A Trial of Strength

A TRIAL OF STRENGTH - PART 289 By Rob Williams

IN THIS CHAPTER: Brandon acts out the climax of his `Tarzan' fantasy with Grady. "The boy was helpless, lost in the jungle, as Tarzan zeroed in on his ass." Randy and Bob relax in a 5-star hotel where they encounter an arrogant young manager, a California Golden Boy who looks down on the rough, rugged gypsy. "Patronizing prick," Bob muttered, but Randy flashed his Texas grin. "Well howdy, boy – how's it hangin'?"

Chapter 289 – "RANDY & BOB MEET GOLDEN BOY"

"I don't want anyone to get really hurt," Brandon insisted. Like most of the other boys his biggest fantasy, one he often jerked off to, was the thought of one muscle-hunk alpha male getting tied up and worked over by another.

But Brandon also knew that a simulated act of vengeance, with all the appearance of ferocity and suffering but without real pain, could be even more erotic than the real thing. He was lucky enough to get two cum-inducing demonstrations of this, the first one when he had watched his master, the forest ranger Pete, take revenge on the black muscle-god Zack.

As if that wasn't homoerotic enough, the next day another enactment of Brandon's fantasy took an even more dramatic leap into near-reality. That was when his movie-star friend, the handsome muscle-jock Grady, took him as a guest to the film studio where Grady spent most of his day in a loin cloth, starring as Tarzan in a major, big-budget movie.

The day's shoot called for a fight scene, where Tarzan gets beaten unconscious by two brutal soldiers, then tied up and whipped by them until his dramatic escape and victory. In his wheelchair at the edge of the set Brandon watched spellbound as they enacted the savage scene over and over again in take after take.

To Brandon it was like watching a porn movie scene on an endlessly repeating loop, as he used to do. Dazzled by the endless torture of the jungle king, his magnificent body writhing in pain, Brandon came several times in secret orgasms under the lowered tray table of his wheelchair.

Then came the ultimate fantasy. There was one more scene to shoot where a lost boy, separated from his parents, is struggling in his wheelchair over a jungle path. The handicapped actor cast in the short, one-line role was a no-show so, at the last minute, Brandon himself was recruited to play the simple scene.

He rose to the challenge perfectly, fighting to wheel his chair through the undergrowth until Tarzan swoops down on a vine, scoops the boy up in his arms and carries him off through the jungle to safety.

It had been a mind-blowingly dramatic afternoon for Brandon – not to mention a small personal triumph, and he was silent as he drove Grady out of the studio and headed for home. Lost in his own silent fantasy, he replayed again and again the erotic sights he had seen, especially his rescue by the beautiful man now sitting next to him.

Finally Grady broke the silence. "Brandon, you remember how yesterday we agreed that your fantasies are a lot like mine? Well, I was wondering what happens to that boy after Tarzan rescues him and carries him through the trees. Before he takes him to his parents, I mean."

Brandon smiled at Grady, his eyes shining. "You too, sir? I was just wondering the exact same thing. And I kinda know how it turns out."

"You do, eh? Listen, I'm still kinda juiced up, so how about you drive me up to your place and we relax over a drink and compare notes – see if we agree on what happens to the boy? After all, I said yesterday that we should get together some time and swap fantasies.

"I remember, sir." And you also said, `maybe act them out'."

"Yeah, that too" Grady smiled.

Another silence followed, the imaginations of man and boy churning even faster. When they arrived at the the bungalow Brandon quickly lowered his chair from the truck, eased himself into it and wheeled himself eagerly into the house where Pete was waiting for him.

Brandon had insisted on keeping on the ragged shirt he had worn for the scene, and not cleaning off the make-up dirt, cuts and scratches, nor the leaves and twigs in his hair. He wanted to show the boys everything later. Pete was amazed by the bright-eyed exhilaration on his boy's face as he held his arms up for a hug. The Ranger picked him up out of his wheelchair and swung him round. "Looks like you've just come back from a great place, kiddo."

"In more ways than one, sir," Brandon gushed as Pete lowered him gently back in his chair. "You won't believe what happened, sir. The studio was awesome and I got so see Grady film a fight scene between Tarzan and two soldiers. Well the soldiers beat him real bad, then tied him up and whipped him, and I shot several loads of jizz in my pants ... but nobody noticed, sir." He blushed at that but the torrent of words continued.

"But then this amazing thing happened. I got to be in the movie ... I mean actually in it. That's why I'm in this shirt and my hair is all messed up and I got all these scratches, but don't worry sir their not real – it's makeup.

"See, there's this scene where a kid in a wheelchair gets lost in the jungle and wheels himself along a path but he gets stuck and Tarzan swings through the trees and rescues him and carries him through the jungle to safety. But the actor they hired went AWOL or something so they put me in the part instead."

Brandon had built up such a head of steam that there was no stopping him and he didn't pause for breath. "I only got to say one line," (in a scared voice) "`I'm lost, sir', but the director said I was so good they're gonna write another little scene where Tarzan takes the boy to his parents. And I'm actually gonna get paid, sir! And ... and ..." but he had finally run out of words."

Pete was reeling under this verbal assault and looked skeptically at Grady who grinned and shrugged. "It's all true, buddy. And the director really did love it ... said Brandon was `abso-fucking-lutely perfect'. And they really will be calling him in to shoot this other short scene."

"So you're a star, kiddo," Pete smiled. "`Course I always knew you were – you've always been my star. So anyway, let me get it straight – today's scene ends with the boy being carried off by Tarzan, and the second scene is where he gets reunited with his parents. Is that right?"

"Yes, sir ... only ..." He blushed and stopped.

"Come on, kiddo, out with it – no secrets here, you know."

"Well, sir, you know, like ... well, how Grady and me sometimes have the same kind of fantasies. See, we was both sorta wondering what happens to the boy in between those scenes – when Tarzan carries him through the jungle before reaching the parents."

"Ah..." Pete was beginning to see the light and grinned at Grady then at Brandon. "And I bet you've already written the script for that one, eh, kid?"

"Well, kind of, sir. Hell, if it was me being carried through the jungle in the arms of a guy as gorgeous as Grady in a loincloth, I sure know what I'd want to happen."

Pete winked at Grady, then said to Brandon, "You know, kid, you haven't paused for breath since you came here. I think you need a few minutes alone to go over the events in the studio and get them fixed in your mind so you don't forget them. It'll give me a chance to catch up with Grady. Why don't you go over to that little wooded area you like so much just beyond the property line?

"Oh I'll never forget today, sir, as long as I live. But OK, sir, I know I didn't let you guys get a word in sideways so I'll make myself scarce for a while."

The men watched with affectionate smiles as Brandon bumped over the lawn to the trees beyond. "Man," Pete said, "I don't think I've ever seen the boy so excited. Thanks for doing that for him, Grady. I know he's bursting to share it with the other boys – after the final act plays out, that is." Pete grinned slyly. "There is gonna be a final act, right?"

In reply Grady pulled off his T-shirt, kicked off his sneakers and dropped his shorts. He was still wearing his Tarzan loincloth underneath and smiled, "Why d'you think I kept this on? Right now your boy's fantasy is in overdrive and you and I both know exactly what he's longing for. Assuming that's OK with you, buddy."

"Of course it is," Pete said, "provided I can watch – from a distance of course." His admiring gaze swept over the handsome, near-naked actor. "Maybe next time I'll get lost in a jungle myself so I can get rescued by an ape-man."

"Hey, I have an idea, Pete. You can stoke Brandon's fantasies even more by taking part in this little movie. To an impressionable boy a Ranger in a uniform can easily double as a soldier."

Brandon was wheeling himself through the small but densely wooded area and, of course, fantasizing that he was the lost boy back in the jungle. As Pete had suggested, he was mentally replaying his struggle manhandling his wheelchair through the jungle undergrowth until it finally got stuck. His cock was stiff in his shorts as he remembered what happened next.

And suddenly there he was! Tarzan came bursting through the trees and the startled boy, reliving his film role, blurted out, "I'm lost, sir." In a replay of the studio action, Grady scooped Brandon up in his arms and carried him through the trees. That's where the scene ended in the movie, but not this time.

When they came to a small clearing Grady said. "We're safe now, but I gotta check you over for injuries and clean you up." He laid Brandon gently on the ground and, immersed in his lost-boy fantasy, Brandon watched as Tarzan paced round the clearing in his loincloth, then grasped an overhead branch and leaned forward over him. "You feeling OK now?"

"Yes thank you, sir."

"Right, let's make sure." He dropped to his knees beside him and ran his hands gently over his face and neck, ostensibly checking for cuts. "Here, let's get this off." Grady pulled the boy's ragged shirt off over his head and explored the rest of his body. Brandon gasped as the man felt his chest, and his fingers briefly stroked his hard nipples.

When Grady stretched flat across him to check his arms and hands, the boy was briefly stifled by damp armpit hair pressing over his face. He almost passed out and his cock was oozing pre-cum in his shorts as Tarzan's magnificent body pressed down on his. He licked his armpit, sucked in the musky taste and inhaled the rancid smell of sweat.

Brandon was now so deep into his fantasy that he actually was the lost boy and Grady really was Tarzan. Like all the best fantasies, the real world faded away and imagination dictated a new reality. And when the boy felt the bulge in Tarzan's loincloth pressing against his chest he lost control – and his load. He gasped out loud as his body shook and his cock poured warm jism in his shorts.

The jungle man pulled away in alarm and asked, "Did I hurt you, boy? Are you ill?" He looked down at the boy's shorts and saw a mysterious stain spreading over them. "What's happened? Here, let's get these off." Grady pulled down his shorts and underwear and saw the sticky liquid over his crotch. "What's this?"

The boy looked up at Tarzan's stern, rugged face and winced. "It ... it's semen, sir." Now his words came out in a rush. "It's just that you're such a beautiful man, sir, and when you were carrying me and then examining me I couldn't stop myself and ... and I creamed my shorts. I'm sorry, sir. I'm sure you don't like that."

The handsome features broke into a smile. "It depends on the boy ... and you are a brave and beautiful young man."

"I owe you so much, sir. I'll never be able to thank you."

"There is a way, boy. Sometimes I crave the touch of human flesh." Kneeling astride the boy he loosened the strings at his own hip so his loincloth fell away and his long cock sprang up like a pole. "This is what you want, boy, am I right?"

"Very much, sir," Brandon said, staring at him wide-eyed.

Grady gently removed Brandon's glasses and laid them on the ground. He ran his hand over the boy's stomach, cock and balls, scooping up the copious amounts of semen that smothered them, and spread it over his own cock. "This way I will not hurt you, boy. If it hurts bite down on this." He stuffed the loincloth in Brandon's mouth.

He raised Brandon's legs and hung them over his shoulders. Leaning forward Grady grabbed Brandon's wrists and pinned them to the ground above his head. With a half-smile at the boy he pressed the head of his cock between his ass cheeks and against his hole.

Brandon's mind was spinning so fast he lost sight of reality. This was no longer even a fantasy – it was real. He was lying on his back in the dense jungle, at the mercy of the bronzed and powerful Tarzan, biting down on his loincloth and swallowing the man-sweat oozing from it. The superb body leaned over him, dappled sunlight playing over his muscular physique. His square, handsome features stared down at him, intense green eyes boring into his, tousled black hair falling over his high forehead.

They were alone in the middle of the jungle ...he was helpless ... and Tarzan was about to fuck his ass. Brandon felt the cock push against his sphincter and ... the head was inside him.

His heart was beating wildly as he gazed up at the god-like face backlit by the sun streaming through the trees. He felt the man's shaft pushing slowly inside him ... his breathing became ragged and the loincloth fell from his mouth as he screamed and ... aah ...aah ... no ...aaagh!" A ribbon of white juice blasted from his cock, straight up onto Tarzan's chest, then another splashed on himself as his body writhed and his head thrashed wildly from side to side.

When he regained his senses the boy looked up at the intense green eyes and gasped. "I'm sorry, sir ... please don't stop, sir. Don't stop ... I need it so bad ... please."

"I too need your ass, boy." The shaft pulled back, paused, then drove down faster and deeper. Brandon struggled briefly before surrendering himself and his ass to the jungle man pinning him to the ground. Mesmerized he watched the spectacular body rising and falling over him, as Tarzan flexed his shoulders, chest and chiseled abs. And all the time the exquisite sensation of the thick rod ploughing his ass.

Brandon wanted desperately to please the man and he clenched his ass round his cock, massaging it by squeezing and releasing it repeatedly. Grady gasped, his handsome face winced, his head few back ... and Brandon was transported back to the fight scene in the jungle where Tarzan's face had grimaced and jerked from side to side under the blows of two soldiers.

The boy saw again the powerful master of the jungle being thrashed mercilessly, reeling under the relentless blows until he crashed to the ground, beaten and humiliated ... then tied to the tree, his magnificent body being whipped, muscles bouncing under the lash.

Brandon's thoughts were in turmoil as he looked up at that same Tarzan, face and body streaked with dirt, impaling the boy on his pounding shaft ... while his back was being whipped by a man in uniform. He couldn't separate truth from fiction ... fantasy and reality merged in one homoerotic image. The whip was real, the uniformed man was real, yelling, "Fuck your boy, ape-man. Pound his ass."

The fantasy overwhelmed him. Tarzan had been beaten in a fight and whipped into committing a degrading act of surrender. The soldier was forcing him to fuck his boy, forcing him to obey, forcing him to pour his sperm into his boy's ass ... "Aaaagh!"

The shout shook the clearing as the boy felt his ass suddenly filled with Tarzan's semen and he was dimly aware of his own body shuddering in yet another orgasm. Then everything went dark.

"He's fine," Grady smiled at Pete, looking down at Brandon lying peacefully on the ground under the trees. "In a daze – too much to take in all at once."

Pete, in his Ranger's uniform, still holding his whip, said, "Thanks Grady – this is something he'll never forget. And I'm glad I had a bit-part to play at the end. What do you call it in your business, a cameo?"

He tapped the whip in his palm. "You know, I could get to like the jungle. As a Forest Ranger I should patrol these woods more often. Never know what'll swing down from the trees. Only thing is, Tarzan just fucked my boy. If I ever come across the King of the Jungle out here I'll give him a taste of his own medicine. About time the ape-man got his ass fucked."

Grady's eyes sparkled. "Any time, Ranger. The sooner the better." Pete walked away leaving Grady to play out the last scene of this Tarzan movie spinoff.

When he opened his eyes a few minutes later Brandon was disoriented ... like waking from a dream. The uniformed man had disappeared and the naked muscle-god was towering over him, tying his loincloth back in place. He leaned down and scooped Brandon up into his arms. "One day you will come to me again, boy. But now I take you to your family."

As the clouds of fantasy cleared, Brandon came slowly back to the real world – and he suddenly wanted Pete. He needed the love and reassurance of his master after all his adventures in Jungle-land. The world of Tarzan was receding as he gazed up at the handsome face and felt his strong arms carrying him home.

Pete was waiting for them as `Tarzan' approached. "Here is your boy, sir. I brought him home." He leaned down and kissed Brandon, then gently placed him in Pete's arms.

Pete smiled down at his boy. "You have a good trip, kiddo?"

The mischievous smile was back. "The best, sir. I've been in a movie."

Somehow the other boys had got wind of some of the things that had happened to Brandon today. On this of all days it had to be the aptly named jungle-telegraph. Maybe Grady phoned Mario, who mentioned it to Jamie who dropped the word to Darius – and that was that. So they were all gathered in the garden waiting with baited breath, particularly for confirmation of the astounding rumor that "He's in the movie, dude!"

Brandon had wanted to make an entrance worthy of the dramatic events of the day so he had persuaded Pete to let him continue to wear the ragged shirt he had worn in the movie and to keep on the make-up effects of scratches and dirt on his body and face, and the twigs in his disheveled hair. All this was augmented by the real dirt he had picked up from the `jungle' in his back yard while getting fucked by Tarzan. He was every inch the lost boy of legend.

Grady joined in the fun by agreeing to appear at his side as the loincloth wearing Tarzan. As Brandon wheeled himself through the gate with Grady on one side and Pete on the other the effect was instantaneous. Men and boys rose to their feet in a standing ovation. It was as if Brandon had just won an Oscar.

That thought was not lost on Brandon himself who picked up a peppermill from the table, gazed at it lovingly and said, "Wow, this is so unexpected – thank you, Members of the Academy. First I want to thank my agent ..."

The boys screamed with laughter, someone shouted "get him, dudes," and he was mobbed. For several minutes the scene was pandemonium until Bob pulled Pablo aside and said, "Can you do something about this, Pablo?"

"Guys, guys," Pablo yelled, to limited effect. He curled his forefinger and thumb in his mouth and whistled. Then, imitating a bellow he had learned from Randy he roared, "Cool it!" That got their attention and a smile from Randy. "Dudes, this is getting us nowhere. We all want to hear from Brandon `cos this is one for the archives. So there'll be a boys' meeting in Darius's and my room after dinner. Until then let's help the twins get dinner on the table."

They broke into groups and Randy came over to congratulate Brandon. "So, kiddo, I hear you got rescued by Tarzan – then got fucked by him."

Brandon grinned, "Was an easy part to play, sir, `cos it happened to me in real life that time at the beach when you rescued me from those bikers then took me to a motel and fucked me."

Grady slipped away to sit in the shadows with his lover Mario. "Hey, Tarzan," Mario laughed, "glad you swung by. You miss me, amico? How you feeling?"

"I miss you all the time, buddy, you know that. How am I feeling? I'll tell you. All day I've been playing the big-top-guy-muscle-stud-King-of-the-Jungle." He grinned. "And I wanna get butt fucked so bad."

"Well, you've come to the right place, amico. This way, signore." Mario took Grady by the arm and led him upstairs – and they didn't reappear until halfway through dinner. By which time the King of the Jungle had been well and truly fucked.

As the celebratory dinner progressed noisily there was only one man who couldn't quite get into the festive mood. Randy had had a bad week, culminating in an incident where he had disciplined a tough crew member who responded by taking a swing at him with an iron bar. Randy had parried the blow and gut punched him to the ground, then fired him on the spot.

But Bob had just heard from the firm's lawyer that the guy was filing a lawsuit claiming bodily assault, discrimination and wrongful dismissal. "It's totally without merit," Bob reassured Randy, "and won't go anywhere. They're just trying it on to get a settlement, but that's a non-starter. Don't worry, buddy, it would be thrown out of court if it even got that far, which I doubt. So forget all about it."

But Bob knew all of Randy's moods well and sensed that there was more to this than a fight with a crewman, which he would normally have dismissed with a contemptuous "Fuck him." Randy worked harder than anyone and had a ton of responsibility on the construction sites, and at home where he was looked up to as leader of the tribe. He often talked wistfully of the days when he was an itinerant gypsy, a simple construction worker responsible only for himself and his younger brothers.

Even this joyful party – the tribe at its best – was starting to oppress him and Bob knew that Randy wanted simply to slip away with him to somewhere they could be alone together. So, Bob decided, that's what they would do.

He knew Randy would be more than content to spend a couple of days of beer, hamburgers and non-stop sex in that shabby old Hollywood motel – Room 14 where he had first met Bob and the saga of their lives together had begun. But Bob had something rather more classy in mind. He felt that Randy needed to be taken right out of his environment for a complete change of atmosphere and pace. And he knew just the place – the sumptuous Ritz-Carlton down the coast at Laguna Niguel.

They had been there before on several occasions when Bob had wanted to treat Randy to a touch of luxury. Randy reflexively spurned the five-star opulence – it was hardly Room 14, the natural habitat of a rough-hewn laborer – but, although he would never have admitted it, he secretly enjoyed being pampered with Bob at his side.

"Nah," was his first reaction when Bob suggested it. "Gimme a couple o' six packs and you in a motel room and I'm happy."

But Bob could be persuasive. "Yeah, OK for you, but did it ever occur to you that I might want to relax in luxury for a few days and sleep with you in 400-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets instead of a cum stained bed in Room 14? Come on, the construction company's coining money and my other firm pays its Senior VP big bucks, so we can afford to splurge once in a while. Besides, I want to give my man a present for ... well, I dunno ... just for being here and loving me. You wouldn't wanna reject that would you?"

Randy grinned, "Fuck you, man, you know just what buttons to press don't you? Well, Zack can take charge at work and Mark can hold down the fort here at home. And the boys are getting real good at running things. So ..." he threw his arm round Bob's shoulder. "Let's do it, buddy."

As Bob's Mercedes purred along the palm fringed driveway of the impressive hotel on the cliff both men felt a stir of recognition and old memories. "You recall the first time we came here, Bob said, "and we met the Italian pool boy Mario? All we did was fuck him but when Mark brought Jamie down here later and they had those incredible three-ways they clinched the deal and Mario moved up to L.A. The rest is history and even as we speak Mario is probably making love for the umpteenth time to our tame movie star, Grady. Funny how things work out."

They pulled up under the columned portico and the doormen danced attendance, opening the car doors and pulling their baggage from the trunk. They recognized Bob whose company had a corporate account here and used the hotel often, and most of them remembered Randy. Although he had been here only a few times he was a hard man to forget.

As always, heads turned as the men strode through the marble lobby, both of them stunningly handsome but mismatched in style. Bob looked casually elegant in tan slacks, loafers and a dark blue polo shirt. But Randy's only concession to luxury was wearing a clean white T-shirt that Bob had insisted upon. Otherwise he was in his usual blue jeans and work boots, with an old knapsack slung over his shoulder, which Bob knew contained Randy's sexual paraphernalia.

With his long black hair, his square, stubbled jaw, and his brawny physique Randy gave off the vibe of a wild, rough-hewn gypsy, in contrast to the smart, VIP guest beside him.

As a senior executive of a company that spent lavishly at the hotel, Bob was given special treatment and, as they approached the reception desk, a young assistant manager stepped forward and beckoned them over to an empty work station. As he checked them in the young man treated Bob with polite deference, in contrast to his barely disguised disdain for the rough-looking gypsy next to him. The difference was not lost on Bob or Randy who glanced at each other and Randy winked.

The young man was maybe in his early twenties, young for an assistant manager here, Bob thought, idly wondering if he had been promoted for his looks, which were quite striking. He had flawless bone structure, refined features, hazel eyes, a clean-shaven lantern jaw and high cheekbones, all set off by his golden tan. His blond hair was coiffed to perfection and Bob had the impression he must have spent considerable time in front of a mirror getting ready for work.

He clearly had a nice, compact body under his uniform, probably honed before the mirror of the gym. His uniform pants were a little too tight, no doubt to show off what looked like a spectacular ass. He was, in short, the quintessential California Golden Boy, very aware of his looks and making no concessions to those beneath him – like this swarthy gypsy here.

He would have been quite sexy, Bob thought, if only we weren't so ... so precise, so studied. He was the very opposite of Randy, a wildman who didn't give a shit about his looks and was pretty much a stranger to mirrors – except when he was having sex. This guy needed to `man up', as Randy would have said. So much more sexy. He should rough himself up – or let someone do it for him.

One aspect Bob found especially unattractive was the young man's arrogance under his veneer of respect. He was reminded of various trust-fund boys he had met, with their complacent sense of entitlement. But what irritated Bob the most was his haughty attitude toward Randy.

Whether Randy was aware of it or not, he seemed to be paying the man no attention at all. In fact he had turned his back and was leaning against the reception desk, elbows on the counter, legs stretched out before him as he watched the comings and goings in the lobby.

"There you are, sir," the assistant manager said to Bob, "all set – the Ritz-Carlton Ocean-View Suite. Er, could I make dinner reservations in the dining room for you and this (slight pause) other gentleman?" His voice dripped with disdain and Bob could have slugged him – but that was Randy territory.

"What do you think, buddy?" Bob asked, jogging Randy's elbow. "Dinner in the room tonight or down here in the dining room?"

Randy turned round and shrugged. "Down here, I guess."

"Er," the assistant manager broke in and addressed Randy for the first time, with a distinct hint of sarcasm. "There is a dress code in the dining room, sir. Jackets are required."

Bob held his breath thinking Randy might slug him. But instead he was amazed to see a dazzling smile spread over the rugged face and when Randy spoke it was with an exaggerated version of his Texas drawl. If the guy saw him as a country hick, a hick is what he would be. "Well now, I did not know that. Thanks for the heads-up, er ..." he leaned forward and squinted at the manager's name tag, "...Tommy."

"Thomas, sir. My name's Thomas"

"Sure thing," Randy drawled. "A jacket, eh? Glad you told me, Tommy, I appreciate that. See I'm a construction worker and most of the time I don't even wear a damn shirt. Shit, ya'll should see me on the job site, sweatin' like a pig all day. But I promise you I will make every effort to find me a jacket and ... tell you what ... why don't you come in the restaurant later and check me out, and if I don't pass muster you have my permission to throw my sorry ass right out the door. Hell, there's always McDonald's."

Thomas opened his mouth to speak but Randy's steel-blue eyes flashed at him like lasers and the man closed his mouth and gulped. It was a look Bob saw often, a look that had silenced many a man in the past, not to mention made their dicks hard.

Randy hoisted his backpack on his shoulder and patted it, to the sound of metal clanking inside. He gave a casual flick of a salute. "See ya later, Tom. Been a pleasure." He strode away to the elevators with Bob following him, trying desperately to stifle laughter. With just a few words, and a pair of pale blue eyes, the young man had been demolished.

When they got to the room Bob finally released the pent-up laughter he had been holding in. "Man, I love you so much," he said and threw his arms round Randy.

"Arrogant young punk," Randy growled. "You know the best thing to do with patronizing pricks like that, buddy? Ignore the fuckers and see how long it takes them to come crawling to you."

"You think he'll come crawling?"

"Sure he will. He's doing it right now in his mind, though he would never admit it."

"What will you do?"

"Oh, I'll fuck him, I knew that the minute I laid eyes on him. Trouble is a guy like that is hardly worth getting hard for." He grinned. "Unless he does something to really annoy me."

Bob gazed at Randy as he unpacked the bags, tossing the subject off with a nonchalance and a certainty that made Randy hands down the sexiest man he had ever met. "Fuck, you are really turning me on, stud, you know that."

"Good, `cos you're gonna get it. On the bed, man ... naked."

Whenever they travelled anywhere they fucked as soon as they arrived. The place wasn't really theirs until they had warmed it up with their special brand of passion. Bob thought this might be one of Randy's signature rough fucks, taking out on Bob the animosity he felt for the `arrogant young punk.' But the guy really was beneath contempt for Randy and he was in the mood for love – so that's what Bob got, with the amazing man's cock caressing his ass while his mouth caressed his lips.

It was one of those long, languid sessions, ending with Randy gently wiping his cum off Bob's sated body as he lay naked in the cum-strained sheets. Randy smiled down at him. Man, did I ever mention how fucking gorgeous you are? Stay there and I'll feed you. We left so early we had nothing to eat."

"Mm," Bob said, luxuriating in the bed. "No doubt about it – a layer of cum sure improves the feel of 400-count Egyptian cotton sheets. You think the manufacturers know that?"

Randy was on the phone to room service, and in twenty minutes breakfast, or lunch or whatever it was arrived, served by an elderly old-time waiter in the grand style – a welcome change from the usual pert young staffers, and especially from the prick on reception.

But they were not allowed to put the prick out of their minds. They were eating at the table on the terrace, still naked after sex, when the door buzzer sounded. Shit damn." Randy got up and started for the door but it opened and there stood Thomas, rooted to the spot as the naked muscle-god strode toward him, his massive cock swinging between his legs.

"Oh, oh ... I didn't mean to interrupt ..."

"You would have a few minutes ago," Randy chuckled, "but we've done with the bed and moved on to the chow. So what's up, Tommy?"

Annoyed by that use of his name Thomas recovered his wits and said, "I was just checking to see if everything in the room was to your liking. It's part of my job as assistant manager." (Translation: Doing no special favors for you,' Randy thought. And no sir' either.) Thomas looked at the rumpled bed and inhaled the heavy sent of semen. He smiled with a hint of triumph as if he had caught the men out. "Maybe some fresh sheets? I'll send the maid."

Randy's thick Texas accent came back. "Now why on God's green earth would you go and do a thing like that, boy? That's the way we like it – and new sheets would only get messed up like these pretty damn quick. I do thank you for the offer, Tommy ..." the voice grew steely ..."but you can leave now."

Thomas stumbled out and Randy said, "See, buddy, trouble with a guy like that is he's so full of himself and his looks, his fucking tan and his perfect blond hair, that he can't stand it when he sees two totally gorgeous men he can't have. So he does what guys like him have always done. It's that old cliché – `find a flaw, find a flaw'. And god knows I got flaws, like my lousy dress sense, my hillbilly accent and sheets reeking of jizz."

"So Golden Boy wasn't crawling?" Bob grinned.

"Oh, sure he was. Why else do you think he came up here? It sure wasn't to correct my table manners. Come to think of it, I wasn't wearing a jacket – wasn't wearing a damn thing. Wonder if the management would approve of guests eating lunch butt naked? Maybe he'll report us."

*********************************** ..

Inevitably they had a few more run-ins with Thomas until Randy finally got pissed off. That afternoon they were lounging on chaises by the pool, finally getting to shake off the city and relax.

"Uh, uh," Bob said. "Golden Boy – "two o'clock, over by the bar." Randy looked in that direction and there was Thomas. Out here in the sun he wasn't wearing a jacket – all the better to show off his butt, which both men had to admit was prime – perfect round globes under his too-tight black pants. He was making the rounds, ostensibly checking on the guests, but in such a way that he was always visible to the two men.

Then suddenly he looked up in mock surprise and pretended to notice them for the first time. "Lousy actor," Bob chuckled softly. He came over to them and Randy said, "Hey, Tommy, how's it hangin'?"

"I hope you are enjoying the afternoon, gentlemen. Actually I came over to set right any misunderstandings there may have been when I checked you in earlier. If I got off on the wrong foot, I apologize."

"Crawling," Bob whispered in Randy's ear. Texas was back as Randy said, "Hey, no sweat, Tommy. I didn't misunderstand a damn thing so don't beat yourself up about it. But while you're here, how about a couple of Mai Tais?"

"Of course." Thomas turned and snapped his fingers impatiently at a young waiter nearby. "You boy. Get over here. Two Mai Tais for these gentlemen ... right away."

His tone was harsh and the boy blinked nervously behind the black rimmed glasses he was wearing. Simultaneously Bob and Randy flashed on Brandon whom the boy resembled somewhat. When Thomas waved him away with another contemptuous finger snap the boy turned and walked straight into the pole of an umbrella. He looked at Thomas in alarm and mumbled, "Sorry, sir, sorry," and stumbled off.

"Sorry about that, gentlemen," Thomas smirked. "He's a new boy – in training. I'll make sure he doesn't bother you again." He sashayed away to reprimand the boy.

"OK that does it," Randy growled. "No mercy for the fucker from now on." Bob knew that fearsome look well. Having raised his young brothers Randy had zero tolerance for mistreatment of vulnerable young guys. It was a surefire way to provoke his anger, as it did now.

When the boy came back with the drinks Bob said soothingly, "Thanks very much ... er ..."

"Daniel, sir, but my friends call me Danny."

"Well thank you, Danny." Bob glanced at Randy as he detected a trace of Brandon's boldness in Danny under the obvious strain of working for Thomas.

"I'm going on break now, sir, but one of the other boys will be happy to serve you." He walked back to the servers' station, then out through the gate leading to the stairs down the cliff. Randy nodded at Bob who got up from the chaise and followed Danny. He was sitting on a secluded bench under a tree and Bob asked, "Mind if I join you, Danny?"

"Of course, sir, except we're not supposed to – what do they call it? – fraternize with guests."

"I know, I know, but it'll be our little secret – this too," as he handed Danny two 20-dollar bills. "I forgot to give you a tip." Ignoring the boy's protests that it was too much Bob asked, "Do you like working here, Danny?"

"Yes, sir, I think so..." He hesitated and Bob smiled his warmest smile. "My guess is that you find that assistant manager rather difficult. But I wouldn't worry about that. I think my friend will be having a little chat with Thomas later and after that I have a feeling he will be much kinder to you. In fact I'm sure of it." He flashed another dazzling smile.

When getting dressed for dinner Bob and Randy compromised. Randy still insisted on jeans and a T-shirt, so Bob produced new jeans he had brought with them and a sparkling white T-shirt. Randy's concession was to replace his boots with smart loafers and agreed to wear the well-tailored, expensive blue blazer, a present from Bob.

The traditional jeans-and-blazer look was stunning on Randy, the elegant clothes contrasting with his rugged, stubbled gypsy face. "Hey," Bob said admiringly, "I think even the assistant manager will approve of that. Let's see if you pass muster with him or if he throws us out. Hell, like you said, there's always McDonald's."

"Throw them out??! The maître d' was all over them, welcoming them effusively, and the two spectacular men created quite a stir as they followed him through the dining room – Bob in tan slacks, a tailored brown sport jacket and open-neck black shirt, and Randy beside him dominating the room as he always did with his aura of masculinity and confident stride.

Halfway to their table they came face to face with Thomas who had been working the room, ingratiating himself with the richer guests. "Hey, Tommy!" The Texas drawl was back and Randy's arms opened wide, showing himself off. "How do I look? Do I make the cut? I would sure hate for ya'll to disapprove and throw me out of this fine restaurant of yours."

Nearby diners were amused and Thomas was mortified. Blushing deeply he mumbled "Good evening, gentlemen," and escaped the frown of the maître d'. But he was persistent and tried to get petty revenge. They ordered the trout and when the waiter brought it Thomas reappeared and indicated the appropriate silverware in front of Randy. "The fish knife and fork ... sir."

Totally ignoring him Randy picked up a fork at random in his right hand and dug it into the fish. Bob grinned, thinking the guy lucky that he hadn't dug it into his hand. Randy turned his attention to Bob and seemed to studiously avoid Thomas's frequent glances toward their table. But Randy played that game of looking up suddenly and catching the man's eyes flick instantly away to avoid eye contact."

Bob chuckled. "You know that's generally known as the definition of a split second, buddy. And you know something else? You are adorable when you flirt."

Randy's eyes flashed at him. "I am not fucking flirting, man and I'm not fucking adorable. And I'll show just how not adorable I am when I get you upstairs. I have something special in mind for you, something we haven't done before – hell, something nobody's done." He grumpily picked up a forkful of trout and growled softly, "Asshole" ... then grinned as their eyes met.

Of all the many admiring glances directed at the two handsome men, none of the diners could have guessed that both of them were nursing huge boners in their elegant pants.

When Randy gave a man his full attention it was overwhelmingly seductive. Even Bob, a frequent recipient of Randy's laser-like focus, never ceased to be a bit flustered under his gaze, as if the blue-eyed gypsy were seeing right through him. And especially after what Randy had said ... `something we've never done before'. Was there anything? He was soon to find out."

When they got to the room they removed their jackets, Bob poured brandies and they sat at the table on the terrace facing each other. It was a perfect night, cloudless with bright moonlight sparkling across the water from the horizon to the shore. There was just the lightest breeze and the only sound came from the muted waves breaking on the shore far below them.

Bob sighed. "Beautiful, eh? It's what romance novels call a `breathless' evening."

"I don't know shit about romance novels," Randy said, "but you sure leave me breathless, man – every time I look at you. Especially right now ... hell, you know what they say about moonlight. Randy reached forward and traced the silver-etched contours of Bob's Superman face. He ran his fingers across his lips, and tousled his mass of dark hair.

There were tears in Randy's eyes as he said softly, "Man, I love you so much it scares me to death. You know that – my fear of living without you. Whenever I fuck you, gentle or rough, I'm trying to prove my love for you. I always feel out of my depth – a bit like a construction worker in a posh restaurant not sure what knife and fork to use.

That made Bob laugh and he said, "So – something we haven't done before? I didn't think there was anything left."

"There is, Bob – a way I can show you how much I love you ... how much we love each other. Stand up."

Bob knew what Randy wanted – it was pretty much a ritual – and he got to his feet. Gazing up at Bob, Randy tilted his chair back on its back legs and linked his hands behind his head, elbows outstretched, the sleeves of his T-shirt sliding back off his hard biceps."

Slowly unbuttoning his black shirt Bob said, "Something you may not know, buddy is ... I'm scared of you too. Oh," he grinned, "not scared like I used to be of the caveman – though that was hot – but scared because I know I could never live without you. Looking at you there ... my gypsy, with his fierce, dark face, T-shirt stretched over a body that won't quit and, an iron hard dick in his jeans from just looking at me ... the only thing that drives away my fear is that look in your eye when ..."

Bob pulled his shirt out of his slacks and shrugged it off, his bare torso gleaming in the moonlight, tapering down from broad shoulders, past the slabs of his pecs, his sculpted abs, down to his slim waist cinched by the stylish brown belt of his slacks. "Aaah!" Randy gasped, involuntarily reached across the table and banged his fists down in a gesture of lust and longing. "Yeah, that's the look," Bob said. "Now I feel safe."

Randy stood up and yanked off his T-shirt. "Oh, shit," Bob moaned, kicking off his shoes and unbuckling his belt. Frantically Randy did the same and in seconds they were naked, two beautiful men gazing at each other high on a moonlit hotel balcony in a world of their own.

As if in a trance they walked toward each other and were about to touch when ... "No!" Randy held up a restraining hand. "Come with me."

They went into the room and Randy pulled up two chairs from the dining table and placed them face to face beside the balcony windows, lit by the streaming moonlight like a spotlight on a stage. "Sit," he said.

Convinced once again that Randy was the most exciting man in the world Bob sat down tingling with anticipation. He watched as Randy walked over to his backpack and pulled out two leather wrist restraints. Bob reflexively placed his forearms on the armrests of the wooden chair and Randy deftly pulled the restraints tight round his wrists. With two more restraints he similarly bound Bob's ankles to the chair legs, and stood back.

He gazed in awe at the muscular Superman, tied naked to the chair, flexing as he pulled helplessly at his restraints. It was a spectacular sight and Randy's massive cock was hard as steel as he paced round the room, clenching his hands behind his head in frustration. "Fuck, fuck, fuck ... You are so fucking gorgeous, man. I wanna fuck your ass, whip you, torture that beautiful fucking body. I wanna hurt, you man, I want you so bad."

Bob was startled by Randy's sudden reversion to the caveman of their early days together. He was an icon of homoerotic lust, his body bursting with animal passion as he paced the room in a frenzy, and it scared and excited Bob. "Do it, man ... do what you want to me. I love you..."

Randy stood over him, eyes blazing, breath heaving. "Aaaah..." He sighed deeply and sank to his knees at Bob's feet, gazing up at his lover's steady brown eyes. "No, man. No, there's a better way, the way I mentioned before. He took more deep breaths, then sat in the chair facing Bob. His forearms rested on the arms of the chair, just like Bob's. Although he wasn't bound like Bob, he might as well have been.

The room was still, the sheer muslin curtains waving slightly in the breeze, moonlight streaming in from the balcony. They looked at each other and their breathing calmed but their heartbeats quickened. Their eyes connected as they always did, piercing the shell of the common world and entering one of their own. Reflected in each other's eyes they were together in their own private, magical world – and knew they would be forever.

"You feel that, buddy?" Randy said gently. "You know what it is ... it's us, just us, together where we belong. Man, I don't care if we're poor or rolling in dough, whether times are good or get rough, I don't care `cos I'll always love you. And no one'll ever come between us."

Bob's eyes were sparkling. "I know, Randy. It's true. Whether we're healthy or sick we'll always take care of each other, because we love each other. My body that turns you on so much ... it's yours, Randy. It's an honor for me to offer it to you."

"Shit damn, buddy, I'm fucking crazy about you. I'll never leave you. I'll protect you, love you, laugh with you, fuck with you, curse you and tie you up like you are now. But always I'll love you, for ever and ever, and that's a promise."

"Randy, let me touch you."

"Nah, that's the point, buddy ... we can make love without even touching. You know we can."

Randy's steel blue eyes were hypnotic, staring out at Bob from his swarthy face. They sat facing each other motionless, and Bob was pulled inexorably into the dark gypsy's sexual magnetism as he heard the equally mesmerizing deep voice. "So much for the words, buddy – now for the action. Look at my cock."

Bob lowered his gaze to the long, thick shaft rising up from a mass of black pubic hair, pre-cum oozing from its head. "See that? You know how that rod feels in your ass, don't you, stud?"

"Yes, sir." Bob was completely in Randy's power, heart beating wildly, cock pulsing hard.

"You wanna lick it, don't you? You wanna swallow it down your throat."

"Yes, sir."

"Then you know what comes next. I tie you to the bed and bury my pole in your ass. You can feel it, pile-driving your ass, no mercy, the alpha stud male impaled on his buddy's cock."

"Yes, sir." It was true ... Bob could feel it pounding his ass and he pulled at his restraints in a frenzy of frustrated desire. "Fuck me, sir. Let me feel you inside me. Take my ass. "

"You love it when I shoot my jizz in you, don't you? You wanna see how that looks? You wanna see that cock bust its load?"

"Yes, sir ... please, sir. Cum for me ... please ..."

Randy was still gripping the arms of his chair as his massive cock shuddered. "This is how it looks when it cums inside you, buddy. You always do this to me, make me cum ... make me cum ... I love you, man ... aaaagh!" Bob stared in wonder at the thick cock as it erupted in a spurt of semen that shot high in the air. It seemed to hover there before splashing down on Bob's chest and face.

"Cum for me, man," Randy roared. "That's an order. Let me see that jizz ... let me drink it."

Bob writhed in the chair, stared into the steel blue eyes and yelled, "I love you ..." Randy bent forward, caught the stream of juice that blasted from his lover's cock, and swallowed it.

When Randy had drunk his fill they remained still in their chairs facing each other, not touching. Slowly, the intensity in Randy's eyes softened to faint amusement that became a smile that grew wider and wider.

Grinning wickedly Randy said, "I've got you, haven't I buddy?"

"Hook, line and sinker, man. You son of a bitch. You always get me."

And suddenly they were laughing – laughing with the unrestrained mirth of two men who had just sealed their love and their lust forever.

"Well that was new," Bob said after they had calmed down. "Shit damn, almost feels like we just got married."

Randy roared with laughter. "Nah, who needs that, buddy? To each his own, but we know what we got and that's all that counts."

Bob was still tied to the chair and Randy was about to release him when the door buzzer sounded. Randy pulled back and grinned. "Ah, a guest arriving for our reception. Two guesses, dude. I'll give you a hint ... A guest comes crawling. Come in!" he yelled.

The door opened and in came Thomas. As before, he stood rooted to the spot, staring at the two naked muscle-gods – one standing, his cock dripping cum, the other sitting tied to a chair, his face and chest smothered in what the other man's cock had evidently just blasted out.

The backwoods Texan voice drawled, "Hey, Tommy. Whassup, dude?"

The assistant manager found his voice and, in the understatement of the year, stammered, "Er, sorry, not the best timing, maybe."

"Well now, that's not true old buddy. Quite the reverse actually ... me and my buddy had just finished. Wait a sec while I untie him." Randy unbuckled Bob's restraints.

"I, er ...I was just getting off duty and thought I'd drop by to see if you need anything ... cocktails or anything." Randy and Bob couldn't miss the huge boner in Thomas's too-tight pants

"Well as you see, Tom, we got ourselves a few cocktails of our own going on here, but you are sure welcome to join us."

"By the way," Bob asked, rubbing his sore wrists. "How's that new waiter doing that we met by the pool? Danny, isn't it?"

"I'm glad you asked, sir, and I have to apologize for him. I saw him bothering you, sitting and talking to you. He knows that fraternizing with guests is strictly against the rules. I reprimanded him and it won't happen again. If it does, he's fired."

Randy saw Bob clench his fists and start to rise, but he gripped his shoulder and pushed him back down. "Well, Tommy, I commend you, that is just as it should be. Can't have the peons bothering the honored guests, can we? Say, Tom, I'm gonna level with you here. As you see me and my buddy are having ourselves a little party and we'd sure like you to join us. We was saying earlier that you are a fine figure of a man – well turned out and all. You go to the gym?"

"Every day, sir," Thomas said, with conceit rather than pride.

"So whad'ya say, old buddy? You in the mood for a little fun?

Thomas tossed his head. "I don't think so, sir." He turned to leave and Randy shrugged, "Suit yourself."

Thomas hesitated and turned round. "On, er ... on the other hand, I do occasionally offer, er, extra-curricular services to select guests – strictly off-duty of course."

"Oh you do? Our lucky day. Extra-curricular services, eh Bob? Sounds like a whole bunch of fun. I think we could go for some of them. Matter of fact, Tom, I did notice ya'll getting kinda chummy with some of the older guys in the dining room."

"Not against the rules, I hope," Bob said sourly. "Not fraternizing or anything."

"Actually, sir, some of the older gentlemen appreciate visits from a man like me and tip very generously. However, if I do agree to stay, I do have ground rules."

"Well let's hear them, Tommy. Shoot."

"I limit sessions to an hour – two at most. No pain, domination, bondage, nothing like that. And I definitely do not get fucked. Never have. I'm a top man."

Randy's eyes gleamed. "A top man, you hear that Bob? Right up your alley, eh?"

"A dream come true," Bob deadpanned."

Randy looked quizzically at Thomas. "Say, OK if we was to muss your hair up a bit, Tommy?"

"Er ... yes, I can go along with that."

"Well now Tommy I think we got ourselves a deal here. We can have a whole lot of fun. Ya'll sound like just the kinda guy we need. I think he'll fit in right well, don't you, Bob?"

"A match made in heaven," Bob said, careful not to catch Randy's eye.

TO BE CONTINUED in "A Trial Of Strength" – Chapter 290

Hey guys, this is Rob Williams. I hope that chapter got you off, and I welcome your comments and suggestions, which can be very helpful in planning future chapters. E-mail me in confidence at rw6789@aol.com.

ALSO, I urge you to visit my Web-site www.atrialofstrength.com. You can read the whole story, all the many chapters, with extras, including pictures and biographies of all the characters and some other great artwork. Click on the `Our Story' tab to read the current chapter, or click on the green button to browse all the chapter synopses. Enjoy!