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`See The Good In All Things' 12
WriTten by T. Chase McPhee
%
"Are you sure I shouldn't use the GPS?"
Chad, who has directed Dean to take a right onto a dirt road, says, "nah. Been this way dozens of times."
With tree limbs whipping his truck windshield, Dean sums up, "must've been a long time ago, being the road is so overgrown?"
Seeing the look on Dean's face, Chad says with confidence, "look, I know where I'm going."
Dean was doubtful, "okay, if you say so."
It's then it seems the path through the dense forest opens up.
"There, I told you we're okay."
Admitting himself wrong, Dean doesn't offer a formal apology, "okay, you're right, but don't get used to it."
Then, after the next 3 minutes pass, Dean questions, "what's wrong?"
"What do you mean?"
Even though knowing Chad for less than a few hours, riding along, he could tell something amiss, "you're not like, casing the perimeter of my truck, like there's aliens chasing us?"
More into the law than science fiction, Chad says, "what does immigrants have to do with it?"
"No," Dean pounds the steering wheel, making his truck toot, "don't tell me!"
"What?"
Dean keeps switching off, from road, to Chad, back again, finally, like he was doing meditation, analyzes by seeing into his passenger's eyes, "you weren't kidding were you?"
"About what?"
"You're not a Star Wars fan I take it?"
Thinking 'border crossings' and 'spaceships', Chad says, "oh, you meant Martians?"
"Oh damn."
"What?"
While Chad was cross referencing Mexico vs. Tatooine, Dean has scoped out in the rearview flashing lights.
"Cops. They're on my tail."
'Now there's a thought', Chad muses to himself, saying, "well you better pull over."
Not that he had thoughts of outrunning a police vehicle, Dean, already slowing, and without there any resemblance of the shoulder of a road, stops.
Sitting there for a few seconds, Dean says, "I guess I should let you do the talking, counselor?"
Chad, letting it slide that Dean had the wrong division of the law he was employed by, jokes, "depends on the officer," he winks.
Finally two officers exit the police vehicle. One approaches Dean's side of the truck, the other, Chad's door.
Rolling down his window, Dean issues a cool, "what's up?"
Pulling on the handle of Dean's door, it opens, a voice barking at him, "get out."
Chad didn't have a thought, about the police not asking for driver's license and the other legal papers, so jimmies the handle on his door.
If the officer outside didn't step back towards the bed of the truck, he would have tumbled backwards down the embankment.
"Stay in the truck,, til you're told to get out."
In disobedience, Chad stood there, ready to confront, "what is all this about, officer?"
Apparently that wasn't the plan, the officer at the side of the truck unable to hold Chad prisoner in the front seat.
"So, you want to learn the hard way?"
Chad didn't see it coming, the officer already having his baton drawn, heaves it into his stomach!
"Ugh-h-h-h," Chad doubles over.
"What the fuck?" Dean yells out.
Already outside the vehicle, Dean was being herded to the hood of his truck. From behind, he didn't see it coming, the officer throwing him faced-forward, chest on the hood, his balls forced into the grilling.
"Shit!" he yells out, feeling the hood of his truck connect with his abs, but more his orbs wanting to be fed to the engine!
Chad makes an effort to get up and charge at the cop, who in his estimation, he didn't do anything to provoke such an action. A mediator of words, Chad was not the fighter a Police Academy offers, which with poor attack skills, had him lying face first in the dirt, the police baton taking a second toll on his abs.
Feeling threatened, Dean makes a fist and without a moment of thought, brings his whole arm behind, like he's trying to take a wall down.
The other cop, with Chad's face in the dirt, leans a knee to his back, cuffing one and then the other wrist behind his back. He stands just in the nick of time to see his partner fall sideways to the ground, reacts, "Dave, what the fuck?"
With quick thinking, Dean bolts around the hood of his truck, in an attempt to get at his phone, left in the beverage cup holder.
The officer Dean knocked off his feet jumps up. Taking after the twenty year old, he throws his baton towards the feet.
"Oh shit," Dean yells as he trips, stumbles and falls, flat on his chest.
Trying to elevate himself into a standing position, the cop places his foot on Dean's back, forcing his stomach to the ground, "stay down, bastard!"
In his attempt to escape, Chad, hands cuffed behind his back, had began rolling down the side of the road, not stopping until he felt water from a meandering brook.
Meanwhile, 'Dave' walks over to where Dean lays on the gravelly road, same time removing cuffs from the waist. In no time he has Dean's wrists cuffed behind the back.
Dean wasn't ready to go down lightly, assaulting the police officer with his words, "fuckin' asshole!"
Like he had done it numerous times before, 'Dave' brings Dean up onto solid footing. First on his knees, then feet, Dean is steered around by his arms, till facing the cop.
Immediately Dean voices opinion, "you didn't read me my rights. I deserve to have an attorney." He knew it went something like that, from watching cop shows on Tv.
Holding Dean erect, by balling his shirt up in his hand, the cop barks, "in my court you ain't got no rights," he slaps Dean on the side of the face with the back of his hand, again sending him to his knees in the graveled dirt. Dave finishes his downward spire with a foot to the right shoulder, again having Dean taste dirt.
"Easy Dave. We'll have plenty of time for that later."
From down on his knees Dean receives an evil stare from 'Dave'. Then, with a view under the belly of his truck, he doesn't see Chad, which he breathes a momentary sigh of relief, that at least maybe he got away.
The cop named 'Dave', who had taken Dean, says, "I'll get with you later, boy."
Roughly Dave gets Dean to his feet. Taking another pair of cuffs, he attaches one ring to the cuffs at Dean's back, the other wrapped around the truck mirror, making Dean stay put.
It would seem like an easy task to some how lift the cuff off, only the mirror keeps it from achieving the job. Wisely thinking, Dean minds his manners, thinking, after they are gone, he can work his way at least from the truck, having to break the mirror in the process. Would be sin, being it cost him plenty, but thinks what the cost to having his abs worked over!
Stomach pangs and head spinning from his bod rolling over and over and over, plus his face landing in a pool of water, Chad coughs as he tries getting to his knees. A little tough when incapacitated with wrists cuffed behind the back. Thinking it a life and death situation, he tries his utmost. Making the grade, he's up and running, tripping to one knee, getting up and making his best effort to escape. Not only former Navy Seal training, Chad has done some warrior events, which has toughened him up. That last fall though bruised his knee some, keeping Chad from bouncing back quick.
The other cop was on him fast, "there you are, asshole!"
Within reach, a hand reaches out and grabs Chad by the shirt, almost pulling him back to his feet.
Held by his cuffed wrists and an arm under the chin, Chad smells bad breath!
"You'll pay for that little escape act, boy!"
"Oh, you got him, Pete?"
"Yeah, I got him and when I get him back to the compound, he's gonna get it but good!"
The two laugh, 'Pete' prodding Chad along.
Truthfully, at twenty-five-years old, Chad did feel like a younger man than the cop, whom he had doubts he was from any precinct, being his disheveled appearance. Skills of investigation kicking in, the uniform did seem genuine, but the manner in which the assumed officer acted, did not match up.
Not which Chad expected a truthful answer, "are you even a cop?"
The truth became evident, 'Pete' saying, "doesn't matter now boy, does it!"
He laughed, roughly pushing Chad up the embankment.
Dave, who had hussled ahead, met them at the top, grabbing at Chad's shirt, rationalizing, "where was it thought you'd go, boy?"
Having his joystick out, Dave brings it up through the corridor of Chad's legs, ramming it into the crevice of his crotch!
Pete condones it, "fuck you Dave, you're gonna leave me with all the fun gone outta him."
Perhaps Dave, having some military training himself, had noticed something about Chad, "shit. Soon we'll see just how much this boy can take!"
A few minutes ago, Dave was gung ho, helping Pete to capture his prisoner, but it was too enticing to leave Dean. While Pete was gone, Dave had the urge to see what he would have to work with. Tearing Dean's tee shirt open, saliva built up in his mouth right off, seeing all that pec fur, the stripe down the middle, treasure trail and because Dave's curiosity got the best of him, loosened Dean's belt and dug a hand into the crotch. He smiled at what he found. After a snarky remark, he put off any further investigations until later. He did leave Dean, bound to the truck mirror with thoughts of things not going well from here on in, another punch to his midsection to drive the point home.
When Pete brings Chad to the police car, he says, "where's your boy, Dave?"
Dave was already in the process of removing the cuffs from the truck mirror.
With his handle on the door, Dave holds it open like ushering a guest in at a fancy hotel, "recovering," he giggles, telling Pete, "from not behaving himself!"
Dean tries to mutter something, but his mouth has been plugged shut by what feels like a tennis ball.
Chad's mouth had already been muzzled shut by something black and round stuffed in his mouth, cabled to the back of his head.
He did get a look at their captor's police car, 'Villige Police' emblazoned on the side. Either their captors lacked originality, or had bad spelling abilities.
"This one's got a nasty mouth," Pete says, slamming the back door of the patrol car shut.
With confidence, Dave says, "oh, I'm sure you'll whip him into shape, Pete."
"Yeah, it's gonna be a pleasure watching!"
To show how good it will feel, Pete clutches his junk up two times.
Chad could hear their conversation, having a bad feeling about this. He was doubly concerned for Dean. After his shift at Steven Steeves' party, Chad was to meet with his superiors, regarding a sting operation in the area. Well, at least he would be going missed by those he was to meet with. If anything, the 'real' lawmen would be alerted and sent out to find him. All was not lost just yet.
%
Meanwhile, Rick had been called back to the precinct. His superior, Captain Fry, a built-looking police officer with ginger-brown hair, could be mistaken for older, when in reality he was a youthful forty year old.
He introduces Rick, "this is Mario Giorgiano, from Homeland Secret Security. He has been investigating for the past few weeks the disappearance of men in the area." Fry rolls his eyes at Rick, again, immediately scrutinizing the man, like prey, but keeps on topic, "apparently one of our local politicians, his son is one of the missing."
Since having entered police HQ's Rick had wondered who the hot hunk was!
Shaking Mario's hand, Rick says, "oh yes. College football player. I recall reading about it." He didn't want to let go, but didn't want the agent to think of it as anything but professional, "good to meet you, shall I call you Mario?"
It sounded corny, Rick knew, but he senses something with the agent's sweaty handshake.
The agent wondered, if the v-neck of Rick's shirt, showing a flanking of hair, led to more of the same. His mouth began to build up saliva, wanting to use his tongue like a towel. Being his captain had not dropped the surname, Mario reads off the tinny ID tag, "feeling's mutual, Officer Stack."
Mario knew how to hide his feelings and like Fry had done, moves onto the next subject, laying out a map on the desk, unfolding it.
"This," he taps the map with his finger, "is where we think the missing men are being held hostage. One of those Cold War bunkers which never got any use, ya know," Mario turns his head, finding Rick's cheek within kissing distance and to cover up almost reacting with a smooch, turns his head back to business, "stocked with everything needed to live through a nuclear winter."
Sensing himself, coming too close for comfort, Rick stands tall as a statue, "and as I would assume, being uninhabited for all those years, overgrown, becoming the perfect cover?"
It got Mario to thinking, not only the brawny 'bear' facade, but Rick had brains as well, which had him responding in the affirmative, "smart thinking."
"Thanks," Rick responds.
Then, for all of a portion of a few seconds, the two stood there, locking eyes.
"Ahem," Edwin, Captain Fry interrupts the mesmerized couple, "so, what is your plan, agent?"
Really, Edwin wanted to join in the discussion, but since Mario had walked through the door to the police station, the captain had to jump out of his seat after viewing the surveillance camera. Careful not to flaunt himself, he only thought it, 'what a fucking hunk', dropping his eyes to see the federal agent walk the hallway, capturing an even more realistic view of proportions. Even at forty year old, muscled police chief kept himself in excellent physical condition, working out at the gym. Every morning at 4am, he was out of the house and jogging. On weekends, which most he could leave business to his cohorts, Edwin hiked or rode his dirt bike. When he was able to sneak away, Fire Island became his playground, loving to surf, snorkel and fool around. Because of both exercise and nutritional regiment, Edwin had every right to wear a speedo, or less and parade around. On Fire Island, unlike the rest of the world he dwell in, he wasn't reluctant to allow men to freely pet the ginger-brown hair coursing over his chest and abs. Though, only certain men, whom met Edwin's expectations, he allowed to venture between his legs and handle his almost-10 apparatus and play his balls like pool balls.
Back on the job though, Edwin was all professional, but wasn't opposed to 'shopping', "and therefore forgotten, which is why it's on Mario's map and not our county (map)," he taps the one hanging on a wall.
"Of the hostages?" Rick questions, "I had no idea there were men who have gone missing. Do we know the full extent of who are the culprits' prisoners?"
Mario, who was just hit with some pulsings of his shaft, paying too much attention to the ginger muscle-bear, chokes, "uh, you wouldn't happen to have a bottle of water handy?"
Like it had become one wanting to out-impress the other, Rick rushes the office fridge, "of course."
Edwin smiled, knowing he took the last one last evening, and like he didn't have a clue, "if not, I'm sure Rick can rustle up a bottle," which could make him alone.
A quick look comes up empty, Rick bending to search the waist-high refrigerator, "hmm, I thought I saw one in there last night." Standing, "I guess not."
The man in charge, Edwin says, "well, what're you standing there for, Rick. Go find the man a water!"
But he didn't budge. It was like he thought, if he left the room, he'd come back and find the cappy and agent stripped naked and getting it on?
"Not a problem," Mario gets Rick off the hook, "like that's part of basic training, to 'deprieve oneself'?"
What Mario was not at liberty to share, he was deprieving himself right now. When Rick bent over, oh man did Mario hunger to get his 8-incher up that ass. However, he was conflicted about things, taking the opposite approach of thinking about the captain, that dark, ginger-red hair. From first encounter, he wanted to take the police boss in his arms and rather than a handshake, kiss the hell out of those bearded lips. To make his yearnings worse, all the time he's been talking about the case of the missing gay men, he's been silently dressing Fry down, lick whatever gingery fur he has to offer. It didn't help his lusting one bit, nips showing through the chest of his uniform.
"Deprivation? Like, how do they prepare you for something like that?" Rick asks, pouring out a cup of coffee.
Right now, Rick thought he could write an article on deprivation, 'wanting' his way and not 'getting' it, and at the same time keeping his cool. Watching the interaction between Mario and his superior, it was the dark-haired agent his mind was lusting after. He wondered what calibur 'gun' Mario was packing, being he thought his crotch began to look a pup tent. Same token, Rick was glad he could leave the door to the waist-high refrigerator propped open, to hide his 'bulk'!
"Most of it comes from experience in the field," Mario closes the gap up between himself and Edwin.
They weren't close to kissing, but both realize the implications. Like hell did the two want to jump on the opportunity, strip down and get it on, but kept their cool in sync.
With calculated abruptness, realizing he's about to lose it, thinking about those green eyes tucked under the ginger brown brows, Mario says, "not only are those men missing from this town, but from the surrounding area."
Rick was not at all keen with 'gaydar'. Someone else had to come out and say it. Insinuations and nonverbal language didn't work with him. Like, right now, he had a feeling, or maybe it's he 'wanted' Mario to be gay, to follow through on some wild, gay adventure between the sheets. Of his captain, the two drifting towards each other, that was kind of obvious, an attraction there. It was no one but himself to blame, Rick bringing it down on himself, 'damn, all these years and I never knew...' If Rick had concrete evidence, maybe it might had been himself and not Mario coming onto the big, ginger bear.
He almost missed Mario saying, "one of the men is a college boy. Maybe either of you have heard the name, 'Bocko or Bigler'?"
"Bock? Bigler? Doesn't ring a bell."
Rick let it be known, they were not the only two in the room.
"Bigler, that does ring a bell, Rick?" Edwin offers, feeling his loins take a rest.
One up on the captain, Rick says, "I know of a lacrosse player, 'Greg Bocko', over at Princeton?"
Mario kind of liked taking a break, while the two tried pinning a face to the name. It became a quandary the seams of his briefs ready to bust, switching off from one hunk to the other, not being to make up his mind which had the most appeal. Whereas Edwin was around six-foot-something and built like a monolith, Rick sported a slight gut, which didn't turn him off. Still, much as he would like to dwell on the subject, Mario turned off the channel and focuses on the dilemma at hand.
Diving right back in, Mario says, "you're both right. Greg began going by his mother's maiden name, when the couple divorced. He was only a young lad when that came about."
Never wanting to 'get ahead' of the boss, Rick says, "I guess that makes us both right!"
'Cute,' Mario thought, Rick standing there with this smug grin on his face.
"Hmm," Edwin, standing there with arms folded across his middle, makes a clicking sound with his teeth, letting it go.
Wishy-washy in his own thinking it depended on the man or the situation, Rick either playing the alpha male or getting pleasure out of groveling on his belly for a slab of meat to be placed in front of his eyes. Never wanting to offend his superior, in case his dreams of moving up ever transpired, "but you said it first, boss!"
'Ass-kisser,' Edwin knew. He didn't need the psychology course he took in college to tell neither a man's heart, nor which direction his brain and cock were taking him, "quit while you're ahead, Rick!"
There was one time not long ago, when a joke almost brought the chief and his cohort together. About the captain owing Rick a favor, which had Rick saying, 'you can thank me on your knees,' ending with both laughing it off. Yet, if someone else hadn't come in the door, something of the sort might have given way to too much thinking and a lot more action. Joking or not, Rick would never ask his mentor to fall down on his knees. More likely, he would talk Fry out of it, turning the story around to where Rick was more comfortable with the captain's sausage between his lips!
Acting totally professionally, except almost coming on to the precinct captain, Mario loved the show, breaking character, "y'know, you two should get with a script and do one of those comic club acts?"
Edwin and Rick stare at each other, the captain saying, "Nah."
Wanting to please his superior, Rick, even though he'd like to get 'something' on with his superior, "I don't see it."
Though, for a minute there, Rick was feeling very low-keyed, like he could just picture himself, falling to the captain's knees, working the gun belt from his loops, popping the button of his pants, digging in his briefs and filling his mouth and then pump it like a gas station!
"Regardless," Mario gets on with business, "what we have learned is more than Greg have been abducted."
Edwin and Rick stood there, eyes glued to the federal agent.
"On roads throughout here and right outside county lines, there would turn up vehicles without their drivers."
Rick certainly hoped he remembered all the facts. Kind of tough to focus, having to train one's mind on a hot Italian!
"We have names and addresses of two of those vehicles and checked. There would be a driver or his passenger not showing up for a party, a family gathering, or returning home."
Captain Fry, standing there with arms folded under his pecs, shirt carrying the weight of his gym-bulked pecs, just sneered at the thought of it. Apparently, he knew of the matriarch of the family Mario talked about, 'Martin Bigler'. He and the wealthy councilman had grown up in the same school here in town. Their families knew each other. What had been disturbing to the police chief, the times they were able to show their intimate sides, discreetly before and after those college years, lately Martin has shown less interest in exposing his gay side. It ticked Edwin off, whereas Martin could be 'very gay', but then to turn it off and act so straight. What took him off the scent, Fry wasn't yet ready to expose himself to the community as a gay man, so not being a role model for coming out, how could he condone others?
Rick loved training his mind on Mario, formulating the question, "you make mention of 'his' passenger. How would you know it's a male and not female?"
"In two cases there was another passenger in the cars. One was a man's partner, male and the other a boyfriend. Not which we're sure, but we're keeping an open mind that this could be considered a hate crime, being a gay couple is involved."
"And of the single driver?"
"Details are sketchy. We're only going on what we know so far, but we're also not jumping conclusions, however there happened to be a rainbow dash ornament. What would anyone thing? All in all, we're out to get the perpetrators and hopefully free the men who were taken from their vehicles."
Mario certainly was professional, and as Rick was thinking it, a dominant type of man. Sure would be nice to find out what other qualities he possesses!
It would humor Edwin, Rick trying to achieve the same stature, standing there like himself, arms folded across his cub-belly, hands tucked into underarms. It made him smile on the inside, thinking if the police officer had worked out, dieted, he could lose that baby fat. But Edwin was conflicted, because in a way, whenever he was fucking some guy at Fire Island, his mind was on the precinct, picturing Rick's back slapped on the dining room table and unlike the lucky man who took his nearly 10-inch tube in all the way, Edwin pictured his lips working over Rick's mouth and that hot belly, right below it... man, he had to get his mind off such things!
The entering of federal agents did just that, Edwin, Rick and Mario having to put their thoughts and inventions on the back burner. Though, Edwin was certainly puzzled when Mario turns from the agents and says, "I'll be briefing you later, Edwin."
Rick had few questions, one being, "what did he mean by that?"
Edwin, gathering himself to meet the feds, leans into Rick, "jealous?"
"Not at all," Rick retorts. "Just wondered what briefing meant, or maybe 'de-briefing'?"
Well there was something they could agree on, both raising eyebrows, on purpose, Rick's superior saying, "hm-m-m, hopefully wrapping up the case won't take long!"
%
Meanwhile, right down the road from the direction Dean and Chad were headed, the police vehicle came to a halt. Pete got out, but over the seats, crude wiring and through the mucky windshield, neither of the two prisoners could make out what he was moving. Could have been a gate or a log across the road. Whatever, it was obvious the car couldn't ride over or through it. After Dave pulled the faux police cruiser through, Pete blocked the way and got in the car.
He couldn't let it slide, throwing a jeer, "I hope you're as revved up as I am, Dave," he picks up the bottle of beer he left in the center cup, woofing the remainder down his gullet.
"Why don't you get your lips over here Pete, and I'll show ya!"
They laughed it off, whooping it up, talking gay shit, which had the passengers in the back thinking one or both might be gay.
For certain, whereas Chad was concerned, it made no difference if a man were straight or gay. Earlier on in his late teen years he met up with married men who, in the beginning foreplay, a man liked licking his teen tube, licking the tip, slurping up and down the sides, making him nice and hard. Nine out of ten times, it ended with himself getting rammed up the ass. Only once did he slip his cock into a married dude's ass, of which after he pumped the dude's guts full, a confession from the married dude, him coming out. Whether that stuck or not, Chad never knew. He never saw the guy again.
Of the here and now, Chad was feeling for Dean. Not in the way new lovers draw conclusions. More, Chad's mind was on the moment and it certainly seemed he and Dean were in for it.
Soon as the car came to a dead stop, the front doors were jacked open. Dave led the way, pulling open Dean's side of the car. Roughly he pulled on Dean's arm, 'tipping' him out of the car, not waiting for him to be uprighted on his feet. He also added cordial words, "welcome to your new home, boy!"
In panic, Dean tries getting up and running, which has Dave cutting his escape with a shove to the ground, "leaving the party so soon?"
Pete, who seemed a little less rugged, but with the same ruthlessness, drags Chad from the seat, by the fabric of his shirt.
Unlike Dean, Chad is in his security uniform, which has Pete saying, "let me guess, Navy?"
Indeed, Chad sees Pete is drunk, which might not be all that bad, thinking he's in the navy and not a security guard. It wouldn't matter, not if it should happen they search him, finding him to be wearing a federal marshall's badge!
Dean just couldn't win. Soon as he got to his feet, Dave would spin him around and plant a fist in his stomach.
Chad, who had Pete push him around the car, speaks up, saying to Dave, "I guess that makes you feel like a real man, picking on a kid?"
Kid, Dean was twenty, Chad only five years older. They weren't kids, but certainly older than Dave and Pete, who looked to be in their late thirties or forties.
"Is that so?" Dave grabs Dean by an arm and leads him over to where Pete and Chad stand.
Worn out, Dean was able to stand, but after the abuse had lost much of the fight in him, which gave Dave the ability to hold his cuffs in one hand.
Chad stare Dave down, expecting the worst, as much or more than Dean had been given. He tightened his abs for one, maybe two punches to his midsection.
It didn't come, Pete inadvertently saving him for the moment, "be more fun with them strung up, with their asses draped over a table, Dave?"
"Like I always say," Dave stare at Chad and then his partner, "you ain't as dumb as you look, Pete!"
They both laugh it off, taking their prisoners round back of a concrete, windowless building.
Dean couldn't think straight, long-winded, his gut aching. He thought of another attempt of escape, but right after, thinking it fruitless, not with his hands to fend off his attacker, Dave would cut him down in his tracks. For now he would play it their way, even though he didn't like the sound of where this was going.
For Chad, even though he hasn't known Dean that long, has developed a fondness. Not a wimp at disaster thrown at him, having been a Navy Seal, he knows danger when it comes his way. He's been in situations where his life has been put at risk, or suffered bodily harm. Chad's been put under the lash, having been strung up and whipped. The few punches in the stomach he's endured today is nothing compare to two adversaries working his abs over, to derive information. The plastic surgery on his chest did manage to hide the scars from being branded, but where modern medicine failed, the hair on his chest manages to coverup that cruel torture.
A door is easily propped open, Dave using a key from around his neck. Dean is escorted in first. Brought in after, Pete closes the door behind the entourage.
"Ah, home sweet home," Dave leads them inside, breathing as if a cup of morning coffee.
Not as rough, more stable a voice, Pete says to Chad, "get used to it. It's your home now, boy."
Right off, Chad gets the impression Pete is less the man, or rather the alpha male that Dave believes himself to be. Maybe there will be something in that.
From the empty room, Dave opens another door, forcing Dean to step through.
He couldn't speak, not with the gag in his mouth, but Dean did want to voice opinion about what he viewed, "oh shit!"
Chad, one of the feds in the area, set up to root out information, is not suprised at what they find. Reports of men being missing, it's obvious of where they went.
Dave, talking out loud, Chad knew it was meant to terrorize his victims, says, "now, let's see where we can fit you in, boy," he pushes Dean into the center of the room.
He needn't be the one to terrorize, Dean having already seen the effects of the cops' handiwork. Stripped naked, a dude is tied eagle-spread to a table, all four limbs secured. On his chest are something silver, which to Dean looks like the guy has nipple rings.
Dragging Dean with him to the side of the high-ceilinged chamber, Dave loosens a set of chains. In the center of the room a hook comes crashing down, making a loud sound as it hits the floor.
"Oops, too far," he hauls it back up.
Not playing up to his game, Chad has the opposite feelings for Dean, who reacts with a shudder to the sound. But right now, there's nothing he can do about it, but keep his own whits about himself.
Pulling Dean back to the center of the room, Dave removes one of the cuffs, brings Dean's arm around to the front and recuffs both together. He places it up, over the hook, which is above Dean's head. To make sure Dean doesn't lift his hands back, escaping, Dave pulls back on his legs.
It hurt like hell, Chad hearing the pangs of pain escape Dean's lips. From his own experience, plus looking upon the helpless guy stretched out and bound to the table, another eagle-spread on the other side of the room and makeshift jail cells, he knows this is just the beginning. His attention is drawn back to the sound of a winch, which has Dean's bod being raised up off the floor.
"Don't want you out so soon, boy," Dave adjusts the length.
Dean, standing with feet flat on the floor, was grateful he was not hanging from the cuffs, the metal digging into his wrists, but was fearful, watching Dave walk towards him.
Pete, manhandling Chad, says in his ear, "soon it'll be your turn, boy."
Like Dean, his mouth was sealed shut. For whatever reason or being, Pete decides to unlatch it.
"There ya go. Unlike your buddy, you can scream all you want, boy!"
He felt so bad for Dean, especially watching Dave walk over to a wall and come back with a strap in his hand. Looked just like the one his old man used on him, which had Chad feeling bad for its victim. In his own mind, Chad has been to hell and back. Dean, he's just been to high school and on his way back to college. What does he know of tactical training, of being under the control of an enemy, torture?
Making a decision, which could mean sacrifice for himself, he says, "if you look in my back pocket?"
Pete might have been gullible, but not a softee, turning Chad around and copying Dave, plants a fist in his stomach!
Chad makes a belching sound, which was mainly acting, since he knew what his captives probably were out to get. If he didn't want to see harm come to Dean, Chad had to act fast, "I was only trying to," another punch to the gut, perservering, "show you my ID. Maybe it'll," another punch, "change your mind."
With money on his mind, Pete flips Chad around, "it won't, but I don't mind having a little extra spending money," he laughs.
What he did find certainly changed up the gameplan.
Dean didn't experience any abuse at this point, Dave removing his sneakers, whipping the belt from the twenty year old's pants, unbuttoning, unzipping and removing his trousers, then taking his briefs down and off. Very humiliating, a damp feeling blowing over his cock and balls, yet Dean was more concerned with other things, ending up like some of the other residents of the dungeon-like area.
At the sight of Pete holding up a leather case, allowing the bottom to drop out, flashing a medal badge, plastic cased ID, Dave immediately leaves Dean's perimeter, "oh shit!"
Hustling over, Dave steals the ID out of Pete's hand.
Right off Pete says, "have we got a problem?"
Dave orders, "take that thing off his head."
Pete frees Chad of the ball gag in his mouth.
Interrogating, Dave barks out, "who knows you're here?"
Nonchalantly Chad says, "no one."
He eyes Chad, staring him in the face. Whether he belives him or not, Dave sums up, "why do I find that hard to believe?"
If Chad played his cards right, any second now his bod would be hauled off and strung up. At least for the moment, Dean would be ignored. Relief over the abandoment, had Chad, thinking, 'I love it when a plan comes together!'
%
In full force officers from the small town precinct and the feds were hot as bloodhounds on the trail.
The feds knew, if an agent is found out, a cell phone could be discarded along the way, or crushed with a sledge hammer, ruling out the possibility of GPS being used to track them down. However, nowadays they were installing chips surgically in the heel of an agent's foot. Unless losing a foot, it was a sure way of keeping the whereabouts secretive while tracking.
It was the answer to Edwin's question, intently listening to the federal agent's explanation at how they were set on course without revealing details.
Edwin had been thinking about direction, riding along with one of the agents, situated in the front seat of the dark-windowed van, "oh really? I would have never guessed."
Back at his office, Edwin had been surprised, riding with this agent and not the same truck as Mario and Rick. Out of nowhere the driver had directed them to another truck. For himself, it seemed like he was picked out of the blue, to ride with the dark-suited agent, wearing sunglasses as dark as the windows of the oversized SUV.
"There's a lot people take for granted."
"Oh?" Edwin questions, "for instance?"
He knew he wasn't supposed to elaborate, the agent saying, "open the glove compartment."
Edwin complies, asking, "and what is it I'm looking for?"
"Black, leather covered book."
Searching under a few papers, Edwin says, "geesh, you look like you need a secretary!"
While Edwin did a search of the glove compartment, the agent tips his shades doing a search of 'Edwin', remarking, "keep looking. It's there somewhere."
"Found it," he holds up the black binder.
"Good. Open to the back page."
Edwin searches, opening the back flap, "what now?"
The agent reaches over to Edwin's uniform, the pec-pocket and grabs a pen. Clicking it writable, "put your name and a phone number where I can reach you night or day."
As he jots down the information, Edwin's thinking, if the agent didn't make his move soon, he would have to be forthcoming. After crossing the last 't', "I don't even know your name?"
"Romain Gerard. I hope you're going to be home later."
He pay attention to the road, but for Edwin's advantage he wore a cocky grin.
"How do you even know I'm gay?"
"Are you joking? Soon as you left your precinct, I could feel your eyes all over me!"
It's the first giggle he got out of the agent, Edwin saying, "how observant of you."
"Not the only part I was checking out," Romain tilts his shades and stares between Edwin's legs.
They hit a bump. Because Romain's hand was on his shades, Edwin grabs the wheel.
"Whew! That could've been some joy ride," Romain says, returning his hand to the steering wheel."
Edwin snickers, "what makes you think it's not going to be?"
"Mm-m," Romain says, feeling his balls churn.
%
As predicted, Dave hands Chad's cell phone over to Pete saying, "get rid of this for me."
Taking it to the side, the sledge hammer they used to permanently affix a chain in place, Pete picks it up, bringing it down onto Chad's cell. It smashes into pieces, hammered over and over.
Meanwhile, Dave puts the finishing touches on Chad's naked bod, closing a clamp around his left ankle.
"Now the fun begins," he approaches Chad, eagle-spread, wrists bound to two separate chains extending up towards the ceiling. He rubs his right palm over his left fist, being left-handed.
"Wait. I thought he was going to be mine?"
Stifled by Pete's words, it reminded Dave, how much he wanted to workover the college boy. A 'nip-man', driving over to the compound his mouth was actually salivating, craving the use of clips or clamps on Dean's nips.
It had been the same with each man they brought in. As with the gay couple, Pete took one and he the other. More into toying with a guy, literally, Dave would take more time with a victim, whereas Pete would bind a guy for the pleasure of getting licked and sucked and then as the moment panned out, either downloading on the dude's bod, making him take it down the throat, or up the ass.
Not which it was over and done with, with time as part of his agenda, Pete took it slow, making sure his stiff shaft was fully wet by the hot mouth servicing him. When it felt like he was going to come, he pulled out of the dude's mouth and made him lick under his balls. Depending on how hot, how horny Pete got and the urge to come, he may let this play out for an hour or more. The one thing Pete could get into, that didn't phase Dave a bit, was not leaving his victim to take a liquid bathroom break. While he had the guy's mouth propped open, Pete forced his cock in and relieved himself down to the last trickle. The way Pete had the dude bound, there was no where else for the piss to go, but down the hatch and into the guy's stomach!
It seemed Dave had himself as the alpha half of the gay couple. Having his man splayed out on a wooden table, arms up, wrists tied, legs attached to the bottom of the slab, when Dave set his bare balls on the dude's chest and tapped lips with the bulb of his cockhead, he often met with refusal to open up! Rather than deter him, it delighted Dave, all along wanting to 'apply the screws' and with glee rushed away to get a tray of toys, meant for making a man give in. He spent the first fifteen minutes of torture on the dude's nips, applying flat tipped clips at various amounts of force. After torturing his nips, Dave again straddled his victim, knees at the sides of his bod, tapping his meaty cock on lips, toying with his helpless victim, "open up and let Daddy in!" Refusal put a smile on Dave's lips, because there were dozens of other ways to get his jollies.
Instead of clamps, Dave had two pair of adjustable pliers in his hands. He set them with a wide gap. Grabbing up an ample amount of pec meat, he squizzed the handles together. That first bite was meant to terrorize, not really causing any pain. But the second grab tore deeper into the nip, making his victim respond. Before long Dave adjusts the pliers with less of a gap, targeting the tips of the nip. He works both from the sides and straight on. As his victims cries out, Dave jokes around, "oh, so now you're interested in sucking my cock!"
As what happens, a victim can take only so much and passes out, as happened with the gay couple, as before them, the college football player before them and in other towns before this, other victims for Dave and Pete to hone their craft.
Having traveled around, Dave and Pete had 'set up shop' only a month ago, leaving another area of the country. As with other locales, soon they would be ready to 'advertise' and make money off of the men they incarcerated in their makeshift playroom. They only stalked those who were of the muscle type, who seemed to have the must stamina, bouncing back after some hot dungeon play.
The college football player had caught Dave's eye, but it was actually Pete who spotted the player, out on the football field, just in time to see him strip off his shirt. Oh man, did it make Pete lick his lips as he peered through the chain link fence. Not as much his partner in crime, into a man's nips, Pete admired how the sun reflected off the golden blonde hair. With the hair coursing over the footballer's pecs and stomach, it was a sight of golden beauty. Studying from the darker treasure trail to where the rest of the uniform obscured the fuzzy hair, Pete wondered how much of that pent up cock and balls was composed of the jock protector and how much was flesh! Not wasting any time, Pete got out his phone and took a multitude of pics. Then, busied himself with sending them off to Dave. Not minutes, but second afterwards, Dave sent him a text back, telling Pete to find out as much about him as he could.
Posing as an officer of the law, having the uniform he and Dave crafted to make it look real, Pete approached the coach of the team, making up a story of how college jocks were drag racing off road and the fact arising one was on the football team. It was reported one of the youths, blond.
"Well," Coach Eisley says, "the only blond on the team is Greg O'Keefe," his casts his own glance to the footballer, "but Greg? No, I highly doubt he's the type." Still gazing at the shirtless blond, "I think you have the wrong college, officer."
Returning his eyes to the cop, the coach finds more attention being given to himself, which has him silently questioning.
Realizing Pete might have led the coach to believe he had a craving for his ass and more, Pete says, "well thank you kindly, coach. I suppose I might have the wrong college. Have a nice day."
The coach kept vigil on Pete's ass till he was out of site. He was amused by the patch on the uniform, thinking someone had goofed up royally, spelling the town, 'Village', as 'Villige'. Shrugging it off, he had other things better to worry about, like getting to his office to jerk off!
When Pete sat in the driver's seat of his patrol car he sighed a deep exhale. He couldn't deny the shirtless footballer a good catch, but wondered how much the coach would not be!
As their recipe for succes panned out, after Pete scoped out the college campus, he found Greg would leave practice, alone and head home. First time his eyes followed the college player to his car, which was not at all modest. It wasn't a posh campus by no means, which had Pete thinking, for a college frat to own a sportscar, he had to have loot. However, watching the usual, a shirtless football player walk to his car, Pete was about to shoot his load, all over the hotness of the college fratboy. Dave had let his shaft shoot out it's goo all over the floor of the cruiser, under the steering wheel, so why should he worry if he should catch it in his hand or not!
Shortly thereafter, a couple of days passing, Dave and Pete would hound down their prey and that night the footballer, after some coaxing, would find himself stripped naked and cuffed to a bondage table in the fake cops' makeshift dungeon.
He had tough nips, as Dave put it, not only clamping them tightly, but stretching the meaty pecs off overhead. Wide shoulders made a nice slate for painting welts on his back. His balls seemed bigger after being tied off and stretched. Other than fucking the player themselves, Dave put the footballer's ass off limits, keeping it nice and tight for when they put him in use for paying clients.
That was fine for Pete, who now hoped Chad's butt would be up for grabs, which had him whining, "when do I get to plug his ass, Dave?"
With a pair of pliers in each hand, Dave says casually, "maybe after I turn his nips to mush, give it an hour or so."
Pete was disappointed. Then, he turned around to face Dean. Seeing Dave so enthralled with the FBI agent, Pete figured the distraction was enough for him to have some fun!
Walking over to Dean's back, as he hung with cuffed hands overhead, Pete verbally expresses himself, "wonder how tight your ass is, boy?"
Feeling a hand on his back, then a finger move slowly down, stopping at the crack, Dean reacts, "fuck you."
With pompous attitude, at least he tries being a tough guy, "you won't be sassin' me boy, after I plug that hole of yours!"
Pete wasn't from the south, but he could talk pretty good 'southern'! Also, not being the tough guy his partner in crime could be, Pete didn't sound too convincing.
Maybe Dean shouldn't be fuckin' around with the guy, but saw how pathetic he was, "are you sure you don't want it the other way around, dude?"
Pete had to think on that one. At least that's the way it seemed, with the fake cop not expressing a counter attack!
Always boasting about himself, Pete once told Dave a dude's ass was real tight, when in reality he found out how it feels to have a long, fat cock up his own ass. It's how he and Dave met, at a traffic holdover parking lot during a snow storm, roughly 12 years ago. In all that time Pete has used Dave a his mentor, but as nature has it, a person is who they are and responds to that calling. Whenever Dave can't find an ass to ream, he has a guaranteed resource to fall back on.
Pete also stood there, tapping his lips, thinking about fucking Dean. Again, a major failure. Even though he had hand down his own pants, rubbing his shaft, Pete's ass more reacted to Dean's cock, where he could put it and what he could do with it!
Meanwhile, Dave went on the attack, cinching Chad's nips up in the pointy fangs of pliers. A master of his trade, having worked a lot of guys' nipples, Dave knew how far the gap should be to give the least amount of pain. From that basic he built from far a 3/4 inch gap, to 1/2, to where there was hardly a gap at all. He would pinch around the outside, gathering up some of a guy's meaty pec, then slowly work inwardly till only the tip of a dude's nip hadn't been squeezed. He worked slow, allowing the pain to dissipate, applying and then letting the burn subside again and again. At times he would hold the dude's nips, right in the jaws of his left handed grip, left nip in his right hand, giving a gentle pull, badgering Chad, "you want daddy to pull these nips hard, boy?"
Knowing something about pain and being delivered by someone who thrives on it, Chad had two things in mind. Whether or not he was in pain, he would utter a scream like his nips were on fire, instead of keeping silent, like some jocks would do, thinking of themselves as the better man, to manup and keep the pain in. Chad knew his torturer would be as severe whether loud or silent. However, he gave him an Academy Award rendering, screaming as if his nip was being torn from his pec. After feeling the real thing, he knew how to fake it!
Slowly he would fake signs of fatigue and then, no matter how much it hurt, fake passing out.
Whereas Dean thought he was up for being mortally wounded by some of toys hanging about, he became suspicious of Pete's motives. Like, instead of being torture with pain, Pete's lubed hand working his cock gave him a different type of anxiety.
Call it dumb, or ignorance, Dean compromises his feelings, "aren't you supposed to be hurting me, or something?"
Now adding his own shaft to the equation, stroking himself and Dean, cocks side by side, "maybe later." After a sigh of sexual feel-up, "for now, this feels way to good."
Not which he was a procrastinator, Dean did like the sound of that. More though, watching at first, seeing the good affect Pete's hand was having on him, giving away to ten digits, it made the twenty year old throw his head back in pleasure, rather than pain.
"Oh man," Pete sighs, "I can't wait to get you deep inside me."
This gave Dean an idea, "you want it real deep?"
"Yeah. I'm gonna be pushing myself back real hard."
Getting some of his hutzpah back, Dean was regaining that audacity which fear had taken away from him, "that's not the way to do it."
Suddenly, the melding of two hard shafts being massaged stopped, Pete looking up at Dean, "you got a better way?"
Even though in dire straits, Dean was humored by Pete's cute, dumb attitude. And surely, he did have a cutesy smile, following the contours of his close-cropped beard, which had him saying, "of course. There's always a better way. I've given lots of dudes a hot, hot fuck," he built it up and up, "whereas they were wanting me more and more inside them," he got dramatic, seeing Pete eat it up, "but not in a position with my arms up and all?"
It did freak Dean, hearing Chad cry out, like he was being skinned alive, not which he knew anyone who had been, but it did irk him and it was time for him to do something about it!
"So, you're going to deprieve yourself, Pete, just because you're boyfriend doesn't want you to?"
"Boyfriend?" it passed over his head, Pete saying, "Dave's not my boyfriend."
"Yeah, whateva. So, you want the hottest fuck of your life, or maybe you want to go check with Dave, to see if it's all right?" He built it up, "or, do you even need Dave's permission to get your ass reamed?"
He was playing Pete, hoping he was building up some courage in the dude.
Standing adamant, Pete actually stomped a foot, saying, "I don't need Dave's permission for anything!"
Dean liked that answer, but the lowering of his arms more so. If he got out of this, confident he and Chad would, he would go to the gym more.
Carefully Pete unlatched the chains from the ceiling. He had to do it slowly, so Dave would not catch on. Rattling chains, passing through a winch could make a lot of mashing of steel against metal.
Sooner than later, Dean was able to lift his cuffed wrists up over the hook, cuing in his aggressor, "that's enough."
In a way, Pete wished had and Dean were not at odds at being enemies. Looking upon the furry chest, dark stripe dividing Dean's abs half, fuzzy navel and thick pubes, long cock and 'those balls!', Dave's mouth was really watering. He didn't linger too long working up a thirst. He knew he only had this one shot, because like all their bounty, Dave always got first pick.
"How do you want me?"
Dean had a field day with this!
First Dean had Pete take the handcuffs off his wrists. Next, he convinces Pete, if he had something in front of him to brace his bod, he could fuck him deeper.
"You got it," Pete succumbs to Dean's way of thinking.
This takes them crossing the compound floor, to another room. Pete leads Dean over to a post. Near the top are two rings hanging down.
Really, Dean could've subdued Pete, taken him as his own prisoner, but his balls were churning, so what's a guy to do?
"First, I need you to strip."
Like any man, with the anxiety of knowing they are about to have to hottest fuck of their life Pete is no different, following orders. Virtually he rips his tee shirt off overhead and in no time is fidgiting with his belt.
Dean sees an in with this, to gain trust, "here, let me do that."
Speaking truthfully, Pete says as he stands still, arms at side, allowing Dean's hands to roam free, "oh man, I wish we weren't enemies."
Being coy, Dean says, "enemies? Why would you think that?"
Playing for time, it worked, Pete going a confessional spree, pouring out information which puts him only as an accomplice, a henchman not really causing any of their kidnapped victims harm. More the muscle, even though Pete really doesn't have much there, when it comes to working out. Periodically, Pete's gaze is drawn from Dean's hands working his belt buckle.
Like they were sexual buddies getting down to business, Dean says, "wow."
"What?" Pete's eye settle on Dean's hands, parting the flaps of his pants and after he has anchored his briefs in the cradle of his balls.
"Really nice cock," Dean moves it out of the way, "and these balls! Any guy would be envious, Pete."
Looking up at Dean, then down at his own crotch, Pete gets the idea that maybe they may not be the enemies it seems, "well, if you like'em, I think you might like my tight ass?"
Well, afterall, Pete was a bottom, which he liked to wrap his hand around something of substance, caress, stroke, and nice set or orbs to fondle, while jerking off. A prelude to all this would be rubbing hands over both lightly haired pecs, lightly pinching his nips and very quickly moving on down the stripe to where his shaft was already standing tall.
"Oh man, you've really got me horned up, Dean."
There it was again, more of a bout between lovers and not adversaries.
Chad's yelp causes Dean to snap out of it, "why don't you finish taking your pants and sneakers off, while I go look for some rope?"
Pete akes up the slack, pushing pants and briefs down and with one swoop is out of the garments. Without untying his sneakers, he takes one from each foot and then peels his socks.
Dean patiently waits seeing Pete with lust in his eyes, talking up how it thinks it will go, "oh man, this is going to be so good. You'll see."
Tossing everything aside, Pete gloats, "my ass. It's real tight. Guys love using it."
It did stun Dean, that such a klutz like Pete, he sure had a hefty endowment, but instead of making this into an art gallery show, "good. Turn around face the column."
He complied, turning an eye over his shoulder, Pete saying, "how do I know you're not going to give me the slip?"
What every waiting bottom doesn't want to hear, Dean utlizes, "you want me to lose my load on the floor, instead of your ass?"
With haste Pete slaps his cock and balls up against the post.
All guesswork, Dean was guessing correct, Pete falling victim to his whims.Having saved the cuffs from his own wrists, Dean holds them between his teeth. From there, Dean raises Pete's arms overhead, cinches the cuff around the other wrist and then hangs the whole works over a hook hanging out of the post.
Working fast, Dean pulls at the sides of Pete's asscheeks. Once the tip of his cock is slipped in between Pete's asscheeks, it was a cinch to grab one wrist and cuff it.
"Hey, what're you doing?" Pete notices.
"I thought you wanted a deep fuck?"
"Oh yeah. Sure," Pete accepts it.
Much as he wanted to go to Chad's rescue, Dean's shaft had reached the point of no return. He rationalizes, after feeling Pete's ass warm up the outside of his cock, he'll call it quits.
"Oh yeah," Pete remarks, feeling his ass impaled, while arching his back.
Only, for Dean, it wasn't as easy as he thought. With desire beyond his control he shoves his hips forward, causing Pete to issue a cry of pleasure.
Then, with a cry of pain, Chad's, not Pete's, Dean is swept from his sexual reverie, pulling out in one swoop, using the fake cop's ass as leverage.
Apparently not the first time for Pete, he relates to the evacuation, "oh yeah. This time shove it in all the way. I can take it!"
No doubt he could, but Dean's mind had slipped back in rescue mode. He felt for Pete, knowing what it's like, from fucking other guys, to have a cock pulled out before it's prime, "hold on. I'll be right back," even though that was not the intention, "I've gotta get more lube."
Pete bought it, but looking up at his wrists, cuffed and place over a hook at the top of the post, chest, stomach and pubes rubbing on the rough wood and now spread legs in a void, it didn't feel half bad, rubbing his shaft against the wooden pillar!
Much as he'd like to hang around and fuck the living daylife out of Pete, Dean pulls out and not caring if goo is stringing off and flying everywhere, hustles over to where Chad's cries of pain are calling him.
When Pete realizes Dean has indeed given him the slip, he's in a quandary. If he confesses allowing his cock to rule his mind, then like other times in his life, Pete will be called a ninny, a failure, an idiot and other derogatory terms, ones in which people have addressed him throughout his life, beginning with his own father. For certain, at times, Dave has been no exception. Instead he does nothing.
Meanwhile, his cock and balls swinging free, Dean heads out of the side room and seeing a whip, one with a massive handle and long talon, sitting on a table, picks it up. For certain he never whipped a dude in his life with such a weapon of massive destruction. A belt, yes, in an S&M scene, but he knew what this kind of whip could do. He only hopes he knows how to use it!
Instead of calling out to Dave, his back towards him, Dean wields his instrument of subduction. Hoping to catch Dave, wrapping the bullwhip around his midsection, it lands low, capturing around the legs.
"Oops."
Suddenly Dave uncouples the pliers from Chad's nips and looks down.
"I'm fucked," Dean casually says.
Turning around, Dave grits his teeth and in an evil tone, says, "you shouldn't be playing with toys you don't know how to use, boy!"
He watches as Dave's grin turns into a grimace, pulling at the handle of the bullwhip with all his might. He even made a noise, like a musdle-dude doing reps at a gym, "gr-r-r-r-rrruh!"
It probably worked better than if it had looped around Dave's chest. Before he can allow Dave to steal it from him, uses the bullwhip to pull the feet out from under his aggressor's torso, casting him to the floor, having Dave express himself as he crashes to the floor, "oh shit!"
He didn't stand there and take the glory, instead leaping into action, literally, mounting Dave's back, driving his chin into the concrete floor. Dean did feel a dull ache in his stomach and because his balls landed on Dave's ass, kinda crushed something.
He warns, yelling into Dave's ear, "stay down muthafucka!"
Both, no match for the older man and worn out from being subdued, Dean couldn't deliver what he was promising.
"Is that so?"
Doing a pushup, Dave overturns himself and Dean, slapping the 20-year old to the concrete pavement. In no time Dave pressed hands to the floor and uprighted himself. He untangles the bullwhip from around his legs and hip.
Taking the handle of the bullwhip, Dave treats it like a professional cowboy, letting it pan out over the floor. Then raising an arm, brings up over his head, allowing the single frond to dangle behind him.
"Now you're gonna regret what you did boy!"
Like from the beginning of their torment, Dave poured on the fear, spelling out the dastard deed before striking. Instead of bringing the bullwhip down from over the shoulder, he let it trail like a snake on the floor, "brace yerself boy and get ready to bleed!"
A gut reaction, Dean rolls over onto his belly and curls up in a fetal stage. He felt the whip come down over his shoulder, and it hurt, "akk-k-k-k-k-oh shit!"
Chad, who had been in and out of consciousness, from his own ordeal, groggy, comes around in time to see Dave raise the bullwhip.
"Yeah, that was just a tickle, boy. Now for the real thing!"
His laugh was cut short by Chad interrupting him, "why don't you pick on a real man!"
In his lifetime, Dave would always credit his evil streak and the mean way in which he could deliver, to men challenging him, "is that so?"
Turning his attention from Dean, "stay put boy, if you know what's good for ya," Dave walks over to Chad and stands there, right in front of him. "I guess you didn't have enough, eh," he rubs the handle of the bullwhip over one nip, then the other.
Chad whistles, inhaling the painful sensitivity and knowing as long as he kept Dave entertained, his wrath would be drawn from Dean, "what'd that whip come with your Ken doll?"
"Ken doll?" Dave laughs. "More like the rodeo circuit and about to teach the bull a lesson!"
Dean had listened to Dave, staying down, but it was only to formulate a plan. Right now he didn't have one, except to get up and charge his adversary. Waiting for the right time to catch the fake cop off guard, meant that Chad would have to take a taste of the whip. His hands under him, he was all ready to propel himself upwards.
The first cast of the lash only served to terrorize, lightly crossing Chad's abs.
Still terrorizing, Dave stands back and recoils, "you'll see how good I am at this, when I take the tip of your nips off, one at a time!"
He let out a Vincent Price laugh, which sounded terrifically menacing.
Dean almost pushed away from the floor, but call it intuition, it wasn't the right moment.
Second lash came with a vengeance, starting at Chad's left shoulder and brought down to nearly his right hip, as he cried out, "ahk-k-k-k!"
Approving of his strike, Dave calls, "hell yeah!"
It put Dean in a quandary. He wasn't sure it was the right time, but certainly, Chad's cry of pain made his wrists unbuckle and he jacknifed himself off the floor. Dean didn't know where the strength came from, it took him right up and with a little hop, he came down with both fists down, like a basketball player to a hoop.
Still, he was a puny build compared to Dave's tough, cowboy frame. It almost took him completely off his feet, but more, it left Dean falling again with his back to the floor, "oh shit," he looked up at the fierceness in Dave's eyes.
"I tole you to stay down and you didn't, boy. Now you're gonna see a side of me you ain't seen before!"
Dean, back to the floor, was walking his hands backwards, a slow crabwalk to make a getaway, thinking, 'there's more?' More than the thoughts of Dave throwing the whip to the side, he wondered about how much havoc the fake cop's fists could reap on him. He tried 'maybe some psychology' on him, "hey, look sir, I'm sorry, okay?"
"Sorry? You're gonna be boy," Dave rubs his right palm over his left fist, another play in his game of terrorism.
It was not a total loss, Dean's attempt to keep backing up on the floor, hands and feet propelling his bod backwards. The getaway continued until his back was up against the table leg of a bondage table. Dean then felt something with his right hand, rubbery, he quickly glanced to it and back. He knew what a buttplug was, had used one on a guy once. Adrenaline behind the force, he picks it up, which conincides with Dave charging at him.
With lust, Dave is mixed with energy and lust, calling out, "now I gotcha boy!"
But he didn't come close to socking Dean in the jaw nor stomach, as the buttplug comes up between his legs!
"Ahh-h-h-h-h-h-ohhhhh-shit!"
The force of Dave's leap forward, coupled with Dean pushing his back against the table leg, he manages to catapult the buttplug, point blank, into the nuts and bolt region of Dave's crotch.
Worst part of the whole ordeal has Dave grabbing his balls and being in excruiating pain, loses his footing, crashing chest first onto Dean!
Moving to one side of the table leg, Dean's right shoulder is captured by Dave's falling bod, which has him flipping around, falling chest-to-back, onto the fake cop's back.
Chad, who was weak, seemed to feel somewhat awaken by Dean taking on Dave. He didn't think the college frat had it in him, even though he thought Dean a strong, no-balls-barred type.
His voice hoarse from screaming, he did manage to call out, "Dean?" Chad clears his throat, "Dean, you okay?"
For certain, Dave was woozy enough to stay lying faced down. His bod was slightly elevated, due to the fact he was still clutching his junk.
Dean, feeling the warmth of Dave's bod under him, uses his back as a rebounding board to push on his left arm. That was fine, but when his right arm moves, he yells out in pain.
Just the opposite of what Chad hoped for, Dean to get up, unfasten his binds, uncuff him and make their getaway, he cautions, "no, don't move."
Even though he had tears in his eyes from doing just the opposite, Dean saw things differently. For one thing, even though he had put Dave down, he could always recover. Then, realizing his right shoulder was out of commission, he looks up at Chad. Even in pain, he had badgered the fake cop enough to turn him away and take on the pain himself. Dean gets up the gumption, "no. I gotta try."
In Navy Seal training, a guy was in top physical condition. Watching Dean from his bound position, Chad was ready to award Dean a medal for even moving. But beyond the call of duty, even though with every move there was a grunt, a curse spoken in response and the final act of lifting his bod off of his victim, the greatest amount of pain Dean has ever experienced in his life, he manages to become waist high with the table. At that point he was looking at the dude who was fastened eagle-spread to it. It became a reinforcement for his thinking, that if he didn't reach Chad and free him, he might be in the same position and, be it Dave was already gunning for him, there could be hell to pay, at that!
To his surprise, the blond guy, cuffed eagle-spread to the table, comes around, "what are you doing?" In his state, after receiving some of the same treatment Dean and Chad have taken, plus his own predicament, nips clamped and stretched, the dude recovers somewhat.
"Trying to get help."
He got to the side of the table, but for whatever reason, not being a doctor, Dean couldn't figure out why his right shoulder was not functioning properly. But driven to gain freedom, he manages to unhook the cuff binding the lad's left foot to the table, saying, "does that do anything for you?"
Truthfully, hours before, when Dave decided to stretch the lad's perky nips overhead, after applying the tight clamps, he had just gotten started with the stretching, when an alarm on the road which ran by the out of date bomb shelter, went off. Dave's lust for 'new meat', had him and Pete running out on their prey, right in the middle of things. Hence, the reason the lad's nips were only stretched at the minimum, hardly at all.
"Not really, but if I could get one of my hands free, that might help?"
It pained Dean like hell, doing half a pushup, dragging his bod along the edge of the table, whereas when he was halfway between the left leg and arm, the top of his chest fell on the bound boy's stomach. It felt good, almost like a feathery pillow. In fact, Dean wanted to fall asleep, or maybe was it, he was ready to pass out?
Seeing what Dean was up to, to free the lad on the table, who in turn would be able to help them, Chad calls out, "Dean, dammit, wake up!"
'OMG,' the lad tethered to the table begins to think. With two cables stretched out overhead and the obvious, attached to his nips, thought, if Dean continued on his trajectory, boosting his bod along the table in order to reach one of his hands, eventually his cheek would be resting on his left pec! Thinking it would be the only way all of them could be set free. He starts out softly, but elevates his voice, "c'mon Dean, you can make it!" Then the lad bit his lip, thinking he would be bringing on his own grief, when the top of Dean's head connects with his left pec!
He knew what pain he was in, but with Chad and the other, unnamed victim, badgering him, "I know you can do it." What really got him on the go, was hearing moans and groans slowly turning to growls, coming from under the foot of the table, "son-of-a-bitch," the tethered lad says, "get a move on it, Dean!"
Later Dean would not recall every crying in his life, but now he was blubbering like a baby, till he got to the hand cuff on the dude bound to the table.
Soon as separation occurs, the nip-tortured victim says, "that's good. I can free myself from here."
Crumbling to the floor, Dean at first cries out in immense pain, but then goes silent. Out cold, Dean would not know until later that his heroics not only freed his immediate victims, the bound dude on the table, but also the gay couple and hidden away in a back cell, two guys who worked at the local hardware store. They didn't believe Dave that the guy hanging from his arms from a post was his accomplice.
When Dean, in the ambulance, tells Chad about coaxing Pete and what whole scenario brought out, that maybe Pete is not the criminal he looks to be, "you know what I mean?"
It occurs to Chad, "are you sticking up for him?"
Things hazing over by the pain killer and the pain, Dean's words trail off, "maybe he...maybe he's a...a victim, know...know what I..."
From Chad's perspective, giving account to those who barged in rescued them, as Dave had claimed, Pete was an accomplice. Of how he got stripped naked and bound to the post, was anyone's guess. Now, what it's revealed, it would take Dean's testimony to clear things up and that would have to wait.
Strangely, after knowing Dean for only a few hours, brushing his hair gently with a hand, Chad felt melancholy, saying, "sleep well, my love," and after looking to see if anyone was watching, places a kiss on his forehead. He would've kissed his mouth, but tough when a plastic breathing mask monopolizes the area!
Next thing Dean knew, he was waking up in a hospital bed. The first face he saw made him smile. It was tough to talk through the plastic mask on his face, meant as a breathing aid, but he was thinking it to himself, 'Sean, what are you doing here?'
Before finding out the where's, why's, or whatfor's, Dean falls back asleep!
% Copyright 2020 T. Chase McPhee
Developing segments of`See The Good In All Things', may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.