Date: Wed, 14 Jan 2009 13:15:05 -0800 (PST)
From: T. Chase McPhee <survivalgame@yahoo.com>
Subject: FoR SaLE By OwNEr  62

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  62
wriTten by T. Chase McPhee

%

"No problem Mr. Battani. You don't have a thing to worry about," the tough
guy with the Aussie accent said as he counted out the $100 bills, "they'll
be on a boat back to the middleast by tomorrow."

"You are positive of that?" Chris' father made sure.

"Like I told you Mr. Battani, this isn't the first time we've dealt with
human trafficking."

When Chris' and Asaf's fathers closed the door to the Battani residence,
they knew it would be the last they would see of their sons. However both
agreed justice had been served, they were rid of the vermin which polluted
their family name and class. Neither wanted this to come about, but old
traditionals still held fast to their families and problems needed to be
dealt with.

Hogtied and gagged in the back of the van, Chris and Asaf lay in an
unconsious state, unknown destination and not a clue to their fate. But in
the front of the van, the two Aussies, father and son talked up a storm.

"Here, count it!" Came the onery order, his guardian shoving the wad of
bills into Joey's breadbaslet.

Before he peeled the money back, Joey states, "I'd much rather be earning a
repectable dollar!"

"You'll do what you're told and like it or else you can go look elsewhere
for food and a dry place to sleep," the forty-something man warned.

Sure, Joey would take him up on it in a minute, but would not want to
jeopardize half his salary, the amount taken out, which would be sent back
to his family in Austrailia. He owed a lot to this man, `Malcolm', the man
he came to know as a `dad', rescuing him from the kind of men Malcolm dealt
with and immigration authorities. But in recent times, since Malcolm had
completely transformed his living means, from construction, to human
trafficking, Joey has seen a big change come over him, one which set the
two apart. At first Joey was so beholden to Malcolm he accepted the
treatment, a scapegoat for Malcolm's nearly nightly use of his ass, doing
Malcolm favors by reporting to a certain address and selling his bod for
the evening, Malcolm receiving half of the ante with a promise to send half
of what Joey made back to his family in the land down under.

"Count it!" Malcom woke Joey out of his stupor.

"It's all here," Joey said after moving each bill from hand to hand.

"Stuff it in the glove compartment. After we're done taking a little detour
and have dealt with delivering the goods I'll take care of it."

Malcolm noticed Joey looking between their seats, staring occasionally into
the almost pitch dark van, seeing to human-sized lumps lying on the metal
floor.

"Don't get your hopes up too high if you're eyeing up Battani's kid. He's
mine!"

>From the moment Joey saw the two brought out of the house, first the one
called Chris, then the other, named Asaf, he had a softened feeling about
the two. He cringed when he first saw the welts across Chris' back, dried
blood which showed the two had been unconscious for quite some time. He
knew they couldn't feel the pain of Malcolm putting leather cuffs on their
wrists, drawing their arms tightly behind their backs and attaching a metal
grappling hook to bind the cuffs closely together. But he knew when their
two hostages came too, it would not be tough for them to realize their
captivity.

"I wasn't," Joey replied.

"Doesn't matter if you're sixteen or eighteen. You'll give me respect."

"Yes sir," Joey said.

"It's been a long time since you've been reminded of your place," Malcolm
said with conviction.

Squirming in his seat, Joey renewed the feeling he had, trying to sit down
after Malcolm used the wooden paddle on his ass.

"What'd you say boy?"

"Um," he gulped, not wanting to admit anything, but his hand was forced,
"yes, sir."

Above all Joey watched what he said. He would not want Malcolm to detect
anything about the secret he harbored. It drew his mind back to Chris and
Asaf. Not that he really cared about the boys' fathers, but thought only of
how crooked Malcolm was, from the beginning of the deal, to the end,
Malcolm speculating how much more they could get for the two, not on a boat
to the Middle East, but instead sold to a man they knew downtown whom set
young boys up for prostitution or rented by the hour, day or weekend for
`specialty' parties. Before they delivered their `goods' though, Malcolm
made sure there was plenty of time to use the sale to his advantage and
personal pleasuring. Battani might have thought twice about `selling' the
two boys, had they realized the `buyer' was no better than Asaf and Chris
in sexual preferences.

%

"Did I do good today, Alex?" Michael knew he did good, but was just waiting
to hear it from the boss.

Alex didn't disappoint him. "More than good," he awarded Michael credit
with a pat on the back after locking the double doors of the Coffee Bean.

Michael in turn tells, "If I keep this up, we'll be rich Scotty!"

Scotty replies, "Prices are steep here in New York. You better think about
putting your first week's earnings in the bank. Never you mind about going
out and spending it, Michael."

All Michael could talk about is how many tips he picked up. One story had
him telling Alex and Scotty about the two teenaged girls trying to pick him
up and even after he let on he was gay they still thought of him as `cute'
and got a hefty tip.

"Well that's one thing they are right about," Scotty says as the two drop
down the stairs of the subway station, "You `are' definitely cute!"

"You wouldn't be biased there, would you Scotty?" Alex asks.

But Scotty was quick to change subject, "Hey! What do you guys think about
that Wade guy coming by the Coffee Bean to give Ian a lift home?"

"Personally?" Alex returns, "I think it's love!"

Michael dropped the hint, not that it had to be dropped, "Like Scotty and
me?"

Scotty blushed, but thought Michael so cute it didn't warrant any rebuttal.

"I suppose," Alex replied, sure they were on a collision course with cupid.

Hopping a local routed train, the starts and stops were filled with the
three checking out every other guy entering. Alex was snagged checking out
a `suit', a long trench coat and attache in hand. For several stops they
caught each other's eyes between the rushing in and out of riders. Two
stops up and the seat next to Alex became vacant, but the car was still
tight.

"Save that seat!" the guy yelled over.

Alex lay down half and half til the suit came over and parked himself
there.

"Thanks," the guy cheerfully states.

"No problem," Alex said as he tilted himself upright.

After a short pause, the two asked each other, "What stop are you...."

"You first," he said to Alex.

Alex gives him the benefit of the doubt, "No, you go ahead."

"I'm headed to Lexington Ave. I live in the neighborhood."

But it was an energetic reply from Michael, still high on his first
lucrative day as a waiter at the Coffee Bean, "Hey! We live up that way
too!"

"No kidding?" Then seeing they were almost neighbors, the early-thirties
guy introduces, "The name's Steve Sinkler, but guys just call me `Swifty'."

Devious thoughts ran around in Alex's head, his own logic for explanation,
but then he came down to earth.

Already Swifty knew they would want to know why. Everybody did. "I didn't
always have the name... well nickname. Every since I came out here from
Vancouver and hooked up with an office job, well... not that I'm bragging
but I `can' be quite efficient at what I do."

It didn't matter what Alex thought. Already he had his mind made up
`Swifty' was an okay guy. "And where would that be?"

"Downtown... oh yeah," Swifty mocked himself, "like that's where we're
coming from!" Swifty started off the laughter, Alex catching on quick,

Michael and Scotty sat on Alex's left and the noise sometimes was
deafening, so they asked what the joke was. Alex told them "Never mind."
Thinking Swifty instantly forgot, Alex volunteers, "The three of us work at
the Coffee Bean. I'm sort of the assistant manager, but we hardly ever see
Bill, he's the manager, ever since the Coffee Bean II opened in the
village."

"Coffee Bean, huh?" Swifty says, rubbing the slight black goatee on his
chin. "I think I've passed by it," even though he hadn't, he was sure.

"You should stop in sometime for something, though I'll warn you we're not
as cheap as Dunkin' Donuts!"

Little did they know, Swifty was so swift at his job, money didn't play a
part in whether he ate brunch at the Coffee Bean or the Waldorf!

%

"We'll take care of Battani's kid first," the father said to his son.

The van had pulled into a garage, an old gas station in Brooklyn, long
since gone to rot by the neighborhood and too many turns of
inflation. Doors blackened with paint, it sealed off the outdoors. Four
lights hung by long electrical wires and directed downwards with deflected
metal fixtures. In the center of the shop, Chris' bod was strung over a
table, arms tied off in eagle-spread fashion. When brought out of the van,
he was shirtless, but now Malcolm had deprived him of his pants and
briefs. Chris' pubes pressed against the table edge, his feet knocked
apart, leaving his ass vulnerable.

"Hell yeah!" Malcolm's Aussie accent rung out as he parted Chris' ass
cheeks and spotted the small `pea-hole'. "Oh yeah, `s-gonna be a really
fine massage my cock is going to be feeling!" He rubbed his cock, one hand
still spreading Chris' ass open.

"We don't have to," the twenty year old son replied.

For once Joey wasn't badgered to do what he was told. Instead, Malcolm
talked about as they brought Asaf's bod in of how hot it's going to feel
fucking two teen holes.

For Joey, he pay no mind to Malcolm. Instead, his interest keyed in on
Asaf. Like Chris he was stripped naked, but instead of slung over a
mechanic's workbench, Malcolm took the grappling hook from behind Asaf's
back, recoupling the leather cuffs in front of him. Attached a hook, one of
the bondage devices put into places when Malcolm started up his new trade a
few years ago, he attached it to the hook. With a flick of a switch, one of
the hydraulic lifts took off towards the ceiling, Asaf's arms headed in the
same direction until his toes were the only means of holding his bod in
place.

"Nice," Malcolm said of the stretched out appearance, rubbing his hand down
Asaf's hairy chest, his abs trail leading Malcolm's hand to a place just
above the navel. Even though Asaf was not in touch with the world, Malcolm
threw a punch into his stomach. "Nice!" he came back with.

Joey didn't say anything but knew it was wrong what Malcolm was doing. It
was bad enough Malcolm was `using' the `goods' after he promised they would
be delivered in excellent condition, as he heard Malcolm say on the phone.

>From stringing Asaf up in bondage, Malcolm set out for the butt hanging
over the table. He already had it in mind to dry fuck Chris, but he also
had intentions, "No fun if this boy isn't awake to feel it!" Laughing at
his own joke, Malcolm picked up a bucket of cold water and proceeded to
toos it's contents over Chris' bod in an effort to revive him. More to
himself than Joey he comments, "Yeah," he said when he detected Chris
moving a little. He laughed to himself, his cock getting harder by the
minute as he thought about fucking the twenty-one year old
Iranian-American's hot ass, waiting there over the table edge to be busted
open. Already his shaft hard as a steel bar, Malcolm positioned it straight
at Chris' ass. One again parting the white asscheeks, he edged forwards til
he felt the tip of his cock touching the curly ass hair. "Oh yeah... any
minute now boy!" He laughed when he heard Chris, in a weakened voice, plead
for him
 not to do it. "No turnin' back now, boy!"

Chris cried out in pain as he felt more the tip of Malcolm's shaft
penetrate his virgin hole, a mix of guttural sounds and pleads for him to
stop.

"Yahoo!" He cried out when he felt his shaft forced in deeper. "Gonna ride
your ass to the sunset boy!"

"Not if I can help it!"

"What tha fuck?"

Seeing his chance to intervene, Joey kayo'd his father with a bucket aside
the head, the one he was supposed to use to `awaken' Asaf. "Not this time
Malcolm," he said without reluctance. "Not after what you did to the other
one." Joey means the first time his father made him come along on the
`roundup'. At the time it had involved a simplistic attitude of a Christian
family denouncing the devilous ways of their son. Last time Joey felt
immobilized as he watched his father rape the eighteen year old high school
graduate. Though little did his father know, when Joey assumed
responsibility to take him downtown, instead Joey made up some excuse and
ever since has been harboring the homeless teen in his own apartment,
secretively. Out of his own account he withdrew the funds, saying they were
from the `client' which the delivery was to be made.

Before Malcolm could dig any deeper, Joey pounced on him, pushing him
sideways against the table Chris was bound to, disengaging Malcolm from
Chris' port.

Then all hell broke loose! "Hold it right there!" Came the shout as
Detective Quintana crashed the scene, two NYPD cops rushing in, guns ripped
out of their holsters.

In total surprise, Joey fell away from Malcolm. Before the police could
secure him, he shouted out at Joey, "You fuckin' little bastard," and
proceeded to punch his lights out.

"Get him!" the police ran to Joey's aid, wrestling Malcolm to the cement
faced down, his cock grinding into the pavement.

As for Joey, the impact of the punch to the jaw sent him hurtling over a
metal cabinet of tools. Falling to the cement his head hit against a pile
of tires, but also the cabinet fell over, draws opening, car fixing wares
hitting him about the chest, stomach and `lower' areas.

Raul looked around, first at the most recent casuality of the sting
operation, Joey, knocked out. Touching his shoulder, Raul called for
backup, "And get an EMT here on the double!" Squatting down beside Joey, he
looked to the table, seeing Chris' squirming, a faint voice calling for
help. Behind him Raul spots Asaf with the same comotose facade. He went to
get up, but then had a gut reaction the heavy laden tool chest lying on the
victim's front might jeopardize his breathing. He wasn't a workout guy, but
his adrenline was running like a freight train and in no time Raul had
exerted enough energy to heave the heavy metal cabinet out of the way. Then
remembering enough medical advice, left Joey as is. Next, the twenty-nine
year old detective stood up and addressed Asaf. He sought out the means by
which to lower his bod, then proceeded to catch him in his arms as he
untied his bound wrists. "Thank God!" He commented to himself upon feeling
 a heartbeat pounding on his own chest. With care he lay him on the ground
almost at Joey's side. As he untied Chris, reinforcements arrived.

"Never mind him," Raul said of Chris. "The one on the floor. I think he's
hurt bad."

Malcolm was cuffed and taken out, but not before he voiced his opinion
about his `beloved' ward, "I hope the damned fucker croaks!" He spat on
Joey's giving creedance for the police to quickly evacuate him from the
dimly lit garage.

%

"Oh good! You're home!" Kyle greeted Alex, Michael and Scotty.

"Wher'ar'we goin?" Alex said, doing a 360 turnabout.

"Jakov. He's scared shit on account of what's happened to Chris."

Running around the side of the building, Kyle gave Alex the rundown of what
he knew, which wasn't much other than Chris and his friend had been
`injured', all the details Raul gave Kyle at the moment.

"How?" Alex ask.

But they had a problem. Kyle's private drive, an alley way, was
blocked. "Just what I need in a time like this!"

"Hey Alex. What's up?" His eyes were on Kyle as well as Alex, darting
between the two.

He had only met the guy an hour ago, but now he was Alex's white knight in
shining armor. Going on his gut instinct, which Alex was notably good for
roughly 99% of the time, he ran up to the passenger side of the white four
door and yelled in, "Swifty, you gotta do us a favor!"

A regular backseat driver, if Swifty had listened to him, he would have
been a bundle of nerves, at every yellow light, Kyle yelling for him to go
through it.

Alex apologized for Kyle's actions, Swifty shooing it away. He
inadvertently told a bit about his past, telling Alex he was a pro at drag
racing and as Alex and he had this down-to-earth conversation, neither pay
attention to Kyle trying to drive through Swifty's hands on the wheel. A
cell phone ringing suddenly shut Kyle up. The conversation didn't last but
twenty seconds, ending with, "You're going to have to find your own way
home, Vince!" and his phone closing shut with a click.

In another part of the big Apple...

"I can't believe it!" Vince says to Desmond. "He's leaving me here high and
dry!"

"Goooood!" Desmond replied, pushing Vince's bod back on the massage table.

"Mmm," Vince forgot all about Kyle's rude phone call.

Before Vince could voice anymore opinion of the matter he was groaning in
ecstasy as Desmond climbed up on the table and used his lips to massage
Vince's hardware.

"Mmmm... I get to taste some more of your sweet deliciousness!" Desmond
made comment of Vince's hard meat sticking up from his hairy pubes.

"Whoa-whoooooa there," Vince backed off.

"I thought you liked the way I tantalized your manly-hood?"

"I did. Do," Vince said after backing away. "But after filling your stomach
and your ass I'm kind of... depleted?"

Getting up, Desmond smiled, his hand juggling Vince's orbs. "Then maybe we
will have to think about refilling them?"

Farthest thing from his mind was his current interest, Breaux Montesant,
but Breaux wouldn't be awarded sainthood either, the model hooking up with
another model, after a photo shoot at Columbus Circle.

"Ahhhhhhh," Breaux "Oh my fuckin'......." he gasped as he lay face down on
the soft, satin sheets, his legs parted and an accomplice to the fucking
session above, then the moment of ecstasy, a cock being gently worked up
into his ass crevice. He bragged about how this was the best fucking he's
ever had!

%

No matter how much swerving Swifty applied to his driving, they weren't
moving fast enough. Kyle wasn't getting on Swifty's nerves, but Alex had
plenty to say, "Would you `please' leave the driving up to him, Kyle, for
God's sake!"

It only served to make the twenty-five year old driver grit his teeth in
laughter, a pat to Alex's knee and saying, "Cool your jets Alex. It's no
sweat. I like have this innate ability to tune him out!"

Alex looked to his thigh, where Swifty's hand had just been placed. Even
with Kyle carrying on and all the commotion, he still thought about how he
wasn't getting ticked off. Here he had met Swifty not more than two hours
ago and he has felt like he's known him since birth!

"Hold on to your lug nuts!" Swifty called out.

For the first time since they started out, Alex giggled when Swifty's sharp
left turn made Kyle bounce to the side of the vehicle. At least it shut him
up!

But not for long as Kyle saw the big lit up sign, `St. Vincent's Hospital',
him uttering, "Can't you go any faster?"

"Coming right up!"

"Oh shit! Nooooooo!" Alex called out as Swifty seemed to take on all of
Manhattan's traffic, making an illegal left, u-turn no less to align his
vehicle up with the front of the hospital. When they came to a halt, Alex
barked half-seriously, "Don't you `ever' do that again Swifty without
warning me!"

"Okay. No problem," Swifty remarked, turning to Alex with a smile.

Before either one of them could say anything, Kyle had flew the coop.

"Go on," Swifty says to Alex.

"You don't mind?"

"Nah. Cute guy you got there," Swifty compliments Alex.

"Oh. I guess I forgot to mention to you I had a boyfriend?"

"You didn't need to Alex. Somehow all along I sensed it. Now you better get
going before you lose him."

"You're one in a million, Swifty," Alex said before he gave Swifty a peck
on the cheek and made his getaway.

But it wasn't the last they saw of Swifty. In fifteen minutes time, he had
caught up with them outside the ICU where Asaf and Joey remained
hospitalized, unconsious. Seeing Kyle with his arm around another guy,
Swifty snuck up to Alex, put his hand on his shoulder and asks, "So how's
everybody doing?"

"I thought you left?" Alex inquired, as he turned his head to the side.

"Where have I got to go but home to a lonely townhouse?"

"Better than hanging out in a hospital waiting room, though?" Alex asks.

Then Swifty mentions, "Too noisy in here. Y'know they've got a private
waiting room for `special' visitors?"

"And how would you know?"

It suddenly wiped the humorous flavor from Swifty's face.

"Something wrong?"

"Nah. Never mind," Swifty replied. Going over to the desk almost
immediately Swifty received red carpet treatment. Handed a key, he led the
small entourage off to a room which reeked of a more elegant climate than
the ordinary waiting room clientele.

"Swanky," Alex says. But they couldn't get into much of a circle of chat,
Kyle and Jacov going up to the private desk and wanting information on
Chris' condition.

Before too long, in waltzes Raul Quintana. Kyle and Jacov were off on their
own, still trying to get something out of the desk clerk. Much to Alex's
surprise, Swifty takes after Raul as if a dog on a scent.

"How you doing? Long time, no see?" He greets Raul.

Alex's eyebrows go up as the two embrace.

In a phony, heavy Spanish accent Raul says, "I thought maybe you didn't
like Puerto Ricans anymore!"

Alex smiles when Swifty kisses the guy on the neck, under the chin and
other side of his neck.

"Don't get all mushy on me Swifty!" Raul bawls him out.

It was apparent to Alex that the guy Swifty was kissing up to wasn't
`out'. But then he switched his opinion when he reached inside Swifty's
jogging jacket and made Swifty swoon.

Alex broke in with, "Um, do I get an introduction here?"

Raul automatically responds, "Hmmm, have you got yourself a dish here,
Swifty!" His eyes rolled over Alex.

"What're you trying to do Raul? Get me into trouble with his boyfriend?"

Having reason to smile, Alex pointed out, "The blonde over there. He's
mine!"

In acknowledgement, Raul cut through the middle of the room and greeted,
"Kyle. How's it goin'?"

He was slowly drawing together all the facts, Alex realizing first, Swifty
and Raul having a past `occurance', then some kind of friendly past
encounter with his lover. He confronted Raul and Kyle with, "Somebody want
to clue me into what's going on around here?"

Kyle thought Alex meant news of Chris. "He's in recovery. The desk nurse
said we can probably see him tomorrow morning. What do you think we should
do Alex?"

But it was Swifty who took the helm. "That's nonsense!"

While Kyle formally introduced Raul to Alex, they watched Swifty take on
the desk clerk.

"He's not going to settle for this," Raul makes comment.

"Settle for what?" Alex asks.

"Swifty. The desk clerk. He's giving Swifty a tough time, but if I know
Swifty... oh yeah. He's finally getting some results!"

It was like a play by play call of football, Raul calling it, as if he were
reading Swifty's mind. Then when Swifty approaches them, without shame Raul
confronts Swifty, "So what'd you have to promise him?"

After clearing his throat, Swifty tells them, "A threeway of which you are
strongly urged to attend?"

"Not me?" Alex asked because Swifty was looking at him.

"No. Not you Alex. Him," Swifty nods over his shoulder, "Raul and me!"

Raul didn't have his doubts as to whom Swifty meant. Fact is, he was more
paying attention to the muscle-god behind the counter, the two already
exchanging looks as if talking a silent, secret language. Raul started
getting pitter patters between his legs, thinking of the muscle-god up his
ass while Swifty feeding his straw down his throat!

Alex fumbled with his cell phone, taking it out of his tight jeans pocket
when a Mozartian tune began playing. "Hello?" he asked into the phone, then
pushed a key, asked again, "Hello? Yeah? Yeah? Oh hi Devon!" his greeting
came highly motivated, not hearing from Devon nor Dominic in what seemed a
dog's age.

%

Copyright 2009 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.....