Date: Tue, 1 Dec 2015 21:55:53 -0500
From: rw6789@aol.com
Subject: "A Trial Of Strength" - Part 288  by Rob Williams

A TRIAL OF STRENGTH - PART 288
By Rob Williams

IN THIS CHAPTER: Brandon's fantasy is one top man getting worked over by
another.  When Pete punishes Zack, the naked muscle-stud is roped to a tree
like a slave at auction. Then Brandon gets to watch Grady, as Tarzan, film
a fight scene at the studio.  "The camera pulls back on a homoerotic shot
of the naked Tarzan lying beaten in the dirt as an off-camera voice snarls,
`Am I gonna enjoy torturing you, ape-man'."

*******************************


Chapter 288 – THE TRIALS OF ZACK & GRADY


Zack was paying the price for his uncontrolled fury after he discovered
that his boy Darius had disobeyed the rules and got fucked by an outsider,
a guy from the leather bar he frequented.

The raging leather master first banished Darius from his sight, a move that
most of the tribe viewed as too savage.  As brave young Brandon had told
Zack to his face, "That punishment was way over the top, sir."  For that
advice Brandon was treated to an irate stream of insults from Zack and
pushed out of his wheelchair.

Bob got much the same verbal abuse when he tried to reason with Zack and he
too was knocked to the ground, much to the fury of the ever-protective
Randy.

Zack eventually relented and downgraded his boy's punishment to a ritual
display of physical punishment which Darius stoically endured, to the
admiration of the whole tribe.  But when it was all over and Zack's rage
subsided, he knew that he had over-reacted, and he set out to make amends
to the guys he had abused, starting with Darius.

The master/boy roles were reversed and, in an erotic series of sex acts,
Darius had made his master submit to him. It was the boy's ultimate fantasy
of a muscular top-man sobbing in defeat, spread-eagled in bondage, his ass
impaled on his boy's massive rod.  Zack had at last atoned to his boy in a
dramatic way, which had the effect of drawing them even closer than ever.

Next morning Zack went to the master suite and confessed to Randy how he
had assaulted Bob, resulting in a major fight powered by the raging
testosterone of two powerful alpha males.  Bob intervened and Zack's
ultimate punishment was to get double-fucked by both huge cocks.

When it was over Zack sighed, "That was intense, guys.  Maybe I'll insult
Bob a few more times just to get double-teamed again."  Randy grinned,
"Don't push your luck, buddy.  Next time we'll invite Mark and go for a
triple.  Hey, I'm fucking starved.  You think those twins have got food on
the table?"

Not only was Sunday Brunch on the table but most of the men and boys were
round it, waiting impatiently for the three men to appear.  When at last
they did it was obvious from their smiles that peace was restored and they
were greeted by cheers and whistles. Mark strode up to them and said, "Well
done, guys.  At least no one murdered anyone."

"Close, though," Bob laughed in a round of fist bumps and bear hugs.  Randy
and Zack grinned at each other with a long, bone-crushing handshake.  Their
respect, admiration and love had been restored, stronger than ever –
brothers under the skin.

"One bridge mended," Pablo whispered to Darius, "one more to go."

As if reading his mind Zack asked, "Hey, where are Pete and Brandon?"

"Still up in their bungalow, sir," Darius said.  "They're gardening –
putting the final touches to the landscaping Mario did for them.  They'll
be down later."  Zack glanced at Darius then at Bob and they both knew what
was going through his mind.

At that moment behind their bungalow Pete and Brandon were weeding the
garden, working contentedly side by side, their faces and hands streaked
with dirt.  Pete smiled at his boy.  "I have a strong feeling we won't be
left alone for long, boy."

"Zack, sir?"

"Hell, I always forget how smart you are, kid.  Yeah, Zack.  I know he
feels real bad about what he said to you, the way he treated you –
kicking your chair over and all.  But he's a good guy and he'll be itching
to make amends and do penance."  He smiled quizzically at Brandon.  "But I
think I'll leave the choice to you what happens to him, so start thinking
about it."

"Oh, I don't need to think, sir.  I already know exactly what I want from
Zack.  Yeah, I've known that for a long time.  All I need, sir, is your
approval."

*************************************

Pete agreed heartily – he could never refuse his boy – and he even
made a few preliminary preparations.  It wasn't long before their
prediction came true and they heard the crunch of tires on gravel outside
their house.

A few seconds later Zack strode into the garden and Brandon gasped.  The
rugged muscle hunk looked awesome in his usual black jeans and boots, and
an old greasy tank top hanging over his sculpted chest.  With his gleaming
ebony skin, shaved head and piercing gray eyes he was a homoerotic icon of
a tough construction boss.

One feature that didn't fit, however, was the expression on his face.  Far
from dominant it was apprehensive, nervous even.  Sensing his anxiety Pete
went up to Zack and shook his hand warmly.  "Hey, good to see you, buddy.
We were kind of expecting you."

Zack cleared his throat, "You won't be so pleased to see me when you hear
what I've got to tell you, Pete."

"Hey, if it's about you and Brandon I already know.  My boy hides nothing
from me – he told me every detail."  Zack was taken aback and glanced
anxiously at Brandon as Pete continued.  "But Brandon puts it all down to
your anger and confusion over what Darius did and, as he says, `no bones
broken'."

"No, that won't do.  See, like everyone, I love your kid, Pete, and I wince
every time I think of what I said and did to him ... and he was only trying
to be helpful.  He helped me see reason and without him I might not have
made peace with my boy.  What I did was way out of line and I can't leave
here without making amends of some kind."

"Sir," Brandon said, "don't sweat it.  I already know just what I want and
Pete has given his permission.  So why don't we just cut to the chase?"

Zack looked at Pete with a half-smile, impressed as always by the boy's
boldness.  "OK, Brandon, I'm in your hands."

"First," Brandon said, "I don't want anyone to get really hurt.  There's
been way too much pain going around lately.  Also, even though I was cool
with what you did to me, my master was not so he's the one who should take
revenge as well as me."

"OK," Zack said, "so what do I do, man?"

"You leave everything to Pete.  He's in charge."

Pete faced Zack close up with his back to Brandon and murmured with a grin,
"I guess we got our orders, big guy."  Brandon didn't hear that and when
Pete turned round his smile had been replaced by a stern expression.  He
knew exactly what Brandon wanted.

Like most of the other boys Brandon's biggest fantasy was the thought of a
muscle-hunk alpha male getting tied up and worked over by another.  He
often jerked off thinking about it and had told Pete he wanted to see the
real thing.  It would be even more exciting with his master Pete as the top
man and the muscular black construction worker as the captive.

But Brandon also knew that a simulated act of retribution, with all the
appearance of ferocity and suffering but without real pain, could be even
more erotic than the real thing.  He had learned about that in the past
when he used to watch wrestling videos and jerked off to staged, homoerotic
images of muscle hunks seemingly howling in painful submission holds.

That explained his insistence that `nobody gets hurt', and why he had no
fears as he pulled back a few feet, locked his wheelchair and watched, his
hand already stroking the bulge in his pants.

Zack stood in the middle of the garden awaiting his fate.  Pete had
prepared for this (under Brandon's guidance) and now picked up the loose
end of a long rope whose other end was tied round a branch of a tree some
ten feet away.  Pete tied the loose end round Zack's bull neck and the big
man's reflexive reaction was to try to pull the rope away from his neck
with his hands.  Failing that, he walked forward until the rope tightened
and he tugged at it with his neck like an animal jerking to get free.

Brandon could see the erotic scene taking shape and he pulled his cock out
of his shorts.  He stroked it intermittently, careful not to cum as he
watched the domination scene unfold.  Pete picked up a shorter length of
rope and tied Zack's hands behind his back.  Pete's final act of preparing
his captive was to rip his tank top off his back so the shredded remains
hung down from his waist.

"Holy shit," Brandon muttered and his imagination went into overdrive.  He
fantasized that the muscular black construction boss had been captured,
stripped half naked and tied to a tree to be sold as a slave.

Brandon held his breath as the prisoner tested the ropes, jerking his head
forward, trying to break the rope round his neck, at the same time pulling
hard in a futile attempt to separate his wrists behind him.  With the
remains of his shirt hanging from his waist Zack's upper body was on full
display, his shoulders bulging, chest and abs flexed hard, his handsome
face grimacing as he tugged at the rope round his neck.

It was a spectacular, pornographic image for Brandon – the powerful
construction worker stripped to the waist in beltless black jeans and
boots, bound helplessly in humiliating captivity.

Pete went into the house and came back brandishing a whip, a cat o' nine
tails with its dozen braids of rawhide.  A cat was perfect for lashing a
man without causing too much pain.  Pete pushed the whip handle sideways in
Zack's mouth, like a bridle-bit in a horse's mouth, then walked over beside
Brandon, his hand resting on his shoulder.

They gazed at the incredible sight of the shirtless construction boss with
the rippling black muscles, chiseled features and shaved head, his stubbled
jaw biting down on the whip, his gray eyes glaring at them defiantly.  It
was classic pornographic art, a macho, musclehunk top man roped to a tree,
like a slave being sold at auction.

Pete squeezed his boy's shoulder.  "How's that look, kid?  Is that what you
wanted?"

"I'll say."  Brandon was spellbound.  "It's a perfect fantasy, sir.  So
gorgeous, so sexy.  I could have come a dozen times already."

"Don't shoot yet, boy.  It gets better."  Brandon pulled Pete's head down
and whispered in his ear, "Don't hurt him, sir."

Pete walked back to Zack, pulled the whip from his mouth and tapped it in
the palm of his hand.  "You attacked my boy, asshole.  Now he wants to see
the construction boss get worked over."

"Fuck you, man," Zack growled.

"No," Pete grinned maliciously, "fuck you."  Pete pulled off his T-shirt
and flexed his muscled torso, looking formidable stripped down to his
workpants and boots, his handsome face streaked with dirt from the garden.
He cracked the whip on the ground and said, "Brace yourself, stud."

He went behind Zack, raised his hand, and lashed the whip against the bound
man's bare back, hard enough to sting painfully.  Zack cursed, "Fucking
bastard!" and instinctively stepped forward and arched his back to escape
the whip, until the rope jerked his head back.  Brandon's cock pulsed and
he almost lost his load as the next lash landed harder and this time the
roped muscle-god howled in pain.

It was an incredible sight, the brawny, shirtless construction boss bucking
and writhing to get free, like a shiny black stallion rearing up wild eyed
under the lash, pulling at the rope round his neck.  Then the Ranger came
round to face the struggling man and whipped the slabs of his pecs.  Pete
yelled, "All you have to do is submit to me, man – surrender to me and
my boy.

"Go fuck yourself, Ranger ... aaagh!"  Zack howled as Pete alternately
whipped his back and chest.

Although Brandon trusted Pete he was applying increased force and tears
were brimming in Zack's eyes so the boy didn't want this to go on too long.
But he was dazzled as his gaze swept down from Zack's grimacing face, down
his roped neck and whip-striped pecs, over his ripped abs, his slim waist
and ... Brandon gasped as he saw the long rod-shaped bulge under Zack's
jeans.  His dick was rock hard!  The pain of the lash on his flesh had
given him a raging boner.

The sight of his massive bulge, and the very idea of a macho alpha male
getting turned on by being tied up and whipped, fascinated Brandon and he
moved hypnotically forward.  He looked up at Zack's face thrashing from
side to side and said to Pete, "Sir, would it be a submission if he busts
his load, sir?"

"Damn right, boy," Pete growled.  "Whipping a top-man into an orgasm is the
most humiliating surrender there is.  But this guy's tough ... he can take
everything I throw at him."

Brandon grinned, his eyes shining.  "But he's not tough enough for me, sir.
I was trained by the best."  He reached up, ripped open Zack's jeans and
pulled them down over his ass, dodging the steel shaft that sprang up
erect.  "No..." Zack moaned.  He looked down at the salivating mouth and
tugged again at his bound wrists, his shoulders bulging with the strain.
"I can't take that ... no ...!"

The construction worker's protests excited Brandon's lust even more and he
went to work at what he did best.  He pressed his cheek against long black
club, then opened his mouth and swallowed every inch of it.  Pete directed
the whip at Zack's exposed ass and at the first lash Zack yelled and
reflexively jerked forward, ramming his cock deeper down the boy's throat.
Brandon didn't gag once.  Eddie had trained him to gulp, breath through his
nose and squeeze his throat muscles hard round the cock as it pulled back.

Zack was driven wild as the twin globes of his ass bounced under the lash
of the master, while his boy sucked on his cock.  In a trance he heard the
Ranger's dominant voice.  "Maybe you can endure the lash, big guy, but you
gotta surrender to my boy's mouth working that shaft of yours.  You're
finished, man ... beaten by a boy."

Although he still resisted Zack knew his climax was only a matter of time.
But Brandon tormented him by squeezing his cock in his throat and bringing
him to the brink of orgasm, then suddenly relaxing and denying him the
release he craved.  His cock was trapped in the boy's mouth and his ass
cheeks were on fire, striped by the marks of the whip.

The near-naked construction boss, straining in bondage, his pants round his
knees, was desperate to bust his load and his defiance collapsed.  "I gotta
cum, man," he groaned, "you're driving me crazy.  Make me cum, boy
... please, I'm begging you.  I submit, sir.  Aaaagh...!"

Pete delivered one last, heavy lash across his ass, he jerked forward and
his cock buried itself in Brandon's throat, exploding deep inside with a
torrent of hot sperm.  Brandon pulled back, then pistoned forward again,
squeezing another stream of jizz that the boy gulped down like nectar from
a god.  Which, to Brandon, it was.

**********************************

Zack gazed down at the boy's face beaming up at him, blinking hard behind
his black-rimmed glasses.  His mouth was open wide, white juice running
from the corners and down his chin, tongue hanging out and panting hard
like a grateful dog after eating his food.

Zack was starting to relax after getting ass-whipped and cock-sucked at the
same time.  He grinned down at Brandon and said, "You finished with me
boy?"

"Yes, sir, but I hope you haven't finished with me, sir.  I want you to
fuck me in the ass."

"What, with this?"  Zack shook his hips and his long, limp cock waved in
front of Brandon's face.  "Hell, I just blasted a massive load down your
throat.  And you want me to fuck your ass!?"

"Oh, no problem there, sir.  I can make you hard in seconds."  Zack looked
desperately at Pete who simply shrugged, "He can too.  I speak from
experience."

Brandon bent his face under Zack's swinging cock, sucked in the head and
then the entire length.  This time there was no force, no torment, only a
gentle deep-throated massage that caressed his cock and roused Zack even
more than the pounding had.  Brandon felt Zack's cock stiffen and grow
steadily harder until it was the iron rod it had been a minute ago.  The
boy's boast was proven and he smiled up in triumph.  "Will you fuck me now,
sir?  Please."

Pete moved behind Zack and untied his wrists.  Then he cut the long rope to
the tree, freeing Zack but leaving a short length round his neck as a
reminder to Brandon of the slave image.  Zack looked at Pete who nodded his
consent.  Zack kicked off his boots and pulled his jeans all the way off.

He towered over Brandon whose imagination again took flight.  What he saw
in his fantasy was the naked black muscle hunk with the slave rope round
his neck, still being sold at auction.  The master was buying him for his
boy as his sex stud, and was testing him now to make sure he pleased the
boy.

Zack bent down and scooped Brandon from his wheelchair into his arms and
carried him under the shade of the tree.  He laid him gently on the ground
on his back, then stood astride him, stroking his dick that was already
well lubed by Brandon's blow-job.  "You sure you want this big club in your
ass, boy?"

"Yes please, sir."

The naked muscle-stud knelt between Brandon's legs, hooked them over his
shoulders and looked down at his exposed butt.  "A fine ass you got there,
boy.  And I'm gonna bury my thick black rod inside it."  He pressed his
dick between the boy's ass cheeks and pushed slowly.  Brandon took deep
breaths and gazed into the hypnotic gray eyes as he felt the man's huge
shaft penetrating him.

"Aaah," he sighed.  "That feels awesome.  Please, sir, fuck me and make me
cum."

"Right, but you're not to touch yourself.  You won't need that."

There followed a long, slow, gentle fuck session that again ignited
Brandon's fantasies, enhanced by the rope round the man's thick neck.
Again it was the black slave on trial, proving he could satisfy the
master's boy and serve as his permanent sex slave, on call whenever Brandon
needed his massive dick.

Zack knew from his glazed eyes that the boy was deep into his own fantasy,
no doubt starring Zack himself.  So he played up to it with his piercing
gaze, his clenched jaw, flexed muscles and his insistent rod sliding ever
deeper into is ass.

Brandon was in fantasy heaven, gazing at the beautiful slave.  The dappled
sunlight coming through the tree played over his perfect body, his
square-jawed features and shaved head.  The man was his, to fuck him and
make love to him whenever Brandon wanted it ... which he would all the
time.  He reached up to touch the rugged face, then the rope round his
neck, pulling on it each time the cock ploughed into his ass, setting the
rhythm of the mounting fuck.

It was the whole fantasy, coupled with the euphoria of the man's shaft
filling his ass, that sent Brandon over the top.  Zack grabbed the boy's
wrists, leaned forward and pressed them on the ground.  The deep voice said
to him, "Now you're my prisoner, boy.  Your arms are pinned to the ground
and your ass is impaled on my dick.  And now you're gonna unload your jizz.
I know you're ready boy ... I can feel it."

He pulled all the way back, paused, then slowly slid his massive cock
inside him, all the while saying, "Cum for me boy ... let me see your sweet
juice.  I love you, boy.  I love you."

Brandon's fantasy reached its climax.  The beautiful slave, hired just as a
sex-stud, had fallen in love with the master's boy ... and the boy with
him.  The rest of the world fell away and all Brandon saw was the man, all
he felt was the rod in his ass and a loving warmth consuming his body.
"I'm cumming, sir," he said, transfixed by Zack's eyes.  "You're making me
cum.  It feels so good ... sooo good ... aah ... aah ... yeah ... yeah
... here it comes ... aaagh!"

His cock shuddered and spurted ribbons of semen straight up, splashing on
Zack's chest and abs, then more over his own body.  Zack pulled his cock
out, stood up and pointed it down at Brandon, while Pete came close,
stroking his dick.

Zack grinned at Pete and said, "Shall we let him have it?"

"Why not?" Pete chuckled.  "About time we showed the punk who's boss."

Brandon looked up wide-eyed and took off his gasses as two streams of cum
splashed down on his face and chest, then more in his mouth making him
swallow a flood of semen.  Getting drenched by the juice of two masters,
Brandon started to laugh uncontrollably, releasing all the pent-up
exhilaration of fantasy sex with the magnificent Zack and his very own
master, Pete.

**************************************

The men lay on the grass beside Brandon who, between his laughter, said
"Sir, I don't mind getting rolled out of my chair again if it results in
this every time.  I'd end up bruised but happy."

"Hey," Zack laughed, "what about me?  Not sure I wanna get my ass whipped
every day by your master here."

"Yeah, and next time it'll be the real deal," Pete said.  "I got a bullwhip
in the house, ya know.  So you finally satisfied, kid?  You sure got your
money's worth from Zack.  But I still think I gotta get a reward for you of
my own.  I'll look out for something real special."

"Maybe I can help out there, guys."  Of all people it was Grady coming
through the trees with a six-pack of beer. They all greeted him cheerfully
as he went on, "Sorry to interrupt, guys, but I saw that you were
finished."  He blushed.  "OK, I'll come clean.  I was coming home from the
studio and was passing your house so I thought I'd drop by with an idea
that you might go for.  I brought this as a peace offering."  He put the
six-pack down beside them.

"But I guess I got here too soon and ..." he blushed deeper.  "Hell, you
know me, guys – I can never resist gorgeous men.  So... well, I'm sorry
guys but I stuck around and watched `til you'd finished.  I'm glad I did
`cos, holy shit, that was one hell of a scene – the whipping, the blow
job and then that crazy fuck.  Man, it was so hot it got my fantasies
working overtime."

There was a pause as the three men looked up at him expectantly.  Grady
grinned his affable grin.  "What?  You want details?

"Yeah!" they all said in chorus.  "Duh!" Brandon added, which pretty much
said it ll.

"Hey, you know me, guys.  I got no secrets.  OK, here goes.  The sight of
Zack, stripped to the waist, tied by the neck to a tree, his hands tied
behind his back – well, he has to be a slave at auction.  He gets
whipped by the master and sucked off by the master's boy and forced to
submit.  That gave me another idea – the master was gonna buy him as a
sex-stud for his boy."

Grady warmed to his story.  "The trial run was sensational.  The slave
fucked the boy, and when he shot his load and yelled `I love you, boy,'
well that fantasy blew me away.  See, the big musclehunk, whipped and sold
as a sex slave for the master's boy, had fallen in love with the boy!  And
the boy, arrogant at first, fell in love with his slave.  Wow, pity it
ended there.  Someone should write a story about that ... has all sorts of
possibilities.  I'll probably jerk off imagining about what happens to them
next."

Grady grinned and blushed again.  "Kinda crazy, uh?" he asked.  "OK, I know
– I've been watching too many movies.  But you did ask, and no one else
would think up a story like that."

"Oh wouldn't they, sir?" Brandon asked shyly and blushed bright red.
Suddenly they all knew that Brandon's fantasy had been much the same and
Grady grinned at him.  "You too, eh kiddo?  We should get together and swap
fantasies – maybe act them out.  Anyway," he laughed, "enough of that
craziness.  It brings me to the reason I dropped in."

They all took a swig of beer and Grady flashed his dazzling smile.  "See,
the studio lets me bring a guest to the set from time to time, provided
it's not a closed set.  Well I was impressed by the way Brandon intervened
in that mess with you and Darius, Zack, so as a kind of reward, I thought I
would invite him to the set tomorrow, provided he gets permission from you,
Pete, and Jamie gives him the time off work.

Brandon's eyes opened like saucers behind his glasses.  "Me, go to the
studio to see you work?  Sir, that would be awesome."  Then, turning to
Pete, "You think it would be OK, sir?"

"I don't see why not."  Pete laughed.  "Look guys, how could anyone say no
to that face?"

"But sir, what about my buddies?  I wouldn't want them to be left out."

No sweat," Grady said, "their turn will come.  But I prefer to keep it one
at a time, `cos you have to keep real quiet and there are often long waits
while they set up.  If we had you `three amigos' there together you'd get
so bored you'd end up gabbing like you always do.  But, as Adam would say,
`no worries there, mate'.  I'll take Eddie and Ben in the next couple of
weeks.

"The reason I suggested tomorrow for you is that I only have a few pick up
scenes – mostly swinging from the vines and a fight scene with the
soldiers, so my call time isn't until noon.  You can drive me to the studio
and then home again as you've often done before, and while I work, what
more natural than that my driver waits for me?  So kiddo, you up for that?"

Duh – was he up for it?  Brandon's mind was racing already.  "Thank you,
sir.  Watching Tarzan at work?  Wow.  I'll check with Jamie and if it's a
go I'll pick you up at 11:30, sir."

After big hugs with all three men Brandon raced off in his wheelchair to
spread the news.  The men finished their beers and Zack said, "He's one
hell of a kid, Pete.  I never met anyone with such erotic fantasies as him
... except maybe for you, stud," he grinned, raising his bottle in a toast
to Grady.  "Guess that's what comes of being an actor."

Pete said, "Brandon and his buddies are always talking about the mysteries
of a film studio and now he'll get to see it and no doubt make fantasies of
it.  I'm real grateful to you, Grady."

"Ah, think nothing of it, Pete.  How about we go down to the big house and
get some chow?  Sunday brunch down there always seems to last right through
the afternoon."

************************************

Brandon was way ahead of them as his wheelchair sped down the hill.  The
other boys knew that Zack had gone to "make amends" to Brandon and when the
gate crashed open and he shouted, "Hey, guys, you'll never guess ..." they
mobbed him.

Darius took command and organized them in a circle, listening breathlessly
to Brandon's description of Zack's bondage scene, embellishing it with his
own slave auction fantasies, climaxing in the slave fucking him and falling
in love.

"But there's something else, guys, and we're all in for a treat."  He told
them of Grady's offer and explained that it had to be one at a time and
they would all get to visit the studio in the next few weeks.  He was going
tomorrow, depending on ...  He pulled Jamie aside and said, "Sorry if I got
ahead of myself there, sir. (Jamie smiled inwardly.  When Brandon called
him `sir' it usually meant he had a favor to ask.).  "Of course I won't go
unless I can get the afternoon off work."

Jamie made a pretense of considering the matter and said, "Well, work's
gonna be pretty slow tomorrow and it's one of Eddie's days in the office
... so sure, I guess I can spare you, dude.  Have a great time."

"Thanks, Jamie..."  (The favor granted, the `sir' disappeared.)  "You're
the best boss a guy ever had."

**********************************

Brandon felt butterflies in his stomach the next day as he drove Grady down
to Warner Studios in Burbank.  Not only was the muscle-jock's closeness
enough to make him nervous but he was afraid the studio might be
overwhelming.  And it turned out he was right. The movie was a major
production, taking over the biggest sound stage, some adjoining stages and
the Jungle Lagoon.

When Jason led Brandon through the doors he gasped.  The whole cavernous
space had been transformed into a jungle setting – trees hung with vines
and a huge tank disguised as a jungle pool.  Grady had explained that they
would be spending three weeks on location in Guatemala to get real jungle
shots, but most of the close-up work would be shot here.  Sound, lighting
and cinematography were much more easily controlled on a sound stage, Grady
said.

Brandon's intimidation quickly disappeared as Grady led him through the
busy studio and was greeted with ribald shouts of affection.  "Hey, Tarz,
how come you're wearing a shirt today?  Thought your contract insisted on
shirtless.  Studio gotta get its money's worth out of that perfect bod."

Grady laughed, "I brought my buddy Brandon today to see what a grizzly
bunch of deadbeats are working this movie.  He circled a clenched fist high
in the air and yelled, "Say hi to Brandon, guys."

"Hi, Brandon!!"  The response was deafening and Brandon grinned broadly and
raised both thumbs in the air.  Many in the crew were thinking how typical
it was of the compassionate Grady to befriend a boy in a wheelchair.

They went into his dressing room where Grady took off his shirt.  "Better
give them what they want," he grinned.  Then he dropped his shorts and was
standing naked when there was a tap on the door and two women came in.  "Oh
no," one gasped with fake horror, "a naked man!"  She was gazing through
parted fingers and pretended to drool.

Then they laughed, "Hi Brandon, Doris and Cathy from wardrobe.  And we
brought today's costume, Grady.  Surprise, surprise."  She held up a scrap
of rawhide – Tarzan's loin cloth.  "For all the millions being spent on
this movie it sure ain't going into Grady's wardrobe.  `Course, I suggested
doing away with the loincloth altogether.  The real Tarzan was probably
naked anyway, like his ape buddies.  Besides, it would double the
box-office."  Doris sighed mournfully.  "But I was overruled."

Brandon got a sense of the crew's giddy mood as the two women fitted the
loincloth carefully.  He could think of many guys who would pay good money
to have this job.  "Don't want any wardrobe malfunctions," Cathy said.
"Though it would send the box office through the roof."

"Right," Grady said, "hair and makeup next."  Now Brandon got a real look
at how Grady was the center of this universe as people gathered round him,
tousling his hair to perfection and applying makeup to his face and body,
complete with streaks of dirt and scratches.

Finally Grady was called to the set and Brandon's heart beat faster as he
sat in the shadows and watched his hero prepare for battle – a few more
takes of the fight scene the director had called for.  The first shot was
the most difficult one, a move Grady had rehearsed endlessly with the two
muscular stuntmen playing soldiers in olive tank tops and military
fatigues.  Even with the best preparation there was some risk of injury but
Grady insisted on doing the stunt himself to add more authenticity.

Brandon watched him climb a ladder to a platform that was disguised as a
tree branch, and he grabbed a rope that looked just like a thick vine.
"You ready Grady?" the director asked.  Grady nodded tensely.  "OK," the
director shouted.  "Quiet please ... aaand ... Action!"

One of the soldiers came out from the trees, stumbled forward and stopped
on his mark near the sand at the edge of the pool.  Brandon held his
breath, watching nervously as the jungle man suddenly swung down from the
tree straight at the soldier and wrapped his muscled thighs round the
soldier's chest.

The momentum propelled them forward and they fell on the sand and rolled
over into the shallow water, wrestling, punching, struggling for the
advantage.  Tarzan pulled up on his knees straddling the soldier's chest
and hammered at his face and chest.  He was clearly the victor ... until
the second soldier/stuntman came running from the jungle and, holding his
rifle lengthwise at both ends, pressed it from behind against Tarzan's
throat, savagely pulling him to his feet.

Grady screamed and frantically tried to pull the rifle from his neck, his
face and body streaked with sand and dirt, his muscles bulging with effort.
But the pressure increased, supposedly cutting off his breath until it
seemed he was near to collapse.  The soldier released the rifle, leaving
Tarzan dazed and disoriented, his arms hanging limply at his sides.

The first soldier got to his feet, raised his arm and slammed the back of
his fist against Tarzan's cheek, making his rugged face jerk sideways with
an agonized yell.  His body spun round, only to meet the second soldier who
smashed his fist against the tortured man's other cheek.

Brandon tensed as he watched the soldiers take pleasure in alternately
thrashing him.  The handsome, muscular jungle man, naked except for a
loincloth, was spinning helplessly round the clearing under the rain of
blows, limp as a rag doll.  His sculpted body suffered mightily but he
stayed on his feet.

The agony continued until the soldiers tired of their sport and one of them
taunted, "Go down man.  You know you're finished.  You're beaten ... go
down."  He rammed the butt of his rifle into Tarzan's stomach, making him
double over with a final agonized howl and crash to the ground, face down
in the water.  The soldier towered over him, hooked his boot under him and
kicked him over on his back, out of the water.

The handheld camera hovered over the unconscious Tarzan, his body covered
in dirt and sand. Suddenly there was the discordant intrusion of two makeup
girls running in to paint realistic bruises on his body and face.  They
disappeared and the camera continued to roam over the unconscious hero,
like it was making love to the magnificent muscle-god lying broken on the
ground.  Then it pushed in slowly on his face that was sagging to one side.

Brandon had a view of a monitor close by and he gazed in awe at a Grady he
had never seen before.  It wasn't Grady – it was Tarzan, lying bruised
and battered on the ground, thrashed senseless by two brutal soldiers.

The camera pulled back slowly, far enough to show a full length, homoerotic
shot of the naked muscle-god spread-eagled motionless in the dirt.  A deep
off-camera voice growled savagely, "Shit, am I gonna enjoy torturing you,
ape-man."  The final shot was of the soldiers dragging Tarzan's limp body
across the clearing to a tree.

And that's when Brandon lost his load.  He had pulled his tray table down
low and he was in the shadows, so nobody noticed him stroking his straining
bulge, or heard his muted gasp as he creamed his shorts.  The pornographic
sight of the battered Tarzan had finally been too much.  Fortunately the
boy's heavy breathing also went unnoticed under the director's shout –
"Cut!"

***************************************

Even though Brandon knew it was all acting he was still taken by surprise
when Grady jumped to his feet and shook hands with the stuntmen.  One of
them said, "Sorry about that right to the jaw, Grady.  It wasn't meant to
connect ... my timing was off.  You OK?"

Grady grasped his jaw and jiggled it from side to side.  "Ah, no sweat,
dude.  Just needs to be reset – three or four weeks in the hospital
... production shuts down ... and you pay the medical bills.  Other than
that, no harm done."

"Asshole," the stuntman grinned.  "You had me going for a minute there.
Shouldn't do that me, dude – I have a weak heart."

`Yeah, I noticed," Grady chuckled with a fake punch to the chest.  The
director's voice sounded over the chatter.  "OK, guys that was great.  We
don't need to go again on that one.  We already have several takes of that
scene, but that was the best, the one we print.  But I want a few more
takes on the torture scene.  We're a bit short on coverage and I wanna be
safe."

Grady dragged his director's chair, with his name on the back, over to
Brandon.  An assistant director threw a dressing gown over his shoulders as
the air conditioning had come on when they stopped shooting.  "So what do
think, kiddo?  That get you off?"  Brandon grinned and raised his tray
table a little, giving Grady a glimpse of the wet patch on his shorts."

Grady threw his head back and laughed.  "Good for you, kid.  I hope you
saved some for the torture scene.  Make the most of it, we'll only do a few
takes.  And don't worry, the whips are fake, made of fabric not rawhide,
though they look real.  Gotta go, looks like they're ready."

Brandon lowered his tray table, grabbed his crotch under it and watched as
Grady slipped his hands through loops on ropes hanging from a tree branch
that pulled his arms up in a V – Tarzan spread-eagled in bondage.  Two
women touched up his makeup, freshening the bruises and painting whip marks
on his chest.  Grady took a moment, closed his eyes, then his face slumped
sideways.

"Quiet please.  And ... action."  The camera was in extreme close-up on
Tarzan's agonized face as he slowly regained consciousness.  It pulled back
slowly to reveal the full muscular figure of a man stripped down to a
loincloth, spread-eagled, tied to a tree, his magnificent whip-striped body
dappled in the light streaming through the leaves.

Brandon's cock jumped as the homoerotic scene unfolded.  There was a
monitor close by and he saw playing on it a scene they had already shot,
from Tarzan's point of view, a blurred image of the two soldiers coming
slowly into focus.  It became clear that they were both carrying stock
whips and were leering brutishly.

They walked toward him and Grady's head fell forward, but one of them
shoved the butt end of his whip handle under his chin and pushed his
exhausted face up.  "Ready to talk, ape man?  You're tough, I'll give you
that – take a lot of punishment.  But we gotta have the location of that
family ... and we'll torture that beautiful body of yours `til we get it."

"Go to hell," Tarzan groaned.  But he screamed in pain as the whipping
began again, one lashing his chest the other his back."  Brandon watched
wide eyed as the near-naked body thrashed from side to side, yelling in
pain, his tortured muscles bouncing under the lash.

When at last they took a break the soldiers stood in front of their bound
captive taunting him.  But suddenly Tarzan inhaled deeply, his jaw clenched
and his eyes blazed.  Howling like a wounded animal he strained at the
ropes, applying all his great strength, his muscles flexing and rippling
with the superhuman effort.  The ropes (pre-cut of course) suddenly began
to fray.

The desperate man pulled himself up, feet off the ground, raised his legs
and slammed his feet against the thugs' chests, sending them sprawling in
the dirt.  Tarzan grabbed the frayed segments of the rope and heaved
himself up and down, jerking at the ropes until they snapped and his feet
touched the ground.  In an instant Tarzan picked up the broken length of
rope still tied to his wrist and rushed the dazed soldiers as they
struggled to their feet.

He wrapped the rope round both their throats and pulled tight.  They
dropped the whips and their arms thrashed wildly.  They managed to land a
few punches on his body, but soon their arms dropped, their eyes bulged and
they slumped into unconsciousness.  The jungle man let go and they fell in
a heap in the dirt.  Towering over them, legs astride, the victor stared up
at the sky, raised his fists in the air, and the jungle rang with the
triumphant Tarzan Yell.

*************************************

"And cut!"  Grady relaxed and pulled the stuntmen to their feet.
"Terrific," the director shouted.  "I think we nailed that one – one of
the movie's highlights.  But I want to go again – a few more takes for
close-ups of the fraying ropes, the faces, and maybe a crane shot of the
whole scene.  Plus more close-ups of the ape man's physique.  We paid for
muscles and we're gonna make the most of them."

"Hey, wait just a goddamn minute here," Grady yelled in mock protest.  "Is
that all I am to you guys – a mindless muscle jock?  I thought there was
a bit more to me than that – something up here, ya know?" tapping his
head with a goofy look on his face.

"Ah," the director moaned.  "Poor Grady's feelings are hurt.  Help him out
guys.  Poor Grady."

"Poor Grady!!"  The noise was deafening as the entire crew joined in,
followed by raucous laughter."

Grady raised both middle fingers in the air, "Fuck you all," he yelled.
"I'm the only one getting his ass whipped out here you know."

"Ah, poor Grady!" rang out again and Grady collapsed with laughter.  "I
love you guys!"

It was at that moment that Brandon realized just how popular Grady was with
the director and the whole crew – just like his popularity at the house.
And this stunning man was actually his friend!  Just one thing though –
he wanted to cum again.  He couldn't let this unique visual fantasy go to
waste.  He was encouraged by the director's words "a few more takes."

Subsequent takes were just like the first to Brandon – and just as
exciting.  Watching the erotic scene over and over again was like watching
a porn movie scene on an endlessly repeating loop like he used to do.  He
was dazzled by the endless torture of the jungle king, his magnificent body
writhing in pain, his incredible escape and ultimate victory.

Brandon held his orgasm back as long as he could but the third time his
friend Grady stood astride the rumpled bodies and raised his fists
triumphantly with the Tarzan Yell, Brandon busted another load in his
shorts.  This time his gasp was audible and he clamped his hand over his
mouth as if stifling a cough, until after the director's "Cut" when he
coughed loudly.  That fooled everyone, all except Grady who flashed a smile
in his direction.

************************************

Grady was sitting next to a dazzled Brandon again who hung on his every
word.  "See, Brandon, this is just one part of the process, called
principal photography.  When special effects are added in post-production
it'll be mind-blowing."  Then he frowned as he looked over to what seemed
to be an uneasy huddle round the director who was clearly displeased.

Soon the director came over to him.  "Shit, Grady, I'm sorry but we're
gonna have to lose that scene with the boy.  I was all set to do it now
`cos it's only a short scene and then we have to strike the set right away.
But the kid cast as the boy is a no-show, seems he's sick.  I could murder
his agent, he only just let us know."

Grady shrugged. "So use one of the young crew guys.  He only has one short
line – three words as I recall."

"Nah, no can do.  See, it's only a minute or two of film but the writers
made the kid handicapped to highlight the pathos of the scene – you
know, showing Tarzan's gentle side against all the macho rough stuff."

"So stick the crew guy in a wheelchair.  Hey, you can use Brandon's chair
here."

The director shook his head.  "Won't work.  See, in their wisdom the
producers wanna be politically correct.  We could get a lot of bad
publicity for using a non-handicapped actor playing a disabled boy.  That's
the way it is these days – you know, Asian playing Asian, that kinda
stuff.  Except there are precious few actors actually confined to
wheelchairs, though Casting found this one."  He shook his head.  "Nah, it
was now or never, so it looks like never."

"Sir," said Brandon with a flash of spirit, blinking rapidly behind his
glasses.  "I'm in a wheelchair and for your information we don't say
`confined to" a wheelchair anymore, not if you wanna be, as you say,
politically correct.  And I'm not disabled.  I'm able to do most anything
other guys do – totally independent."

Grady grinned and shrugged at the director, who said, "Hey, kid, you wanna
rewrite the script or something?"  Then it was as if a light went on.  "Or,
failing that, you wanna play the part?  There's not much to it – just
wheel yourself over some leaves, then when Tarzan appears you look at him
awestruck and say "I'm lost, sir."  Then Tarzan carries you off and `Cut'."
Think you could do that?"

Brandon flashed his mischievous smile.  "Like I said, sir, I can do
anything other guys do – and then some."

The director grinned at Grady.  "I think we're onto something here, Tarz.
Look, kid, there's no time for you to see the script so I'll give you a
short version of the back story.  See, there's a couple in this cockamamie
country who are threatened with persecution and are fleeing the military
with their son – the wheelchair kid.  They hide in the jungle but become
separated from their son.  They are searching for him when Tarzan comes
across them and takes them to a safe sanctuary.  Then he goes back to look
for the boy.

"In his one scene in the movie, which takes place before the fight scene,
the boy is struggling on a path through the jungle when Tarzan appears and
rescues him.  Like I said, a short scene but it makes the audience love
Tarzan, saving a handicapped kid confined to... oops, sorry dude ... a
plucky kid in a wheelchair."

He stood up and shouted, "OK, people, the scene's a go!  Wardrobe, get that
ragged shirt for this boy, here.  His shorts are fine ... that's what the
kid would be wearing.  We're short on time so I want hair and makeup done
here.  I want him scratched and disheveled with tears on his face.  We'll
keep the glasses – great touch."

The set came to life and the director and Grady led Brandon over to the
start of the jungle path.  "See, kid, it's actually a concrete path covered
with leaves so it should be easy to roll over."

"Sir," Brandon frowned, "could I suggest that you put a deeper layer of
leaves and small branches on the path.  I can handle it, been doing stuff
like that all my life, but it would be more of a struggle and much more
realistic."

The director smiled at Grady and raised his eyebrows.  "Hear that guys?" he
yelled to the crew.  "The kid wants more leaves and stuff.  Seems he's one
of those pushy actors, so better make sure he gets what he wants."

As the crew chuckled and piled on more leaves Brandon was taken to the
other end of the path. "Now this is real important," the director said.
You have to stop exactly here ... see this mark here?  It has to be exact
because the lighting is set up for your close-up, looking awestruck when
Tarzan shows up."

Brandon frowned, trying to imagine how he could struggle with his
wheelchair and still keep an eye open for his mark.  "Sir," he said, "how
about putting a big log across the path there.  That would automatically
stop me, so I don't have to look for my mark.  Plus it would look more
dramatic.  The wheelchair bumps against a log ... the boy has come to the
end of the line ... no escape ... trapped."

The director shot an amazed look at Grady. "He's fucking right, you know.
The kid's right.  OK, guys, my boy here wants a log."

After that Brandon was caught up in a whirl of make-up and hair, a couple
of women painting scratches on his face and body, and a clear gel for
tears, while another lady tousled his hair, put twigs in it and sprayed
it. They replaced his T-shirt with the ragged shirt from Wardrobe, torn and
sweat stained.  Beside him Grady was having all the whip marks and bruises
removed, transforming him from the bruised and bloodied Tarzan to the
magnificent King of the Jungle.

"OK, guys," the director said, "I want to try this in one take with a
hand-held camera.  It'll look more realistic and, tell you the truth, I
don't wanna go into overtime."  He smiled at the disheveled Brandon.  "So
how's my jungle-boy doing?  You sure look the part.  Think you can give it
to me in one take?"

"Sir, like I said ..."  The director laughed, "Yeah, yeah, you can do
anything.  And I'm starting to believe it, kiddo."

Brandon was led to his place in the trees and looked along the path to the
end, where Grady ginned at him with two thumbs up, then disappeared into
the trees.  The cameraman and several assistants stood facing him a few
feet away and the First A.D. said, "You ready, Brandon?"  Brandon nodded,
already trying to ignore the camera and focus on the path that was now
buried under leaves and undergrowth.

"And ... Action!"  After that all Brandon saw was the formidable obstacles
before him.  The cameraman and assistants walked slowly backwards before
him, getting wide shots of his wheelchair, then going closer on his wincing
face, his eyes blinking behind his glasses.  But Brandon ignored them as if
they were not there and concentrated on the obstacles before him.

He had asked for a difficult path and that's what he got.  He grunted with
effort and his muscles tensed under the torn shirt as he forced the wheels
over deep leaves and cracking branches.  The path seemed longer than he had
thought and he was becoming genuinely exhausted when suddenly he heard a
bump and came to a halt.

He looked up in surprise at the log, swore under his breath and desperately
turned the wheels that spun helplessly, kicking up leaves.  Real tears were
running down his face.  Suddenly a shape swung forward on a vine and landed
beside him, as if it had dropped from the sky.  Startled, Brandon looked up
and gasped as he found himself staring at the chiseled features and muscled
body of a magnificent man in a loincloth.

The boy wasn't acting.  Lost in his fantasy he was truly awestruck by the
sight, even though a camera was close to his face.  But even so he didn't
forget his line.  "Sir, I'm lost," he said plaintively, his eyes blinking
under his glasses, tears running down his cheeks.

"Don't worry, boy," the deep voice said.  "I'm here to help you.  Your
parents are safe.  I'll take you to them."  Brandon felt strong arms scoop
him out of his wheelchair.  He lay on his back, cradled in the man's arms,
his head resting against his bare chest, as Tarzan ran off with him into
the trees.

****************************************

"Cut!"  There was a tense silence as the director reviewed the playback.
He raised his head, smiled and yelled, "Perfect!  Abso-fucking-lutely
perfect!"  The whole set erupted in cheers and applause as Grady came back
on the set with Brandon in his arms and replaced him gently in his
wheelchair.

The crew crowded round him with their congratulations as hair and makeup
moved in.  But Brandon said he'd like to go home looking like this.  He
smiled at Grady who knew he was eager to show the boys how he looked.  The
wardrobe lady said he could keep the ragged shirt as a memento of his day
in the jungle.

The director leaned down and hugged him.  "Now I believe it, Brandon.  You
can do anything any other guy does – and then some.  And no more
`confined to' out of respect for you.  Hell, you're not confined to
anything."

The director looked at Grady.  "That looked so damn good I'm gonna speak to
the writers and ask them to write a short scene where Tarzan delivers the
boy to his parents.  You know the kind of stuff – tearful reunion, then
they look up to thank Tarzan but's he's already disappearing back to the
jungle to confront the soldiers in the fight scene.

"Sounds terrific," Grady grinned.  "By the way, your office can sort out
all the paperwork and the pay with my manager.  I'll tell her to expect
it."

"Pay?" Brandon said.  "I get paid for that?  I'd have done it for free –
hell, I'd have paid you!"

"Work for free?  Not allowed," the director smiled.  "There are rules –
SAG minimums and all that stuff.  Besides, kid, you were worth every penny.
Shit, I'd pay you double if they'd let me."

Grady and Brandon finally left the soundstage with applause from the crew
and a concerted, "Goodbye, Brandon ... you're a star."

************************************

Brandon was silent as he drove Grady out of the studio and headed for home,
lost in his own silent fantasy, replaying again and again the erotic sights
he had seen, especially his rescue by the beautiful man now sitting next to
him.

Finally Grady broke the silence.  "Brandon, you remember how yesterday we
agreed that your fantasies are a lot like mine.  Like, I was wondering what
happened to that boy after Tarzan rescued him and carried him through the
trees.  Before he took him to his parents, I mean."

Brandon smiled at Grady, his eyes shining.  "You too, sir?  I was just
wondering the exact same thing.  And I kinda know how it turns out."

"You do eh?  Listen, I'm still kinda wound up, so how about you drive me up
to your place and we relax over a drink and compare notes, see if we agree
on what happens to the boy.  After all, I said yesterday that we should get
together some time and swap fantasies.

"I remember, sir."  And you also said, `maybe act them out'."

"Yeah, that too" Grady smiled.

***********************************

TO BE CONTINUED in "A Trial Of Strength" – Chapter 289


Hey guys, this is Rob Williams.  I hope that chapter got you off, and I
welcome your comments and suggestions, which can be very helpful in
planning future chapters.  E-mail me in confidence at rw6789@aol.com.

ALSO, I urge you to visit my Web-site www.atrialofstrength.com. You can
read the whole story, all the many chapters, with extras, including
pictures and biographies of all the characters and some other great
artwork.  Click on the `Our Story' tab to read the current chapter, or
click on the green button to browse all the chapter synopses.  Enjoy!