Gay Erotic Stories

Back on stage Scott was almost out of breath, but he still couldn’t stop. He was acting like some deranged animal. Any thought of trying to have an orgasm had left his fevered brain many minutes ago. He wasn’t thinking anything. He just kept rubbing against what was becoming more and more like a cheese grater. But the itch just kept on growing…and the psychosis got closer and closer.

Somewhere around twenty minutes Scott’s head jerked back and his eyes rolled up as his mutilated prick began to jerk and jump. A stream of blood red cockcream shot out his ravaged pisshole and flew up past his chest landing near the top of the wall. Scott wanted to BELLOW!!!! IT HURTS!! IT HURTS!! IT HURTS!! And he shot and he shot and shot and shot... jizz and clots and meat and God knows what else.

Sam gave a signal and Scott’s two “keepers” grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and dragged him away from the wall. Scott tried to pull away from them and continue what he’d been doing. The need to itch hadn’t abated one tiny bit. Scott struggled like a madman. HE NEEDED THE WALL!! HE HAD TO KEEP SCRATCHING!! HE WANTED THE WALL! THE WALL! THE WALL! THE WALL! THE WALL!

A moment later the Latino blond came on stage pulling what looked like a small, two foot round, vinyl, blow-up, baby’s pool. Sam’s blond-blond appeared next and emptied two pitchers of a clear liquid into the tiny pool and stood back.

Sam was on the PA, “Congratulations Thing, you’ve won. The little plastic pool contains the elixir that will stop the itching… it’s a common household product…. quite good on french fries… IT’S VINEGAR!

Scott didn’t hear or understand the words. Instinct told him the liquid in the round thing at his feet might stop the itching so the instant Sam’s men let him go he dove for it. One second… Two seconds… Three seconds later Scott raised his head off the floor, his midsection in the “pool,” with tears streaming down his child-like, sweet face. His eyes, his mournful, horror stricken, wretched, heartbroken eyes told the story.

SCOTT TRIED TO SCREAM AND SCREAM AND SCREAM TILL HE DIED….

Once more only air escaped his hollow body as he passed into unconsciousness.

While Scott was out Sam’s men used the time to “fix” him up a bit. They pulled his crotch out of the vinegar and dried it off; they toweled off the rest of his sweat soaked body, and tried to comb his hair; they un-cuffed his hands, pulled them in front of his body and re-cuffed them; they lowered the panties and applied a large amount of styptic gel to what remained of Scott’s raw, bloody, badly damaged still erect prick. Once the bleeding was stopped they pulled the disgusting vinegar soaked, sweaty, pissy, bloody panties back over his hips.

Scott looked awful. He lay there like a broken doll… and yet his masculine beauty showed through. As broken and disheveled as he was, as bruised and battered, as black and blue and swollen, as cut and bloodied as he was; Scott remained a tall, well built, handsome man with a kind face. Some things even Fat Sam couldn’t destroy. Under all the muck and mire it was still Scott a senior control with the Organization.

When Sam’s men finished their “repair” work they brought out a rhinestone studded dog collar, fastened it around Scott’s neck, and attached a leash. Scott was ready to be passed among this pack of degenerate vultures. God only knew what they had in mind.

One of the bare-chested goons pulled smelling salts out of his pocket and began to revive their half dead charge. It was time to confront his next ordeal. Scott’s eyes opened but he wasn’t there… they were just black holes with nothing behind them… Scott was gone… only his body remained. Was there even a glimmer?

As they half carried half dragged Scott to the head table his next tormentor felt her blood begin to surge. Mistress Hamilton Winthrop sat in Chair #1. She was too old to be wearing a patent leather bikini with thigh boots and she looked ridiculous. Kneeling next to her chair was her lapdog, Winnie, AKA Hamilton Winthrop himself, president and chairman of the board of Winthrop Industries (whose subdivisions included Winthrop Air, Winthrop Pharmaceuticals, Winthrop Foods, and Winthrop Manufacturing). Winnie was a captain of industry by day, but at all other times he was a died-in-the-wool submissive/masochist, who lapped at his mistress’s heels. As Scott’s keepers brought him close to her table she called for someone to fetch her a “good sized” strap on.

Meanwhile she had them carefully place Scott on her lap. As she waited for her “accessories” to arrive she bounced Scott around on her knees. When she reached around and grabbed his nipples between her thumbs and index fingers a piece of Scott’s mind was jolted into the room. His head was tilted sideways almost resting on his shoulder; as his eyes focused he saw out across the room. Fat Sam was on the far side sitting on a leather couch with Jack, poor sweet whacked out Jack, again on his lap.

As the torment in his nipples grew Scott pulled his head a bit more erect. He saw Sam playing with Jack’s still erect, drooling prick, and whispering into his ear. Two of Sam’s personal bodyguard blonds stood behind the couch, and next to him sat his man “Jaws.” In front of Sam on a low coffee table was the remote for Jack’s exploding collar and further to the right his suit coat was draped over a chair.

Scott was actually getting used to the pain shooting through his chest. He didn’t care anymore. He closed his eyes and prepared to leave his body… go away once and for all. He’d be of no use to Jack. Any plans he’d made to kill them both were history. There was no longer anything he could do. He’d use his last ounce of strength to finally send his mind out of his body, once and for all, leaving only a psychotic shell behind.

Scott blinked and his head dropped back onto his shoulder… His eye was drawn to a rather tall Mexican wearing a wide brimmed sombrero and dirty serape, leaning against the farthest corner, at the back of the room. He looked totally out of place in this gathering of well-to-do rich filth. The tall guy raised the brim of his big hat… HOLY SHIT, IT WAS DAVID! … IT WAS C… IT WAS HIS BROTHER! As tears flooded Scott’s eyes his adrenal glands began to pump out hormone by the gallon. Scott’s heart began to pound. David was saying something with his hands… Scott lifted his cuffed wrists and used his fingers to sign, “Sam has a bomb… it has a remote control.”

C signaled, “We’re jamming every frequency.”

In the flick of a viper’s tongue Scott was up. Christ knows how he did it…. where he found the energy… but before anyone could stop him he’d pulled the leash out of the Mistress’s hand and naked except for the collar, cuffs, and panties he stepped from the floor to an empty chair to the top of one table… across to the next… and the next…. For a moment Sam was frozen in amazement…. a second later… FSSST... FSSST… two Chinese throwing stars took out the guards behind that couch.

Sam pushed Jack off his lap with such force that the poor guy flew six feet and landed in a heap on the floor. Sam reached the remote at the same moment Scott landed on the floor and flung the coffee table out from between them. As Sam squeezed the button Scott looped the chain leash once, twice, three times around Sam’s neck. Scott could have used his foot for leverage against Sam’s chest but he chose to use his knee so he could stare down into Sam’s eyes. Scott glared at Sam and what he saw made him look away. There was no fear in Sam’s visage, no plea for mercy, only ice-cold hate.

Sam struggled against Scott’s irons fists; he clawed at the chain around his throat as his face went from beet red to blue to deep purple; he tried to reach out for Scott’s head or body but Scott easily leaned back out of his reach and Sam’s hands went back to tearing at Scott’s fists.

Just as things seemed to be going so well Scott felt a wave of heat pass over his body; he got dizzy; Jesus Christ he felt like he might pass out… THIS WAS TAKING TOO LONG!! A moment later Scott released the leash and dropped his cuffed left hand below his right; opened his right hand, palm forward and using his last bit of strength he lunged forward bringing the heel of his right palm into contact with Sam’s nose. As the action followed its course Scott’s hand pushed Sam’s nasal septum deep into his brain ending his miserable life.

As Fat Sam’s world passed into darkness Scott quietly passed out and crumbled to the floor.

Fifteen minutes later, when Scott regained consciousness the carnage was over. The bodies of Sam’s men and all his patrons littered the room. No one was left alive. The Organization had decided before they went into Sam’s well-protected compound that there wasn’t a soul inside worth saving beyond Scott, Jack, and any captives they might rescue. Everyone else, male and female, guards, employees, guests, and patrons were all marked for death. The outside troops were taken out with silenced high-powered rifle fire, and some hand to hand combat. Inside the showroom most of the corpses had broken necks, a handful had been dispatched with Chinese stars or balanced throwing knives and three of four had died from bullet wounds in a small exchange of gunfire.

The room was almost silent with conversation at a minimum. Controllers don’t revel in victories that require killing. They celebrate life not death. BUT when it comes to their brothers in the Organization; the bond is absolute…. hand-to-hand, heart to heart, soul-to-soul. They will gladly die in service to each other and they often have. It’s who they are. It’s what they are about. It’s the code by which they live.

When Scott opened his eyes he was lying on a stretcher. He looked up into the face of his brother David (C) who in turn began to pet Scott’s hair with his left hand. C gently placed his right palm on Scott’s battered chest, bent down and… very, very softly… very, very slowly… kissed him on the forehead… After a couple seconds C pulled back slightly, leaned in once more and kissed his brother ever so gently on the lips.

Scott did his best to smile, as David with tears running down his cheeks, returned the gesture and whispered, “So, how’s it goin’ sailor-boy?” Then Dr. John, always along for the ride, injected Scott with a potent mix of antibiotics and morphine and he was carried away to never-never land in the arms of the men who loved him.

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ELEVEN MONTHS LATER----------- THE PRESENT---------Day Five

C, Scott, and James climbed into the back of the stretch limo and headed out of the airport toward downtown LA. James was out of his clothes, naked, and at C’s feet within seconds.

Scott said, “This kid is one hot number. Is it me or are the candidates getting better looking every year?”

C returned, “It’s not something I spend a lot of time thinking about. This boy is not the ‘norm’ by any stretch of the imagination. This one could have my job someday.”

Scott smiled, “I thought I was next in line for Western Command.”

C looked his brother in the eye, “You’d hate it. There’d be no time for sailing or music and you’d have to give up the dogs AND your lover. I spend most of my time traveling and getting my family out of trouble… getting YOU out of trouble. If you had this command you’d have to be responsible… like I said you’d hate it.”

Scott frowned, “I was only kidding. There’s no need to get snotty. What the fuck happened to your sense of humor?”

C grinned, “That WAS my sense of humor… wise ass… If I thought for one second you really wanted this job I’d spend the next two years grooming you to take over. I’d love you to inherit my job. I know you’re not really interested. Christ, Pax would do hand springs if he heard you seriously wanted a position of leadership.”

Scott shook his head, “How the hell did we get into a discussion of my vocational planning. I like being the suave, debonair, incredibly handsome, hotshot lawyer for the Organization, whose big brother keeps the world safe. More leadership would only cramp my style.”

C changed the subject, “What ever became of that kid we rescued with you… Tommy?”

Scott answered, “You must mean Timmy… Oh God, Timmy… there’s one hell of a story. He was out of the hospital two weeks before me, which is pretty remarkable considering all the years of damage he survived… We couldn’t just put the kid back on the street so my office found him a job in one of the our pharmaceutical warehouses… But that’s not where the tale ends… Apparently he enjoyed fucking me sooo much that he became a top… little five foot nothing Timmy. He hooked up with one of the drug company’s field reps and they live together… You wouldn’t believe Timmy’s boyfriend Isaac. The guy is 6’2”, 190 lbs, all muscle--a former Israeli commando--who follows Timmy around like a puppy dog and jumps when his master calls.

Timmy is still the same sweet kid. You can read his life story by staring into those deep dark eyes and looking at his battered face and misshapen ears. It brings him a lot of compassion and instant respect. Timmy’s come up through the ranks and is now warehouse foreman, in charge of eleven or twelve men, all considerably larger. Those guys wouldn’t think of questioning his authority…. they love him too. The kid is an amazing success story.”

C broached the obvious, “.and Jack?”

Scott’s whole demeanor shifted, “Jack is another story. He’s still in the Organization’s clinic in the Italian Alps.”

C looked deeply into his brother’s eyes, “Have you seen him?”

Scott’s voice tightened, “He still refuses…. says he’s too deeply embarrassed. He just can’t get over being used the way he was. He was always sensitive about being too passive… never felt worthy of being a controller. After Mexico the roof caved in; he had a complete breakdown. Unfortunately, he remembered everything, every detail. You’d think all the drugs would have erased his memory, but his command of hypnosis worked against him, it gave him absolute recall. He thinks he capitulated; that he was responsible for what happened to me; that I put up with all the torture because of him.”

C interjected, “Surely he knows how foolish that is.”

Scott returned, “That’s just it he doesn’t, and it makes me crazy. I tell him over and over that I did what I did to survive. I didn’t do anything solely for his well being, but like I said he remembers every fucking fact… everything that was said and he’s recited chapter and verse of every time I begged that Fat Fuck to leave Jack alone and use me as his whipping boy. Jack just won’t see that it was MY problem; that That Pig was angry with ME; that he’d have tortured me no matter what I said. I keep telling Jack that it’s MY fault he got kidnapped in the first place, but he doesn’t hear me. He thinks he failed. He thinks he’s weak. He thinks he gave in and caused me harm… and… the thing is… Oh Christ! … David, I think I love him… I don’t know what the fuck to do!”

C tried to smile, “Well at least he’s talking to you.”

Scott shook his head, “No, no that’s just it… the things I’ve told you… what I know about Jack… I got from his doctors and from his letters. He’s been writing to tell me to stay away, to leave him in peace and find someone else to care about.”

C furrowed his brow, “Well, you can’t give up. If you really care about this guy, you can’t just fade away. Sailor-boy, I say, get off your over-exercised ass and high tail it to Italy. Camp out on the clinic lawn… break down his door… make him see you. You’ve got to face him down; see him eye to eye; tell him exactly how you feel; make him hear you. He’ll see the light. Scott, listen to me, not just as your brother, as Control One, Jack went trough candidacy; he survived that ordeal, which means he’s made of stronger stuff. Hell, if you want I’ll go and see him. Give me five minutes with him. He’ll see the truth.”

Scott smiled, “Ya know David, you sometimes have delusions of grandeur. You can’t hypnotize EVERYONE into understanding. Sometimes nature has to take its course BUT I think you’re right about me going over there. I need to think about it, but hearing you say it made instant sense… Jesus, you didn’t hypnotize me… did you?”

C considered his answer, “Of course not…. I’d never do something that… un-brotherly.”

Scott raised his eyebrow, “It’s getting so I don’t even want to shake your hand any more. Sometime you frighten me brother-of-mine.”

C just smiled.

Scott looked into his C’s face and realized he had no idea if he was telling the truth or if he had indeed used his considerable abilities to help Scott see the truth. Scott inclined his head toward James kneeling next to C and asked, “So how’s this kid at blow jobs?”

C looked at James and gave him a quick hand signal. A moment later the kneeling naked candidate was staring up into Scott’s eyes and gently opening his pants. James snaked his tongue into the open zipper and caressed Scott’s growing prick through his jockey shorts. Scott relaxed and concentrated on the expert mouth that was softly kissing the head of his cock. A moment later Scott jumped up a foot pressing his back into the car seat; then using both his hands he grabbed James’ head away from his groin and looked down into the boy’s eyes, “Whoa kid… that’s delicate territory!... my cock is a lot more sensitive than it used to be… you’ve got to be very, very gentle… very gentle.”

C looked into Scott’s lap. His cock was clearly illuminated by the morning sun; the underside was covered by fresh, bright red, scar tissue; it had been “sanded” quite flat. The head of Scott’s cock was still large and mushroom shaped with the exception of one side, which had been grated off. C forced himself to pull his glance away and back to his brother’s face. C said, “Is this the first time you’ve…”

Scott finished his brother’s sentence, “had my dick sucked… As a matter of fact yes. I’ve been out of the hospital for six months. They did a hell of a job putting me back together, but some things…” he looked down at his dick, which James was delicately swallowing… “but some things are going to take longer than others… besides with Jack… away… I haven’t had much of an appetite for blow jobs and fucking.”

C reached over and squeezed his brother’s shoulder, “You should get back to sex, sucking and fucking, as soon as possible… for your health. Scott, I am entirely serious. This isn’t about love or intimacy; it’s about healing your body. I expect you to use these next few days to regain control… It’s all about control… and Sailor-boy I am absolutely serious. I’m not speaking as your brother; I’m talking as Control One. You are to reassert your sexuality over the next two days. Consider that an order.”

Scott smiled broadly, “Aye, aye sir… Ooooooohhh kid now that’s the way… Oh god, you’ve got a magic tongue… yes, that’s it get waaaay under my balls… Oh god yes…”

For the rest of the ride Scott followed Control One’s orders and put James through his paces. The kid did marvelously and gave Scott two great big orgasms.

Meanwhile C decided exactly how he was going to handle the punk reporter, Kenneth Fitzpatrick. One thing was certain; Fitzpatrick had chosen the wrong adversary to fuck with.

------------------------------------------ Day 5—Part 1

In the Organization’s suite at the posh Los Angeles hotel, Roberto paced back and forth while his charge, the Latino boy singer knelt naked on the floor, wondering why his master seemed so distraught.

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Well folks, I do apologize for the length of time it took me to finish this chapter. The next part gets back to “fun and games,” so it should be a lot easier to write. As always let me know what you think.

controlone@adelphia.net