Date: Sun, 29 Jun 2008 11:32:45 -0500
From: George Gauthier <georgegauthier@verizonmail.com>
Subject: Track and Field 2

					Track and Field 2
					by GGDC

Author's Note: This is a tale of a young man's near idyllic existence gone
awry as he falls into the clutches of stronger males who use him to gratify
their lusts. It is set seven or eight decades in the future where STDs are
completely under control, nudity taboos are almost absent from social life,
and medical advances have extended the human life span to several
centuries. The USA is also fully on the metric system.

It contains graphic descriptions of the male human body, of consensual and
non-consensual sexual activity between adult males, the youngest of whom is
seventeen years old, i.e. above the age of consent, with scenes with
bondage and sado-masochistic themes.

If any of this would offend a reader, read no further. This is not intended
for persons younger than an age where they may freely and legally select
their reading matter in whatever jurisdiction that applies.

It is offered for entertainment. If it manages to both amuse and to provoke
prurient interest, it will have succeeded in its aim. Writing this tale has
been the most fun the author has had wearing clothes in a very long time,
well since part one.

It is entirely fictional, with no resemblance intended to any person living
or dead.

This tale is part two of a three story arc. Readers who like these stories
might also try my Jungle Boy stories in the Gay/Authoritarian section of
the Archive or my Daphne Boy stories in the Gay/Historical section.

Comments and feedback welcome.

				Chapter 1. Choupinou

The dirt road dipped into a swale for a bit easing the lithe runner's task
as he ran in the relative cool of the morning. Inevitably, in these low
mountains, what goes down comes back up. So he soon was leaning forward
into the climb up the next ridge. His bare feet had thicker calluses than
even the natives from the villages in the lowlands, and the soils in these
parts had few stones that might inconvenience him. He ran past the slopes
planted just the day before with seedlings of fast growing trees. The
reforestation program in the low mountains of Haiti was making good
progress, thanks to careful monitoring and quality control. That is where
young Kyle came in.

He was working that summer after his freshman year in college as a civilian
aide for the UN sponsored reforestation of the bare slopes that had for so
long been Haiti's environmental shame. From space you could still see the
border with the neighboring Dominican Republic which occupied the eastern
two thirds of the island of Hispaniola in the Greater Antilles. The healthy
forest to the east just stopped at the international border. At least these
days, satellite photos showed low greenery to the west where before there
had been only grass or mud. In time the new forest would control erosion
and silting, replenish the watershed, and help this poor country assume a
more dignified place in the family of nations.

Occasionally Kyle passed parties of young men already heading toward the
areas to be planted this day. They waved to the cute American, clad only in
a sheen of sweat, as he ran past in a pace that really ate up the
kilometers. Kyle was into track and field in college and conscientiously
maintained his training regime. Quite apart from the competition, he just
loved to run. It was so intensely physical. It made him feel strong and
alive, and gave him a chance to to exult in his strength and stamina as his
feet flung back the dirt as he loped along. He loved to feel the warmth of
the sun on his skin, the wind in his hair and on his face, to listen to the
metronomic crunch of his feet on a dirt road or the slaps his bare feet
made on pavement. Even the sweat that poured off him was an expression of
life and vitality, making the nude boy seem to glow with good health.

As he neared the base camp, the youth poured it on ignoring the way his
unsupported dangly bits bounced about. That came with the territory. All
competitors -- males anyway -- went naked and barefoot these days in track
and field and aquatic sports, soccer too. He slowed down near the camp and
walked the last half kilometer, cooling off while enjoying the runner's
high that made the sport so important to him and helped maintained his
mental equilibrium. A wise man once said that endorphins were the drug of
choice of the physically fit. The staff at the base camp gazed
appreciatively at the young runner.

Still four months short of his eighteenth birthday, Kyle was young for a
boy who would be a college sophomore when he went back to school in the
fall. Though legally of age, he had yet to attain his adult musculature
though clearly he would never be taller than his current stature: 168
centimeters (five and one half feet). He had flagged a bit there at the
end. It can be hard to pack away energy stores in a frame that carried only
56 kilos (122 pounds), and he hadn't had breakfast yet. His body fat
percentage had to be in the single digits. His muscles were well formed,
just not very large, and he was boyish slender.

His youth and slenderness was emphasized by a smooth and utterly hairless
physique. Like many young men these days, he had used the permanent
depilatory cream which meant a lifetime of never having to shave his face
or anywhere else including down there. He would spend the next three or
four centuries as a beardless and hairless youth, aging arrested in his
late teens, thanks to expensive gene tweaking before his birth, a benefit
of his social class. Kyle was of the first generation to fully benefit from
the advances in the understanding of obscure structures called telomeres in
chromosomes; the gene therapy also protected him against all forms of
cancer and even let his body generate a pheromone that repelled insects.

It would be some time before all social classes in American enjoyed
extended life spans much less the people of what was still one of the
poorest nations on earth. This created social tensions within and between
nations, but most people realized that the beneficiaries themselves were
not to blame. Besides Kyle physical beauty made it easy to forgive him the
societal inequalities that meant that his youthful good looks would grace
the planet for many decades to come.

Kyle trotted over to the outdoor shower stand and let the rush of water
wash the sweat and dust off his lean, evenly tanned frame. His short blond
hair flattened to his head and rivulets ran down and off his small
body. Then it was time for his stretching exercises.  Kyle started with
ham-string stretches. With a foot propped on a rail, he bent forward
bringing his face almost in contact with the shin; the tanned torso
glistened with water droplets highlighting the sensuous curve of body from
shoulders, to back, to waist and narrow hips. Like all distance runners he
was lean and taut, the tracery of veins on arms and legs testifying that
his frame carried no excess flesh and all this complemented by a fine-boned
face and pretty-boy good looks. The delicate features on his impossibly
pretty face added to the impression of youthful male pulchritude.

Bent over and concentrating on how good that stretch felt in his groin and
thigh, Kyle was surprised by the friendly slap on his ass landed by a tall
dark skinned Haitian several years older than he. Fran¨ois LeClerc was
his Haitian counterpart and sometime bed partner.

"You tempt me my young American friend, but we have much work to do this
day. Go put some food in your belly; we start in one half hour." The young
men spoke in the French that all educated Haitians knew along with the
Creole that was the country's other official language. He did not ask the
young American to put on a pair of pants like the rest of the crew
did. They might go barefoot and shirtless in the planting areas, but few
cared to emulate the casual nudity of so many in the advanced countries
these days. Of course, even poor as she was, Haiti was a free country, so
if foreigners wanted to run around like that at beaches and resorts, well
let them. It was rather unusual here in the back country.

A half hour later Kyle reported for duty with his equipment bag and water
bottle and planting tool. Kyle did some planting too as well as monitor the
results from others' labors. Today he wore a straw hat perched on the back
of his head but had not otherwise put on clothing.  Global warming had made
an already tropical country that much hotter.

There was no need really for clothing, especially in an all male preserve
like the project. In the all masculine world of the camp or on campus in
the States, clothing was often optional. Kyle was used to nudity much of
the time on campus whether in training or at classes held outdoors. Most
students at the all male college seldom bothered with clothing in and
around the dorm. Kyle and his lovers Tommy and Jean-Michel slept together
nude on a long roll out futon.

Males have always gravitated to social spaces where they could mix freely
among themselves without conventional accouterments like clothing. Whether
at camp, in the dorm, in the barracks, at sea, at the swimming hole, the
nudie beach, men's clubs, wherever they could get away from conventional
fussiness and female inspired standards of deportment.

Anyway, if ever anyone should be naked it had to be Kyle. He had a
beautiful body, slender yet muscular, taut, toned, and tanned with narrow
shoulders, eight pack abdominals, and narrow hips. His legs were well
muscled with veins prominent under the skin because of his low body
fat. Its faultless lines were not marred by body hair. His sex was
proportional with a smooth cock, foreskin stretched over the head, and a
scrotum the size of an apple and held close to the belly.

Kyle was gratified that his genitals didn't look shriveled like with other
guys. His cock wasn't gnarly with veins. Yes, he still had his foreskin; it
hung about a finger's breadth past the tip of his cock head. Cock and balls
were reasonably sized but he wouldn't be scaring the horses. It took both
small hands to cover his erection, but only one when he was soft. That was
just fine when you were running cross country naked with your dangly bits
bouncing about.

Of course no one expected Kyle to be 'faithful' or abstinent while he was
in Haiti and he hadn't been. Actually this sex stuff in Haiti was getting
out of hand. The men and boys who sought Kyle's favors were becoming more
and more persistent and insistent. They thought the very least the American
could do for them was to share his youthful beauty widely. That was only
fair since he displayed himself so blatantly ever day, like the worst of
cock teases. The men took that for an open invitation, so Kyle soon lost
what little say he had choosing his sex partners. Apparently there was a
nightly drawing among the several hundred males in the camp. They began
showing up at his tent every evening, at first in twos or threes and later
a half a dozen at a time, and simply wouldn't take no for an answer.

A sexual submissive anyway, Kyle had not long resisted and had fallen in
with their importuning. He had taken multiple sex partners in the
States. And really, hadn't he been begging for it running around naked all
the time in front of the horny young Haitians, bending over to plant
seedlings, brown rump in the air hairless cleavage and all, with genitals
hanging freely between his slender thighs. No wonder they thought he was
advertising his availability.

Kyle had practically asked for it nude and hairless as he was, and anyway
the boy was all alone with nowhere to go, outnumbered, surrounded, tired
from a full day's work, and already nude, not to mention small in stature,
slender, beardless, and hairless everywhere, so he was hardly in a position
to assert his masculinity. But the men were and they did. There was not
much little Kyle could do except bow his head submissively as they seized
his limbs and bent him over or put him his knees or on all fours, giving
them the access they desired to his orifices for endless mountings.

The difference in size and strength between the slightly built boy and five
or six grown men could have no other outcome. He was theirs to play with, a
toy. His many lovers were not overly rough, but if it were necessary or
often for their own amusement they would tie up their prize with ropes on
his wrists connected to a loop around his neck to keep them up behind the
shoulder blades and to uncover his taut ass.

Why should he complain that the men tied his wrists behind him and laid him
over the small table in his tent, tying his ankles to the legs and
crosspieces. His helplessness was to everyone's benefit, so that his
arousal and ejaculation would be timed with those of the strong men
thrusting into his orifices. If his hands were free, he might bring himself
off too soon, as randy teenagers were prone to do. How much better than
they synchronize their orgasms by their thrusts into his fundament, setting
his small boyish body to shuddering as their proud cocks hit his joy spot
again and again till the clutching of their cocks by his spasming ass
muscles during his own climax set them off in turn to shoot their masculine
juices deep into his so much less manly self.

They also liked to spank the little one 'le petit' to get the blond
submissive in the mood, enjoying the way the small globes of his ass
jiggled under their slaps, and the red color it took on surely signified
arousal. Tut tut they admonished. Surely he could not expect to spend his
evenings alone curled up with a good book? Time for that when he went back
to school.

The men used their long heavy cocks to club and batter his pretty face,
thwacking his cheeks and chin, marking his brow with their pre-cum,
drumming his straight nose, making him stretch his neck out to the smooch
the dark knobs of their rigid cocks, letting him tongue them all around,
probing their piss slits with the tip, worshiping their manhood in symbolic
surrender of his own.

They teased him happily and mercilessly, stroking and pumping his stiff
cock, repeatedly bringing the youth just to the brink of orgasm, then
letting him fall back to cool off, torturing him with his own unbridled
lusts, chuckling at the poor lad's desperate need to cum.

It didn't help his efforts to assert his masculinity that his erection,
though quite respectable for a white male with his slight build, looked
pretty puny next to the cocks on most of the Haitians. Blacks really are
better endowed sexually, with long heavy cocks swinging pendulously between
their thighs. And with a gay boy like Kyle, it's not like he would ever use
his modest organs for the purpose of generation.

They liked push their groins together, laying the very next cock to prong
him atop his smaller member. He could see for himself how much he was
outclassed in length and girth and even estimate how deeply the man would
penetrate him. They chortled at how his eyes bugged out at the monster
cocks that reached well past his belly button, drawing desperate head
shakes from the frightened boy.

With their scorn at his shortcomings ringing in his ears, little Kyle was
in no position to object as work roughened hands took control of his limbs,
spread him like a wishbone and held him down as cock after cock parried his
own smaller erection, then victorious, invaded his orifices. Kyle's manhood
looked pretty boyish as it was easily swatted aside in these cock duels the
men arranged to humiliate the pretty white boy and make him more pliant. In
a very real sense Kyle was simply humiliated into submission.

Then they flipped him onto on his belly, pulling his legs apart. No matter
how much he protested, no matter how frightened he seemed at the prospect,
it was useless. His fright only spurred them along.  Inexorably an
alarmingly large virile member, just one of of several that evening, would
address his cleavage, the head tracking its length then poking at the
inside of his thighs, prodding and playing with this anal ring. Fingers
pushed a lubricating oil into his hole, preparing him for the fuck. Nothing
could stop it now. The boy felt the monster stretch his anal ring like a
gasket as the head penetrated his first sphincter then the next. The shaft
slid inside, pushing into him, prodding and probing.

This was the moment he both dreaded and lusted for when the cock touched
his joy spot. As the invading shaft stimulated his prostate, Kyle's whole
body shuddered helplessly. He felt his guts clutch in an internal
orgasm. Kyle's lithe torso rippled in a wave that started at his ass and
traveled up past his hips and back and shoulders to his head. His green
eyes blinked and rolled sightlessly as they lost focus and he surrendered
himself to the good feelings coursing through him. This was one bottom boy
who knew how to respond to a fuck. As the shaft fell into a rhythm of
penetration and withdrawal, the sensation became overwhelming. Kyle lost
the ability for rational thought for the duration. His body was tempest
tossed on a sea of sensation, the blood pounding at his temples, his own
boy cock at maximum rigidity. So many big ones going up so tiny an orifice,
and not just once. Everyone took seconds and most thirds.

Little Kyle knew that his was the submissive and passive role, to accept
the masculine essence of his betters down his throat or into his innermost
being. That is what a humble bum boy like him was born for. Still it was
embarrassing the way his hole would sometime sputter wetly as he bent over
at work, sometimes passing gasses bringing chuckles among the crew nearby,
yet more evidence of what a shameless 'choupinou' their little blond pet
was.

The hapless boy's crinkly brown anal ring had a lot of inbound traffic
these days as it was repeatedly stretched like a band of rubber around
invading members, not to mention the occasional banana or
plantain. Cucumbers were popular too. Some evenings Kyle's suitors
literally corn holed the boy's orifice with a large ear of sweet corn. They
liked the way its pebbly texture, like the bumps on a cucumber skin, would
sandpaper the stretched out rosebud as they worked it in and out, making
the slender body shudder in perverse arousal.

Of course the men respected Kyle's need for a good night's sleep, so they
left him at a reasonable hour, but what better use had he for an evening
before bedtime than to be their playmate or better yet their plaything?
Truth was the men were all rather fond of their endearing American
'choupinou' who clearly had no racial prejudice in choosing or at least
responding to sex partners. He really was a nice kid, though way oversexed,
of course. It was said that gene tweaking was responsible for the large
fraction of births of gay males with very healthy sex drives, and Kyle
seemed a good example.

Yesterday the camp manager, M. Malherbe and Fran¨ois had listened
impatiently as Kyle whined just a bit over the liberties the men were
taking with him, the way they kept shaming him, mocking his virility. All
right, they had him spread-eagled, and he was small and helpless and naked,
but did they have to humiliate him with those cock duels which he
inevitably lost. It's not like the outcome would change anything. They
would do whatever they liked with him. How could it be otherwise with him
surrounded, naked, tied up, held down, and spread wide?

"Dr™le de choupinou" 'silly pet'.

Fran¨ois simply laid the camp pet over the back of a chair. With a
peremptory command of ˇcarte-toi, the young Haitian told the boy to
spread 'em then tied his wrists and ankles to the legs of the chair,
pulling the cords tight over the slender bones of the wrists and the
narrowest part of the ankles. A few rope burns afterwards would remind
their 'bogosse', their twink, of this evening's lesson.

Some part of his psyche told Kyle that he should stand up for himself, but
that was so hard to do while bent over, tied hand and foot, rump in the
air, a hand squeezing his tackle, strong fingers squeezing the globes of
his buttocks hard enough to leave bruises, fingers pulling the orbs to the
bottom of the sac, thumbs stretching his tiny anus. The boy had enough
sense not to offer pointless resistance to this latest indignity visited
upon his person, a deep sigh at his fate the last sign of feeble
rebelliousness. The small bound youth was utterly helpless and would just
have to take his punishment for getting uppity.

The manager M. Malherbe tugged his belt off and had Kyle hold it in his
mouth while Fran¨ois spanked him with his strong right hand. He'd better
not drop the belt either, or he would have to take twice as many strokes on
his ass. After Fran¨ois finished then the manager took the strap to his
rump.  Kyle responded as he had when spanked in high school, taking what
pride he could in bearing up and taking his pleasure in the wild feelings
an ass whipping always brought out in him. How pretty it looked all red
like that, Malherbe thought, the buttocks all hot and bothered, hole
twitching just asking to be pronged, which he did next, thrusting into the
tight hole his men had already been exploring.

He reached under his captive and toyed with the hard nubbins of his erect
nipples. Turned on then, just as he thought. Then he leaned forward and
nipped the back of Kyle's neck, just to let him know who was boss,
whispering, reminding the boy of his lowly place in the scheme of things, a
fuck toy and joy boy for the entire camp. Fran¨ois took seconds. He
liked to tongue the shell of his captive's ear. He turned the boy's face
toward him, pursed his lips and blew, letting the boy take the scent of his
master into his nostrils.

As hormones were released into his bloodstream Kyle felt himself slipping
ever deeper into thrall, surrendering himself to these strong males who had
given him what, after all, was only just punishment for trying to rise
above his station. He signaled his servility afterwards when they stood in
front of the beauty they had both just fucked, lifted his chin, and put
their cocks to his mouth. Obediently, tonguing and sucking and licking,
smooching the knobs and tugging on the glans with his pouty lips, Kyle
cleaned them off thoroughly, swallowing their gism and his own ass juices,
submissively chewing and swallowing even small pieces of his own shit that,
dirty boy that he was, had soiled their fine cocks, finally accepting a
piss chaser from both of them. Afterwards, he thanked them for the lesson
they had taught him. In turn, they thanked their pretty guest for coming
over this evening.

"We must do this again, say once a week at this time, hein?"

The two managers added to Kyle's humiliation by reminding him to douche
before he surrendered himself next week for sexual service. Indeed,
Malherbe insisted the boy do the same every evening so his men could enjoy
their off time in more congenial and sanitary circumstances. Sure enough,
each evening before the others showed up, one of his suitors lead him over
to the washroom to get him ready. Often with an audience looking on and
offering helpful suggestions, Kyle had his bowels repeatedly filled and
evacuated till the effluent was satisfactorily clear. The man wouldn't even
let him wipe his own ass; they finished him up with a hearty slap to his
rump as a seal of approval.

So it was official; Kyle was now the camp mascot, their pet, their
choupinou or, in the diminutive, their choupinet. He began to wonder why he
had ever thought the manager and Fran¨ois might help him instead of
reinforcing his submission. Of course they were right, he rationalized. Who
was he to try to withhold his charms from so many fine hard working men so
much more masculine than his own willowy self. He should have realized by
now that his role here to to serve and to submit his pretty body and
talented orifices to these fine strong men. What else was a bottomless boy
like Kyle good for if not for that?

The camp management were happy that their young males had a sexual outlet,
one that was clean and cost free, and someone who conveniently lived in the
camp with them.  So what if he were a male. Their girl friends were nowhere
nearby; his ass and mouth could service the young boys and men just as well
as a female, better in someways. He was prettier than a girl, and you
didn't even have to take his clothes off. He didn't wear any. Just lay him
down, spread those slender hairless limbs to expose him for their
delectation, then have at him.

Also, perhaps in this way the blond was making up a bit for the
inequalities in their situations. It was a reversal of historical roles
when the 'rich white boy' from America now served as a virtual sex slave
for the native blacks. They even hoped to make money from the sale of
pictures of their assignations with their little blond sex pot. Truth is
Kyle got terribly turned on when he was helpless and outnumbered as their
hard black flesh took his white boy body for their boy toy. It made him
feel incredibly slutty.  All in all it was turning out to be one exciting
summer for the over-sexed teenager.

Tonight it was just Fran¨ois in Kyle's tent. He was exercising his droit
de seigneur and would take this white boy alone thank you. As much as the
others, the young Haitian liked to dominate his slender blond colleague, to
tie him up, to put him on his knees or over a chair, and to tease and taunt
him. Tonight he had the boy on his back, slender legs thrown over
Fran¨ois' strong shoulders. It must be uncomfortable for him with his
arms tied behind, pressing into his back. Well, that was good for him, a
little pain made for a good lesson in humility and submissiveness.

The boy had such narrow hips and that tiny orifice. Amazing how the slender
white bogosse could take a double penetration night after night and still
be so tight back there. The tall Haitian stimulated Kyle for well over an
hour, driving into his joy spot, making the boy shudder helplessly with
each thrust, bringing him nearly to climax then letting him cool off while
giving his rump a few well placed slaps.

Kyle begged to be allowed to come, but Fran¨ois was having too much
fun. The boy wanted come did he. What a greedy little wanton he was. Why
the Haitian had already fed him two generous portions through those pouty
lips, and the evening was still young. True much of that second helping had
not gone down the boy's throat. Fran¨ois like to mark his boys and had
let his splooge shoot all over those impossibly pretty cheek bones and
nose, almost splashing into those green eyes of his. Then he had used the
final seepage to decorate his slave boy's brow. Just a male marking his
territory.

Finally, after two hours of foreplay, they were both on the brink. Oh well,
they did have a lot of hard work tomorrow, so he would finally let the boy
come. The boy's internal muscles clutched the man's cock as his own climax
took him making Fran¨ois spend himself up that by-now familiar ass. Kyle
was transported on waves of lust, his slender boy cock thrusting the air,
spurting his seed as far as his own face as the older male filled the young
submissive with his own gism.

It was delightful to see how much spunk the small white youth had in
him. Who would have thought that smooth hairless ball sac of his could spew
ropy strands of cum all over his chest which would drain and collect in his
cute belly button. Fran¨ois liked to dip a finger into it and trace it
along the bow of the boy's lips, using the sticky fluid as a lip gloss, or
as a rouge for his cheeks or a liner for his fine eyebrows, which were just
as blond as the hair on top of his head.

As they both fell back exhausted the Haitian reflected that Kyle was a
sexual wonder boy, one he would love to explore forever. Unfortunately, the
summer was drawing to an end. Quite a scrap book their young American would
have when he went home. Should he ask the white boy to forward a copy of
his school essay on how he spent his summer vacation?  Kyle really was
quite sexually talented, and all the Haitians were glad of the chance to
enlarge their young friend's experience in this regard.

Eventually Kyle's work assignment cum exercise in person-to-person
diplomacy was up, his ass quite sore from yesterday evening's going away
party, where he was the guest of honor. Kyle, wearing a sarong for the
first time in ten weeks, was driven to a resort on the coast to meet his
two lovers. They would spend a happy ten days together before heading to
Colby College for Men in northeast Georgia.

Both his lovers spoke French too. Jean-Michel was Quebecois and Tommy
Houlihan Irish-American. Kyle's French had improved dramatically over their
past year together thanks to the tall French-Canadian student who insisted
that, to perfect his French, they must always speak that language in their
room, even or especially in bed. Tommy had to improve his own French just
to keep up and in self-defense so they couldn't pull pranks on him. A
couple of years older than Kyle, Jean-Michel also taught the younger boy
love making techniques. Sometimes Kyle got two lessons at once as when
Jean-Michel put him on his knees and bent him over and slapped his ass with
a lusty 'ˇcarte-toi'. That's where Kyle had figured out it meant 'spread
'em'.

Jean-Michel was the tallest, with dark hair and fine arching eyebrows. The
redhead stood over 12 centimeters (five inches) taller than the blond boy
at just under six feet (182 cm). He had a strong but lean build. As befits
his Irish heritage he had a milky complexion with just a dusting of
freckles, though very few on his face. His body was naturally hairless on
chest, arms, and legs. Both exuded sex appeal with their good looks, robust
health, and fine athletic physiques, both on the lean side.

"So what was all that last night when I called Kyle?" Jean-Michel
began. "They wouldn't put you on the phone at first. Said you were all tied
up, then giggled about it?"

Kyle reddened. He had been tied up -- literally and spread-eagled.  The
young Haitians had put a broom stick behind his back and told him to hold
in in the crook of my arms. They tied cords around his elbows and the stick
and other cords nailed to the ends to bind his wrists.  A shorter stick
tied to his ankles spread his legs wide. It had an eyelet in the middle to
tie his balls to. A dog collar and leash completed the ensemble. He was
helpless with his ass and chest and belly and both orifices utterly
vulnerable. When they finally held the phone up for him, he had to swallow
the last of many cock's worth of cum before speaking. Somehow he had
managed to pretend that everything was cool.

"I kept hearing guys in the background shouting in Creole the most
outrageous suggestions for what to do with their slave boy," Jean-Michel
continued. "One guy joked that the little white boy was more like a party
favor than a guest of honor. So, is there anything you want to share with
Tommy and me there Kyle?"

Poor Kyle was mortified. Stammering and hemming and hawing he related
something of his sexual adventures over the last ten weeks, summing up by
saying.

"Yes, it's true. It just happened, I guess, because I was running around
naked all the time. Everyone took it as an invitation. Almost before I knew
it, I was a sex toy for the whole crew. They told me before I left that
they figured I'd been fucked at least a hundred times a week and two
hundred the final week."

"Poor baby," Tommy soothed. "I hope they left some for us?"

So to general hilarity, the three lovers had a happy reunion making love
day and night, indoors and out, as well as running, sunning, swimming,
reading, eating, and windsurfing. The only time they put on sarongs was to
dine in the restaurant. After ten days they caught a fast sea ferry back to
the States.

				Chapter 2. School Days

At Colby College students lived quite simply. In their rooms each student
had a desk with a swivel chair, a small chest of drawers, and they shared a
single wardrobe -- no closets. They wore little clothing normally and that
mostly lightweight and virtually never in their rooms, and seldom anywhere
in or about the dorm. So they did not need much storage space for
belongings. Indeed they had very few possessions. Materialism went against
the turn of the century zeitgeist. The room didn't even have bookshelves
since paper books were obsolete. The long padded bench on one side supplied
seating for guests and also stored the long roll-out futon all three boys
shared. In the daytime it was out of sight and out of the way. At night the
futon kept them low to the floor where the air was cooler.

The modern dorms managed to combine comfort with energy saving features
like passive solar cooling from thick walls, green roofs covered with
plants instead of tile or tarpaper, and those egg-beater windmills to
generate electric power. With fossil fuels reserved for chemical feedstock,
marine and air transport or the military these days, renewable sources and
conservation were a necessity. The room they shared was airy and
comfortable with cross ventilation where both ceiling and floor fans turned
quietly stirring the air to life. Windows had awnings and trees shaded any
south facing walls.  Like most dormitories, theirs had no frigid air
conditioning but was still quite comfortable. Windcatcher towers exchanged
air with underground aqueducts for cooling.

The boys soon fell back into their familiar routine. They helped each other
with their homework, library research, and writing assignments. Tommy
laughed at how unself-consiously all three boys, could sit before their
screens writing, running simulations, taking practice quizzes, looking
things up. It was all so intellectual and earnest yet all three of them
were buck naked. Kyle shrugged at the thought and said it was clothing that
was artificial. Naked was natural, the default status.

In bed Jean-Michel took the lead, and he and Tommy usually double-teamed
their little blond roommate. Afterwards, Tommy liked to spoon himself to
Kyle's smaller frame, enjoying their physical closeness. He got a warm
tingly feeling just listening to the younger boy breathe, feeling his pulse
and body heat all up and down the front of his own body, nuzzling Kyle's
ears and his hair. He would take a deep breathe to draw in the combination
of smells from the soap Kyle used, his subtle cologne, traces of sweat and
all those lingering aromas that made up the smell of a healthy boy.

The boys shared chores around the dorm, but this year Kyle had been chosen
to work on the farm exclusively because of his interest and skills in the
communal vegetable garden which provided them all with the freshest
possible produce. Kyle genuinely liked farm chores: planting, hoeing,
weeding, pruning, staking, watering, whatever. It found deep satisfaction
in tending plants, making green things grow, to grub his hands in the soil
piling dirt around celery stalks so they would turn white.

Kyle didn't mind the dirt in the least. It was top soil, the good earth,
prefect for growing things.  Top soil had a clean smell to it. Kyle
actually liked getting down and dirty with it on his knees, brown butt
cheeks touching his heels, his lithe torso bent over trowel in hand. So
what if his knees and feet and hands got stained reddish brown, or dust
settled on his sweaty flanks and chest and back or streaked his face. It
brought him closer to the land, establishing a primeval connection to the
biosphere. Sometimes the boys threw clods of earth at each other like in a
snowball fight only they were all hot and sweaty and naked instead of cold
and bundled up. A little more dirt was no bother. He was naked anyway, and
a quick shower would take care of it.

Kyle was well regarded by his fellow students. Way oversexed many allowed
but in a charming way. He was definitely one of the good guys. Quite a few
were glad the little blond was the way he was. He was a boy who loved to be
nude and not just so for people to see him, to admire him, but also to run
their hands over his chest and belly, to slap his buttocks or slip the
blade of a hand in between, and to touch him intimately. Kyle was very
tactile and ticklish. He loved to be fussed over, stroked, petted, and
fondled. A boy toy some called him. So? He was a boy and he liked to be
toyed with. Well, he had a lot of playmates.

Although Kyle was majoring in geography and wanted to work his first career
in physical geography, he had taken a couple of art classes. He liked water
colors and sketching, but the Philistine in him could never understand the
attraction of oil paints. A medium that took 80 years to dry properly and
quickly developed crackling held little attraction for him. As far as he
was concerned the much vaunted craquelure wasn't an aesthetic effect. It
was a defect in the medium. He also had his own ideas about some of the
great masterpieces he was supposed to admire. He had seen the frescoes in
the Sistene Chapel on a visit to Italy. In his humble opinion
Michaelangelo's nudes were grotesque, over muscled and over padded,
bodybuilders running to fat, and with those ridiculously infantile
genitals. Adam's finger was bigger than his cock and his balls the size of
grapes. This was a masterpiece? Go figure.

Still his classes brought him to the attention of the arts faculty who
begged him to pose for nude portraits and dramatic tableaux: the Greek
runner, the whipped slave boy, waking up, or idealizations and
personifications of youth, beauty, and more darkly, submission. Why not?
It's not like everyone didn't already know what he looked liked naked, and
he liked to show off his sexy body. Maybe one student in twenty had already
explored his student body thoroughly.

So when he reported for duty as a model he did not bother with a robe or
any such nonsense. He walked over from the dorm to the studio already in
the nude. So what if his body glistened with sweat. No point being coy
about his physicality or the biological imperatives inherent in being flesh
and blood. Isn't that why they wanted him in front of them naked? Surely
painting the male nude wasn't entirely an abstract exercise in form, light,
and shadow? Sex appeal was at the heart of the genre.

The teacher, Ed Lawson pointed out to his students that their model's
smooth physique might deprive them of practice in rendering body hair
realistically, but they could concentrate on the structure of his slender
physique, its musculature, skin tones, and the delicate tracery of veins on
the the forearms and calves. Not to mention an unusually attractive set of
organs at the the fork of the legs, with nicer curves and proportions than
the organs of generation on many another young male.

Lawson posed his model in the attitude of Prometheus, the immortal from
Greek mythology condemned by Zeus to perpetual punishment, chained to a
rock on a mountain top for the sin of giving the secret of fire, the
inspiration for technology, to humanity. For realism, Lawson actually
chained the boy to the couch.

During the first session, his model's virile member accidentally flopped
from right to left.  This would never do, so the teacher corrected the
alignment with a manual adjustment of the lay of Kyle's cock. Kyle managed
to restrain his arousal at this blatant handling of his sexual organ, but
just barely. Unfortunately his good intentions could not stand up to his
sudden intense attraction to a dark haired student who showed up after the
first break. It was the proverbial thunderbolt of lust. Dark good looks to
Kyle's spun gold and just the same height and build. Their features were
different but both kids were devastatingly attractive. Think the youthful
Rob Lowe of "St. Elmo's Fire" paired with Mitch Hewer in "Skins."

Ten minutes into the second session, the art teacher had to call a
halt. The smooth cock had started to plump up, losing its curvature,
straightening and lengthening as the head, the only part of Kyle hidden
from view, emerged from the foreskin, to point toward the belly button. Oh
no, please, not now! Not in front of this class, not in front of that sexy
brunette!

Of course the wish was its own undoing. The more he thought about his
swelling cock, the more it plumped up. He tried concentrating on
trigonometric functions, but that backfired as his hormone charged brain
started calculating the tangent function his fleshy hypotenuse made as it
rose, the value of the x and y coordinates varying inversely as the
hypotenuse approached verticality.

Then the cock lifted completely off the boy's belly, cantilevered out from
the root, rigid but dipping rhythmically with the throb and beat of his
heart, all the time leaking a clear fluid which hung as a string from the
tip of his cock. The giggles of the two girls in the class from their
sister school down the road only added to the boy's mortification.

"Very nice indeed, young Kyle. I'm sure all of us, as artists, are glad for
a glimpse of that last hidden portion of your physique and a demonstration
of the anatomy of male arousal, but it really won't do for this pose, will
it? We paint the aroused nude male in the advanced class."

So saying he gave the purpled head a squeeze between thumb and forefinger
then bent his model's erection more than ninety degrees and let it snap
back to his hairless belly with an audible thwack. Kyle was speechless and
could only squeeze his eyes shut in embarrassment.

"I see the problem... Mr. Chandler isn't it?" the instructor asked the dark
haired boy.

"Yes, sir. Jason Chandler." he replied throwing a wink to the captive
model.

Sighing theatrically, Lawson released Kyle from his chains and suggested
that he step into the office for a bit so he could compose himself, as it
were. "Won't you help him out there, Chandler?" he suggested. Both boys
turned red, but the effect was even more noticeable on Kyle, a whole body
blush. To amused glances the students repaired to the office, with the
Chandler boy using the blond boy's stiff prick as a handle to lead him
by. As he went Kyle tugged Jason's sarong off to give the rest of the class
a good look at his tush as they went through the door. Jason didn't mind in
the least. He liked to model himself, after all and wasn't the least bit
body shy.

Now Jason was quite talented with his mouth and quickly subdued the rampant
erection. They shared the creamy results in a long French kiss, then Jason
took both their cocks in his hands and brought them to a simultaneous
climax, for Kyle his second in quick succession. Temporarily drained, Kyle
let the other boy clean them both up with tissues from the instructor's
credenza.

Hardly ten minutes later the two young males returned to the classroom
where Chandler did the honors this time placing his new friend in
bondage. Just to be naughty he licked his lips drawing a huge round of
laughter, applause, and congratulations. At least the embarrassment helped
prevent further tumescence on Kyle's part. The teacher later suggested Kyle
model for the advanced class as well.

That was how Jason Chandler came into Kyle's life. He and Kyle's roommates
hit it off really well. Though he didn't officially move in with them, he
did spend most of his time at the dorm in their company. Now there were
four on the long futon at night in a constantly shifting constellation of
youthful bodies. Since Jason's own room was on the floor above, he kept a
few garments in their wardrobe too.

Tommy laughed at how now there were four boys sitting before their screens
in the dorm all four of them stark naked. Tommy suspected the reason Kyle
used that stool of his rather than a desk chair was because it displayed
more of his sexy body from the arc his shoulders to small of the back, to
the flare of narrow hips, and the split curvature of the buttocks. Not to
be outshone Jason took to sitting right on top of Kyle's desk, leaning
toward his screen and keyboard, giving everyone an even better look at his
physique, one that matched Kyle's enough they could have been twins.

Jason majored in math. His dad wanted him to be an actuary, a science
suddenly important because the gene therapy that granted them their nearly
perpetual youth had profound implications for social trust funds,
insurance, estate planning, etc. There simply were not enough actuaries to
go around. Actually Jason just humored his father in that respect. He
really wanted to be a labor economist. Since the college prerequisites were
nearly identical, everyone was happy, at least till grad school came
around. The government scholarship fund paid for higher education anyway,
reimbursed decades later during a man's high earning years, so there was
little the older Chandler could do about it.

Jean-Michel majored in history and Tommy in civil engineering. Their
differing perspectives made for intelligent conversation. Whatever else you
could say about the four, they were all highly intelligent and
diligent. All were into sports. Jean-Michel and Tommy into swimming and
Jason into volley ball. All of them loved to toss a frisbee too. It was a
fine non-competitive sport they could all enjoy at a moment's notice.

That sport must have been designed to show off the male physique with all
the running, bending, reaching, throwing, jumping, and stooping. Guys like
Kyle loved to clown around by throwing the frisbee between their legs
whether facing the other guy, which called attention to the fork of the
legs or turning their backs, which called attention to the ass. And if that
rump attracted occasional slaps, well fine by him. All young men are into
grab ass games, aren't they?

For the loosening of nudity taboos social historians gave some credit to
the boys in low saggers early in the century who pioneered public displays
of rear cleavage and bellies bared to the groin. Their successor
generations gave up their pointlessly hot and baggy pants and shorts in
favor of extreme short shorts or hot pants worn just as low on the
hips. Then the boys started stripping down entirely for for frisbee tossing
or nude volley ball in the park, swimming at clothing optional beaches,
etc. The movement snowballed from there, with the clothing optional fad for
young guys sweeping away the old rules and becoming the new norm.

Kyle and Jason sat together under the spreading chestnut tree that often
shaded outdoor classes. Today they were assigned to opposite sides in a
debate class. Neither had seen any of the other's notes or research. This
would be a fair test of their skills at forensic argument.

Colleges these days focussed on subjects and skills an intelligent student
could not master for himself with help from their comp over the web. For
instance, much of mathematics and basic foreign language skills could
better be acquired by oneself, especially passive skills like reading or
even listening, not to mention grammar and vocabulary. Conversational skill
and fluency required face to face exchange.

Similarly subjects in the performing and plastic arts required classes to
meet and learn together. Dancing, drama, musical theater, martial arts, and
many others. Also lab work and practica in the exact sciences. You could
learn field geology only by rock hunting under supervision. For
meteorology, you had to go into the field together where the subject matter
lay, release weather balloons and maintain automatic instruments, etc.

At the core of today's college curriculum were the arts of rhetoric and
logic. Students would learn many technical fields over their centuries-long
working lives. What they needed from college was to acquire techniques for
lifelong learning, for thinking and reasoning, and for arguing persuasively
and to the point. Semantics, epistemology, rhetoric, debate, principles of
law, reading for comprehension, expository and argumentative writing were
all prerequisites for advanced work. Today's debate between the two
roommates, chosen for this task precisely because they were known to be
lovers, was just one example of how thoroughly the faculty prepared their
students.

Professor Morrisey could hardly remember when had seen either Kyle or Jason
on campus except nude as they were today. Well they were very easy on the
eyes, even if he did prefer female partners. It was good mental discipline
too for everyone to force themselves to concentrate on their ideas and
arguments while trying to ignore the alluring physiques which a good many
of them had presumably sampled for themselves. Both were just eighteen,
Kyle having just reached that milestone and Jason only two months from his
next birthday.

Today's topic was the two world wars of the twentieth century. Were they
avoidable and if so, how? Both sides were well argued considering each had
been assigned to argue against his own initial convictions. By the time the
debate was over, most agreed with the view that WWI was foreseeable and
probably inevitable given militarism, Social Darwinist ideologies,
entangling alliances, and the struggle for hegemony, but that its outbreak
in August 1914 was a complete surprise. Even financial markets had not
reacted until just days before the actual outbreak of war.

By contrast WW II, as a global struggle rather than a regional one, was
eminently foreseeable and avoidable at various points: a better peace
settlement at Versailles, more nrealistic demands for financial
reparations, better financial management in America in the late 1920s to
avoid a world wide Depression, military action to oppose Germany while she
was weak and to force the Army to depose Hitler, etc. Jason won and Kyle
lost but all the students were the winners for following the arguments back
and forth and for their own participation in the Q&A after the formal
debate.

Afterwards all four lovers sat together in a semi private bower talking
things over, not really making out but with lots of bodily
contact. Jean-Michel sat with his back to the bole of a tree, with his legs
spread around Kyle's rump who sat in front and leaned back into him. Tommy
sat facing them, arms propped behind, with his legs straight out and
touching Kyle's. Jason lay his head on Tommy's belly crosswise. Yes, there
was some desultory petting among the tangle of sexy bodies and limbs, but
mostly they talked, as young men will, about their relationship, the
future, their courses, and dorm gossip. They were together like this fairly
often, a measure of how comfortable they were with each other's company and
physical presence.

				Chapter 3. Convicts

A few days later Kyle went on a training run through the countryside. He
loped along at an easy pace, the sun beating down on bare skin as he ran a
circuit of mostly dirt roads. By now the farmers in the area were used to
the sight of students from the college. Still they looked up from their
chores to watch the slender blond run past, utterly naked and
hairless. They admired his fine lines. He was like a young colt with a long
stride, deep chest, strong legs, and from what they could see between those
legs, good breeding potential, unlikely as he was to use it. Yes, this was
another of those exhibitionist gay boys that were running around all over
these days.

At the fork he took a road that led away from the college to lengthen the
run a bit and to revisit the scene of his abduction and captivity the year
before at the hands of the 'Morlocks', a radical political group. The
'Morlocks' were a new political movement allegedly speaking for the
downtrodden working classes and against the idle Eloi or lotus eaters,
i.e. his own social class, as in the classic tale 'The Time Machine' by
H.G. Wells. Some people were always looking to blame others for their
problems, though everyone was legitimately worried about the demographic,
social, and political fallout of extended life spans for the upper classes
as the end of the twenty-first century approached.

Kyle wanted to face his demons, and this was the first time he had got up
the gumption to go by the now abandoned farm. He walked up the long
driveway past a screen of trees. You could not see even see the farm
buildings till you went past a bend in the drive. Unaccountably he ran into
a couple of rough looking men.

"What the hell do you want, boy?" demanded a tall rawboned man in his
thirties.

"Oh, nothing, sir, sorry, wrong address." Inane yes, but the best Kyle
could come up with on the spur of the moment. This did not look good.

"You're one of those college students, ain't ya?"

"Yes, sir, I am" Kyle admitted trying to placate the man. "A geography
major..." he added.

"Change your major kid; you get lost too easy." He and a thickset man with
him thought this was quite clever.

"I'm not lost. This place is abandoned. What are you doing here? You're no
farmer." he answered hotly.

"So you do know this place, eh. Too bad. I might have let you go." With
that both men pulled out pistols and leveled them at the blond youth.

Despite his protests, Kyle was driven at gunpoint into the familiar barn
where the Morlocks had held him captive. There he found a young man about
his own age with light brown hair chained naked to the same stall he had
once occupied. Another man walked in then went back out to bring yet two
more. Five bad guys in all. The leader saw the realization in Kyle's
eyes. These were the six escapees from a maximum security prison in
Mississippi. They had been sought for more than two months. Speculation was
they had gone to ground somewhere together. If they had split up, the cops
would likely have found a trail of at least one of them by now.

They outfitted their second captive with a complete set of shackles that
they themselves had once worn. Leg irons around the ankles linked by a
chain up his ass cleavage to one locked around Kyle's small waist with his
wrists in handcuffs attached to the waist chain. He wasn't going
anywhere. The other captive had welts and bruises on his ass and had
clearly been repeatedly fucked. Telling Kyle that they would let the two
boys get acquainted, the men went outside of watch the road for any further
sign their lair had been discovered.

Meanwhile Kyle learned that the young man's name was Theodore or Theo for
short. He had been dragged willy nilly into the escape, so he couldn't give
away their inside man who had helped them get free. In prison he had been
farmed out as a prostitute for the leader, earning him cred with the other
cons as they fucked him and slapped him around. Now he was their sex toy,
to keep them amused during their isolation. These guys were a mean
bunch. They had already killed a guard and a witness during the escape. He
and Kyle could expect the very worst. Survival was unlikely. They were as
good as dead if they couldn't get away or at least attract attention.

Obviously someone local was helping the convicts. They wore normal civilian
clothing, had adequate supplies plus those handguns and a car in the
garage. This isolated farmstead was the ideal hideout. No, Theo did not
know where they planned to go next or when. They never told him anything
except how to service their lusts.

Kyle hoped the cops would zero in on his RFID chip buried in the muscle of
his right forearm or the emergency locator chip in his left buttock, but
those had a very limited range. A cop car or aerial drone would have to
pass within a kilometer to pick up the weak signal from the locator. The
locator was a godsend for finding lost kids or oldsters who had wandered
off, but it worked best in the cities and towns where sensors could be
activated to query for the specific missing person. The chip in his arm had
a range of only a meter or two; it was activated by sensors at stores and
banks.

Civil libertarians had successfully argued that the locator system must
never track the citizenry routinely. It could only be set to locate
specific individuals. This far out in the countryside, it might take a
while for him to be found. He hoped the convicts did not think of it
themselves. The convicts had somehow eluded the initial sweep for their own
locator chips. No doubt that was why they were hiding out in the sticks.

Over the next week, Kyle revisited the hell he had passed through last year
on this very spot. This time he had Theo for company. When they weren't
abusing the boys, the convicts set them to pleasuring each other, chortling
at their awkwardness in their chains. Theo was rather good looking -- a
youthful nineteen with a slender build, skinny really and effeminate
features. The boys used their mouths mostly in their enforced love
play. Actually they were attracted to one another. They just wanted sex
between them to be their own idea, not the convicts'. Kyle was good at
giving head and Theo had a lot of experience too. The boys sixty-nined and,
after they came, French kissed, exchanging bodily fluids and dueling with
their tongues. It felt pretty good there if they could ignore their
surroundings.

Theo was a sweet kid, though not particularly bright. He had gotten into
trouble over a botched hold up that was as much a surprise to him as to the
storekeeper some wild friends had drawn a gun on. Security video lead to
Theo's arrest, and no one believed his story, that he was not a willing
accomplice. Even though he offered to turn state's evidence, the prosecutor
did not need his testimony to convict. He wanted all three heads on his
trophy wall.

The five convicts concentrated their attentions on Kyle. He was fresh meat,
after all. All the other boys they had taken in prison were pale from their
incarceration. Kyle had such lovely color all over his sexy body without a
trace of a tan line.  Obviously this was one of those cock proud college
boys who run around stark naked nearly all the time. Well, he had come to
the right place. After their years in prison, no one appreciated good boy
flesh as they did. Such a taut ass, with cheeks so firm yet so jiggly
too. When whipped the boy's cheeks trembled nervously like he was
shivering. His body looked so exciting as it arced away from their belts
and whips. Too bad he was such a crybaby. Why that tawse they used on his
erection couldn't have hurt that much, could it?

They couldn't decide which pleased them more, to rape the slender pretty
boy or to abuse him. He looked so beautiful with tears running down his
cheeks, even the snot dripping from his nose could not really lessen his
impossibly pretty looks. Such nice high cheekbones, like on a model or
something. Just look at those sculpted calf muscles; squeeze the slender
thighs and feel how firm those muscles were, trace the prominent veins
running all the way from groin to ankle with smaller veins just below the
surface. Only ballet dancers had stronger legs, and theirs were perhaps a
bit over-developed.

They tugged the helpless youth's plumbing out from under his belly and back
between his legs. Just cup it in your hand and swat away. Few things turned
them on more than making the blond youth take abuse to his swollen sac. And
that crinkly brown anal ring.  Let's stretch him a bit. So the leader
inserted his thumbs and pulled Kyle wide open, shoving three more fingers
into his boy hole. They planned to fist him when he was ready. Hard to
believe that already the tiny orifice could take two cocks at the same time
but it could. He must have had a lot of practice, hadn't he?

"Yes, you bastards, but with my lovers, not jailbirds like you!"

Naturally such defiance was deemed unseemly in a sex slave. Sadly, it was
their duty to chastise the rebellious teenager, to put him in his place, to
remind him that he was at the very bottom of the social pyramid: a naked
pussy boy: their sex toy and whipping boy all rolled into one. Once again
Kyle found himself wondering at the imperfectness of human nature. While
some people reached for the stars, others stayed in the gutter, just about
where he was now. He and Theo both.

Sometimes they laid him fully shackled over bales of hay. For hours they
fucked him raw, taking shifts. They took him front and back together or
separately. They were big men and big there too and they could slap his ass
while they pronged him or take a strap to it between fucks. They seemed to
enjoy his howls but slapped his face if he tried to protest.

Sometimes they tied him facing a post and whipped his ass, then turned him
around and whipped his front with special attention to his tiny tits and
his genitals till he sagged against the ropes that bound him to the post.
One fiendish convict liked to cane the bottom of the boy's feet. Calluses
or no, this old torture called the bastinado is almost unendurable. The
only relief was when he caned the backs of his thighs and his ass. Kyle's
light tenor voice was reduced to a hoarse whisper after hours of screams
and howls. Then they gave Theo a taste of the same and afterward chained to
two boys together in their stall.

At least they let the boys use a slit trench as an outdoor latrine rather
than just go in the straw of their stall. They kept him on a leash while
they squatted. Just do their business then kick dirt on the mess to keep
down the smell and the flies. Even when they fed the boys it was with a
plate on the ground like it was dog food. Actually it was a canned
stew. Not bad really, plus plenty of water to drink.

Just before their daily hosing, they had to suffer the indignity of a
golden shower from all five convicts. After some days of such rough
treatment, it looked to the leader that this new boy too was utterly
broken. He relished the thought that it had been his hand that had tamed
the pretty captive. Such fun they had had. And they still had nearly
another month here before making a real getaway to Brazil. Simply
marvelous.

Finally came the day when the leader had the full shackles removed. They
were five armed men and two slender boys locked in a barn. The kids weren't
going anywhere, even if they had any fight left in them, and the chains did
get in the way of sex play. Hobbles and hands tied in front were enough to
keep the kids under control. While three convicts were abusing little Theo,
the leader had Kyle in his lap, stroking him and playing with his nipples.
Suddenly Theo gave a shriek and started shaking, frothing, and rolling his
eyes up in his head. He was having some kind of fit. The leader stood up,
Kyle sliding off his lap, and looked over at the commotion.

This was the chance the boys had been plotting for. Theo's fit was a bit of
play acting aided by a tiny piece of soap to provide the foam. Kyle had
trained in martial arts since his abduction last year. Nothing fancy --
just some defensive moves: how to break holds and how to put a man in a
wrist lock, but no offensive moves except two for really desperate
situations. These were deadly techniques just in case you had to sell your
life dearly. They had only one use: to take a bad guy with you. His friends
might kill you two seconds later, but at least you had evened the score.

Kyle was within the leader's guard, standing right next to him. Instantly
and silently he drove his bound arms upward, ramming the heel of his right
hand up into the face of his captor driving the nose bone into the
brain. The blow killed the man instantly. He fell to the floor as if
poleaxed. Kyle had delivered the blow with every ounce of his trim but
muscular frame, a force that started with his legs braced on the floor up
through hips, back, and shoulder and into his straightened arms. Quickly,
with his hands together as if in prayer he drove the doubled blade of his
hands into the throat of the second man, crushing his windpipe. The other
three were so intent on Theo they noticed nothing.

Kyle pulled out the leader's pistol out of his holster and fired at Theo's
tormentors. At such close range and with a laser sight he could not
miss. He put two shots into each quickly, before they could recover from
their surprise, then slowly fired a third shot into each man's head. He did
the same with the first two men he had put down, just to be sure. Kyle
wasn't taking prisoners.

After that it was a simple matter of cutting themselves loose, policing up
their weapons, and using a phone to call the police. Kyle had offered to
give Theo a head start and let him drive off with the car if he thought his
chances were better that way. Theo still had a prison sentence to face and
new charges for his escape, unwilling though it was. In the end the police
in Mississippi were grateful for Theo's part in turning the tables on the
bad guys. He was a hero really, and so was Kyle. No new charges were
brought, and the governor of Mississippi granted Theo a full pardon, citing
the way the boy had fingered the inside man in the escape. No governor
wants to look soft on crime, but Theo's actions justified a pardon in the
eyes of the public. He was young and otherwise had no criminal record. Theo
eventually went to a trade school in the town where he grew up. Kyle's
friend Sergeant Harris of the local police in Georgia tracked down the
convicts' helper.

Kyle became quite the local celebrity. He and his three lovers cut a swath
around town and around the campus. Who'd have thought pretty little Kyle
was so tough, so deadly. Actually his experiences gave him nightmares for
years. It helped that he had been able to turn the tables and take revenge,
unlike his first captivity where he had been rescued. Violent action is
often cathartic. Still, although he never regretted killing those men or
deliberately finishing them off, he did reproach himself for having enjoyed
it. It would be a while before Kyle's normal good humor returned even
outwardly. His three lovers, Jean-Michel, Tommy, and Jason were his refuge
in those troubled days. Getting back to work on his academics helped too.