Date: Sat, 25 Sep 2010 15:33:35 -0700 (PDT)
From: Chase McPhee <survivalgame@ymail.com>
Subject: PLaY FoR PaY 03

The story below is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any
resemblances to real people, alive or in the hereafter, is entirely
coincidental in nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons,
of continents or islands, in countries, counties, cities, towns, villages,
neighborhoods, streets, cul-de-sacs, nor governmental or non-governmental
areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male
relationships offends you, then why are you here? Seriously, if guy-to-guy
sex stuff makes you barf or is going to screw up your mind, you should not
read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most
states and countries, you are not allowed to read this story, by law. Check
with your local laws regarding such.

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

PLaY FoR PaY 03
WriTten by T. Chase McPhee

%

In four years since Rick has known Steve, it's been about maybe a thousand
times Rick has sucked him off. Never, in all those times has Steve deemed
the 'perfect suckoff', placing demands of the tight-lipped pleasure,
bringing him to orgasm or prerequisite for a hard fuck, before measuring
the quality of the act. Though, after Steve has deposited his load, either
in Rick's gullet or shot like a bullet up his ass, in the back of Steve's
mind he knew the roleplay wasn't quite finished.

It's how Rick has preferred it. With being imperfect meant punishment and
Rick just fuckin' loved feeling it when Steve never chose compliment, but
ridicule. Especially true, since the first time he got to act out one of
his wildest fantasies with any man, licking Steve nearly every place on his
bod by his choice, then Steve making him tongue-fuck his sweet, hairy ass,
lick around the base of his cock, treat each ball-sac to a swathing and
then forcibly swallowing Steve's hardy stalk.

What worked for both, Steve was not only good at the roleplay, but not
afraid to hurt a man. Like what happened at the equipment shed out by the
track, a surprise punch to the gut, left not only Steve's loins pulsing
with excitement over the surprise attack, but Rick's cock with it's first
taste of what's to come.

Contrary to what some guy might feel, not knowing what lie up ahead in the
bend in the road, after feeling the fisted hand tuck in his gut right above
the bellyhole, Rick, in trying to find his breath, also experienced a
euphoria of another man's fist meeting his midsection. For a long time he's
always viewed something of this sort, cops and robbers, either adversary
experiencing a gut workover, wrestling, bod-builders, anything of this
sort. In his wildest fantasy, Rick pictured himself in the role of a cop,
subdued by two Mafia-types, clutching at his arms and a third having fun
wrecking his six-pack!

Getting back to his relationship with Steve, over time, he's built up his
immunity towards a little pain, developing a trusting relationship with his
superior, whereas he would build, but not go beyond what he could take,
Rick's tolerance for pain increasing along with the momentum of the output
of his cock.

As for both right now, this was one of the quiet times, when Rick lay there
between Steve's thighs and enjoyed rounding his lips, riding Steve's shaft
up and down with both lips pursed. Even though Rick worked his darnedest to
please Steve's insatiable desire for the best of the best blowjobs, Rick
was ecstatic, knowing the outcum his 'reward'!

Steve was excited to the point where the relaxed security man would coo,
"Ooh yeah, ooh yeah baby. That's it!"

In the meantime, Wali and Hans were having their own faceoff. More like a
wrestling match ready to take off, the two at first felt each other out
from a distance. Then, Wali rushing Hans, grabbed hold of him around the
middle. It looked as if Wali was 'hugging', but Hans pushing the Turk's
shoulders showed this wasn't any love game.

"Oh shit!" Wali cries out when he finds his mammoth strength has been
compromised, sending him backwards across the room.

Another "Oh shit!" rang out as Steve pays more attention to the wall
shaking, upon impact.

"What?" Rick asks, popping off Steve's dick and turning around.

He was reprimanded, Steve tugging on his head, "Who the fuck told you to
stop?"

"Sorry!" Rick ducks his head, swallows, then comes up for air, quickly
quipping, "I'll get right back on it!"

And as Rick was expecting, Steve says, "Maybe ten lashes will help you
remember, boy!"

However, right after he says it, he's keyed back to the 'fight', Hans
jumping crooking his elbow to resemble a battering ram and tucking in
Wali's gut.

"Hou-u-u-gh-ooh-h-fuck!" Wali expresses opinion of Han's elbow grinding
deeply into his solar plexus.

"I love it!" Steve exclaims, clapping his hands once.

"Who me?" Rick asks.

Changing from an excited spectator, back to his role of 'master', Steve
replies to Rick, "Twenty lashes, boy!"

"Oops!" Rick says light-heartedly, yet grinding his own shaft into the
mattress at the thought of feeling Steve's belt graze his back.

Grabbing Wali's head of hair, Hans snaps his head back, saying, "Did I
mention I was my high school's top wrestling champ?"

Probably over-confidence is what did Wali in.

Hans drops to one knee.

"Huh? Where'd you go?" Wali asks to the blank air, after Hans has dropped
out of his grip.

"I'm down hee-ere!" Hans says, a grin on his face as he parks his bod on
one knee, his fisted hand under Wali's balls. He laughs.

"Oh shit!" Wali says, looking down at Han's arm already in motion.

A second later, Han's clenched fist delivers its deadly blow.

As Wali's groan of pain, much like that of a howling wolf, fill the air,
Steve is voicing opinion, as he hikes up a little in the bed, watching Wali
go down, "Oh shit! That's gotta be the fuckin'est hottest thing I've ever
witnessed!"

On the contrary, Rick could care less about Wali getting his balls tucked
in, licking his lips because he's missing his mouthful!

Man in control presently, Hans stands and like Wali had done to him, whips
his head back and slaps his cock up against his adversaries lips, yelling,
"Open bitch!" He shoves his crotch right up into Wali's nose.

Sitting up on his elbows, Steve addresses the two, "Oh come on Wali. Get
up. Let me see you work each over some more!"

Hans replies, "Fuck you Steve. You're getting what you want... my turn!"

Thinking it logical, Steve lay back down, but then lifted both legs,
commanding, "Do my ass for awhile, boy!"

"Yes, sir," Rick play the game, moving so his tongue slid under Steve's
balls, the tip tickling its way to Steve's a'hole.

What Hans found was most peculiar. As he forced Wali's face to his briefs,
there was little resistance. But he was really whacked out of his gourd
when Hans grabbed hold of his briefs, lifted the fabric over his engourged
meat, opened up, hesitated as he says, "You win this time, but next
time...."

As Wali looked up, Hans stare up upon the stealth Pakistani, saying, "Yeah,
cool," as if accepting the terms of their new found relationship, a dueling
to 'the death', whereas one was delivered to his knees, the penalty, having
to suck the other off. Then, as Wali held Hans' cock in his hand, slowly
feeds himself.

A different twist to the plot, Steve stroked his cock, feeling
oh-so-more-sensitive, wanting the special something Wali and Hans had. All
he had to do is find himself the right kind of guy. But the next thing to
flood his mind, Steve wondered how he would feel taking the abuse each had
endured. "Hmm..."

%

There was a lot of racket in the bar. At the bar itself, drinks were
flowing over the counter faster than the Niagra. Around where the tables
were, as often happened on any given night, they heaped to the side and
patrons danced. Incoming Freshmen, whether sporty guys or not, leaned on
the sidelines. But some paired up when upper classmen took the initiative
to dance male-to-male.

First to pair up last year, Rico chose Ronaldo. At first Jac sat in 'the
closet', but halfway through the first semester he came out, getting some
guts to ask Rico. And so it went, last year, Rico and Jac trying to make a
go of it. As for Ronaldo, he didn't lose out, getting noticed by one of the
soccer team members, Zach Berge. Most things they found coincidental in
nature, same height, six-foot-one, same color hair, nineteen years old,
whereas they differed in other respects, Ronaldo a bit beefier, Zach slim.

Their first night, unveiling themselves to each other Ronaldo felt like a
moron, whining, "Oh, but I'm so much smaller than you!"

But as Zach put it, didn't matter much, "Hey, like you're not the one who's
going to be plowing the fields?"

Good thing Ronaldo knew earlier on in his life what he craved to suck cock,
surrendering his thoughts, "That'll work for me!"

So, as the freshman saw others pair off, like Ronaldo and Zach, Rico and
Jac, they too didn't feel reluctant.

"Something's bothering you," Rico yelled over the soundwaves.

"What?" Jac yelled back, as they bumped and ground their bods to the beats.

Pulling Jac off to the side, Rico asks, "So what's up?"

"Uh, nothing," Jac said.

Of course, Rico caught Jac take a quick glance towards the circle of
coaches. "Really? Well Jac-ques," he pronounced it incorrectly on purpose,
'Jac-kwez', "Darling-the-third, you may fool some people, but you're not
fooling me!"

Seemingly embarrassed, Jac turned a slight reddish color, apparently having
been found out. But he did try to shun off the very idea, "He's too old for
me. Besides, it's not like he has an interest."

"Is that so?" Rico replies. "Then how come he's checked you out no less
than five times tonight?"

Trying to tell himself things weren't as they seemed, Jac replies, "But
it's you and me, Rico."

Maybe Rico felt a little disconcerted, but he spoke the truth when he says,
"That was last year. There are a lot of new gringos on campus this year!"
Saying it, he was partially lying to himself. He thought Jac to be cute and
still had an amorous feeling for him, something like indigestion of the
heart.

"I don't know, Rico," Jac said, now not hiding his stalking their coach.

Taking Jac by the shoulder, Rico walks him through the crowd, his voice
blotting out the music, dancing and singing, "Why don't you walk right over
there and ask coach to dance!"

Jac stopped dead in his tracks, "I can't do that. I'm not even sure he's
gay."

"Trust me gringo. Coach Stahl is gay."

"But what if he's not out? It'll embarrass him to death in front of the
others?" Jac puts it.

Rico replies, "We know Coach Brat is already gay."

"No, we all 'think' he is gay, Rico. Nobody has ever saw him do anything
gay?"

Looking around, there were others, but it was so noisy, Rico figures nobody
will hear what he whispers into Jac's ear.

"No? Really?" he rebounds with, Jac hearing Rico telling him of a picture
shown of Coach Brat on the evening news during a Gay Pride Event in New
York City, on a float without a stitch of clothing, except a flimsy speedo.
It did pique Jac's interest, "Did he look, 'good'?"

Rico groped himself, responding, "Hell yea-ah!"

"But what about Coach Morachini?"

Rico says of him, "We all can't be perfect!"

As they inched towards the table of three, Rico was mighty convincing.

Too, Jac ached to have Coach Stahl close to him, touching, feeling.

So, he fell for all of Rico's lines, last one, "Trust me. Coach Stahl will
be more than thankful to you for helping him come out."

He coughed, allowing himself to be heard among the three.

Coach Stahl asked, "How's the dancing going? You and Rico have some moves,
Jac!"

"Thanks Coach." And it provided the perfect lead in, but he just couldn't.

Then Rico had to butt in, "Do you dance Coach?"

Under his breath, Jac was thinking, 'Rico, will just shut the fuck up!'

"I did at one time or another," Coach Stahl mentioning weddings, family get
togethers.

Guido Morachini breaks into the conversation, "My cousin Vinnie's
wedding. Despicable! We couldn't believe how many of our family had turned
into faggots!" He laughs off his ignorance.

"Excuse me Coach Morachini?" Rico highly disagreed with Coach Morachini's
wording.

First year Coach Brat was feeling reluctant to divulge his gay sexuality,
but Guido's comment too irked him the wrong way. Standing, he directs to
the table, "Jac, would you mind if I danced with you?"

Coach Stahl choked on his drink.

Guido acted a lot less rational, "Whatha-fuck?"

But Brat started feeling even more brave and when Jac didn't answer right
away, "Or Rico?"

Rico had no problem, them all watching the two walk away, Mike getting it
on with the rhythms, him and Rico bopping all about.

"I never would have thought, Brat being a homo!"

Jac says, "Uh, that's my cue!" and scurries off towards the crowd.

For Coach John Stahl, it became like he was in the middle. On one side, the
homophobic representation of the college life and the other, the gay
community, where gay and straight mixed in perfect harmony. He only had
seconds to think about it, whether to sit there and side with Guido, which
represented all that's wrong in the world, regarding the acceptance of
everyone being different and respecting those which are and.... "Uh, excuse
me a minute Guido."

Guido watched as he sipped his drink, as John walks into the crowd and
seems to segregate one person from the crowd, the kid that was just there
at the table.

Tagging Jac on the shoulder, Coach Stahl asks, "Have you found a dancing
partner yet, Jac?"

"Coach, what're you doing here?" Jac questions.

He had a feeling, "Well when you didn't ask Coach Brat to dance, I felt
kind of hurt!" He laughs.

Jac exclaimed, "I didn't ask 'him' to dance. He asked 'me'!"

"Oh, that's right," Coach Stahl replies, with a lingering smile.

They stood their motionless, staring.

Knowing it awkward for Jac, feeling it a bit so himself, to be standing out
there among young college frat, him the elder of the bunch, "I guess we
better move, huh?" He starts swaying his hips in one direction, shoulders
in another.

Following suit, Jac leans in to say in coach's face, "You know I have a
crush on you?"

John knew what Jac said, but rather than be pressed for an answer, tugs his
shirt out of his pants and yells back, "I'm sticking out like a sore thumb
with this shirt on." True, the dance floor did seem to abound in male
flesh. "Want to help me off with it?" He got the hint after watching Coach
Brat strip his Quartermaine University Soccer polo, twirl it around
overhead on his finger and let it shoot off in some direction!

"Really? You want me...." Jac replies.

Seeing Jac very reluctant, him too a bit nervous about all this, John
figured it was now or never. He wasn't even looking over to his table to
see what Guido thought, but was more concerned with Jac, taking the twenty
year old's hands in his, guiding them to the tail of his shirt.

"You really want me to do this?" Jac asks, biting one side of his lip.

"Only if you 'want' to do it."

Their motions slowed a little, each more focused on the other.

"No. I can't. Sorry," Jac replies, pushing through the crowd, away from his
coach.

Stunned, John stood there.

"Hey, how come you still have your shirt on John?" Hands followed, Mike
Brat taking the shirt in his hands, forcing John's arms in the air
momentarily, till his shirt was off.

"Mike?" John replies. Trying to look over the crowd, searching, John says,
"I thought you were with Rico?"

"Yeah. I was. We danced our dance, but I thought..." Mike hesitates, "Well,
it looked like you needed a bailout."

"My fault," John said. "I was pushing the kid too fast," he said of Jac.

A big smile coursed Mike's face, the thirty-seven year old coach replying,
"How about 'pushing' me?"

It was crowded to the point, if anything underhanded, like a guy feeling up
another guy's anatomy, happened, it would not be detected.

"Really Mike?" John replies to having his cock and balls hand-teased.

As if he was a beggar, Mike offers, "How long has it been since you've had
a nice, relaxing evening at home in bed with a man, John?"

Human, like any other gay man, Mike had kindled the fire. Too, now John
wasn't fighting the feeling, showing somewhat acceptance to Mike's plan,
placing the back of one hand almost midchest, Mike watching it glide down
the dark brown abs-trail.

One last effort, two-fold, Mike divulges, "Guido's been looking at us two
for the past five minutes, wondering what us two faggots are going to do?"

"Do?" John inquires, knowing there's a plan to follow.

"What would you say to a nice hardy embrace?" Mike giggles.

John replies, "I think I can handle it."

Given the go ahead, Mike moves in till the two are bod-to-bod, his hairy
chops grazing the side of John's face, him whispering in John's ear, "You
okay?"

He was, said he was, and as he and Mike embraced, chest-to-chest, John
suddenly lost all inhibitions. Right now he filled up with human feeling
and without reservation, with no reservations as to whether Guido was
shocked at his two fellow coaches necking on the dancefloor, John carried
things beyond Mike's expectations, pairing up their lips.

Of course they got more than a few loud whistles, but rounds of applause
from not only football and soccer players. Lauds of praise surrounded them.

However, Mike tagged John's shoulder, thumbing his eyes over to the table
they were sitting at. It was empty!

%

"Hey! I want to see more fighting!" Steve exclaimed, like a spoiled rotten
child.

In between moans of ecstasy, Hans interjects, "Wali is very busy!"

"Oh damn is this hot!" Steve says, rolling over on his side so he can look
over the edge of bed to see Hans doing a pushup over Wali's face.

"Rick!"

"What?" Rick questions Steve.

"Get your ass over here!"

As he crawls from where he was tongue-fucking Steve's ass, to lying on his
stomach, Rick replies, "I thought you'd never ask!" Spoken like some old
cliche.

Without reservation, Steve plunges deep into Rick's ass and almost in
unison with Hans' pulsing torso, they pair up the fucking action.

%

"This is a much better idea," John says, his eyes glancing about, checking
out Mike's apartment.

Setting up two glasses of ice on his small bar, Mike pours out some 'JD',
replying, "Oh really? By the way you were getting it on with the kissing, I
thought you felt rather comfortable, John?" he hands him one of the
glasses.

Taking a sip, John initially says, "Strong!" looking over the top of the
glass.

"I figure I gotta start loosening you up, John!" he smiles, then sips.

"For the record, the kiss was a put on for Guido?"

Mike Brat figured so. More freely thinking than John, which he already
figured out him not being experienced at picking up guys as himself, he
resigns to, "I figured so." Walking over to the bar, Mike takes the liberty
of stripping down.

His eyes keened in on the action, John watching Mike kicking off his
loafers, stripping off his pants and the last of his clothing, the briefs,
eyes intent on 'size', he says, "So, what... um..."

Knowing John felt things a bit awkward, Mike picks up his drink, walks over
to John, then proceeds to douse Mike's chest with his drink.

"What the fuck! You're gonna get your rug all...." But then John chills out
as Mike begins to lick up the 'mess'.

"Ooh-h-h-h-h," John replies, feeling Mike's tongue on his chest mat,
slipping to the east to take a nibble, Mike's other hand lightly mashing
his other nip. "Oh man that feels... so... good!" He didn't hesitate to
take his whole drink down his gullet. Feeling a little light-headed was not
the reason John gave in, when Mike tugged at his belt, guiding John towards
the bedroom.

However, as they reach the doorway to the bedroom, Mike's doorbell sets to
buzzing.

"You ordered pizza?" John asks, as he is abruptly psyched out of his
feeling good, almost as if it were a dream and not real.

"If I did I hope he's cute!" As it has been Mike's habit, he walks over to
the door and steals a glance through a chink in the mini-blind. Two
reactions usually occurred. If it warranted it so, he would return to the
bedroom and throw on a pair of shorts. Rarely a shirt if it were a
male. The other reation, phasing him now, the most rare instance, he
smiled, freely unclicking the lock...

"Aren't you going to... cover up?" John asks too late. In question, but
accepting partially, John says of the two standing at the door, "Rico? Jac?
What are you doing here?"

"Let's get this party started, gringo!" Rico freely says as he tugs the
sixpack in through the door, immediately stalking the soccer coach. Without
a clue to being awkward, he addresses John, "Oh, hi coach!"

"Party tyme!" Mike says, rubbing hands together as to 'get to work',
walking right past John, sideswiping him on the way to the bedroom.

Turning back towards the door, John hesitates.

"Alright if I come in?" Jac asks.

"Yeah. Sure," John says with a shy attitude. After all, this wasn't 'his'
place.

He smelled it and saw the effects, like John had stepped out of the shower,
his bod hair wilted and shiny, "Did you spill your drink?"

Pointing over his shoulder, at the partially opened bedroom door, John
replies, "Mike did." He didn't elaborate.

"On you?"

Then John laughs, confesses, "He was about to clean it up... with his
tongue!"

Jac cuts to the chase, "Look, back there... I'm really sorry for acting
like a jerk."

His coach replies, "I didn't think you acted like a jerk." What he had to
drink so far, coupled with his series of drinks from the bar, made John
feel more loose and as he's explaining, his hand is feeling up Jac's smooth
bicep. "I think more you were responding to someone's... how do I put it?"
he stifled his thoughts, looking to the air for the correct wording.

Smiling, Jac could see Coach Stahl might have indulged a little too much on
the 'hot sauce'. Too, he felt Stahl was feeling restrictive, both hands
rubbing up and down, from the smoothness at the top of his arms, to his
lightly haired forearms. Rico had talked him into coming by this evening,
convincing him, since he had slept with the soccer coach quite a few times,
it was okay to court Coach Stahl. As if this warranted giving the go ahead,
plus bored of coach going on saying something about nothing, he tilted his
head forwards, stuck his tongue out and dared to lick Coach Stahl's chest!

It instanly registered, the wet tongue to his chest, "What the hell was
that?"

A rapidfire retreat, Jac says, "You didn't like it?"

"I'm not saying I didn't like it, but..."

"Rico claims he's slept with Coach Brat more than once?" he asks, even
though it probably was common knowledge.

"Right." And with slight anxiety, "So?"

"Have you ever like... gotten it on with a student?"

Coach Stahl returns, "Um, no. You?" Realizing what he's alluded to,
student-to-student, he rephrases it, "I mean..."

"I know what you mean. No." Then flashing a turned up smile, "Well not yet,
at least!"

Suddenly they hear a loud groan from behind closed door, the two looking
towards the bedroom.

"Rico," Jac replies.

"You know what Rico sounds like when...." Coach left it open.

"Rico likes it up the ass. I think it's pretty much the sound a guy makes
when a cock is shoved up his ass," Jac replies, as if a serious discussion.

Coach replies, "Oh, so you know how a guy sounds when a man's cock is
buried deep in his ass?"

Rather than trek on the same route, Jac switches, "What about yourself? You
like to suck or be sucked?"

"And fuck or be fucked?" Coach turned the tables.

"I've never been fucked and I've never fucked a guy."

Chugging the rest of his drink, John replies, after looking down, though
nothing could be seen but the tee shirt covering Jac's stomach and his
jeans, "Do you want to get it on, doing some sucking and fucking?" he takes
the liberty to tug on Jac's shirt, but not aggressively.

"I'm not sure."

"Honest answer." Then being a wiseass, "So, do you want to stand here and
check out my sticky chest while I check out your tee shirt?"

Knowing his coach more than tipsy, Jac figured it would easier if he caught
up a little. He picks up the bottle of Jack Daniels and takes a chug.

"Who-o-oa-whoa! Hold on there a minute!" Coach rips the bottle out of Jac's
hand. Then he's saying, "Oh my, did I do that?"

Rather than agree or complain, Jac heeds little attention to his
whiskey-soaked tee shirt and takes it off. They then hear Rico's howling,
Jac saying, "I don't think we're going to catch up. What do you think?"

"Who said we have to be in competition?"

When he said it, John's hands ventured beyond Jac's shoulders, around the
back and then his coach closing in.

Unlike before, Jac surrendered, feeling so awesome by the pair of hands
travel around to his back. Too, since they both had experience the sticky
liquor on their chests, it didn't feel too cumbersome when they touched.

Dividing down the middle, to the waist, John says, "Are you okay?"

"So far," Jac replied, with a confident smile. He swallowed and then asked
forwardedly, "Do you think it would be alright if I licked your cock?"

Still feeling a little strange over this whole thing, John says, "Sure. As
long as I can suck yours?"

When they crossed into the boundary-less livingroom, things couldn't be
more perfect, the extra shag rug on the floor.

John says of it, "Made for 69-ers!"

%

Copyright 2010 T. Chase McPhee

`PLaY FoR PaY' may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without
prior consent from the author.