Date: Mon, 28 Mar 2005 11:55:37 -0800 (PST)
From: T Chase McPhee <survivalgame@yahoo.com>
Subject: Long Distance Love 08

The following story is a work of fiction set in the
format of reality. Any resemblance to real people is
entirely coincidental in nature, and is not meant to
accurately reflect persons in towns, cities, or
governmental areas, in which the story is staged. If
sexual scenes 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 states and countries, you are not allowed to read
this by law. This is fiction. Don't forget, in real
life, to think about 'sexual safety matters'.

"Long Distance Love" 08 (M/M oral)
WriTtenby T. Chase McPhee

%

"So I see that you like the attention of my flogger,
eh boy?'

"Y-y-yes, sir," Marc Ambergini finally got out, much
to the delight of Amir, the thirty-four old captor.

Up until now, Marc had been 'playing the game' Amir
presented to him, thoroughly enjoying the dominant
messing with his pain-pleasure spots.

"Now we will see how you perform without the
restraints."

Amir unbuckled Marc's ankles and wrists. After rubbing
all four spots, Amir backed away so that Marc could
sit on the edge of the table. 

"Yes, now on your knees before me, boy."

Still into playing 'boy games', Marc fell to his
knees. Amir spent about five minutes drilling him on
the position of sitting high onto his knees and then
straightening his shoulders, with his arms drawn up
into the middle of his back. He gently sway his
flogger from shoulder to shoulder or across Marc's
pecs. 

"Good, now you will rise and place yourself in that
chair over there."

Marc looked to the direction of a chair in front of
what looked to be an ordinary wooden chair. He didn't
see anything tricky about it. Not until he approached
and saw a round cutout in the seat, almost resembling
a toilet bowl.

"Sit, boy."

He sat. Amir pulled some on wheels over in front of
him.

"Stocks?"

"Yes. I thought you would like. Now, will you indulge
me and put your head in the middle and arms at the
sides?"

Not seeing anything wrong in their play, plus loving
the idea of utilizing the dungeon furniture, he
complied.

"Nice. Now a couple of more things and we'll continue
our play."

Amir brought over a table that perfectly matched the
height of the stocks. So attuned to the match of the
two objects that both hands fell perfectly to resting
on top of the table.

"Excellent for my purposes."

Marc heard something behind him, like that snapping of
wood. Amir did something to his chair. He tried
turning to watch, but his head had become lodged in
the stocks.

"Next and then we'll be all ready."

"What's this Amir?"

"Don't tell me you don't recognize your own checkbook,
boy!"

Sure enough, in front of him, under his right hand lay
his checkbook, his name and address printed on the
blue, watermarked paper.

"But this is written out for five hundred thousand
dollars!"

"Smart boy and now all I need is your signature to
cash it!"

"Fuck that!"

The thirty-five year old received no warning as he
sensed something being inserted under the chair he sat
in; a dry tipped buttplug!

"Sorry, but I couldn't find any lube, boy! Haa ha ha
haaa!"

Marc's winces turned to fullscale screams, as the
thick object pressed into his anal cavity. The absence
of lube around the buttplug caused it to tear the ass
chute, as it became forced torture. The pain never
fully disappeared. Only dulled. Marc wondered what he
got himself into. It's not as if Wheeler hadn't
mentioned that something like this might happen!

"Now sign and maybe I'll think about taking it out,
hee heee."

Amir could see the red face of anger, but picked up a
flogger much like the one he had, except longer, with
more tails.

"Not signing, I see?"

Looking forward to that type of action, Amir knew that
after a hundred or so lashes across Marc's white back,
he would be thinking about signing his first check.

%

"Zair? Sabah? This is John Wheeler and Mick
McCormick."

The nineteen and twenty year old pair stood there in
clothes that relatively looked natural, being of
Milton's wardrobe. A bit tighting fitting, the
sweatshirts seemed odd-fitting of their well built
shoulders.

After standing to shake each of their hands, John
began saying, "Boys, we need your help."

"Our help. What hell is that?"

"Listen, Sabah..."

"I am Zair. Oh, pardon me. Yes, Zair. Well Zair, first
of all we know you are in this country illegally."

Right then and there, Milton began a protestation of
knowledge of the immigration facts.

"Milton, calm down... keep your shirt on."

Although Mick thought maybe he'd like to view Milton,
as well and Zair and Sabah without any shirts!

"How would you boys like to become US citizens real
quick?"

"You trick us?" Zair replied to Wheeler.

"No tricks boys. We're going to call it an even
exchange. Your testimony for your freedom to become
citizens. From there, we'll fix you up with college
money, later on a good job...."

"Amir trick us. How we know you don't?"

This is where Milton got on his soapbox. "Boys, I have
a feeling that Mr. Wheeler and Mr. McCormick are here
for your best interests. Yes, they want something from
you, but in the long run, this will put you on your
way to where you want to be in life."

The two gravitated towards Mick. Possibly because he
looked more friendly, could've been his youthful age
of twenty-eight, compared to Wheeler's forty-five
years old. Whatever the case, Zair and Saban
approached the table edge where Mick sat, completely
ignoring John Wheeler. 

"What do you want for us to do, Mr. M'Cormick?"

"Sign here. These papers will show your voluntary
information, asserting the facts that you will give
testimony on your own accord, to the best of your
knowledge and in a truthful sense."

Milton busts in with, "In other words, Zair and Saban,
you are agreeing to tell the truth of the matters
concerning Amir and what you know about him. What he
promised you, your treatment, how you came to deal
with him. You boys came asking for my trust, now I ask
you to trust them and sign."

Saban first took the pen from Mick and leaned to the
table to draw the characters of his first and last
name. Zair followed. 

"Okay, make the call, John," Mick called out. 

When the two FBLO officers arrived on the scene, it
seemed Wheeler had been the head honcho in charge. Now
it's Mick that called the shots. At this very moment,
Wheeler's call set off a chain reaction of telephone
conversations between agents. A series of knocks at
doors, sent agents of the FBLO into hotel rooms,
homes, businesses and even shopping malls, to approach
those gay young men who have been coerced out of their
home lives, lured by promises of a better life. For
some it would prove years too late, their lives
already incarcerated in the slave trade. Some would
have the opportunity to be rescued, others plucked out
of their lives before they would ever reach the
master's hand.

%

"Who are you?" Dario called out.

Jack spoke, before the gentlemen in their suits,
"These men are from the government, Dario and would
like to speak with Shaheen."

One of the men pretended to look straight ahead, deep
into the room, but Dario could feel the other man's
eyes scanning his buff bod. Shaheen came out of the
bedroom and stood next to him. What a feast for Jack's
eyes and one of the men who came to talk.

"What do they want, Dario?"

"To talk with Shaheen," the unfriendly of the two
spoke, with precise meaning. The supposedly 'straight'
FBLO agent reinforced the word, 'alone'. 

"What you say to me, you say to Dario," Shaheen more
or less told the guy.

"Maybe you better handle this, Jake," he told his
partner, bowing out of the room.

"Don't mind him," Jake informed the two, shutting the
door behind him, as his partner and Jack walked out,
"not everybody is gay-friendly."

Dario hits Jake with, "And how gay-friendly are you
Jake?"

"Gay, which makes me about as gay-friendly as you can
get."

"Then you don't mind if we stay undressed like this?"

"Well, Dario, it could detract from our business at
hand. I mean you boys are quite a sight for my older
eyes."

"You be twenty-four, twenty-five years old?" Shaheen
tries his hand at age guessing.

"Twenty-six."

"Then you look like us. Make it even for us to look!"

Dario thought to himself that it's been less than
twenty-four hours and already he was rubbing off on
Shaheen.

"Ahem! Uh, I don't think so."

Dario coaxes, "Taking off your jacket wouldn't hurt,
Jake."

"Why do I get this feeling that you two are trying to
seduce me?"

Shaheen says, "You cute!" Then retracts his feelings,
with a blushed look on his face.

"Hmm, okay."

Jake stands, removes his jacket, then sits down at the
table, placing his briefcase on top of the chipped
stone surface. 

"Want to take a seat around the table, men?"

"Yeah, one second."

Dario and Shaheen go into the bedroom.

Jake yells, "You boys aren't hightailing it out the
jon window, are you?"

He doesn't hear anything, so goes to the bedroom door
that's closed. Suddenly it pops open. Dario and
Shaheen exit, in tee shirts and jeans.

"You think we leave you, stud?" Shaheen says to Jake.

He smiles as the two brush by him, purposely mussing
up his tie that's hanging down his chest and stomach.
As Jake watches the two report to the table, he wishes
this wasn't 'business as usual'!

%

"Um, Rafi?"

"Yes, Michael?"

"These gentlemen are here to see you and Sihr."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure, but I think you better hear them out."

"If you say so, Michael," Sihr confides in him.

Rafi says, "We trust you."

"Okay, well Jason and I will be in the other rooom
if..."

"No, you be here with us."

One of the two FBLO officers acknowledges the okay for
Michael and Jason to remain.

Throughout the US, thousands of boys get the call from
FBLO agents, all for the same purpose and reasoning. 

%

"I think you're doing the right thing, Shaheen."

"If you think it is okay, Dario, then I sign my name."

"You're doing the right thing," Jake says. "Oh, sorry.
Didn't mean to sway you or anything. I'm here just to
provide the facts."

"I trust you too, Jake."

Dario confides, "We both do."

So after all of the business is out of the way the
three sit back to talk.

"How about breakfast out by the pool, Jake."

"Sure. Sounds nice."

Dario wonders something.

"Why?"

"Why what Dario?"

"How can you say yes? This is supposed to be business
for you, Jake. You're not supposed to frat with us."

"Normally, no. In fact if it wasn't for my destiny
after this case is wrapped up, I probably would have
been out of here by now."

"What that mean, Jake?" Shaheen asks.

"Well, I'm young and don't want to be tied down to the
FBLO, so I'm getting out. Hee heeee," Jake grins,
"fact of the matter is I let myself come on to you
guys."

"You like us?"

"Yeah, Shaheen. You and Dario seem to be my type of
guys. Hey, don't get me wrong. I'm not here to
infringe on your relationship, but being in this line
of work there's not much room for long term
friendships. If you're not interested, I'll mind my
own business, but after the investigation is wrapped
up, I'd like to take you guys out for dinner."

"That's fine with me," Dario states, his mind always
on saving a buck. 

Shaheen smiles and agrees.

"Well, okay. Well, I better get Taylor going on these
papers."

"I know this funny question," Shaheen asks, "You gay,
Jake?"

"All the way, my friend. I figured I already made that
clear."

"You check up on us. We make sure we check up on you,
Jake."

That brings double smiles in Jake's direction. Dario
really likes the guy, so much like himself, a hot
Latino. Though seven years older, would make a nice
friend.

"So, let me get these papers going and then I can join
you for breakfast. Do you have an extra Speedo by
chance?"

"Si," Dario replies to Jake, "under your briefs!"

Opening the door to the Junior Suite, Jake hands the
brief case to the FBLO officer that accompanied him.
"Here!"

After the other guy takes it, Jake replies to him,
"Can't say it's been nice knowing you Ferguson. Maybe
someday you'll get that homophobic chip off your
shoulder!"

"Fuck you, Contreras."

With the door shut, Dario asks, "No love lost, huh
Jake?"

"I kind of feel sorry for the guy, but then again
nothing like having a homophobic agent work on a gay
case, having to defend gays, much to his personal
disgust."

Shaheen asks, "And he do for gay guys?"

"It's his job. Personally, he hated doing it, but he
can't be biased if he wants to stay in the job he
does. Now, what's for breakfast?"

As Dario goes for the phone, Shaheen and he watch as
Jake removes his tie, and lays it on the table. 

"Ooooh, it feels so good to remove that tie. Last time
I'll be wearing it."

"Wait, you not going to be secret agent anymore?"
Shaheen asks.

"Nope!" Jake chuckles at the coined phrase, "As soon
as I handed that case over with your signatures
enclosed, Shaheen, that's the last time I would be
dealing with the FBLO."

"That muy bueno!" Shaheen replies.

"It sure is, Shaheen!"

Soon there is a knock at the door. 

"Ah, that must be him."

Dario and Shaheen have the shock of their life.

"George?"

"Keoki?"

To Jake, the greeting is, 'baby', as he kisses George,
giving him the biggest hug.

"Breakfast will be baking by poolside if we don't
hurry."

"Breakfast? I'm as hungry as a dog!" George replies.

"We have millions of questions for you, Keoki!"

"Sorry about that, Shaheen."

George and Shaheen stood facing each other.

"You should tell me truth. Who are you?"

"I'll explain in awhile. I don't like my bagel too
crisp!"

Before long, the paired couples are lounging poolside,
enjoying their breakfast feast.

"So, why you trick me, Keoki?"

Dario is getting to know Jake, half listening to
Keoki's explanation. 

"Oooh, Shaheen, I never meant to trick you, nor
anyone. Let's call it leading you in the right
direction."

"As Dario say, how's that go?"

"Okay, here's the facts. A rich boy, gone bad, turned
model, with acting skills, gets approached by
government, gets off the hook for DWI, in exchange for
services, then retires from government job, turns back
to model, actor, part time playboy, but later decides
to shack up with former government agent."

"Hee hee heeee," Jake laughs, "Keoki, I think you have
Shaheen more confused than before!"

Dario, on a whim, takes the linguistic approach,
uttering the whole scenario in Spanish to Shaheen.

Keoki asks Shaheen, "You get all Dario just said?"

"Si!"

They all laugh. The actual explanation seems to play
no relevance in anyone's mind, at this time. 

"More coffee?"

"Oh my," Jake replies, "I think I've died and gone to
gay heaven!"

"Hey, Evan, meet Jake and Keoki," Dario offers the
introductions for his and Shaheen's latest acquisition
of friendship, "and well, looks like Evan's boyfriend,
Seth."

"Yeah," Evan explains, "last night Seth and I got
kinda tight."

There the two stand, Evan with a carafe of hot coffee
in his hand and his arm around Seth's shoulder, his
lips exiting Seth's left cheek. Jake and Keoki are
trying like hell not to move their hands to their
crotches, beholding the sight of the eighteen and
nineteen year olds, like them, stripped to the buff. 

"Ahem!"

"Oh, buenas dias, Senor Clay, Senor Chiz..." Dario
stands and then begins the new round of introductions.

Clay says, "That bum looks familiar," directing his
comments to Keoki.

"George, Keoki, is really a good guy, Clay."

"That has yet to be seen."

"Hey, Clay! What the fuck you doing?" Chiz complains.

"Well, I figured if he let me kiss him, he can't be
all that bad!"

If Clay hadn't been standing on the pool's edge, he
wouldn't have received such a rude awakening. 

*splash!*

"Ooooh you're gonna get it now, buddy!"

Clay hopped out and chased Chiz down the way, around
the side of the building. The guys laughed when they
heard a giant cannonball, near one of the northern
side pools.

"Looks like Clay got even!" Dario calls out.

At nine in the a.m., the sun already started it's
blistery ascent in the sky. Jack oversaw two guys,
decked out in bowties and speedos, deliver a cart of
breakfast foods; eggs, bacon, toast, fruit, poolside.

"Hey, Jack, I'm supposed to be doing that!"

"No, I've decided that for now you're on 'guest'
status, Evan."

"But..."

"No but's or I've be kickin' butt!" Jack replied with
a wink.

Seth waited while Evan chatted with Jack. After a long
hug, Jack took his leave. 

"What was that about, Evan?"

"Well, you see, there's more to all this than meets
the eye. I didn't exactly mention everything to you,
Seth."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Yeah, later, after our shopping trip?"

"The way our friendships keep building, Evan, I doubt
five grand will be going very far!"

"Well, at this point, Seth, for me it's not the money
that counts."

The couples had more or less broken into their
respective groupings. Dario and Shaheen lay in the
shallow end of the pool, the Latino feeding his sultan
grapes. Keoki and Jake half-lounged in long chairs,
plates of food above their navels, picking at the eggs
as they talked about how they were going to live the
rest of their lives. Clay and Chiz returned to the in
crowd, to do so laps back and forth across the pool.
Two challengers, swamped at their grapefeeding
session, joined in the race. Seth and Evan parked
nearby and enjoyed the spectacle.

"Hmm, how come you guys are having fun without us?"

"Adaaaaam!" Clay called out, rising out of the pool.
He immediately clasped his wet body around him.

"You fuck, Clay. Now I'm all wet!"

"Correction, almost all wet, Adam!"

Clay wrestled Adam to the edge of the pool. For the
next two or three minutes they wrestled on top of and
under the waves. Chiz hoisted himself out of the
water. He made the rounds with Lucas, introducing him
to Evan, Jake and Keoki, telling the dirty, dastard
deeds of the latter and or his part in helping
Shaheen. Of course, Jake and Keoki didn't lay the
whole tale on Chiz, so the version he told Lucas, had
much of the action left for wondering.

"Evan?"

"Yeah, Seth?"

"I was thinking something."

While the rest of the gang played in the pool, Seth
and Evan retreated to the smalled pool, aerated with
tiny bubbles.

"Oh? What's on your mind, babe?"

Seth smiled when Evan used the personal greeting.

"Y'know, I really don't have any plans and well, I
thought maybe I would think about staying here in Palm
Springs. Do you think Jack could use another hand
around here?"

Evan giggled. Seth asked him the meaning.

"I'm glad you made that decision, babe, because I
hated like hell to leave here."

"Huh?"

Getting closer, which required Evan placing his leg
over Seth's crotch and both arms hugging him, he
explained, "Seth, I like you a lot and well, truth is,
I like it here, but like you more than staying here."

"Evan, are you saying that you would give up something
you like for me?"

"Heeeey! You said it better than me!"

"Hee heeee... I didn't mean to, Evan."

"Doesn't matter Seth. All that really does matter
is...."

Rather than flub up on any more words, Evan's palm
focused Seth's cheek in the direction of his lips. His
back leaned against the side of the bubble tub as he
pulled Seth's chest to his, in a loving embrace.

"I'd say that's a love affair in the making," Jake
relayed to Keoki, his head nodding in Evan's and
Seth's direction.

"And what about us?"

"Tonight, my love!" Jake replied, his hand rubbing up
and down Keoki's arm. 

"Are you finished with your plate, sir?"

Clay and Chiz laughed their asses off as the two young
guys in their bowties and speedos, made too much of an
effort to remove the empty plates from Keoki's and
Jake's bellies. The two busboys, used their naked
palms to wipe the residue from their bare bodies!

"Oooooh man, I could go for this service everyday!"

%

"That about wraps it up from this end. What do you
think, John, has Ambergini taken enough punishment?"

"Oh fuck! I forgot about Marc, in the dungeon!" Milton
addresses the issue with cause for alarm.

"Dungeon?" Zair questions.

"Hold it, Milton! We'll take it from here."

Creeping down the stairs, John and Mick, revolvers
drawn, approach the basement annex. With Milton
trailing, they open the metal door rapidly, rushing.

"Hold it right there, Amir!"

The three are totally surprised out of their gourds!

"He's not here!"

No, that be the case. Instead, Tied eagle-spread, is
Marc Ambergini, the thirty-five year old benefactor of
'Long Distance Love'. Most noticeable are the weights
hanging from his hairy balls, far below the dripping,
seven and half inches of rigid, cut meat. From his
hairy chest, a chain with sharp-toothed clamps drag
down his nips with small balls with hooks. Marc's
face, sinks to his chest, his chin buried in the fuzz,
as he slacks in the leather cuffs. Holding his body
up, a long, black cone acts as a buffer in his ass,
all his weight implanted on it. To top the whole
torturous ordeal, stripes cross his chest, stomach,
back and ass.

"Oh fuck!"

"The poor tortured soul!"

"Better get an ambulance here!"

"I'm on it!"

While Milton listens to the FBLO officers' words of
concern, in reality he knows Marc Ambergini is still
in the reverie of the hottest bdsm sessions he's ever
imagined!  If anything but for the fact, then why
would there have been a rather large puddle of cum on
the cement in front of him. Fuck! Milton wanted so bad
to release his own pent up load from the sight of such
awesome dimensions!

"Um, gentlemen?"

"Yeah, Milton?" John Wheeler asks, following the lead
Milton points to.

"I think this may be the reason Amir didn't stick
around."

Sure enough, lying on the floor is Marc's checkbook,
complete with pen.

"Don't touch it, Milton!"

Soon the midmorning hours are filled with sirens,
police, ambulance and others flocking to the rescue.
John has instructed Mick to get Zair, Saban and Milton
out the back before too many questions need to be
answered. 

"Um, I didn't give you my answer yet on t'whether I
wanted to become involved, Mick."

"A little too late for the Milton!" Mick replies
sarcastically.

Turning out of the back yard and down the road a
piece, they happen upon a community soccer field. A
helicopter awaits their departure. 

"Don't I even get to pack a toothbrush, Mick?"

"Sorry about that Milton, but in a month's time the
contents of your home will be delivered to you."

"What do you mean the contents of my home?"

"Milton, how well do you think you will adapt to a hot
climate?"

"Ooooh noooo... I never agreed to this... I have my
job in New York... my career... my..."

"And ya got me, pops!" Mick slaps the forty year old
hard on the ass.

"You? What do you mean by that, Mick?" Milton asks the
twenty-eight year old.

"Hey, you don't think it's coincidental that I got
your case out of the thousands offered me, do you?"

"I still don't follow you, Mick."

The two mideastern boys do. All too clearly.

Saban explains, "Mick like you Milton."

"Yes, he want you," Zair confirms the truth.

"Me? Why would you want an old fart like me?"

"Just get in the chopper and I'll explain it when we
get to our destination."

Farfetched as it seems, Milton never made it to 'Long
Distance Lover' that night. In fact, unlike the saying
goes, 'the showmust go on', it didn't. Outside the
marquis, a sign read, 'show closed indefinitely'. The
crew reported, finding envelopes with each of their
names on it. Inside they found their pay for the rest
of the season, plus complimentary tickets for a party
to be held in St. Thomas, Virgin Islands, completely
with all expense paid cruise. The few orchestra
members, given the buy out, with options to moving to
Las Vegas for the new opening of 'Long Distance
Lover', without the cuts. 

"I can't believe it, Fess."

"Me neither, Rob. Michael, what about all this?"

"I'm not sure, Rob."

"I thought 'Long Distance Love' had been a winner."

"Suppose we all thought that the case."

"Excuse me, are you Michael Fabreve?"

"Yes and who the hell are you?"

"The name is Herschel West. I've been given
instructions to accomodate you, Jason Perry, Robert
Palmieri and Fess Aineislis to the airport."

"Sure, after you tell us what the fuck this is all
about? A successful show just doesn't fold up like
this."

"I'm sorry Mr. Fabreve, but all of your questions will
be answered in time."

"And what happens if we refuse?"

There, the epitomy of John Wayne's character actor
stood. Hands on hips, ready to withdraw the revolver
to protect his rights, Michael Fabreve stood on his
guard. However, when a couple of fingers tapped him on
the shoulders, he began to relinquish his territory.

"I'd highly suggest that you comply, Mr. Fabreve."

"Oh yeah? And who the hell are you?"

"FBLO."

"Yeah? well getting your Fucking ass down there and
give me a BLO job!"

That's all Michael needed. A hand went around the
crook in his elbow and the theater stage became alive
with action. The poor guy behind him didn't stand a
chance, being swung around, a fist to the gut, then a
resulting sore jaw. 

As the guy in front went to help his FBLO bud, Rob
swung into action, pulling him around by the arm. 

"Hey, wait right there, asshole!"

When Rob took a fist to the gut, Fess didn't take
kindly to that matter. 

"Bastard!" Fess called out, just about choking the
agent to death, throwing him in between the curtain
ropes, tangling his neck up.

Seems that sooner than later, a free for all broke
out, as more FBLO agents appeared, then counteracted
by the stage crew. The finale came, as the original
instigator sat on the saggy sofa. Michael had the
guy's arms over the back of the sofa, his jacket
pulled back, restraining the agent's arms. He leaned
the toe of his boot on the FBLO officer's crotch and
pulled on his necktie. The guy winced through his
battered lips.

"Now, are you going to call off your dogs?"

After some coercion on Michael's booted bondage, the
leader of the pack gave in, shouting out words that
brought the melee to a halt.

"Call your men front and center."

"Do as he says!" the agent called out, still feeling
the pressure on his balls growing.

"Okay, now. Hmmm... isn't this an interesting scene."

Michael decided, for his crew's benefit, to provide
some entertainment.

"Tell them to line up."

"What tha fuck?"

"Do it?" 

"Arrrrghhh..." the pressure of boot-to-balls grew.
"Line up!" the order from the head honcho came.

Michael leaned into the agents ear, applying pressure,
then relayed a soft message to their fearless leader.

"Do it!" Michael called out, stomping deeper into the
agent's crotch.

"Arrrrghhhh alright.... alright.... strip, men!"

The twenty or so men, ranging in age from
twentysomething to fortysomething, gasped, questioning
the directive.

Fess says, in his faint Irish brogue, "I'd suggest you
make it soon?" 

The young guy, looking about twenty-eight, blond,
brushed Fess' hand away from his jacket lapel. With
assorted grumpy attitudes, jackets slid from shoulders
and ties loosened. 

Fess got a shock when the blond smirked at him! 

Somebody backstage pressed a disco CD into the system
and cranked it up. Barechested, the smooth blond,
extended his hand to Fess and bowed, suggesting the
old time mannerisms for asking to dance. The agent
next to him, cringed at the sight. However, Fess
lightened up, starting to switch his hips to and fro,
getting into the disco beat. Rob, feeling a bit left
out, sighted a dark haired hunk that had begun to
gyrate his torso and took him on, but stripped his own
shirt on the way. 

"Nice briefs," Rob complimented him.

"The name's Jeff and they're FBLO regulation briefs,"
the agent replied, before applying his chest to Rob's
hairy mass.

Seems that Jason became interested in helping the head
man get out of his clothes and the three began having
their own little orgy on the sofa. Michael lifted his
boot to remove from the leader's crotch, but he took
Michael's boot and asked him to leave it there!

Rob migrated towards Fess and then cut in, pairing off
the blond with his dancing partner. The straight guys
got down to their tee shirts, but weren't pressed to
strip further. In fact, seeing their fearless leader
with a cock stuffed in his gullet, they began to
dissipate in numbers, calling him, the appropriate,
'cocksucker'!

%

continued......... 

       Copyright 2005 T. Chase McPhee  All Rights Reserved.
           
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