Date: Wed, 24 Feb 2016 11:36:06 -0800
From: Kyle Weaver <krazytop@gmail.com>
Subject: Taste of Power--Part 17

Part XVII


Zane strokes my hair as I gurgle on his thick, bulbous cock-head.

Calvin lies motionless against the cabinet, hand-cuffed, still refusing to
open his eyes.

Chris teeters in the hammock, hanging from the chandelier, his groans
muffled by the ball-gag.  His gargled protests rise in pitch as he realizes
what I'm doing.

"What's wrong, Chris?  Don't like watching your cocksucker worship me?  You
had your chance with him, and you blew it.  You should really stop drawing
attention to yourself up there.  Better to be forgotten, I should think.
What do you suppose is going to happen when I let you down?"

I feel a sting against my cheeks as Zane claps them.

"Did I say you could stop?"

Slowly, I lick the vein of his grungy cock.

"Good boy," he says, tickling my neck.

I cough and start to gag.  Zane holds my head down, making me choke around
his cock.  I shudder; I whimper; my vision blanches.

He lets me go and I gasp for air.

"You should let Chris go," I croak.  "Does he really need to watch this?"

I flinch as Zane raises a fist, but he looks over at Chris instead.

"Let him go?" Zane asks, standing, thumbing circles into his curled up
pointer finger.  With one foot, he pushes my face into his other foot, and
I take the hint, drooping my tongue out and licking softly.

"I'm not going to give up something for nothing," Zane adds.  "Care to take
his place?"

I suck the raunchy space between his toes.  "Yes," I whisper.

"Can't bear to see your idol in a compromised position?"

"Please, Zane.  You've made your point."

"I suppose that's one way to look at it."  He pushes my face away with his
foot.  "Faggot pussy position."

I crouch, pressing my face down into the carpet, and jutting my ass into
the air.

Zane tugs my boxers down, exposing my ass.  He pulls the boxers off and
throws them into the corner.  I maintain the position, my breathing heavy.

Zane reaches down and gropes my ass cheeks.  "You'd let me do anything,
wouldn't you?"

I nod, my mouth half-open.  "Let Chris down."

He circles me and presses his other foot against my lips.

I kiss it, my lips smacking.

Zane steps on my face with one foot.  Not hard enough to break anything,
but enough that I feel a light stab of pain.  "Don't move a muscle."

I look into his eyes, my ass still pointing up.

He drags his feet away from my face, one after another.

He saunters over to Chris.  "Having fun?"

Chris shakes his head slightly.

"Bummer," Zane says.  He punches Chris in the gut.  Then winds up and does
it again.  "You think I should let you down?"

Chris nods gingerly.

Zane unties the hammock, and Chris--still trapped inside it--falls flat on
the floor.  There's nothing to break his fall but the carpet.

The thud reverberates through the floor; the chandelier shakes.  Zane
chuckles, rolling Chris over, freeing the space over the hammock.  Chris
cringes, his face flushed.  I think he got the wind knocked out of him.

"Get over here," Zane says, beckoning me.  I crawl toward him.  He bundles
me up in the hammock, then lifts me up moments later, tying me in place.
I'm suspended in space, naked, hanging above the scene, the cross-weave
digging into me.  My hardening dick has nowhere to hide, instead burrowing
through a gap and pointing down at them.

Zane paces in front of Chris, finally bending down to take the ball-gag out
of Chris's mouth.

"You fucking asshole," Chris says, his voice breaking.

Zane walks back to me, shoving the gag in my mouth.  "It's cute, see?  It's
like you get to make out with your hero.  Do you like the taste of his
spit?"

I teeter back and forth.

Zane sneers and slaps my dick.  My dick springs around.

Unsure of what to do, I nod.

"I wonder if Chris feels the same way," Zane says, pacing back over to
Chris.

"This has gone way too far," Chris says.  "I didn't agree to this."

"Good point, Chris.  You agreed--to kiss my feet.  Since you lost."

"You already had Travis do that."

"But I want you to do it, Chris."  He looms over Chris, who lies on his
stomach, crippled for the time-being, his hands still tied behind his back.
Zane grabs him by the hair, tilting his face up to make eye contact.  "And
you are going to do what I want."

He drops Chris, who flops back to the floor, his face landing on Zane's
foot.

"Aren't you good for your word, Chris?"

Chris cranes his neck up at Zane, reshaping his shattered expression into a
blank one.  Chris pecks Zane's foot with a short smack.  "There.  You had
your fun.  Now let me out of here."

"Are you just going to leave Calvin and Travis here with me then?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Does anyone?"

"Enough bullshit, Zane, let me go!"

"Hmm.  You know, that wasn't much of a kiss.  Everyone knows a good kiss
has some tongue."

"Go to hell, Zane!"

"I want a good kiss, Chris."

"Fuck off."

Zane smirks.  "How long are you going to put on a show, Chris?  You want to
prove you won't just do as you're told?  You aren't some little bitch?
Can't we just skip ahead to the part where you decide its best to just get
it over with?"

"No," Chris spits.

Zane hunches over and pulls down Chris's silk boxers, exposing his ass.
"Look at that ass.  So muscled and masculine.  Just like the rest of you.
Except your mind.  The human mind...is such a malleable thing."

"I'm not gay," Chris says.

"Maybe not yet."

"You can't just make someone gay!" Chris says.  "Get real."

Zane's cock bounces freely as he walks.  He never bothered to put it away.
He rounds on Chris, squatting behind him.

Zane massages Chris's ass.  "During the whole gay rights episode, people
loved to parrot that.  `People are born a certain way!'  It's genetic—or
something.  There is no environmental cause for sucking cock; there is no
one to blame.  And thus it's convenient for all those who didn't want to
blame themselves.  But if there is nothing wrong with being gay--then there
is nothing wrong with causing someone to be gay either.  At any rate, it
isn't a question of what is convenient.  It's a question of what makes
sense.  I've seen people talk about identical twins—how if one is gay,
the other one has a 50-50 chance of being gay as well.  Therefore, being
gay must be at least partly genetic, one supposes."

In a soft motion, he pulls Chris's ass cheeks to the sides, exposing the
rosy star.  "The flip side is that being gay is NOT totally ingrained.  So
what is it then?  Some experiences people have must MAKE them gay.  In
prison, there were guys you would never imagine...who let me make their ass
into my fuck-sleave.  For protection.  For social order.  For peace of
mind.  For a perverted sense of brotherhood.  Because I made them feel SOO
good."

"Get the hell away from my ass."

"It's always `straight' studs like you that make the greatest show of how
averse to gay stuff they are.  Why the passion?  It's not like you would be
so perturbed if I accused you of being a doorknob.  Falsehood has no
bearing on offensiveness.  It's the status you read into the insult.  It
makes you seem prejudiced.  It also makes the truth about you ambiguous.
Maybe most truths are."

"I'm not letting you get a `perverse sense of brotherhood' with my ass to
prove some point."

Zane drags his finger over Chris's hole, who shudders.

"Are you going to kiss my feet?  For real this time?"

"Fine," Chris grumbles.  Zane walks back around, and pushes his foot under
Chris's face.  Chris steals a glance up at him.  "Look—since for
whatever reason, fags like Travis drive you completely BONKERS, maybe you
should just find a girl instead, and save everyone some trouble."

"Aren't you listening?" Zane asks, kneeling and stroking Chris's cheek.  "I
have found my girl."

"Why are you so--hateful?" Chris croaks.

"You've got it all backwards.  I'm not hateful.  I think faggots
are--misunderstood.  They lacked the tools, historically, to explain what
was wrong.  They want to become their true selves.  Society wouldn't let
that happen.  So they appealed to society's bogus promise of freedom as a
pathway to get there.  An ends to a means."  Zane smirks.  "Kiss my
foot—NOW."

Chris groans.  He opens his mouth and presses his lips against Zane's foot.
His tongue prods the crown of Zane's foot gently.

"Our society hates sex, because sex is subversive.  It forms bonds between
persons, but not between peoples--at least--not at society's convenience.
That's why betrothals dominated for so damn long.  Gay acts are very
subversive.  And thus society hates gays too.  And that's why you are the
one who hates gays—not me.  Because you are society's little envoy.  I
hate society just as much as Travis does.  A real person loves sex,
naturally, but the weight of culture makes people two-faced."

Zane wiggles his foot.

Chris drops one more slow kiss on Zane, his expression blank.

"Gay people thought that by asking for respect, they might be able to make
a good case for why they deserved rights.  That's fine for them as a
people, but not for them as persons.  As individuals, they are tired of
being so respectable.  They want to lick balls.  They want a big dong up
their ass.  They want the subversive stuff that is the opposite of what
society told them they should want; in many cases, the opposite of status
and power.  They want the self-determination promised in the civic phrase
`all men are created equal, endowed with the unalienable right of liberty.'
It lets them pivot and be utterly emasculated in private."

"We're not in private," Chris says.

"But we have been before," Zane says.  "Why don't you tell them?"

Chris looks up at Zane, not blinking, not cringing.

"Tell them why you let me have my fun with Travis in the basement, showing
off for Calvin?  Why you let me test my theories out on Calvin just hours
ago?  Why you even agreed to this game, even though you had already won?"

Chris looks down.

Zane turns and looks at me.  "Chris here has already sucked my cock."

I can't react, so I just look at him, swinging in space.

"That's right Travis!  Your hero, your DREAM here, is a fraud.  It happened
when we were twelve.  After playing car-jacking video games in his
basement.  With his parents upstairs.  We were curious about sex, you see?
We agreed that I'd suck his if he'd suck mine.  He wasn't very good, but
somehow, after a desperate effort, he managed to get me off.  Anyway, by
the time it was my turn—I didn't want to.  People are always entitled to
have a change of heart."

Chris didn't move a muscle.

"Now I can get you to do it whenever I want, can't I?"

"Liar," Chris says.  "You're a liar."

"But I wasn't before the last part?"

Chris freezes up.

"Your honor gives you away—again!  But now—I think it's about time
for you to redeem yourself.  I want to feel your wet lips on my cock again.
C'mon Chris—won't you be my girl?"

"No fucking way."

"You were so afraid they'd find out what happened.  Well, now they know
anyway.  And I want to give them some firsthand knowledge."  Zane jacks
down on his cock-shaft, pulling back foreskin and exposing his bulbous
cock-head.  His cock jumps and thickens in his palm.  "Things don't have to
be so complicated.  Stop puffing out your chest in mock pride.  Stop trying
to ascend.  Stop trying to prove you are a man.  Sink down, into the depths
of what you really are meant to be.  Be my girl, Chris."

"Go fuck yourself, you white trash piece of garbage!  You're the faggot, or
you'd have a girlfriend of your own."

"That's not a very nice thing to say.  I think you owe me an apology."

Chris spits on Zane's foot.

"Well, if you aren't going to apologize like a civilized person, then you
can apologize like a brute.  Do you know how people apologize in prison?"

Chris closes his eyes.

Zane prods Chris's mouth with his foot, and Chris looks up tentatively.

"People apologize by kissing ass, Chris."

Chris struggles against the twine, and Zane steps on his back.

"You owe me an apology, Chris."

"Gross."

Zane shrugs, rolling Chris onto his back.  "Two apologies then."

Chris falls silent.

"There are ways you can avoid this, you know?  Just say what I want to
hear."

Chris looks away.

"Well, if you want my ass that bad..."

Zane sits on Chris's face.

"Kiss my ass, Chris.  I want to feel those wet lips."

Zane closes his eyes—moaning--subtly rising up and down.  "Mmn.  Don't
forget--good kisses have tongue."

Zane bites down on his lip, snarling.  "I wanna feel that tongue—kinda
like you wanna breathe."

His eyes roll up into his head and he arches his back, flexing his thick,
tattooed pectorals out.  "Fu-u-uck!  Fu--uck yeah, girl.  Fuck."

Chris writhes fruitlessly as Zane heckles him.  "Are you sorry now, girl?
Now that I'm about to make you my faggot?"

Chris kicks into the air in futility.  Zane sneers.  "Maybe you are, maybe
you aren't."

Zane rises up, balancing on his knees and outstretched fists, far enough
that Chris gets a chance to gasp for air.  Before Chris can catch his
breath, Zane lowers his ass on his face again, making Chris inhale right
into Zane's crack.

"Time for the second apology," Zane says, sneering, grinding around.  "For
calling my ass gross.  Are you hard yet?"  He reaches down and grips
Chris's cock, which is limp in his hand.  "Nope, not yet.  Not as spirited
as Travis, I guess.  Well—it's easier to think of you as a dickless
bitch this way."

Zane bides his time, holding onto the sides of Chris's head.  He farts,
then after another chuckle, crawls off of him, twisting around to look at
his work.

It looks foreign to me: the historically groomed face and hair of the boy
who may as well be the school's patron saint...is now a barely
recognizable, sweaty, grungy, mess.  Some of his hair is downcast over his
eyes, while other portions jut outward.

He gasps for air, trying to control himself, trembling in place.

"Still think I'm gross, Chris?" Zane asks.

Chris looks at the ceiling, stunned.

"Answer me," Zane says, prodding him in the balls.

"No, Zane."

Zane grips tightly on Chris's balls.  "I know you like to call Travis a
bitch.  But everyone can see that you are my bitch now.  Wouldn't you say?"

A glazed look spreads across Chris's face, and he surprises me by starting
to hum the mokimon theme.

"WOULDN'T YOU SAY?" Zane shrieks.  He rolls Chris back onto his stomach.
"I needed to teach Travis how to rim.  Now it looks like I'll need to teach
you."

Chris doesn't register a reaction as Zane spreads his ass out and licks.
His eyes fall shut and he continues humming.

Zane either decides he's done enough, or he isn't satisfied with Chris's
meltdown, because he sidles up Chris's back and slaps him in the face.
"Snap out of it, bitch."

Chris blinks a few times, his mouth falling open.  "Don't do this, Zane.
Please.  I befriended you—even though you were on the other side of the
tracks.  Even though everyone thought you were crazy.  Don't prove them
right."

"Your face may not make a good cunt.  But your ass begs to differ."

"I'm a man, Zane.  I'm a straight man."

"Not anymore."

Zane lines up his cock.

"STOP."

Zane freezes, surprised to hear the voice from over the couch.

Calvin's voice rumbles.  "Stop Zane."

"You must be joking."

"If you keep going, it's a crime."

I am pretty sure Zane already passed that marker by assaulting us, but I'm
in no position to qualify Calvin's statement.

"A crime would be letting this opportunity slip through my fingers."

Calvin shudders.  "If you keep going, you'll get sent back to prison.  Let
him go, and you won't regret it in the long run.  I swear."

"I'm not going to give up a virgin jock hole when I'm this pumped up."

"So take mine instead."

Zane perks up.  "And that wouldn't be a crime?"

"No.  I'm asking you to do it.  You get the same prize, with no guilt."

"Guilt is a social construction," Zane says, chewing on Chris's ear, his
cock sliding precariously along Chris's crack.  "People get embarrassed
around other people.  They feel anxious about being embarrassed.  And
society rebrands that anxiety as `guilt.'  They hope people will relieve
that anxiety in a way that serves society.  Guilt isn't real."

"Whatever.  Believe that if you must.  But jail cells are real in any case.
You don't even like being suspended from school."

Zane snarls.  "If I let Chris go, I'm going to take out my rage on you
ten-fold, Calvin.  You really think you are ready for that?"

"Yes," Calvin says, finally looking him in the eye.

"The word `no' will drop out of your vocabulary?"

"Yes."

"You'll call me master?"

"Yes--master."

Zane crouches and scoops Chris into his arms.  Chris doesn't even recoil.

"Take him," Zane says, thrusting Chris over the couch towards Calvin.
"He's a piece of shit anyway."  With one arm shackled down, Calvin is
barely able to guide Chris to the ground without another thunderous
landing.

Zane hops over the couch, towing Chris to the back door by his tied up
wrists.

"You think I should take the deal, Chris?  Calvin is still on my checklist,
after all."

Chris nods.

"So brave you are.  Look at your hero, Travis.  Look at her beg!"  Zane
laughs.  "If I let you go, Chris, there are a few more stipulations.
First, you cede the first spot in our weight class to me."

"Okay," Chris whispers.

"And secondly—and you have to get this one right—you have to answer
one simple question.  Chris—who is my girl?"

Chris and Zane look into one another's eyes, the serpentine green ones
boring into the glittering gold.

"I am," Chris croaks.

"Great answer," Zane says.

Zane gathers up Chris's clothes, pickpocketing his wallet and phone.  "If
you don't run and tattletale, I'll get these back to you on Monday," Zane
says.  "Not that I really need insurance.  Eduardo and the others still
respect you, after all.  Wouldn't want to give me a reason to change that."

Even I got to keep my phone, when it was me.  Then again, Chris still had
my keys.  Somewhere.  My dick is half-hard now, as I make brief eye contact
with Chris.  It protrudes out of the hammock pathetically.

Zane slides the door open, and drops Chris's clothes and keys outside.  He
unties Chris's wrists, grabs him by the waist, and heaves him onto the back
porch.

Then he pulls the door shut behind him.  We watch through the glass as
Chris stoically dons his clothes and walks gingerly into the forest, the
scene augmented by Zane's jeering and laughter.

"It's for the best, Calvin," Zane says, turning back toward us.  "Chris was
hitting her limits.  She'll need time for things to sink in and build anew.
Just like she didn't get stacked muscles after a single workout.  The seeds
have been planted.  Now I just wait and see when I can bear the fruit."  He
struts back over to Calvin, retrieving the lock pick from his bag.  He
unshackles Calvin from the cabinet, then cuffs Calvin's arms behind his
back.  He pulls off Calvin's boxers, smirking, slapping Calvin's balls.

Calvin whimpers.

They stare into each other.

Calvin's cherubic blue eyes, flecked with pain, alive under the assault of
Zane's vile glare.

A touch of fear invades Zane's expression; Calvin seems to score an
unthinkable point.

Zane slams Calvin's shoulders into the cabinet.

Zane snakes his tongue into Calvin's ear, and Calvin juts out his chest.
Zane whispers into Calvin's ear, and Calvin bites his lip.  They look into
each other's eyes again, but this time, the light in Calvin's eyes fades,
moment by moment, until he closes his eyes.

When Calvin opens them again, the hope has been snuffed out.  He bites his
tongue, his expression mirroring Zane's lust.

Zane vaults the couch again, then pulls Calvin after him, dropping him onto
the floor underneath me.

"Calvin—get in the faggot pussy position."

Calvin draws his knees in toward his chest, shoving his ass into the air.

I think of myself, for a fleeting moment.

Even though I'm swinging slowly, it feels like whiplash.  So much; so fast;
I'm dizzy from the rapid movements; like watching the old seizure-inducing
mokimon.  I want to close my eyes, but a morbid curiosity keeps me tuned
out of myself—and tuned into them.

Though the view of Calvin is partially obscured by my drooping dick.

Zane spits on his own cock, jacking it in short, violent clicks.

Zane crouches down behind Calvin.  He grabs each of Calvin's creamy ass
cheeks, pulling on them crudely.  He spits on Calvin's hole.  "I'm a bit
too worked up for foreplay."

"Fine," Calvin breathes.

Zane slides his cock along Calvin's crack.  Zane's tan, sinewy, inked up
body makes friction with the pure-hued, pale, voluptuous complexion of
Calvin's ass.

Zane grabs his jockstrap and shoves it into Calvin's face.  "Bite down on
this, faggot."

Calvin bites.

Zane plunges his cock inside.

The image is surreal—watching Calvin's wet hole bloom open just enough
to swallow half of Zane's adamant, fuming, corkscrew cock.

Calvin whines fiercely; his cries are muffled until he spits the jock strap
out.  Calvin moans in pain.

"It's a good thing you've fucked yourself dreaming of this, isn't it?"

"Yes, master," Calvin croaks, clearly on the verge of tears.  "Please—go
slow."

Zane grips Calvin by the back of the head, pulling on his hair, making him
arch his back.  Fury etches across his face.  I expect him to ignore
Calvin's protests and take what he wants, but he pauses, holding Calvin's
trembling upper body in place.

Zane doesn't just like fucking guys.

Into submission.  Into emasculation.  Into oblivion.

He likes making them want him to.

"Fuck," Calvin whimpers.  "Oh, fuck."

With one hand tugging on Calvin's hair, Zane employs his other hand to coax
Calvin's ass, rubbing the left cheek in slow circles, slowly nurturing the
hole.

Another chunk of Zane's cock digs inside.

Zane switches to the right, gripping Calvin's ass tightly, his thumb
impressing into the skin, making a rosy blemish in its wake.

Calvin's asshole winks open again, and the brunt of Zane's thick cock
sticks it.

"Hell," Calvin whimpers.

"That's good," Zane coos.  "Good job."

He drops his grip on Calvin's hair, grabbing Calvin's ass with both hands
and spreading it apart.  Then, he buries the rest of his cock into Calvin's
trembling hole.

Calvin collapses forward onto his stomach, rooting his head around in
Zane's jockstrap and gnawing on it.  He breathes in slowly, closing his
eyes and relaxing.

Zane puts both hands on the back of Calvin's head, establishing a rhythm of
thrusts.  Dimples form in Zane's strong ass on each upstroke; his
shoulderblades rise in triumph.  Zane pushes Calvin's head through the leg
of the jockstrap and into the carpet.

"Aren't you grateful I gave you an excuse to play the angel?  To volunteer
yourself as my cunt for the right reasons?"

"Yes."

"This is what you wanted anyway."

"Yes."

"And what do you think of me now?  Honestly?"

"You are still--a terrible person."

"I know.  Isn't it hot?"

Zane grabs the back of Calvin's head again, twisting it sideways against
the floor.  Zane droops down, coiling into position, nibbling on Calvin's
lips.

Calvin's mouth hangs ajar.

Zane licks the underside of Calvin's upper lip before lurching his tongue
into Calvin's open mouth.  Calvin's mouth softens into an `o' and he sucks
on Zane's tongue, moaning.  Zane humps Calvin harder, his abs clapping
against Calvin's ass.  Calvin opens his mouth again and their lips
interlock.  Calvin's handcuffs rattle; Zane's arms dig underneath Calvin
and do something that makes him squeal like a pig.

"C'mon, pussy faggot, shove that ass up for me."

"God, I hate you."  Calvin smirks in spite of himself, pushing his ass up,
meeting Zane's thrust.

"I hate you, too," Zane says, kissing and humping him again.

Calvin whines sporadically, each noise rising in pitch and duration.

Zane's thrusts clink like a miner's axe, each one forcing its way a bit
deeper into the glimmering, wet hole.  Calvin is prone on the floor now,
fucked out of the pussy faggot position and into a position that is stiff
like a board, but flexed and warped under pressure.

Calvin sniffs on the jockstrap until he snorts.

"Wish we'd unleashed your inner pig earlier," Zane says.  He starts biting
Calvin's ear and whispering too quietly for me to hear.  Calvin's irises
seem to swim halfway into his head; he lets out another crackling moan,
shuddering; he sucks on the jockstrap and struggles against his cuffs.

"Faggot," Zane says, massaging Calvin's ass with both hands.  He snarls,
pulling on Calvin's ass, pinching it, before lining up a few brutish slaps.
"I said I'd take out my anger ten-fold..."

"That hurts, master."

"Good.  I'm just getting started."

Zane grabs the back of Calvin's neck, pummeling him like a jackhammer.
"Shove your ass up, retard."

"I'm trying," Calvin breathes.

"God, yeah," Zane growls, letting loose a bit more, raining down thrusts
and clawing up Calvin's back.  "Remember how ghost-faced you were, watching
me wreck Travis?  That was all jealousy, wasn't it?"

"Half-jealously," Calvin whimpers.  "Half-disgust."

"Don't lie to yourself."

"Maybe 60-40," Calvin says.  He tries to shrug, but Zane's hammering
compels him to arch his spine and to throw his head back.

"I said to push out your ass, not arch your back," Zane says, pushing
Calvin's face back into the carpet and pulling his ass up into the air
again.  Zane holds it in place and wallops it.  He inhales, rising up,
before spitting onto Calvin's cheek.

He reaches underneath Calvin again, flexing.

Calvin jolts his ass up, wrinkling his face.

Zane smirks.  "If you think I'm so gross why do I make you so hard?"

"Disgust and lust aren't opposites."

"Fair point," Zane says.  He uses two fingers to push the spit across
Calvin's cheek and into his mouth.

Calvin chews down on it twice before swallowing.

Zane snarls, shoving his spit-covered fingers past the edge Calvin's lips.
Calvin pushes his tongue out in order to roll it around Zane's fingers,
drawing them into his mouth.

Zane shoves his fingers knuckle-deep into Calvin's cunt-face, using his
free hand to spank Calvin's ass over and over.  Calvin doesn't even begin
to protest; he just moans and sucks Zane's fingers as his ass gets redder
and redder.  Zane snarls, pulling Calvin's hair back and driving into his
ass like a man possessed.

"I'm losing my mind here," Zane murmurs.  "I'm not sure I can handle how
much of a faggot you are."

Calvin babbles incoherently on Zane's fingers.

Zane pulls them out of Calvin's mouth, wringing his neck again.  "What was
that?"

"Fuck me.  Please--destroy me."

Calvin clenches his shackled fists, wriggling his butt into the air one
last time.

Zane claps down--palming it--before striking down with the full force of
his body.

"YOU FAGGOT PIECE OF SHIT."

"Yes, master."

Zane wraps his arms around Calvin, marking his body with pools of sweat,
crushing him.  His flexing arms quiver.

"YOU SELF-RIGHTEOUS PIG.  YOU CUNT-FACED WHORE."

"Yes, master."

Zane's breathing accelerates in time with his vicious clobbering.

"YOU PUSSY PUNK BITCH.  YOU MUTHERFUCKING, COCKSUCKING, DESPERATE-ASS,
BASTARD FAGGOT!"

Zane hammers down, abandoning any sense of restraint.  Calvin's asshole
glints in anticipation.

"You're getting a bit redundant, Zane."

Zane claps Calvin's mouth shut.  "Piss off."

I close my eyes, trying to process what I feel.  It's hard to concentrate
with the progressively louder `FWAP FWAP FWAP' of a man reaming my friend
into a faggot.

The cross-weave chafes my skin.  It's been digging in too long.  Several of
my limbs have fallen asleep; it feels like thousands of little pins
shooting into my skin over and over.  My blood has run to the wrong places,
like the vertigo of a ghetto carnival ride, and still I float, in a
nauseous half-jealousy, half-disgust.

FWAP FWAP FWAP.

Calvin moans into Zane's palm, distending his ass in abject submission.  I
wonder if I seem as much of a slut when Zane abuses my hole.  But mostly I
wonder if I look as ghostly as Calvin did watching me—hovering in
place—pale--prone to my own fits of invisibility.

"Who's you're hero, Calvin?" Zane asks.

"Albert Schweitzer."

Zane spanks him so hard it echoes.  "TRY AGAIN."

"You, Zane," Calvin says, breathing hard through the pain.  "Is that what
you want to hear?"

Zane lets loose; Calvin's ass emits undignified slurping noises.

"Yeah," Zane says, clenching his eyes shut.  "Fuck yeah.  Hear that,
TRAVIS?"  He shoots me a look.  "Don't think I've forgotten about you up
there."

His glare says two things.

The first, I will be punished.

The second, I can't quite place, but it's a deeper castigation that seems
to pierce the soul.

"Lick till you blow, faggot."  Zane twists Calvin's head and shoves it into
his armpit, flexing.  He sneers at me, tonguing his lips and biting down as
Calvin laps at the sweaty, mind-numbing reservoir.

Calvin whimpers, sniffing and closing his eyes.

Zane slaps Calvin across the face.  Did I say you could smell, you stupid
jocksniffer?  You've got to earn it now.  No more stealing my essence."

"Yes master," Calvin whispers, licking Zane's pit.  He starts whimpering,
flexing his ass, his voice getting higher.

The battering of Calvin's ass gets loud enough to compete with Chris's
fall.

"Who's your hero, Calvin?"

"You are."

Calvin's ass starts to clench in rhythmic bursts as he licks and licks and
licks.

Zane moans at the servile stimulation, then whispers again into Calvin's
ear.

"Fuck," Calvin whines, his body cohering like an old sponge.  "FUCK!"

"Go ahead and cum, now, slaveboy.  You earned it."

"Mmn.  Fuck it out of me, master.  Please."

Zane grabs his jockstrap and shoves it under Calvin's body, making Calvin
twitch as he clouts him.

Zane refuses to pass up the opportunity to consummate Calvin's gripping
virgin cumhole--unleashing his primal rage in a half-dozen wicked-hard
FWAPS--and an unintelligible torrent of swear words.

Then, he finishes—gasping wide--beaming from ear to ear.

"You are my faggot."

"Yes master," Calvin whimpers.

Zane runs his hand through Calvin's hair before holding him tightly, still
buried inside him.  Zane nuzzles into Calvin's neck and their eyes fall
closed again.

They take their time to cool down.  When Zane finally pulls out, sticky and
spent, Calvin curls up on the ground, motionless, refusing to open his
eyes.

Zane rises, walking toward me and pulling off my ball-gag.

"Zane, I—"

He shoves the jockstrap into my face.  "Suck Calvin's cum, cunt-face."

I slurp down, looking into Zane's eyes.

"Don't you dare think you are going to get off easy," he says, punching me
in the gut.

Pain shards nick my body like falling onto a crag of ice.

I shake my head, biting down on the jock, milking out Calvin's sweet cum.

"You won't.  Not at all.  I've got the whole weekend to make you fags get
it."  He grips my rock-hard dick.  "Capiche?"

I stare into his glimmering green eyes, and slowly, I nod.

"Good," Zane says.  He turns back to Calvin.  "Now that we squared that
away—I think you owe me an apology or two.  Don't you?"


---

I've created a blogger, which allows people to get notifications when I
update.  A lot of people requested this.  The blog is at
http://krazytop.blogspot.com/ .  At the blog, in the top right corner, is a
'get notified when I update' box, which you can plug your email into in
order to get update notifications.

Since I'm new to blog land, any advice/encouragement/forgiveness is
appreciated.

Story feedback is always good too:
krazytop@gmail.com
krazytop.tumblr.com
---