A Trial of Strength

A TRIAL OF STRENGTH - PART 92 By Rob Williams

IN THIS CHAPTER

Mark resumes the story of his past military interrogation by the beautiful Hassan. Erotic sexual abuse transports him into a frenzy of uncontrollable lust. "God, my body feels incredible. Fuck me, Hassan. Yeah, punish that fucking soldier ... you've broken him, man ... you own him." Calm returns to the house. Steve finally meets Lloyd who confesses, "Steve, I'm obsessed by sex! I'm addicted to beautiful men."

As always, guys, I welcome your comments and suggestions. They can be very helpful in planning future chapters. E-mail me at rw6789@aol.com.

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A TRIAL OF STRENGTH - Chapter 92 -- "The Breaking Point"

Mark had woken in a panic. He had been having a nightmare, triggered by seeing a picture that Darius had given to Jamie. The erotic drawing depicted with uncanny similarity the brutal military interrogation Mark had once suffered as an army corporal in the Middle East. Mark had long since suppressed the memory of that agonizing experience, but now, for the first time, he told the story to Bob and Jamie.

They had been horrified as they listened to the details of his capture and torture as a young soldier. Helplessly chained to bars on the wall of a cell, stripped to the waist, he had suffered at the hands of one man ... the spectacular Hassan. Mark recalled every detail of the man. "He was incredibly beautiful ... young, about the same age as me, shirtless, muscular physique with dark, exotic features, high cheek bones, slanted dark eyes and jet black hair."

Starting as physical torture, there quickly developed a heavy sexual tone to the interrogation. "We were both beautiful men ... me Scandinavian blonde, he with his Middle-Eastern dark looks and perfectly sculpted body."

Hassan had looked at Mark in lustful admiration. "You are a very handsome man, corporal Matsen ... extremely handsome. I will enjoy torturing a soldier as beautiful as you, watching that perfect body writhe in agony, hearing you scream. I too am a beautiful young man as you can see. We are both magnificent specimens, and alike, I think, though you are fair and I am dark. I think you will enjoy having a man as beautiful as me working on your body."

The torture Mark described was brutal. Electric terminals had been attached to his balls, and as the current ran through his writhing body his suffering excited Hassan sexually even more. "Oh, man," he breathed. "You are so much more beautiful when you suffer. Your body is superb ... it looks magnificent in chains. I love watching that handsome face twisting in pain. You are perfect, but I know you cannot resist me and I will prove it to you."

From then on Hassan's lust for his magnificent prisoner consumed him and he proceeded to demolish Mark's masculine pride. He sucked Mark's dick and, even though Mark resisted mightily, Hassan forced him to shoot his load. Then he rammed his huge dick into Mark's mouth and humiliated him by pouring semen and piss over his face and shuddering body.

Hassan had finally left the muscular solider hanging on the wall, a broken man, once proud, handsome, now sobbing in defeat, streaming with cum and piss.

It was at that point that Bob had called a halt. "That's enough for tonight, Mark. You have to stop for a while, regain your strength. Now you sleep. Tomorrow morning we'll hear the end of your story. And then we will forget ... forget it all ... and you will lay your demons to rest."

For most of the night Mark had folded his boy Jamie in his arms, but his sleep was troubled by disjointed, harrowing memories. When he woke at dawn he was alone in the bed. His story was unfinished so his mind was still in that terrible place and panic seized him. But the door opened and he heaved a sigh of relief as he saw his golden boy come smiling into the room.

"Sir, I've made coffee and scrambled eggs for breakfast," Jamie said. "Bob is waiting for you in the garden. Here ..." He brought Mark his jeans, a T-shirt and a heavy denim shirt as protection from the early morning chill, and a few minutes later all three men were sitting at the table by the pool in the silver-gray light of dawn. They ate and drank in silence. They all knew it was time for Mark to resume his story.

Mark spoke as if there had been no break in the story. Indeed, even in sleep, his mind had never left the image of the soldier hanging limp in chains, beaten and degraded. So he resumed from there, in a seamless narrative.

"I was alone, still chained helplessly to the wall. In the mirror I saw the agonized soldier, his gleaming muscles pouring with sweat in the fetid heat of that room. I didn't know where Hassan was or how much time had passed. But as I gazed at my reflection my mind could not rid itself of the fate that was in store for me. Hassan had said he would tie me up and take me out of the prison to his remote house in the desert from which there was no escape. As I waited for his return, every word he had uttered ran relentlessly through my memory

"... And you and I, my beautiful Mark, will live alone, pleasuring each other day after day. You will be ... again my English deserts me ... ah yes, you will be my sex slave. Mostly you will be chained, as you look so magnificent in chains, and I will use your superb body for my sexual pleasure. Sometimes I will hurt you, torture you, as we have done here, because I love to see you in pain. But mostly I will give you the pleasure of feeling my muscular body against you, my huge cock inside you. That is your fate, my beautiful Mark ... to be with me always."

I vowed I would never let that happen, spending the rest of my life being tortured and sexually abused by this man. I had to get away. But first I knew there would be new agonies to endure. As I hung there in desperation the cell door opened and Hassan came in. God dammit, he was so fucking gorgeous that I felt a tremor go through my cock and balls. Still stripped to the waist, in army fatigues and combat boots, the sculpted muscles of his torso gleamed in the overhead lights, and his dark, exotic face broke into a dazzling smile.

"Ah, my handsome prisoner. You look spectacular as you hang there half-naked in chains. I had almost forgotten how beautiful you are, Mark, and you no doubt are once again sexually aroused by my beauty." He stood before me and posed, flexing his biceps, flaring his lats and tightening the hard ridges of his perfect abs. I willed my cock not to get hard again. I determined never again to submit to his sexual lust and depravity. But my resolve was to crumble when Hassan subjected me to new, unimaginable degradation.

"We shall resume our pleasures, my friend," Hassan said, "but first you must have food to keep your body in its state of perfection." I suddenly realized how hungry I was and looked down at the bowl of some kind of creamy mush that he held before me. "Eat, Mark. You need to keep up your strength for what is to come."

I leaned my face toward the bowl that he deliberately held only just within reach if I pulled painfully against the chain round my neck. The veins in my neck bulged as I managed to bury my face in the warm gruel and slurp it ravenously into my mouth like an animal. I was halfway through when he pulled it away and I stared pleadingly up at him.

His smile was arrogant. "Ah, I can deny you nothing, my beautiful Mark. Here." He brought the bowl closer and once again I buried my face in it. When I had finished he laughed mockingly. "No, no, no, that will not do. You have food all over your face, marring your beauty. I, your friend, will clean it for you."

He took hold of my face and began to lick the sticky gruel from it. I smelt his warm breath as his tongue washed over my cheeks, then down to my lips. Soon he was pressing his lips against mine and, God help me, I let him push his tongue inside my mouth and I reciprocated. Of course I had never kissed another man before, but Hassan was not just any other man. I was in a daze as I ground my lips passionately against his, feeling my dick get rock hard.

He pulled back and laughed again. "You see, corporal? I am irresistible and your desire for me is becoming insatiable. Soon you will be hopelessly in love with me and you will tell me so. I knew that would happen."

Was it true? Was I going mad? Thoughts of `Stockholm Syndrome' raced through my mind, where hostages develop a sympathy and even love for their captors. Was I truly falling in love with Hassan?

"No!" I screamed out loud. "You fucking bastard! I will never feel anything for you but disgust, no matter what tricks you use."

Hassan smiled. "What is the phrase you American's use? `Never say never?' You see, my friend, we are coming to the climax of our time together." He laughed jubilantly. "And I do mean climax. You will see, my handsome soldier. I must prepare you."

A few minutes later he was gazing at me with a smile of satisfaction, and I looked at the soldier in the mirror. Hassan had once again attached the electrodes to my ball sac and had tied a rope around my waist, securing me tightly to the grill, so I could not move the mid-section of my body. He had pulled my pants down to my knees and my naked ass was squeezed through the bars.

Hassan turned the dial on the small generator, but only on low power. As the device buzzed, a tingling sensation ran from my balls through my cock and then spread over my whole body. The initial jolt of pain soon gave way to a warmth that suffused me, a mild, stinging pain that was as much pleasure as pain and, even though I fought against it, was alarmingly erotic. My cock grew rigid and throbbed as the low current ran through it.

It was only then that I realized Hassan was behind me, pressing against the grill, his face over my shoulder. He looked at me in the mirror and I heard his low, melodic voice whisper in my ear. "I told you I would own you, Mark. And now I will take possession of you in the most extreme way that one male can possess another. Your naked ass pressing through the bars is exquisite, one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. Can you feel my huge cock against it? Now, Mark, my beautiful soldier, I will enter you."

In the depths of my despair I had fought against the certain knowledge that this moment would come. I wanted to scream, to beg, to plead. But I could not give Hassan that satisfaction. So I clenched my jaw and watched my reflection, the naked body shuddering as the current passed through it, and the eyes opening wide as I felt the rod begin to enter my hole.

I was so aroused by this time that there was not much pain. I took deep breaths as I felt Hassan's manhood slid quickly inside my virgin ass. My cock was already hard but now it spasmed and jolted with the combined effect of the electrodes at my balls and the shaft filling my ass. I felt the cock withdraw, then plunge deep inside me once more.

Again Hassan's low voice in my ear. "I will give you a gift now, Mark, that only I know how to give. You are a man who has experienced orgasms many times, I'm sure, but never one like this. It will propel you into a delirium of joy, it will be everlasting, and it will be the orgasm you will remember for the rest of your life ... your life with me."

It happened suddenly. Hassan reached through the bars, brought his hands round my chest and his fingers grasped my nipples, squeezing them viciously. At the same time his assault on my ass started in earnest as he began pounding it brutally with his iron-hard rod. I watched the chained man in the mirror gasp, his eyes fly open, his head thrash from side to side. The feelings shooting through my body were like nothing I had ever felt, ever imagined.

It is said that a man can feel only one source of pain at a time. Whether or not that is true, the multiple sources of pain in me merged together into a vortex of wild, passionate, searing ecstasy that was beyond conscious feeling. My cock and balls were throbbing with the electric current, my ass was being smashed by Hassan's monster cock, and my chest was on fire as he clawed savagely at my nipples. My ass was trapped against the grill but in the mirror I saw the rest of my body writhe and thrash, muscles flexed and pouring with sweat. My face was twisted in the exquisite agony I felt, and tears streamed from my eyes. It was a stunning vision of tortured manhood.

My body was consumed by the frenzy of physical desire. I felt nothing else. I lost all control, all sense of where or who I was. I focused on the mirror reflection of the darkly handsome face over my shoulder, the face of Hassan, the man who was overpowering me with a ravenous sexual lust. As I watched the soldier suffer I fantasized and heard my own wild, ecstatic voice.

"Oh, man! Oh God, my body feels incredible. Don't stop, man. Yeah, punish that fucking soldier, man. Look at him ... you've broken him, man ... you own him. Oh shit, my balls are exploding ... work on my tits' man. Harder ... punish them, man. My ass! God, the pain. Your fucking huge cock is in my ass. Yeah, hammer it, man ... please sir, rip me open. Hassan! God, I love you, sir. I submit to you, my body and my soul. You own me. I'm your slave. You're making me cum. Oh, God. I can't hold back. Hassan ..."

I watched the chained muscle-god in the mirror go rigid as a huge jet of cum blasted from his cock and across the room. Then another stream, then another. It wouldn't stop. I closed my eyes and felt my whole body orgasm. It went on and on. I didn't know if I was still shooting semen, but it felt like one massive, everlasting climax. I hallucinated ... my naked body was on fire. I was in a wild delirium of sensual excess ... in my balls, my burning chest and my ravaged ass. I opened my eyes and saw in amazement that my cock was still blasting its juice in an orgasm that would not end, an orgasm more spectacular than any before or since.

It seemed an eternity before my shattered body began to subside. Through the sweat and tears in my eyes I became aware that Hassan was now standing in front of me, legs astride, arms folded across his chest ... powerful, magnificent. On his face was the arrogant smile of total triumph. And as I looked up at my conqueror my spirit broke.

I was delirious as I spoke in a hoarse, sobbing voice. "I submit to you, Hassan. You are my master. You've beaten me. You own me. Take me away and use me as your slave. Torture my body, my ass." I heard words I had never thought to hear. "Hassan ... I love you."

Then my head fell forward and I passed out.

I was floating in a sea of semi-consciousness and my mind slowly began to clear. First there was the ecstasy of the most incredible sexual experience I would ever have. Then the picture of the beautiful Hassan, standing before me in triumph, the victor. I had told him I loved him, I would be his slave forever. He would use my body as he had this night. He would own me.

Own me?! Had I really submitted? Did I really love him? My mind became clearer, sharp, focused ... and I realized with horror the pitiful creature I had become. I had submitted to the overwhelming sexual power of the man. To become his slave? What the fuck had I said? What was I thinking?

I opened my eyes and saw the broken wreck of a man hanging naked in chains, saw the huge pool of his semen on the floor. No, that was not me, would not be me, could not. Adrenaline started to course through me and I knew I had to end this, one way or another. It was sex that had defeated me and it would be sex I would use against Hassan. I knew his weaknesses now ... his vanity and his lust. That's what I would use.

I heard his voice. "So, my handsome friend. You have finally broken. I have broken your body and your spirit. And now you want me, you love your beautiful Hassan. Is that not so, Mark?"

"It is, sir," I moaned. "I do love you, Hassan. I want to make love to you, now, here before we leave to start our lives together. Please, sir. Allow me to make love to you."

Hassan frowned, then broke into a smile. "Yes, you are right. I am so beautiful that you cannot resist me, you need to love me. Yes, I will unchain you. There is no danger ... you are weak, exhausted and could never overpower me."

And so he unchained me, untied the ropes and I slumped to the floor. In an instant he was on top of me, holding me, caressing me, kissing my face. "This is how it will be, Mark ... you and me always."

He had been right, that after all I had suffered I was in a state far too weak to fight him. But there was another weapon I could use. Just as Hassan had used his beauty to break me, I would use mine. As strength began seeping back into my body I returned his embraces and we rolled over the floor until I managed to ease myself on top of him. I gazed into his eyes. "You are so fucking gorgeous. I want to do everything with you Hassan. I want to worship you ... show you how beautiful you are. I want to see your naked body, Hassan."

"Yes," he breathed and kicked off his boots and pulled off his loose pants. Still gazing into his eyes I grabbed his ankles and pushed his legs high in the air. I desperately needed my dick to get hard, even after the prolonged orgasm I had been through. So I focused on his naked chest, then his spectacular face and found that it was true ... his beauty did excite me, enough to make my dick hard.

I pressed it against Hassan's ass and heard him breathe, "Oh, yes, Mark. You are superb. Enter me. Enter my ass." My cock slid in easily and I heard his sigh of exquisite pleasure. I started to fuck harder, faster and felt the furnace of Hassan's ass embrace my cock. For a moment I was almost lost as the pleasure running through me, being inside this incredible man, almost made me lose my resolve.

But I snapped back to harsh reality and as I rammed his ass and his eyes closed I put my hands lightly on his neck. "Oh, yes," Hassan breathed again, as if this was part of our sex game. I needed this to end, and I said, "Oh, man, your ass is perfect. It's gonna make me shoot, Hassan. Please cum with me." I saw his hand pumping his cock and knew that he was ready. As he felt my cock erupt in his ass he screamed "Yes!" and shot his massive load all over his naked chest.

I had increased the pressure of my hands round his neck imperceptibly and now, as his orgasm consumed him, I suddenly squeezed my hands tight round his throat. It was then, even in the ecstasy of orgasm, that Hassan realized. His eyes opened wide and he screamed. "No, Mark. You said you love me. I own you ..." His hands gripped my wrists and I knew I only had a few seconds.

My military training had taught me how to cut off a man's oxygen and make him lose consciousness without injuring him. So I pressed hard on the pressure points and we locked eyes, as cum still streamed from us. This was the final trial of strength between us, and the look in his eyes was a mix of pain, confusion and sorrow. And still there was lust, as his eyes closed, his wrists lost their grip and his body went limp.

It was over. I looked down at the watch on his wrist and saw that there must still be a few hours of darkness outside. I had to be ready by dawn. There was one more thing I needed to do."

It took a long time and every ounce of my remaining strength but I finally had him how I wanted. I watched as he slowly regained consciousness and opened his eyes. He looked in the mirror and screamed, "No!" The swarthy muscle-god was buck naked, chained to the grill in exactly the same position as I had been, arms over a bar and wrists tied behind him. His incredible body looked magnificent as he writhed and struggled against the chains.

I had attached the clamps to his scrotum, up against his balls, and a second set of electrodes to his nipples. He looked away from his mirror image and straight into my eyes. And the big man begged. "Mark, please Mark, no. What do you want from me, to tell you that you've won? OK. I submit to you. Please, we can still be together. Please don't do this."

I turned the dial on the black box up to medium strength and watched his naked body thrash as current streaked through him ... strong enough to hurt but no enough to damage him. As his body writhed I picked up his pants and drew the thick belt from it. "You sadistic bastard," I growled. "After everything you did to me I have no hesitation doing this."

I raised my arm and brought the belt smashing against his chest, feeling a mix of lust and satisfaction as I watched him scream, watched the massive chest bounce under the blows. Again and again he felt the lash across his superb body and the current tearing through him. It was my turn now to see how perfect this glorious man looked tortured in chains. His body gleamed, his handsome face twisted wildly and his dark black hair flew. He looked so fucking hot that I knew I could cum one last time.

Just as he had done, I climbed up onto the bars facing him, pulled out my cock and with a few quick strokes blasted my final stream of juice in his face. There was a pause, and then all the piss that had built up inside me that night poured into his face, his mouth and down over his helpless body. I jumped down from the grill and, just as he had, stood legs astride, shirtless, arms folded across my chest.

I smiled at my prisoner in triumph. "You see, Hassan. I am the best. You're beaten. And it is my beauty you will not be able to resist. Nobody can, even you. That current is going to make you shoot one last time, Hassan. Look at me." I raised my arms, flexed my biceps as he had done, flared my lats and hardened my ridged abs.

Hassan was sobbing as he gazed at me. "Mark. I love you Mark. Oh God, I've never seen anyone so beautiful. You're making me ..." His cock reared up and a stream of semen shot from his cock and fell at my feet, blending with my own earlier pool of cum.. It was now for him as it had been with me. The current sent him into a sexual delirium as he stared at me and his cock kept erupting as his body thrashed, helpless in bondage.

I gazed at him one last time, then cupped his chin in my hands and pressed my lips hard against his, grinding our mouths together in a final passionate embrace. I pulled back and said, "Hassan, you are a spectacular male. In another time and place we could have been good buddies. But you blew it. You will never see me again."

As I walked to the door I glimpsed in the mirror his glorious body hanging from the bars, shuddering as electricity ran through it, his cock still dripping with cum. I heard him shout, "Mark! I love you, Mark. I must see you again. I swear, I will come to your country and find you. I love you!"

There was a sudden silence in the garden as the morning sun began to rise. Bob asked quietly, "How did you get away from there?"

"That turned out to be easy. The few prisoners in that place were always chained so the doors were usually left unlocked. I simply walked out, kept to the shadows and in only a few minutes I was out in the desert. I walked for an hour or two and was finally picked up by one of our patrols out searching for me. I was hospitalized, debriefed, and then finally flown home.

"And you've locked away the memory ever since."

"Yup. I have great inner strength, Bob. I closed the book on that chapter and resumed a normal life ... found myself a girl and became a cop. And I never thought of another guy in that way again ... until ...

"Until?"

"Until one afternoon I was on a routine patrol in L.A. and pulled a guy over for an illegal U-turn. He looked up at me from his car window and blew my mind. He was spectacularly handsome ... with a gentle soul. He's the man who changed my life. He's the man I'm looking at right now."

Bob gazed into Mark's blue-gray eyes and put his arm round his shoulder. "Buddy, I'm flattered you told me this story, and you can now lock it away for good. But I do have a question. Do I have your permission to tell all this to any of the guys?"

Mark frowned in thought. "Randy and Zack, yes. They should know. But not the boys. No need to fill their minds with such horrors. Of course, I wanted Jamie here to know. He's my boy. We have to know each other completely."

Jamie gazed at his master with a renewed surge of love and infinite respect. Then he took a chance. "Sir ... sir, would you take me back to bed?"

"You read my mind, kiddo," Mark smiled. They stood up, Mark threw his arm round his boy and they walked back to the house.

Later that day Bob told the story to Randy and Zack when they were alone. Every detail was still etched on his mind so he left nothing out. The reaction of the two men was entirely different. Zack never looked away from Bob. His eyes filled with tears and he was silent, except for occasional murmurs ... "fucking hell ... holy shit."

Randy, however, paced. As he heard the gruesome details of Mark's physical and sexual torture he clenched his fists and his body tensed with rage. In his youth Randy had been in charge of his five younger brothers, their protector, when they were dirt poor itinerants. His therapist still called him the King of the Gypsies. And that's how he felt now. He was still, after all, the boss of this new tribe. His greatest strength was loyalty to, and protection of, family.

So now he paced and listened with mounting anger to the story of how one of his buddies, his brother, had been brutally abused by another man. Nothing roused his fury so much as when someone hurt one of his men or his boys. It was like a personal insult to him. And when Bob had finished Randy growled, "Shit damn ... if I ever got my hands on that fucking sadist he'd find out what torture really is."

The ferocity of his words brought silence to the three men. But suddenly Randy shrugged his shoulders, stood up and stretched. "OK. Enough of that. It's behind us. What we need now is a change of mood. We need a party."

He was right. They needed to lighten the mood in the house. All of the men and Jamie had been shattered by Mark's story, and even the other boys, who had been told nothing, sensed a dark cloud hanging over the group. It was Randy who gave the orders when they were all in the garden.

"OK, next Sunday we'll have a gathering of the clan. We'll invite Steve and Lloyd too. They've never met, so it should be interesting," and he grinned conspiratorially at Bob, Mark and Zack. "So boys, lunch for eleven, then we play, and after that dinner for everyone ... and if anyone gets so wasted he has to sleep over, that's fine too. You boys up for that?"

"You bet, sir," said Pablo enthusiastically.

"Steve and Lloyd too," Darius mused, his fantasy wheels already spinning.

"We've got a ton of food," Kyle said. "Two meals, eleven guys ... not a problem."

"Yeah," Bob grinned, "but the other boys have to pitch in and help, OK guys?"

When Sunday morning came the kitchen was crowded, with five over-enthusiastic boys tripping all over each other to create something to impress their masters. Pablo, Darius and Jamie were nominally in charge of the twins, but it soon became clear that the twins were the ones who really knew their stuff when it came to food.

"Er ... sirs," Kevin shouted above the chaos. "Sirs, this isn't working."

As they looked at him in surprise Kyle took over. "What my brother means, sirs, is that it would be ... well, it would be much easier if you three left the kitchen to us. No offense, sirs."

"None taken," grinned Pablo, glad to escape. "OK, guys, let's go for a swim."

After that things worked like a charm. Around noon Lloyd arrived, a bit overdressed in slacks and a stylish sport shirt. He sat with the men at the table by the pool and shortly afterwards the gate opened and Steve walked in. He looked stunning in jeans and a blue polo shirt and gave them a dazzling smile. All eyes turned to him admiringly, and amid the shouted greetings Lloyd said in amazement, "Jesus, he looks exactly like you, Randy."

"Yeah, maybe not quite so rough round the edges as me, though," Randy grinned. "Hey, Steve. There's only one guy here you don't know. Meet Lloyd, our architect."

The boys were bringing out food but they stopped as they watched Steve and Lloyd shake hands. There was a sudden silence all round as their eyes met, with a gaze that lasted far too long.

Darius nudged Pablo. "I knew it. You see the sparks fly there, dude? Now that's a match made in heaven. You mark my words, those guys will end up fucking each other. Only hope I'll be around to see it."

"And film it, no doubt," Pablo laughed.

The day was a raucous gathering of beautiful, energetic and oversexed men. At lunch the only two who didn't join in the boisterous conversation much were Mark and Jamie, who had eyes only for each other. They had spent the week pretty much together, making love, helping each other forget and recover from the harrowing story Mark had told. Now they sat close together, Mark's arm round his boy, nuzzling each other and kissing often.

Darius grinned and nudged Pablo as he yelled, "Hey fellas, get a room!" There was a stunned silence at his cheekiness, but then Mark chuckled and said, "Not a bad idea, eh Jamie?" And the group erupted into raucous laughter.

It was also not lost on the ever watchful Darius that there were two other guys at the table who seemed to be very much into each other ... Steve and Lloyd. They had discovered pretty quickly that they had a whole lot in common ... the same interests, same leisure activities, even knew some of the same people. In a real sense they spoke the same language.

Darius's antennae also picked up on the sexual overtones. Both men were extremely handsome, after all, with muscular physiques that their sport shirts couldn't hide ... and there was more in their gaze than a mutual love of opera!

After lunch all the guys stripped to their shorts and the pool was filled with shouts and challenges, the water churning like a feeding frenzy of sharks. Pretty soon Steve and Lloyd pulled themselves out and lay on their backs on the lawn. Steve looked over at Lloyd and realized how restless he was. He also couldn't miss the stiff bulge in Lloyd's shorts.

"So, Lloyd," Steve smiled. "What's up? ..... if you don't mind the pun."

Lloyd smiled and blushed, instinctively putting his hand over his crotch. "You noticed, uh?"

"Hard not to ... oops, another pun. Sorry."

Encouraged by Steve's easy, friendly tone, Lloyd plucked up his courage and said, "Steve, you're a therapist ... could I talk to you?"

"Well," said Steve cautiously, "it might be better to have a consultation in my office. But, what the hell, as Randy and Pablo could tell you, my methods are definitely unorthodox. So as we're here, and we have all day, let's find a quiet place in the house where we can talk privately.

A few minutes later they were in a quiet corner of the living room. Steve sat in a big armchair facing Lloyd on the couch, just like doctor and patient. "OK, shoot," Steve said affably.

There was a long pause, then Lloyd took a deep breath and blurted it out. "Hell, Steve, I think I'm addicted to sex!"

Steve smile, unruffled. "Sexual compulsion ... that's the term we usually use. So what makes you think you're sexually compulsive?"

"I'm addicted to beautiful men. When I see one at the gym I follow him around ... it's a wonder sometimes I don't get slugged. I see a hot man at the grocery store and drool over him. Then, of course, there's this house. Whenever I come here I have a raging hard-on. Shit, it's like a convention of fitness models here. They're all so damned gorgeous I want to be in bed with all of them."

"All at once or one at a time?" Steve grinned, trying to keep it light."

"Either way," Lloyd said. "Whatever I can get. Hell, I got into a shit-load of trouble by fucking with Randy. Mark got so mad that I was splitting up Randy and Bob that he punished me big-time. Fucked me with his night-stick, then tried to cure me by sending me to work in the Police Academy locker room so I would overdose on the sight and stink of sweaty, macho athletes."

"Yeah," Steve mused. "I can relate. I was on the receiving end of that gorgeous cop's anger when I fooled around with his boy Jamie." His eyes glazed over as he recalled the painful incident. Then he snapped back. "What Mark was trying with the locker-room thing was aversion therapy, hoping you would get so sick of raw masculinity you'd cool it from then on."

"Well it didn't work," growled Lloyd. "Look, man, I've got a huge boner just sitting here with you. You're so fucking hot I want you too, real bad."

"Well, we won't go there, Lloyd. Let's keep it professional. No, with any addiction the first thing to do is remove the triggers, the things that spark your sexual desires. One would be the place you live ... and you live in West Hollywood. Well, that whole damn place is a trigger."

"Yeah, but not for long. I'm selling my house. As a matter of fact tomorrow it's gonna be tented for termite fumigation so I have to move out for a week."

"Where you going?"

"I've booked a room at the West Hollywood Ramada on Santa Monica Boulevard."

"Oh, Jesus! Boystown central ... ground zero for sex. It'll be a week-long orgy. No Lloyd, if you're serious about beating this thing that's the worst place."

"So what do you suggest?"

Steve became reflective and there was a silence as he thought long and hard. "Lloyd, I told you my methods were unorthodox." He paused again. "Why don't you move in with me in my house on Mulholland?"

Lloyd was totally taken aback, and his reply was sarcastic. "Oh, yeah, great. I just told you I'm hot for you ... that's all I need. Sure, seeing you walking around naked, having sex with you for a week. Like that's gonna cure me."

"But that's just the point, Lloyd. There wouldn't be any sex. If that happens the treatment's off and you can check into the Ramada. See, what might help you is if temptation is right in front of your eyes but it's forbidden. It's like quitting cold turkey. And I'd be there to help you. Think of me like your sponsor at Sexually Compulsives Anonymous. Any time you're tempted I'd forbid it.

"We already know we get along well, Lloyd. We can be social, take in a movie, go to a ball game, do regular guy things. We'd be regular buddies, and sex would not be part of the picture. No fooling around, no masturbation ... nothing. You're a monk for a week. There's just a chance that going cold turkey could help you control your compulsion. You get it?"

Lloyd was quiet for a minute. Then he said slowly. "You know, it sounds crazy but maybe it would be just the thing."

Steve laughed. "Oh, I know why you're saying that right now. It's still your lust talking. You're thinking how hot it would be to share a house with me. But that's not how it would be. Believe me, Lloyd, it would be torture for you, but it's the kind of torture you need to live through. And I'll do everything I can to help you succeed" ... he laughed ... "even if I have to tie you up to keep you from touching yourself."

"That sounds like a challenge, Steve. You don't think I can't do it. OK, you're on. Let's go for it, man."

Over the course of the afternoon word of the arrangement leaked out and Darius was beside himself. "That's fucking awesome, dude," he said to Pablo. "Hell, I wish I could be a fly on the wall in that house."

The rest of the day was a huge success, a great antidote to the horrors that Mark had related and that only the men and Jamie were aware off. Pablo, Darius and the twins had no idea. Still, Darius had plenty to feed his fantasy mill as he thought about Steve and Lloyd.

And as it happened, about a week later a chance meeting provided more fodder for Darius's overactive imagination. He had spent his lunch break at the gym and ran breathlessly back onto the construction site.

"You're late, punk," growled Randy.

"Five minutes, sir," Darius protested

"Yeah, well five minutes is five minutes. You can do a lot in five minutes. I expect my assistant to be on time."

"Sorry, boss."

After that they worked companionably, concentrating on their job, and mid-afternoon they took a break. They were sitting in the trailer office drinking beer when Darius said. "Hell, I can't stop thinking about him, sir."

"Thinking about who?"

"Guy I ran into at the gym. He was totally fucking gorgeous ... foreign looking, dark skinned, black hair, stunning face ... awesome bod. They don't come along like that too often. He was real friendly too. Spoke with some kind of accent. Asked all kinds of questions."

Randy frowned. "What about?"

"Oh, I dunno ... me ... where I live, who I live with. Funny, though, now I think of it. He seemed to know I lived in the same house as a cop. Don't ask me how he knew that."

Randy felt his skin prickle and he clenched his fists.

"Did the guy tell you his name?"

"Yeah, but I forget. You know how I am with names. Hell I'd forget my own name if it wasn't tattooed on my ... "

"Darius!" Randy grabbed his face. "Think, punk, think. What the fuck was his name?"

Surprised by Randy's rough tone of voice Darius frowned and made an effort. "I dunno ... He did tell me. Weird name ... kinda foreign." He screwed up his face, and then light dawned.

"I got it," he said cheerfully. "Hassan. That was his name ... Hassan! "

TO BE CONTINUED in "A Trial Of Strength ... Part 93"