Date: Mon, 19 Mar 2001 23:17:49 -0500
From: David Buffet <tightserve@hotmail.com>
Subject: Alpha Male - Chapter 28

Chapter28:  Meeting the Man
	We lay together for half an hour after his explanation and talked while the
storm raged outside. He intermittently stroked me, squeezed or tugged me,
moderately cuffed my balls a few more times.  The strong winds whistled
through the spruce, providing an eerie aural backdrop to our interaction.
He took off his shorts revealing his dick, the first time I had ever seen it
hard, and lay back down next to me grinding it satisfyingly into my thigh.
	I relaxed.  Relaxed into the conversation, relaxed into his touch, relaxed
into his care.  Once or twice I reached to caress him, prompting him to
gather my wrists over my head and pin them there as if I were a criminal
crucified.  Still, I liked that he held me immobile and in that position; my
sides and armpits were exposed to his exploration.  We discovered I was
mildly ticklish - unusual, as I was not normally so.  We discovered that
rather than deflating my erection, the periodic mild pummeling of my balls
kept me steely hard and dripping. We discovered I didn't need to cum to
consider the sexual interchange a success.
	Neither of us came that night.  Instead, Dan conducted the sexual tension
like a symphony.  Theme and variation intermingled with counterpoint,
interlude and recapitulation.  Cumming didn't seem to be the point.  When I
asked him when I could cum again, he asked me why I thought the prohibition
existed in the first place.  I told him I understood perfectly why: my job
was to give up control to him - including control of my own pleasure.  He
smiled and stroked my cheek.  "When you have the right answer to that
question," he said, "you can cum."
	When Adam walked in soaked from the deluge, we were lying together, me
nude, Dan's legs intertwined with mine, his dick embossing in my thigh,
talking about our families.  Adam paid no more attention to our various
states of undress than he did the mess on the floor.
	"Hey," he said.
	"Hey," Dan replied nonchalantly, as unaffected by Adam's presence as Adam
was by ours.  I, it seemed, was the only one bothered.  I made a move to get
up if at least to cover myself, but Dan pulled me back.
	"Ummm..." I said, "I'm naked, here.  Got an erection, you know?"
	Adam turned from picking up a dry set of clothes to look at me.  "Have you
ever *not* had an erection?"
	Dan laughed, and I, QueerPowerMan himself, blushed a Diana Vreeland red.
	"It seems our friend is a little pain pig," Dan said lightly.
	"There's a surprise," Adam replied unimpressed, stripping off his shirt.
	"I am not," I protested.  "You didn't go *that* hard."
	"In fact, I did."
	"You did?"
	"Yeah, Mark.  That was pretty hard."
	"It couldn't have been."
	Adam put on a ratty hooded sweatshirt he had found amidst the dust bunnies
under the bed.   It made him look irresistibly roguish.  "Trust the man," he
said.  "He's done this before."
	Cognitive dissonance.  It hadn't hurt *that* much, or if it had, it was a
pain that I could very much appreciate.  In fact, I had kind of hoped Dan
would keep going.  How could it have been that hard?  If it were that hard,
I would have surely lost my erection.  I had been hit in the balls with a
softball once a few years back.  I was running around the track at school
while a pickup game formed inside the oval.  A warm-up throw had gotten away
from one of the fielders and flown at me while I rounded the turn.  It had
caused me to throw up.  *That* was hard.  But Adam was right.  Dan had done
this before, and I had not.  And Dan was not the type to exaggerate.  My
advisor liked to say that faced with dissonant evidence, people will trust
their outdated self-image more than their senses.  Was it time for me to
update mine?  Researcher, activist, intellect, wit...pain pig?  It didn't
sound right.
	Adam shucked his shorts and underwear, dropping them where he stood and
began rooting around for a clean pair.
	"*Please* let me clean up this place," I begged.
	"Fuck, yeah," Adam said.  "I can't find shit anymore."  The view was
breathtaking.  He had bent over to search for underwear, the muscles in his
ass dimpling and spreading his cheeks to reveal the dark hairs that lightly
dusted his pucker.  The boys rarely bent their knees when they picked things
up off the ground, I realized.  Where I would crouch, they piked.
	"Maybe later," Dan allowed, drawing my attention back to him as I realized
that he had just done the unspeakable.  He had trumped Adam.  Adam had said
yes, Dan had said no, and no it would therefore be.  But if the boys had
recognized this exchange as unusual, they did not indicate it to me.  Adam
merely shrugged and continued his search for a pair of boxers he could wear.
  The sound of the rain on the roof increased to a furious white noise.
	Monday came and went, still hot but now overcast and drizzly.  The weather
remained miserable but no longer violently severe.  Aside from a call to
Shmu to set phase B of the plan in motion, I spent the hours being
obsessively aware of my genitals.  From Brad's golden smoothness to Doug's
clumsy but irresistible goofiness, I leaked throughout the day.  To make
matters worse, Adam began treating me with an easy familiarity, at one point
going so far as to begin tweaking my nipple through my T-shirt as his arm
rested casually over my shoulders.
	It is exhausting constantly having an erection.  I don't mean the
hyperactive rise and fall that punctuates a horny teenager's afternoon.  I
mean an endless, indefatigable, bone-crushing erection that holds blood from
the brain and other less demanding organs in cathexis.  Every move, every
rustle of clothing, every sight, sound and smell draws your attention back
to it and its relentlessness.  It begins to rule you from moment to moment,
a true dictator.
	Dan.  Dan and his sculpted, powerful torso.  Dan and his long, flattened,
sandpapery fingers.  Dan and his pale skin, dark lashes, blue eyes, red
lips.  Dan and the fur on his shins as it scratched me while our legs
intertwined.  Dan and the masculine angles of his long neck.  Dan and his
forceful confidence.  Dan as he swam me around the lake, gliding so smoothly
through the water with my life in his hands.  Dan the fisherman.  Dan the
hook on which I was impaled.
	In his room that night he took me by the wrist as I entered and twisted it
painfully into an arm lock behind my back.  Suddenly facing away from him
and not quite knowing what was happening, before even the pain from my elbow
was able to register, I was pulled backward into him while his free arm
wrapped around my throat.  His bicep began to cut off air as he tightened it
over my windpipe.
	"I could kill you now, if I wanted," he whispered into my ear.
	"Dan, you're scaring me."
	"Do you want me to stop?"
	I felt my pulse quicken in my jugular as it beat against the crook of his
elbow.  His forearm bent my head up and back at an uncomfortable angle,
which did little to distract me from the growing pain in the arm twisted and
held at an impossible pitch behind my back.
	Did I want him to stop?  His breath was hot on my ear, his groin hot on my
ass.  The very power of his bicep was aphrodesic as it pressed against my
larynx.  Did I want him to stop?  I did not enjoy the pain.  Not this pain.
And he was seeming psychotic to me.  I had no death wish.  Submissive,
perhaps, but not self-annihilating.  Did I want him to stop?  I did.  But
not forever and he was eminently clear on the drive back from the mall that
my first refusal would be my last.
	"Well?" he spat, menacingly into my ear.
	In response, I consciously and deliberately relaxed my body.  I did not
move, per se, merely leaned back more onto him - into him. I was on the
trampoline, and he was pushing me, holding me, protecting me all at the same
time.  My body language sent a clear message: snap my neck, it said without
words.  It's yours to break.  He chuckled and licked my ear wetly, loosening
his grip on my arm, but not on my neck.
	"I know why you won't let me cum," I said.
	"Why's that?"
	"Keeps me focused.  I've been totally ruled by my dick all day.  Every time
I move I'm aware of it.  Not letting me cum keeps me a primarily sexual
being."
	"Interesting answer," he said, finally releasing me.  "Keep playing."
	"That wasn't it?"
	"Nope.  But you've earned the right to progress on to the lightning round."
	When Tuesday dawned, I was exhausted.  Unable to fall asleep the night
before without the ability to relax myself by jacking off, I spent the humid
hours in bed like a chicken on a rotisserie unsuccessfully looking for a
position that did not remind me of my erection.
	Adam found me leaning against a locker mid-morning almost asleep.
	"You okay?"
	"Just exhausted," I said, yawning.  "I'll pull out of it."
	"Cool," he replied and went digging for the new set of grips he had come
searching for.
	"Adam, can I ask you something?"
	"Shoot," he said, straddling the bench and beginning to unwind the tape
that bound his wrists.
	"Dan scared me last night."
	When he realized that was all I had to say, he looked up from the white
adhesive ball he was forming.  "That's not a question, champ."
	I shrugged, unsure as how to continue.  "Should I be?  Scared, I mean?"
	Adam stopped what he was doing and looked within my eyes.  He was reading
something.  How could he do that?  How could he just look and know?  His jaw
flexed, and he drew his lips in a millimeter.
	"What did he do?" he asked.
	I told him about our interchange, his arm at my throat, the menace in his
voice, my response.
	"I'll talk to him about it," he said and returned to removing the torn
leather grip from his left hand.
	"No," I said.  "No.  You don't have to come to the rescue."  He stopped
again and looked up, clearly surprised.  "This is between me and him," I
went on.  "It doesn't seem right if you...It wouldn't be appropriate...I
mean, I really appreciate it, but...I don't know..." The fog and coherence,
mortal enemies from the moment I had first seen Adam, battled anew for
supremacy.  "I just think this is something he and I have to work out
together.  It's not for you to direct.  It's Dan's show."
	Adam stood and sauntered over to where I sat leaning against the lockers.
So close that my nostrils burned with the exquisite reek of him, he brought
the fore and index fingers of his right hand to my lips and gently pushed
them into my mouth.  I sucked them in, savoring the bitterness of the rosin,
the saltiness of his sweat, the electric tingle of his magic.  He ran them
over my tongue, gently allowing me succor and sustenance.
	"You've come such a long way," he said softly.  "I'm proud of you, Mark."
His face was inches from mine.  His breath was sweet.  Were his fingers not
in my mouth, I would have tried to drink it.  "He won't go too far.  I know
him."  He looked into my eyes again and read the question on my mind.  "I
don't know if it'll be too far for you, but it won't be too far.  You
understand?"  I nodded.
	He removed his fingers from my mouth and smiled at me.  It was a moment of
such sublime tenderness until he wiped his fingers on my shirt and pinched
my right nipple painfully hard.
	"No cumming, now," he said in mock seriousness.  "Wouldn't want to get you
in trouble with The Man."
	The rest of Tuesday devolved into Dan Day.  Dan on the vault as he threw
himself full throttle at the hard leather horse.  Dan eating lunch.  Dan
pulling at the front of his uni to give his chest more room to expand.  Dan
showering.  Dan where I looked.  Dan when I blinked.  Dan on my mind.  Dan
in my soul.
	"I know why you won't let me cum," I said to him on the way back to the
dorm after dinner as the continuing drizzle turned back to a moderate rain.
	"Ya do, huh?"
	"You're all I can think about today.  Everywhere I go, everything I do.  It
all comes back to you in my mind.  The more celibate I am, the more you own
my thoughts.  It's a strange feeling, not to be in control of my own ability
to concentrate."
	"Well, that's pretty cool."
	He led me into his room.  "Strip now," he said.
	"Oh, goodie!" I exclaimed giddily, dropping my shorts.  "Score one for
Mark!"
	"No, actually, score's still zero," he said, lifting my shirt off me and
pulling me against him.  He held my ass in his hands and ground me into him.
  I looked up into his eyes.  He was in a good mood.
	"That wasn't right?"
	"Nope," he said, kissing me deeply, insistently, but tenderly.  His tongue
was soft yet commanding.  I happily let it explore my mouth. He broke off
the kiss.  "But you're still in the game.  Now take down my shorts."
	Dan's dick was fully engorged.  Somewhat shorter than Adam's, it was wider
and thicker, both at its base where his coal-colored pubes extended an inch
out onto the shaft and at its head, sheathed as it was in its turtleneck of
skin.  Straight, cream-colored except for its crown which shone pinkish and
damp, a blue vein running half the length of its underside to where it
forked in two then, shortly thereafter, disappeared.  His pendulous balls
hung low and large in their loose sack.
	"That might well be the most beautiful dick I have ever seen in my life," I
said, mouth dry, palms itching.
	"Shaddup," he said and smiled.  I smiled back, liking very much the Dan of
the evening.  Had Adam talked to him despite my entreaty not to?  He was a
different Dan than the one of the night before.
	"Down on the bed," he said, swatting my butt playfully.  I took a flying
leap, swan diving onto the bed and flipped myself over on the first bounce.
He swaggered over, his dick pointing to his chin, hardly bouncing with his
stride and stepped up onto the bed.  Standing over me, he placed one foot on
either side of my hips and faced me.
	He towered over me, Herculean, imperious, enormous.  From below, the
thickness of his shoulders was pronounced.  Above the fearsome ridges of his
long stomach, his musculature spread out significantly dorsally as well as
laterally. I held onto his ankles and grinned.
	"Ya like this, do ya?"
	I nodded like a little boy.  "Yes, sir," I said happily.  "More, please."
	"I'll give ya more, little man,"
	He began to jack himself, pulling his generous foreskin first down toward
his groin then completely over his cockhead.  Without thinking, I ran my
hands up his shins, enjoying the abrasion of the fur that covered them, past
where his thighs flared out like blocks, up to his balls.
	He frowned stepped over me and off the bed.  Walking to his bureau, he
opened one of the drawers and retrieved a length of rope.
	"We just don't listen, do we, now?" He said, condescendingly.
	"Why can't I use my hands?" I asked.  "I just wanted to make you feel
good."
	"Well, to begin with," he said, looping the rope around one of my wrists,
"because I said so."  A few half-hitches later, he attached my second hand
to the first.  "And to end with," he added, "because I said so."  My wrists
trussed, he looped the rope around the iron rail of the headboard of his bed
and pulled.  My arms were drawn over my head.  He tied the rope off.  I
tested it.  I wasn't moving until he wanted me to.
	"Am I gonna have to do the legs?" he asked.
	I shook my head.  "I'll be good."
	He climbed back up on the bed.  Working one foot between my knees, he
kicked them apart and stepped between them.  Taking his dick in his hand
again and beginning to stroke it, he surveyed his conquest.  Naked and
stretched below him, I was immobilized both physically and emotionally.  Dan
had me pinned as completely as a child would a jarred butterfly.  I wondered
again at how I had come to this point - how surprising it had been and how
surprisingly easy.  My advisor frequently likened the therapeutic process to
childbirth.  There was slow, hidden development for months and months.
Then, all at once, a new person emerged in a sudden, cataclysmic event.  Was
this what was happening to me?  Was I being reborn?
	Dan was erotic in every way I could imagine and myriad ways I couldn't.
Commanding, confident, demanding, he surprised me with every exchange and
threw me constantly off guard.  Were he not a gymnast, he would be an
excellent wrestler.  He lifted one foot and brought its ball down on my
scrotum, gently running my testicles back and forth under the calluses.
Moderate, steady pressure.  I moaned in delight, spreading my knees wider
for him.
	"My little pain piggy," he said with genuine fondness, stroking the length
of his dick as he pressed.  But his attention to my balls was short-lived.
He brought his toes under them to my crack and insinuated himself into it.
I dug my heels into the mattress, lifting myself slightly to give him full
access.  He stroked my perineum with his big toe, pressing the tender flesh,
all the while working himself in slow, deliberate, long strokes.
	"My little piggy want a toe fuck?"
	"Whatever The Man wants is fine with the piggy," I replied, eyes rolled
back and half-closed in ecstasy, despite my conscious desire to look at him.
	Of all times for the door to open.  Of all times for Adam to walk in.
Worse, he had Doug in tow.