach. It was an odd feeling; one which Walter wasn't used to experiencing. In the past, when Corey's visits had been only eight weeks apart, if at all, he had never felt this kind of excitement and it occurred to him that perhaps the long separation had saddened him after all.
The door to Corey's room was adorned with a single plaque, identifying it as the Peacock Suite, named after a Prime Minister of the early 1980s. Walter knocked firmly and awaited the response. And as the door crept open, 'Adam' extended the rose.
"Welcome home," he beamed at the figure framed in the doorway.
Corey smiled, his white teeth sparkling against his tanned, boyish face. His deep green eyes twinkled with amused surprised and he took the flower happily, greeting it with a long, deep sniff before embracing Walter with a hug usually reserved for long lost friends.
"Come in," he pleaded, his soft voice only a few octaves higher than Walter's. "It's good to see you again." He placed the flower in the lapel of his tuxedo, discarding the white carnation that had previously graced the position.
"Don't be so formal," Walter jibed. "I've missed you."
"Oh, Adam! I've missed you too."
They embraced again, their lips meeting in a tender but passionate kiss as Corey kicked the door closed behind them.
"How have you been?" Walter asked, still holding Corey against him.
"Okay," came the reply, "though it's killed me not being able to see you."
"Me too. There's been a few times I've thought of coming over to New Zealand to see you." The truth behind the lie surprised Walter, sending a sting of guilt through his veins.
With a peck on the lips, Corey pulled himself free from Walter's hold and took his hand, leading him further into the suite. The entranceway opened into a large, candle-lit living area and a table set for two. Soft music - some romantic Vivaldi classic - floated through the air.
"It's beautiful," Walter sighed at the sight of the room.
"It's for you."
Another kiss, brief but meaningful, and the couple settled down on the settee by the balcony. The city skyline twinkled in the night sky; the moonlight spilling in through the open sliding doors with the breeze.
"Can I get you something to drink?" Corey asked, not willing to let go of Walter's hand.
"I'm fine." Walter smiled. "Let's just talk until dinner."
And talk they did. In his usual inimitable way, Walter directed the conversation, divulging little of himself, encouraging Corey to do the talking, listening as his companion exposed the secrets of his life for the past nine months. It was as expected - the loneliness seeping through tales of media dodging, work, friendships, hobbies and family. Walter's heart went out to his client as his gaze pierced through the smiles and saw the glimmer slowly dissipate from Corey's eyes.
"And someone special?" Walter asked, suddenly unable to resist a question so personal.
"No." Corey's answer was simple but it stabbed at Walter's heartstrings like a knife.
"I'm glad," Walter answered, and it scared him that he meant it.
"Why not?" Walter explained. "We wouldn't' be here now if you had someone." And he leaned over and kissed Corey again, the impulse driving him before he thought better of it. Corey responded with as much affection as Walter gave and when they finally separated, Corey stood suddenly and stepped away.
"Dinner will be ready soon," he said. "We...ahh...should sit at the table. I'll dish out the hors d'oeuvres." He passed into the kitchen and Walter moved to the table, taking his place by the flickering candles.
Corey returned presently, serving up a cocktail of prawns on a bed of lettuce.
"It's not much," he apologised, "but I ran out of time, so had to keep it simple."
Walter laughed tenderly and shook his head.
"It's fine," he said. "It's better than I eat at home. Besides, I'm not here for the food. It's you I care about, not the tucker."
Seating himself opposite Walter, Corey smiled faintly.
"Well, eat up then! The sooner we finish dinner, the sooner we can sit together again."
"We can sit together now if you want," Walter offered. "We can feed each other..."
"Adam, no," Corey blurted out, breaking the spell and suddenly looking uncomfortable. "Let's just eat for now."
"Sure." Walter frowned, surprised by Corey's outburst. It was a characteristic he had never witnessed in him previously.
In the silence that followed, Walter ate, savouring the taste of each bite as he did with all food, enjoying the essence of life that came with each meal. But his mind ticked over, making it difficult to concentrate on the flavours as he liked to. The romantic set-up, the sudden movement away from him and now the outburst, however minor, suggested something was amiss and Walter found himself at a loss to understand the meaning. As part of his profession, he had quickly learned to read people: to understand their motives; to hear the things not said, but this time he was floundering. Or so he felt.
It was Corey who broke the silence, with an apology for breaking the mood.
"It's okay," Walter assured him, puppy dog eyes looking across the table. "I understand."
"Tell me about you," Corey asked. "What have you been up to since I saw you last?"
"Not much," Walter answered, choosing his words carefully. "I have no life. It's the same old, same old, really. Renovating my house, catching the odd movie..."
"No one special?" Corey interrupted.
"No. No-one special. Other than you, of course."
In unison, they broke into a smile, whether from the obvious lie of the comment or the earnest truth of it.
"I want to dance," Walter whispered.
"I'll put something else on." Corey rose to change the music, but Walter jumped from his seat and stopped him with an arm around the waist.
"No," he said. "This is perfect." He began swaying his hips as Corey turned to face him, their arms tenderly encircling each other. Corey rested his head on Walter's shoulder, swaying in rhythm with his lead, each lost in their own thoughts.
For perhaps ten minutes, they danced in silence, bodies pressed against each other with no care for the petals in their lapels. Walter stroked Corey's hair, eyes closed relishing the moment like a parent's first hold of his precious new infant.
In time, he kissed Corey's temple and raised his head to greet his lips. A glistening stream of tears floated down Corey's cheeks, their lonely journey speaking more than words could ever say.
Walter reached up a hand, wiping away the tears with his thumb before kissing each eyelid to stop the flow. He said nothing, his own eyes threatening to fill with a rain to match Corey's, such was the power of the moment, so he closed them and pressed his lips against the thick, soft opening of Corey's mouth.
Corey inhaled deeply, his tongue extending to greet Walter's, the gentle advance turning to a more urgent desire as they melded into one being, displaced from time and space in an instant.
In some far off land, the music continued to play softly in the background and the urgency of their kissing grew twofold, then more. The world ceased to exist.
Slowly and deliberately, Corey peeled off Walter's jacket, letting it slip to the floor, his hands moving smoothly from Walter's shoulders to his back to release the cumberband. Untucking Walter's shirt, he gradually unbuttoned it, his hands distracted by the touch of skin as Walter's muscular chest was progressively exposed. Wandering fingers found Walter's nipples and rested to play before continuing to undress him.
Below their passionate affections, Walter kicked off his shoes, using his skilled toes to peel off his socks. Corey's touch was like electricity surging through his body and he breathed heavily through his nose, lips never leaving his companion's.
Shirtless how, Walter reciprocated, removing Corey's jacket and cumberband. Curbing his desire, he ran his hand over Corey's shirt, feeling his solid build through the material, exploring the hardness of his pecs through the layer of cotton that separated them.
A groan escaped from deep within Corey's throat as Walter reached into the front of his pants, coming dangerously close to Corey's privates in an effort to untuck his shirt.
The feeble attempt discarded, Walter lifted Corey into his arms, his firm muscles pressing into Corey's back as he carried him to the bedroom. All thoughts of dinner were gone now as Walter lay Corey upon the soft mattress, sliding on top of him to finish unbuttoning the shirt.
His hands explored Corey's chest, admiring the definition of the torso that thrust out of the open clothing. Corey lay there, gasping silently, eyes closed, head thrown back, body arching to greet at Walter's touch.
"Adam!" he whispered as Walter's lips lowered to taste the flesh.
Walter sucked, licked, taunted Corey's torso like a starving man tasting his first meal in weeks. Stomach, chest, nipples....his tongue flicking out to tease his own taste buds as much as for Corey's pleasure. Slowly he worked his way up until their lips met again, their tongues attacking each other in a duel of desire.
Corey rolled Walter over, pressing his body down against his partner who squirmed beneath him in ecstasy. His full weight against Walter now, Corey raised his arms back as his shirt was peeled off and Walter wrapped his arms around him. The embrace filled him with an overwhelming sense of security and there was little he could do as Walter rolled over on top again, showering his neck in an endless array of kisses.
Working his way down his body, Walter's tongue flicked out again to taunt Corey's bellybutton as he released the clips of Corey's trousers. With hands sliding down his lover's legs, Walter rose to remove Corey's shoes and socks, then leisurely remove the tuxedo pants to reveal his Calvin Klein underpants.
Attacking Corey's hardened cock through the jocks, Walter poked at the restricted erection with his tongue and masturbated it with his lips, taunting it mercilessly. Corey groaned aloud, reaching down to release his penis from the confines of his underwear, but Walter stopped him, pushing his hands away and continuing the tease.
Corey moaned, "Oh, God!", the plea urging Walter on. Carefully biting Corey's cock with his teeth now, Walter stroked it, using the tip of his tongue to tickle the underside of the shaft. Corey reached out to grab the bed-head, squirming in unbearable euphoria.
Walter's hands reached up to massage Corey's chest as he worked his magic below and Corey lay there accepting every exquisite moment.
"You're killing me," Corey moaned as Walter's teeth peeled his underpants back to allow his cock to finally fly free.
A rush of air mingled with the moist overflow of Corey's pre-cum like the touch of an ice cube. It was warmed by the sudden feel of Walter's mouth wrapping around the tip of it, his tongue cautiously lifting his foreskin to massage the inside nerves, sending a shockwave of unspeakable thrill coursing through his body.
Corey gagged from his own desperate need for oxygen, his throat restricting his breath. He clasped the bed-head harder, determined not to interfere with the sensation below, but the tweaking of his nipples sent another shockwave surging through him and he reached down to grab Walter's hands, pulling him up to taste his own pre-cum in Walter's mouth.
He ran his nails down Walter's back, causing him to arch and Corey strained upwards to suck on Walter's nipples.
Walter moaned softly at the moist touch of Corey's mouth and allowed himself to be rolled over, Corey's hands reaching down to unfasten his trousers as his nipples were greedily worked over.
Naked now, Walter greeting with relish Corey's skill at taking his ample endowment whole. It was a rare chance to receive such reciprocal pleasures and Corey's limited experience was easily disguised by his natural proficiency. Sucking hard, with long, moist strokes, Corey worked Walter's cock like a well-oiled machine, swallowing it totally as if it were some sweet tasting lollipop.
Corey's hand reached to fondle his arse, massaging his cheeks and fingering his anus. A soft moan escaped Walter's lips and he thrust his hips upwards to allow further torment.
Taking the hint, Corey thrust his finger inside Walter's anus as he moved his mouth down the length of Walter's leg to his toes. Walter's eyes shot open in surprise as Corey began sucking on his toes, the sensation like nothing he had ever experienced. Both ticklish and erotic, the feeling melded with that of Corey's fingers into an overpowering explosion of sensation. He pulled his feet away, unable to cope with the overload of his senses.
Grabbing Corey by the arms, he pulled him up so that their lips met again and rolled him over. It was time to take charge again; time to give, like he was paid for; time to avoid the agony of ecstasy which would linger long after he had gone.
Sliding off to the side of Corey, Walter kissed his client's chest, sucking hard on his nipples as his hand reached down to fondle Corey's cock. With one hand stroking Corey's hair and the other stroking his penis, Walter's lips pecked playfully over Corey's torso and stomach before finally wrapping themselves around his solid erection for a final attack. But Corey's lust had other things in mind and Walter's desire prevented him from stopping Corey from pulling him over him.
Trapped in a 69 position, Walter struggled to remain focused with Corey's mouth wrapped firmly around his cock, just as his mouth was wrapped around Corey's. They worked each other in a race to see who would cum first and Walter feared it would be himself, out of sheer desperation to receive what he so often gave.
They climaxed together, within seconds of each other, swallowing the thick, ammonia-smelling substance from a desperate need to keep the other inside them. And lying there, spent, mouths still wrapped around each other's penis, they breathed heavily, unwilling to be the first to let go.
But time is the slayer of all good things, and Walter finally let go, sliding off Corey and turning himself around to greet him face to face.
"That was incredible," he grinned, unable to think of anything else to say.
"You were incredible," Corey countered, "as always."
They laughed, their chuckles fading to a smile and then nothing as they looked longingly into each other's eyes.
"I don't think I should see you again," Corey whispered, his voice cracking as his spoke.
"Why?" The urgency in Walter's voice was more desperate than he'd hoped and the pain in Corey's eyes made him mentally kick himself even harder.
The thought of not seeing Corey again tore Walter apart. He struggled to retain control, adamant not to show his emotions.
"But why? We get along so well together..."
"I need more!" Corey erupted, sitting up in the bed to break their gaze.
"I don't understand."
Corey glared at Walter, his eyes suddenly filled with hatred.
"You're three hours are nearly up," he exclaimed. "You have to go."
Walter looked at him, his mind in turmoil.
"Do you want me to go?" he asked, slipping into the safety of pre-ordained dialogue.
"Of course I do!" Corey snapped. "It's hard enough paying for a three-hour session with your fees, let alone any more! Besides, I'm sure you have another client waiting somewhere."
"Fine!" Walter rose, reaching for his trousers and slipping them on. "It's been great seeing you again," he said. "Perhaps you'll feel differently next time you're down and we can catch up again."
"I don't think so."
Walter hesitated, searching at his feet for his shirt.
"Because...." Corey paused, struggling for the right words to say. "You're too expensive. I can't justify it any longer to my father."
"Your father knows about me?" he asked.
"The money. You know what I mean."
Walter nodded and slowly headed towards the door. "Well...it was good seeing you again. I'm sorry you don't feel the same way."
He exited to the lounge room and reached for his shirt, lying discarded on the floor. Behind him, Corey followed, pulling his own trousers on.
"You must get a real laugh out of this," he said.
"Out of what?" Walter asked.
"Out of people like me, hiring you to pretend you really care."
"Who said I'm pretending?" The statement left a gaping hole in conversation as both men looked at each other, each as surprised as each other by the statement.
Walter's heart raced. He was breaking every rule of his profession, but suddenly he didn't care.
"Tell me you didn't mean that," Corey begged. "Your time is up. You don't have to pretend any more."
"You're right," Walter snapped. "I don't have to pretend. I'm a cheap whore who doesn't have the capacity to feel. All clients are the same and I'm a neutral observer who gives them what they want then goes home to a empty house without a care in the world."
"You're anything but cheap," Corey countered.
The two men looked at each other and eventually broke out into a smirk.
"I don't want you to go," Corey confessed, "but I can't afford for you to stay."
"And I can't afford to go," Walter admitted, " but I don't know if I can stay."
"You can stay."
They embraced, Walter's hug filled with the need that he had felt earlier in the evening, tears erupting from his eyes.
"I've really missed you," he confessed.
"And I, you," Corey whispered, his voiced choked from emotion. "I know it isn't proper, but knowing that I'd see you again is one of the few things that's kept me going."
"I never thought I could ever fall for someone."
They were both sobbing now, wrapped in each other's arms, tears streaming down onto the other's naked shoulder.
"I want to be with you," Corey proclaimed. "Not just now. Always."
"I was so excited about seeing you again tonight," Walter said through the shower of kisses he was bestowing on Corey's neck. "I've missed you so much. And you're all that I've ever really wanted."
"Tell me you're telling the truth."
"It true," Walter exclaimed. "Every moment I've had with you has been real. Don't you know? You've never really been a client. You've been a fantasy come true. If only I could make you believe that!"
"I do believe it. If for no other reason than I want to."
"You'll have to be patient,' Walter warned. "My whole life has been one big act. I can't change over night. I have to know that you'll be patient and accept me for what I am."
"I do," Corey replied. "And I can wait as long as you need me to, so long as I know that you'll keep yourself for me. Give up this job and find some other way to live."
"I will. I promise."
Another embrace, the duo rocking each other gently in their arms.
"Adam..." Corey sighed. "I wish I could tell you how I'm feeling right now..."
"Shhh..." Walter stroked his hair. "Adam is gone now. It's Walter's turn to be here."
Their voices were barely a whisper.
"My real name. Walter Pinge."
"Walter Pinge...It has a nice ring to it. Corey and Walter Pinge."
"You don't mind?"
"How could I? I don't care what you're called."
And on the following morning, Walter Pinge would arrive late to work for the first time in years. In his briefcase, beside the neatly packed lunch and inevitable pieces of fruit, there would lay a letter of resignation and a photograph of Corey with his New Zealand address and phone number scrawled hastily on the back.
In the Manager's office, Walter would push his thick-rimmed glasses up from where they had slid to the tip of his nose and announce his departure from his work, his home and his life, and smile broadly as he left that office, the welcoming images of Auckland and Corey floating magically through his mind.
Behind him, the Manager would watch his departure from the comfort of her high-back leather chair and make a mental note to tell the girls at morning tea that suddenly, Walter Pinge had found himself a life.
06 August, 2009
Jess smirked at the flicker of surprise that passed over Mack’s face when they met centre ring. No one else would have noticed it, but Jess was used to that reaction. Asians are skinny, weak sissies - that’s what they thought, and although he was Eurasian, it was the ‘asian’ bit that people focussed on, and they never expected to meet someone so toned and masculine. It usually annoyed him but it today he hoped it worked in his favour.
His own preconceived idea about black dudes being tough and muscular encouraged him to prepare harder than usual. Seeing his opponent now, taunt and masculine and tough, he was glad he’d put in the extra effort. He hoped though, that Mack’s surprised look meant he’d not trained as hard as he should have.
Jess rolled back his shoulders in the guise of warming up, deliberately accentuating his V-shaped torso. He had a small height advantage over Mack, but the jobber looked much more solid and he was sure Mack was used to bringing down larger opponents. How else would he rule his neighbourhood?
It was Mack’s idea to grapple in the gym after hours. Though they’d never met, they’d been taunting each other, almost flirtatiously, by email for a few weeks now, ever since they found out they were both neighbourhood ‘rivals’. Jess lead the pack amongst his fellow Asian friends, and Mack was the alpha male in his circle.
Their banter had been joking at first, but soon turned into a playful competition of who’d be top dog between them; who’d make who his bitch. And now, with no witnesses, just for their own fun and curiosity, they were about to find out.
They stepped in, grinning, and Mack extended a handshake. Jess took it, muttering “I take no prisoners”, but the warm, sweaty grip sent an unexpected thrill through him, accentuating the excitement he already felt at the sight of Mack.
Mack smirked. “I torture mine,” he grinned, and suddenly gripped Jess’ hand tighter. He yanked Jess forward, knocking him off balance, then swung in behind him, hauling Jess into a full nelson. Jess cried out, caught by surprise; his back arching as the shorter hunk locked him in the hold.
Jess winced, his legs buckled, leaving no room for defence as Mack pressed down on his shoulders, forcing Jess to his knees. Wasting no time, Mack rolled himself onto his back, hauling Jess on top of him from behind, wrapping strong legs around Jess’ waist.
In the few seconds it had taken, Jess was trapped. His head rested above Mack’s rippled stomach, arms pinned back in the nelson while muscled thighs squeezed against his ribs. He gasped, sweat already lubricating his back as it clung to Mack’s torso.
“Wish there was a mirror above us,” Mack said. “I love seeing a guy at my mercy.”
Jess strained upward to no avail, arching his back up in a fruitless, desperate attempt to break free. Enjoying his moment, Mack released one of Jess’ arms to slap his captive on the chest before hauling the arm back into the nelson. Jess yelped.
“You like that?” Mack joked and slapped him again, too fast to allow Jess to pull free.
Jess’s arms flailed above his head. The tight hold made it hard to breathe. Could the fight be over so quickly? Then chance joined his team. His fingers brushed incidentally against Mack’s nipple and he felt Mack jolt. Reacting quickly, he found Mack’s nipple again and pinched. Mack cried out, twisting away and releasing his hold.
Jess rolled over, still locked in Mack’s legs, but his arms were free. Mack was on top of him in an instant but Jess blocked a headlock, forcing Mack’s arms away. He rolled Mack over, pinning him to the floor.
Mack grunted and Jess felt his chest arch up to press into his own. He hoped to God Mack didn’t feel his hard-on.
The victory was short lived though, as Mack tightened his leg lock. The squeeze forced Jess down, pressing harder into Mack, making him lose his control. Mack thrust his arms upwards, his powerful arms bulging with muscle as he forced Jess up and off him. Jess hung in the air above Mack, arms pushed back behind his ears; every muscle in his torso straining down as he hung above Mack. The leg lock added pressure to his arching back, causing him to wince at the pain.
“You think I’d be your bitch?” Mack growled playfully and toppled Jess over, pinning him to the floor. Jess twisted a hand free, wrapping it around Mack’s torso and rolled him back over. Like wild animals, they tussled around, sweat oiling their torsos, gliding pec over pec as they struggled for dominance.
Jess won the battle, rolling Mack off him and freezing their tussle with a headlock that buried Mack’s face in his chest. They still clasped each other by one hand and Jess pushed Mack’s to the ground. Mack let out a muffled grunt as his free hand slapped at Jess’ back.
Jess could feel Mack’s breath heavy and hot against his torso. He manoeuvred his body so Mack’s lips dared to breach his nipple. Mack took the bait, flicking out a tongue. Jess gasped, but tightened his grip instead to keep Mack at bay. Mack groaned again, and wrapped his warm, thick lips around Jess’ nipple now, suckling him while his free hand began stroking Jess’ back.
Jess’ head dropped forward, his body going limp momentarily from the overwhelming sensation. To his surprise, Mack didn’t break free but kept at his seduction, now running his nails down the length of Jess’ back. Jess arched back with a gasp and it was then Mack made his move.
Quick as a flash, Mack flipped Jess over. He pinned both arms to the ground and leap up to sit on Jess’ chest; his knees pinning his opponent’s arms. Jess cried out and arched up, trying to knock Mack off balance, but the black hood balanced himself and grinned down at his trapped prey.
“You like that little sampler?” Mack asked before grabbing Jess by the hair and forcing his face into his crotch.
Jess tried to turn his head away, but Mack used both hands to hold Jess’ face hard against the throbbing member, barely hidden in the loose track pants. Jess could smell Mack’s manhood, a faint odour of sweat, semen and testosterone, and the blend made him hard too.
He arched again, but it was no use. Mack had planted himself firmly, determined to retain control. Jess struggled for breath but Mack seemed determined to suffocate him in his groin. In less than a minute, Jess felt his lungs ready to burst. The world spun in a growing sea of blackness and it was only then that Mack released him.
Jess lay there like a ragdoll as Mack lay himself down on top of top of his fallen prey. He kissed Jess gently on the lips and through hazy eyes, Jess to see Mack respond to his heaving chest rising and falling against him.
Mack slid down to kiss Jess’ chest and playfully massage his dupe’s biceps. He slide his body up Jess’ again until their faces were only centimetres apart.
“What’s it gonna be?” Mack asked. “You give, or do you want me to torture you some more?”
Jess raised his arms to push Mack off, but Mack pinned them without effort and it was then that Jess knew he could never recover. He arched one last time, feeling the muscled torso of Mack holding him down, and he knew that he’d won even if he’d lost the fight. Mack was turned on enough to want him, so let Mack be the alpha male. Jess was good as using his sensuality to control those he wanted. Mack would be his bitch yet. He just didn’t know it. Mack thought the fight was over, but Jess knew the cold war had just begun…