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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LETS MAKE MATT 03
wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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At least three times, Matt had to warn Salvador about going over the speed limit, his red Rubicon darting around a bend too fast. If not for the seat belt, Matt would have wound up thrown across the vehicle into his former college mate's lap, one he wouldn't mind feeling up, or plastered against the passenger side seat.
"Slow down will ya?"
"You leave the driving to me. So, what happened that night between you, Bjorn and Chris?"
"For one thing, had my first glimpse of BDSM."
"Kristafarou? He was into that stuff?"
Matt smiled. Not only did Salvador finally adhere to the speed limit, but pulled off to the side of the road, coming to a complete halt.
"Picnic area is up that way, if you want to hear the whole story."
"I'm hungry for some pizza. Remember?" Salvador made reference to the Italian restaurant.
"Right now I'd say your more hungry for some jerking off?"
Salvador smirked, swatting Matt's hand away from his lap. "Okay smarty. Have it your way!"
Shifting gears, Salvador took the dirt and gravel path to the right, vehicle and all becoming swallowed up by dense forest. Like Matt said, two minutes later they were in a picnic grove.
"Dreary looking place," Salvador remarked, looking about.
"When mom and pop were younger this was quite the hangout," Matt informed him.
"Hey, where you going?" Salvador said, soon speaking to an empty seat across from himself. If he ever wanted to get something to eat he thought he better follow. "Matthew, what are you doing?"
Matt knew exactly what he was doing. A glance back told him Salvador still had a partial turn on from his tales of college life. Hiking up on a table he slapped his feet down on the place where one would sit. "See this table here?" he placed both hands.
"Um, dah, like I'm a college graduate. It's a wooden picnic table?"
"You're right, but not what Chris Kristofarou utilized it for."
"You're not talking sense Matt. This place," Salvador looks up at the tall trees, "has got to be at least an hour from Alstadt."
"Yeah. Worth the trip to safely have some BDSM fun with Bjorn stripped and tied eagle-spread to the table, huh?"
"Whaaa?"
"Yeah," Matt laughed, still having it over on Salvador. See that tree behind you?"
Turning his head around, Salvador noticed, "Yeah?"
"Second limb from the top came in perfect for when Chris had a little fun with Bjorn's balls!"
"What tha!"
The expression was priceless. Up until now, the talk in Salvador's Wrangler had been `child's play', sucking and fucking, discipling Bjorn in the school weight room, light play. "I was getting turned on enough, til Chris decided to kick things up a notch!"
Maybe there had been plenty a time when Salvador controlled the environment, but now as it stood, Matt had Salvador acting like a kid in a candy store, begging for me.
"And what does this have to do with Bjorn's balls?"
Right now, Matt figured everything he was and was going to say had a lot to do with how Salvador's balls were reacting to his chatting. "Right here," Matt began to explain, lying down on the table, "after he had Bjorn strip down to the buff he had him lie here on `this' table." Matt placed his hands behind his head. Instead, he looked at each of his limbs, "Bjorn's arms were stretched out to the corners of table. Chris found two leather cuffs in his duffle bag and fastened each to a wrist. Then he hammered a nail into the top of each corner, hooking ring on each cuff to it."
"And?" Salvador asked.
Matt smiled, knew his story was leading Salvador on, him wanting more as expressed by the bulge in his pants, plus a hand softly massaging his crotch.
"Oh!" he snapped his fingers. "Almost forgot a minor little detail." Doing a half crunch Matt said, "At first we were both kind of petrified when two cops stood there, one acusing Chris of destroying county park property. But," Matt relaxed as one that day a few years back, "when Officer Ferguson began rubbing his balls, eyeing up Bjorn's split legs, both of us began to relax."
"Chris let the cop take Bjorn's ass?"
"You know he did! But not until the two had their fun."
"And where were you Matthew?"
"Mostly I stood there with Ferguson's partner. Like me, he didn't know much about the gadgets Chris was pulling out of his bag. Ferguson, I kind of figured right away he was into this stuff, that maybe this hadn't been the first guy he's known to be tied down to the table."
"So, what kind of toys did Chris have in his bag?"
Matt wasn't getting too much hype on telling of the leather strap Chris handed the cop, picturing as if it were last night, the cop cinching it around Bjorn's balls, making the twenty-one year old howl as he tightened Bjorn's balls up into a nice hard package.
Salvador, by now his belt unbuckled, zipper parted, his hand making his cock stiff enough to poke out from his pubes, listened as Matt told of a rope tied to the metal loop on the underside of the leather cinch, then stretching it to the tree behind him. Even Salvador looked over his shoulder, eye-measuring the distance between the picnic table and the fir tree.
"See where the tree is kind of desolute their?"
"Yeah. Looks like somebody cleared out a section of the tree," he noticed the barren side.
Matt then smiled, seeing Salvador really getting into it, stroking his meat, waiting for the punchline. Delivering, Matt says, "Same place where Officer Ferguson broke off the branch, in succession tearing a switch off until he found the perfect one to suit his purpose."
"Which would be?"
Instead, Matt told of the finishing effect, "Bjorn couldn't walk straight for almost a week. Every step he took caused his balls to ache!"
"Hot!" Salvador called out.
"Yeah, I knew it. I knew you loved every minute of watching guys take advantage of me."
It suddenly made Salvador stop feeling immense pleasure, his hand frozen around his meat. "That's not true. I cared for you Matt. Stewie and I were just trying to help you."
"Help me, Salvador? Come off it. I might've not pulled a high average in college, but I wasn't stupid." He sat up on the edge of the table, let his feet hang over, then jumped overboard, landing a foot in front of Salvador. "You know I can't think of one guy whom you considered as a lover?"
"Not true. Stewie and you were my best buds. I...."
"What? You were too dumb to think Stew and I never talked. He told me plenty. When he came out to visit two years ago we had a nice chat. He told me how `close' you two were. Stew's a handsome, intelligent guy. Only thing is I wondered how this intelligent guy could have overlooked the fact you were playing up to him only to have the convenience of a tight ass to fuck, at your beck and call?"
"You don't know Stewie and me. You have no idea what we had going, Matthew Diggler," Salvador said, making his point by a finger digging into Matt's chest.
Sweeping Salvador's hand aside, Matt says, "Y'know you might have pulled good grades, have been popular at Alstadt, but right now you're proving to me your skillfullness at being a very bad liar."
It's then Salvador realises he wasn't fooling Matt one bit back at his apartment. His hand at his side, he had just finished letting precum seep into his jeans. The only thing left to say was, "I really cared for Stewie and you."
The way Matt saw it was, "Like you cared for any other guy in life? As long as they had a tight ass? Maybe more?" Matt touched on some other kinky subjects. "Only thing I can't figured out is why you didn't do with me like any other guy. Why you didn't take my ass?"
"Maybe I cared for you in a different way than all the other guys." At this point Salvador restarted his act of kindness, hands on Matt's shoulders, being gentle and all.
In his mood of softness an interruption came, "Well, well, well... what do we have here? Lewdness in public?" The officer referred to, spotting Salvador's meat hanging outside the front of his pants.
Matt well knew the identity of the officer, seeing him from time to time, getting a wink when in public. Ferguson had aged a bit over the last four years, his slim thirty-two years old filling out to a beefy mold. Matt knew Ferguson pay mind to Salvador's jewels airing out. "It's not like," he looked around, "we're in full view of anyone," he defended.
Standing there, Salvador just looked at Matt and Ferguson as the conversation drifted to the pair. He wondered if Matt knew of Ferguson slowly removing his police baton from his utility belt.
"It's not how a court of law would see it," Ferguson said.
It's as if Ferguson decided himself as prosecutor, judge and jury. With haste he drew back his police baton and will both hands, hurled it into Matt's midsection.
"Oooooomphff!" Matt called out. Caught off guard, he doubled over, holding both arms across his stomach, huddling up into a ball.
"Get him up!"
Matt looked up with unbelief as Salvador grabbed him by the arms, lifting him off the ground. In a state of disbelief and shock, he asks, "Sal.. what are you... doing?" he questioned between gulps of air.
Not getting the chance to answer, the thirty-six year old police officer toyed with Matt's abs, the tip of his baton feeling up the ridges of his abs. "Watched from my patrol car as you worked your bod to perfection at the gym. Could see right through the windows as you sweated to carve out every inch of your gut."
His attention divided, Matt wondered where Ferguson was going with all this, same time asking Salvador, "Sal?" But a turn of his head was all that was needed to distract him, the baton sailing into his gut once more. Such was the ramming force, it caused Salvador to lurch forwards as well.
Picking up Matt's head by the scalp, Officer Ferguson instructs, "Why don't you get him stripped down while I run to the car for my bag of goodies?" Halfway to the car, the police officer laughed his ass off, mumbling something about a hot night ahead.
It didn't take much for Salvador to strip Matt from the waist up. From the short, but hefty beating, Officer Ferguson putting all his might behind the truncheon which stabbed him in the gut, left Matt winded. Still he questioned, "Why... why are you doing... this... Sal? I thought..."
He winced in pain when Salvador, with his strapping height and muscled bod, easily pulled Matt up towards the head of the table, his back scratched by the surface. "You should have gotten it through your big skull back then, Matthew," Salvador disassociated himself with the kind, caring man he portrayed minutes ago. Trying to get up, outpower Salvador, punched Matt in the left jaw. He fell back onto the table. With more of an animal instinct, he told Matt, "It was never about `us'. It was more about how much it would cost Officer Ferguson to keep you enrolled at the college, plus... a little stipend to make sure the wheels were kept in progress."
Matt didn't understand most of this, other than the fact Sal and the cop had some kind of communication all these years, four years at Allstadt, coupled with the four years since graduation. "I don't get it."
"Oh you will. Don't you worry your pretty little head," Salvador stroked Matt's mane with his hand. While binding Matt's wrists to the corners of the table with his own hands, he looked into the twenty-eight year old's upside down face, saying, "Ferguson never forgot how you treated his nephew."
"Peter? What has he got to do with this?" Then recollecting, Matt tells, "Wait a minute. I dated him. We broke our relationship. He..." Then with more intent, "It was `you' who was standing in the wings, just waiting for him to have a shoulder to cry on."
Salvador cracked a smile, "Yeah. All so willing too. Didn't take much to gain his confidence either. Once I owned him, didn't take much to turn him into my own private bitch. And with his hot looks and bod, he really raked in the bucks renting him out to the gay frat house."
"You fuckin'..."
Once again, Matt tried a getaway when Salvador loosened his grip on an arm to slap his face. Little did either notice, Officer Ferguson standing there in there in the darkness of the evergreens, witnessing the two slugging it out. With him was his new partner, himself delving into the realm of bondage, discipline and corporal punishment.
"I'll place my bets on Salvador," Officer Ferguson states to his co-worker and mutual friend.
"A hundred on the shirtless dude," Jake Contreras bets.
"Only a hundred?" Ferguson says. "I'll bet next week's salary he beats the naked bitch to a pulp!"
"I don't know why you're defending him. You heard what he just said?" Turning to Ferguson, he returns his own attention to the fist fight, the cop is calling the shots as if a referee, his own fists acting like those of each of the opponents.
Speaking his mind he tells Contreras, "Take care of both of them."
"I like your plan," Jake says. "Why doesn't the kid," he calls Matt, "just lay down and play dead? He's almost finished off."
As Contreras calls it, Matt takes a one-two to the gut, falling against a tree, same one Bjorn's balls were tied to years back.
"Now to put you out of your misery," Salvador taunts, eyes like the devil as he approaches Matt.
Not believing the change in Salvador's character, perhaps never this side of him seen before, throws Matt off guard. As Sal approaches his mind is still conflicted with the friendship of their college years to the reality of the moment. Coming to his senses his quest for survival kicks in. His hand on a log seems like his only hope. "Sorry," he says with one last word of regret, hurtling the timber in between Sal's legs.
Nobody could be more thrilled than Jake Contreras, slap-happy over winning Ferguson's next paycheck.
"Here," Ferguson says, stuffing his duffle bag into Jake's arms. "No wait." Grabbing the top of the bag, Ferguson pulls the top open. Reaching inside he extracts long piece of leather. "I've waited a long time for this!"
He still had feelings for Salvador, but his instinct for survival gave priority, Matt crawling backwards towards the darker floor of the forest. Even though it wasn't himself feeling the leather strap over his back, lash after lash, he winced with every hurl of it, Ferguson showing no mercy. Before he became one with the night creeping in from dusk settling over the area, Matt took one last look. Able to see the scene, but them not being able to distinguish Matt from the forest growth, he watched as Jake dropped the bag, took Salvador by the arms, threw his chest up against a tree and held his arms around it as if Sal hugged a beer barrel. With fury, Ferguson used his implement of torture, stripping Salvador's bod from shoulders to midback.
In his wanderings, his mind causing him to lose his orientation with familiar nature, Matt found himself back at the drive which led to the picnic area. "Oh shit!" he called out, his stomach against the right side of Sal's Wrangler. Still catching his breath he fell over the warm hood. He looked up each time he heard Sal call out. Torn between what is and what was, he uprighted himself and started walking towards the front of the vehicle. He stood there not knowing exactly what to do. His hand grazing over his hairy, sore stomach conjured up memories of a short while ago, both of having his gut tucked in by Officer Ferguson's baton and then his betrayer's fists. Cradling his head in both hands he wished he never set foot on Alstadt's soil. Wished he never knew a college mate named Peter Ferguson.
"Matt?"
A hand to his bare shoulder scared the living daylights out of him, jumping several feet, then turning around. Thinking he wasn't seeing clearly, possibly a mirage or a figure from the dead, he backed up, tripping over the brush. Falling on his ass, Matt sat there incoherent, except to utter, "Peter?" Approaching Matt, Peter made him walk on hands and feet like doing the crab-walk. Getting up, Matt began running away from Peter.
"Gotcha, ya little bastard!"
More than fear, terrorism filled Matt's mind as Jake held him from behind, walking him up towards the picnic area, arms above his head in a full nelson. In the cooking stove a fire had been built, flames ripping out of the grill on top. Same flame illuminated the area. On the picnic table Sal lay on his stomach, his back a crisscross of welts, some pink and others red with blood.
"Sal?" Matt called out, now more mellowed with pity than fright or anger encompassing his personality.
In no mood for recognition, Sal lay there moaning in pain. Neither his legs nor arms were bound, so drained of energy was he from the beating. Ferguson was putting the finishing touches on Sal's balls, tying them off to the same limb Chris tautly tied Bjorn's balls. It quickly came to Matt the conflicting ideas, Chris and Bjorn playing a game whereas this was real life. There was Sal in pain, lying faced down on a table, balls cinched and tied off.
"We gonna barbecue his balls too?" Jake asked, the idea ringing in Matt's ears, scaring his wits out of him.
"Could be," Ferguson replied as he picked a flaming stick out of the grill. "The night is young."
Still in the full nelson, Peter comes to Matt's rescue, "I don't want anything to happen to him."
"He's just as much to blame as this scum," Peter's uncle voices his opinion.
"Matt didn't do anything to me. Matt loved me." Then he put it to Matt, "You did, didn't you?"
Matt's attention went from the flame-lit stick to Peter. Softly he states, "I... I wanted to make something of our relationship Peter, but you..."
Almost burning his fingertips, his mind diverted to his nephew, Ferguson drops the lighted stick and stomps on it. He thought he had the story down pat, but then confronts Peter, "Peter, what's this all about? I thought you...."
For the past few minutes, Jake has been hard, his crotch rubbing against Matt's ass. He could care less about Ferguson roasting Salvador's balls. All he concerns himself with is how it is going to feel stuffing his ten inch tool into that tight hole he viewed minutes ago when he pulled the white cheeks apart.
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Copyright 2008 T. Chase McPhee
This story may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.