Date: Mon, 15 Oct 2007 15:40:10 -0700 (PDT)
From: T. Chase McPhee <survivalgame@yahoo.com>
Subject: Friendly Persuasion 05

The story below is a work of fiction, set in the
format of reality. Any resemblances to real people,
alive or in the hereafter, is entirely coincidental in
nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon
persons, in towns, cities, countries, nor governmental
areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene
involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then
you should not read this story. Additionally, if you
are under 18 years of age, in most state and
countries, you are not allowed to read this story, by
law. Check with your local laws regarding such. %
Sexual safety matters. Remember guys, this is fiction.
In real life, use protection.

%

"Friendly Persuasion" 05
wriTten by T. Chase McPhee

%

"Is that you, Jason?"

"Yes, sir," Jason replied, as always.

Coming into the foyer, Rob Friend immediately took
notice of the blond, next to his son's side. "Hmm...
I've never seen this boy before. New?" he inquired,
staring at the young man, with an obvious complexion,
that of Irish descent.

Eynon wasn't oblivious to the usuage of the
description Jason labeled his father, `sir'.

Trying to bail himself out and clue his father into
Eynon not being here for a certain activity, Jase
responds, "This is my `buddy'," even though they met
less than an hour ago."

Opening his big mouth, something of which Eynon seemed
gifted of doing, he tells Jason's dad, "We were going
to go over to my place to hang out, but Jase said,
`why not come here'?"

Fortunately for Jason, Rob read his son's coverup,
however when Eynon mentioned `hanging out', Rob
offered his hand, saying in a more flowery rhetoric,
"Well, welcome young man. C'mon in. Care for a drink?
A Beer perhaps?"  He welcomed the blond haired, blue
eyed beauty, hand to his back, inviting the teen into
the livingroom, as if a natural impulse, with a man
his age. "So what'll is be, boy?"

"I'll have a beer, thank you, sir'," he used, seeing
that when Jase used it, it made his father happy. When
Rob disappears into the kitchen, Eynon says to Jase,
"He called me `boy'."

Trying to brush it off as common, Jase tells him,
"Yeah. Boy... like some dads call every young guy,
`son'?"

"Okay. I get it," Eynon said, not really getting it!

"Here we go. Three beers right out of the tap," the
thirty-eight year old father announced, as he held
three bottles of beer in a tight triangle between his
hands, offering Eynon the beer facing the teen.

It wasn't the first time Jase witnessed the
`triangle', or at times, a `square' of gathered beers,
offered to one or two men, his father making sure he
got one of the last two.

He knew it sounded corny, but Jase stalled for time,
before they imbibed on the liquid in the brown bottle,
"A toast.. to our `friendship'," Jase says, nodding to
his father, hoping he got the message, Eynon wasn't
here on his father's benefit.

Right away, Rob, who did get `the message', frowned.
Other guys his son brought home, the friendly
atmosphere, conversation, the alcoholic offering,
became a part of a much larger scheme, both knowing
the outcome. Rob knew what Jason was alluding to and
he didn't like it one bit, especially after the
tingling sensation down below, had already made up his
mind that he needed to have Eynon for himself.

His father not reacting, in his favor, Jase chose to
intervene on his own volition. "Um, wait! Don't drink
that!"

Almost ready to down the first sip, Eynon questions,
"Why not?"

"I think I saw something floating in it," Jase
reports, swiping the beer bottle out of the nineteen
year old's hand. "I'll go fetch you a fresh one."

Upon making his exit, Jase and his father's eyes met,
his father's face fuming with disgust, over his
carefully laid plan, crumbling.

"Excuse me a moment, young man, I think I left a pot
on the stove."

"No problem, sir," Eynon replied, walking around the
room, taking in the sights of the room, which wasn't
your usual decor, no pictures lining shelves, the
absence of knick-knacks, bookshelf with titles he
never heard of. Sliding one from the shelf, he studied
the cover, reading off to himself, "The Ironrod
Chronicles", staring at the bent knee and black boot,
before flipping through it. Returning it, he picked up
the next in line, "I'll Never Talk: Erotic Tales of
Defiant Men?" He gulped when he read the title, but
when he read some fine print, `the glorification of
men suffering....'  Less than half a sentence, made
his loins convulse. "Oh cool!" he said, when peering
over the top of the opened book, spotting a
black-spined book, white lettering, reading,
`Sadomasochism'. Quickly shoving the other book back,
he looked up to make sure Jase and his father weren't
on their way back. It never dawned on him more than
enough time had elapsed. Removing the title from the
shelf, the book next to it fell out. "Oh man is that
hot!" he said, looking at light blue cover, the
silhouette of a stripped man, squatting into a humble
position. Hearing raised voices, he tried stuffing
both books back into the small division of other
books. Finding it tight, he managed to get the `blue'
book back in between, but with time an essense, he
tossed the `Sadomasochism' book on the top of the
bookshelf. "Oh shit!" Eynon said of the tent in his
pants. Just in time, Eynon reports back to where he
stood, between the sofa and wooden coffee table.

"Where's Jase?" Eynon asks, accepting a fresh beer
from Rob.

"What a good boy. He offered to watch the pot on the
stove, so it doesn't boil over," Rob replied, raising
his bottle for a silent `cheers'.

Offering Eynon a seat, Rob began a friendly
conversation, asking all about Eynon's family, finding
out his pursuits in college, where he was from, his
intentions when he graduated and so on.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Jase squirmed in the chair
he was duct-taped to, the binding tape wound around
his arms and midchest about eight times, one patch
sealing his lips. He winced when he tried busting open
a seam of the strong tape, with no success of freeing
himself. With each twist and turn, the eighteen year
old also felt the dull pang in his stomach, which was
more painful a gutpunch, than the hefty slap he got
across his face. With several futile attempts, he
dropped his head back, picturing Eynon drinking the
beer, his father encouraging him to finish it, tell
him `bottom's up... plenty more where that came from',
the same line he's heard over and over, with other
`clients'.

It's then his eyes fell on the utility draw, next to
the sink. Trying not to make noise with the legs,
pounding on the kitchen floor, he shimmied himself
over to the draw. Without the facilities of his hands,
he had to think of another means to open it. Kicking
his sneaker off, he thought he had it made, but with
his sock on, he couldn't grasp at the small knob. He
winced when he tried to use the side of his sneaker to
scrape the sock down, realizing this wasn't working.
Kicking his other sneaker off, he tried the same, his
sock slipping against the sock he was trying to get
off. Then, determining himself an idiot, he thought to
himself, `Why didn't I try this before!' Easily, he
stepped on a fraction of the sock on his right foot,
with the heel of his left foot.

Working up a good sweat, he tried grabbing at the
small, white knob with his foot. His plan wasn't
taking form. Reorganizing his chair, bopping up and
down, moving sideways, Jase positioned himself
adjacent to the countertop. With both feet stretched
out, he snagged the knob inbetween both feet, pulling.
`Dammit!' his muffled voice formed an opinion when the
draw didn't budge.

Frustration set in immediately, but picturing Eynon,
in his father's clutches, renewed his strength, in his
attempt to set himself free. He tried looking over his
shoulder, when the draw made a loud racket, pushing
in, then trying to ease it out. `About time'. When it
did budge, his size 9's hauled it open, inch by inch.

Back at the ranch, standing there, Rob smiled, slowly
sipping his beer.

Halfway in a sentence, Eynon yawned a big one, saying,
"Maybe I shouldn't have had this...." then another
yawn, "...after the two I had at the pizzeria."

Rob's face lit up, an evil grin coursing his lips.
With Eynon sitting on the sofa, the nineteen year old
stretching his arms up, hiking his tee shirt above his
navel, gave Rob even more incentive to get hard,
viewing the teen treasure trail, a bit darker than his
blond head. With Eynon fading, sleep setting in, it
wasn't `dangerous' for Rob to slide his hand down to
his crotch and feel up his big balls, the hard
erection filling his pants, as he stood there,
watching Eynon fall asleep, the teens head slanting
forwards, chin to chest. Walking over to the sofa,
positioning himself between the small, old table, he
bent over, taking Eynon's mane in his hand, utilising
it to lift his head up. His eyes were closed and Rob
could hear the reduced breathing.

%

"Kneel down? Here? Right in the parking lot?" Matt
questioned Scott's directive.

"Ughhh!" Matt let out the belch, when Scott punched
the cop in the stomach, which drove him to his
destination, holding his gut while kneeling.

"Shit! You hit a cop!" Juan shouted out.

Without any remorse, Scott walked over behind Matt,
readying to provide some humiliation for the cop,
reaching around Matt's sides, taking the middle of his
shirt in his hands and tore it open. Both college
jocks again showed shock on their faces.

"Will you look at that!" Troy gasped, seeing Matt's
pecs decorated with the nip clamps. "That's gotta
hurt!"

Still kneeling, Matt, out of reflex towards the
strangers, takes his shirt and pulls it closed over
his chest, blotting out the clamps from view. He
stands up, ready to cuss Scott out for doing that in
front of strangers. However, he's speechless, upon
seeing him in his leather, standing there tall, an
icon of authority.

"Yes?" Scott asks, with a grin. Not getting an answer,
with Troy and Juan as their audience, he commands,
"Take the shirt off, boy!"

Matt stood there, deliberating.

Looking to his watch, with a black leather wristband,
he informs Matt, "For every second, it's ten lashes."
Then counts, "One second, ten lashes... two, twenty
lashes..."

When he gets to thirty, Troy asks, out of curiosity,
"Can a guy take thirty lashes?"

Buying Matt time, Scott interrupts his counting,
informing Troy, "Slaveboys don't have a choice," then
looking to his watch, resuming his count, "Forty
lashes..."

It's then, Matt, who unknowing to the others, waited
til the number peaked at forty, to slowly open the
police shirt, pull it from his pants.

"Here, let me help," Scott says, tearing open the last
two buttons, pulling it out of Matt's hands, pushing
it back behind Matt's shoulders.

With a better view of the cop's chest, even in the
dimly lit parking lot, the chain and clamps become
electric.

Approaching Matt, Troy says, "He acts like it doesn't
even hurt him."

His attention turning to the scene, Juan's loins
tingle, wishing his nips were clamped, his first
experience with the torturous steel teeth, unaware of
the initial pain it caused.

"Well that's because he's used to it," Scott says,
dropping the shirt on the ground, purposefully
grinding it into the dirt parking lot. At the same
time, he grabs at Matt's forearms, with both hands,
pinning them behind his back. "Why don't we see how
much this pig enjoys the nip clamps."

It's clear, to Scott, Troy didn't understand his
meaning, so he spelled it out, "Go ahead. Pull on the
chain."

"Shit! It's going to kill him!" Troy meant the intense
pain.

"Oh but you'll see how much our police officer will
really like it. Isn't that so Officer Boone?"

Caught in between reality and fantasy, Matt was really
getting into falling prey to the young master in front
of him. Feeling the throbs in his pants, he uttered,
"Um, sure. Show me what you got, kid."

Troy stood there, still with mixed reaction.

It's Juan who set him straight, saying, "He means pull
on the chain."

Right away, Scott, wanting to fit Juan into the
fantasy, taking shape, releases Matt, dictating to
him, "Hands behind your head, pig!"

Matt complies, as Troy stands amazed, "Shit! He's
doing everything you tell him!"

"He better, if he knows what's good for him," Scott
says, taking the handcuffs from the little pouch
behind Matt's back. Then, like he's the cop, Scott
instructs Juan to turn, place his hands on the car.
Troy takes notice, as Scott frisks Juan, making sure
he isn't holding any drugs or any other contraband, in
his crotch area.

"Akkkkkk....ohhhhhhh!" Juan first screams out in pain,
as his balls are squeezed, then gently massaged,
through his jeans, ending with sighs of pleasure.

"Hey, can I try that?"

All three, Matt, Juan, but especially Scott, stood
amazed at the request coming from Troy.

All for it, Scott replies, "Sure you can. On `your'
boy!"

"My boy?" Troy quizzes Scott.

Then seeing his plan take on a definite shape, Scott
tells him, "Yeah. Why don't we take our boys home and
play with them?"

Juan and Troy followed Scott, as Matt trailed behind
in his patrol car, the convoy headed to Scott's home.

%


Something Jase hadn't counted on, the last heave of
the draw, it came out of the socket of the countertop
with a crash, utensils flying all over the place. `Oh
shit! he sighed from behind the duct tape, knowing it
could've been heard a block away.

"Oh no you don't, you fuckin' little traitor!"

Calling out in pain, Jase screamed, as his father
grabbed the shoulder of his shirt, using it for a
handle to wheel him out of the area the knives and
other kitchen utensils lying on the floor. He wasn't
expecting it, but had little doubt it wasn't something
his own father would do, reaching over, grabbing him
by the balls.

"You thought you could weasel your way out of
providing me with some fresh entertainment, did you?"

The eighteen year old hardly heard the question, let
alone form an answer, his mind too much on the big
hand, big enough to squeeze both of his orbs, as he
screamed out in pain, overriding the tape bondage to
his lips.

Finally, with the letting go of the teen's balls, Rob
thought a minute, then approached the utility closet,
opening the door, searching for something.

With his head hanging back, over his shoulders, mouth
open, trying to catch his breath, Jase sat there, his
pubes pulsating from the after effects of having his
manhood stangled. Perspiration dripped from his face,
his shirt slowly getting soaked.

"Just what I was looking for!" Returning from the
closet, appearing in front of his son, bending down,
Rob fastened a metal cuff around Jase's left ankle,
connecting it's mated end to the chair leg.

Thinking fast, Jase tried his last attempt at trying
to save Eynon and himself, raising his foot and
kicking his father in the balls. Falling back on his
ass, the barefoot hadn't phased him much, but it did
bruise his ego.

"You fuckin' bastard!"

Getting to his feet, Rob's big hand connected with
Jase's jaw. Like a part of his body, the chair fell to
his right. He moaned in pain, as his bod moved against
the duct tape, seemingly cutting his arms and chest.
The one cuff, attached to his left foot, dug into his
ankle. His head throbbed.

"Oh you think you're in pain, do you? Wait til I get
you downstairs, you little bitch!"

Jase screamed out with pain, when Rob uprighted the
chair, ripping the strip of grey tape from his son's
mouth.

As Rob bound the modern day shackle to Jase's other
foot, the teen knew his physical facilities to protest
a thing of the past had dissipated. Gathering what
strength he had left, Jase comes out with, "You have
no right to do this!"

Still squatting down, finished with his bondage work,
Rob grins, replying, "I figured so. You've gone and
fallen in love with that bitch-boy. What ever happened
to Jeremy?"

"Jeremy is seeing another guy. Has been for awhile. As
far as a relationship, we're history."

Rob recalls the past, "But it occurs to me, you
saying, if Jeremy ever left you for another guy, you
would have no problem turning him over to me?"

"That was two years ago and I didn't say if Jeremy
`left me for another guy'. What I said is, if he ever
decided not to attend the college I was going to,"
Jase corrected his father, something he rarely did and
not without consequence. This time he was getting away
with it.

"Well, is he?"

"Is he what?"

"Going away to college with you?"

"No," Jase simply put it.

"Then what's the difference?"

Not wanting to tell the truth, he really felt
something for Jeremy, plus the fact Jeremy's home
became his sanctuary from his father's oppression, he
plainly put it, "It's just different, okay?"

Mulling Jason's words over, Rob comes to a conclusion.
 "Then, since you are welching on your deal with
Jeremy, I'll take this young man as retribution."

"I didn't bring Eynon home to get anything out of it!
Eynon's not like that. He's...."

"Oh really?" Rob says, reaching in his back pocket,
producing the book found on top of the bookshelf. "I
distinctly remember placing this book back in it's
place this morning. Your `boyfriend' was flipping
through it while we were in here. What do you think of
your `beloved' now?" he asks, as Rob places the book
on the covered thigh, facing Jase, the title,
`Sadomasochism' staring him in the face.

"Scott could have taken it out and put it there," Jase
tried making excuse for Eynon.

"Don't make me laugh. Your brother knows as much as
there is to know about BDSM, if not more than I do. It
was him alright and don't you go trying to fuck me
over with your lame excuses."

"It doesn't mean he's into it," Jase again tried
clearing Eynon's name, at the same time, convince
himself he's brought a normal guy home, in hopes of
pursuing a lifelong relationship, without it being
laced with BDSM.

"Well, whether he is or isn't, is entirely besides the
point. Believe me. He'll be `getting' into it!"

As his father got up, he made a fist, deliberately
targeting Jason's crotch, as he used it as leverage.

It pained Jase, to feel his orbs crushed, but his head
fell to his chest, as he admitted defeat.

%

"Fucking hell yeah!" Rob shouted out, with exuberance,
especially excited since he couldn't find a trick
online, for the night, at the prize on the sofa.

Back in the livingroom, Rob bear a huge grin, spotting
Eynon on the sofa. To give himself an idea of what he
would be playing with, he lifted Eynon's shirt.

"Oh fuck! You're hot boy! Real hot!"

Letting the shirt fly over Eynon's pecs, he spotted
once again, the tight trail. With the back of his
hand, he skimmed over it, on his way to the teen's
loins. "Fuck yeah!" he called out, as if telling
someone else, when he sensed the large lumps under the
zipper area. Leaning forwards, Rob's shoulder dove
into Eynon's midsection, grabbing his buttocks,
heaving him up, out of the cushy sofa, over his
shoulder. Dead to the world, Eynon's arms swayed back
and forth to the rhythm of Rob's march, as he
proceeded towards the hallway. Opening the heavy metal
door, wood-toned on the outside, he flicked on the
light switch. The stairs immediately lit up. When he
got to the bottom, a second switch illuminated the
rest of the area. Listening, he made sure the
spring-loaded door, at the top of the stairs, slammed
shut. The sound, like several times before, made him
smile, knowing he was on his way to having another hot
evening, in the dungeon.

%

"You're into that bondage stuff, aren't you, Scott?"

"For a kid your age, you get around... so, Tristan,
just how old are you really?"

"It's Tris," he corrected Scott, answering, "I'm
seventeen."

"Fooled me. I thought maybe sixteen, at the most."

"Most people have the same opinion," Tris tells. "On
the outside," referring to his clothing, "I know I
look it, but underneath I... well let's just say I
could beat out most college dudes, in `that'
department!"

Laughing his ass off, Scott made comment, "Hey, if
you're big `down there', you have nothing to be
ashamed about, Tris."

With the subject out in the open, Tris sensing Scott
okay to trust, says, "Yeah, that's what most guys say,
if you're a real man, you've got to have big balls and
a long cock."

"Whatever," Scott says, very well knowing how much fun
it is to play with a big endowment and other
enjoyments!

Watching the front dash, the trees rushing by,
catching the view out of his side of the 4x4, Tris
says, "You live a ways from town?"

"So, you've taken the tour, huh?" Scott means, finding
his way around town, knowing the route to and from the
jogger's park.

"I know where stuff is, but I've never been down this
road before," Tris replies.

"We don't live near other folks, where their houses
line up on a street, like nice little boxes. Passed
down through generations, we're out in `the sticks',"
Scott explains.

Slowing down, Scott takes the next left, off the main
road, onto a gravelly textured surface.

"Hold on. It could get rough."

Hanging on for dear life, is what Tris did, as Scott
dodged potholes, not slowing down for the bumps.

"Geesh! Why doesn't the town pave this street?"

"Street?" Scott replies, smiling. "Because this ain't
no street. This here's the access driveway to our
home."

No sooner had he said it, in front of them, in the
distance Tris spots a stone archway.

"Here we are! Home sweet home!" Scott announces,
sarcastically, as they pass under the bough.

Looking back, Tris takes notice of the rusty iron, one
of the gates ready to split off its hinges.

"Somebody oughta fix that," Tris says, pointing behind
himself.

"Yeah, right," Scott replies, thinking about all the
times he's suggested it. After hearing, "'Can't afford
it' or `not in the budget', Scott called his dad a
liar, not to his face, but just thinking it, as he saw
another piece of dungeon furniture being delivered.

"Why do you say that?" Tris asks, sensing the
attitude.

Scott thought about it a lot, reasons why he's
bothered to stick around. Afterall, he had a job, in a
private boys school, teaching history, a good salary,
on the contentions he would continue after he's
achieved college grad status. But every time he
thought of up and leaving, he's hesitated, thinking
about what Jase would do without him. Being able to
see the main house, from a distance, two tall spires
rising above the trees, Scott pulls over to the side
of the road. For the longest time, he's wanted to tell
another soul about his plight, but no one has ever
shown an interest.

"Did I say something wrong?" the seventeen year old
inquired, giving Scott his full attention.

"No. Not at all. You're...." Stopped in midsentence,
Scott looks into Tris' dreamy eyes, forming a smile on
his own face. "Let's forget it, huh?" He says, putting
the truck in gear.

"No. Wait, Scott," Tris softly says, placing his hand
on Scott's forearm, connected to the steering wheel.

With his foot on the brake, Scott reaches over, cups
Tris' head in his hand, uttering, "C'mere."

Not fighting the feeling, Tris allows himself be taken
in, pressed against the seat belt, choking his loins,
the seventeen year old gets a taste of his first kiss.


"Whatsamatter?" Scott asks, when he loosens his grip
on Tris' neck.

Smiling, turning a bit red, he replies, "My first
kiss."

"Oh really?" Scott says, putting his truck back in
`park'.

"Yeah." Then giggling, he asks, "I bet you've kissed
plenty of guys, huh?"

"Some, but hey, none with feeling like I got from
you!"

This time, it wasn't only Tris blushing, as Scott
realizes what he's said, a feeling more from the
heart, as opposed to past experiences, bubbling up
from lower down.

Remembering a few minutes ago, Scott faces reality,
"Too bad you're not eighteen."

"Um, can you wait two months?"

"It would be tough to wait longer, but I think I can
hack two months!"

Before Scott started out again, for the rundown
mansion, he kissed Tris, like swearing an oath.

%

Copyright 2007 T. Chase McPhee
This story may not be sold, nor made part of any
collection, without prior consent from the author.