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Message-ID: <39692asstr$1039255804@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Fri, 06 Dec 2002 23:46:52 -0600
Reply-To: "Trader_32" <Trader_32@yahoo.com>
From: "Trader_32" <Trader_32@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} The Inventor: Chapter II
Date: Sat,  7 Dec 2002 05:10:04 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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The following story is fiction and fantasy.  Please email comments or
suggestions to Trader_32@yahoo.com. (I love to hear what other guys think of
my stories.) If you email and ask, I'll forward to you the pics of the guys
I loosely modeled Jason, Chad and Pedro on.

The Inventor: Chapter II

"Damn Mexicans," Bill grumbled. The yellow liquid he fed to the three teens
wasn't quite living up to the claims of that old bitch in Tijuana.  Although
it had, in fact, briefly paralyzed the rowdy studs, they quickly regained
slight movement in their limbs.  Granted, in their current drugged state,
their young muscled arms and legs were no match even for Bill's 43 year old
flabby limbs.  But having to kneel on their wrists while peeling off their
shirts or bat away their hands while tugging down their pants simply took
away precious time he didn't have.

Once removed from their bodies, Bill tossed each item of clothing across the
room and into a cardboard box at the end of the couch, and he kept a mental
tabulation as he went, just like he did at the grocery store:  3 pairs of
shoes, 2 leather belts, 2 buttoned-down shirts and 1 pullover, 2 white
undershirts, 2 pairs of tan khakis and 1 pair of blue jeans.  He decided to
leave the boys in their socks and underwear, at least for the time being.
The three watches and two necklaces, however, had to go, and he slid them
from their wrists and unclasped them from around their necks.  Jewelry, for
some reason, contradicted the fact that these studs were nothing more than
testosterone-producing test animals.  With one toss, the silver, gold and
beaded accessories that each boy had put on this morning to highlight his
body in some way joined the rumpled pile of clothes in the box.

Bill leaned back against the bureau to rest and survey his work.  Stripping
the guys hadn't been as easy as he thought it would be.  And in some
respects, it was almost hard to believe that the nearly-naked boys sprawled
out on his couch were the same cocky, well-dressed bucks who had been swilli
ng beer, watching football and making fun of him a few minutes ago.  "Who's
laughing now?" he thought.  With their heads rolling lazily from side to
side and the cotton pouches of their underwear resting on the cushions
between their open legs, the three muscle boys looked weak, pathetic, and
vulnerable.  Bill thought for a minute about a bully who had harassed him in
high school and considered kicking Chad in the groin or punching Pedro in
the gut -- but decided against damaging the merchandise -- at least at this
stage.

As Bill bundled the box of clothes and moved it into the closet, he thought
about how similar -- yet different -- the three straight boys looked.  They
each had smooth skin and perfect white teeth, slightly-disheveled and gelled
hair, broad muscular shoulders, meaty gorilla-like pecs crowned with dark
circular nipples, flat stomachs divided in half by a thin line of hair
shooting from their belly buttons to the waistband of their underwear, and
narrow thighs that gave way to bulging legs.  Bill reassured himself that
intelligence was ultimately more important than beauty and reasoned that
dumb guys with muscles were meant to be used hard for greater purposes --
just like the ones he had in mind.  "Don't they milk bulls and make them
pull plows?" he asked himself rhetorically, confusing his farm animals.  His
barnyard analogy reminded him of a PBS documentary that showed a farmer
castrating a bull by attaching a large rubber band around the base of the
sacks which slowly cut off the blood flow and caused the swinging balls to
turn blue and fall off in a day or two.  "I'll bet these boys would worry
less about sports and more about school if they didn't have to drag those
semen bags around between their legs."  He smiled as he imagined the calls
from their grateful parents thanking him for their sons' improved behavior.

While he tried to think through the proper place in the world for guys like
him and teen boys like them, Bill was disconcerted by how strangely exciting
he had found the stripping, since he generally didn't like to be around
people -- let alone touch -- loud-mouthed jock boys.

His last girlfriend, Rhonda, had broken up with him 10 years earlier after
she ran off with a stockboy half her age, and he had avoided people ever
since  Yet something about this experience was different.  It was kind of
like Christmas in a way -- slowly unwrapping a package, not knowing what's
inside, and discovering the secret contents.

The fact that the contents were private and strictly off limits only added
to the fun.  And the boys' futile resistance and muted protests reinforced
Bill's determination to see -- and put to use -- the parts of their young
bodies they fought so hard to conceal.  "What right do they have to hide
anything from me or anyone else?"

Bill felt light-headed -- almost intoxicated -- by the raw power.  He had
always been considered a passive person but was now playing with three
virile young males -- someone's sons -- like they were toys.  Determined to
memorize their every secret, he closely studied each boy's unique and
hidden-from-view features.

Jason was blond with blue eyes and reminded Bill of a young marine with
pouty lips and a bad attitude -- the kind of kid who smokes cigarettes and
plays with guns when he isn't playing with his cock in his parents' garage.
At 17, his body was mostly smooth and slightly beefy and brandished the
large muscles needed to pin another wrestler to a mat.  The hair on his head
was much lighter than the dark blond bush in his pits that matched the happy
trail running down his belly.  Bill had always wondered how blond guys could
have different colored hair on various parts of their bodies and made a
mental note to examine the growth around Jason's rectum to see how it
compared.  "Maybe he doesn't have any there yet," Bill thought.  "Shit, he
just learned to drive last year!!"

Jason's FTL briefs were grayish, baggy, and a bit ragged and were clearly
not intended to be seen by an audience.  Bill smirked at knowing what this
clean-cut, confident boy wore under his jeans and snapped the fraying
waistband to deliver a sting to his right hip.  "I'll bet your mom would
thank me if I made you suck these clean, you little slob," he said
sarcastically, while fingering a yellowish stain on the pouch that for thee
years had absorbed the final pee dribble from the young wrestler's dick
hole.

Chad, on the other hand, had dark hair, blue eyes and flawless fair skin.
He was more ripped than Jason, having well-defined washboard abs, and seemed
meticulous about his grooming.  Even his tight Hanes briefs were crisp and
white, stretching across his thighs and highlighting his hairy upper legs.
With the material so tight, Bill wondered if they had shrunk in the washer.
He could easily discern the large head of Chad's thick penis and his 2 golf
ball-sized testicles snuggled high up against the shaft's base.  Even in its
limp state, Chad's meat strained against the fabric and seemed anxious to
flop into the open and slide into a wet cunt canal.  In addition, the young
football player had a very stark tan line that looked almost comical.  His
fair skin became even lighter about an inch above the waistband of his
tighty-whities and only darkened again a few inches above his knees.  It
looked like he was wearing a pair of skin-white bermuda shorts.  "You need
to get a smaller bathing suit," Bill sneered.  In a funny way, he felt as
though he had donned x-ray goggles and was peeking through Chad's
boxer-style bathing suit to the non-descript briefs cradling the boy's sex
organs safely underneath.  He imagined all the people watching a shirtless
Chad (showing off his body tossing a football on the beach with his buddies)
and wishing they could look under the wet bathing suit.

Swirls of dark hair on Chad's inner thighs fanned out from the leg holes of
his briefs and hinted at a dense unruly bush.  Bill quickly pondered ways to
remove a thatch if necessary.  "Do your girlfriends like your hairy legs?"
Bill asked obnoxiously as he spread the boy's knees apart, grabbed a single
curly hair from the his inner thigh and pulled it out of the skin.  Chad
responsed with an "mmppff"-sound from deep in his throat -- as though he
were imitating an engine being revved -- and tried to close his
normally-powerful legs to prevent a second assault.

"Did I tell you that you could close your legs, fucker?!!?" Bill screamed,
thrusting them even wider apart.  "Are you disobeying me, boy?!!?"  Bill
hooked his right index finger into the right leg opening of the teen's
briefs and pulled it up towards his belly button -- revealing a mesh of dark
hairs in the sweaty crease where Chad's leg joined with his pelvic bone and
testicles.

"DID I HEAR YOU SAY YOU LIKE THAT?!?!?!!" he shouted.  "I KNEW you were a
SICK little freak as soon as I saw you!!!  Do you want more??"  Bill pinched
a tuft of hair together from the sensitive crevice and yanked the small
bundle from its roots.  Chad's arms and legs stiffened and he tried to
scream but only produced a louder and longer "MMMMMMPPPFFFFF....!!!"  Bill
watched with curiosity as the increasingly denuded skin turned red and
formed little bumps.  He sprinkled the loose pubic hairs across Chad's chest
and turned to an increasigly-frightened Pedro.

The Navy cadet was long and lean, smooth, muscular and dark.  He reminded
Bill of Latin swimmers and divers he had seen on TV.  The Hispanic-thing
intriqued Bill, and he wondered if there were physiological differences
between the boys. "Why are you Latinos always so fuckin' horny?" he asked.
Unlike the other two boys, Pedro wore a pair of tight gray boxer briefs with
the word Champion emblazoned across the waistband.  Bill knelt down between
the young sailor's legs and used his pudgy fingers to grab the two
overlapping pieces of gray fabric that formed the fly.  Pedro squirmed
slightly, fearful of the unwelcome intrusion, but helpless to resist.  He
used all his energy to raise his hand in protest, but Bill easily slammed it
back onto the couch. "Hold the fuck still, Pedro!" he commanded as he pulled
the fly apart.  "I don't have time for your shit, and I need to see what's
in here!  You know the vendors will be here soon!!!"  Bill lowered his head
slightly as if gazing into a dark tunnel, peered into the gaping fly, and
saw a bush of black curly hair surrounding a limp 4-inch penis.  "Bingo..."
he said with some relief, seeing the fleshy foreskin drooping off the end of
what looked like a plump and veiny, dark-brown sausage.  The wrinkled fold
of skin hid any trace of the mushroom cap underneath and came together at
the tip to form a small round opening.  "I guess they don't cut these off in
your country," he snickered, unaware that Pedro's family had been in the
U.S. for a century.  "Fortunately for you, mi amigo, I've got something to
take care of that."

"Shit!!" Bill said, suddenly aware of the time.  He let go of Pedro's
briefs, which quickly closed like a curtain, and stood in front of Jason.
"Come on, kid... you've got first ups."  He gripped the squirming boy
beneath his moist armpits and pulled him onto his back on the floor.  From
there, Bill gripped Jason's ankles over his socks and dragged the teen
across the carpet to a bedroom.  He had to laugh as the worn briefs wedged
their way into Jason's ass crack and split his white butt cheeks like a
thong.  "Sorry about the rug burn, buddy," Bill joked.

8:45!

The boys' arm movements were becoming more controlled and Jason even tried
to grab the chair leg as he was dragged past.  They were minutes away from
fully regaining muscle control and had to be safely harnessed.

"Confidence... Confidence...," Bill repeated to himself as he returned to
the living room after finishing with Jason.  "OK fellas, who's next?"  He
took a hold of Chad's ankles and dragged the wiggling football player down
the hall.

End Chapter II

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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