Date: Thu, 7 Apr 2011 19:43:59 -0700
From: Joel T <joelt0@hotmail.com>
Subject: Jace-1

Disclaimer: This story contains adult material concerning male/male sexual
activity. If you are not of legal age for your community, or if such
material is offensive to you, you do not have permission to read this. It
is fictional. No resemblance to actual persons or events is intended, nor
should any such be inferred. You may download this for your personal
enjoyment, but it may not be shown to minors, nor re-posted without the
author's consent.


	Brandon had heard about it through a friend.  He had heard about it
through a few people, actually; it seemed to have almost a cult-status.
Guys tended to talk about it in whispers.  They kept it hushed.  He had no
idea why.  All he knew was that, at this point in the term especially, he
needed a way to relax.  Admittedly, it was a bit strange.  The concept of a
celebrity stress-reliever, a guy to seek out on campus, left him scratching
his head.  It confirmed the stereotype that, at this top-tier university,
people would do anything to alleviate pressure.  With papers to write, and
tests to take, and research to conduct, it was a wonder you could find
undrank coffee anywhere.  Lately, it was all getting to him more than
usual.  It seemed there was a limit to how long he could stay hunched over
a desk.  While he had never before considered seeking out treatment, in
light of the circumstances, he was willing to give it a shot.

	He stopped in front of the door.  He had walked a bit fast to get
here; the text message had requested him at eight.  Glancing at his watch
now, he hoped it wouldn't be a problem.  The second-hand showed five past.
He knocked.  Three raps; and he waited.  He waited for a while.  He was
starting to get nervous.  Finally, with a click, the door swung open.
	Standing before him was a guy, his age, possibly his year.  Brandon
couldn't remember ever seeing him before.  He was tall, over six feet,
perhaps by two or three inches.  He was thin.  His hair was straight, dark,
its surface showing a slight trace of gel.  It came partway over his
forehead at an angle.  He wore thin glasses.  They covered eyes that were a
steely gray.  He wore a fitted v-neck sweater with a light pattern, and
dark jeans.  "I'm Jace.  You must be Brandon."
	"Yeah."
	"Come on in." He stepped to the side, opening the door wider.
Tentatively, Brandon entered.  It was a single room in one of the nicer
dorms.  Brandon saw right away that it was large for a single.  It was also
unusual.  There was a desk at one end, a bed near it.  The desk was
perfectly neat; the bed was made with a plain navy comforter.  These,
however, lay in shadow.  In the middle of the room, right where you'd
expect a TV or couch, was a table.  It wasn't a table for eating, or for
doing work.  It was a massage-table.  It was long, beige, soft with a place
for the head.  The whole room, somehow, had a slightly therapeutic look to
it.  The walls were covered in a kind of fabric.  There was a plant and
folding-screen.  The lamps were small and glowing.  Right away, Brandon's
eyes opened wide.  He couldn't believe he was in the same building.  "So,
why don't you start by telling me what the problem is?" Brandon's head
turned.  Jace had stepped around, and was now preparing to sit on a wooden
stool set a couple feet from the table.  He motioned toward it.  The door
had shut softly behind.
	"Yeah, sure.  Okay." Looking around, he hopped onto the table.  His
toes barely touched the ground.  He looked forward.  Jace, through those
glasses, was staring at him.  His steely eyes bored holes.  "I guess it's
just stress, you know.  Everything just kind of hit me at once.  I've been
spending hours in the library.  Probably not sleeping enough.  I never used
to let it get to me, but lately I'm having trouble staying relaxed."
	"Mm hmm," he responded.
	"Anything you could do would be great.  You know, to take the edge
off it."
	"To take the edge off it," he repeated.  "I can do that." A slight
smile crossed his lips.  At last, after smacking his thighs, he stood up.
"All right, first things first.  You need to get changed.  To undress,
actually.  Feel free to use the screen."
	Brandon was surprised.  That was rather abrupt.  "Undress?"
	"Yeah."
	"Okay." Slowly, he stood.  The screen fenced off the tiniest corner
of the room, just enough space to move.  He squeezed behind it.
Swallowing, he took off his jacket, then his shirt.  "Everything?" he
called.
	"Everything." He swallowed again.  He had never done anything like
this.  It was all getting a little strange.  He complied.  In a second
there was the sound of a belt-buckle.  A belt, followed by jeans, flipped
over the top of the screen.  A draft passed through his pubes, giving his
thighs goose bumps.  "You can come out.  I'm not looking." Peeking first,
Brandon crept out from behind the screen.  Jace was at the window-sill,
holding a dark object.  He saw a flame flicker.  Candles.  Two over there,
a couple more somewhere else.  Already there was a slight scent.  Gingerly,
Brandon climbed onto the table.  He laid down flat.  He could feel the cool
leather press into his stomach and against his penis.  His head was
supported.  He could smell it more now.  It was woody, earthy, deep.  "All
right, Brandon," came the voice.  It had come closer.  "Let's get started.
In a moment you're going to feel my touch.  Just tell me if you have pain
or soreness."
	"Okay," he said weakly.  He waited for it.  Hairs stood up on his
back and neck.  This was the first time he had been naked in the presence
of another guy.  Finally, the sensation.  Between his shoulder-blades.  Not
warm, not cool.  Firm.  Then a bit firmer.  "No." The pressure receded,
then came back, shifted a few inches to the right.  "No." The same thing
again.  "Ah, yeah, sorta." Muscles in his thigh and buttock twitched.  For
the next couple minutes, Jace continued through most of Brandon's back as
well as his neck.  He seemed to be taking inventory, checking him out.
Then there was a pause.  Brandon's eyes darted as he waited, enough to make
him realize that for most of the preceding examination they had been
closed.
	Then something else.  It made him tense up and gasp.  "Sorry," came
the voice.  "It's a little cool." Oil.  It dripped onto his mid-back,
pooling and puddling.  The hands returned.  Now, they were spreading it,
gathering it, creating a thin film of slickness across his back.  They
started to work.  They were back at the top, pressing, digging in, aided by
the body-weight of that six foot-three frame.  It was much harder than
anything yet.  Brandon breathed in, his butt and hips squirming slightly.
"Just feel it.  Don't worry if it hurts.  Get used to it." Brandon tried to
obey.  His breath deepened.  Soon it didn't feel so bad.  The hands worked
once place, penetrating into the flesh, before roaming to another.  He
tried to picture them as they worked.  He wasn't sure he could.
	Minutes passed.  All of his upper-back, he thought, had been
covered.  When the hands were gripping his neck, pushing inward from the
sides and down from the back, the voice came back.  "The thing is,
Brandon..." Brandon waited.  It took him forever to continue.  "As you
build up tension, the tension builds in you.  It's all in your body,
somewhere.  You just have to find it.  I have to find it." He was speaking
slowly, softly.  His voice, like his hands, seemed to penetrate.
	"Paradoxically, in order to find relaxation, you have to get
through some discomfort first.  That's because the tension needs to be
brought out.  It has to be coaxed, beat, seduced, whatever it takes.  Like
calling out a spirit.  It has to be found." He was in the shoulders now.
It hurt a bit.  He was touching places, touching at a depth, Brandon didn't
even know was possible.  Little by little, he really was starting to feel
something.  Inside him, a dull, aching warmth was starting.  Wherever Jace
touched, it grew.  He didn't know how pressing it could fix anything, yet
somehow, it was.
	"Soon, you'll find yourself feeling tensions you didn't even know
you had.  As soon as you find one, you find ten more.  They multiply,
breed, like rabbits.  They infest.  Eventually, you can't get rid of them
by yourself.  Someone else has to see them for you, like picking off
ticks." He was kneading, applying a steady, rippling pressure with the
knuckles.  It felt like iron, steel.  Things in him, tendons, bones,
creaked as he rolled them like a steamroller.  Embarrassed as soon as he
did it, he let out a soft, guttural groan.  He couldn't help it.  The hands
were at his lower back, pressing in that hard place that seems unable to
give.  And yet, like playing music, Jace forced it out of them.
	Time passed.  "Finally, we find the source.  Or rather, we become
conscious that there is a source.  For in this, like everything, there is a
source.  It can be just a trickle, high up, like an out-of-the-way mountain
stream.  It can be forested and inaccessible.  But we have to find it." The
hands, if possible, were moving even faster now.  They extended from the
shoulders, roving down the biceps and elbows, to the forearms and wrists
and hands and fingertips.  It was no longer feasible for Brandon to control
his breathing.  His face, if you could see it, grimaced, as he bit his lip
and expressed discomfort and relief.  For the two, as strange as it
sounded, had quickly become bound up, tied and attached like two coiling
snakes.  Every discomfort led to relief; every relief was the discovery of
a discomfort.  It was a combination unlike anything he'd ever known.
	"The source," the voice said, closer, almost whispering, "the
source.  It isn't over until we find the source.  In fact, it hasn't yet
begun." Brandon felt like he was going to scream.  More.  More.  He needed
more.  His body writhed as his breath heaved, as he lost the battle to
control himself.  Jace was right, couldn't be more rightÑ there was a
source there, a source of tension that needed to be wiped out.  It had to
be found.  It was inside him, somewhere inside him.  It had to be pressed
and worked and kneaded like everything else.  It was funny Ð the thought
flashed in his mind Ð it was funny how ignorant he had been.  A little
stress, a little worrying, was all he had known.  To think it had only been
the tip of the iceberg.  There was so much to do, so far to go.  He had to
get there.  He needed it.  He couldn't be left like this, never.  With his
silent thoughts he begged Jace to find it.
	And then he stopped.  It stopped.  It all stopped.  Breath heaved.
His body lay.  Nothing.  Something was happening; something was definitely
happening.  Though he couldn't see it, he heard it.  A zipping sound.  A
rustling.  A smile crossed a face.  And thenÑ schhhhhling!  He cried out
loud.  He felt it, a burning, a tearing.  Somehow he was on fire.  Somehow
he was on his knees.  Face still down, his butt was raised in the air, its
slick oily cheeks glistening by the candlelight.  He couldn't see; he was
as good as blind.  But he felt.  And he could imagine.
	It was inside him, inches of it.  It was thick and veiny.  It was a
burning unlike anything he had ever known.  Beyond that initial cry, there
was nothing.  Like the thrust of a sword, the damage was done.  It stayed
like that for minutes.  Sitting in there, splitting him, burning.  Tears
came to his eyes.  He swallowed.
	Then it was moving.  It was pulling out, slowly.  All of a sudden
it made him itch, bite his lip again.  The slowness was killing him.  It
was almost all the way out, when it changed direction.  In.  Slow, but a
little less slow.  His insides, having filled up and breathed relief, were
forced to part once more.  The cock went in more, farther, before pulling
out again.  Deliberately, Jace started to fuck.  He was on the table, his
knees on either side of Brandon's calves.  His jeans were off; he was in
his burgundy sweater, which hung as far down as the thick veiny shaft.
Working it, coaxing it, he fucked.  Even with the sticky oil it required
full force.  The hole was tight, unbelievably tight.  He thrusted, getting
closer and closer to the hilt with each stroke.  Brandon, meanwhile, was
even further gone.  His mind was focused, completely, on the sensation deep
inside him.  He was paralyzed with shock.  Looking down from over him, Jace
gave a small smile.  He could see the back of Brandon's head bobbing with
each thrust.
	Harder and harder, faster and faster.  Soon the table was shaking.
His balls started to slap the dripping ass.  Brandon's voice was back.  It
was moaning, hoarse, every time the cockhead punctured him.  Jace had a
sound of his own.  His was a groan, a grunt, barely audible but there just
the same.  It added emphasis to the lubed member smearing a red-hot cunt.
	Before long Brandon was doing more than just softly moaning.  Amid
the heavy breathing, words could be made out.  "Find it, please, find
it..." He repeated it, again and again.  Jace heard him.  It gave his cock
a new vigor.  He dove in deep, only eliciting more moans.  He'd find it,
he'd fucking find it all right.  He was getting closer all the time.  It
was in there, trapped in Brandon's insides.  He was knocking at the door,
battering it down.  He was cracking the stone that would release it.
Brandon could feel it, every bit.  "Find it, oooh, please, find it..." Jace
for the first time really used his hands, grabbing at Brandon's shoulders
and tugging them closer.  His burning ass impaled further onto the stick.
He let out a yelp this time.  He had to get there, he knew he had to.  It
wouldn't be long now.  His mind flashed to all those nights in the library.
All that work, all that pressure.  Every shred of him was going nuts now
under a different kind of pressure, for once a good kind.  He was almost
shaking.  "More, find it, find it..."
	Jace looked down.  Through his half-closed eyes, he could make out
the trembling glistening butt, the whole thing a flaming red that emanated
from the bursting core.  He knew it wouldn't be long.  He forced Brandon's
shoulders down flat against the table, forcing his ass still higher.  At
the same time, his cock dove in for the finish.  Amid indecipherable
moanings and a swirl of oil and sweat, Jace pumped thick ropes into
Brandon's far reaches as he broke through the final wall....