Date: Tue, 17 Jan 2006 09:38:30 -0800 (PST)
From: T. Chase McPhee <survivalgame@yahoo.com>
Subject: Muscle Jocks For Domination 07

The following story is a work of fiction, set in the
format of reality. Any resemblance to real people is
entirely coincidental in nature, and is not meant to
accurately depict, nor reflect upon persons in towns,
cities, or governmental areas, in 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. This is fiction. Do not
forget, in real life, to think about 'sexual safety
matter'; got condom?

"Muscle Jocks For Domination" 07
wriTten by T. Chase McPhee

%
"Steve?"

"Raavi, how are you doing?"

Raavi tried to rise up out of the bed, but the orderly
next to him held him down.

"Whooooa there, young man."

Now Officer Jim Kirk had a predicament on his hands.
Here, he had already warmed up to Steve Kestner and
now, the orderly holding Raavi down began to stir his
loins. Sometimes Jim couldn't understand why his cock
would switch guys like that!

"You know this room is off limits?" The punk looking
orderly stated.

"What's the matter? You blind?" Jim asks the older
twenty-something guy.

"I don't give a shit what some badge says. Just
because you're a flatfoot doesn't mean you can throw
your weight around!"

Steve, now standing closer to the bed Raavi occupies,
watches the confrontation take place. Only knowing a
fraction of what Jim Kirk is like, he waits it out, to
see how this is going to pan out. For now, Jim, hands
on his hips, looks the guy up and down. Steve wasn't
sure, but in his own opinion, he thought the orderly
might be gay.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah and furthermore...."

Sure as shooting, Steve figured that this is where the
shit was going to hit the fan.

The orderly takes Jim's badge in his fingertips and
announces, "I don't give a damn what some tin badge
cop says. This is my patient and my responsibility and
I don't give a shit how you think this," referring to
the badge, now pulled away from Jim's shirt, "is used
to push people around. Get it through your head,
officer, that I'm not one of those guys that can be
controlled by authoritative means!"

Looking down, as well as up, Steve noticed Jim's
reactions. That bulge in his crotch meant something.
He knew about feelings like that. He experienced it
just this afternoon with Max Verraros. Like himself,
he knew Jim was eating up the verbal abuse, chewing it
up and swallowing it all the way down to his churning
balls.

"So, what are you going to do about it, if I don't
leave, `sir'?"

"Steve, what..." Raavi tried to interject a thought
about the two.

"Just a sec, Raavi," Steve replied, his hand on
Raavi's bare shoulder.

Two things in progress, the `Jim vs. orderly'
confrontation and now, for Raavi, he lost interest in
one thing, to take in the manly hand placed on his
flesh. Even though his opposite limb contained an
intravenous unit, he slowly reached over to his other
bicep, touching Steve's hand.

Reacting to the touch of the eighteen year old, Steve
looks down, smiles and asks, "You alright?"

Raavi, still in a week, drugged up state, manages to
smile, then close his eyes, his hand still on Steve's.
Looking down, Steve widens the smile, taking Raavi's
hand and placing the needled arm back in place.

"Hey, what are you doing?" The orderly then turned to
Steve, seeing him handling Raavi's more sensitive arm,
moving Steve's hand away.

Surprising himself, Steve comes out with, "Fuck off,
man. You touch me again and I'll break your hand!"
While the orderly is trying to formulate his words,
Steve thinks to himself, `Where the hell did that come
from?'

>From Jim's lips, a faint comment surfaces, "Oh shit,
is this hot!" His hand has already dove into his
pocket. The officer can't believe that, twice in one
day, he's let two guys take control of him. Two men,
that normally he would have slapped the cuffs on them,
hauling their asses off to jail.

"Yeah, uh look. I guess I was a little pretentious,
man. The name's Ian Ringold."

Holding out his hand, Steve lets it hang for a moment
before extending his own.

"Steve Kestner."

"Nice grip," Ian replies. "Workout?"

"Mostly 5/7."

Another thing that disturbed Steve occurred, in past
experiences, when a guy was friendly, he always was
the same back. Right now, it was as if he was on his
guard for some reason. He couldn't exactly put his
finger on the transition involved.

"Um, I have to be on my way, Steve."

As Jim approaches the foot of the bed, Ian changes
like day and night, his demeanor, as chatting with
Steve.

"Got a piece of paper and a pen, `pig'?"

Lips formed an `o', similar to this morning when Max
Verraros was in control, humiliating the hell of him,
Steve looked at the police officer. Not at all
perturbed by Ian's remark, Jim looked to Steve. With
quick thinking, Steve recalled this morning, how he
wanted, no, had the strong urge to be dominated by Max
Verraros. He then figured Jim Kirk had been
experiencing the same.

Steve added to the scenario, in favor of Jim, "What
are you waiting for `pig'?"

"Um... sure," Officer Kirk humbly accepted.

As if waiting for confirmation from Steve that it had
been alright to comply, Jim whipped out his notebook,
tore a page out and produced a pen.

"I want your full name, phone number and schedule for
the rest of the week. Got that?"

"Yep."

Recalling Verraros' remarks, regarding respect this
morning, Steve adds, without thinking, "I don't
believe you're letting the `pig' get away with that
disrespectful attitude, Ian!"

Not having much experience himself at this domination
stuff, Steve could detect Ian a novice at it, himself.
However, Steve knew enough to get the ball rolling.
Holding a finger up to signify, `hold on a sec', Steve
walks the few paces to where Jim is writing, leaning
on the tray table that becomes mobile at will. He
places his foot on the bottom track, pressuring it,
sliding the table away from Jim's writing implement.

"Heeeey! What tha..." Jim says.

"Don't care much for your attitude, `pig'," is all
Steve says, arms folded across his chest.

Taking the hint, Ian approaches from behind.

Daringly, he lightly swats Jim in the back of the
head, adding, "Are you as dumb as you look or what?"

"On your knees when you're addressing your..." Steve
fished for some more vocabulary that was used this
morning, "masters."

If Steve and Ian could be inside Jim's balls, they
would have been experiencing a white-water rafting
challenge churning up to huge proportions.

Placing his hand on Jim's shoulder, as Ian remembered
from the `Superman II' movie, where General Zod places
his hand on Superman's shoulder, driving the superhero
into submission, he helps press Jim down into the
submissive state. So, picture it. The young Indian
kid, asleep in the hospital bed, the guy that came to
see him standing in front of the cop sitting on his
knees, on the hospital room floor and the rough, punk
orderly behind the uniformed cop.

"Looks like he's got one thing going for him," Steve
notices, as he picks up the piece of paper.

"What's that, Steve?"

"At least he can follow directions. Here's the pig's
schedule and phone number," Steve replies to Ian.

"I guess he isn't as stupid as he looks."

"Still, Ian. Training this cop-slut," Steve surprised
himself at where these terms came from that poured
from his lips, "is going to be a bitch!"

"I'm up for a challenge, if he is..."

"I am!" Jim replied, a slight grin on his face, making
sure he's not passed up on this opportunity to be
dominated.

Pouring on the lingo from his own experience, Steve
reprimands, "Did we say you could talk, Jim?"

He looks back over his shoulder, then at Steve,
replying, "Um, no."

Then, as if Verraros himself is standing there, Steve
replies, "Twenty-five demerits!"

"Demerits?" Ian questions.

"Demerits?" the police officer utters, from his knees.

"Um, yeah," Steve replies, "a start towards his
training," addressing Ian.

Then, stealing the little book from Jim's uniform,
shirt pocket, he finds a blank page, writes `demerits'
at the top, followed by `25' underneath.

"There, Ian. That's a start. Anytime your... um, boy
steps out of line, you write in demerits."

Tearing the page out, Steve hands it to Ian. He folds
the book shut, pressing it back into Jim's pocket. He
smiles to himself, knowing the corner of the book
poked Jim in the nip!

Obviously, Steve recognized that Ian didn't get the
gist of the `demerit system', so he handled the rest
of the protocol.

"Now get up and get your carcass out of here,
cop-slut!"

"But...."

"Another 10 demerits," Steve tells Ian, "because your
boy hasn't asked permission to speak from his master."

Steve, like Verraros did to him this morning,
explained the protocol, while dictating the
punishment. He figured he would be informing the
master, as well as the boy, what was expected,
something he sensed being proud about, making the
`good move'.

"10 demerits, it is," Ian Ringold wrote down.

"Permission to speak?" Jim addressed Steve.

"Ian, your boy wants you," Steve redirected Jim's
inquiry.

"What is it boy?" Ian played along.

"Will you be calling me tonight?"

Catching the next infraction, Steve says to Ian,
"Another 10 demerits for disrespect." Then telling
Jim, Steve says, "He's `sir' to you, `boy'!"

As Ian writes under the `10', another `10', he then
tallies it up, "That's a total of 45 demerits, boy."
Then, getting in the swing of the dominant master
role, Ian tells Jim, "I'll be in touch. After we get
these 45 demerits squared away, then we can start on
your training."

His cock already at the maximum potential, balls
churning away, the twenty-eight year old police
officer slowly began to get up.

Getting into the humiliation game himself, Steve
utters, "Did your master tell you to get up?"

Looking to Steve, getting a nod, Ian replies, "Yeah,
who the fuck gave you permission to rise, slave?"

Ian thought it cool, adding his own vocabulary. Yeah,
this domination stuff was really starting to turn him
on. Big time!

"May I please get up?" Jim asked quaintly.

"Forget something?" Steve sings out.

They both look at Steve.

Ian then recalls, "10 demerits for not addressing me
properly."

With his statement, Jim realizes something. The guy he
brought to the hospital wasn't the guy carring away
his thoughts. He felt so strong about developing
something with Steve, yet it's this orderly that
caught his attention, instating a connection. Not
paying strict attention to the build, could it be that
he's developing a fetish for muscular boys?

"Permission to stand and speak, sir?" Jim applied to
Ian.

"Go ahead," Ian replied.

However, instead of facing Ian, Jim looked to Steve.

"I know I tried coming on to you, Steve, but..."

Jim couldn't find the words to express himself.

"Look, Jim. It's okay. I understand. Like the cliche
goes, `we weren't meant for each other'."

Then, reaching down, boldly doing something Steve has
never even thought of doing to another man, he grabs
Jim's balls, not hard, but lightly.

"I think you and Ian are going to have some fun
together. See where it leads."

Then, with his other hand, Steve brings Jim's lips to
his.

Parting, Jim adds, "You're something, Steve. Really
something."

Without thinking, Steve smiles, affirming his friendly
affection by giving Jim's balls a little tug.

"Ooooooh," Jim replies.

"Hmmm, Ian. Looks like I found one of Jim's hot
spots."

"Is that so?" Ian replies, touching the `hot spot',
when Steve releases it.

"Oooooh yeah!" Jim replies, arching his back, closing
his eyes, dropping his head back.

Next, as if a test, Ian closes the gap, his fist
drawing the space tighter in his grasp.

"Oooooohakkkkkoooooh!"

Smiling, Ian replies, "Oh fuck yeah!"

Within the circumference of thirty seconds, Ian tests
Jim, squeezing and loosening up on his balls, sending
Jim teetering between pain and pleasure.

After releasing Jim's crotch, Ian replies, "Hell, are
we going to have a lot of fun!"

Then, using one of the oldest cliches known to man,
Jim asks, "Your place or mine?"

As Jim was leaving, Steve felt a slight melancholy
over the brief, affectionate encounter.

Smiling, Steve told the police officer, upon his
departure, "And Jim?"

"Yes, Steve?"

"Don't cum until your master gives you permission?"
Meant as an instructional device, as well.

Joking, Jim replies, "Fine friend you turned out to
be!"

However, with the two, Ian and Steve on the other side
of the hospital room door, Jim smiled, a new sense of
excitement entering his life.

`Oh shit!' he called out to himself, looking around to
see if anyone saw him rubbing his crotch. He giggled
to himself, noticing the hallways empty, except for
Matthew, way down the end. Snapping his fingers, Jim
figured it wouldn't hurt to see what Matthew knows
about Ian.

%

Continued.....

Copyright 2006 T. Chase McPhee
This story may not be sold or made part of any
collection without prior written permission.