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Message-ID: <39818asstr$1039749004@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Thu, 12 Dec 2002 17:14:00 -0600
Reply-To: "Trader_32" <Trader_32@yahoo.com>
From: "Trader_32" <Trader_32@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} The Inventor - Chapter III
Date: Thu, 12 Dec 2002 22:10:04 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

This story is, of course, fantasy and fiction.  I'd love to hear any
feedback on it, though.  Email me at trader_32@yahoo.com and/or add me to
your Messenger buddy list.

Chapter III

Bill looked at his disheveled hair in the mirror and exhaled a sigh of
relief.  The drugs had worn off more quickly than expected, and Pedro had
come dangerously close to escaping.  In fact, it took two rapid punches to
the straight cadet's abs to make him pliable enough to secure the leather
cuff around his right wrist and to force his white teeth around the rubber
gag.  He locked the boy's restraints into place not a minute too soon, and
Pedro screamed and bucked like an angry bronco.  Bill couldn't understand
why straight boys  were so difficult to work with and concluded that the
warm semen building up in their hairy balls caused their bad tempers and
aggression.  After all, they agreed to this!!!

With the young men prepped and ready in their rooms (all three strained
their muscles to escape their bindings and vacillated between anger and
fear), Bill put on a striped blue tie and dumped the cans of Miller beer and
bowls of Doritos into the garbage can.  Cheap food may impress three stupid
boys, but it certainly wasn't presentable for high-powered vendors.
Everything had to be perfect!  As he set out champagne glasses and caviar
(he had never actually bought caviar and hoped it tasted expensive), a knock
at the door caused a lump to form in his throat.  9:00 -- right on the nose.
"Confidence... Confidence..." he repeated to himself as he turned the
doorknob.

"Gentlemen, please come in!" Bill said excitedly to the three stern-looking
men in dark suits on his porch.  They ranged in age from early 50s to late
60s and reminded him of undertakers or accountants.  Bill felt frumpy and
pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Have a seat, please."  He directed his guests to the couch that had been
occupied moments before by the rambunctious jocks and noticed a white Hanes
undershirt and a beaded necklace peeking out from under a chair.  "Dammit!"
he thought to himself, while calmly kicking the incriminating items further
beneath the chair with his left foot and feeling a flash of anger that one
of the little fucks would try to ruin his evening.

"My name is Mr. Foster," the oldest looking man said dryly, glancing at a
wet yellowish stain on the cushion and trying to avoid sitting on it. "And
these are my colleagues, Mr. Brown and Mr. Flynn."

Bill scanned their expensive suits, gold watches and diamond-studded wedding
rings and felt an anxiety attack coming on.  They just reeked of money and
power.

"I'm so pleased you've come.  I know it's a long way and..."

"Mr. Swithers," Brown interrupted.  "We did not come here to exchange
pleasantries.  Time is money and money is time, and we don't have enough of
either.  So if you don't mind, what have you been so eager to show us?"

Bill was silent for a moment -- caught off guard by the rude comment.
Cranky old bastards!

With butterflies fluttering in his stomach, he walked across the room,
reached into the closet and pulled out a black leather bag with a silver
clasp.  "Time for the unveiling," he thought.  He slowly opened the sack and
pulled out several strange looking contraptions, which made dull clanking
sounds as their shiny metal parts collided, and laid them on the coffee
table with care  "What do you think?" he beamed, expecting an enthusiastic
response.

"What IS this shit?" Foster asked quizzically, holding up a mass of wires,
metal rings, electrodes, plugs and cords.  His colleagues handled two
similarly complex, yet different, devices.

"They're games," Bill said, fidgeting with his Timex watch.  "You know...
games for guys... for fun...and relaxation.  You know what I mean?"

"No I don't," Flynn said with a twinge of irritation while opening and
closing the sharp jaws of an alligator clip.  What DO you mean?"

"Is this an electrode?" Brown interrupted with a concerned look on his face.
"Have used this on anyone?  I sure as hell wouldn't want this on my body.
Who in his right mind would consider this erector set fun... or relaxing?"

"Lot's of guys!" Bill blurted out, sensing the growing discomfort in his
guests and fearing that he would lose his audience.  He pulled up a chair
beside Mr. Brown and leaned forward on the table to look more convincing.
"I mean I've tested them on a lot of guys," he lied, "and they really get
off on this stuff.   In fact, I've had guys calling me all week asking if
they can use them!  And even a lot of parents who think they're good for
their sons."

He immediately regretted that last line, fearing it sounded a bit
over-the-top, but was confident that guys really WOULD want to use his
inventions and parents would see their benefits if they'd only give them a
chance.  Of course, he knew that most guys were assholes who made fun of him
and would pretend to hate his work just to be mean and see him humiliated.
Fortunately, he was on to their charade and seriously considering asking the
three boys at the end of the night TO PAY HIM for use of his products and
video equipment.  Why should he be charged for their enjoyment?

"There's a big market out there for these kinds of things.  Of course -- not
for mature guys like us -- but younger ones.  You know who I'm talking
about... the boys who like EXTREME fun -- like bungee jumping, ultimate
fighting and dirt bike racing."  He emphasized the word "extreme" knowing
the old coots would translate it as the ridiculous and unexplainable fun
that only wild young men enjoy... and which sells a SHITLOAD of merchandise.
"Basically, these are the next generation of video games!!"

"This guy is insane," Flynn thought, trying to imagine his own teen son
using the bizarre device lying on the table like an exploded kitchen
appliance.  "I'd like to meet the guy who enjoys whatever this does," he
said sarcastically, holding up hard rubber tube with holes all over the
shaft.

"As a matter of fact, so would I," Foster said in a serious voice as he
wondered if he had found the next craze for the ever elusive "teen to
twenty-something" male market.  He was still haunted by his doubting of the
success of that ridiculous board with four wheels that boys were riding down
hand rails and was not going to be caught off guard again.

As if on cue, Bill jumped up and walked over to a closed door.  "I was
hoping you'd say that!!" he said excitedly. "I've got a guy right here who
wants to demo one of these for you. Take a look!" He pushed the door wide
open and stepped aside to give the men a clear view.

Foster, Brown and Flynn squeezed into the doorway of the floodlit room with
expressions of shock on their faces. "Holy... shit...," Brown said slowly.
"What the hell is going on?"

End Chapter III

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