Date: Mon, 12 Jan 2009 06:06:14 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Movies? - No, Thanks!

THE MOVIES?  NO, THANKS!

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories


Note to readers: This is NOT one my normal "slave" stories, set in Arabia
or a future USA. It's a short story, set in my home city, London, in the
present day.  Only the coercion and humiliation will be familiar to my
normal audience (oh, and, of course, the hero is Steve!).

Part One - THE MOVIES?  NO, THANKS!

I like to get to the gym around 16:00, and get in and get done before all
those office workers start to flood in.  It saves having to wait to use all
the machines - I can't stand that, as when I really begin a work out, I
need to work really hard, consistently, and if I have to stop I don't think
it's such good exercise.  And, of course, it saves those pathetic wankers
giving me pitying looks when they see me changing out of my dirty work
clothes, covered in mud and stuff.  You may think that a bloke like me who
works in construction shouldn't need the gym - but although the hard manual
labout is good for some things, it doesn't really work out everything, I
find.  So I like to work out to keep "match fit", otherwise my Saturday
matches with the club are a real trial: not that I'm in a top-class team,
but, honestly, some of the matches you have in the lower divisions of our
amateur Rugby league are a hell of a lot harder, and a hell of a lot
tougher, I
 can tell you - we seem to attract blokes like me who have fit, hard
bodies, and who want to take out some of the aggression they can't release
in everyday life.

It's lucky, actually, that I've managed to get a job on a site in Central
London so I can get to the gym by bus - since those bastards took away my
licence, a lot of the jobs out in the suburbs are closed to me as you need
to drive to them.  Those fucking magistrates just don't seem to care that
they took away my living when they took my licence - and, after all,
everyone speeds, don't they?  Still, as I say, I was lucky to get the job I
have, and it's only those pathetic office workers in the gym who really
annoy me - I reckon it's them that need pitying, actually: they probably
don't earn nearly as much as I do, and they certainly don't have the hard
muscle I do!  In fact, life is pretty good on the whole, as I don't have a
lot of that crap like mortgages and stuff to worry about, and no bosses
breathing down my neck and giving me all that stress.  Provided I just turn
up on the site and get stuck in, they mostly leave me alone as they reckon
I'm a
 good worker - I really keep at it to give myself a proper workout, though,
as I've told you.  Just about the only real problem is my girl friend - she
keeps on about getting married and "settling down" and having kids; I
reckon there's lots of time for that still as I'm only twenty seven and I
like to use the spare cash for holidays - I reckon you can't beat Thailand
for the beaches and the swimming, and you come back with a really good tan.
I might ditch her if she keeps on about it, especially as she's started to
say that I'm "too demanding" - well, if fucking every night is "too
demanding", then it's time I moved on, I reckon, as a bloke needs to keep
his cock exercised as well as the rest of him, doesn't he?  And I find that
if I don't have sex absolutely regularly, I start to get that dull ache in
my balls.  And a tough, virile bloke like me shouldn't have to wank, should
he?  I gave that up when I was about sixteen and the women started to see
 that a fit bloke who knows how to use his cock is worth knowing.

Still, that evening was much like any other.  It was cold enough to freeze
your balls off as we had a very unusual for London cold snap, and as soon
as the light began to fade I was glad when the foreman said we could all
go.  It was a real relief to strip off my work jeans, T, shirt and hoodie
in the warmth of the gym, and I stood there for a moment rubbing my naked
skin (which actually felt cold) before I pulled on a jockstrap and my
exercise shorts and T.  Yes, call me old-fashioned if you like, but I use a
proper jockstrap when I'm working out or playing rugger, unlike a lot of
the other blokes who have gone for those long, elesticated boxer things.
For one thing, I think it looks silly when they poke down below your rugger
shorts - I reckon they're made for soccer players who have those longer
shorts, unlike us who still have "proper" short shorts that really show you
off; and, anyway, I sweat a lot, and I reckon a jockstrap lets you
"breathe"
 better as your bum's bare under the shorts and the air can get up your
arse crack properly.

Anyway, I had a good solid workout, not as long, perhaps, as I usually do,
but my girlfriend's away on some training course at the moment and so I
reckoned to drop in at the local pub on my way back to the flat to see if
there was anyone I could pull - as I've said, I don't like having to wank,
and there's usually a chance of finding some slag or other who could serve,
if I played my cards right and bought her a couple of drinks.  I stripped
off my (very) sweaty gear and the changing room was starting to fill with
the office workers as I made my way towards the showers - the place is
really going downhill since I joined, as I'm one of the few "real workers"
left after most of the big construction projects moved on, and it's getting
so that there's only these feeble desk jockeys filling the place up - and I
could see a lot of them looking at me as I strode down the room towards the
showers, my cock bobbing up and down in front of me.  They've recently
 put up some poncey notice suggesting that "gentlemen might prefer to cover
themselves with a towel on their way to and from the showers" as a lot of
them seem ashamed to show themselves - I don't know why they join a gym if
they're like that, as why else would you be working on your body if you
didn't want to show it off?  But that sort of language is typical, and I
heard a couple of snide remarks about "yobs who couldn't read" as I went
along - they were lucky I didn't thump them, contenting myself with the
more civilised "It says 'prefer' - and I prefer to go naked".  I reckon
they were a bit surprised to hear that, as although I might look like a bit
of a rough worker when I come in from the site, I actually did go to uni
and got a degree - some people just don't seem to understand that for
blokes like me it's more satisfying to have a proper hard job with no
responsibilities, so I can spend the rest of my time doing the enjoyable
things, like
 sex, without a lot of stress and worry.

There was no-one else in the showers so I was able to stand there for a
good long time really enjoying it, and I could get myself properly clean -
I reckon you need to soap your crack properly, for example.  And, of
course, it's good to be able to 'skin back and really get all the smeg out
from under our hood without other blokes looking at you (or without having
to turn and face into the corner, or something).  Actually, if I think
about it, I know I'm being a bit stupid here - I'm not only not embarrassed
about my body, I'm quite proud of it.  So why should I worry about other
blokes seeing my cock head when I 'skin back?  My cock's properly in
proportion to the rest of me, and as I'm a tall, muscular bloke, my cock's
long and thick so I've got nothing at all to be ashamed of.  I suppose I'm
like a lot of men with a 'skin and I like to keep my head decently covered
until it's out, ready for action.  I've never minded any of the women I
fuck seeing it,
 after all, so why should some of the men in the gym matter?  But, there
you are, people are funny, aren't they?

I felt really good after the shower, and it doesn't take me long to dry off
- I keep my hair short, so there's no need to stand there in front of the
hair dryers like some of the ponces you see (and some of them are even
rubbing in "skin cream" and stuff like that - I reckon a man should be
rugged, and his skin should be tough, and I often don't shave for a day or
two so I get a good rash of stubble on my face).  I pulled on clean briefs
- yes, I know it's not fashionable and most men my age wear boxers, but I
like the support they give, and I reckon it's more sexy when you strip off
and there's only a little bit of fabric covering your arse and the woman
can see your thighs properly - they're going to be driving your cock into
her, aren't they, so she should see what to expect!) - and then
freshly-laundered jeans, a clean T, and a sweat shirt.  Then I stuffed
everything else back into my gym bag, making a note to myself that I really
did have to do
 some laundry as my jock, shorts and towel were getting a bit rank), pulled
on my donkey jacket, and went out.

It was still fucking freezing and my breath made big clouds of steam as I
hurried along towards the bus stop - it's not like this in London normally,
and even though I was hot from my exercise and the shower, I did begin to
feel a bit chill and was looking forward to a nice warm pub.  Just as I was
getting near the stop, as I passed a parked van, a guy stepped out from a
doorway and said "Got a light, mate?"

At first I thought he was going to be one of those pathetic beggars you see
all the time asking you for spare change, or trying to sell you some
useless magazine about the homeless, so it took me a moment before I could
say "Sorry, I don't smoke" (mentally adding "of course, you pathetic
addict, do you think a bloke like me would ruin his lungs?).  But then I
had a second thought - this time of night, when most of the city folk had
gone home, any bloke lingering like that and not hurrying to the stations
or bus stops had something else in mind - he was probably attempting to
pick me up!  I took a second glance at him and saw he wasn't like those
pathetic older men who sometimes tried this if I was in a pub by myself,
and I did wonder why he needed to try something like that here as he didn't
look to be in bad shape - early twenties, not fat, looked in pretty good
shape.  He oughtn't to have had any problem in finding someone for sex.

I'd stopped for a moment, and then, just as I was looking at him and
formulating the crushing words I'd use to let him know exactly what I
thought of homos, something went around my face.  I just had enough time to
notice that the bloke who had stopped me was clearly expecting this, when
the smell of some sort of chemical went up my nose.  There was another man
behind me holding this cloth over me, and before I could react and hit out
at him, the stuff on the cloth did its work and I felt my knees begin to
sag, my eyes blurred, and there was a terrible ringing in my ears like I'd
experienced once before when, as a kid, the dentist had put the gas mask
over my face before the knockout injection had done its work fully.  It's
funny - they say "time stood still", and for me the next few seconds seemed
to stretch out and out.  As I slowly sagged and went down, I heard one of
them shout "get him in the van, quick, as someone might come along", and I
dimly
 saw the typical "white van" with its back doors being pulled open.

It was the stinging on my face that brought me around.  Someone was
slapping me, and shouting "Wakey, wakey, fucker!".  I opened my eyes and
blinked as the light s were so strong - there seemed to be a lot of those
kind of flood lights you use of sites somewhere way up above me, on the
ceiling., Then gradually I realised I was lying there on my back, and I
began to remember being stopped.... And the rag over my face....

"What the fuck....?", I tried to say, but I was cut off as I gave a great
groan as a foot crashed into my guts and the voice said "Come on, wakey,
wakey, get on your feet, fucker.... We haven't got all night....."

The foot crashed into my guts again and a second voice told the first
"Easy, Chas, we don't want him damaged...."

"...so get on your feet, fucker!", the first voice said again, and it
seemed to be a good strategy, at least for the time being, to comply.
After all, lying on the ground I was not in a good position to fight, was
I?  Whereas a strong bloke like me, on my feet, would be more than a match
for some street punks.  So I struggled, but something seemed to be wrong as
I couldn't leaver myself up somehow.  As the fog from my brain cleared
faster and faster, I realised that there was some a kind of bar across my
shoulders, and my hands were fastened to each end of it, right out from my
body.  And as I wriggled, I realised that my arms were somehow lashed to
it, too. It's not easy, even of you're in good shape, to get up from your
back with your arms stretched out like that, so I had to struggle to
somehow half turn over, then get to my knees, before I could finally force
myself upright.

There were three fit-looking blokes standing in front of me - mid twenties
to early thirties, I'd guess, and all looking as if they went to the gym
regularly.  Then somewhere hovering around, further out, were a couple of
younger, slimmer guys, both holding those kind of semi-professional video
cameras that are small enough to manoeuvre easily, but which take really
professional-quality stuff: I'd seen someone photographing a wedding on my
last holiday in Phuket, and my girl friend was really disappointed when she
realised that I was only asking them about the cameras, and not about
wedding arrangements!

"What the fuck....?"

"Shut up!", one of the three snapped.  "...and listen.  We can either do
this the hard way, or the very hard way. You're not going to like the next
few hours, and we don't need - no, we don't want - your co-operation.  But
if you try to do anything stupid, it will be REALLY hard on you.  Now,
what's your name?"

"Fuck you!", I snapped.

He took a step forward, and slapped me hard on the face.  No, it wasn't a
slap - it was a real blow, with his open palm, though hard enough to make
me stagger.  At once my reflexes cut in and I went to punch him, but
nothing happened because the bar was holding my arms at right angles.  So I
tried to use it as a weapon, and swung around, hoping to catch him with it.

He ducked, calling out "Grab him!", and the two other blokes moved in and
each grabbed hold of one end of the bar.

"You all try that....  So we're ready.  You'll find we're ready for most of
the things you men try to do.... Now, what's your name?"

"What the fuck's going on....?  Let me out of this thing.....!"

He stepped forward and another harsh blow struck the other side of my face.
I couldn't stagger this time as the bar was holding me rigid, and in spite
of my strength I was helpless - all that stuff in physics at school about
levers and mechanical advantage, I realised: with a bloke on each end of
this long bar, I was at a hopeless mechanical disadvantage.

"Now, I'll ask you once more.  And I'll expect a proper answer this time.
I can keep on hitting you until you do answer, you know..... So, as I said,
it's going to be hard for you, or very hard.... And I wouldn't advise you
to go for the 'very hard' option - at least not yet, this early in the
game..... So what's your name?"

I could see he was right, so I muttered "Steve", noticing that as I did so,
one of the cameras had moved close in to focus on my face, whereas the
other camera man was holding back, presumably to shoot me standing there
in-between the two men holding the ends of the bar.

"Good, Steve.  And how old are you?"

"Twenty seven."

"And are you straight, or gay?"

"What the fuck.....?"  I saw him moving towards me, hand raised, and spat
out "Straight!"

"Not even a little bit gay?  We saw you coming out of a gym, and you've got
a honed body...."

"Listen, fucker, I'm straight!  I fuck women.  I'm not into men.  Not even
'a little bit', as you say...."

"Oh come on, Steve... You must have thought about it....  We've looked in
your wallet and found a membership card for a rugby club as well as the
gym.  All those naked men, all those male bodies in the scrum.  You must
have thought about it - a wank with a mate at school?  One of those rugby
club 'inaugurations' with lots of half-drunk men doing 'bonding' things?  A
mate giving you a 'helping hand' when you're between girl friends....?
Come on, Steve, all men have thought about it...."

"Listen, fucker, I have thought about it.  And it makes me feel sick!  Now,
cut all this crap, and let me go...."

"Now, Steve, we can't do that, can we?"

"Yes you can!  If you stop right now, untie me from this bar, let me out,
I'll just go home...."

"Sorry, Steve.  But we can't do that.  You see Jon, Dave and me are all
horny.  And Jamie and Ian have got their cameras out and have given up
their evening....."

"Look, this is stupid!  You can't just kidnap a bloke on the streets of
London, you can't....."

"Shut the fuck up, Steve!  You're talking a load of crap, and you know it.
You say 'you can't kidnap a bloke on the street...', but we have: here you
are!  And, frankly, I don't care what else you think we can't do.  The fact
of the matter is, Steve, that you're here, we're here, and the fun is about
to begin.... Well, the fun for us, that is - we particularly like it when
we get a straight guy, as it's somehow so much more exciting.... Although
not necessarily for him."

I could feel some sort of panic, or was it anger, rising in my.  I threw
myself at him, but the two men holding the bar I was tied to prevented any
real motion.  "You fuckers....", I shouted.

"Enough!", the guy in front of me snapped. "Now, Steve, let's get a proper
look at you.  It's a pretty exciting package as you are, but you can't
really judge a man properly until he's naked, can you?"

He came towards me and bent over to reach towards the buckle on my belt.
It was too good an opportunity to miss, and I kicked out at him.  He was
agile, though, and stepped back, so my foot didn't connect, and the action
unbalanced me so I kind of stumbled and the rope holding my wrists and
biceps to the bar cut in to me.

"Now that wasn't very friendly was it, Steve?  But, as you can see, it was
pretty stupid: we've done this before, you know, and you're pretty
typical...  But I warned you, didn't I, that things would be harder for you
if you didn't behave?"

As he said this he aimed a punch at my belly, and even though I just had
time to try to stiffen my muscles, it really knocked the air out of me and
I slumped forward, giving a great gasp.  This was one fit guy, I realised,
and he knew how to throw a punch.  He stood there in front of me, a faint
smile on his face, rubbing his knuckles.  "A nice hard belly, Steve!  Do
you want another one?  I reckon a hard punch in the belly hurts the belly
more than it hurts the fist.... What do you think?"

"Fuck you!".

He smiled again.  "Words are cheap, Steve.  But I'm going to try to undo
your belt again now, and then I'm going to pull your jeans down and off.
And if you try anything stupid, I'll punish you again.  And they're pretty
nice jeans - it would be a pity to have to damage them!  Someone we had in
here recently was so violent we just couldn't strip him, and we had to end
up cutting his jeans off him - and unfortunately he struggled so much that
the scalpel we use cut him a bit, too.  The blood's a nice extra, I always
think, but you don't really want that, do you?"

As he said this he stepped forward again, although warily, so I could see
that there was no point in lashing out.  His fingers undid my buckle and he
pulled my leather belt right out from my jeans. Then he undid the top
button, pushed down the zip, and began to push my jeans down over my
thighs, then my knees.  As he knelt to slip my trainers off, I saw my
chance and in spite of the pain from my wrists and biceps, I kicked out at
him again - it wasn't easy, though, with my jeans around my ankles, and it
only succeeded in knocking him backwards and I knew I had not harmed the
bastard.

I didn't like the smile that played across his face as he half sprawled
there, and as he got to his feet, he muttered "Oh Steve, now that was
foolish, wasn't it?  You know what I said - if you don't behave, you have
to be punished."

Out of the corners of my eyes I could see the two holding the pole nod and
laugh, as Chas (I assumed that was him, as he'd told me the names of the
others and I'd heard this name mentioned) picked up my belt, wrapped the
buckle end around his hand once so there was a long length of leather
hanging loose, moved slightly behind me, and the next moment I screamed as
the belt hit my bum.  And I screamed again, and again, and again, as three
more strokes landed.

Chas came and stood in front of me again, and I saw the two camera men
repositioning themselves to take in the scene.  "So, Steve, you've never
had a belt across that delicious arse of yours?  Your dad never punished
you?  And I don't suppose you're the kind of man who would let his
girlfriend tease him with a whip...."

I had to almost fight back the tears as I said "No!"

"Well, you see we can hurt you.  I really ought to give you a few more
strokes to drive the lesson home, but we don't want that lovely arse of
yours too badly scarred - well, not at this stage.  Perhaps when we have
those underpants off I might have to discipline you again, but, believe me,
if it hurts now, you probably don't want to feel the belt against the bare
skin."  He paused for a moment, and then went on "Now, I'm afraid we're
going to have to cut that sweatshirt off you, as we certainly can't trust
you enough to untie your hands.  Still, that doesn't matter, I suppose -
it's not a designer label.  I don't suppose rough guys like you appreciate
the finer things in life. "

He came towards me as he said this so he was almost touching me, then
reached behind my neck to tug at the top of my sweatshirt.  "Ah, Primark!
You are a cheap skate, aren't you, Steve...."

"I save my money for holidays...."

"So there's no loss, then.  We'll give you a couple of quid when you leave,
to replace it.  But remember what I said - I'm going to use a scalpel, as
sharp scalpel, and I don't suppose you're going to want any cuts - and the
subsequent scarring - on your body, are you?"  He paused for a moment and
went on "....but perhaps you do!  Perhaps you're one of those men who likes
a lot of tattoos all over him, and thinks a couple of scars would enhance
things?  That's part of the fun of doing this, you know - we never know
what we're going to find on a man's body until we strip him!  Personally, I
think some small, discrete tattoos rather add to the excitement of the male
form..... But you should see what we've had in here sometimes - utterly
gross!  Still, I reckon you're one of those men who likes to keep himself
'clean'.  But you never know...."

He stopped for a moment, then looked at the two men still gripping the end
s of my restraint bars.  "Dave, Jon.... Want a bet?  A tenner that Steve
here isn't tattooed?"

The one on my left hand gave a little laugh "Naw.... It's not worth it.  I
reckon that even if he does, it will be something stupid like his girl
friend's name.  Not a proper man's tattoo.  I tell you what, though, if I'm
right, and there's any female name on him, I get to fuck him first!"

A cold chill went through me as I heard this.  I suppose I knew something
terrible was going to happen and had been trying to push it to the back of
my mind.  But hearing him say I was going to get fucked left me no way of
fooling myself.

"What about you, Jon?", Chas asked.  So now I knew which one was Dave and
which Jon, at least.

"It's like Dave says, I reckon it will be some woman's name, too.  Or that
pathetic 'mom' - he could have been a soldier, judging from his body, and a
lot of them seem to need to have that reminder of home inked on them.  So
if it's 'mom', I get to fuck him first."

All three men laughed, and the camera men were smiling too.  Chas was so
close to me that I could feel his breath on my face, and I wondered whether
I should knee him in the balls - until I saw the glint of the scalpel in
the harsh lights.  "OK, Steve, now just stand perfectly still, and you
won't come to any harm...."

I stood there helplessly as the scalpel ran along my sweat shirt... There
was a lot of fiddling around as he worked it carefully around the ropes on
my biceps to avoid cutting them - and then the sweat, and my T shirt,
dropped away.

Chas stood back and looked at me as I stood there now just in my briefs
(and, perversely, I was really glad that I'd just come from showering at
the gym and had changed into them after work: you know how it is,
especially if you always wear white, as I do as I think it emphasises my
tanned skin better and the women like it - just those tiny dribbles of piss
you can't help leaving, even if you shake it off properly, leave
disproportionately large yellow stains.

"Clean on the front....", he said, then walked behind me and added "...and
on the back.  It looks as if I'll get to fuck him first.  Unless he's
hiding something other than a pretty exciting looking set of tackle under
those briefs....  I reckon we'd better find out, so that we settle the bet,
anyway...."

Now smiling at me again he came and stood in front of me (and I could see
the camera men repositioning themselves again), he added "Now, Steve, you
need to be a good boy!  We need those briefs off you, and I don't want to
cut them off as you're clearly well hung, and it would be a pity if when
you go home you didn't have any support...."

I suppose you listen very carefully to every word your captors say in
situations like this, and all of a sudden the future looked a lot brighter
as I heard the "when you go home".  But I said nothing, and kind of
resigned myself just to stand still as Chas knelt in front of me and
started to "tease" the briefs off me.  I say "tease", as instead of just
pulling them down and stripping them off as you'd normally do, he almost
played at pulling first one side, then the other, so that they inched down
over my hip bones, and began to expose the top of my pubes.  One of the
camera men was right in close now, focussing down on my crotch, and Chas
murmured "Ah, Steve, I see you don't trim your bush!  I love the way that
thick treasure trail comes down over your belly and is opening up into a
real forest....."

The elastic waistband was now on top of my cock, I could feel, and Chas
continued with his teasing, leaving it there at the front and moving behind
me to pull my briefs down over my ass.  The camera was following him, and
Chas muttered again, rhetorically, I suppose, as he wasn't listening for a
response from me "I suppose you're too old, Steve, to have really gone in
for 'sagging' in the streets.  Those jeans of yours are pretty low-cut, and
these briefs are what you might call 'scanty', but I reckon you've never
walked along really 'sagging' and letting men enjoy the top of your arse
crack, or the tops of your hip bones.... No, I reckon you're a real
conservative, and although your belly button and some of those bands of
muscle might show a bit below, you've never really 'sagged', have you?  So
now is the first time a lot of other men will get to enjoy all of this...."

With an almost triumphal movement he pulled my briefs down to my thighs,
then worked them over my knees, and down over my feet.  Standing up again
he added "There!  As I thought!  Our Steve is one of those men who is proud
of their body, and there's not a tattoo mark on him.  So I guess I get to
fuck him first...."

"No one's going to fuck me....", I shouted, in a fit of bravado.

"Oh Steve, I didn't really have you down as an idiot!  We've taken you off
the street, and here you are, you know not where, standing there stark
bollock naked in front of us, nicely trussed up.  And there's me and Dave
and Jon here who between us can do anything we want with you.  And you
reckon you're not going to get fucked?  Who's going to stop us, Steve?
This isn't the movies, you know - well, not the Hollywood movies, anyway.
Rin Tin Tin, or Superman, or John Wayne's cavalry, or whoever, are not
going to come charging in here and rescue you, you know!  No, my friend,
you are going to get fucked.  But that's normally something men do together
at the end of the evening, rather than when they first meet.... And there's
a long way to go before then, and we're going to teach you quite a lot
about what men can do together."

All my optimism about "going home" vanished.  I just couldn't believe that
I was going to be fucked.  I wasn't gay, never even had any thoughts about
it.  They couldn't be serious.  Or could they?


End Of Part One