Date: Fri, 26 Dec 2008 15:27:50 -0800 (PST)
From: T. Chase McPhee <survivalgame@yahoo.com>
Subject: FoR SaLE By OwNEr  60

The story below is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any
resemblances to real people, alive or in the hereafter, is entirely
coincidental in nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons,
in towns, cities, countries, nor governmental areas, which the story is
staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you,
then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18
years of age, in most state and countries, you are not allowed to read this
story, by law. Check with your local laws regarding such. % Sexual safety
matters. Remember guys, this is fiction. In real life, use protection.

%

FoR SaLE By OwNEr  60
wriTten by T. Chase McPhee

%

"Do I smell something sort of overdone?" Kyle asks Alex.

"Nooooo. You don't think Vince would....."

The two didn't even think to cover up their flesh, rushing out to the
kitchen.

"What'd I tell ya?" Alex spelled out the truth of his assumption.

Leaning over his shoulder, Vince's eyes grab a quick look, as Kyle asks,
"Vince, what on earth are you trying to make?"

"Breakfast in bed for Breaux, what else?"

"And what about the rest of us?" Kyle comments on his selfishness.

"I'm not the only one who cooks around here." Then realizing his rudeness,
"But I'll make you up some more?"

Alex steps in, "Um, no thanks Vince. Mighty kind of you though." He directs
Kyle away from projecting anymore comments.

As Vince departs with the tray of `breakfast', Kyle makes judgement, "You
don't know how bad I feel for Breaux!"

"Yeah," Alex concludes, "if you brought me `that' in bed I'd be forced to
divorce ya!"

"Would it help if I added this?" Kyle jokes, but doesn't joke when he
forces his lips to Alex.

"Um, excuse us?"

"No," Michael replies, "keep going. I love porn early in the morning!"

Even Scotty laughs along with Michael this time, when Alex and Kyle try
hiding their pubes behind potholders.

Alex excuses himself, bringing back from the bedroom the same briefs they
wore the day before. "A little ripe, but better than nothing," Alex states,
handing one to Kyle. It's another rib-tickler when Alex and Kyle turn their
asses towards their unwelcomed kitchen guests to don their briefs.

"So tempting, huh Scotty?" Michael asks in gest.

"I'm not that kind of guy," Scotty replies.

"Lighten up Scotty," Michael says.

"Yeah, lighten up Scotty," Alex repeats.

Kyle finalizes it, "Yeah, lighten up Scotty."

Ignoring the three of them, Scotty changes the subject, "So what are you
burning for breakfast, Kyle?"

Alex and Michael joined in on the laughter, Kyle shucking the
responsibility of the burnt pan off on Vince.


Meanwhile, up in the loft, Breaux tasted `enough' of the prepared meal,
telling Vince, "I loved the breakfast you cooked up for me but you should
have saved some of your cream last night for the coffee!"

"Oh. You take milk. I guess you don't take it black. I could go get some
for you?"

"Why bother when I can get it straight from the source?"

After Vince's removal of the tray, Breaux slipped down in the bed. When
Vince turned towards the bed, Breaux asks, "I'm kind of horny, you?"

"I think I can work up to fucking you again!" He juggled around underneath
his boxer shorts, well Kyle's boxer shorts!

"Get your head in the pillow. I can't wait to pounce on that bod!"

"Mmmmmmm," Vince replied. He made even louder and more profuse sounds,
stating his enjoyment as the twenty-four year old model did indeed, pounce
on him.

%

"Hey... how did I?" Jack must've been so worn out from handling two men in
the bed last night he didn't even recall how `he' was the one who wound up
cuffed to the top of the bed, rope passed between the two rings on the
leather restraining devices. As his head pushed back in the pillow he tried
to think back `that far'. It's then he noticed something else
peculiar. There in the bed next to him Jim lay snuggled up to John's back,
one arm under John's neck and the other slouched over his side, wedged in
between ribs and arm. Jack tried to turn to see what was happening between
the two, but his actions took a toll on his wrists. "Owwwch! Dang it!"

"You say something?" Jim asks as he turns over.

"Yes I said something and if you don't get these dang-blasted cuffs off of
me there's going to be a waterfall raining down on the three of us!"

Smiling, Jim replies, "Bet you don't even remember how they got on you, do
you?"

"It crossed my mind," Jack replied as he rubbed his cock between his
legs. More with concern, he voices opinion, "You better just get them off
before `you know who' sees them on me."

"Who, John? Too late." Then he assesses, "You really don't remember John
and me working your hot bod over with our tongues," Jim says as his replays
the past evening's events, hand grazing over Jack's stomach.

"No I don't... quite..." Jack slows down as Jim's hand gets dangerously
close to his stiff shaft. He swallows, "...remember...."

Again, with a smile on his lips, this time evil with intention, Jim slips
his hand down, traveling through the dense over-growth of pubic hair and
then fit-forms his hand around Jack's stiff 9.5c.

"Mmmmmm....ohhhhh..." Jack sighs, his back arching, head grinding into the
pillow as the hand begins transforming him from the urge to pee, to
something else.

"Need some help with that?"

Forgetting what Jim just told him, Jack nervously looks up at his cuffed
wrists.

Before he can even think it, John comes out with, "I hope you were having
aS good a time as Jim and I. I don't think there was anyplace on you last
night where our tongues didn't go!"

Relaxing, Jack says, "Why don't you get down there between my legs? Maybe
if you `do' something it'll refresh my memory!"

"Do you want him to do what he did last night?" Jim asks.

It probably slipped his mind, Jack not knowing which of the two did what to
him, when. But not wanting to admit failure to remember he replies, "Um,
sure. Whatever floats your boat."

Then asking Jim like asking for permission, "Alright if I?"

"Got him nice and hard... would be a shame to let an erection go to waste!"

Put in the position of a spectator, Jack lay there with his arms stretched
above his head, dark hairy pits flaunted as he waitS for the show to begin
all over again. When John got up, turned his back to him, sank to his
knees, his ass dropped to an inch above Jack's sword.

"Need help?" Jim asked after allowing Jack's shaft to slip from his hand.

"I think I can manage," John said with a smile to Jim.

"Cool, because you two aren't the only two who are horny!"

And how could Jim not be, with John slowly lowering his glutes, enveloping
Jack's cock. How could he ignore both moans from Jack and John, Jack being
impaled and Jack feeling the sides of his shaft getting eaten alive.

"Looks like you two are getting into a rhythm," Jim says as his hand starts
making music with his own cock.

John asks, "Why not repeat what we did last night?"

Jack couldn't remember, it being dark and all. He didn't know which guy was
riding his cock, yet suspected it wasn't Jim. Paying attention to only his
own joy he didn't realize Jim had found his way to standing on the
bed. It's not until he heard slurping sounds did he realize John licking
away at his beloved's hard shaft. He grinned when he saw Jim play `hard to
get', having John fish around with his mouth as Jim used his own cock for
the `fish'. He did mention, "Nice," softly, his own opinion after watching
John's head move about, trying to latch on to Jim's fuck tool without using
his hands. Little did he know of John having the cuffs on last night which
stood firm around his own wrists! However his thoughts dissapated when John
caught his prize, Jim rewarding him with holding John's head between his
hands and use his mouth to massage his cock. But the view wasn't the only
thing keeping Jack hard. He began to pulse his
 hips when he realized the pounding on his own balls were that of John's as
John stroked himself.

Looking over John's head, Jim saw Jack struggling to fuck John, though John
was doing half the work.

Pulling out made John whimper, "Where you goin'?" his head following Jim
hop off the bed, follow him around the side.

"Now what did I do with that key?" Jim asks, feeling himself up as if he
were wearing a shirt and pants.

"I hope you're kidding?" Jack said, forgetting momentarily the ecstasy
encasing his shaft.

Snapping his fingers, Jim responds, "Under the pillow!" Sure enough, as Jim
lifted the pillow the shiny brass key was underneath.

"So... what's your plan?" Jack asked as Jim unlocked him from his bondage.

"What I was thinking," Jim replied as John `sat there', "I figured maybe
using you as the innards of a sandwich while you fuck the hell out of
John?"

Being he hadn't enjoyed the top position in a few nights, the idea grew on
Jack. "Might prove interesting." Then as his hands became free, Jack
directs to John, "You heard the man, boy!"

A glutton for the bdsm life, John says over his shoulder, "If I get to wear
the bracelets?"

Neither Jim nor Jack argued the point, John putting the leather cuffs on
his own wrists. As Jack had been, Jim looped John's wrists around the
wrought iron headboard, securing them to the top. With his hand on his
cock, stroking, Jim watched Jack in action, telling John, "Spread'em boy!"
Adding the hard slap to John's ass, Jack's big hand landing like fire, made
Jim's balls boil.

"Doggie style, boy!" Jack called out.

Scrambling, the twenty-seven year old farm-boy hastily got to his knees.

Not wasting anytime, Jack announced his intentions, "Gonna tear your ass
wide open!" Again he added a hard whack of his hand, making John's other
asscheek sport a red mark.

Jim had already had thoughts of mischief. So, after Jack's cock was buried
deep inside of John, he gave the same treatment, his hand-to-ass gesture.

"Heeeeeeeeeey!" Jack called out after receiving the first spanking since he
was twelve years old.

Jim's response was, "Just trying to plow you in deeper!" But it wasn't
anything compared to when Jim sent his own tool boring into Jack's ass.

Thus, the threeway tryst got underway!

%

As the townhouse became lively with everyone deserting him except Vince,
Kyle and he had a chance to catch up for lost time.

"So what do you know about Breaux other than him being a successful model,
Vince?"

"Which reminds me," Vince says after sipping some coffee, "To show his
apprecitation for allowing him to spend the night, Breaux has invited you,
Alex, Michael and Scotty... I suppose Chris and Jakov too could come, to a
pool party at Cayman's estate.

"Cayman?"

"Cayman Karlyle. Breaux's boss. I guess you never heard of Cayman Karlyle
Modeling Agency?" Vince asks in an affluent-type vocal rendition.

"Can't say that I have. Is it based in the city?"

"Don't know," Vince scratches his head. "I'll have to inquire."

Skipping over it, Kyle asks, "What else do you know about Breaux? Where's
his apartment?"

"He lives with his grandmother out in Queens. He figures when he's got
enough saved up he'll move closer now that he's signed with Cayman."

"Where's his folks?"

"'Don't know. We didn't get that far. He didn't mention them so I figured
I'd let it go til another time. Anyway," Vince ditches the personal
matters, "if you, Alex and the guys are free this weekend, Breaux says one
of the Karlyle limos can pick us up."

"I'm not sure. I'm almost positive Alex will be working. Michael and Scotty
might be also." Kyle then giggles, adding, "That Michael has turned into
something of a dishwasher I tell you. Alex keeps giving him new chores to
keep him busy. He's a real hustler."

"Hustler, huh?" Vince asks with a straight face.

"Not `that' kind of hustler!" Kyle busts on Vince, throwing a crunched up
napkin at him.

%

Whittling away the minutes, Alex was putting Adrian to the test. It wasn't
about Adrian's performance at the Coffee Bean but rather the mid-week
happening, David Sonnemaker's ten-in-the-morning visit to the cafe. At two
minutes of, Alex glanced at the clock in the kitchen above the
door. Usually not a time-watcher, Alex says, "I better go see."

"Go see what?" Michael asks Scotty.

"His secret admirer. This rich guy has been hassling Alex ever since he
didn't show up for the party he gave at his estate up in Westchester,"
Scotty filled him in.

"Where is West Chester?" Michael asks.

It's part of the puzzle Scott was working on, a clue showing Michael surely
wasn't from around here. "Up north of the city. Kind of on the affluent
side. They've got lots of dough. Something neither you or me have!"

"Which kind of makes it special for us, don't you think?" Michael asks as
he rinses a pan.

Ever since he's met Michael, Michael has had this affect on
Scotty. Standing there with his hands rolling dough in flour, Scotty tells,
"If I didn't have my hands in something at the moment I might just show you
what we have special going between us!"

Wiping his hands on the apron around his waist, Michael comes around the
counter to stand next to Scotty. "Nothing wrong with my hands!"

Not open to hanky-panky on the job, being the all-too-serious guy he is,
Scotty was forced to lighten up when Michael started playing with him under
his apron. "Stop that Michael!" Scotty argued, with a soft smile following.

Using Scotty's comment as an excuse to carry on, Michael found his way
under the apron and down the front of Scotty's pants!

"Now you've `really' got to stop that! Or else... I'm going to get so hot
my hands are going to bake this dough before it gets to the oven!"

"Wouldn't want to spoil your cordon blue," Michael said, withdrawing his
hands.

Scotty only smiled back, not letting on the dough he was kneading hadn't
anything to do with cheesy-chicken.

"By the way," Michael says as he returns to his dishwashing, "Kyle says he
and Jacov are going to take us all out to the Greenhouse some night."

"I hope that means he's paying," Scotty says.

"Me too," Michael replies.

Standing there, the two gazed at each other with smiles on their faces.

"What?" Scotty asks.

Michael too asks, "What?"

"I asked you first."

"I asked you second," Michael came back with.

"Nothing other than.. I suppose it's fitting I met up with a guy in the
same boat as me."

"Oh? How's that go?" Michael asks as he finishes up the last of the pots.

"Well look at Alex and Chris. They've got two rich guys. And me? I've got a
guy just like me."

He could have taken it wrong, but instead Michael once again rounds the
table, Scotty ready for him.

"Some day, when I figure out what I want to do, I'm going to go to college
just like you and after I've made my first million I'm going to get us a
swanky apartment someplace and..." Michael makes up the story as he goes
along.

"I wish it could be sooner than `someday'," Scotty says, responding with
more than words as he places his hands on the sides of Michael's torso.

Frozen in time the two stood there until....

"Whew! Have I lucked out!" Alex said robustly as he entered the
kitchen. Then snagging the two, "I hope I'm not interrupting anything?"

If the trio wasn't already developing into a `ratpack', Alex could have
come across nastily. However, it wasn't in Alex to be that way and two, he
was happy to see Scotty finally `involved'. Scotty dropping his hands from
Michael's hips, Alex tells them, "Maybe you two can pick that up from where
you left off, later?"

"Yeah," Scotty says.

Michael adds, "Yeah and thanks for not having a cow, Alex!"

All was forgiven and the three went their separate ways.

Outside the kitchen, Adrian led David Sonnemaker to a table. This time it
wasn't the one behind the palm tree, but rather his usual, the table near
the front window where one could see the goings on out in the streets.

"Norberto thought you were really hot last night," Adrian started to slowly
drop the bomb.

But David wasn't on the theme of him and Adrian playing out any more
scenes, as he carefully tread onwards, "He was okay. I see you and Petr had
a nice time?"

Yesterday at the Coffee Bean it seemed the two had locked up their budding
relationship, but today was a different story, the morning after the
morning. To distract each other, the two used Kief Decado as a scapegoat to
telling each of how they really felt.

"Funny how after awhile you surrendered to Kief," Adrian leads in as he
pours coffee.

"Yes. I never would have guessed from the evening we had in the dungeon
that night..." but then David skips over the details, "He really proved
himself last night."

Whimsically, Adrian says, "It would have proved interesting to see Norberto
and Kief double-fuck you?"

"Not this hole!" David exclaims, looking about to see if anyone overheard.

Coming out of his laugh, Adrian slips, "You can't be as tight as Petr!"

With the forthright of knowing, like intuition, gaydar and the likes, David
can see the writing on the wall. "You really like Petr, don't you?"

Moving his head about as if tossing things this-away-and-that, Adrian
levels with him, "I think Petr and I might have something between us." But
then he quickly tosses the ball back in David's court, "What about you and
Norberto?"

Both seeing the change in partners, David responds, "Don't forget Kief."

Well knowing it, Adrian tells him, "Sorry it didn't work out. No offense
though David. You would have been a hot `bottom' to play with."

"I wasn't only into myself last night. I saw how you and Petr got
along. I'm sure you and he will make a fine `master and slave'!"

Both knew what went on behind closed doors was meant to stay there, so out
in the open David was wishing Adrian the best in his new relationship.

"Likewise," Adrian replied. "So, what'll it be this morning?"

"My usual," David replied.

And joking around, Adrian supplies, "You mean the way I served you
yesterday morning?"

Smiling, David says on the soft side, "I don't think my cock and balls
could stand it!"

As the morning went on, Adrian and David acted like patron and
waiter. Before David finished up his visit to the Coffee Bean, he left
Adrian with two invitations. One was for his next dungeon party, he and
Petr invited and an invitation to a party, Petr and him as his guests, a
party for the new up and coming models, at the Karlyle estate.

When Adrian began busing David's table, after he had gone, under his plate
were five crisp one hundred dollar bills. Later Adrian would be accused of
leading the ranks, Alex being number two, of the biggest tippers!

%

Going their separate ways, Jakov headed off towards Braddock's, Chris
returning to the family home out in Brooklyn.

With his key in the door, Chris unlocked it, walking in and from habit
locked the top lock, chaining the bottom. Doing an about face he almost
bumped into his father, standing there with arms across his chest.

"Oh. Good morning father," Chris cordially greeted him.

"Where were you last night?"

"I was at work late." Chris lied, then made more up, "I had a business
client who's meeting went into overtime." He then waited for belief or
another reaction.

"I see," his father, standing there at six feet tall retaliated, his voice
with suspicion. "That is not what I hear from Asaf."

"Asaf?" Chris questions. Then realizing something strangely out of place,
he asks, "What of Asaf?"

"He is in the basement, Khalaf," His father addresses Chris with his given
name.

Chris replies in a nervous manner, "The basement?" Like walking on shakey
ground, Chris takes each step of the wooden stairway, trying to piece
things together. He gets a bad feeling about all of this. "What is Asaf
doing here?" he addresses his father who is leading him down to the musty,
windowless, cement-blocked, walled in room.

"In good time you will see."

And that Chris did as his father pushed open the heavy wooden door at the
base of the stairway. There, tied eagle-spread, hanging by his arms from a
wooden piece, suspended from the ceiling by chains, Asaf hung. "Asaf?"
Chris more breathed out, aghast at the sight of his lifetime friend, more
lifeless than alive. Running to him, he called out, "What have you done?"
Passing by Asaf's bloody back, welts crisscrossing it, Chris faced him,
lifting his head by the chin. Asaf's eyes were closed and other than his
chest slightly rising and falling with the tiny breaths he exhaled, Chris
could detect very little life about him.

"Before Asaf passed out he told us something about you and him," His father
said.

Out of the shadows also walks Asaf's father.

It's then the puzzle Chris has been trying to weave together becomes plain
as daylight. Seeing himself in deepshit, he tries to talk himself out of
this, "Father, these are different times. We are in a different country
now, with different customs...."

"Remove your shirt, Khalaf," Chris' father orders.

It's then he sees the piece of leather in his father's hand, more substance
as if a cowboy's bullwhip, stained with blood. The picture comes in clearer
when Asaf's father, saying nothing, uses a winch to lower Asaf's bod, his
knees buckling as his retraints are loosened. He makes no sound as first
his stomach touches the basement concrete, then chest. The side of his
cheek grazes the cold floor.

Breaking Chris' concentration, his father reiterates, "You `will' remove
your shirt now, Khalaf!" To get his point across, Chris' father belts him
across the face with his hand, the one holding the strap.

Sighing out loud in a cry of pain, Khalaf is thrown to the floor, right
next to where Asaf now lays faced down. Even though he feels for his own
doom, he places his hand on Asaf's hair, stroking the black
follicles. Before he can feel too much tenderness a hand grabs the back of
his shirt, the collar, pulling him upwards. Before he knows it, Chris' arms
are joined behind his back by Asaf's father.

"Since you will not cooperate," Chris' father tears his shirt down the
middle, buttons popping off on their own trajectory, he forces it off
behind Chris' shoulders.

Thrashing about, protesting, Chris' father doesn't stand for it, rather
taking his hand and hitting him on the left side of his face, his backhand
catching Chris on the right cheek. In his shocking state, Chris can do
nothing by now, Asaf's father, build like a weightlifter, manhandles him.

"You will learn we do not tolerate `your kind'."

Then calling out to Asaf's father, the two strip Chris of his shirt and
place the same pieces of wood, which held Asaf's arms in place, around
Chris' wrists. Making light work of the ordeal, the winch is turned and
Chris feels his arms rise above his head. Soon his feet barely touch the
floor. Even though it is damp in the old basement Chris is sweating
profusely. He tries looking over his shoulder, then under his armpit,
trying to get a glimpse of what's happening, full well aware of his
impending punishment. Protesting does nothing for his welfare as he feels
the first lash of the whip across his back, his pleas of mercy turning to
those of harrassing pain.

%

It's never too late to read a holiday story!
DeCeMBer LuLLaBy  by  T. Chase McPhee
nifty/gay/adult-friends/december-lullaby/

Copyright 2008 T. Chase McPhee

This story may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior
consent from the author.



The more you stretch, the more you can fit in... 'spread' happiness!
TCMcP.....