by JD Ruskin
Brandt chuckled. His sport would be just about anything, since he was good at every sport he’d ever tried.
“Umm, it’s not really for a sporting event….” he trailed off, hoping that Andy would pick it up from there.
“So, you’re just going to wear it around? For some extra support?” And again his eyes brushed across the crotch of Brandt’s jeans. He squinted as if measuring.
“Not exactly,” Brandt said, drawing closer to Andy and lowering his voice. “It’s kind of for a modeling thing.”
Andy nodded. “Ah, I see. This is where Nick comes in, right?” he whispered with a knowing wink.
“Right you are.” Brandt nodded, happy to have the conversation over. Shopping for slut-wear was getting easier every time he had to do it, but only slightly.
“I know exactly what you need. Why don’t you gentlemen go to fitting room one. I’ll bring in a couple of choices and we’ll give them a try.”
Donnelly shut the door of the fitting room behind them and Brandt began to strip off his clothes. He was down to his boxer briefs when he realized that Donnelly was staring at him.
“What?” Brandt asked.
“Nothing,” Donnelly replied.
“You’re staring at me. What’s up?”
“You’re awfully quick to get naked these days, aren’t you?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve kind of had to get used to it the last few days. I figure it’s easier if I just get right to it. Otherwise Andy’s going to get here and just stare at me, and then it’s awkward.”
“Yeah, wouldn’t want to be awkward. This is much better—just me in here with you all naked.”
“Oh grow up, ya pussy,” Brandt growled at Donnelly as he whipped off his underwear and flung them at his head. Donnelly ducked, then turned and stared aghast at the crumpled garment on the floor behind him.
He turned back to Brandt, blinked at him twice, and then burst out laughing. “You sick fuck! You’re enjoying this!”
Brandt was shaking with laughter as well. “You looked like a kid at the zoo who got too close to the poo-flinging monkey!” As the gasping laughter seized him, his cock bobbed up and down merrily.
Donnelly was still wiping his eyes when the door opened and Andy entered, holding three boxes which he set on the bench along the side of the fitting room. The first of these boxes was already open.
Andy turned, started a bit, and said, “Whoa there, mister, getting ahead of ourselves a little there, aren’t we?”
“Well,” explained Brandt, feeling suddenly self-conscious, “I thought it would be quicker if I was ready to try things on.” Somewhere inside him, he registered a vague disappointment that for the first time he was naked in front of a man who didn’t immediately tell him how sexy he looked.
“Oh, we don’t have people try these on—it’s against the health department rules. So that’s why I’m here.” With this, Andy hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his boyshorts and pulled them down. Underneath was a brilliant red jockstrap.
“Here we have an update on the classic jock. Notice the rolled waistband for comfort.” He pulled the waistband away from his body so that they could see the craftsmanship. “There’s a modified strap anchor on the back,” he extolled as he turned around, showing them how the red straps joined the waistband with an elegant arc of spandex, framing his tan and smooth buttocks.
Andy looked over his shoulder at the speechless men.
“The pouch is woven directly into the straps so there’s no chance of chafing.” Andy bent suddenly forward with his legs spread to show where the straps met the pouch. Other things were shown as well.
“Oh, I see,” Brandt muttered, trying to keep it together. Donnelly wasn’t able to do even this much. He stepped back and sat heavily on the bench.
Andy sprang upright and turned back to the men.
“So, what do you think?” He looked from Brandt to Donnelly and back again, trying to gauge a reaction.
Brandt took a breath and summoned his professional demeanor.
“That’s nice, Andy, thanks. I think, though, I need something a little more traditional.”
Andy grinned. “Ah, I thought you might. Here, let’s try this one.” He grabbed the bottom box from the pile and opened it. He shook out the scant patch of fabric and held it up.
“Hmm. There’s not much there.” Brandt was trying to picture himself in that tiny thing, and having a hard time.
“Oh, just wait!” Andy replied, and quickly slipped off the red jock. It took him a minute to work it down over his athletic shoes, during which time Brandt tried to find somewhere safe to look. Donnelly had simply closed his eyes.
“There we go!” Andy stood proudly before the men, wearing the sleek white jockstrap. The front was made of the finest mesh, so the outline of his cock was clearly visible.
“I don’t think I want to show quite that much,” Brandt replied, gesturing to the packed pouch before him.
“Oh, this is for you?” Andy asked, surprised.
“Yeah, didn’t I say that?”
“I just assumed, when you said you were a friend of Nick’s, that you were looking for something for him to wear when he modeled for you. He sometimes has his private clients come here to pick something out for him to wear.”
“Actually, no. I’m going to be… well, I’m sort of a model for the same company.”
Andy nodded, slowly.
“And I’m, you know… straight.”
Andy looked him up and down and nodded again.
“Well, that makes two of us. That’s why they hired me—lots of customers prefer that.”
“And it makes three of us, actually,” grunted a clearly miffed Donnelly.
Brandt decided that no good was going to come of continuing their conversation along this line, so he changed the subject.
“So, I’m looking for something even more traditional. Got anything like that?”
Andy, ever the professional, smiled again, and returned to his stack. “I think this one may be to your liking.”
He held up a strap that looked for all the world like the ones that Brandt had worn since he started with pee-wee football in grade school. He smiled.
“That’s the one!” he exclaimed. “Can I try it on?”
“Not unless you’re going to buy it. It’s not returnable once you put it on.”
“Oh, I want it,” Brandt replied. Andy handed him the strap and he slipped it on.
“Oh, now this is nice,” Brandt sighed as he looked in the mirror. “There’s something different, though. What is it?”
“The pouch,” said Andy. He reached over and pulled the waistband out so that Brandt could look into the pouch with him. “It looks like the old cotton/spandex dealies that our dads wore, but it’s woven of raw silk. Nice, right?” Andy’s hand was almost touching Brandt’s cock.
Brandt looked up, met Andy’s eye. “Yeah, that’s… nice,” he whispered, wondering why it was suddenly so warm in the fitting room.
Andy slowly released the waistband of Brandt’s jock, grinning slyly as the pouch closed over the growing contents.
“So,” came Donnelly’s sudden, loud voice, “I’ll go wait in the car for you.”
“Hey, buddy, you didn’t tell me which one you liked!”
Donnelly fixed him with a strangely intense stare. “The red one, of course. That white one makes you look like you just came in from the practice field, all sweaty and gross. Yuck.” And with that he turned on his heel and left the fitting room.
“What’s up with your buddy?” Andy asked, as he stripped off the jockstrap he was wearing and got back into his ref’s outfit.
“Beats me,” Brandt answered. “He’s kind of touchy these days.”
Andy gave a shrug and a shake of his head that Brandt recognized as the universal sign of male solidarity (it means “chicks, right?” or “guys, right?” depending on the gender involved).
Brandt was going to protest that he and
Donnelly weren’t, you know… but it didn’t seem worth going into. Some things get more complicated if you try to explain them.
AFTER JOCK shopping, Donnelly returned to work and Brandt headed over to the house for the photo shoot.
Brandt was something of a celebrity, even in the strangely sexual world of the Str8 Frat Dudes house. As Nick escorted him into the photo studio, several of the guys followed along. They were used to watching each other work, and Brandt hardly minded anymore.
“All right, we just want a few simple shots of you in your jock, looking, um, available. No naughty bits, though—we want to save that for Friday night, right?” The rest of the guys groaned in disappointment.
“Gotcha. Let’s do this,” Brandt grunted, hoping to just get it done. He stripped off his clothes, then turned around and realized he had just exposed himself carelessly to about a dozen men. He took a deep breath and tried to carry on.
Nick had positioned a leather couch in the studio and now motioned for Brandt to sit down on it. He did, as carefully as possible, wincing a bit as his ass cheeks hit the cold leather upholstery. It warmed quickly, though, and he looked to Nick for direction.
“Just look natural,” Nick suggested, as if it were a natural thing to recline on a leather sofa wearing a jock.
“Good. Now run one hand through your hair. Great. Let’s tweak a nipple, shall we? Thatta boy.” Brandt was on autopilot, just doing what Nick asked. Soon he was poking his fingertips under the waistband, much as Andy had done.
Oh, shit.
The memory of Andy grabbing the front of his jock, for some reason unknown to Brandt, caused him to start chubbing up. Soon his dick was seriously on the rise, and there was a limit to how long he could keep it restrained. He desperately willed his cock to subside; perversely, that seemed only to encourage it. It was tenting out the pouch, and his balls were threatening to escape the sides as the fabric stretched. Nick seemed aware that he was racing against time, and he clicked the shutter faster and faster before Brandt lost containment altogether.
There was a gasp in the room as the head of Brandt’s cock appeared, poking out from the top of the pouch.
“And that’s a wrap!” called Nick. “Great job, Jason. I got some terrific shots. We’ll get these up and the bidding will go through the roof.”
“Awesome,” replied Brandt, hoping it sounded convincing.
“Now, if you’d like to take care of that,” Nick continued, nodding his head at Brandt’s protruding member, “We can give you some privacy.”
Despite himself, Brandt smiled.
“Nah, I’m saving up for Friday.” He looked down at the crystal droplet that had formed at the tip of his cock. “I guess I’m gonna need to wash this thing first.”
“I’ll do it!” came a voice from the back of the room. Brandt never did figure out who said it.
THE PHOTO session had the desired effect. The pictures went up Wednesday morning, and by Friday the price for Mason’s first private show was at $10,000, and then $15,000 as the bidding entered the final hours. The Chief had agreed to go to $19,000 (before he could commit $20,000 of department money he needed to get approval, and that would be awkward given the circumstances). Brandt hoped it was enough.
Donnelly, meanwhile, had no good news for him on Tim Drake’s sexual assault complaint. He described hitting dead end after dead end, and now their only hope was the assistant DA whose name was last in the paperwork; she was on vacation, however, and wouldn’t return to the office until Monday. They would just have to wait.
Brandt drove to the house in the early evening on Friday, dreading what was to come. The bidding would close in under an hour, and the last text from Nick said that the current price was $17,000. He knew Donnelly was at home monitoring the bidding, and he just had to trust that his partner would win the auction. The alternative was unthinkable.
Brandt arrived at the house just before the close of the auction. Nick met him at the door, dressed this time, and brought him into the dining/computer room. There Eugene was monitoring the auction system, making sure everything was working.
“Now, if eBay is any indication,” Eugene was explaining to Mr. Drake, “there’s often a shitload of bidding that goes on in the final few minutes. We’re ready—but it could get wild.”
The counter in the corner of the big computer monitor indicated that less than fifteen minutes remained. The counter next to it registered a high bid of $18,500. Brandt’s throat began to close.
“Hey, Jason, you okay?” Nick asked, seeing a pale Brandt watch the auction enter its final moments.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little nervous, I guess.”
“That’s understandable. Let’s go get you a drink.” Nick grabbed his hand—he actually took Brandt by the hand—and led him into the kitchen. Brandt sat on a stool at the counter and tried to focus. On anything.
“Here, try this,” Nick offered as he passed Brandt an iced tea. “Chamomile—I made it this morning.”
Brandt looked at the glass and smiled. Nick was taking care of him again, and he was actually glad. Being here with him just felt warm and let him forget the fucked-up reason he was here. For a moment.
“Thanks, buddy. Just what I needed.”
“So, are you ready for your big night?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be. I just hope I get someone who’s, well… I don’t know….”
“Sane, and not awful to look at?” smiled Nick, who had been there and done that.
“Yeah, I guess. What are they normally like?”
“Well, everyone’s different. Thing is, with the bids going this high, I have no idea what they’re going to be like. You could be spankin’ it for a guy in a top hat and tails or something.”
“That would be awkward,” giggled Brandt.
“Yeah, well, if all else fails, you just let me tell you what to do.”
Brandt stopped breathing.
“What?” he managed to spit out.
“Just give me a sign, and I’ll suggest something if you get stuck.”
“But I thought you said that no one else watches these private performances.”
“We don’t record them, but someone else is there in case it gets weird or the guy gets in trouble for some reason. Sometimes the private sessions get so intense that the guy loses control. So we have another guy there to help out. It’s for your protection, really.”
Brandt tried to swallow both this new information and the mouthful of iced tea that was growing warm in his mouth. He didn’t know what to do—this whole plan had been predicated on the idea that no one would see the video of the private session, but now—now he would actually have to perform. Why is it that everything, no matter how awful, always got worse?
“You know, it’s nice of you, but I don’t think I really need—”
Brandt was cut off by a sudden cheering from the next room, and the sound of high fives being given. Footsteps, and then Eugene and Drake came into the kitchen. Drake slapped Brandt on the back.
“You sir, are a phenomenon! Congratulations.”
Brandt winced and turned to ask what he most feared.
“How much did I go for?” He didn’t really want to know.
“Are you ready?” was Mr. Drake’s reply.
“Yes, sir, I am,” returned Brandt, impatient to know his fate.
“Your first private video session was just auctioned off for….” Drake paused here for dramatic effect, which only resulted in Brandt wanting to kill him, with his bare hands, right now.
“Twenty-four thousand dollars!” A cheer went up in the room once again, and the only voice not joining in was Brandt’s. This was it—he was completely screwed. Donnelly’s limit had been $19,000, and now someone had outbid him by $5,000.
Brandt bolted into the bathroom down the hall from the kitchen, where he hoped the running water would cover the sound of him emptying his guts into the toilet. He sat on the toilet lid for a few minutes, then availed himself of the mouthwas
h conveniently provided on the sink. Finally, he pulled himself together enough to open the door and stride into the kitchen.
“Let’s get upstairs and do a quick test before the event, okay?” Nick put a reassuring arm around Brandt’s shoulder. He guided him up the stairs to the bedroom that had been the site of his debut video less than a week ago (six days! how much had changed in that time!) and where Nick had already set up the equipment for the private session.
“Here, you sit on the bed,” Nick instructed. Brandt did as he was told, because he couldn’t think of what else to do.
“Now, when you look here”—Nick pointed a strange piece of equipment at the foot of the bed—“you’ll be able to see the other person. The camera is behind here, so when you are looking at him, you’ll actually be looking at the camera.”
Brandt was trying to focus.
“Wow, that’s like something you’d see at a TV station” was the best he could do.
Nick grinned. “Funny you should say that. It was a gift from the weatherman on Channel 11. You know, ‘Neighborhood Weather with Sal’? Yeah, he got annoyed that the guys in his private sessions weren’t looking right at him, so he gave us this. It’s pretty awesome.”
“Yep, awesome,” Brandt agreed weakly.
The dismal tone in Brandt’s voice was unmistakable. Nick sat down next to him, their bodies in contact along their full length. Brandt had previously found Nick’s lack of a sense of personal space disturbing, but now he found his proximity comforting.
“You still in?” Nick asked, his voice husky and low.
“Does it matter?”
Nick bumped him on the shoulder. “’Course. You decide you can’t do this, we stop it now.”
“But that would kind of be a mess at this point, wouldn’t it? I mean, someone’s put up over $20,000 for this.”
Nick looked Brandt straight on, his eyebrows cocked. Brandt searched Nick’s golden eyes, and saw there only concern and support. For him. His eyes welled up.
“If you want to stop, I will tell them that we need to stop. I got you into this, and if I say you aren’t going to do it, then there’s nothing they can do about it.”