The story below is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any resemblances to real people, alive or in the hereafter, is entirely coincidental in nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons, in towns, cities, countries, nor governmental areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most state and countries, you are not allowed to read this story, by law. Check with your local laws regarding such. % Sexual safety matters. Remember guys, this is fiction. In real life, use protection.
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"Friendly Persuasion" 05 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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"Is that you, Jason?"
"Yes, sir," Jason replied, as always.
Coming into the foyer, Rob Friend immediately took notice of the blond, next to his son's side. "Hmm... I've never seen this boy before. New?" he inquired, staring at the young man, with an obvious complexion, that of Irish descent.
Eynon wasn't oblivious to the usuage of the description Jason labeled his father, `sir'.
Trying to bail himself out and clue his father into Eynon not being here for a certain activity, Jase responds, "This is my `buddy'," even though they met less than an hour ago."
Opening his big mouth, something of which Eynon seemed gifted of doing, he tells Jason's dad, "We were going to go over to my place to hang out, but Jase said, `why not come here'?"
Fortunately for Jason, Rob read his son's coverup, however when Eynon mentioned `hanging out', Rob offered his hand, saying in a more flowery rhetoric, "Well, welcome young man. C'mon in. Care for a drink? A Beer perhaps?" He welcomed the blond haired, blue eyed beauty, hand to his back, inviting the teen into the livingroom, as if a natural impulse, with a man his age. "So what'll is be, boy?"
"I'll have a beer, thank you, sir'," he used, seeing that when Jase used it, it made his father happy. When Rob disappears into the kitchen, Eynon says to Jase, "He called me `boy'."
Trying to brush it off as common, Jase tells him, "Yeah. Boy... like some dads call every young guy, `son'?"
"Okay. I get it," Eynon said, not really getting it!
"Here we go. Three beers right out of the tap," the thirty-eight year old father announced, as he held three bottles of beer in a tight triangle between his hands, offering Eynon the beer facing the teen.
It wasn't the first time Jase witnessed the triangle', or at times, a square' of gathered beers, offered to one or two men, his father making sure he got one of the last two.
He knew it sounded corny, but Jase stalled for time, before they imbibed on the liquid in the brown bottle, "A toast.. to our `friendship'," Jase says, nodding to his father, hoping he got the message, Eynon wasn't here on his father's benefit.
Right away, Rob, who did get `the message', frowned. Other guys his son brought home, the friendly atmosphere, conversation, the alcoholic offering, became a part of a much larger scheme, both knowing the outcome. Rob knew what Jason was alluding to and he didn't like it one bit, especially after the tingling sensation down below, had already made up his mind that he needed to have Eynon for himself.
His father not reacting, in his favor, Jase chose to intervene on his own volition. "Um, wait! Don't drink that!"
Almost ready to down the first sip, Eynon questions, "Why not?"
"I think I saw something floating in it," Jase reports, swiping the beer bottle out of the nineteen year old's hand. "I'll go fetch you a fresh one."
Upon making his exit, Jase and his father's eyes met, his father's face fuming with disgust, over his carefully laid plan, crumbling.
"Excuse me a moment, young man, I think I left a pot on the stove."
"No problem, sir," Eynon replied, walking around the room, taking in the sights of the room, which wasn't your usual decor, no pictures lining shelves, the absence of knick-knacks, bookshelf with titles he never heard of. Sliding one from the shelf, he studied the cover, reading off to himself, "The Ironrod Chronicles", staring at the bent knee and black boot, before flipping through it. Returning it, he picked up the next in line, "I'll Never Talk: Erotic Tales of Defiant Men?" He gulped when he read the title, but when he read some fine print, the glorification of men suffering....' Less than half a sentence, made his loins convulse. "Oh cool!" he said, when peering over the top of the opened book, spotting a black-spined book, white lettering, reading, Sadomasochism'. Quickly shoving the other book back, he looked up to make sure Jase and his father weren't on their way back. It never dawned on him more than enough time had elapsed. Removing the title from the shelf, the book next to it fell out. "Oh man is that hot!" he said, looking at light blue cover, the silhouette of a stripped man, squatting into a humble position. Hearing raised voices, he tried stuffing both books back into the small division of other books. Finding it tight, he managed to get the blue' book back in between, but with time an essense, he tossed the Sadomasochism' book on the top of the bookshelf. "Oh shit!" Eynon said of the tent in his pants. Just in time, Eynon reports back to where he stood, between the sofa and wooden coffee table.
"Where's Jase?" Eynon asks, accepting a fresh beer from Rob.
"What a good boy. He offered to watch the pot on the stove, so it doesn't boil over," Rob replied, raising his bottle for a silent `cheers'.
Offering Eynon a seat, Rob began a friendly conversation, asking all about Eynon's family, finding out his pursuits in college, where he was from, his intentions when he graduated and so on.
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Jase squirmed in the chair he was duct-taped to, the binding tape wound around his arms and midchest about eight times, one patch sealing his lips. He winced when he tried busting open a seam of the strong tape, with no success of freeing himself. With each twist and turn, the eighteen year old also felt the dull pang in his stomach, which was more painful a gutpunch, than the hefty slap he got across his face. With several futile attempts, he dropped his head back, picturing Eynon drinking the beer, his father encouraging him to finish it, tell him bottom's up... plenty more where that came from', the same line he's heard over and over, with other clients'.
It's then his eyes fell on the utility draw, next to the sink. Trying not to make noise with the legs, pounding on the kitchen floor, he shimmied himself over to the draw. Without the facilities of his hands, he had to think of another means to open it. Kicking his sneaker off, he thought he had it made, but with his sock on, he couldn't grasp at the small knob. He winced when he tried to use the side of his sneaker to scrape the sock down, realizing this wasn't working. Kicking his other sneaker off, he tried the same, his sock slipping against the sock he was trying to get off. Then, determining himself an idiot, he thought to himself, `Why didn't I try this before!' Easily, he stepped on a fraction of the sock on his right foot, with the heel of his left foot.
Working up a good sweat, he tried grabbing at the small, white knob with his foot. His plan wasn't taking form. Reorganizing his chair, bopping up and down, moving sideways, Jase positioned himself adjacent to the countertop. With both feet stretched out, he snagged the knob inbetween both feet, pulling. `Dammit!' his muffled voice formed an opinion when the draw didn't budge.
Frustration set in immediately, but picturing Eynon, in his father's clutches, renewed his strength, in his attempt to set himself free. He tried looking over his shoulder, when the draw made a loud racket, pushing in, then trying to ease it out. `About time'. When it did budge, his size 9's hauled it open, inch by inch.
Back at the ranch, standing there, Rob smiled, slowly sipping his beer.
Halfway in a sentence, Eynon yawned a big one, saying, "Maybe I shouldn't have had this...." then another yawn, "...after the two I had at the pizzeria."
Rob's face lit up, an evil grin coursing his lips. With Eynon sitting on the sofa, the nineteen year old stretching his arms up, hiking his tee shirt above his navel, gave Rob even more incentive to get hard, viewing the teen treasure trail, a bit darker than his blond head. With Eynon fading, sleep setting in, it wasn't `dangerous' for Rob to slide his hand down to his crotch and feel up his big balls, the hard erection filling his pants, as he stood there, watching Eynon fall asleep, the teens head slanting forwards, chin to chest. Walking over to the sofa, positioning himself between the small, old table, he bent over, taking Eynon's mane in his hand, utilising it to lift his head up. His eyes were closed and Rob could hear the reduced breathing.
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"Kneel down? Here? Right in the parking lot?" Matt questioned Scott's directive.
"Ughhh!" Matt let out the belch, when Scott punched the cop in the stomach, which drove him to his destination, holding his gut while kneeling.
"Shit! You hit a cop!" Juan shouted out.
Without any remorse, Scott walked over behind Matt, readying to provide some humiliation for the cop, reaching around Matt's sides, taking the middle of his shirt in his hands and tore it open. Both college jocks again showed shock on their faces.
"Will you look at that!" Troy gasped, seeing Matt's pecs decorated with the nip clamps. "That's gotta hurt!"
Still kneeling, Matt, out of reflex towards the strangers, takes his shirt and pulls it closed over his chest, blotting out the clamps from view. He stands up, ready to cuss Scott out for doing that in front of strangers. However, he's speechless, upon seeing him in his leather, standing there tall, an icon of authority.
"Yes?" Scott asks, with a grin. Not getting an answer, with Troy and Juan as their audience, he commands, "Take the shirt off, boy!"
Matt stood there, deliberating.
Looking to his watch, with a black leather wristband, he informs Matt, "For every second, it's ten lashes." Then counts, "One second, ten lashes... two, twenty lashes..."
When he gets to thirty, Troy asks, out of curiosity, "Can a guy take thirty lashes?"
Buying Matt time, Scott interrupts his counting, informing Troy, "Slaveboys don't have a choice," then looking to his watch, resuming his count, "Forty lashes..."
It's then, Matt, who unknowing to the others, waited til the number peaked at forty, to slowly open the police shirt, pull it from his pants.
"Here, let me help," Scott says, tearing open the last two buttons, pulling it out of Matt's hands, pushing it back behind Matt's shoulders.
With a better view of the cop's chest, even in the dimly lit parking lot, the chain and clamps become electric.
Approaching Matt, Troy says, "He acts like it doesn't even hurt him."
His attention turning to the scene, Juan's loins tingle, wishing his nips were clamped, his first experience with the torturous steel teeth, unaware of the initial pain it caused.
"Well that's because he's used to it," Scott says, dropping the shirt on the ground, purposefully grinding it into the dirt parking lot. At the same time, he grabs at Matt's forearms, with both hands, pinning them behind his back. "Why don't we see how much this pig enjoys the nip clamps."
It's clear, to Scott, Troy didn't understand his meaning, so he spelled it out, "Go ahead. Pull on the chain."
"Shit! It's going to kill him!" Troy meant the intense pain.
"Oh but you'll see how much our police officer will really like it. Isn't that so Officer Boone?"
Caught in between reality and fantasy, Matt was really getting into falling prey to the young master in front of him. Feeling the throbs in his pants, he uttered, "Um, sure. Show me what you got, kid."
Troy stood there, still with mixed reaction.
It's Juan who set him straight, saying, "He means pull on the chain."
Right away, Scott, wanting to fit Juan into the fantasy, taking shape, releases Matt, dictating to him, "Hands behind your head, pig!"
Matt complies, as Troy stands amazed, "Shit! He's doing everything you tell him!"
"He better, if he knows what's good for him," Scott says, taking the handcuffs from the little pouch behind Matt's back. Then, like he's the cop, Scott instructs Juan to turn, place his hands on the car. Troy takes notice, as Scott frisks Juan, making sure he isn't holding any drugs or any other contraband, in his crotch area.
"Akkkkkk....ohhhhhhh!" Juan first screams out in pain, as his balls are squeezed, then gently massaged, through his jeans, ending with sighs of pleasure.
"Hey, can I try that?"
All three, Matt, Juan, but especially Scott, stood amazed at the request coming from Troy.
All for it, Scott replies, "Sure you can. On `your' boy!"
"My boy?" Troy quizzes Scott.
Then seeing his plan take on a definite shape, Scott tells him, "Yeah. Why don't we take our boys home and play with them?"
Juan and Troy followed Scott, as Matt trailed behind in his patrol car, the convoy headed to Scott's home.
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Something Jase hadn't counted on, the last heave of the draw, it came out of the socket of the countertop with a crash, utensils flying all over the place. `Oh shit! he sighed from behind the duct tape, knowing it could've been heard a block away.
"Oh no you don't, you fuckin' little traitor!"
Calling out in pain, Jase screamed, as his father grabbed the shoulder of his shirt, using it for a handle to wheel him out of the area the knives and other kitchen utensils lying on the floor. He wasn't expecting it, but had little doubt it wasn't something his own father would do, reaching over, grabbing him by the balls.
"You thought you could weasel your way out of providing me with some fresh entertainment, did you?"
The eighteen year old hardly heard the question, let alone form an answer, his mind too much on the big hand, big enough to squeeze both of his orbs, as he screamed out in pain, overriding the tape bondage to his lips.
Finally, with the letting go of the teen's balls, Rob thought a minute, then approached the utility closet, opening the door, searching for something.
With his head hanging back, over his shoulders, mouth open, trying to catch his breath, Jase sat there, his pubes pulsating from the after effects of having his manhood stangled. Perspiration dripped from his face, his shirt slowly getting soaked.
"Just what I was looking for!" Returning from the closet, appearing in front of his son, bending down, Rob fastened a metal cuff around Jase's left ankle, connecting it's mated end to the chair leg.
Thinking fast, Jase tried his last attempt at trying to save Eynon and himself, raising his foot and kicking his father in the balls. Falling back on his ass, the barefoot hadn't phased him much, but it did bruise his ego.
"You fuckin' bastard!"
Getting to his feet, Rob's big hand connected with Jase's jaw. Like a part of his body, the chair fell to his right. He moaned in pain, as his bod moved against the duct tape, seemingly cutting his arms and chest. The one cuff, attached to his left foot, dug into his ankle. His head throbbed.
"Oh you think you're in pain, do you? Wait til I get you downstairs, you little bitch!"
Jase screamed out with pain, when Rob uprighted the chair, ripping the strip of grey tape from his son's mouth.
As Rob bound the modern day shackle to Jase's other foot, the teen knew his physical facilities to protest a thing of the past had dissipated. Gathering what strength he had left, Jase comes out with, "You have no right to do this!"
Still squatting down, finished with his bondage work, Rob grins, replying, "I figured so. You've gone and fallen in love with that bitch-boy. What ever happened to Jeremy?"
"Jeremy is seeing another guy. Has been for awhile. As far as a relationship, we're history."
Rob recalls the past, "But it occurs to me, you saying, if Jeremy ever left you for another guy, you would have no problem turning him over to me?"
"That was two years ago and I didn't say if Jeremy `left me for another guy'. What I said is, if he ever decided not to attend the college I was going to," Jase corrected his father, something he rarely did and not without consequence. This time he was getting away with it.
"Well, is he?"
"Is he what?"
"Going away to college with you?"
"No," Jase simply put it.
"Then what's the difference?"
Not wanting to tell the truth, he really felt something for Jeremy, plus the fact Jeremy's home became his sanctuary from his father's oppression, he plainly put it, "It's just different, okay?"
Mulling Jason's words over, Rob comes to a conclusion.
"Then, since you are welching on your deal with Jeremy, I'll take this young man as retribution."
"I didn't bring Eynon home to get anything out of it! Eynon's not like that. He's...."
"Oh really?" Rob says, reaching in his back pocket, producing the book found on top of the bookshelf. "I distinctly remember placing this book back in it's place this morning. Your boyfriend' was flipping through it while we were in here. What do you think of your beloved' now?" he asks, as Rob places the book on the covered thigh, facing Jase, the title, `Sadomasochism' staring him in the face.
"Scott could have taken it out and put it there," Jase tried making excuse for Eynon.
"Don't make me laugh. Your brother knows as much as there is to know about BDSM, if not more than I do. It was him alright and don't you go trying to fuck me over with your lame excuses."
"It doesn't mean he's into it," Jase again tried clearing Eynon's name, at the same time, convince himself he's brought a normal guy home, in hopes of pursuing a lifelong relationship, without it being laced with BDSM.
"Well, whether he is or isn't, is entirely besides the point. Believe me. He'll be `getting' into it!"
As his father got up, he made a fist, deliberately targeting Jason's crotch, as he used it as leverage.
It pained Jase, to feel his orbs crushed, but his head fell to his chest, as he admitted defeat.
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"Fucking hell yeah!" Rob shouted out, with exuberance, especially excited since he couldn't find a trick online, for the night, at the prize on the sofa.
Back in the livingroom, Rob bear a huge grin, spotting Eynon on the sofa. To give himself an idea of what he would be playing with, he lifted Eynon's shirt.
"Oh fuck! You're hot boy! Real hot!"
Letting the shirt fly over Eynon's pecs, he spotted once again, the tight trail. With the back of his hand, he skimmed over it, on his way to the teen's loins. "Fuck yeah!" he called out, as if telling someone else, when he sensed the large lumps under the zipper area. Leaning forwards, Rob's shoulder dove into Eynon's midsection, grabbing his buttocks, heaving him up, out of the cushy sofa, over his shoulder. Dead to the world, Eynon's arms swayed back and forth to the rhythm of Rob's march, as he proceeded towards the hallway. Opening the heavy metal door, wood-toned on the outside, he flicked on the light switch. The stairs immediately lit up. When he got to the bottom, a second switch illuminated the rest of the area. Listening, he made sure the spring-loaded door, at the top of the stairs, slammed shut. The sound, like several times before, made him smile, knowing he was on his way to having another hot evening, in the dungeon.
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"You're into that bondage stuff, aren't you, Scott?"
"For a kid your age, you get around... so, Tristan, just how old are you really?"
"It's Tris," he corrected Scott, answering, "I'm seventeen."
"Fooled me. I thought maybe sixteen, at the most."
"Most people have the same opinion," Tris tells. "On the outside," referring to his clothing, "I know I look it, but underneath I... well let's just say I could beat out most college dudes, in `that' department!"
Laughing his ass off, Scott made comment, "Hey, if you're big `down there', you have nothing to be ashamed about, Tris."
With the subject out in the open, Tris sensing Scott okay to trust, says, "Yeah, that's what most guys say, if you're a real man, you've got to have big balls and a long cock."
"Whatever," Scott says, very well knowing how much fun it is to play with a big endowment and other enjoyments!
Watching the front dash, the trees rushing by, catching the view out of his side of the 4x4, Tris says, "You live a ways from town?"
"So, you've taken the tour, huh?" Scott means, finding his way around town, knowing the route to and from the jogger's park.
"I know where stuff is, but I've never been down this road before," Tris replies.
"We don't live near other folks, where their houses line up on a street, like nice little boxes. Passed down through generations, we're out in `the sticks'," Scott explains.
Slowing down, Scott takes the next left, off the main road, onto a gravelly textured surface.
"Hold on. It could get rough."
Hanging on for dear life, is what Tris did, as Scott dodged potholes, not slowing down for the bumps.
"Geesh! Why doesn't the town pave this street?"
"Street?" Scott replies, smiling. "Because this ain't no street. This here's the access driveway to our home."
No sooner had he said it, in front of them, in the distance Tris spots a stone archway.
"Here we are! Home sweet home!" Scott announces, sarcastically, as they pass under the bough.
Looking back, Tris takes notice of the rusty iron, one of the gates ready to split off its hinges.
"Somebody oughta fix that," Tris says, pointing behind himself.
"Yeah, right," Scott replies, thinking about all the times he's suggested it. After hearing, "'Can't afford it' or `not in the budget', Scott called his dad a liar, not to his face, but just thinking it, as he saw another piece of dungeon furniture being delivered.
"Why do you say that?" Tris asks, sensing the attitude.
Scott thought about it a lot, reasons why he's bothered to stick around. Afterall, he had a job, in a private boys school, teaching history, a good salary, on the contentions he would continue after he's achieved college grad status. But every time he thought of up and leaving, he's hesitated, thinking about what Jase would do without him. Being able to see the main house, from a distance, two tall spires rising above the trees, Scott pulls over to the side of the road. For the longest time, he's wanted to tell another soul about his plight, but no one has ever shown an interest.
"Did I say something wrong?" the seventeen year old inquired, giving Scott his full attention.
"No. Not at all. You're...." Stopped in midsentence, Scott looks into Tris' dreamy eyes, forming a smile on his own face. "Let's forget it, huh?" He says, putting the truck in gear.
"No. Wait, Scott," Tris softly says, placing his hand on Scott's forearm, connected to the steering wheel.
With his foot on the brake, Scott reaches over, cups Tris' head in his hand, uttering, "C'mere."
Not fighting the feeling, Tris allows himself be taken in, pressed against the seat belt, choking his loins, the seventeen year old gets a taste of his first kiss.
"Whatsamatter?" Scott asks, when he loosens his grip on Tris' neck.
Smiling, turning a bit red, he replies, "My first kiss."
"Oh really?" Scott says, putting his truck back in `park'.
"Yeah." Then giggling, he asks, "I bet you've kissed plenty of guys, huh?"
"Some, but hey, none with feeling like I got from you!"
This time, it wasn't only Tris blushing, as Scott realizes what he's said, a feeling more from the heart, as opposed to past experiences, bubbling up from lower down.
Remembering a few minutes ago, Scott faces reality, "Too bad you're not eighteen."
"Um, can you wait two months?"
"It would be tough to wait longer, but I think I can hack two months!"
Before Scott started out again, for the rundown mansion, he kissed Tris, like swearing an oath.
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Copyright 2007 T. Chase McPhee This story may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.