Jack bared his teeth around the ball, his growl intensifying.
"Exactly! Now, suggested retail price on these lovelies is $24.99. Your cost is a mere $15.00 per piece, two dozen minimum.” John grinned. His hand worked his cock expertly in long, languid strokes.
Smiling. John was smiling, while Jack was sporting a hard-on that could split logs. Get down here. Put those lips to better use than reciting a stupid sales pitch. Suck me, dammit! Jack thought, while biting into the ball. More decadent chocolate flavoring filled his mouth, causing his drooling to intensify. A line of wetness snaked down across his chest, pooling under his chin. He undulated like a beached trout, hands and feet jangling the chains, frustrated that he couldn't get the words out around the gag.
John arched an eyebrow. “You're being a bad boy, Jack. Haven't you learned your lesson yet? If you keep interrupting me, we'll be here all day."
Jack yelped behind his gag when John delivered a series of several sharp blows to Jack's butt. “Your ass is turning the same color as our Cherry flavored Tasty Balls, Jack."
Jack moaned again, his cock twitching pitifully underneath him. The tip felt swollen and was probably already purple with, glistening drops of precum. All day? If John swatted his bottom just a few more times, Jack figured wouldn't last but a few more seconds.
He'd never felt as helpless as he did then—unable to talk, to ask for what he needed, unable to take care of the problem himself. Totally and completely dependent on the whim of a man he'd just met, a man who probably hadn't even given Jack his real name. John Smith. Ri-ight.
Jack had also never been quite as turned on as he was at the moment. His cock felt like iron, his balls swollen and hard against his thighs. Chances were good that a year ago, when Jack had had a normal sex life, John would never have been able to get Jack to this point so quickly. But after more than three hundred and sixty five days of celibacy aside from close encounters with his own hand, Jack was more than ready to shoot off like a high-pressure fire hose.
John had walked around to face Jack, and pulled Jack up to his knees. Eyelevel with Jack was John's heavy cock, long, thick, and looking every bit as ready as Jack's own. The smooth rounded head was reddened and wet with the evidence of John's desire. He could smell the musky scent of it, the maleness of it. Jack swore silently, desperately wanting to taste John's flavor instead of the chocolate ball gag.
Jack closed his eyes and groaned as John's cock traced his cheek, leaving a streak of wetness along his jaw. His moan sounded suspiciously like a purr behind the ball of the gag as he rubbed his face against the heated skin of John's erection.
"That's a good boy."
For some unfathomable reason, John's little compliment made Jack blush and feel inordinately proud of himself, as if he'd mastered a difficult skill.
"You deserve a reward, I suppose. After all, you did allow me to make my sales pitch and demonstrate my product. Lie down, Jack, on your back."
Eagerly, albeit a little awkwardly, Jack fell to his side and rolled onto his back. It wasn't as easy a maneuver as he would have thought since his hands were still bound behind his back. His breath hitched in his chest when John lowered himself to the floor, spreading Jack's bent knees wide, feet held immobile by the cuffs at his ankles. “Shall I make you come, Jack? Have you been a good enough boy for that?"
Jack nodded vigorously, whimpering behind the gag. His hips lifted toward John, pumping his cock into the air. Please. Touch me. Give me just a little lick. Hell, just breathing on the fucker will be enough. Do something, anything for pity's sake!
John crawled forward between Jack's spread knees, aligning their cocks. Velvety foreskin rubbed against Jack's erection in a long, blisteringly hot stroke. Precum slicked their organs as John slid against Jack's flesh. Once. Twice. Three times’ the charm.
Jack came hard, biting deeply into the ball as his hips thrust against the hard length of John's cock. A guttural cry tore from his throat, the ball gag doing little to suppress the volume as he screamed his release. Jack's head snapped from side to side, the tendons in his necks bulging like steel cables. His climax seemed to go on forever, every muscle in his body contracting with its power.
Only after he'd ridden the monster to its end, lying boneless and sated and still drooling chocolate spittle, did Jack realize that at some point during his record-breaking orgasm, John had joined him.
John was smiling as he removed the cuffs and ball gag from Jack, freeing him. He had good reason to smile, Jack thought. He'd just put in a helluva performance—a sales pitch for the ages.
Jack wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I'll take four dozen,” he managed to rasp, returning John's smile.
* * * *
The room snapped to attention as the general, polished eagles winking in the overhead lighting, walked in. Armed guards stood sentry at the door, expressions hard and cold, weapons gleaming darkly at their sides.
Small blue eyes scanned the bank of video cams as he accepted a clipboard proffered by one of the men. A quick inspection of the data confirmed what he already knew—the experiment looked to be at least a partial success. Weesaw, Florida had been a perfect choice of location. Secluded, low population, water derived from a community well, it had fit the criteria to a tee. The real challenge had been in installing the surveillance equipment.
Darting back to the video screens, his eyes alit on camera 157. A small, neat white label under the monitor read, Sensuous Shopper, Subject 709, Repellant.
"I take it that there's a problem with the repellant?” His voice was gruff, used to be immediately obeyed.
"Not really a problem, sir. The repellant lasted nearly one year to the day, but as you can see, it's apparently worn off.” The speaker was a bespectacled man in his forties, balding, dressed in a white lab coat. His nametag read Miller, William. “However, during that period it was completely effective. No one wanted anything to do with Subject 709 sexually. The subject seemed frustrated, but not enough so to do anything other than masturbate."
"Maybe we should try something other than injecting it into his laundry detergent. Maybe it needs to be taken internally, like Lot 889.” Lot 889, cheekily dubbed Screw Brew by the team overseeing the project, was the most potent aphrodisiac known to man. They'd found that it was most effective when dispensed through the town's water supply. Lot 890, on the other hand, administered to one Mr. Jack McGill, acted as both a repellent and an immunization against the effects of Lot 889.
"That's the next step in our protocol, General."
"It's imperative that we nail down the most effective way to administer the repellent. We want our enemies banging each other on the battlefield, not our troops."
"Yes sir. Understood."
"Is that Captain Smith?” He squinted at the small screen. “I almost didn't recognize him out of uniform."
"Yes, sir. He did a commendable job, completely believable in his role as a salesman."
"His father was a door-to-door salesman. I'll keep your recommendation in mind when his evaluation comes due.” His eyes swept briefly across the other screens, wincing at Cam 320, which showed an obese man with a large, hairy mole doing obscene things with an older woman and a life-sized male mannequin. He shuddered, handing the clipboard back to Miller. “Keep me updated."
"Yes, sir."
The general took his leave, followed by his entourage. In a much better mood than when he'd arrived, he almost smiled. He'd have good news to report at his meeting at the Pentagon that afternoon. The experiment in Weesaw was shaping up to be a success, and the Brass would have their new chemical weapon.
[Back to Table of Contents]
BLIND FAITH
"Are you sure you want to go through with this? It's not necessary, you know. We can just forget about the whole thing.” Jules’ fingers drummed a nervous beat on the table. He looked jumpy, skittish.
"I'm positive. We've discussed this before, Julian.” I used his full name just so he'd know I was being s
erious. “At some length, as I recall."
"I know, it's just that—"
"Just what?"
"It can be difficult, Devin. Frightening. With your claustrophobia, I'm afraid that—"
"If it gets to be too much for me, I'll tell you. I want this experience, Jules. If I'm going to write about a vision-challenged character, then I need to know how he feels, how he perceives the world, how his other senses come into play."
"You can just interview me. I'll tell you everything you need to know.” Jules light gray eyes rested at a point somewhere just above my right shoulder. Jules had the most beautiful eyes I'd ever seen, although I'd never tell him that. He was sensitive about his eyes, and besides, we didn't do the sickly-sweet compliment thing. The most I'd ever said was, “I like your eyes.” They were intense, though, and striking. Pale gray, with a thin, darker band circling the iris, framed by thick black lashes, they were as startling as they were captivating.
I'd first met Julian when he was a teaching an Intro to Ancient Greece class. I remember passing his classroom on the way to mine. He was sitting perched on the edge of his desk, regaling his class in a voice hot enough to melt steel. Smoky and rich, you didn't just hear Julian's voice—you felt it with your entire body. It wrapped itself around me in a warm, velvety cocoon, drawing me into the doorway.
I remember him pausing mid-speech and cocking his head as if he'd heard something no else had, before smiling and continuing on. I would have stood there all day listening to him, if I hadn't had a class of my own to teach.
Later that day I ran into him in the teacher's lounge.
He walked in, his gait fluid and graceful. A thin white cane lightly tapped the floor before him. It was only then that I'd realized he was blind.
He paused and tilted his head again in that way he has, as if he's listening to music only he can hear, then walked directly over to me. He had spoken in a sinfully rich voice. “Did you enjoy my lecture on early Greek civilization?".
"How did you know I was there? Or here for that matter?” The questions were out of my mouth before I could stop them, and I could have kicked myself halfway across the campus. “Oh man, I'm sorry. That was insensitive, wasn't it?” This time I wasn't asking a question—I was stating fact and was very glad that he couldn't see my cheeks heat.
"Not at all. It's a natural question. I could smell your cologne. Dolce and Gabbana, isn't it?” Jules smiled. “Julian DeMarco,” he extended his hand in my general direction.
I took it, shaking it. “Devin Holmes, and that was very impressive, Julian."
"Not really. I just follow my nose, so to speak.” He laughed. “Join me for lunch?"
It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. As it turned out, we had a lot more in common than just our tastes in cologne. We both shared a love of Italian cuisine; both had attended State universities on scholarships, had no families to speak of, and were fans of film noir to the point of obsession.
We were also both gay. I can't lie—I was attracted to Jules from the first moment I laid eyes on him. His smoky voice did things to my body that made sitting through my next class more than a little uncomfortable. But that was as far as it had ever gone. I'd hinted at more but he'd backed away, and although I was disappointed to say the least, in the interest of our friendship I'd let go of any romantic aspirations.
He just wasn't interested in me, not in that way, which was fine with me. Sex I could get anywhere. Real friendship was something much more difficult to find.
After a time, when our friendship reached the point where I felt comfortable talking to him about his condition, I broached the subject of my writing a blind character into my next book. The character I had in mind lost his sight unexpectedly as an adult. In a way, I wanted to base the character on Jules, and I tried to explain that I wanted to conduct a small experiment so I might better understand.
It took a great deal of cajoling and pleading to get Julian to agree to help me.
"Hearing about it isn't the same as experiencing it. I need firsthand knowledge if I'm going to write a character that's believable, Jules."
"That's my point. You don't understand what it's like, Devin. You'd be totally dependent on me for everything. It takes time to learn how to do for yourself when your vision is taken away. You have no idea how difficult it can be. Or how frustrating."
"Exactly why I need to experience it, Jules. Because I have no idea.” I patted his knee then pasted a pair of self-adhering, thick gauze pads over my closed eyes. I added a pair of dark wrap-around sunglasses, which blocked out what little light slipped through the gauze. “Okay. I'm ready, Jules."
"You can't see anything?"
I felt his hand on mine, reassuring, warm.
"Nope. Not a blessed thing."
"You doing okay?"
"It's been all of half a minute, Jules. I'm fine."
"Okay, then. What do you want to do first?"
"Well, I need to call my editor about a deadline.” I thought it to be a simple enough task. Using the phone was something I did many times in a single day. I could handle that, easy.
Not.
Patting my pants, I realized that I'd forgotten my cell phone in my backpack, which I'd left in the bedroom. Standing up, I turned toward where I knew the doorway to Jules’ guestroom was, took two steps and promptly tripped over the coffee table, nearly falling flat on my face. Only Julian's strong arm hooked under mine kept me from knocking loose a couple of teeth.
I detected a trace of humor in Jules’ voice. “Lesson Number One: learn where things are, and then leave them there,. The coffee table is two steps from the sofa. The doorway is six steps from the coffee table. The television is two steps to your right, the wing chair is two steps to your left."
I tried forming a map of the room in my mind, but it was still difficult. Stepping forward without being able to see where I was going, especially after falling over the coffee table, was easier said than done. My hands automatically flew up in front of me, fingers splayed, trying to feel for obstacles.
"Put your hands down, Devin. You look like a mummy from a bad 50's “B” horror flick. Here, take my cane, instead.” Julian pressed his thin cane into my hand.
I tried to mimic his light tapping, sweeping the cane across the floor in front of me, and ended up clipping his dog, Buster. His startled yip scared the hell out of me. I realized that I had been “blind” for all of three minutes and was already as tense as a nun at a porn star convention.
Jules whispered in my ear
His breathe warmed my cheek
Jules’ breath warmed my cheek as he whispered in my ear. Damn he smelled good. “Take a deep breath and try again.” He was wearing my favorite scent, Dolce and Gabanna, Light Blue. When did he start wearing it? I hadn't smelled it on him before.
Slowly, feeling as though I was going to step off a cliff at any moment, I took a few steps forward.
"That's it. You're doing fine.” His hand cupped my elbow. “Cane travel is like dancing. Your body moves, and the cane is the rhythm it dances to.” His warm hand covered mine, showing me how to swing the cane in front of me in an arc that was slightly wider than my shoulders. “Step left, tap right. Step right, tap left."
The cane tapped against the wall, and I continued to flick it lightly against the floorboard until I found the open doorway. Making my way into the bedroom without further mishap felt like a major accomplishment to me, and I was inordinately proud of myself.
"Crap.” I bit my lip and swung my head back and forth out of habit, although I couldn't see a goddamn thing. “I forgot where I put my backpack. I think I left it on the bed, but I can't remember."
Jules laughed. “I refer you back to Rule Number One. Everything has a place, and if you don't return it to its proper place you may someday end up brushing your teeth with epoxy glue."
Good point. I swept the cane over the surface of my bed, feeling it hit something solid. I smiled in triumph. “Aha! I did leave it on the bed!
"
Sitting down on the edge of the mattress, I felt for my backpack. Finding my flip phone wasn't so bad, but dialing it was another story entirely. The buttons were so tiny and flat that I could barely feel where one ended and the next began, and I had a hard time remembering their sequence. My phone also had several extraneous buttons including send, end, and directional keys. Which was which? I frowned, trying to picture the face of my phone in my mind.
After a few minutes, I felt Jules take my phone from my hands. “Try mine".” He slipped a streamlined object into my hand.
"This is a phone?” I ran my hands over the bumpy texture. I could feel the buttons; each had raised dots that I knew must be Braille. “It feels like a remote control. Where's the screen?"
"And I would need a display because...?"
"Oh, right.” I felt my face heat, and was glad he couldn't see me blush. My cheeks must have turned fire engine red. Of course he wouldn't need an LCD screen.
"This phone is designed for the visually impaired, Devin. It has Braille keys, as well as voice dialing capability, and talking Caller ID, signal and battery strength, phonebooks ... every function speaks to you."
"Cool!” I was thoroughly impressed. “But I don't know the Braille system."
Jules took the phone for a moment then handed it back. “Say the number slowly and clearly."
I did, and heard the call ring through. I spent the next few minutes talking to my editor. When I was through I handed the phone back to Jules.
"I felt him stand up, his weight lifting from the mattress. His voice came from my right. “Hungry?"
I was, but I had another, more pressing need. “Actually, I have to ... uh..."
"Ah, you need a bathroom break. Okay, let's go."
Now this was going to be embarrassing, I just knew it.
Using the tap-step method Jules had taught me, I found my way to the bathroom.
The Sweet Side Of The Ropes: Enthralling Tales Of Male-Male Romance Page 2