Date: Sun, 28 May 2000 00:49:12 GMT
From: K Delphi <mirafrac@hotmail.com>
Subject: Not All Right In That Little Town

Not All Right In That Little Town - by K. Delphi

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This story is a work of fiction. It is not intended to imply anything about
Taylor or Zachary Hanson's real sexual preferences. Although, if they like
s&m games and bondage, that's quite all right with me.
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Slowly, he brushed his fingers up her sides, responding warmly to her
giggles. "So, Melinda, what position are we going to try tonight?"

Suddenly, Melinda's form morphed into that of his brother. "Zac? What are
you doing here?"

Zac smiled at him playfully. "Don't be surprised, Tay. You want me badly."

Taylor started to shake his head, but found himself taking in the sight of
his brother's beginning muscles. Embarrassed, he turned away and tried to
calm his erection, but to no avail.

Mere moments later, he felt warm lips on his neck, backed by a furious
sucking that brought moans to his own lips and allowed him to imagine lips
being elsewhere. Soft hands made their way up his sides, gradually reaching
around him -- one hand to his excited nipples, the other to his evermore
excited cock. The sensations that overloaded Taylor's mind within the next
few seconds were better than anything he remembered enjoying before.

It was only a few minutes of those warm lips and soft hands focused on key
areas of his body before he came with a groan and woke up.

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Taylor looked up and saw Zac watching him and asked, "What the hell do you
want?"

Zac laughed a low cloud of pleasure. "Never knew guys jerked off in their
sleep. I must say, it was certainly interesting to watch. Now, Tay, you
might want to take your hand out of your pants and go get a shower."

Red faced, Taylor noticed that his right hand was buried deep beneath the
covers and his boxers, coated unevenly with the residue of his latest bout
of pleasure. "God, Zac. What? Are you gay?"

Zac shrugged and said, "Well, dude, I don't believe in labels. But, I'm
open. Bi, I guess you'd call it."

A deep breath later, Taylor was on his way to the bathroom for a much needed
shower.

Later that day, Taylor was sitting in the living room watching TV. Nothing
interesting was on, so he made a split-second decision to abuse his
newly-received driver's license and take a trip into "town." While laughing
at his phrasing of the act in his mind, he grabbed his keys, walked out of
the house, hopped in his car and sped off.

Just outside the Tulsa city limits, he saw a new building and decided to go
investigate. Parking just outside the unlabeled building with only a dozen
other cars or so, he walked up to the blacked-out door. Seeing no signs of
people outside of the building, he pushed the door a bit and almost fell
into the building. He righted himself with the door frame and ventured
further into the abnormally dark building and into whatever abyss lay ahead.

He reached the end of the hallway that led from the door into the main
section of the building and pushed his way past the black velvet curtains
studded with tiny, dull spikes and eyelet loops into a pulsing scene of
black and strobe lights, people in skimpy black clothing writhing to an
inaudible beat and a vast expanse of chains that held half of the people
into a line from wall to wall as one to three people made their way around
them.

With a sudden click, the lights became of fluorescent nature and Taylor's
mouth dropped open. These people weren't in skimpy black clothing. They were
in skimpy black body paint that was streaked haphazardly across their bodies
adorned with a collection of dog collars, slave bracelets and handcuffs of
all varieties. A girl with black hair just a shade lighter than her body
paint stepped forward from her place next to a Bob Moffatt look-alike with a
grin on his face and chains on his ankles to say, "Welcome to Tulsa's newest
teen Goth sadio-masochist dance and sex club. Want to become a member?"

With a laugh and a hint of sarcasm, Taylor shrugged his shoulders and said,
"Where do I sign?" while secretly wishing he was one of the guys already
there with a smile the size of France and an erection the size of China.

Approximately two seconds later, he had a pen in hand and a sign-up form on
a clipboard in front of him. Reading over the form, he found himself very
interested in the idea. Noticing that there was no fee to join, he scrawled
answers in all the required blanks and signed his name on the bottom line.
"So, guys and gals... How do I know whether I'm a sadist or a masochist?" He
was only vaguely familiar with the terms.

The only guy not in handcuffs spoke up. "Well, do you prefer to give pain or
receive it?"

Normally, he wouldn't be so comfortable with announcing his feelings on such
a subject, but he was in a room of naked people, most of which were chained
up. "Uh, receive."

The same guy spoke. "So, you're a masochist. Are you a dominant or a
submissive?"

In a weak voice he gave his answer, knowing the terms this time.
"Submissive."

The only blond girl in the assembled group laughed. "Well, he's got the role
down. Can't wait until he starts coming to meetings. We'll have fun at
role-playing. Say, uh," she glanced at his form, "Taylor... are you doing
the whole Goth thing? 'Cause you'd turn us all on if you'd dye that hair."

Taylor nodded. To him few things were better than having someone play with
his hair, no matter what they were doing to it. "Um, what color?"

The blond laughed again. "Well, let's see. Goth club, all black make-up and
the dominant hair color in the room is black. What do you think?"

He laughed this time. "Hmm... black?"

"Oh, we've got ourselves a smart one here."

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Taylor Hanson was dressed as a Goth. He had midnight black hair hanging just
past his shoulders with a white part down the very center, thick coal black
eyeliner rimming his bloodshot eyes that sported menacing blue contact
lenses, pale powder accented by a perfect black pout and several black
lipstick kisses on his cheeks along with a few on his neck to cover hickeys
and bite marks. A tight black turtleneck hugged his bones as his black
velvet pants fell loosely on his hips and rarely touched his legs. Black
leather boots graced his feet. His aura gave all a chill and a quickening of
pulse as a dose of heady pheromones filled their senses and sent them into a
frenzy of passion.

But these parts of his "costume" were of no importance. Of much more
importance were the black handcuffs slapped on his wrists that he pretended
not to love, the chains he acted as though he were trying to be freed from
and the faked gasps of pain floating above the orgasmic whispered moans that
leaked past his sable lips as the coiled whip lashed against his velvet
covered ass.

But of most importance was the name of the person whipping him into such
pleasure. It was his own brother, Zachary Hanson, a recent recruit to the
club. Zachary had the same basic look that Taylor carried off, only his hair
was cropped short and he wore no chains or handcuffs. However, he did give
loud moans of pleasure from time to time and was on the other wide of the
whip with a humongous grin on his face.

Zachary laid a final length of leather across Taylor's ass, then tossed the
whip to the side, not being able to handle the temptation of Taylor's
slightly convulsing body any longer. He could bark out orders like a drill
sergeant and turn everyone around him into a willing submissive and so he
used this ability. "Slave. Remove my pants and give me the best head of my
life."

"Yes, Master."

Taylor rose from the floor in painful pleasure and raised his head to the
front of his younger brother's pants. With careful movements, he unbuttoned
the baggy black jeans and slid the zipper down with this teeth. Rising to
his feet, he slid his handcuffed arms over his master's head and lowered
them down to rest on Zac's firm ass while he lowered himself to his knees.
He hooked his thumbs down below the the top of the pants and grasped the
elastic in his master's boxers. He then began a small show of back-and-forth
with the garments as his master liked. As the clothing fell past Zac's
thinning hips and to the floor, he began to lick his way up Zac's all but
bare set of legs until he reached their meeting place. After a moment too
long of enjoying the taste of his master's boyish thighs, he received a
scraping of black lacquered nails across his already-raw upper back. He
thrust his head back and gasped, only to feel his master shove his member
into the waiting orifice of his mouth.

Taylor backed off the throbbing penis with careful licks of his nimble
tongue. Once only the tip was still in his mouth, he began a wet massage of
it's surface area with a thin coating of saliva and that nimble, young
tongue. He pulled his lips over his teeth and began allowing his master
access to his "cunt of a face."

Without gagging, Taylor downed the six-inch length and let loose with a
vibration of epic proportions upon the thin dick he had allowed access by
allowing his vocal chords the use of all of his air. Stopping only to push
his head forward even more and suck in more air around his brother's cock,
as his brother screamed in ecstasy, the room was a constant cacophony. Any
simultaneous silence by the brothers was punctuated by a moan from their
willing audience.

As Taylor sucked his master's dick expertly, Zac handled the situation up
grabbing large chunks of Taylor's opal-colored hair and pulling them until
he felt moans massage his dick as he thrust his way into his slave's mouth
with no hesitation or concern, knowing that the willing and now experienced
throat could handle it. Feeling his balls rise up, Zac called out above the
noise, "Slave, swallow all but one mouthful."

Taylor replied gratefully as the thick white trails of his master's sperm
hit the back of his throat. He gave a final suck while pulling his head back
from the delicious dick and kept his master happy by saving one mouthful,
savoring it's sweet taste on his tongue.

Zac only rested a moment before he was hard again. "Well, slave. Second
round. Take your clothes off, spit my cum in your hand and lube your ass
while I put the nipple clamps on you."

Zac stepped out of the hug of Taylor's hands which had, until that moment,
still been resting on his ass, and walked away to a nearby room. Taylor
hastily threw off his clothing as best he could with the handcuffs and
chains still on and awaited his favorite "torture." He raised one bonded
hand to his mouth while pulling the other to around chin level, then let his
master's seed spill from his mouth to his hand. He carefully closed his hand
around the prized possession and sat back to arrange himself better for his
lubing. He slid one long leg through the space between his arms, handcuffs
and torso and gently applied the sperm to his ass hole. He worked it in with
a rather inexperienced finger and yearned for the orgasmic pain that only a
little working would bring.

While his legs were still straddling the cuffs and he was still sitting back
with a finger all the way up his ass hole, Zac applied the nipple clamps
roughly with quick movements and gave the connecting chain an affectionate
tug. "C'mon, Tay. One more finger in once, then, into position. C'mon... I
want to fuck you now."

Though the comment did ruin a bit of the dominant sadist/submissive
masochist mood, it incited a bigger yearning within Taylor to have his
brother's penis inside of him. Getting into a kneeling position with his
head on the ground and his knees pulled apart and forward, he readied
himself for the oncoming attack of a six-inch column of flesh being pushed
into him.

When it happened, Taylor rode the wave of pain in an instant orgasm and
filled every inch of the room with his unconcealed moans and screams. As Zac
pushed into him time and time again with moans of his own, Taylor forfeited
the game with screams of "Yes, Master! Please!"

Zac cried "Slave!" at the top of his lungs as he released a second load of
passion into his brother, in another orifice this time, causing his brother
to come with a force of his own from his slightly longer and slightly wider
dick that came from a few more years of living. As Zac pulled out with a few
raspy breaths and thanks, the audience began to applaud. The duo on the
floor collapsed into each other's arms and slept for a while to regain their
strength.

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Taylor felt cold water being splashed on his face as he awoke with a start.
"Dammit, Zac! You'll ruin my make-up!"

He was promptly slapped. "A slave should never talk to his master like that.
Next time you do that, I'm not letting you get off for a week."

Giving a tiny nod of understanding, Taylor noticed the feel of the cold, wet
steel under his back and relished the sensations it gave him. He enjoyed the
fact that he was chained to it a lot, but enjoyed most the fact that Zachary
had been the one to chain him down.

Zac pulled a thick black blindfold over Taylor's eyes and pressed a
forceful, passion-filled kiss to his swollen lips and invaded his mouth with
a nimble tongue much like Taylor's own that threatened his consciousness.
Taylor fought to maintain control of himself, but he was a trained slave and
couldn't bring himself to want control. Besides, he had signed a contract
turning his very being over to Zachary. It might not be legally binding, but
in his mind, it was willing bondage.

How he even got involved with this, he didn't know. After having dreams
about his brother all those years, he found himself finally willing to
reveal his feelings. One day Zac had come in the room after a shower and was
drying off as he usually did. He had pulled off the towel from around his
waist and began drying his penis first thing while letting his blond hair
drip water languidly onto the floor. Taylor has gasped at the sheen his
brother gave off and without realizing it, he's scurried from his place on
his bed to a kneeling position in front of his brother and said, "Master,
your wish is my command. If I have done right, hurt me. If I have done
wrong, only let me watch you and that will be punishment enough in itself."

That had started a long talk between the brothers about a relationship.
Though they agreed that it might be immoral, it was fun and meant a lot to
both of them. Though it was, in essence, only a game where they were Master
and Slave; they grew to accept the roles.

They never participated in the game outside of a welcoming area, but kept
ideas in their collective four heads; forever.
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If you liked this story, e-mail me at mirafrac@hotmail.com and let me know.