Date: Tue, 8 Dec 2015 21:30:14 -0500
From: rw6789@aol.com
Subject: "A Trial Of Strength" - Part 289  by Rob Williams

A TRIAL OF STRENGTH - PART 289
By Rob Williams

IN THIS CHAPTER: Brandon acts out the climax of his `Tarzan' fantasy with
Grady.  "The boy was helpless, lost in the jungle, as Tarzan zeroed in on
his ass."  Randy and Bob relax in a 5-star hotel where they encounter an
arrogant young manager, a California Golden Boy who looks down on the
rough, rugged gypsy.  "Patronizing prick," Bob muttered, but Randy flashed
his Texas grin. "Well howdy, boy – how's it hangin'?"


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


Chapter 289 – "RANDY & BOB MEET GOLDEN BOY"


"I don't want anyone to get really hurt," Brandon insisted.  Like most of
the other boys his biggest fantasy, one he often jerked off to, was the
thought of one muscle-hunk alpha male getting tied up and worked over by
another.

But Brandon also knew that a simulated act of vengeance, with all the
appearance of ferocity and suffering but without real pain, could be even
more erotic than the real thing.  He was lucky enough to get two
cum-inducing demonstrations of this, the first one when he had watched his
master, the forest ranger Pete, take revenge on the black muscle-god Zack.

As if that wasn't homoerotic enough, the next day another enactment of
Brandon's fantasy took an even more dramatic leap into near-reality.  That
was when his movie-star friend, the handsome muscle-jock Grady, took him as
a guest to the film studio where Grady spent most of his day in a loin
cloth, starring as Tarzan in a major, big-budget movie.

The day's shoot called for a fight scene, where Tarzan gets beaten
unconscious by two brutal soldiers, then tied up and whipped by them until
his dramatic escape and victory.  In his wheelchair at the edge of the set
Brandon watched spellbound as they enacted the savage scene over and over
again in take after take.

To Brandon it was like watching a porn movie scene on an endlessly
repeating loop, as he used to do.  Dazzled by the endless torture of the
jungle king, his magnificent body writhing in pain, Brandon came several
times in secret orgasms under the lowered tray table of his wheelchair.

Then came the ultimate fantasy.  There was one more scene to shoot where a
lost boy, separated from his parents, is struggling in his wheelchair over
a jungle path.  The handicapped actor cast in the short, one-line role was
a no-show so, at the last minute, Brandon himself was recruited to play the
simple scene.

He rose to the challenge perfectly, fighting to wheel his chair through the
undergrowth until Tarzan swoops down on a vine, scoops the boy up in his
arms and carries him off through the jungle to safety.

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

It had been a mind-blowingly dramatic afternoon for Brandon – not to
mention a small personal triumph, and he was silent as he drove Grady out
of the studio and headed for home.  Lost in his own silent fantasy, he
replayed 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?  Well, I was wondering what
happens to that boy after Tarzan rescues him and carries him through the
trees.  Before he takes 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 juiced 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.

Another silence followed, the imaginations of man and boy churning even
faster.  When they arrived at the the bungalow Brandon quickly lowered his
chair from the truck, eased himself into it and wheeled himself eagerly
into the house where Pete was waiting for him.

Brandon had insisted on keeping on the ragged shirt he had worn for the
scene, and not cleaning off the make-up dirt, cuts and scratches, nor the
leaves and twigs in his hair.  He wanted to show the boys everything later.
Pete was amazed by the bright-eyed exhilaration on his boy's face as he
held his arms up for a hug.  The Ranger picked him up out of his wheelchair
and swung him round.  "Looks like you've just come back from a great place,
kiddo."

"In more ways than one, sir," Brandon gushed as Pete lowered him gently
back in his chair.  "You won't believe what happened, sir.  The studio was
awesome and I got so see Grady film a fight scene between Tarzan and two
soldiers.  Well the soldiers beat him real bad, then tied him up and
whipped him, and I shot several loads of jizz in my pants ... but nobody
noticed, sir."  He blushed at that but the torrent of words continued.

"But then this amazing thing happened.  I got to be in the movie ... I mean
actually in it.  That's why I'm in this shirt and my hair is all messed up
and I got all these scratches, but don't worry sir their not real – it's
makeup.

"See, there's this scene where a kid in a wheelchair gets lost in the
jungle and wheels himself along a path but he gets stuck and Tarzan swings
through the trees and rescues him and carries him through the jungle to
safety.  But the actor they hired went AWOL or something so they put me in
the part instead."

Brandon had built up such a head of steam that there was no stopping him
and he didn't pause for breath.  "I only got to say one line," (in a scared
voice) "`I'm lost, sir', but the director said I was so good they're gonna
write another little scene where Tarzan takes the boy to his parents.  And
I'm actually gonna get paid, sir!  And ... and ..." but he had finally run
out of words."

Pete was reeling under this verbal assault and looked skeptically at Grady
who grinned and shrugged.  "It's all true, buddy.  And the director really
did love it ... said Brandon was `abso-fucking-lutely perfect'.  And they
really will be calling him in to shoot this other short scene."

"So you're a star, kiddo," Pete smiled.  "`Course I always knew you were –
you've always been my star.  So anyway, let me get it straight – today's
scene ends with the boy being carried off by Tarzan, and the second scene
is where he gets reunited with his parents.  Is that right?"

"Yes, sir ... only ..."  He blushed and stopped.

"Come on, kiddo, out with it – no secrets here, you know."

"Well, sir, you know, like ... well, how Grady and me sometimes have the
same kind of fantasies.  See, we was both sorta wondering what happens to
the boy in between those scenes – when Tarzan carries him through the
jungle before reaching the parents."

"Ah..."  Pete was beginning to see the light and grinned at Grady then at
Brandon.  "And I bet you've already written the script for that one, eh,
kid?"

"Well, kind of, sir.  Hell, if it was me being carried through the jungle
in the arms of a guy as gorgeous as Grady in a loincloth, I sure know what
I'd want to happen."

Pete winked at Grady, then said to Brandon, "You know, kid, you haven't
paused for breath since you came here.  I think you need a few minutes
alone to go over the events in the studio and get them fixed in your mind
so you don't forget them.  It'll give me a chance to catch up with Grady.
Why don't you go over to that little wooded area you like so much just
beyond the property line?

"Oh I'll never forget today, sir, as long as I live.  But OK, sir, I know I
didn't let you guys get a word in sideways so I'll make myself scarce for a
while."

The men watched with affectionate smiles as Brandon bumped over the lawn to
the trees beyond. "Man," Pete said, "I don't think I've ever seen the boy
so excited.  Thanks for doing that for him, Grady.  I know he's bursting to
share it with the other boys – after the final act plays out, that is."
Pete grinned slyly.  "There is gonna be a final act, right?"

In reply Grady pulled off his T-shirt, kicked off his sneakers and dropped
his shorts.  He was still wearing his Tarzan loincloth underneath and
smiled, "Why d'you think I kept this on?  Right now your boy's fantasy is
in overdrive and you and I both know exactly what he's longing for.
Assuming that's OK with you, buddy."

"Of course it is," Pete said, "provided I can watch – from a distance of
course."  His admiring gaze swept over the handsome, near-naked actor.
"Maybe next time I'll get lost in a jungle myself so I can get rescued by
an ape-man."

"Hey, I have an idea, Pete.  You can stoke Brandon's fantasies even more by
taking part in this little movie.  To an impressionable boy a Ranger in a
uniform can easily double as a soldier."

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

Brandon was wheeling himself through the small but densely wooded area and,
of course, fantasizing that he was the lost boy back in the jungle.  As
Pete had suggested, he was mentally replaying his struggle manhandling his
wheelchair through the jungle undergrowth until it finally got stuck.  His
cock was stiff in his shorts as he remembered what happened next.

And suddenly there he was!  Tarzan came bursting through the trees and the
startled boy, reliving his film role, blurted out, "I'm lost, sir."  In a
replay of the studio action, Grady scooped Brandon up in his arms and
carried him through the trees.  That's where the scene ended in the movie,
but not this time.

When they came to a small clearing Grady said.  "We're safe now, but I
gotta check you over for injuries and clean you up."  He laid Brandon
gently on the ground and, immersed in his lost-boy fantasy, Brandon watched
as Tarzan paced round the clearing in his loincloth, then grasped an
overhead branch and leaned forward over him.  "You feeling OK now?"

"Yes thank you, sir."

"Right, let's make sure." He dropped to his knees beside him and ran his
hands gently over his face and neck, ostensibly checking for cuts.  "Here,
let's get this off."  Grady pulled the boy's ragged shirt off over his head
and explored the rest of his body.  Brandon gasped as the man felt his
chest, and his fingers briefly stroked his hard nipples.

When Grady stretched flat across him to check his arms and hands, the boy
was briefly stifled by damp armpit hair pressing over his face.  He almost
passed out and his cock was oozing pre-cum in his shorts as Tarzan's
magnificent body pressed down on his.  He licked his armpit, sucked in the
musky taste and inhaled the rancid smell of sweat.

Brandon was now so deep into his fantasy that he actually was the lost boy
and Grady really was Tarzan.  Like all the best fantasies, the real world
faded away and imagination dictated a new reality.  And when the boy felt
the bulge in Tarzan's loincloth pressing against his chest he lost control
– and his load.  He gasped out loud as his body shook and his cock
poured warm jism in his shorts.

The jungle man pulled away in alarm and asked, "Did I hurt you, boy?  Are
you ill?"  He looked down at the boy's shorts and saw a mysterious stain
spreading over them.  "What's happened?  Here, let's get these off."  Grady
pulled down his shorts and underwear and saw the sticky liquid over his
crotch.  "What's this?"

The boy looked up at Tarzan's stern, rugged face and winced.  "It ... it's
semen, sir."  Now his words came out in a rush.  "It's just that you're
such a beautiful man, sir, and when you were carrying me and then examining
me I couldn't stop myself and ... and I creamed my shorts.  I'm sorry, sir.
I'm sure you don't like that."

The handsome features broke into a smile.  "It depends on the boy ... and
you are a brave and beautiful young man."

"I owe you so much, sir.  I'll never be able to thank you."

"There is a way, boy.  Sometimes I crave the touch of human flesh."
Kneeling astride the boy he loosened the strings at his own hip so his
loincloth fell away and his long cock sprang up like a pole.  "This is what
you want, boy, am I right?"

"Very much, sir," Brandon said, staring at him wide-eyed.

Grady gently removed Brandon's glasses and laid them on the ground.  He ran
his hand over the boy's stomach, cock and balls, scooping up the copious
amounts of semen that smothered them, and spread it over his own cock.
"This way I will not hurt you, boy.  If it hurts bite down on this."  He
stuffed the loincloth in Brandon's mouth.

He raised Brandon's legs and hung them over his shoulders.  Leaning forward
Grady grabbed Brandon's wrists and pinned them to the ground above his
head.  With a half-smile at the boy he pressed the head of his cock between
his ass cheeks and against his hole.

Brandon's mind was spinning so fast he lost sight of reality.  This was no
longer even a fantasy – it was real.  He was lying on his back in the
dense jungle, at the mercy of the bronzed and powerful Tarzan, biting down
on his loincloth and swallowing the man-sweat oozing from it.  The superb
body leaned over him, dappled sunlight playing over his muscular physique.
His square, handsome features stared down at him, intense green eyes boring
into his, tousled black hair falling over his high forehead.

They were alone in the middle of the jungle ...he was helpless ... and
Tarzan was about to fuck his ass.  Brandon felt the cock push against his
sphincter and ... the head was inside him.

His heart was beating wildly as he gazed up at the god-like face backlit by
the sun streaming through the trees.  He felt the man's shaft pushing
slowly inside him ... his breathing became ragged and the loincloth fell
from his mouth as he screamed and ... aah ...aah ... no ...aaagh!"  A
ribbon of white juice blasted from his cock, straight up onto Tarzan's
chest, then another splashed on himself as his body writhed and his head
thrashed wildly from side to side.

When he regained his senses the boy looked up at the intense green eyes and
gasped.  "I'm sorry, sir ... please don't stop, sir.  Don't stop ... I need
it so bad ... please."

"I too need your ass, boy."  The shaft pulled back, paused, then drove down
faster and deeper.  Brandon struggled briefly before surrendering himself
and his ass to the jungle man pinning him to the ground.  Mesmerized he
watched the spectacular body rising and falling over him, as Tarzan flexed
his shoulders, chest and chiseled abs.  And all the time the exquisite
sensation of the thick rod ploughing his ass.

Brandon wanted desperately to please the man and he clenched his ass round
his cock, massaging it by squeezing and releasing it repeatedly.  Grady
gasped, his handsome face winced, his head few back ... and Brandon was
transported back to the fight scene in the jungle where Tarzan's face had
grimaced and jerked from side to side under the blows of two soldiers.

The boy saw again the powerful master of the jungle being thrashed
mercilessly, reeling under the relentless blows until he crashed to the
ground, beaten and humiliated ... then tied to the tree, his magnificent
body being whipped, muscles bouncing under the lash.

Brandon's thoughts were in turmoil as he looked up at that same Tarzan,
face and body streaked with dirt, impaling the boy on his pounding shaft
... while his back was being whipped by a man in uniform.  He couldn't
separate truth from fiction ... fantasy and reality merged in one
homoerotic image.  The whip was real, the uniformed man was real, yelling,
"Fuck your boy, ape-man.  Pound his ass."

The fantasy overwhelmed him.  Tarzan had been beaten in a fight and whipped
into committing a degrading act of surrender.  The soldier was forcing him
to fuck his boy, forcing him to obey, forcing him to pour his sperm into
his boy's ass ... "Aaaagh!"

The shout shook the clearing as the boy felt his ass suddenly filled with
Tarzan's semen and he was dimly aware of his own body shuddering in yet
another orgasm. Then everything went dark.

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

"He's fine," Grady smiled at Pete, looking down at Brandon lying peacefully
on the ground under the trees.  "In a daze – too much to take in all at
once."

Pete, in his Ranger's uniform, still holding his whip, said, "Thanks Grady
– this is something he'll never forget.  And I'm glad I had a bit-part
to play at the end.  What do you call it in your business, a cameo?"

He tapped the whip in his palm.  "You know, I could get to like the jungle.
As a Forest Ranger I should patrol these woods more often.  Never know
what'll swing down from the trees.  Only thing is, Tarzan just fucked my
boy.  If I ever come across the King of the Jungle out here I'll give him a
taste of his own medicine.  About time the ape-man got his ass fucked."

Grady's eyes sparkled.  "Any time, Ranger.  The sooner the better."  Pete
walked away leaving Grady to play out the last scene of this Tarzan movie
spinoff.

When he opened his eyes a few minutes later Brandon was disoriented
... like waking from a dream.  The uniformed man had disappeared and the
naked muscle-god was towering over him, tying his loincloth back in place.
He leaned down and scooped Brandon up into his arms.  "One day you will
come to me again, boy.  But now I take you to your family."

As the clouds of fantasy cleared, Brandon came slowly back to the real
world – and he suddenly wanted Pete.  He needed the love and reassurance
of his master after all his adventures in Jungle-land.  The world of Tarzan
was receding as he gazed up at the handsome face and felt his strong arms
carrying him home.

Pete was waiting for them as `Tarzan' approached.  "Here is your boy, sir.
I brought him home."  He leaned down and kissed Brandon, then gently placed
him in Pete's arms.

Pete smiled down at his boy.  "You have a good trip, kiddo?"

The mischievous smile was back.  "The best, sir.  I've been in a movie."

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

Somehow the other boys had got wind of some of the things that had happened
to Brandon today.  On this of all days it had to be the aptly named
jungle-telegraph.  Maybe Grady phoned Mario, who mentioned it to Jamie who
dropped the word to Darius – and that was that.  So they were all
gathered in the garden waiting with baited breath, particularly for
confirmation of the astounding rumor that "He's in the movie, dude!"

Brandon had wanted to make an entrance worthy of the dramatic events of the
day so he had persuaded Pete to let him continue to wear the ragged shirt
he had worn in the movie and to keep on the make-up effects of scratches
and dirt on his body and face, and the twigs in his disheveled hair.  All
this was augmented by the real dirt he had picked up from the `jungle' in
his back yard while getting fucked by Tarzan.  He was every inch the lost
boy of legend.

Grady joined in the fun by agreeing to appear at his side as the loincloth
wearing Tarzan.  As Brandon wheeled himself through the gate with Grady on
one side and Pete on the other the effect was instantaneous.  Men and boys
rose to their feet in a standing ovation.  It was as if Brandon had just
won an Oscar.

That thought was not lost on Brandon himself who picked up a peppermill
from the table, gazed at it lovingly and said, "Wow, this is so unexpected
– thank you, Members of the Academy.  First I want to thank my agent
..."

The boys screamed with laughter, someone shouted "get him, dudes," and he
was mobbed.  For several minutes the scene was pandemonium until Bob pulled
Pablo aside and said, "Can you do something about this, Pablo?"

"Guys, guys," Pablo yelled, to limited effect.  He curled his forefinger
and thumb in his mouth and whistled.  Then, imitating a bellow he had
learned from Randy he roared, "Cool it!"  That got their attention and a
smile from Randy.  "Dudes, this is getting us nowhere.  We all want to hear
from Brandon `cos this is one for the archives.  So there'll be a boys'
meeting in Darius's and my room after dinner.  Until then let's help the
twins get dinner on the table."

They broke into groups and Randy came over to congratulate Brandon.  "So,
kiddo, I hear you got rescued by Tarzan – then got fucked by him."

Brandon grinned, "Was an easy part to play, sir, `cos it happened to me in
real life that time at the beach when you rescued me from those bikers then
took me to a motel and fucked me."

Grady slipped away to sit in the shadows with his lover Mario.  "Hey,
Tarzan," Mario laughed, "glad you swung by.  You miss me, amico?  How you
feeling?"

"I miss you all the time, buddy, you know that.  How am I feeling?  I'll
tell you.  All day I've been playing the
big-top-guy-muscle-stud-King-of-the-Jungle."  He grinned.  "And I wanna get
butt fucked so bad."

"Well, you've come to the right place, amico.  This way, signore."  Mario
took Grady by the arm and led him upstairs – and they didn't reappear
until halfway through dinner.  By which time the King of the Jungle had
been well and truly fucked.

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

As the celebratory dinner progressed noisily there was only one man who
couldn't quite get into the festive mood.  Randy had had a bad week,
culminating in an incident where he had disciplined a tough crew member who
responded by taking a swing at him with an iron bar.  Randy had parried the
blow and gut punched him to the ground, then fired him on the spot.

But Bob had just heard from the firm's lawyer that the guy was filing a
lawsuit claiming bodily assault, discrimination and wrongful dismissal.
"It's totally without merit," Bob reassured Randy, "and won't go anywhere.
They're just trying it on to get a settlement, but that's a non-starter.
Don't worry, buddy, it would be thrown out of court if it even got that
far, which I doubt.  So forget all about it."

But Bob knew all of Randy's moods well and sensed that there was more to
this than a fight with a crewman, which he would normally have dismissed
with a contemptuous "Fuck him."  Randy worked harder than anyone and had a
ton of responsibility on the construction sites, and at home where he was
looked up to as leader of the tribe.  He often talked wistfully of the days
when he was an itinerant gypsy, a simple construction worker responsible
only for himself and his younger brothers.

Even this joyful party – the tribe at its best – was starting to
oppress him and Bob knew that Randy wanted simply to slip away with him to
somewhere they could be alone together.  So, Bob decided, that's what they
would do.

He knew Randy would be more than content to spend a couple of days of beer,
hamburgers and non-stop sex in that shabby old Hollywood motel – Room 14
where he had first met Bob and the saga of their lives together had begun.
But Bob had something rather more classy in mind.  He felt that Randy
needed to be taken right out of his environment for a complete change of
atmosphere and pace.  And he knew just the place – the sumptuous
Ritz-Carlton down the coast at Laguna Niguel.

They had been there before on several occasions when Bob had wanted to
treat Randy to a touch of luxury.  Randy reflexively spurned the five-star
opulence – it was hardly Room 14, the natural habitat of a rough-hewn
laborer – but, although he would never have admitted it, he secretly
enjoyed being pampered with Bob at his side.

"Nah," was his first reaction when Bob suggested it.  "Gimme a couple o'
six packs and you in a motel room and I'm happy."

But Bob could be persuasive.  "Yeah, OK for you, but did it ever occur to
you that I might want to relax in luxury for a few days and sleep with you
in 400-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets instead of a cum stained bed in
Room 14?  Come on, the construction company's coining money and my other
firm pays its Senior VP big bucks, so we can afford to splurge once in a
while.  Besides, I want to give my man a present for ... well, I dunno
... just for being here and loving me.  You wouldn't wanna reject that
would you?"

Randy grinned, "Fuck you, man, you know just what buttons to press don't
you?  Well, Zack can take charge at work and Mark can hold down the fort
here at home.  And the boys are getting real good at running things.  So
..." he threw his arm round Bob's shoulder.  "Let's do it, buddy."

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

As Bob's Mercedes purred along the palm fringed driveway of the impressive
hotel on the cliff both men felt a stir of recognition and old memories.
"You recall the first time we came here, Bob said, "and we met the Italian
pool boy Mario?  All we did was fuck him but when Mark brought Jamie down
here later and they had those incredible three-ways they clinched the deal
and Mario moved up to L.A.  The rest is history and even as we speak Mario
is probably making love for the umpteenth time to our tame movie star,
Grady. Funny how things work out."

They pulled up under the columned portico and the doormen danced
attendance, opening the car doors and pulling their baggage from the trunk.
They recognized Bob whose company had a corporate account here and used the
hotel often, and most of them remembered Randy.  Although he had been here
only a few times he was a hard man to forget.

As always, heads turned as the men strode through the marble lobby, both of
them stunningly handsome but mismatched in style.  Bob looked casually
elegant in tan slacks, loafers and a dark blue polo shirt.  But Randy's
only concession to luxury was wearing a clean white T-shirt that Bob had
insisted upon.  Otherwise he was in his usual blue jeans and work boots,
with an old knapsack slung over his shoulder, which Bob knew contained
Randy's sexual paraphernalia.

With his long black hair, his square, stubbled jaw, and his brawny physique
Randy gave off the vibe of a wild, rough-hewn gypsy, in contrast to the
smart, VIP guest beside him.

As a senior executive of a company that spent lavishly at the hotel, Bob
was given special treatment and, as they approached the reception desk, a
young assistant manager stepped forward and beckoned them over to an empty
work station.  As he checked them in the young man treated Bob with polite
deference, in contrast to his barely disguised disdain for the
rough-looking gypsy next to him. The difference was not lost on Bob or
Randy who glanced at each other and Randy winked.

The young man was maybe in his early twenties, young for an assistant
manager here, Bob thought, idly wondering if he had been promoted for his
looks, which were quite striking.  He had flawless bone structure, refined
features, hazel eyes, a clean-shaven lantern jaw and high cheekbones, all
set off by his golden tan.  His blond hair was coiffed to perfection and
Bob had the impression he must have spent considerable time in front of a
mirror getting ready for work.

He clearly had a nice, compact body under his uniform, probably honed
before the mirror of the gym.  His uniform pants were a little too tight,
no doubt to show off what looked like a spectacular ass.  He was, in short,
the quintessential California Golden Boy, very aware of his looks and
making no concessions to those beneath him – like this swarthy gypsy
here.

He would have been quite sexy, Bob thought, if only we weren't so ... so
precise, so studied.  He was the very opposite of Randy, a wildman who
didn't give a shit about his looks and was pretty much a stranger to
mirrors – except when he was having sex.  This guy needed to `man up',
as Randy would have said.  So much more sexy.  He should rough himself up –
or let someone do it for him.

One aspect Bob found especially unattractive was the young man's arrogance
under his veneer of respect.  He was reminded of various trust-fund boys he
had met, with their complacent sense of entitlement.  But what irritated
Bob the most was his haughty attitude toward Randy.

Whether Randy was aware of it or not, he seemed to be paying the man no
attention at all.  In fact he had turned his back and was leaning against
the reception desk, elbows on the counter, legs stretched out before him as
he watched the comings and goings in the lobby.

"There you are, sir," the assistant manager said to Bob, "all set – the
Ritz-Carlton Ocean-View Suite.  Er, could I make dinner reservations in the
dining room for you and this (slight pause) other gentleman?"  His voice
dripped with disdain and Bob could have slugged him – but that was Randy
territory.

"What do you think, buddy?" Bob asked, jogging Randy's elbow.  "Dinner in
the room tonight or down here in the dining room?"

Randy turned round and shrugged.  "Down here, I guess."

"Er," the assistant manager broke in and addressed Randy for the first
time, with a distinct hint of sarcasm.  "There is a dress code in the
dining room, sir.  Jackets are required."

Bob held his breath thinking Randy might slug him.  But instead he was
amazed to see a dazzling smile spread over the rugged face and when Randy
spoke it was with an exaggerated version of his Texas drawl.  If the guy
saw him as a country hick, a hick is what he would be. "Well now, I did not
know that.  Thanks for the heads-up, er ..." he leaned forward and squinted
at the manager's name tag, "...Tommy."

"Thomas, sir.  My name's Thomas"

"Sure thing," Randy drawled.  "A jacket, eh?  Glad you told me, Tommy, I
appreciate that.  See I'm a construction worker and most of the time I
don't even wear a damn shirt.  Shit, ya'll should see me on the job site,
sweatin' like a pig all day.  But I promise you I will make every effort to
find me a jacket and ... tell you what ... why don't you come in the
restaurant later and check me out, and if I don't pass muster you have my
permission to throw my sorry ass right out the door.  Hell, there's always
McDonald's."

Thomas opened his mouth to speak but Randy's steel-blue eyes flashed at him
like lasers and the man closed his mouth and gulped.  It was a look Bob saw
often, a look that had silenced many a man in the past, not to mention made
their dicks hard.

Randy hoisted his backpack on his shoulder and patted it, to the sound of
metal clanking inside.  He gave a casual flick of a salute.  "See ya later,
Tom.  Been a pleasure."  He strode away to the elevators with Bob following
him, trying desperately to stifle laughter.  With just a few words, and a
pair of pale blue eyes, the young man had been demolished.

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

When they got to the room Bob finally released the pent-up laughter he had
been holding in.  "Man, I love you so much," he said and threw his arms
round Randy.

"Arrogant young punk," Randy growled.  "You know the best thing to do with
patronizing pricks like that, buddy?  Ignore the fuckers and see how long
it takes them to come crawling to you."

"You think he'll come crawling?"

"Sure he will.  He's doing it right now in his mind, though he would never
admit it."

"What will you do?"

"Oh, I'll fuck him, I knew that the minute I laid eyes on him.  Trouble is
a guy like that is hardly worth getting hard for."  He grinned.  "Unless he
does something to really annoy me."

Bob gazed at Randy as he unpacked the bags, tossing the subject off with a
nonchalance and a certainty that made Randy hands down the sexiest man he
had ever met.  "Fuck, you are really turning me on, stud, you know that."

"Good, `cos you're gonna get it.  On the bed, man ... naked."

Whenever they travelled anywhere they fucked as soon as they arrived.  The
place wasn't really theirs until they had warmed it up with their special
brand of passion.  Bob thought this might be one of Randy's signature rough
fucks, taking out on Bob the animosity he felt for the `arrogant young
punk.'  But the guy really was beneath contempt for Randy and he was in the
mood for love – so that's what Bob got, with the amazing man's cock
caressing his ass while his mouth caressed his lips.

It was one of those long, languid sessions, ending with Randy gently wiping
his cum off Bob's sated body as he lay naked in the cum-strained sheets.
Randy smiled down at him.  Man, did I ever mention how fucking gorgeous you
are?  Stay there and I'll feed you.  We left so early we had nothing to
eat."

"Mm," Bob said, luxuriating in the bed.  "No doubt about it – a layer of
cum sure improves the feel of 400-count Egyptian cotton sheets.  You think
the manufacturers know that?"

Randy was on the phone to room service, and in twenty minutes breakfast, or
lunch or whatever it was arrived, served by an elderly old-time waiter in
the grand style – a welcome change from the usual pert young staffers,
and especially from the prick on reception.

But they were not allowed to put the prick out of their minds.  They were
eating at the table on the terrace, still naked after sex, when the door
buzzer sounded.  Shit damn."  Randy got up and started for the door but it
opened and there stood Thomas, rooted to the spot as the naked muscle-god
strode toward him, his massive cock swinging between his legs.

"Oh, oh ... I didn't mean to interrupt ..."

"You would have a few minutes ago," Randy chuckled, "but we've done with
the bed and moved on to the chow.  So what's up, Tommy?"

Annoyed by that use of his name Thomas recovered his wits and said, "I was
just checking to see if everything in the room was to your liking.  It's
part of my job as assistant manager."  (Translation: `Doing no special
favors for you,' Randy thought.  And no `sir' either.)  Thomas looked at
the rumpled bed and inhaled the heavy sent of semen.  He smiled with a hint
of triumph as if he had caught the men out.  "Maybe some fresh sheets?
I'll send the maid."

Randy's thick Texas accent came back.  "Now why on God's green earth would
you go and do a thing like that, boy?  That's the way we like it – and
new sheets would only get messed up like these pretty damn quick.  I do
thank you for the offer, Tommy ..." the voice grew steely ..."but you can
leave now."

Thomas stumbled out and Randy said, "See, buddy, trouble with a guy like
that is he's so full of himself and his looks, his fucking tan and his
perfect blond hair, that he can't stand it when he sees two totally
gorgeous men he can't have.  So he does what guys like him have always
done.  It's that old clichι – `find a flaw, find a flaw'.  And god
knows I got flaws, like my lousy dress sense, my hillbilly accent and
sheets reeking of jizz."

"So Golden Boy wasn't crawling?" Bob grinned.

"Oh, sure he was.  Why else do you think he came up here?  It sure wasn't
to correct my table manners.  Come to think of it, I wasn't wearing a
jacket – wasn't wearing a damn thing.  Wonder if the management would
approve of guests eating lunch butt naked?  Maybe he'll report us."

*********************************** ..

Inevitably they had a few more run-ins with Thomas until Randy finally got
pissed off.  That afternoon they were lounging on chaises by the pool,
finally getting to shake off the city and relax.

"Uh, uh," Bob said.  "Golden Boy – "two o'clock, over by the bar."
Randy looked in that direction and there was Thomas.  Out here in the sun
he wasn't wearing a jacket – all the better to show off his butt, which
both men had to admit was prime – perfect round globes under his
too-tight black pants.  He was making the rounds, ostensibly checking on
the guests, but in such a way that he was always visible to the two men.

Then suddenly he looked up in mock surprise and pretended to notice them
for the first time.  "Lousy actor," Bob chuckled softly.  He came over to
them and Randy said, "Hey, Tommy, how's it hangin'?"

"I hope you are enjoying the afternoon, gentlemen.  Actually I came over to
set right any misunderstandings there may have been when I checked you in
earlier.  If I got off on the wrong foot, I apologize."

"Crawling," Bob whispered in Randy's ear.  Texas was back as Randy said,
"Hey, no sweat, Tommy.  I didn't misunderstand a damn thing so don't beat
yourself up about it.  But while you're here, how about a couple of Mai
Tais?"

"Of course."  Thomas turned and snapped his fingers impatiently at a young
waiter nearby.  "You boy.  Get over here.  Two Mai Tais for these gentlemen
... right away."

His tone was harsh and the boy blinked nervously behind the black rimmed
glasses he was wearing.  Simultaneously Bob and Randy flashed on Brandon
whom the boy resembled somewhat.  When Thomas waved him away with another
contemptuous finger snap the boy turned and walked straight into the pole
of an umbrella.  He looked at Thomas in alarm and mumbled, "Sorry, sir,
sorry," and stumbled off.

"Sorry about that, gentlemen," Thomas smirked.  "He's a new boy – in
training.  I'll make sure he doesn't bother you again."  He sashayed away
to reprimand the boy.

"OK that does it," Randy growled.  "No mercy for the fucker from now on."
Bob knew that fearsome look well.  Having raised his young brothers Randy
had zero tolerance for mistreatment of vulnerable young guys.  It was a
surefire way to provoke his anger, as it did now.

When the boy came back with the drinks Bob said soothingly, "Thanks very
much ... er ..."

"Daniel, sir, but my friends call me Danny."

"Well thank you, Danny."  Bob glanced at Randy as he detected a trace of
Brandon's boldness in Danny under the obvious strain of working for Thomas.

"I'm going on break now, sir, but one of the other boys will be happy to
serve you."  He walked back to the servers' station, then out through the
gate leading to the stairs down the cliff.  Randy nodded at Bob who got up
from the chaise and followed Danny.  He was sitting on a secluded bench
under a tree and Bob asked, "Mind if I join you, Danny?"

"Of course, sir, except we're not supposed to – what do they call it? –
fraternize with guests."

"I know, I know, but it'll be our little secret – this too," as he
handed Danny two 20-dollar bills.  "I forgot to give you a tip."  Ignoring
the boy's protests that it was too much Bob asked, "Do you like working
here, Danny?"

"Yes, sir, I think so..."  He hesitated and Bob smiled his warmest smile.
"My guess is that you find that assistant manager rather difficult.  But I
wouldn't worry about that.  I think my friend will be having a little chat
with Thomas later and after that I have a feeling he will be much kinder to
you.  In fact I'm sure of it."  He flashed another dazzling smile.

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

When getting dressed for dinner Bob and Randy compromised.  Randy still
insisted on jeans and a T-shirt, so Bob produced new jeans he had brought
with them and a sparkling white T-shirt.  Randy's concession was to replace
his boots with smart loafers and agreed to wear the well-tailored,
expensive blue blazer, a present from Bob.

The traditional jeans-and-blazer look was stunning on Randy, the elegant
clothes contrasting with his rugged, stubbled gypsy face.  "Hey," Bob said
admiringly, "I think even the assistant manager will approve of that.
Let's see if you pass muster with him or if he throws us out.  Hell, like
you said, there's always McDonald's."

"Throw them out??!  The maξtre d' was all over them, welcoming them
effusively, and the two spectacular men created quite a stir as they
followed him through the dining room – Bob in tan slacks, a tailored
brown sport jacket and open-neck black shirt, and Randy beside him
dominating the room as he always did with his aura of masculinity and
confident stride.

Halfway to their table they came face to face with Thomas who had been
working the room, ingratiating himself with the richer guests.  "Hey,
Tommy!"  The Texas drawl was back and Randy's arms opened wide, showing
himself off.  "How do I look?  Do I make the cut?  I would sure hate for
ya'll to disapprove and throw me out of this fine restaurant of yours."

Nearby diners were amused and Thomas was mortified.  Blushing deeply he
mumbled "Good evening, gentlemen," and escaped the frown of the maξtre
d'.  But he was persistent and tried to get petty revenge.  They ordered
the trout and when the waiter brought it Thomas reappeared and indicated
the appropriate silverware in front of Randy.  "The fish knife and fork
... sir."

Totally ignoring him Randy picked up a fork at random in his right hand and
dug it into the fish.  Bob grinned, thinking the guy lucky that he hadn't
dug it into his hand.  Randy turned his attention to Bob and seemed to
studiously avoid Thomas's frequent glances toward their table.  But Randy
played that game of looking up suddenly and catching the man's eyes flick
instantly away to avoid eye contact."

Bob chuckled.  "You know that's generally known as the definition of a
split second, buddy.  And you know something else?  You are adorable when
you flirt."

Randy's eyes flashed at him.  "I am not fucking flirting, man and I'm not
fucking adorable.  And I'll show just how not adorable I am when I get you
upstairs.  I have something special in mind for you, something we haven't
done before – hell, something nobody's done."  He grumpily picked up a
forkful of trout and growled softly, "Asshole" ... then grinned as their
eyes met.

Of all the many admiring glances directed at the two handsome men, none of
the diners could have guessed that both of them were nursing huge boners in
their elegant pants.

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

When Randy gave a man his full attention it was overwhelmingly seductive.
Even Bob, a frequent recipient of Randy's laser-like focus, never ceased to
be a bit flustered under his gaze, as if the blue-eyed gypsy were seeing
right through him.  And especially after what Randy had said ... `something
we've never done before'.  Was there anything?  He was soon to find out."

When they got to the room they removed their jackets, Bob poured brandies
and they sat at the table on the terrace facing each other.  It was a
perfect night, cloudless with bright moonlight sparkling across the water
from the horizon to the shore.  There was just the lightest breeze and the
only sound came from the muted waves breaking on the shore far below them.

Bob sighed. "Beautiful, eh?  It's what romance novels call a `breathless'
evening."

"I don't know shit about romance novels," Randy said, "but you sure leave
me breathless, man – every time I look at you.  Especially right now
... hell, you know what they say about moonlight. Randy reached forward and
traced the silver-etched contours of Bob's Superman face.  He ran his
fingers across his lips, and tousled his mass of dark hair.

There were tears in Randy's eyes as he said softly, "Man, I love you so
much it scares me to death.  You know that – my fear of living without
you.  Whenever I fuck you, gentle or rough, I'm trying to prove my love for
you.  I always feel out of my depth – a bit like a construction worker
in a posh restaurant not sure what knife and fork to use.

That made Bob laugh and he said, "So – something we haven't done before?
I didn't think there was anything left."

"There is, Bob – a way I can show you how much I love you ... how much
we love each other.  Stand up."

Bob knew what Randy wanted – it was pretty much a ritual – and he got
to his feet.  Gazing up at Bob, Randy tilted his chair back on its back
legs and linked his hands behind his head, elbows outstretched, the sleeves
of his T-shirt sliding back off his hard biceps."

Slowly unbuttoning his black shirt Bob said, "Something you may not know,
buddy is ... I'm scared of you too.  Oh," he grinned, "not scared like I
used to be of the caveman – though that was hot – but scared because
I know I could never live without you.  Looking at you there ... my gypsy,
with his fierce, dark face, T-shirt stretched over a body that won't quit
and, an iron hard dick in his jeans from just looking at me ... the only
thing that drives away my fear is that look in your eye when ..."

Bob pulled his shirt out of his slacks and shrugged it off, his bare torso
gleaming in the moonlight, tapering down from broad shoulders, past the
slabs of his pecs, his sculpted abs, down to his slim waist cinched by the
stylish brown belt of his slacks.  "Aaah!"  Randy gasped, involuntarily
reached across the table and banged his fists down in a gesture of lust and
longing.  "Yeah, that's the look," Bob said.  "Now I feel safe."

Randy stood up and yanked off his T-shirt.  "Oh, shit," Bob moaned, kicking
off his shoes and unbuckling his belt.  Frantically Randy did the same and
in seconds they were naked, two beautiful men gazing at each other high on
a moonlit hotel balcony in a world of their own.

As if in a trance they walked toward each other and were about to touch
when ... "No!"  Randy held up a restraining hand.  "Come with me."

They went into the room and Randy pulled up two chairs from the dining
table and placed them face to face beside the balcony windows, lit by the
streaming moonlight like a spotlight on a stage.  "Sit," he said.

Convinced once again that Randy was the most exciting man in the world Bob
sat down tingling with anticipation.  He watched as Randy walked over to
his backpack and pulled out two leather wrist restraints.  Bob reflexively
placed his forearms on the armrests of the wooden chair and Randy deftly
pulled the restraints tight round his wrists.  With two more restraints he
similarly bound Bob's ankles to the chair legs, and stood back.

He gazed in awe at the muscular Superman, tied naked to the chair, flexing
as he pulled helplessly at his restraints.  It was a spectacular sight and
Randy's massive cock was hard as steel as he paced round the room,
clenching his hands behind his head in frustration.  "Fuck, fuck, fuck
... You are so fucking gorgeous, man.  I wanna fuck your ass, whip you,
torture that beautiful fucking body.  I wanna hurt, you man, I want you so
bad."

Bob was startled by Randy's sudden reversion to the caveman of their early
days together.  He was an icon of homoerotic lust, his body bursting with
animal passion as he paced the room in a frenzy, and it scared and excited
Bob.  "Do it, man ... do what you want to me.  I love you..."

Randy stood over him, eyes blazing, breath heaving.  "Aaaah..."  He sighed
deeply and sank to his knees at Bob's feet, gazing up at his lover's steady
brown eyes.  "No, man.  No, there's a better way, the way I mentioned
before.  He took more deep breaths, then sat in the chair facing Bob.  His
forearms rested on the arms of the chair, just like Bob's.  Although he
wasn't bound like Bob, he might as well have been.

The room was still, the sheer muslin curtains waving slightly in the
breeze, moonlight streaming in from the balcony.  They looked at each other
and their breathing calmed but their heartbeats quickened.  Their eyes
connected as they always did, piercing the shell of the common world and
entering one of their own.  Reflected in each other's eyes they were
together in their own private, magical world – and knew they would be
forever.

"You feel that, buddy?" Randy said gently.  "You know what it is ... it's
us, just us, together where we belong.  Man, I don't care if we're poor or
rolling in dough, whether times are good or get rough, I don't care `cos
I'll always love you.  And no one'll ever come between us."

Bob's eyes were sparkling.  "I know, Randy.  It's true.  Whether we're
healthy or sick we'll always take care of each other, because we love each
other.  My body that turns you on so much ... it's yours, Randy.  It's an
honor for me to offer it to you."

"Shit damn, buddy, I'm fucking crazy about you.  I'll never leave you.
I'll protect you, love you, laugh with you, fuck with you, curse you and
tie you up like you are now.  But always I'll love you, for ever and ever,
and that's a promise."

"Randy, let me touch you."

"Nah, that's the point, buddy ... we can make love without even touching.
You know we can."

Randy's steel blue eyes were hypnotic, staring out at Bob from his swarthy
face.  They sat facing each other motionless, and Bob was pulled inexorably
into the dark gypsy's sexual magnetism as he heard the equally mesmerizing
deep voice.  "So much for the words, buddy – now for the action.  Look
at my cock."

Bob lowered his gaze to the long, thick shaft rising up from a mass of
black pubic hair, pre-cum oozing from its head.  "See that?  You know how
that rod feels in your ass, don't you, stud?"

"Yes, sir."  Bob was completely in Randy's power, heart beating wildly,
cock pulsing hard.

"You wanna lick it, don't you?  You wanna swallow it down your throat."

"Yes, sir."

"Then you know what comes next.  I tie you to the bed and bury my pole in
your ass.  You can feel it, pile-driving your ass, no mercy, the alpha stud
male impaled on his buddy's cock."

"Yes, sir."  It was true ... Bob could feel it pounding his ass and he
pulled at his restraints in a frenzy of frustrated desire.  "Fuck me, sir.
Let me feel you inside me.  Take my ass.  "

"You love it when I shoot my jizz in you, don't you?  You wanna see how
that looks?  You wanna see that cock bust its load?"

"Yes, sir ... please, sir.  Cum for me ... please ..."

Randy was still gripping the arms of his chair as his massive cock
shuddered.  "This is how it looks when it cums inside you, buddy.  You
always do this to me, make me cum ... make me cum ... I love you, man
... aaaagh!"  Bob stared in wonder at the thick cock as it erupted in a
spurt of semen that shot high in the air.  It seemed to hover there before
splashing down on Bob's chest and face.

"Cum for me, man," Randy roared.  "That's an order.  Let me see that jizz
... let me drink it."

Bob writhed in the chair, stared into the steel blue eyes and yelled, "I
love you ..."  Randy bent forward, caught the stream of juice that blasted
from his lover's cock, and swallowed it.

When Randy had drunk his fill they remained still in their chairs facing
each other, not touching.  Slowly, the intensity in Randy's eyes softened
to faint amusement that became a smile that grew wider and wider.

Grinning wickedly Randy said, "I've got you, haven't I buddy?"

"Hook, line and sinker, man.  You son of a bitch.  You always get me."

And suddenly they were laughing – laughing with the unrestrained mirth
of two men who had just sealed their love and their lust forever.

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

"Well that was new," Bob said after they had calmed down.  "Shit damn,
almost feels like we just got married."

Randy roared with laughter.  "Nah, who needs that, buddy?  To each his own,
but we know what we got and that's all that counts."

Bob was still tied to the chair and Randy was about to release him when the
door buzzer sounded.  Randy pulled back and grinned.  "Ah, a guest arriving
for our reception.  Two guesses, dude.  I'll give you a hint ... A guest
comes crawling.  Come in!" he yelled.

The door opened and in came Thomas.  As before, he stood rooted to the
spot, staring at the two naked muscle-gods – one standing, his cock
dripping cum, the other sitting tied to a chair, his face and chest
smothered in what the other man's cock had evidently just blasted out.

The backwoods Texan voice drawled, "Hey, Tommy.  Whassup, dude?"

The assistant manager found his voice and, in the understatement of the
year, stammered, "Er, sorry, not the best timing, maybe."

"Well now, that's not true old buddy.  Quite the reverse actually ... me
and my buddy had just finished.  Wait a sec while I untie him."  Randy
unbuckled Bob's restraints.

"I, er ...I was just getting off duty and thought I'd drop by to see if you
need anything ... cocktails or anything."  Randy and Bob couldn't miss the
huge boner in Thomas's too-tight pants

"Well as you see, Tom, we got ourselves a few cocktails of our own going on
here, but you are sure welcome to join us."

"By the way," Bob asked, rubbing his sore wrists.  "How's that new waiter
doing that we met by the pool?  Danny, isn't it?"

"I'm glad you asked, sir, and I have to apologize for him.  I saw him
bothering you, sitting and talking to you.  He knows that fraternizing with
guests is strictly against the rules.  I reprimanded him and it won't
happen again.  If it does, he's fired."

Randy saw Bob clench his fists and start to rise, but he gripped his
shoulder and pushed him back down.  "Well, Tommy, I commend you, that is
just as it should be.  Can't have the peons bothering the honored guests,
can we?  Say, Tom, I'm gonna level with you here.  As you see me and my
buddy are having ourselves a little party and we'd sure like you to join
us.  We was saying earlier that you are a fine figure of a man – well
turned out and all.  You go to the gym?"

"Every day, sir," Thomas said, with conceit rather than pride.

"So whad'ya say, old buddy?  You in the mood for a little fun?

Thomas tossed his head.  "I don't think so, sir."  He turned to leave and
Randy shrugged, "Suit yourself."

Thomas hesitated and turned round.  "On, er ... on the other hand, I do
occasionally offer, er, extra-curricular services to select guests –
strictly off-duty of course."

"Oh you do?  Our lucky day.  Extra-curricular services, eh Bob?  Sounds
like a whole bunch of fun.  I think we could go for some of them.  Matter
of fact, Tom, I did notice ya'll getting kinda chummy with some of the
older guys in the dining room."

"Not against the rules, I hope," Bob said sourly.  "Not fraternizing or
anything."

"Actually, sir, some of the older gentlemen appreciate visits from a man
like me and tip very generously.  However, if I do agree to stay, I do have
ground rules."

"Well let's hear them, Tommy.  Shoot."

"I limit sessions to an hour – two at most.  No pain, domination,
bondage, nothing like that.  And I definitely do not get fucked.  Never
have.  I'm a top man."

Randy's eyes gleamed.  "A top man, you hear that Bob?  Right up your alley,
eh?"

"A dream come true," Bob deadpanned."

Randy looked quizzically at Thomas.  "Say, OK if we was to muss your hair
up a bit, Tommy?"

"Er ... yes, I can go along with that."

"Well now Tommy I think we got ourselves a deal here.  We can have a whole
lot of fun.  Ya'll sound like just the kinda guy we need.  I think he'll
fit in right well, don't you, Bob?"

"A match made in heaven," Bob said, careful not to catch Randy's eye.

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

TO BE CONTINUED in "A Trial Of Strength" – Chapter 290


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!