Date: Sun, 28 Mar 2010 15:03:38 -0700 (PDT)
From: T. Chase McPhee <survivalgame@yahoo.com>
Subject: Bar Tab Buy-out! 07

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,
of continents or islands, in countries, counties, cities, towns, villages,
neighborhoods, streets, cul-de-sacs, nor governmental or non-governmental
areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male
relationships offends you, then why are you here? Seriously, if guy-to-guy
sex stuff makes you barf or is going to screw up your mind, 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 story, by law. Check
with your local laws regarding such.

% Sexual safety matters. Remember guys, this is fiction. In real life, use
protection.

Bar Tab Buy-out! 07
wriTten by T. Chase McPhee

%

"Oooh, chilleeee!" Tom says as they step out into the late night air.

"Well of course... here, put your shirt on!" In the dim lights, as Scott
stole the tee shirt from Tom's hands, confronting him on the adjustment for
it to fit over his head, then Tom throwing his arms into the air after
Scott feeds it onto his arms, it tickled Scott seeing the perfectly round
nubs, stiff as a board from the elements, protruding from the perfectly
smooth chest.

"What?" Tom asks, planing his shirt down over his slender bod.

"Nothing," Scott replies. "We better be going."

As Tom follows Scott to the car, he's thinking, trying to decipher the look
on Scott's face, knowing there was something below the neck which grabbed
his attention. One way or the other, he knew he would get it out of him!

Both parking their asses in the car, Scott making ignition, he asks, "Only
one problem. Apparently Marco knew where he was going and..."

"First back out of the space, Scott!"

"Oh really? You think I should really do that or plow right into the car in
front of me, knock him out of his spot to clear the way?"

All cute like, the eighteen year old says, "I'd rather have you plow me!"

"Kids!" Scott exclaims as he backs out of the parking space.

"I'm not a kid, you know?" Tom starts up conversation after telling Scott
which way the road goes to Route 25.

"Is this the turn off?" Scott asks after seeing the sign for '25'.

"You're evading my question, Scott." Realizing maybe not, Tom yells, "Turn!
Turn! Turn!"

After heading up the on ramp, Scott, cool and calmly, asks, "So, what was
your question?"

"Are you sure you have a license to drive?"

"Of course. That's your question?" Scott replies.

Tom starts in, "You know I've done a lot of instant growing up since my
folks passed away, probably faster than some other guys my age?"

"What happened to your folks if I'm not being too nosy?"

"Other than some shrinks, I haven't had anybody that wasn't paid to ask,
ask."

Scott says, "Well if it means anything, I'm not asking to get paid to ask!"

"Thanks. I appreciate you being candid with me Scott," Tom gives him a
smirk. Rather than getting info at this time, Tom immediately switches to,
"What do you do for a living?"

Driving along Route 25 at a leisure pace, Scott casually divulges, "Up
until this morning I was a happily-employed CEO at Barnett-Tarkington."

"Oh the 'Willy Wonka' factory!"

"Willy Wonka?" Scott questions Tom.

"Ask anyone at my school and that's what they refer to it as, or simply,
'B-T'."

Scott has had the demographic studies done, presented to him, knowing 'B-T'
to be not only a huge supplier, but also community-involved. "I would
assume people at your school acknowledge B-T, since we paid for most of the
sports activities for your high school?"

Then Tom said something which Scott wondered what the current problem would
imply, "Yeah, I've heard people say if B-T wasn't there for the school
sports programs, there wouldn't be any," and Tom counted them off on his
fingers, "football, lacrosse, marching band uniforms... were you there when
they built the swimming pool?"

"I wasn't with the company then, but I knew they had funded the pool and
the building which surrounds it." It then set Scott off to thinking of
'how' the funds were acquired.

"Hey, you listening?" Tom asks, tugging at the sleeve of Scott's white
dress shirt.

"Yeah, but I was just thinking."

"You do a lot of that often, Scott?"

With one hand on the wheel he pushes Tom on the shoulder, setting Tom off
giggling.

After his bout of laughter, Tom asks, "So what were you thinking about?"

Scott was thinking of this morning's events. It wasn't himself he had his
mind on, but rather what was going to happen to the programs at Tom's
school if B-T went down, cutting off funds. He hasn't exactly dwelled on
the charitable end of business at B-T. Everybody had their job to do, even
though Scott thought, being CEO, he should know everything. Then again
that's why he ran a tight ship, coming on board two years ago. He's always
figured, since he was on top of things, he could call any one of the
employees under him and get a straight answer on a moments notice. He
didn't want to involve Tom at this point though. He pulled the old cliche,
modified, "Nothing to worry your handsome little head about!"

But Tom comes back with, "You think I'm handsome? I think you're gorgeous
Scott, especially all this," Tom sticks his hand in the first few
unfastened buttons of Scott shirt and pets his chest fur!

"You're gonna make me run off the road, Tom!"

Tom withdraws his hand, saying, "I must like you a lot Scott."

"Oh? How's that go?"

In an angelic manner, Tom says, "Because... rubbing my hand over your
teddy-bear chest makes me tingle all over!"

"Anyplace in particular?"

"Keep your eyes on the road!"

%

Depending on the stakes, set at the beginning of the play, usually a
question and answer period between the 'top' and the 'bottom', drew the
lines between being easy, medium or laying it on heavy. The basement
dungeon at the Powderkeg wasn't a total kept secret, but mostly known to
those who sought out a special kind of adventure. Heavily guarded, a guy
had to go through a strict routine of questioning, usually perused by the
guys who worked for the Powderkeg. On some occasions, clientele would
introduce others, but all had to go through screening.

Most of the time, a guy would be picked up by a man who already knew
something about him, references from someone like Mark or Jake, who knew
him from years back. Too, unless you were willing to give it up, nobody
cared what line of work you were in, whether it be a shop keeper, cop,
fireman, teacher or university student. Though, the frat boys seemed an
easy pick out of the lineup. Once in awhile somebody like Tom would slip
through the loopholes, but the first stage, employees like Mark and Jake,
would catch them before they even got too close to first base.

As for Marco, he had been a regular there. Everyone knew him, a few knowing
he was an officer of the law, however unknown to them was which area and in
some cases it played in his favor. But to those few it remained within
their confidence. Only a dungeon could loosen their tongue and they were
not 'players' as far as the dungeon scene was concerned. However, for the
muscle-bear hauling Marco down the stairs to the dungeon, things remained
rather cool between the two.

"You took that gut punch and ball-bashing rather well, boy?" the
muscle-bear asks, as he places a relaxed hold around Marco's shoulder.

"Thank you sir."

There were reasons for the long flight of stairs, then the serpentine
hallways which led to the dungeon playground. For Marco and his
muscle-bear, it was a time to get to know each other. One of the reasons
Marco had set forth in a 'dance' of sorts, parading himself and gesturing
to this heap of muscle and hair was because he was new to the club. At the
bar earlier, Marco had quizzed Mark about the 'muscle-bear at the end of
the bar' and Mark gave him an assessment of being a person to have a good
time with, respecting limits, except if you don't have any. Mark furthered,
if you had any limits whatsoever, you'd better be clear at the beginning
because he could get 'brutal'.

"So, I'll run through a few things we could get into and you stop me if you
don't think it strikes you as 'fun'?"

"Sounds good," Marco replied. Also, one thing which was keeping Marco rigid
between the legs, was the age difference. Usually he was confronted by an
older top. Could be a chub, streamlined bod or somewhere in between. The
unusual state of tonight, his partnering was a guy, clearly younger,
knocking off at least ten years difference in his age and his
muscle-bear. Lucky for him, his muscle-bear stopped for a few seconds at
the water fountain. Too, it was nice to view him bent over, his hairy,
black-covered pecs almost touching the fountain, taut stomach with an
outline of a trail and then the protrusion, encased in a leather sack.

"So, I'm going to run these by you and you stop me..." then quick as
lightning, he goes, "bondage, cbt, tt, whipping, punching... hey, you into
watersports?"

"Sure," Marco replied, even though it wasn't one of his regular
endurances. He never really had much of a 'taste' for it.

"Cool," his muscle-bear replies, then rather than asks, dictates, "Since
this is my first time with you, we should go with a safeword. Got any in
mind?"

"Whatever you think?"

"How does 'mercy please', sound?"

"Great," Marco replies, throwing in a little humor, "except if you gag me!"

It worked! His muscle-bear roared with laughter, slapping Marco on the
shoulder, saying, "Oh I hope we hit it off tonight, boy!"

"Me too," and Marco emphasizes, "Sir!"

Saturday nights usually were the busiest night of the week, Friday next
busiest, Sunday hardly anyone. The rest of the week, unless a party
scheduled, the dungeon remained vacant, the 'Powderkeg' still open for bar
service.

While they waited on line, his muclebear asks him, "Any questions before I
start working you over?"

"I'd at least like to know your name?"

"Oh yeah. We didn't get to stats, did we?" Then he proceeds, "First name is
Gregg, last name pending if we hit it off. Six feet tall, one hundred and
eighty two pounds, cock size, if we click you could find out!"

Marco smiled, commenting, "I thought we already did 'click'?"

"Eight, when I'm fully wound up... you?"

"Cock size or?"

"Well I already got your name from that other fellow. He was looking for
the car keys. You come with him?"

"He came with me. It was his first time at the Powderkeg," Marco replies.

"I like his style. Really worked you over good."

"What about his style?" Marco asks, because talking about it was turning
him on already!

"Asked questions, but didn't wait for an answer. Hey, you into
roleplaying?"

"Why? You want to play the part of Scott?"

"Scott? That's your friends name?"

Right away Marco could tell. "Why? You into switching, Gregg?"

"I might be for the right man."

Marco liked the sound of it, because before, when Gregg was bent over the
water fountain he had an aching to use 'that ass'! He also informs Gregg,
"Well be careful how hard your work me tonight, because what goes around
could come back around at ya Gregg!"

A feisty smile on his face, Gregg tells, "Hmm... I'm big into roleplaying
and would love to be your prisoner of war?"

"Don't give any ideas Gregg."

"About what?" Gregg asks.

"Tonight you're topping me!"

"Hey, don't get me wrong. I had a tough day at the office today and I'm
really looking forwards to taking my frustrations out in more than one
way!"

Being a representative of the law, Marco always picked up on small details
in a conversation, even when someone didn't mean to leave a trail. He
usually kept it a secret, putting two and two together. However, since
Gregg was into roleplaying, he uses it to his advantage, plus some drawn
from experience, "Really? You're in business?"

"Oh, I meant to keep it confidential. You will, wouldn't you?"

"Boy scout's honor," Marco replies. "But tell me Gregg, how would you
handle a man whom you found bilked the company out of millions dollars via
a Ponzi scheme?"

An evil grin creased the thirty-one year old's lips as he replies, "Say, do
you happen to know if the dungeon has an electro setup?"

%

"Nice..." Tom's eyes were up and down the interior of the foyer, "..place!"

"Not mine, but as long as Marco is not here, it's 'our' place." And Scott,
feeling right at home, "When's the last time you ate something?"

Smiling, Tom renders, "Like how do you mean that?"

"Non-protein matter?" Scott replies, reading right into Tom's mind.

"An apple at school."

"An apple? And that's to hold you throughout the whole day?"

"It was all that was in the refrigerator this morning, after Rich's goons
partied last night."

"And tell me," Scott asks with concern as he holds open the fridge door,
"did you 'party' with them last night?"

"If what you're getting at is, 'was I their sex toy?', no. I try to leave
the house early and come home late. And usually I climb up the trellis on
the side of the house so nobody knows I come home."

"Sounds like a smart idea I suppose." Then, bending over, Scott almost fits
his head inside. "Well, it looks like Marco really knows how to keep things
stocked!"

"Move it," Tom says, shoving Scott aside with his hip.

"Well, ex-cu-u-u-u-use me!"

"Oh this looks good!"

"What?" Scott asks, because his duty seemed to evolve into being 'doorman'.

"Here, hold this," Tom passed Scott a head of lettuce. "Lettuce?" Scott
asks.

Popping up for a minute, arms laden with a stalk of celery, a loose bunch
of carrots and a container of yogurt, "Yeah, I'm a vegetarian. You?"

Scott thought it a good time for a pun, "Oh, so you don't eat 'meat'?"

Cocking his head to the side, Scott thought Tom looked so cute as he
replies, "Usually not in the kitchen?"

"Of course," Scott says, tossing the head of lettuce in the air and
catching it, like a basketball, "I'd much rather 'be tasted' upstairs!" He
giggled.

"You wouldn't happen to know how to open a lettuce?"

"Is it like opening an ass?"

"You're pathetic Scott!"

"Oh shit!" Scott shouts when Tom throws a carving knife, it landing,
sticking in the carving board Scott had put the head of lettuce on. "That
board could've been my hand, you know?"

"I was a Boy Scout. Nine out of ten times I hit the knot in the tree."

"Still, that could have been the tenth time," Scott replied.

Walking over to Scott, Tom gets between him and the board and says, "I'm
sorry. Kiss and make up?"

Scott had wanted to do it way before now, only thing is he felt it strange
kissing a guy about half his age. Backing away he says, "Just don't let it
happen again, okay?"

"If it'll make you feel better you can hit me or something, Scott?"

"Family violence is not the answer."

Then, bringing up some past, Tom rebuts, "Too bad my dad didn't know
anything about that."

"Wait," Scott says, bracing himself against the other counter, "I was under
the impression you had a loving home before... you never did say what
happened to your folks?" And now Scott was pressing for details.

Hardly leaving Tom a choice or maybe Tom felt it was time to really offer
up some trust, "My father killed my mom and then turned the gun on
himself."

"Oh my God!" Scott replies. And walking slowly towards Tom, he embraces him
like his own sibling, "I'm so, so sorry. If I had known I wouldn't have
pressed you for details."

Tom accepted the hug from Scott. It had been a long, long time since he had
received any affection from someone who meant it. Even though his only
other relative in the world was his mean brother, Rich, at the funeral and
shortly thereafter, friends of his father and mother, school chums and
their families had shone their condolences in the form of an affectionate
hug, but it didn't phase him as Scott's warm bod and arms were doing just
now.

"It's okay. I can talk about it now."

"As opposed to?" Scott asks.

Tom says in a lowly voice, "I'm not really hungry Scott."

Scott knew what that meant. He reaches around Tom and balances the head of
lettuce in his hand, saying, "Why don't we put this stuff away till later?"

As Scott finished tidying up, Tom had wandered into the hallway and spots
from a window, "Oh cool! Your friend has a pool?"

Scott knew what that meant! He asks, "You didn't happen to bring a suit did
you?"

With a shy disposition, Tom says, "You're a guy... I'm a guy...."

His smile paved the way for Scott to start unbuttoning his shirt.

"Hey! Can I do that?"

Scott stops at the third button, stares and smiles at Tom.

"Once I got to do it for one of Rich's friends, except he wasn't too nice
about it. I've always wanted to be gentle about doing it with a man like
you Scott?"

Abandoning his shirt, Scott let his hands fall to his sides.

Approaching with a smile, it stuck on Tom's face. As far as their heights
compared, officially, Tom was an inch taller, but it didn't seem to matter
much as their eyes matched up. But the pairing of their eyes were
short-lived, as Tom took hold of the task of that third button on Scott's
shirt.

"I've always wanted to do this."

"Do what?" And preying on Tom's previous comment, "Open up a shirt of a
hairy man?"

And as Tom did unfasten the button, then the last one, before Scott's belt
buckle, he exclaims, "Oh man you're so awesome Scott!"

Scott smiled at Tom, for being so cute about it. Also, Tom's discovery made
him tingle all over as if Tom was encouraging him to say, "Aren't you going
to finish?"

"It's okay?" Tom asks. He 'was' being a little reluctant, Scott being
sixteen years older than his stripper.

And because he wanted it this way too, Scott replies, "I don't want you to
be inhibited by anything Tom. Tonight I want you to think of me as any
other eighteen year old."

Tom replies, "There's this guy in gym class, Aldo. He's on the swim team."
Tom smiles as he says, "I've been going to all the swim competitions just
to watch Aldo. I don't know what it is, but I love to see him
barechested. He's got this awesome hair on his chest and stomach. It looks
really cool when it's wet too."

"And how would that make you any different from other guys, Tom?"

For now Tom was dwelling on Scott's words about doing whatever he felt.

Scott helped him along, "The other buttons on my shirt? Then maybe you can
see how my hair looks wet?"

With the task at hand, Tom took Scott's shirt and pulled it out of his
pants.

"You could have unbuckled my belt you know?" Scott said like giving
permission.

Tom smiled, backing up and working at Scott's belt. Feeling more
comfortable as he unlatched the leather from the loopholes, he says, "I've
always wanted to to this," he proceeds to pull the belt from the loops.

"Ohh-h-h that was hot!" Scott says.

"Really?"

Scott giggled, which told Tom he was spoofing him. "Funny Scott. I
oughta.... never mind."

Like air going out of a balloon, suddenly the glee seemed to drain from
Tom.

"What is it Tom?" Scott asks, tilting his head up by the chin.

"I used to go to a shrink to find out how to forget all this stuff, but
here I am being my own worst enemy."

"You know," Scott says, pulling his shirt out of his pants undoing the last
button and peeling it off over his shoulders, "I think we need to hustle
this up a bit?" And after taking his shirt off, he lifts Tom's tee at the
tails, ordering, "C'mon... arms up!"

"Oh man Scott.. that gave me shivers!"

"Cold?" Scott said as he went for his own pants first.

It gave Tom new incentive to strip as he replies, "No. I meant it felt cool
having you strip my shirt off for me."

"I take it you haven't been in many relationships?" Scott asks, same time
taking notice of eyes scanning his bod.

"None like this. One of the guys and me messed around at school, but we got
snagged by his little brother. His mom threw me out of the house and told
me never to come back. The dude stopped being my friend," Tom explained as
he worked his pants off his feet, "but I think it wasn't him, but his
parents who told I couldn't be. Then there was Rich's friend who 'made
me'."

The two confronted each other now, in only briefs. "Well... I guess we're
down to the bare minimum," Scott says. Like reading Tom's mind, he asks,
"You wouldn't want to," and he coined the teen lingo, "like, help me, would
you?"

Grinning, Tom replies, "Oh, it would be so cool Scott. Thanks," he more
than willing accepted the duty.

And as Scott felt Tom's hands on the elastic of his Boss briefs, he asks,
"Mind if I reciprocate?"

%

Copyright 2010 T. Chase McPhee

`Bar Tab Buy-out!' may not be sold, nor made part of any collection,
without prior consent from the author.

The more you stretch, the more you can fit in... 'spread' happiness!
TCMcP.....