Date: Sat, 17 Aug 2013 13:11:14 -0700 (PDT)
From: Jasper Cooper <jax.cooper@yahoo.com>
Subject: Downfall of Nate Ramsey - chapter 12

                      THE DOWNFALL OF NATE RAMSEY

Disclaimer:
-----------

This story is a gay authoritarian fantasy; no part of it is based in fact,
and none of the characters are intended to resemble real persons, living or
dead. This continuing story chronicles the humiliating ordeals of an
18-year-old high school basketball player who finds himself at the complete
mercy of his teammates. Most of these humiliations have a strong sexual
component. If you are underage, averse to homosexuality, and/or unable to
distinguish between fact and fiction, please do yourself (and everyone
else) a favour by leaving this webpage at once.


Preface:
--------

You're probably wondering why it took me more than 2 years to continue this
story. I've a whole raft of excuses but I won't bore you with them –
truth to be told, none of them are particularly good reasons for leaving
you guys hanging for so long. Completing this chapter was a struggle, and
I'm still not entirely pleased with how it turned out. But I'll leave it
for you to judge, and as always, I'm keen to hear your thoughts and
suggestions.


Dedication:
-----------
For Andy, who inspired me to get back to writing this story.


Chapter 12:
-----------
Slave 4 U

Most people are down with the Monday blues when the first day of a new week
arrives, but not Wes Stanford. If anything, he felt upbeat and excited,
anticipating his turn to once again have at the hunky object of his
desire. He'd watched the video of Spencer and Nate's weekend fuck-fest the
moment Troy uploaded it to the website. Then he'd watched it a second time,
followed by a third viewing that skipped ahead to what he considered to be
the two very best scenes: Nate spunking all over himself and Spencer as
they made out with Nate impaled on Spencer's dick, and Nate slurping avidly
on Spencer's tight little hole with the blond stud's furry legs up on his
shoulders.

By the time he was done, Wes had shot two loads and memorized the trail of
every drop of sweat as it ran down Nate's sculpted chest. And then, of
course, there'd been the dream. He'd not had a wet dream since he was
fourteen. It was not entirely unexpected he'd had an erotic dream,
considering that he'd fallen asleep with the sexy video lingering in his
mind and the smell of fresh cum lingering in his room. What HAD been
surprising was the content of the dream.

At first, it had seemed like he was merely re-watching the video of Nate
and Spencer as they made out and fucked in the latter's dorm room, but with
two twists: Wes was right there in the room with them, and it was Nate
whose dick was being ridden by his lover. It was an interesting and
thrilling role reversal. Wes could only see the back of Spencer's blond
head, but there was no mistaking the look of sheer ecstasy on Nate's face
when he was kissing Spencer's neck. Well, that was definitely a tick in the
`secretly gay' column, thought Wes - no straight guy would look that into
making out with another dude. It looked like Troy and Jason were right
about Nate. Wes was glad; it made what they were doing to him seem not
quite so awful.

He was distracted away from that line of thought when the couple in the
chair moaned loudly in unison. Their kisses were wet and sloppy and
passionate; and Wes could hear skin slapping against skin as one thrust
deeply into the other. Wes's dick began to respond. He moved slowly around
the chair, hoping to get a better look at the action. When he could finally
see the face of Nate's blond lover, he had a shock. It wasn't Spencer after
all - it was Wes himself! And to top it all off, as Wes gaped in
astonishment, his dream self gasped to Nate: "God, I love you!"

What the hell?

Nate didn't miss a beat. "I love you too," he declared before resuming his
enthusiastic mauling of the dream-Wes's face.

Despite his confusion, Wes could not help being turned on by this
unexpected turn of events. He could see Nate's hands snaking up to twist
his dream self's nipples, while his own hands were pawing at Nate's back,
occasionally slipping down into his crack and fingering his hole. They were
both bathed with sweat, their hair damp with it and their bodies shining
with it; it felt so real Wes could almost smell it in the air. He could
hear the loud moans of ecstasy, his own pleas to be fucked harder and
deeper, and Nate's growls of acquiescence. He'd never even contemplated
being fucked before - all his fantasies had involved him being on top - and
yet here he was, dick achingly hard - both his dicks, as the case was! Wes
could see his hard-on trapped between his and Nate's bodies, even as he
glimpsed Nate's own erection plundering his dream self's virginal hole,
every last inch disappearing into the orifice. And then he climaxed, waking
up with a start as he spewed his load all over his sweaty body.

For a moment, Wes had lain in bed, his mind completely blown as much by the
orgasm as by its circumstances. He recalled Jason's concern that his best
friend may be in love with Nate. Of course he'd dismissed the idea without
giving it a second thought, but now he began to wonder ... What if his
feelings for Nate were more than just lust? Would simple lust make his
heart sing at the thought of having Nate to himself, a lot more than the
gang-bang scenarios had? Would it cause him to crave the sort of intimate
touching and kissing that he'd seen in the video of Nate and Spencer? Would
it make him dream of spouting declarations of love and being unbelievably
thrilled when the sentiment was returned?

Wes had to wonder.

                             & & & & &

Nate, on the other hand, could not have had more contrary feelings about
the day ahead. He was dreading the advent of another school week, which
promised to be another week of taunts, ridicule and worse, by peers who had
once looked up to and even feared him. And of course there was the misery
of having a new master added to the ranks of his tormentors, one who was
using him sexually without the knowledge or permission of his
teammates. Nate didn't know when or where he might next encounter Zack
Rosen, and what the pizza delivery boy might demand of him then. The memory
of being finger-fucked by Zack was fresh in his mind and he wondered
fearfully if a seventh guy would soon be plunging his dick into his
asshole. Every new cock that entered his ass chipped away at his
masculinity that bit more.

Why hadn't he fought harder to resist Zack? He could've snapped him like a
twig, yet he'd chosen to submit to the scrawny, barely older teen. Nate
argued that he hadn't had a choice, not unless he wanted to risk being
outed to his parents as a faggot, but somehow that argument didn't seem to
give him a lot of reassurance.

He left home very early, much to the surprise of his parents, in order to
arrive at school well before the rest of his schoolmates and thus avoid
another parking lot pantsing. Sneaking around school made Nate feel even
more alone, even more of an outsider. It hadn't been that long ago that
he'd been strutting down the corridors with Tripp and his other football
buddies at his side, talking shit about their loser schoolmates. Now HE was
the loser who Tripp was out to get - turned into an object of scorn for the
very schoolmates he'd once mocked and bullied. It was a sorry state of
affairs indeed.

Through extreme caution Nate was able to avoid any trouble until lunch
break. (Well, unless you included Mr. Vaughn sharing the details of his
forthcoming humiliation as a model for the anatomy class; the embattled
stud was dejected by the untimely reminder that the next afternoon he would
be baring all in front of a roomful of unfamiliar college freshmen.)

Then Nate received a text from Ethan which he was unable to put off: Ethan
demanded his presence in the third-floor restroom. Nate knew what that
entailed. Despondently, he made his way up to the third floor using the
back stairs (in case Leo Somerfield and Gray Donovan were lying in wait on
the main stairs) and entered the restroom. Ethan was leaning casually
against the frame of a cubicle in the otherwise-empty room, a sneer on his
face.

"Took you long enough," scolded Ethan, for Nate's clandestine route had
taken longer than anticipated. "I'll have to think of a way to punish
you. Now get inside and suck me off!"

Ethan didn't mention stripping naked first, but Nate knew his role as a sex
slave well by now. Anxious not to anger his master any further, he hastily
undressed completely before dropping to his knees in front of Ethan. No
further instructions were forthcoming from the other teen, so Nate went
ahead and carefully unzipped Ethan's jeans with his teeth, fished his dick
out of his boxers and wrapped his lips around it. As he sucked and licked,
he looked up at Ethan, who was playing with his phone with apparent
disinterest in the proceedings down below. This only added to Nate's
distress, for being turned into a sex-toy was one thing, but being treated
with utter indifference while performing his sexual duties was another. It
made him feel even more worthless, which he hadn't thought possible.

Unlike some of his other masters, Ethan was quiet during his blowjob, and
this was especially appreciated by Nate when they heard other boys entering
the restroom. He flushed with shame as he realized that he was intently
listening to the other guys pissing (even if it was only because he needed
to be certain that they weren't about to barge in on him giving a blowjob).

Much to Nate's relief, Ethan didn't reach his climax until after the
restroom emptied out again. In a move that Nate had become intensely
familiar with over the past week, Ethan pulled out of Nate's mouth just in
time to cum all over the poor wretch's face; Nate had barely enough time to
shut his eyes before the warm blast of thick, sticky fluid coated his face.

Although his eyes were tightly squeezed shut, Nate could hear the click of
Ethan's camera phone as the latter snapped a still photo of his cum-covered
features, doubtless to be added to the secret online archive that now
contained many similar images. He also heard the sounds of Ethan putting
his dick away and zipping up his jeans. But he didn't hear the cubicle door
being unlocked; Ethan was still in there with him. He wondered why before
remembering what always followed his cum-facial. Wearily, he mopped up his
cum with his fingers and licked them clean. Only when he was done (but
before he had the chance to stand up or redress) did Ethan unlock the
cubicle and leave. He didn't bother to shut the door behind him and Nate
had to scramble to pull his clothes back on before someone else came in and
caught sight of his naked body in the mirror on the wall opposite.

He took a few minutes at the basin to wash his face, check for stray beads
of cum, rinse his mouth and pop a couple of breath mints. He couldn't look
at his reflection without experiencing extreme disgust at himself. He
really was becoming a lowly faggot whore. Even the pool of people who knew
his awful secret seemed to be expanding by the day. At least no one at
school, beyond those on the basketball team, had borne witness to the true
depths of his degradation; that was some consolation.

While that might have been strictly true, Nate's schoolmates were by now
quite aware that something was going on with the former school stud, and
they were very determined to exploit it. And unfortunately for Nate, Ethan
hadn't just been playing with his phone while receiving his blowjob; he'd
overheard Leo and Gray complaining about Nate's successful attempt at
evading them that morning and decided to throw them a bone by texting them
the beleaguered hunk's location.

Hence, the very second Nate stepped out of the restroom, he found himself
being pounced on by the two burly football players and a group of eager
onlookers who'd caught wind of the trap that had been set for the former
top dog. Nate was caught so unawares that he accidentally swallowed his
breath mints in fright. His tormentors had him ringed in and, in what
seemed like no time at all, they'd stripped him down to his jockstrap. A
game of keep-away then ensued, with the ring of people around Nate tossing
his clothes to and fro, with the nearly-nude stud attempting (and failing)
to regain his dignity. One guy had the brilliant idea of pulling on the
waistband of Nate's jockstrap while the unfortunate hunk was running in the
other direction, before releasing it with a loud and painful snap.

The idea quickly gained popularity and Nate yelped pitifully as red marks
increasingly marred the pale flesh of his hips and butt. (Two sessions of
nude sunbathing had not succeeded in getting rid of his tan lines.) Of
course this little addition to the game meant that people were getting
glimpses of his bare butt and his shaved crotch, and there were mean
comments about his hairlessness and other physical attributes. More than
one person happened across the scene, but rather than helping Nate, merely
joined in the laughter or, worse, whipped out their phones to snap their
own little souvenir of the humiliated stud.

Nate felt tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. Of course bullying was
a fairly common occurrence in their school, but usually when Nate and his
football buddies were dishing out their verbal abuse, there'd be some
do-gooder trying to intervene. Yet now that Nate was on the receiving end,
absolutely no one seemed to care about his plight; indeed they seemed to
relish it. Nate even saw one of the guys who usually leapt to the defense
of bullying victims barely able to suppress a smile when he saw Nate's
condition and walk off nonchalantly. Nate was truly starting to regret his
past actions, for they had left him alone and friendless at a time when he
could have really used someone in his corner.

The bell rang to signal the end of lunch break and Nate's tormentors
dropped his clothes to the floor and began to drift back to their
classes. The whole ordeal had lasted less than five minutes, but to Nate it
had felt like an eternity. Before he left, Leo made sure he got a good
snapshot of Nate's ass crossed with red welts, to show to Tripp. The
sniffling stud was left to pick up his clothes and get dressed.

Things were no better when he got to his next class, for every seat had
already been taken and Nate was left with no choice but to sit at the only
available desk: beside Teri Marston, who glared at him venomously. Nate
tried to avoid eye contact with her, given how he'd ended his relationship
with Melanie two days before, but she had other plans.

Teri leaned over to hiss in his ear, "You think you're such a stud, huh,
Ramsey? Well, I've just been looking at the proofs of the photos Dusty
Ross-Jennings took for the yearbook feature on the school's athletes, and I
have to assume you didn't realize just how revealing they were."

Nate's heart sank; he'd forgotten that Teri was on the yearbook
committee. This could only end badly for him.

Teri went on. "It's rather a pity that we can't use the best of those shots
because I doubt Principal Hartwell would let us, but I think there's one in
there that will pass her censorship and keep your dignity intact." She
snorted, which Nate correctly assumed to mean the exact opposite with
regards to the preservation of his dignity.

But Teri wasn't done. "And to make sure everyone can share in your obvious
pride at your body," she added, "we'll make sure Dusty's credits for the
photos will include a link to his blog, where they'll be able see all the
other photos, too."

This new horror made Nate shudder. Absolutely everyone would see the
yearbook, including his parents. Of course none of Dusty's photos showed
Nate engaged in depraved homosexual acts, but they still had the power to
solidify his identity as an exhibitionistic pervert and a laughing stock.

Teri enjoyed the look of dismay on Nate's face. Although she'd been pleased
to be vindicated when Melanie had finally seen Nate for the arrogant,
unfaithful jerk that he was, she was still upset on Melanie's behalf for
the way Nate had dumped her so cruelly and humiliatingly in public. If he
thought he could just pull shit like that on her best friend and get away
with it, he had another thing coming.

Nate would spend the next couple of hours agonizing over how embarrassing
the yearbook picture of him would be, and what more might be revealed on
Dusty's blog. He'd done a quick search on his phone for the blog and found
it easily enough. It seemed Dusty used it to document his amateur
photography skills. The photos from the yearbook shoot hadn't been uploaded
yet, but Dusty had blogged about it and promised that it would be up "very,
very soon". Nate's misery was only compounded by the display of the number
of hits that Dusty's blog had received to date - it seemed to be an
inordinately high figure, and many of the visitors had even taken the time
to comment on Dusty's photos. Nate hadn't expected some dork's photography
blog to be quite so popular but it was evident that he'd been wrong (to his
own detriment).

Basketball practice took forever to roll around, not that Nate any longer
felt the same anticipation he'd once had for the chance to show off his
prowess on the court and the cheap thrill of putting down his less gifted
teammates.

Coach Reilly stopped Nate as the basketball team poured into the
gymnasium. "Did you manage to get your personal life sorted?" he asked.

"Yeah, I broke up with Melanie," replied Nate dully.

Paul was taken aback; he hadn't expected such a drastic action. He eyed his
star player with concern. "Oh. Are you sure you're okay?"

Nate felt the need to reassert his old, cocky self. He didn't want Coach to
sense any weakness, or he'd find himself in the counselor's office facing a
much harder job of keeping his dirty little secret. "'Course, Coach. It's
not like I can't get another girl within the hour if I wanted to. I'm just
putting it off to concentrate on our big game this Friday."

"I didn't mean are you okay getting a new girlfriend, Ramsey," Paul said
patiently. "I meant are you dealing fine with the break-up?"

Nate gave his coach what he hoped was an expression of incredulity. "Come
on, Coach! I'm not some pussy to get all cut up over something like that."

Paul suppressed a sigh. Perhaps the quiet, passive, team-playing Nate of
last week had been an aberration after all; he appeared to be back to his
arrogant former self now. "Alright then," he said, "go get changed for
practice."

Nate obeyed, relieved that Coach seemed to have bought his act and forgone
the counseling appointment he'd been threatening Nate with before the
weekend. The reprieve fueled a better-than-average performance from him on
the court that afternoon, which set Paul Reilly's doubts at rest. For that
hour-and-a-half, Nate actually felt like all was right in the world; he was
king of the court, not some gay sex slave.

"Good game, Ramsey," smiled Paul, and one or two of his teammates even
patted him on the back as they headed for the showers.

However, the moment he stepped into the showers, the reality he'd been
trying to conceal from Coach Reilly quickly asserted itself.

"Well if it isn't the hero of the hour," mocked Owen, "come to trumpet his
victory."

"Get off it," mumbled Nate. "I wasn't going to say anything."

"Yeah?" said Dave Ramirez skeptically.

"Someone record the time and date of this extraordinary event: Nate
Ramsey's not going to take the opportunity to tell us how much better he is
than us!" sneered Lucas Burton.

Nate around at the unfriendly faces and took a deep breath before
speaking. "Look, I really wasn't going to say anything, alright? I just had
to do my best on court `cause Coach was on my back about my performance
last week."

"That may well be," replied Troy, "but we wouldn't want you getting any
ideas above yourself now, would we?"

There were murmurs of assent from the assembled boys, although this didn't
include those junior varsity players who'd already hit the showers,
seemingly buying Nate's declaration of humility and not wanting to be a
part of the stud's continuing slavery.

"So, to remind you that you're a slave," Troy carefully emphasized the
word, "we thought we'd insist on your regular evening jerk-off ... right
here, right now."

Nate stammered, "But - but - Coach might walk in at any moment!"

"Coach already left," said Stuart Hamilton in his deep voice. "I saw him."

"Enough excuses, Nathaniel," snapped Owen. "Slaves do as they're told; they
don't question their masters' orders." He grabbed Nate's arm roughly and
started to drag him towards a bench at the center of the room that had been
cleared of stuff.

Wes felt a little stab of emotion watching the black-haired hunk get
manhandled by Owen. "Come on, Owen, there's no need for that. Nate will do
as he's told, right?"

Nate looked from Owen's face, twisted by a cruel smirk, to Wes's, with a
gently beseeching look, and he nodded slowly. Owen reluctantly let go of
the stud's arm; his fingers had pressed hard enough on the tanned flesh to
leave red imprints. Nate stripped out of his basketball uniform and lay
down on the bench. It wasn't long enough to accommodate all 6'2" of his
body so he bent his legs at the knees with his feet touching the floor on
either side of the bench. This had the additional effect of revealing his
asshole between his spread legs.

It was a magnificent sight: the sweaty stud stretched out on the bench,
completely naked, fisting his hard dick while plunging his spit-slicked
fingers in and out of his tight little hole. Wes could barely tear his eyes
away from Nate's lips, which looked very soft and imminently kissable. Then
his gaze slid down the stud's glistening, muscular torso to his 7.5" boner,
and he wondered what it might feel to have that plowing his virginal
ass. Wes's own erection, fortunately confined in his jockstrap, gave a
little twitch at the thought. He was so engrossed in watching Nate that he
didn't realize he was being watched himself, by his best friend Jason.

"Open your mouth and catch your load in your mouth," ordered Owen. The
humiliated slave did as he was told, but after days of cranking out
multiple loads, there wasn't enough force in his cumshot to reach his open
mouth. However, he did manage to splatter his sweaty torso with copious
amounts of thick white spunk.

Nate didn't need to be told that he had to clear up his mess by consuming
it; he knew it was all but expected of him at this point. His audience was
delighted; there were a few whoops and many clicks from their camera
phones. Finally convinced that the enslaved stud had been reminded of his
new, lowly place in the food chain, they left him sprawled on the bench,
trying his best not to cry.

Wes didn't notice Nate's unusually wet eyes; he was too busy focusing on
the stud licking his cum-coated fingers clean. It was a very sexy scene,
and Wes was willing his erection to go down before he hit the showers, when
he was approached by Devlin. The freshman had already showered and dressed
in regular clothes, having skipped the show since he had no desire to
witness Nate being sexually degraded for the umpteenth time. On this count
he now had a growing number of teammates who were in silent agreement with
him.

"Wes, can I talk to you?"

"Um, not right now, buddy," replied Wes, while hastily pulling his shorts
back up so that Devlin wouldn't catch sight of the prominent bulge in his
jockstrap. "I need to grab a shower and then hitch a ride with Jase before
he goes to pick his little sister up. It's not urgent, is it?"

The younger boy looked anxiously over at Nate. "Well, I guess not. I mean,
it's not like anything worse is going to happen to Nate today?" From the
hopeful tone of his voice he was obviously seeking confirmation from the
varsity captain.

Wes felt a prickle of guilt; he had plans for Nate that evening and,
although he thought them very sexy, he suspected Nate would not be inclined
to label them the same way. But really, Nate had to get over his homophobia
if he were ever to accept that the latent gay tendencies he'd displayed
over the past week. It was all for the best, Wes debated internally, even
as he failed to fully believe his own argument.

"No, what could possibly happen to Nate between now and tomorrow?" asked
Wes, attempting a smile while wincing inwardly at the blatant
untruth. Before this whole enslavement thing had started, he'd prided
himself on never lying.

"It's okay then; I know I can trust you," said Devlin with evident relief,
unknowingly twisting the knife further. Wes guiltily remembered the promise
he'd made to the younger boy, which he'd promptly broken later that same
day and intended to break again tonight. "I'll talk to you later then."

"Alright," responded Wes nervously. His erection had gone down completely
during (or due to?) the course of the conversation, so he was able to step
out of his remaining clothes and hit the showers. Somehow the warm water
and soap didn't make him feel any cleaner.

                             & & & & &

The launderette at the Macpherson dorms was located in a poorly-ventilated
basement room, which in combination with the range of heat-generating
washers and dryers contained therein meant that doing the laundry was like
visiting a sauna. The students who lived in the building had long since
wised up and attired themselves in suitably light clothing on laundry
day. For Spencer this was usually Thursday but, thanks to Nate, his dirty
bed linen had piled up over the weekend, necessitating an emergency trip to
the launderette. There was only one other person in the room when Spencer
entered, and he was bent over a dryer, trying to shove the last of his
clothes into the drum. Unlike Spencer, who'd put on a sleeveless t-shirt
for his launderette visit, this guy had eschewed a shirt altogether. His
bare back rippled with muscle and a trickle of sweat ran down the curve of
his spine, while his ass strained against the fabric of his tight red
shorts. If Spencer hadn't already had a hot boyfriend, he would've been
tempted to stare at those muscular globes ... for a lot longer than he
actually did.

Then the hunk straightened up and Spencer realized it was Liam
Sherwood. For his part, Liam had realized he was being observed and,
instead of being annoyed, he cracked a toothy grin. "Glad to be of service,
Z."

Spencer turned red. "I don't know what you mean," he protested.

Liam's grin grew wider. "Come on now, you know I'm not one to judge. In
fact, it's a good sign if you're looking at guys in that way again. Means
you're not mooning over the loser Derek anymore." He looked carefully at
Spencer's expression. "I have to say, you're not looking nearly as blue as
Brody said you were."

"Does he go around telling the whole world?" grumbled Spencer, only mildly
irritated at his best friend.

"Don't be so hard on him, dude. He only told me `cause he wondered if I
knew anyone to hook you up with, seeing as I work at a gay club and all."

"He what?!"

Liam continued, unfazed. "Failing which he proposed I give you another lap
dance, like on your twenty-first."

"I can't believe he convinced you to do that the first time," muttered
Spencer.

Liam exaggerated a hurt expression. "C'mon dude, admit you loved it. I
don't get paid to do it without good reason!"

Spencer couldn't help grinning. "Oh, you were good; I won't deny that." How
could he? Liam's effervescent personality combined with those stunning good
looks and ripped body in nothing but a tiny little thong had certainly
perked him up. For one night he'd actually been able to put Derek from his
mind - something he hadn't been able to do before or since, at least until
he met Nate. "I do appreciate what you, uh, did for me."

"Yeah, no shit. You know how much I'd usually get paid for
up-close-and-personal service like that?" Liam's cheeky wink at the end of
the statement assured Spencer that he was joking. Up close and personal was
one way of describing it; Liam had ground his barely-clothed ass on
Spencer's lap while gently probing his mouth with his tongue. He was
certainly a brilliant kisser, Spencer reminisced fondly. Of course Nate was
a pretty good kisser too, and knowing they were in love with each other
made those kisses that much hotter to Spencer.

"So how soon can I request a repeat performance?" asked Spencer.

Liam pretended to think about it. "Hmm, depends on how much you're offering
and how this new guy of yours is going to feel about having some stranger
French his boyfriend, even if it's purely for money. I don't particularly
wanna get into a throw-down with him; gotta watch the face y'know."

Spencer had a sudden mental image of Liam and Nate wrestling in thongs,
their nearly naked bodies oiled to perfection. A little regretfully, he put
the enticing picture out of his mind. "I kinda doubt the BF is going to
throw down with you," he sighed. "He's still struggling to come out of the
closet and wants to keep our relationship quiet for now."

Liam looked at him in concern. "And you're okay with that?"

"Well, I don't want to force him to come out if he's not ready for
it. Coming out pretty much changes your whole life, and he's still in his
final year of high school so he's already under plenty of pressure without
me adding to it. Heck, I think my parents were more accepting than his seem
to be, and I didn't dare to come out to them till I'd started college."

Liam nodded thoughtfully. "I can see your point. You know, it's funny
really, but having this conversation with you reminds me of this new guy
I'm working with." Spencer looked at him quizzically, so Liam
elaborated. "You see, his name's Spencer, just like you - that is your
given name, right? I'm just so used to calling you Z."

"Baptized Spencer Wenceslas Zarowsky," he confirmed.

"Your middle name's Wenceslas?"

"Shut up," growled Spencer. His mother had a fondness for that Christmas
carol.

Liam grinned. "Well, the other Spencer professes to be straight but I've
got my doubts. He has this constant urge to assert how straight he is by
acting like a homophobe. I mean, that's just weird. Why would you choose to
work as a stripper in a gay club and then talk shit about your paying
customers? He's the one who waived Claude's no-touching rule but then
complains whenever guys feel him up. And that's not all. The other day we
were kissing -"

He was interrupted by a strangled sound from Spencer.

"It was part of the act. At least I thought so. But then he was so into it,
opening his mouth wider so my tongue slips into his -"

Another noise from Spencer interrupted him. "What is it?" he asked
resignedly.

"Are you making this up to get me horny?"

"No, I swear that's how it happened!"

"Okay, continue." Under his breath Spencer added, "I'm starting to
seriously reconsider my resolution not to visit strip clubs."

Liam overheard the latter comment and mischievously decided to embellish
his tale. "So there we both were, on stage in front of the whole club, with
absolutely nothing on but a whole lot of baby oil and a cowboy hat for him
and me cupping my junk with my hands, and the audience yells for us to
kiss. So I do it, but he's the one who starts getting into it. I swear he
even had a hard-on during our act, when I was rubbing oil onto his
butt. But afterward he denies the whole thing and tells me off for getting
too close to him. So ... thoughts?"

"Hmm?" Spencer was distracted, trying to discreetly adjust his erection
inside his briefs. He saw Liam eyeing him with amusement and glared at him,
realizing he had been set up.

Mustering his remaining dignity, he said, "Well, I can't imagine a
genuinely straight homophobe would even consider working as a stripper at a
gay club, much less waive the no-touching rule. I would've said maybe an
exhibitionistic streak, but then it would make more sense for him to
perform in front of women. This guy seems to desire intimacy with other men
but can't acknowledge that he is gay himself. So yeah, I agree with you
that he's probably in deep, deep denial about his sexuality. What I don't
get is why he'd perform openly in a gay club and risk exposure if he's so
desperate to stay in the closet?"

"Oh, he doesn't," replied Liam. "Perform openly, I mean. He was very
insistent about wearing a mask - never goes onstage without it."

"Ah, then there you have it," Spencer declared with satisfaction. "I stand
by my initial diagnosis: closeted exhibitionist in denial."

"I had already come to that conclusion myself, but thanks for confirming
it, Doctor Z," Liam said with a touch of sarcasm.

Spencer was contrite. "Too smug? Sorry, got a little carried away."

Liam waved away his apology. "Nah, that was the sort of scientific
reasoning they expect from pre-med students. Now I don't suppose you can
recommend how I should approach this with him?"

"Just how well do you know this other Spencer?" queried his friend.

"Only met him a couple of times."

"And already you're determined to try and save this guy?"

Liam shrugged. "I don't think anyone should have to live with that much
hatred towards his own self."

Spencer looked at his friend with newfound appreciation. "I guess you're
not just a pretty face."

"Dude, I'm offended! I thought you'd have realized that when I gave you
that birthday striptease. I'm a pretty face with a hot body."

Spencer laughed. "Definitely didn't forget the hot body. Not much chance of
that!"

"Well, you might if you ever come down to the club and see the other
Spencer in action. The guy's body is sick. I mean he has like a twelve-pack
and his butt is like Beyonce's but rock solid! Whenever I see him out of
his clothes, I feel like I need to stop eating carbs altogether."

"This guy is seriously that hot? I'm suffering from my own episode of
muscle envy. I'm not sure my boyfriend has fat anywhere on his body. I
don't know whether to feel lucky, or jealous, or both."

"Huh. You'd better not let him audition for Claude then. Between him and
the other Spencer, I'm losing job security. And it'd be a real shame to
hide this body behind a supermarket till." Liam playfully flexed his arms
and bounced his pecs to underline his point.

Spencer had a little trouble pulling his gaze away. "I'm not paying for the
privilege, so you can put that away now," he said as sternly as he could.

Grinning, Liam told him, "Promotional material, dude. You'll have to come
to the club to see the rest. And you can check out your namesake too. Two
naked studs for the price of one - it'd be a pretty sweet deal."

Spencer pulled a face. "Thanks, but I think I'll pass. Clubs aren't really
my scene, and the only reason I came to Claude's was because Derek dragged
me there. Besides," he added, "I know I can always get a free show from
their top performer without even leaving my dorm."

"Hey, don't go around telling people I give out freebies!" exclaimed
Liam. "It's bad for business. Anyhow, from the sound of your new guy, I
don't think you'll be knocking on my door anytime soon."

"God forbid," quipped Spencer piously. "About your dilemma with my namesake
... I'm afraid there's not much you can do. Try talking to him, but don't
push. If he's not ready, then he's not ready. Like I said before, I don't
think he's unaware of his homosexuality; he's just struggling to accept
it. It's never easy, especially if he's grown up in this town. But having a
guy like you around should give him hope that straight dudes can be
accepting and even supportive. I sure wish I'd had a Brody or a Liam back
when I was in high school."

"Oh, I wasn't nearly as ripped or as skilled at stripping back in high
school."

Spencer punched Liam lightly on the arm. "You know what I mean."

"I think that's my cue to exit," Liam declared in mock disgust. Unloading
the last of his dry clothes into his wicker basket, he marched out of the
room.

Spencer watched him go, shaking his head wryly. Liam could handle lewd
remarks about his body like a pro, but pay him a simple compliment about
his sweet personality and he was out of there like a shot.

Still, he'd left him with food for thought. He'd had it pretty easy coming
out to his parents and friends back in Massachusetts. After all, gay
marriage was even legal there. Nate's circumstances were probably closer to
those of this other Spencer, the stripper. Maybe he should take his own
advice, and not exert pressure on Nate to come out.

At least Nate was able to accept that he was gay and acted on his
attraction to other men. After all, what really mattered was the way they
felt about each other, wasn't it? Spencer hoped his namesake would be able
to come to peace with himself; he might never have met the guy but it was
sad to know someone in the gay community was living with that much
self-loathing.

                             & & & & &

At that very moment, the `other Spencer' was running the Hoover over the
carpet in Wes's mom's apartment. The lady in question was out, of course,
which was why Nate was performing the chore in the nude. Well, to be more
accurate, he was doing it au naturel because Wes enjoyed looking at his
naked, sweaty body bent enticingly over the Hoover, though it didn't occur
to Nate that there was more to it than simply reminding him of his slave
status.

"The vacuuming's done." The announcement, along with the abrupt cessation
of the machine's noise, startled Wes, who'd been distracted staring at
Nate's deliciously round butt glistening under a fine sheen of sweat.

Thinking on his feet, Wes said, "Um, okay, why don't you take over the
dusting while I sort out the kitchen?"

Nate, by now thoroughly accustomed to obeying commands, did so
unhesitatingly. Wes retired behind the kitchen island, grateful for its
concealment of the tent in his pants. He told himself to concentrate on the
tasks at hand, but every now and then he gave in to temptation and looked
up from his work for the glorious sight of Nate's body.

Meanwhile, Nate set about dusting with an efficiency that would have
astonished his mother. For someone who had never once helped around the
house before, Nate was learning quickly. Last to be dusted was the
mantelpiece, so he spent longer finishing up, in an attempt to postpone the
fucking that would inevitably follow when all the other chores were
done. (Yes, getting fucked was definitely a chore from Nate's perspective.)

As he dawdled, he noticed the half-dozen framed photographs that stood
neatly in a row on the mantel. They all featured some combination of Wes,
his mom and his older brother, Griff. Nate's gaze lingered over the picture
of a teenaged Griff with his arm protectively around Wes, who had to be no
more than ten. Both boys were beaming widely at the camera. Not for the
first time, Nate wondered what it would have been like to have a
brother. Would he have come to Nate's defense? Or would Nate have looked
out for a younger sib? He shook his head; it was a pointless thought since
there wasn't any chance of that happening now.

His gaze wandered over to the next picture, portraying all three members of
Wes's immediate family. Here he paused; either the frame was too large or
part of the photo had been cut off, for the photo only filled
three-quarters of the frame. It HAD been cut, he realized; he could see a
man's arm emerging abruptly from the edge of the photo and resting on the
top of little Wes's chair. He remembered what Wes had said about his dad
leaving the family and connected the two.

"Yeah, that's my dad," said Wes quietly from behind Nate, making him
jump. He hadn't realized Wes had moved away from the kitchenette. He
quickly looked away from the photo, feeling embarrassed to be found staring
at what was quite obviously a deeply personal family memento.

"I'm sorry," he stammered. "I shouldn't have."

Wes stared at him in surprise. Nate sounded genuinely apologetic, which was
not something that happened everyday (or indeed ever, as far as he could
remember).

"It's okay," he said, "it's not like it wasn't out in the open anyway." Wes
picked up the photo-frame briefly, and then hurriedly put it back
down. Nate noticed Wes's hand was trembling slightly. Looking up at his
face, he saw that the other boy's eyes were suspiciously wet.

Nate shifted from one foot to the other awkwardly. He didn't know what to
do. Should he just pretend not to have noticed? It wasn't a situation he'd
experienced himself. He knew Tripp's mom had also left the family, but it
was not like Tripp had poured his heart out to Nate about his absent
parent. Indeed, Tripp didn't seem to care about her - if anything, he hated
her. But Nate suspected Wes didn't have the same animosity towards the
father who'd abandoned him and his brother.

"Wes?" he said cautiously.

"I think we're done," said Wes abruptly. "We need to finish up before my
mom gets home."

Nate's heart sunk; he knew the dreaded gay sex was next.

"I saw the video," Wes told him. "You did some kinky shit with Spencer."

Nate looked down at his feet and mumbled something unintelligible. The
depraved things he'd been forced to do to Spencer yesterday were still
seared into his mind, but it was his own body's betrayal of him that was
most disturbing.

"I've never seen anyone eat ass before," continued Wes, watching Nate's
face closely.

Nate looked up, horrified. "Oh no, not that, please! That was sick!"

Wes rolled his eyes and dismissed Nate's plea as another lame attempt by
him to reiterate his heterosexuality. Wes had pored over that video; it
hadn't escaped his attention that Nate's cock had been rock-hard
throughout.

"Well, I'm sure you won't begrudge your captain a repeat performance."

"Please, anything but that," begged Nate.

Looking at Nate's cute face all scrunched up in desperation, Wes felt a
twinge of pity for the hapless stud. He wished he didn't have to `force'
Nate to do these things. It would have been so much more agreeable if Nate
could just accept and embrace the fact that he wasn't straight as an arrow,
like he pretended so hard to be. He hoped Nate's obvious (if unwilling)
enjoyment of gay sex would help eventually change his stance that
homosexuality was all bad, but really, how much longer did he have to wait
for that to happen? Being in such close quarters with Nate's ridiculously
buff body was driving him wild with the anticipation of enjoying the
pleasures it offered.

He decided he had to be firm with Nate. Nate would look for any way out of
acknowledging that gay sex turned him on, so it was up to Wes to make sure
such an exit didn't present itself. If Nate managed to wriggle himself out
of homosexually-charged situations which he found uncomfortable, then Wes
had no doubt that door would remain resolutely shut.

"Oh, we'll move on to other stuff later, but this will do for a start," he
stated in a tone that brooked no argument.

Nate's shoulders slumped. He had been in this hell for long enough to know
his masters always got their way eventually. He sank to his knees in front
of Wes, who quite happily threw himself backwards onto the couch. He kept
his legs horizontal, allowing Nate to tug off his shorts and underwear in
one easy swoop, while Wes pulled his own t-shirt up over his head and
tossed it aside, leaving himself fully naked.

"Please ... I'll suck your cock instead." Nate made one last stab at
avoiding his most hated sex act. Wes just shook his head. "I said rimming,
Nate, and I meant it. Don't think of skiving either. I expect you to do to
me exactly what you did to Spencer."

Nate swallowed a sob as he propped Wes's legs up on his shoulders and
buried his face in Wes's ass. He faced a small, tight, pink hole amidst
dense golden fur, which reminded him of Spencer's asshole. Shit, he was
actually comparing guys' assholes! How fucking faggy was that? What had the
past week done to his mind? Had all that cock-sucking and butt-munching
actually fried the part of his brain that controlled sexual desire?

Wes's voice broke into his thoughts. "Are you just gonna stare at my ass or
are you gonna start licking it?"

Nate felt the color rise in his face. As if his life wasn't already going
off the rails, now he was caught staring at another man's ass! Out of
desperation to put that embarrassing moment out of Wes's mind more than
anything else, Nate attacked his asshole with a vengeance. He licked, it,
kissed it, sucked on it, and tongue-fucked it like he'd been taught to. It
was made easier by the fact that Wes's ass was clean, tasting mildly of
sweat but otherwise inoffensive.

Wes had never experienced pleasure like this. He'd thought deflowering
Nate's tight ass had been the height of ecstasy, but this was a whole other
realm of sexual delight. His cock was fully erect in a matter of
seconds. He barely had the presence of mind to start jacking it.

Ten minutes later, Nate looked up from his kneeling position, hoping he
might be freed from this particular ordeal.

"Fuck no!" exclaimed Wes. "Get your tongue back in there."

Nate's lower lip trembled but he returned to his task. Finally, after
another ten minutes of rimming, Wes let him take a much-needed
breather. Nate's face was slick with sweat, spit and anal juices.

"Damn, you have one talented tongue, Ramsey." Of course such praise did
nothing to assuage Nate's misery. Wes languidly stroked his dick, taking a
breather of his own so as to save up his ejaculation. It had been a
challenge, especially when Nate had managed to shove the entire length of
his tongue into Wes's hole. Wes's rectal muscles had clamped down on Nate's
tongue so tightly that he had difficulty extracting it.

Wes ordered Nate to fetch the Vaseline from the bathroom cabinet. When he
returned he found Wes had already sheathed his hard dick in a condom.

"Lube yourself up and sit on my cock," was the extent of Wes's
instructions. Nate held back a groan as he complied. He supposed he should
be grateful that he was getting to use a more effective lubricant than just
saliva. He dipped two fingers in the tub of Vaseline and worked them into
his asshole, while using his other hand to slather more of the goop onto
Wes's erection. Wes had to hold back from cumming at Nate's touch and the
sight of those fingers disappearing into Nate's hole.

Adequately prepped for yet another anal penetration (Nate was perturbed to
realize he'd lost count of all the times he'd been fucked), he straddled
Wes and gingerly lowered himself onto Wes's boner. He exhaled sharply as
the head of Wes's cock breached his hole, but as he slid further down, the
pain lessened and his own cock twitched.

Nate shut his eyes, silently begging not to get an erection from being
fucked yet again. This freed up Wes to focus on Nate's body, especially his
dick, as he made a plea of his own, which was the complete opposite of
Nate's.

Wes was mesmerized. If before Nate's body had been magnificent, now in the
act of sex it was sublime. The phrase "poetry in motion" could have been
written to describe the contraction of his perfect abs, the tensing of his
muscular thighs, and the bouncing of his beefy pecs as he fucked himself on
Wes's cock.

It took all of Wes's willpower not to reach out and stroke Nate's chest or
tease one of his large, erect nipples. But perhaps the greatest test of his
resolve was Nate's lips - had they always looked so soft, pouty and
inviting? In a dreamlike state, unmindful of the dangers a kiss would
unleash, he moved his face closer to Nate's.

At the last possible moment, something stiff poked him in the stomach. The
spell was broken, and he instinctively looked down to identify the
culprit. It turned out that Wes's plea was the one fulfilled: Nate had a
hard-on.

Nate had come to the same realization, and he let out a tiny whimper. The
damning evidence of his deviant sexuality was on display again. He had no
excuses or justifications that could possibly explain away this
abomination.

Wes could see that the erection he found so welcome was having a polarizing
effect on Nate. He tried to comfort him by saying, "Nate ... you know it's
not such a terrible thing if you're gay ..."

"I'm NOT!" Nate shouted so loudly that Wes's ears rung, and he was
breathing so heavily that Wes feared he was on the verge of a panic attack.

He placed a hand on Nate's chest to steady him, and it seemed to work;
Nate's breathing noticeably slowed down.

"You have to stop saying that," Nate said in a much calmer tone. "Because
I'm not. I can't be. Being gay is like a disease. It's sick and it's
unnatural. No real man has feelings for another man. You should know that!"

Wes stared at him, upset. For every step forward, it seemed Nate would take
ten steps back. But if he had been totally honest with himself, he would
have recognized the main reason for his dismay was because Nate's words
revealed how he'd regard Wes if he knew the truth. It hurts when the boy
you're dreaming of thinks only a freak would have those feelings.

Consequently, he was a lot harsher with Nate than he'd planned. "No, I
don't know that. As far as I know, gay people are just born that way. It's
genetic. It's no more a disease than having blond hair or blue eyes."

"You've spent way too much time with Troy if you're buying that bullshit,"
sneered Nate. He started to climb off Wes's dick, but Wes grabbed him by
the shoulders and shoved him back down. Nate yelped as he was fully
impaled.

"Sit your ass down," growled Wes. "Look at your own cock. I said look!"
Nate reluctantly looked down; he was still hard. "You've got a boner. You
always get a boner when you're fucked. You LIKE being fucked. Get that
through your thick skull." He enunciated each word individually for
emphasis. "You. Like. Being. Fucked."

Nate's lower lip trembled and his attempt to stifle a sob was audible. Wes
instantly felt bad for losing his temper and forcing Nate to confront
reality.

In a gentler voice, he said, "Look, Nate ... I don't know how you explain
that boner, but there are certain things you need to realize, things you
should have realized a long time ago. I hoped your interactions with
Spencer Zarowsky would change your mind. I suppose they still might."

Nate scowled. "I doubt it."

"You don't look unhappy in the videos with him."

"I have to pretend because you guys force me to!"

Wes sighed. "I think it's a bit more than that, don't you?"

Nate turned pale, clearly troubled by the remark. Wes suspected that was as
much of a reaction as he could hope to get out of Nate when he was so
dead-set against homosexuals. He wondered if they should resume fucking,
but he had to admit he'd lost the mood to do it like this. Maybe a change
of scene would help.

"Let's hit the shower," he suggested.

Nate blinked in surprise. "O-kay," he said cautiously. Was Wes actually
suggesting they share a shower?

Wes saw the look on Nate's face. "Yes, Nate, we're going to share the
shower. Is there something you'd like to say about that?"

Nate bit his tongue. Telling Wes that his proposal was ridiculously gay did
not seem like a bright move when Wes was so irate with him. He obediently
traipsed behind the blond boy as he made his way to the apartment's only
bathroom.

Like the rest of the apartment, the bathroom was small and its shower stall
was definitely not designed to accommodate two, especially a pair of
well-built lads. It was a very tight fit for Wes and Nate; they were
literally pressed up against each other under the warm spray.

Nate just kept looking at the floor, thoroughly ashamed by his close
proximity to another man. He didn't understand how Wes could take this
affront to his heterosexuality so calmly.

"Soap me up," Wes ordered. With some hesitation, Nate reached for the
bottle of shower gel, squirted some into his hand and slapped it onto Wes's
wet pecs. Then he paused.

"Rub it over my chest," said Wes as patiently as he could.

Nate made a face, but obeyed. The soap began to foam as he rubbed it with
both hands all over Wes's torso – stopping just shy of his cock, of
course.

"What about the rest?" queried Wes.

Nate looked at him beseechingly.

Wes's patience was wearing thin; his sexual desire had just begun to revive
after Nate put his hands all over his chest, but the frequent
start-and-stops were threatening to derail it once more.

"For fuck's sake, Nate! It's not like you haven't touched it before. In
fact you've had it in your mouth AND your ass!"

Nate turned red, while Wes grabbed his hands and forced them down to his
cock. Nate reluctantly grasped the appendage and spread the soapy foam over
its full length before moving on to his balls. Wes shivered with pleasure
as Nate carefully soaped up each of his pendulous low-hangers. One of
Nate's fingers ventured a little too far back, momentarily grazing Wes's
sphincter, but Nate was oblivious. Wes was a little disappointed that Nate
hadn't tried fingering his asshole, even though he knew allowing that would
have been simply asking for trouble.

"I need you to turn around so I can do your back," Nate said softly.

"Why don't you do my legs first?"

Nate had to get on his knees for this bit, which of course meant he was
facing Wes's erection. The next command was all but inevitable.

"Suck my cock."

Exhaling heavily, Nate meekly took Wes's cock into his mouth and began to
slurp on it. The warm water cascading down on them proved to be something
of a hindrance, but Wes enjoyed the dual sensations. He threw one arm
behind his head and gripped Nate's head with the other.

"Balls," he grunted, and Nate hastened to transfer his oral attention to
Wes's testicles. Almost immediately he started spluttering and gagging;
there was still some soapy residue on them.

Wes was amused. "You need to rinse them off first; the water's not going to
reach back there."

"Yeah, I got that now," Nate replied sarcastically. "Thanks for nothing."

"Man, are you lucky I'm not one of the others," observed Wes. "They'd
probably punish you for being mouthy."

Given that he had to spit-shine another man's balls, Nate wasn't feeling
particularly lucky.

Wes could feel his delayed orgasm building up pressure for release, and he
wasn't about to unload it onto the floor. "Get your mouth around my cock
now!" he gasped.

Nate did as he was told, and not a moment too soon. Thick, creamy spunk
gushed down his throat, so much that he was barely able to swallow all of
it.

"I need some time to catch my breath," panted Wes. "Scrub my back in the
meantime."

He wasn't fully recovered by the time Nate finished washing him, so he took
his turn at washing Nate instead, although his attempt was not quite as
thorough, nor did it involve a blowjob. He did, however, slip three fingers
into Nate's hole while soaping up his back. Rooting about inside Nate's
hot, tight orifice was just what he needed to pep his cock back up for
round two. He noted that he wasn't the only one getting an erection.

Nate knew better than to protest as he was slammed up against the glass
wall of the shower, enabling Wes to deftly slide his dick into him from
behind. It took him just one single, mighty thrust to bury the entire
length, thanks to Nate's well-lubed and -stretched opening.

Considering he'd cum so recently, Wes was in no position to make the fuck a
quick one. He was happy to luxuriate in the moist warmth of Nate's hole,
plowing in and out with slow, smooth strokes. Unfortunately for Nate, this
meant the pressure on his prostate wasn't letting up. Add to that the
constant friction on his cock, sandwiched as it was between his own body
and the textured glass of the shower wall, and he was closer to an orgasm
than Wes!

He was very quiet during the fuck, concentrating on keeping his ejaculation
at bay. He was sure Wes would pounce on him for shooting his load whilst
getting fucked up the ass. He really didn't want to have that conversation
again. He didn't like the doubts it put in his mind. All his life, he'd
been certain of his heterosexuality. Being forced to have sex with other
guys didn't change that. Only his own body's response to it - no, he wasn't
going to think that way. He had to concentrate on staving off his orgasm,
damn it!

While his mind had wandered, his body had grown ever closer to a
climax. Nate came to the sickening realization that no amount of mental
posturing and pleading was going to alter that.

Wes sensed the telltale tensing of Nate's muscles as he ejaculated,
spraying his spunk onto the glass wall. It was enough to push him over the
edge too, depositing a load of semen deep within Nate's ass.

Nate really hoped Wes wouldn't notice that he'd cum. He didn't want to give
the game away by looking down to see how much of a mess he'd made. Maybe if
he could just splash some water onto the glass discreetly ...

No such luck: Wes turned the shower off. Now what was he to do? Get out of
dodge and hope Wes would never discover his latest failure as a man?

"I need to g-go." Nate cursed himself for stammering; he sounded guilty as
hell. "It's getting late."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" asked Wes.

Nate turned to face him. Wes was holding up a surprisingly full condom. How
the fuck could one guy cum quite so much with barely 15 minutes between
orgasms?

Still, if Wes was focused on his own semen, he wouldn't be inclined to
wonder about Nate's. Nate held his mouth open while Wes squeezed the sticky
contents of the condom onto his tongue.

"Swallow," said Wes, but he didn't have to. Nate was always eager to get
that stuff off his tongue, although, truth be told, Wes's spunk didn't
taste so bad. Spencer's was still the most palatable - somehow
sweeter. Nate nearly choked on his mouthful of cum. First he'd compared
assholes, and now he was comparing the taste of cum? What was wrong with
him? And please, let it not be THAT explanation. He wouldn't be able to
accept that.

Wes's voice broke into his thoughts. "I thought you said you were in a
hurry to go home?"

"Yeah. Yeah I am." Suddenly he had a brilliant idea. "Can I get a towel?"
He could use Wes's absence to clear up the evidence.

But once again he was defeated. "Oh, you can just use my blue one over
there. I need to throw it in the laundry anyway. Unless sharing towels is
too gay for you?"

"Um, no, I just ..." Nate gave up. Luck really wasn't on his side. He
hastily toweled himself (mostly) dry and threw on his clothes, which had
been left in the lounge. Wes came up to the bathroom door, wrapping the
towel around his waist.

"Goodnight, Nate. Thanks for helping me with the housework. And think about
what I said, okay?"

Nate looked at him and swallowed hard. "Don't ask me that. Please." He
paused. "I'll see you at school tomorrow then. Goodnight."

He exited the apartment swiftly. Wes leaned heavily against the
doorframe. Why did Nate have to make this so difficult? It was so obvious
he was not as straight as he claimed. The proof was all over his shower
wall. Speaking of which ...

Wes turned around and walked back into the shower. At waist height, the
glass wall was spattered with white. He eyed it warily. He'd never tasted
another man's spunk before. He reached down, slid a finger through the mess
and brought the same finger to his lips.

One cautionary lick. So that was what Nate tasted like. Smooth and salty,
with a hint of sweetness. It went down his throat very easily.

Before he knew it he was kneeling on the floor, lapping up Nate's cum
straight from the glass.

It did occur to him that what he was doing was startlingly similar to
Nate's window displays - only, of course, he wasn't doing it publicly for
an audience. But the full implications of that parallel didn't cross his
mind: he was as much a slave to his desires as Nate was to his masters.


                           To be continued ...


Feedback is much appreciated – please do write me at the email address
at the top. And thank you for sticking with me (and Nate) through this
story.

All Rights Reserved. Jasper Cooper. 2013.

No part of this story should be reproduced in any form without the express
written permission of the author.