end of the whole fucking base. This sucker hasn't been operational since Marconi invented the wireless. Shit, there ain't anything in that shack worth stealing, or fiddling with, or even looking at! But you know the army. Since they have the manpower they have guards posted at everyplace but the shithouses.

Oh man, what I wuldn't give for a fucken cup of coffee! Only an hour to go.

2400 HRS Saturday

Wouldn't you fucken know it. My relief is that asshole drunk private that stumbled by here an hour ago. Has to be him, cause there ain't no one else in G Barracks 'cept him, and I know he's passed out cause when he went in he turned the light on in the shitter and it's still on. Even a U.S. Army shit doesn't take an hour.

And how am I going to get that stupid fucker out here so I can get off my watch-weary feet without abandoning my post? He's probably puked on himself. Five more minutes and I go get the turkey asshole, regulations or no regulations.

0100 HRS Sunday

Well, no sign he's gonna come rushing out here, apologizing and relieving me, so it looks like I'm going in after him.

He wasn't in the shitter after all so I walked into the barracks, turned the light on, and there he was passed out on the bunk. I give him a holler. He doesn't move. I think maybe he's died in his sleep, that'd be just my luck.

I walked over to his bunk and there he was, half-undressed, his hand holding onto his balls like a fucking pacifier. I

figure, fuck it! He ain't gettin up and the Russians ain't about to attack the radio shack tonight, so I'm gonna get my clothes off and hit the empty rack beside his.

Well, I'm stripping off my uniform and what happens, but one of his punk-assed eyes open up. The one eye saw the size of my johnson and the other eye opens, then the mouth fell open; and I know the fucker's awake. His hand starts working in his jock like it was dinner time and I was steak, time and I was steak.

Well, I just keep on stripping, and watching this turkey watching my dick get harder and harder. Then sooner than you could say 'Private I van Curry reporting for duty, Sir, he's done got his lips wr and swallowin and sliding that slick throat up and down my polecock.

Well, it didn't take a crowbar to turn his jive-ass over, and when I saw those white cakes looking up at me I knew my dick was going to spend the next half-hour pounding asshole.

Well, this horny private buck's ass knew its business. Everytime I shoved my meat down its hole it jumped up to meet me. I kept getting close to shooting off in that hot box and kept backing off to make it last.

I figured this asshole had to sober up quick or I'd be back out there wearing down the concrete, so I pulled my john-

Well, I climbed off and looked down at that fuckin, grinnin passed-out fool.

0200 HRS Sunday

Man, it ain't no better. Ain't nobody broke into this obsolete radio shack, ain't nothing but the same fucking bullfrogs croaking, and the light is still on in the toilet in G Barracks, the punk soldier is still passed out deader than a rock, and here I am walking this concrete like it's my watch - only it's his fucking watch. This is still the quietest, most deserted part of the base and what I wouldn't give for a cup of coffee. son out of his slimy asshole and flipped him over again. His mouth dropped open like a trap door and I sank my hot dick down his throat like a geological survey drill. He just slurped and sucked and swallowed. This was it, The come poured out like from an oil pump. He swallowed, grinned and kept on swallowing. I figured as much come as he had just drunk maybe wasn't enough to counter all the booze he might have had earlier, so maybe a load of piss would help flush him out. You'd a thought I was giving the boy a drink of his favorite whiskey from a firehose. I let go with that 8-hour bladder full and he soaked in every drop like a blotter. And I could a swore he opened his mouth and said, 'More.' Well, there wasn't anything to do but hunker down on that toilet face and let him go to work on my asshole. His mouth and tongue went to exploring and licking and sucking to beat the band. I'm just squatting there thinking, 'Now how do I break up this little midnight snack and tell the asshole he has to get out on the patrol?'

I thought his lips might have stopped moving, but frankly I was too spent to check and see, I should known this was gonna happen. Sometime back when he was making desert out of my ass the fucker shot off himself and passed back out. I'm sitting there, like the dummy I am, while he's snoring up my shit chute.

TORIES TERRY PHOTO

EMBASSY ASSAULT

BY ALEXANDER LE GRAND

Marine Corporal Bob Clinton was just pulling on his flak jacket when the enormous weight dropped from nowhere. He fell heavily to the hard stone paving of the embassy court- yard and fought to regain his senses. He looked up to see the towering figure of a Borodakian rebel standing contemptuously over him. The man had jumped him from a parapet above the sentry post. Bob wondered if this was part of a general surprise assault. He heard no gunfire or shouting from his fellow marine guards.

"Ha! So you are a prisoner, American marine. Do not hope for rescue from your comrades - my friends are taking care of them. I think they give little trouble if they so easy as you! Get up!"

The rangy blond corporal was assisted by a great tug of one of the guerrilla's massive arms, but he was not allowed to stand for long. The man, placing his huge hands on Bob's wide shoulders, forced the cowed marine down to his knees. Just for a moment Bob had gained an impression of his captor's size - he towered a head or more over the young American, who was himself over six feet tall. Though only twenty-two, the captured guard was combat experienced, but in this situation a wave of cold terror filled his guts, knotting the muscles of his flat, hard belly. The tension soon showed as a dark, spreading stain colored Bob's fatigue pants.

"Cowardly American pig! I see you piss in your pants. I show you now how a man, a Borodakian, piss!"

The kneeling marine watched in horrified fascination as the rebel unbuttoned the fly of his own tan uniform trousers and pulled out his enormously thick, uncut cock. It was not remarkable for its length, but the circumference startled Bob. The Borodakian smiled arrogantly as he pulled back the fore- skin, revealing the great, bulbous head. The powerful amber stream shot forth with stunning pressure, catching Bob full in the face. Instinctively, he turned away, but the sneering giant only soaked the side of his face and neck, Rivulets of the man's huge reservoir of piss flowed down the shocked corporal's sinewy neck, wetting his broad chest and matting the golden fur that covered his armored pectorals.

The captor turned his hose-like organ on Bob's cornsilk blond hair, making burning streams run down over the handsome youngster's forehead and into his piercing blue eyes. Finally, grunting with relief, the giant forced Bob's jaws open with one vise-like hand and aimed his final spurts directly into the humiliated marine's mouth. He choked and gagged, but he had to swallow the searing liquid. The Borodakian laughed cruelly and shook some last drops over Bob's lips and jutting chin. As the rebel released his grip, the young guard's head sagged in resigned defeat.

Now, stupid American farmboy, I teach you about Boro-dak . You will see real liquid wealth of my country. Ha! Not the oil your country and the evil Great Sheikh steal from my people, but liquid of life!"

A new tremor of fear seized Bob's lean, muscular frame. He gazed up at his master and noted with increasing anxiety the huge man's imposing appearance. He wore only regulation army tans and combat boots. From the waist up he was naked, his immense chest covered only with crossed bandoliers of ammunition for his submachine gun and thick, swirling, black hair. The hair on his head was blue-black and not overly long, and his otherwise youngishly handsome face was aged and set off by a fiercely Turkish mustache. Behind it his teeth flashed white and menacing,

Without further comment the guerrilla began to fondle his soft, dripping prick, pulling the foreskin back and forth over the glistening head. Soon the fearsome organ was engorged, and it stood straight out from the Borodakian's fly, still short but frown even thicker, if that was possible. Bob's mouth dropped open in amazement, in spite of his anxiety.

You see real cock before, American boy? I think you not see anything like this! Now, you suck! I know American ma- rine boys big cocksuckers. You like suck each other? Now, you suck me!

Kansas-born Bob Clinton recoiled from this ultimate, degrading act of submission, and in spite of his hopeless position, the tall guard shook his head decisively. The enraged giant put his enormous thumbs into the hollows of Bob's jaws and forced the vainly resisting mouth open. Quickly, Bob found himself gagging and choking on the huge piece of meat being force fed to him. The victorious, exulting rebel shoved himself in and out, groaning with obscene delight as he fucked the helpless American soldier's violated mouth. It was not long before the crisis overtook him, and Bob felt the offending organ swell and harden even more in his mouth. The half-maddened guerrilla uttered gutteral cries as he delivered his thick, oozing load down Bob's throat. The volume was so great that the youngster couldn't swallow the alien, bitter seed fast enough. His mouth filled and trickles of creamy, rich semen appeared at the corners of his mouth and dribbled over his chin. Jellied strings of it descended to his chest.

Just as Bob was hoping to gain a little respite from his captor's assaults, the rebel popped his dripping penis from his mouth. Thankfully, the desperate corporal clamped his teeth together, trying to ease the ache in his jaw. Then, without warning, the man put two massively muscled arms around Bob's wide shoulders and stood the marine up again. His head was crushed against the rough, hairy chest and the bandoliers, and the man continued to increase a frighteningly powerful pressure. Bob had never felt such fearful strength in any man, The bearing was released and the Borodakian leered down at his victim.

'Now, American boy, I like to see how much a man you are. Marines supposed to be very big men, no? I wish to see!'

With this blunt statement, the giant grabbed Bob's fatigue shirt collar and ripped the material down the back, then tore the buttoned front in two and pulled the shredded garment from the tall, lean marine's torso. Bob stood in the merciless Borodakian sun, sweat running down his wide, sculptured chest with its covering of bright yellow clouds of hair. Next, the lust-crazed master tore the kid's fatigue pants down the fly, then down the seat and jerked the separated pantslegs up out of the terrified American's combat boots. Now the admirably built youngster stood completely naked before his carefully put his weapon against the courtyard wall. He was left wearing only a pistol belt and the crossed bandoliers. The great, thick pud rested in a wild nest of the blackest hair which swirled down his bulging thighs and into his crotch. Bob found himself wondering how hairy the guerrilla's asshole was. Only now could the marine assess the truly magnificent frame of his Borodakian master. Bob prided himself on his own hard-muscled development, but even in military gyms he had never encountered anything like the massive build and ferocious strength of this man.

Corporal Clinton had little time to reflect on what the giant had in store for him now. The jockstrap was ripped savagely from his toins and cast aside, revealing his long, circumcised prong, backed by fazify hanging balls and surrounded with a fiery golden bush. The rebel was fascinated with the sight and reached down to fondle and feel the lean young guard's organs . In spite of himself, Bob allowed the tingling sensations of the surprisingly light touch of the big hands get to him. The pendulous balls scrunched up to his body and his powerful cock reacted by lengthening and hardening until it was flat against his hairy belly, curving slightly to one side. The shaft was thick, but it tapered at the end to a somewhat narrow head. From the head clear liquid was already beginning to appear in a bright drop, which soon became a hanging thread of pre-cum.

"You are some man, American marine boy! I think you not have such big cock - so long! And so much hair - gold, like the sand of the desert! Lie down on ground!" The order was backed up when the rebel reached for his submachine gun. Bob quickly obeyed and was supine before his captor, his penis still fiercely engorged and twitching with anticipation.

The hulking guerrilla now knelt between Bob's long, outstretched legs and lifted them up until the thickly furred, well-sinewed calves were resting on his great shoulders. With an evil gleam in his black eyes, he stared into Bob's deeply blue ones, enjoying the marine's wide-eyed terror. Puzzled, Bob saw the man reach for a small sack attached to his gun belt. From it he extracted a small container into which he dipped his fingers generously. Carefully holding his machine gun between his legs, he lovingly greased the first six inches or so of the gleaming barrel.

"You afraid, marine boy? Other marine ever fuck your ass- hole? I bet marine cock not so hard as this! Ha!"

Bob squirmed vainly, but the master immobilized his legs in the iron grip of one bulging arm. With the other he slowly, carefully aimed the barrel into the crack of Bob's vulnerable

"You worried I might not be so careful out your guts? You not worry — I very careful."

the / limit / of [×10+] only the beginning of a searing, burning sensation that originated deep in his ass. The grease! There was something in it that was causing the increasingly agonizing, fiery torture. The heat spread through the blond boy's guts and in spite of the pain, he felt a hot flush of pleasure inflaming his loins. As the dominator plunged the gun barrel into Bob's burning ass again and again, the increasingly excited prick pulsed and twitched, signaling the onset of a set of final convulsions that seized the hapless guard's rangy frame. The flame in his asshole united with an expanding, pressuring fireball deep in his genitals.

"Oh God, it's makin' me come! Aw shit! Please - don't stop! Fuck me! Oh gee … oh gee … I'm gonna …" A grimace of supremely agonizing pleasure contorted Bob's handsome features as the climax overpowered him. The rebel watched with utter fascination as the marine gave himself up to the paralyzing orgasm. The gun barrel continued its piston- ing. The former Kansas farmhand had never felt anything like the searing sweetness that moved up the shaft of his penis and finally engulfed the expanded cockhead. The first blast of semen was largely clear, the remainder of Bob's generous reservoir of pre-cum. This was followed by several long, arching shots of thick, white liquid that splattered his face and soaked his broad, heaving chest. Drops of cream nestled in the thick, golden hair that swirled over his pectoral muscles. The last of the violent tremors produced an ozzing, dribbling flow more like the rebel's own. The guerrilla had never witnessed such a display of masculine virility, and he groaned and crooned deep in his throat, amazed and transported. Able to restrain himself no longer, he extracted the barrel from Bob's violated ass and laid the gun aside. His head bowed between Bob's thighs as he released the corporal's legs. The marine was now flat on his back on the paving stones, his long limbs splayed out, his chest and belly glistening with the huge load he had just delivered on himself. For a moment, the giant closely inspected and felt Bob's still erect prick and fondled the big balls. Then, with a cry of irresistible desire the big Borodakian acquiesced to his own lust for the young American's alien magnificence. Beside himself, the rebel began a frantic process of lapping and licking every drop of Bob's generous offering. His attention was wholly given over to a mad thirst for the blond marine's seed.

By raising his head slightly, Bob could just see the knife that hung in its leather sheath from the giant's gun belt. In one lightning movement, the shrewd, well-trained youngster grab- bed the knife and plunged it to the hilt into the thick, muscu- lar neck of his captor.

With a contemptuous heave, the marine shoved the weight of the fallen giant's body off his chest and stood over it, shaking his head. "Damn if these Borodakians ain't nothin' but a bunch of cocksuckin' fags!'

THE TRENCH

BY STEVE BROWN

This jacking off in the car had to stop.

Everytime I took the car to the company shop, there would be a comment on the stained carpeting under the tape player. Shit, one of these idyllic afternoons of beating off while driving down a country lane, I'll probably be caught by the high- way patrol. What else is here to do in Muncie, Indiana? Muncie, home of the pumpkin festival … biggest thing in this part of the state. Pumpkins? All that I could think of was pumping.

I didn't care how well paid I was; my consuming fantasy on these long rides was my time in the Marines.

My buddies and myself had gotten our first leave of duty to Saigon. Filthy, decaying, stinking and somehow exciting Sai-gon . One by one the boys started passing out or were seduced

into one of the many brothels that catered to the desires of young servicemen. God, they were a hot looking group of men.

On the night before our leave, in anticipation of the sex to come the next day, the men had a circle jerk. Now this wasn't like high school days with two guys in gym class. This was about ten men on a steamy, muddy night, high out of their minds, beating off their full-size man cocks into a shallow trench they had dug. Damn, you get horny out in the middle of a crummy jungle surrounded by a bunch of guys in fatigues.

Gary had instigated this ritual and made the rules. He was a mean son of a bitch, six foot six not including his boots, and 290 pounds of muscle and nerve.

The heat in the jungle had forced us to remove our shirts, and some guys just wore their jocks, combat boots and gun belts. Gary yelled the orders: "Everyone around the trench and beat off." The idea wasn't just to cum but how long and how many times.

He whipped out his cock and in about two seconds it looked like a baseball bat, That's all the guys needed, Suddenly , ten cocks of varying hugeness starting going at it. All you could hear was the sound of balls slapping against thighs, and fast breathing.

Gary ordered the men one by one to cum. If they didn't or if they came before being told, no one wanted to find out what would happen, except me. He picked the men at random and pointed for them to shoot into the trench. They did. It was amazing the amount of cum a bunch of horny guys could accumulate when they put their minds to it.

Gary pointed at Dev, the guy next to me who was glistening in sweat with his jock around his knees. His cock had pleaded for relief the past five minutes.

He exploded into the earth hole, his smooth large-muscled ass quivering. "Again," barked Gary, and again he shot it out, the cum so hot it steamed even in the hot night.

Without Gary's acknolwedgement I started shooting, unable to control myself. The cum went into the hole and down my hand; some managed even to hit him across the trench. "You God damn grunt. Get your fuckin' ass over here," Gary yelled. I got over quick. Then he laughed and told me to kneel, and gestured to the men to continue.

They all seemed like giants from my kneeling position. My nostrils were full of the smell of mud, sweat and cum. Gary pushed my head down to his boots and without a word - but more of a thought - told me to start licking.

God, they were at least size 14 and covered with mud and crap. The only lubrication my tongue got was from drips of sweat and cum from his dick. I thought I'd suffocate from the mud and smell when suddenly he started unloading his earlier beer consumption. The piss splashed his boots, and was almost a relief to my dried out tongue and lips.

When he finally finished his recycled beer on my face, he said, "Good job. Go clean up, and bring me a beer."

I was so fuckin' mad at that asshole; all I would think of was revenge. I went over to the stream and cooled off a bit.

Then I went and got a beer for the asshole.

I drank half of it and pissed in the bottle to make it look full. He took a big swig of the piss-beer and just swallowed it without a word. He wouldn't have dared to admit he was drinking a grunt's piss. What did surprise me was that he seemed to like it,

The river had cooled me off a lot, mentally and physically. Now as I looked at him, I wished we could just be by ourselves in my van back in the states. He was built like two Marines forged together, with the face of a boy and sado- masochism glaring in his eyes.

Did I ever want to get back at the guy, but in such a different way: to give a good old-fashioned hard fuck to those beautiful big buns. To look and not be able to touch was torture worse than the piss in the face. I went to bed that night screwing the dirt under my blanket.

Saigon has got to be one of the most crowded cities on earth. We started out in one big bunch, but at last I managed to get away from the rest of the guys. Gary had split earlier in the day and I suspected to exactly where: the Lee brothers'

That fuckin' place had been notorious since the 20's. No matter how this particular war turned out, they would still be in business.

The evening's dope and whiskey suddenly hit me like cement pillows. As I went to lean on a statue amongst the crowd, my face fell on its crotch. It was Gary, and his hardon just about knocked out my front teeth.

Gary managed to bring me to by throwing me in a nearby fountain, and feigning drowning I pulled him in by his epau- lets. From then on we were brothers.

I figured we should get our asses to this maison publique before we started getting it on in the fountain.

We arrived at what must have been one of the most beautiful homes in Saigon. Passing through the iron gate into the courtyard, we beheld the golden doors of paradis. Here, apparently , being American wasn't a deterrent.

The entry was even more imposing than the gate and courtyard. Chandeliers of sparkling crystal reflected off the black enamelled walls which were covered with erotic paint- ings

The Lee brothers whispered something to Gary. He laughed and turned around to me to explain that the owners suspected I would prefer one of the rooms on the second floor, since many select pretty boys were there.

As we were led up the spiral staircase, one of the Lee brothers stopped Gary and pointed to the door on the first floor across from the entrance. For a moment he didn't react, then suddenly he asked out loud: "What the fuck am I going up there for? Shit, I'm not looking for pretty boys."

We watched him walk down the staircase, slowly at first, and then in his impatience he ran and banged on the door. It creaked open, he entered and it slammed shut. We heard the sound of his boots going down the steps and in a matter of seconds, we heard the barely distinctive male voice of Gary experiencing shock.

My expression was enough for the Lee brothers to explain that Gary had chosen to enter the "pit." Paradise has a pit, I laughed; then I ran down and went in. As I opened the door, I practically passed out from the steam and smell of sweat and dope. My eyes could barely believe what was happening in this basement.

As I came into the center of the room, there was Gary with his fatigues around his ankles, naked in the dimly lit room. His muscular meaty body could only be seen in outline.

At least five other guys were there in partially clad uniforms , all with their cocks hard, going at him like missiles ready to attack. And attack they did, from the front and back. Two guys were jamming his ass and he couldn't even scream as cocks were darting in and out of his mouth.

Half the guys started to cum, leaving Gary's body awash in shiny slick ooze. I had gotten hard fast and just as I came over, two guys grabbed him like a greased pig and managed to pin him down on his stomach. They rubbed their hands through the cum and greased up his ass. In a split second, one of them had half his arm up Gary's butt, and the other one had a half nelson around his neck,

The sight of his writhing muscled body and the heat in the room confused me. I didn't know where to cum or piss. I decided on the former, and shot right into his mouth. He didn't miss a drop as I held his head and fucked away at his face, and the cum wouldn't stop. Finally he started gagging and as the fist was pulled out, he screamed.

I quickly got between his legs and as he heaved uncontrollably for air, I went down on him. His cock was almost more than my mouth could take. The red and pink veins wrapped around it like vines on a tree trunk. The head was perfectly proportioned to the shaft, with balls that filled each of my hands.

His mighty chest heaved, creating shadows over his tight muscled stomach as I ate more and more. Finally, like a fire hydrant, he shot all his stored up cum. I swallowed it in my mouth like fine wine until it was coming at such a fast pace I swallowed, and again filled up.

He made a final heave of relief and put his arms under mine and pulled me up to his side. We smiled in mutual satisfaction without a word spoken. Warm jets of water bathed the dark cellar.

A voice came from the speakers giving the message that our time was up. It reminded me of an airline terminal, with the message given in at least four languages. We were the last to leave .

God damn it, shit. I've done it again. I'm going to tape my cock down and wear mittens in the car. The floorboard and steering wheel are coated once again.

GIFTS TO ( /H()| /(-)H

NEVER FORGET YOUR GIFT

A Want to leave behind a very important part of yourself — or commemorate the world's greatest fuck? Try a cast-from-life plaster bas-relief of your (or his) throbbing anatomy. Instructions are almost obvious; but if the p

△ Want to leave behind a very important identies) and the more revealing gag-hood with mouth stopper. Price and size vary; universal applications.

Battered T's are the newest look in sexually-radical chic. Straight from the mouth of the Allayatolla comes the fashion scoop of the year: these painful-looking 100% cotton T's are suitable for either mass-executions or internal revolts. Two styles, Bold or Brazen, $12-$15 respectfully. The last word in gutter elegance, Photographed by Donald Wm, Saban.

DLIDAY ASHION ARA

Should you be lutky enough to re- tain a most day a gift, deek him out- toire a new days a gift, deek him out- toire an enough a most matching wrist bands in black convibid and chrome. The dressy heavy-weight leash compl sources for slaves.

For the man who has everything or has nothing at all — what could be better than an actual used Marine's jock strap (the jock strap is used, not necessarily the Marine). They are the genuine article and are available from your own.

MISTER BENSON

BY JACK PRESCOTT

When Rocco returned to the kitchen, we continued comparing notes about our masters and our new lives. The booming voices from the other room would command the presence of one or the other of us occasionally - getting cups of coffee or refills in their brandy glasses. Rocco and I tried to piece their conversation together.

Jamie, they're worried about the missing guys, I know it." He had just reported an exchange the two masters had been having about Porytko, the Polish Topman, and about how dumb he was. Rocco said that Mr. Benson had commented:

"He's so stupid, he might be the one pulling this off." Did Rocco agree? "No, Jamie, it can't be Porytko, these guys who disappear, they re all beautiful. Really good looking. They wouldn't go home with a slob like that." I pointed out that some men had strange taste. "No, Jamie, Proytko's out. It can't be him."

My mind was reeling from the new idea of real danger being associated with my slavery. "Rocco, why did you think it was Mr. Benson?"

"I didn't, Jamie, it's just that he's so handsome, and he used to pick up so many men, well, I just never knew. It's hard to figure out just who it would be, since they share so many slaves." "They do?"

"Hasn't he given you to anyone yet?" "No, he just talked about my being available."

"Well, they pass us around a lot. I'm afraid you'll have to get used to it. They have these rules, that everyone's slave is available to the others. I guess Mr. Benson's been keeping you at home for training, but if you're in the clubhouse, any one of them can use you. I shuddered, remembering that one night I had gone there and had been branded.

DRUMMER 24

"Especially if they just trick, they'll pass the man along to whoever wants someone. So, you can't tell just by who picks someone up. You have to know who saw them last. And we can't ask them!"

The other conversation was beyond our hearing:

"Brendan, it has to be Hans. There's no one else who would be capable. And, that bastard's so mean …

"I know Mr. Benson, but how are we ever going to prove it? I'm worried. If the force ever comes into this, if they put all the pieces together, they'll find the Topmen and blow the whole thing. We have to take care of it ourselves. And, I'm concerned not just because of the club. Look, Mr. Benson, I'm a cop, and I'm proud of it, I'm withholding information from an investigation. Not only am I putting myself in jeopardy, I'm denying my pledges to the force. I've got to find out what's at the bottom of all this." "Do you think it's murder?"

Brenden thought for a while, "I hope not, but we have to be prepared for it. It could be. If it's not, then where are all these men going? There've been twenty guys who've disappeared in two months. The investigators are so blinded by prejudice that they haven't seen the obvious pattern. But, I have. I know they've all been in leather bars when they were last seen. I know it, and I know that they all were last seen with members of our club. But, I can't trace them further unless I come out in the open with my information. I can't convince anybody with the circumstantial evidence I have now. And to accuse a club member without proof is going to be more difficult than to convince a jury. The guys like Hans, Mr. Benson. They think he's okay, Everyone is so into our concept of brotherhood that they'd defend him unless I had overwhelming proof."

"We could set someone up."

"I've thought of that, Mr. Benson, but we don't know any- thing about what happens…later. We don't know where he takes them, or what he does with them. I've tialed him many times. I've never seen him with one of the boys, and I've never seen him go anywhere but home to his apartment or over to Jersey City to his office. I can't let anyone take that chance.

"What about one of us?"

Brenden dismissed the idea, "Who's going to take one of us for bottoms?"

Just then, Jamie brought in a new bottle of brandy that Mr. Benson had ordered. The two men watched him so intently that Jamie thought they were going to pounce on him, and didn't know whether to stay or leave. When nothing was said, he went back into the kitchen.

"Rocco, they've gotten real strange now. They just stared tell you, Jamie, they're really worried about this." "No, Brendan, I won't send Jamie into that without more information. We have to discover what happens. You say he never goes anywhere but home or to the office …' Mr. Benson pondered that for a while,

Mr. Benson closed the door after Rocco and Brendan had left. My mind wasn't allowed to linger on the strange tales of missing men. The brandy look on Mr. Benson's face had something different in mind for me.

Go clean yourself out."

Even a couple of hours visiting with an old friend hadn't let me forget who I was to this man, my master. The cold glint in his eye showed me he hadn't forgotten either. "Yes, sir.'

I went off to the bathroom and set up the equipment. In a few minutes I was gushing warm liquid up my bowels, getting ready for Mr. Benson. I was thinking about him; he had taken over the ideas of the other people totally. When I was with Mr. Benson and paying attention to him, I had no room in my mind for any one or thing else.

I was thinking about how much I had changed, I looked down at the nugget hard nipples on my chest, at the expanded jockstrap covering my shaved crotch, and I felt the brand on my ass. Owned lock, stock and barrel by someone else. Irrevocably marked as chattel; a possession. And it was becoming increasingly clear to me that it had been my choice. That this was a man I had chosen all along the way, from the opening night in the bar to this act of cleaning out my body for his pleasure. I had decided to make myself over for Mr. Benson. To give up the day to day freedoms of a meaningless life for the sake of belonging to something, someone. In order to belong to Mr. Benson,

The douching was part of one of our rituals. One of the set of actions that ground in the reality of my subservience. One of the ways Mr. Benson had devised to show both of us that I was ready and willing to do his bidding.

It didn't come as regularly as the polishing of his toilet, or the shaving of my body. But, it was more menacing. It was no slight social convention. It took our life together deeper into a reality of its own.

When the water came out of me as cleanly as it had gone in, I knew I was ready. I would wipe myself off and go into his bedroom where, as I knew he would be, Mr. Benson was wait- ing for me.

He was naked. He stood there, the hair over his cock and balls emphasized my own lack of covering. I was overcome by the sight of him. The chest, the full, muscled stomach, the arms promising such strength. Mr. Benson, my master, my man, the one for whom I would do anything. I went to him that night as I had others and knelt before my living idol. Waiting for him, barely able to restrain my self and my emotions .

"Take it, boy."

"I greeted the most welcome of commands with a lunge at the cock that had begun the whole thing. I took its uncut length into my mouth and sucked quickly and lustily at its salty shaft, delighting at the smell of the hair over the crotch. My hands went up and gently lifted the full hanging balls, their silky weight always a pleasure to me. My mind went through somersaults, thinking about Mr. Benson and the manhood of his that was pulsing down my throat. The pleasure was short lived. As soon as he was hard, Mr. Benson pulled back.

"Put on my chaps."

I got off from the floor and went over to the bed where the black leather waited for me. I picked up the covering and returned to him. First, I pulled the waistband around him and snapped the catches in the front. Then, back on my knees I tugged at the tight zipper. I struggled until it caught, first on one leg, then on the other. Then I slowly pulled each one down the width of his thighs and past his knees and over the bulge of his calves. I leaned back. Mr. Benson was one of those men who wore leather naturally. One of those studs that everyone else tries to be like. There was no facade about Mr. Benson when he had on his chaps. They were as natural a part of his being as the hair on his head.

My cock was standing straight out from my body as I looked up at him. I thought of gladiators in their uniforms, ready to go into battle. And there was Mr. Benson, clothed for the arena where he was about to take me, the slave boy, in front of the crowds.

"Get the grease. I went to the night table and brought back the can of crisco. He put out his arm. I opened the container and pulled out a handful of the white lubricant, I started with his wrist, laying on a thick glob, and then spread it up and down the forearm, through the knuckles and over each of the fingers. left a coating on every part of his arm up to his elbow. I rubbed it in until the warmth of his body melted the whiteness into a shining oil covering his skin. Mr. Benson was

Mr. Benson liked offerings. He, like some ancient god, measured obedience by the size of sacrifice. Whenever something was to be done to me, Mr. Benson let me do as much of the preparation as possible. I knew it was time, and silently I went over to where the cuffs were kept. I came back and knelt once more in front of him. I put on the two wristcuffs, the hooks dangling from them. Then I reached down and fastened the ankle bands. I was ready. Mr. Benson took his ungreased hand and, with my help, snapped each of my wrists to one of my ankles. I was bound, and waiting for him. He gently pushed me over onto my back into a position where I was forced to spread my legs, the metal attaching each of my wrists to an ankle making me expose my asshole to him. My cock rubbed painfully against the tight pouch of the jock-strap he still kept on me.

The greased hand came down and warm, oily fingers started to massage the hole. I could almost count them as they spread open the circle of muscle. I quickened my breath as they shoved up against the sphincter. I moaned as the knuckles

followed, and bit my tongue, in the face of the wave of pain turning to pleasure as the widest part of his hand went into me, and then it was there, his whole hand deep inside me, pulling away at the very being and center of my body, grabbing my soul.

That immeasureable sensation of Mr. Benson holding on to the center of my bowels swept over me. I looked right at him, my mouth gapping open as he talked to me, "My good little ass-boy. My good little slave. Learning to take Mr. Benson every way he wants you.

The strong muscles of his arm pumped away at me, my stomach contracted against the force, my mind pushed back, trying to greet this man of men, trying to please Mr. Benson.

He was stroking away at his cock, the hard pole of manhood covered with the looseness of his foreskin. Mr. Benson, my master, whacking away at his own sex, pumping away at me. We never could last long at these scenes we both loved so much, and his white semen soon shot out over my body, my open mouth fighting to take the ooze, trying to eat the man who grabbed at my being with a hot fist shoved deep inside me.

My life with Mr. Benson took on a growing meaning with almost every passing day. I was more and more aware of how much I had given up to him and how much I was vulnerable to him for my existence. I had no job, I had no money of my own, I had no home of my own, I was totally dependent on him, and my mind was totally dependent on my trust of him.

"That's one of the things that makes the disappearance of these other guys so horrible, Jamie. S&M, whether it's the real thing that you and Mr. Benson do or the sex play thing that Brendan and I do, it's something that needs trust and demands care. These guys are all into leather. They've trusted someone and they've been taken advantage of at their moment of least defense." Rocco had become adamant the next Sunday that he came over with Brendan. "We've got to d

"What can we do?"

"Jamie, they're our brothers. They're like us. They're taking the risk to live out their real selves. If we desert them, there's no hope for them.'

"But, Rocco, what can we do? I'm kept here without any clothes. I haven't been let out of the apartment in over a month now. I couldn't do anything if I knew what it should

"There's a way, Jamie. Next week there's a Topmen party. Mr. Benson must be ready to take you to one; he's let Brendan come here twice now. That's going to be our first chance. After that, you're going to have to get him to take you more often. Here's what we're going to do …

"Brendan, I tell you everytime I look at Jamie and think about that poor guy in the hands of someone who would mistreat him, it just sends me up the wall. What kind of pervert would play top and then kidnap a little guy like that. It's getting to me, Brendan, we have to do something. There's a party next weekend. That's going to be our chance.

Brendan nodded.

"Here's what we're going to do … "

I wasn't at all sure about Rocco's idea. But there was a possibility. I wasn't convinced I'd be able to go through with it, even after I knew that Mr. Benson would be taking me to the party, until Thursday night. What happened then made me want to do it, but for totally different reasons.

Boy, we're going to have company at nine o'clock."

I looked up from the book I was reading in the corner and waited for Mr. Benson to explain. Brendan and Rocco had been the only guests up till then. "Come here, I want to talk to you about it.

Puzzled, I went over to Mr. Benson and rested my head against his outstretched hand. "Boy, there are some things that just shouldn't exist in slaves. Things like contentiousness, resistence, you know that, don't you, boy?" "Yes, sir." My only acts that approached having fought back to Mr. Benson had been crying for mercy when he had strung me up to 'exercise' my tits.

"Boy, another trait that should be wiped out of a slave's mind is jealousy. A slave should never be jealous of his master. Once the two of them have made their contract, they should trust one another to live it out. Do you trust me, boy?

I didn't like the drift of this conversation at all. I just looked up at him and slowly nodded an agreement I wasn't sure of.

"Boy, another bottom is going to come over here tonight. One master can easily take care of two slaves. There's no reason for one of them to feel like he's less than the other. I will not tolerate," those words were heavily emphasized, "jealousy between slaves. I want you to treat the new boy just as tenderly as you treat Rocco. Do you understand.'

I knew I didn't like this conversation! My mind sped as I

"No hour line this conversation: my mind sped as I tried to take in what he was telling me. I voiced one predominate concern, "Is he going to live here?"

"No, boy," Mr. Benson smiled as warmly as I ever saw him smile to m ened. "If I wanted another slave to live here, I would have one. But, right now, this is just a one night stand."

I was relieved, a little.

"But, I expect you to make it a very pleasant one night stand for me. If you don't, your friend," he lifted up the riding crop I thought had been retired, "is going to have a few words with you later. Now, go clean yourself out. I want you ready for whatever happens tonight.

I wasn't in the best mood as I douched, thinking about another bottom coming to see Mr. Benson. But, my time with Mr. Benson had already changed my head so much that my thoughts went rapidly from concern and worry to intrigue and excitement. Another slave? What would he be like? What was the sex going to be like? I started to get hot thinking of watch-

By the time I was finished and went into the living room I was really turned on. I was ready for Mr. Benson's surprise evening plans. I found him waiting in the chair by the fireplace . He had put on his full Topmen uniform - leather pants, khhki shirt, smartly polished boots, cap. He was gorgeous and I was horny. I went over to him and knelt before his beloved figure, hoping that maybe I could entice him into a quick suck before the new guy arrived.

Mr. Benson had other ideas. He looked at his watch. I had to supress a sigh of disappointment as he led me to the familiar

hooks in the walls. He put on the cuffs and I found myself spreadeagle against the brick surface.

I didn't have to wait long, the doorbell rang and Mr. Ben- son, my master, went to answer it.

The door opened. Silence. The signals had all been prear- ranged, I guessed.

A man I recognized from pictures plastered all over magazine ads and billboards walked in wearing jeans and a flannel shirt and work boots. This man, blond, muscular, with piercing blue eyes and a moustache that was more famous than the Schweppes eye patch fell to his knees and kissed my master's boots, silently waiting for instructions.

Everything became much easier for me to take! My master was training one of New York's foremost models to be a slave. And I was going to watch. My crotch started to give its custo- mary pulsing response. "Stay on your knees and take off the boots and the shirt." Mr. Benson's voice had that quiet, thorough sound of authority I had become accustomed to but had only heard used on me. The tall blond man struggled with the uncomfortable position and pulled off his boots. His lips — luckily for him - kept moving on the slick surface of my master's leather while he blindly found the buttons of his shirt. He was still there, mouth on Mr. Benson's foot, when the shirt came off and only the tight blue jeans covered his body.

There was a thick covering of blond chest hair. I wondered if he were going to be able to keep it tonight. Or was Mr. Benson going to shave him? There was a growing lump in his jeans. Was Mr. Benson going to let him relieve that horrible pressure? What was Mr. Benson going to do?

I was surprised when he pulled a dog leash out of his pocket . I had worn one only the first night I went to the Topmen Club. Mr. Benson reached down and attached it to the kneeling Adonis' neck. He jerked up with the handle, "Up, but only on all fours." The blond complied. Mr. Benson led him over to where I was silently strung up. "Look at this, slave. Here's what a well trained boy does for his master. Are you willing to try to be as good as this

"Yes, sir." The blond's voice was low and respectable.

"This is your brother slave. He is a student who has gone the distance you are going to have to go. Does that excite you?"

"Yes, sir." The model could barely mumble the words, I remembered the terrifying feeling of admiting those desires for the first time. And the wonderous release of having been able to say them.

Mr. Benson's hand came to the strap of my jock and pulled it down to reveal the nude skin underneath it. "This is what happens to someone who becomes a slave. He must give up the symbols of his masculinity. Do you know you're beginning the here. Show him the respect your superior deserves." Mr. Benson's pull on the leash was sharp and the face was suddenly buried in my groin, my now fully hard cock jutting out, desperate for the feel of his mouth. Never expecting the next words to come from Mr. Benson, "Suck it."

And then, for the first time since I had met Mr. Benson, someone's mouth closed over my hard prick. I fought to keep my orgasm back. Luckily, Mr. Benson meant this only as a ritual. I was relieved when he dragged that warm, moist opening away from me. I looked down at the nameless man, realizing that I had never dreamt of having my cock sucked by anyone that famous or beautiful.

Mr. Benson undid the hooks and I found myself supporting myself on stiff legs. "Kneel, boy." I got on my knees and was facing the new man. Looking right in to his eyes and recognizing the combination of fear and anticipation that had been mine when I first met this master.

"Kiss him, boy." My lips went out and found the firm mouth of the blond, our eyes stayed open, the man didn't know how to respond. I acted blindly to Mr. Benson's commands , just as I had been ordered to.

"That's mighty pretty, boys. The good slave boys kissing one another nice and soft. Getting themselves ready for their man.

Mr. Benson's talking during sex always gave me clues about

the direction he was heading. And I could sense this one. My jockstrap was stuck down around my knees. I reveled in the strange feeling of the freedom of my prick as it pushed against the denim fabric of the pants in front of me. "Stand up." Abruptly we both rose. "Jamie, take off your jockstrap and then remove his pants." There was that tone in Mr. Benson's voice letting me know that he was getting turned on. My jock fell off easily. I reached over and took the unbelted jeans and undid the zipper. I pushed them over his round hips and nearly jumped back with surprise as an enormous , and perfectly shaped circumcized cock leapt out at me. I nearly forgot myself and went down on it. But, I got hold and slid them off his calves, marveling at the softness of the down covering his legs from crotch to ankle. It was a golden coating, never thick enough to be described as "hairy," r. ore like a fuzz that mellowed the sharp definition of his legs.

I was swept into the smell from his crotch, Mr. Benson hardly ever wore underpants, and this was another renewed delight - the odor of sweaty balls caught in cotton briefs. I had to bite back my tongue again before it acted on its own mind.

The model stepped out of the pile of clothing I left at his feet. Once again we were staring at one another, if anything, the intensity of his concern had increased.

"You are both my slaves. I expect you to respect that and me. You," he turned to the blond, "are the apprentice. This is an advanced student. I expect you to have respect for his learning. And you," he turned to me, "I expect you to help this initiate. I expect you both to work only for my satisfaction . Do you both understand?"

Yes, sir." Our answers came in unison.

"Feel his shaved crotch. Take a good feel at the body of a slave." My skin tingled as the warm and unaccustomed hand came up and spread itself over my neglected balls, lifting them up as his palm slid over the smooth skin. I was going through new highs. And a new depth of pride overtook me. I was feeling the emotions of a soldier in an army as a new recruit looks on and sees the completeness of his training. Knowing, that if he can last it out, he too can qualify to wear the uniform .

The blond's eyes were wide with amazement at the strange feeling of a hairless body against his hands. "His ass too." The hand went under my crotch and felt my naked asshole, a finger pressed against the opening. The blond's cock, bigger even than Mr. Benson's, waved in the air before me; the feel of my body, and sight of my surrender as I spread open my legs to allow his entry, obviously affecting him. "I want to see my boys get along well. On the floor!" The last sentence was a sudden command. We dropped down and automatically laid on our backs. "Your heads on each other's cock!" We scurried again and suddenly I was faced with the reality of that enormous prick with big hanging balls covered with that vague yellow fuzz. "Suck." I gobbled the thick piece down, almost immediately gagging on its girth, and on my greed. Again, the shocking sensation of someone else's throat taking my cock swept through my system.

I w s so taken by the reemersion into the smells of the sweaty crotch that I forgot what Mr. Benson might be doing until I felt his hands roughly joining mine behind the guy's waist with a pair of cuffs and a snap. I could hear him repeat the movement with the other man's hands and felt his arms tighten around me. The leash from his collar was brought down and fastened to my cuffs; something else came around my wrists and pulled up against my skin.

We were tied in that position! In no more than a minute I was trapped with that man's prick in my throat. What was Mr. Benson up to? I had enough experience with him to know that more was coming, and the quick firey pain across my ass let me know I was right. A belt? A paddle? A strap? He had them all. His legs straddled our joined bodies and from the sounds I knew he was going from my ass to the other slave's forcing each of us to shove our cocks down the back of the other's throat with each blow. The red warmth of my ass spread as the number of whacks mounted up. There were no words, just the muffled groans from each of us as the leather returned time and again to visit our quickly burning flesh.

Tears had formed in my eyes when Mr. Benson finally stopped. The gulps of the blond's throat pressing against my

The rough hands of Mr. Benson untied us as quickly as they had bound us to one another. "Don't move." The order kept my mouth on the model's prick and my own shaft down his neck. Mr. Benson walked away from us. The sounds told me he was sitting on his favorite chair.

"Jamie, up on your knees." I gently pulled out of the man's mouth, leaving behind plenty of pre-cum and a desperate need to shoot. I lifted myself into a sitting position. "You, on your hands and knees, back to Jamie." The other man was gently trying to get air into his lungs, fighting back the tears. He moved onto all fours and left me with a clear view of the mounds of his ass streaked with red welts and of the hole, sharply pink in contrast to the light yellow of his body and its covering.

"Jamie, your master is going to fuck that slave's asshole. He wants it nice and clean and wet. Get in there, boy, and clean that ass for your master."

I looked at the brilliant red stripes across the pale complexion . And at the puckered skin in the middle of the crevice between his cheeks. My hands went up and pushed aside the mounds, lifting the opening up to meet my mouth.

The taste of the sweat was clean, the hints of the asshole's own sweet flavor led me to push my tongue up and into him, licking the surfaces of the suddenly hairless membrane inside, slurping up spit to lubricate the circle of muscular flesh. 'My man's going to shove his prick up here!' My cock went hard as steel thinking about the meaty shaft poking into this warm, moist hole. Spit flowed out of my mouth, down the crack and around the ass, dripping off his tight balls now lifting themselves up into his body

Mr. Benson came around behind me and slapped an en- couragement on my backside. "Get it good and wet, Jamie. Think of me while you do it. Think of the pleasure you're giving me by getting it ready."

I dove further into his body than I would have thought possible , shoving aside the tight ring that dared to guard him from my master's want, I felt Mr. Benson's leather clad leg against my thigh, and then a new touch of warm skin when he took out his cock, hard and pulsing. "Get him ready for me, Jamie, get him good and ready." I felt Mr. Benson pulling on his dick, the foreskin moving up and down the length.

Another slap on my ass! "Move out, Jamie, I'm going to fuck this asshole."

I jumped out of the way as Mr. Benson stepped in closer and put the wide head up to the blond's pink muscle. The model tried to pull away. A sharp whack of Mr. Benson's hand on his ass' brought' him back to reality. "Stay up on your knees or I'll tie you up.'

The thickly muscled legs moved back to meet Mr. Benson. I watched the beautiful tension on the arms as they pressed against the floor, holding up not only his own weight and my master's as well. I could see sweat collecting on his biceps as they bulged out from the strain, I watched the stomach muscles contract as they attempted to keep from faltering.

Unthinkingly, I moved over and ran my tongue to slop up the sweat, the salt taste making me want more. I kept at it with long, slow strokes. The model moaned in appreciation as I lapped up his fluid. I kept celebrating as the ridge of developed muscles hardened. "That's a good boy, Jamie, make him feel good. Make him glad he's got my prick inside him." Mr. Benson was gasping from the savage fucking he was giving the man. His whole body was slamming into the open, exposed figure before him, making him use every one of the strained muscles to defend himself against the onslaught.

"Get his prick!"

I went down on the floor on my back and slid beneath the grunting bodies as the walloping continued above me. The blond's cock was hard! The enormous stick swung in the air over me, I strained to lift my neck up to greet it. I drew it in, timing myself to meet one of Mr. Benson's thrusts.

"Jesus Christ!" The model exclaimed as the wide prick-head disappeared into my throat, shoving itself with a desperate need for release. The moans started to increase, th thrusts came more quickly. I could see the blond pushing harder back to meet Mr. Benson's pelvis as it slammed forward into him.

"Jesus Christ! Christ Jesus!" The man was screaming. Mr. Benson started to give the signaling shouts of impending joy, and there it was! A thick, gooey spurt of cum flowing down my throat. And another! Too much! It came out the side of my mouth and down my chin, no matter how quickly I tired to swallow, it flowed over my lips and onto my chest.

They stayed arched over me for minutes. The huge dick in my mouth barely had begun to deflate when Mr. Benson pulled out, his own wonderful cock suddenly popping into my view, coming down to press against the blond fuzzed balls in front of me, almost able to join the tool in my mouth. Mr. Benson stood, "Get up."

The remark was meant for me. I came out from under the body of the model and stood beside him facing Mr. Benson. "Jamie, how'd you like a piece of this nice ripe ass?" I couldn't understand the question. "Do you want to fuck him?"

I looked down at the body straddling the floor. This man was one of the most desired males in New York City. He had the kind of body that existed only in ads for gyms. He stayed on his hands and knees with his head dangling submissively.

"Yes, sir."

My answer was almost a whisper. "It's all nice and greased with my cum, boy, go ahead in." Mr. Benson sat on the couch on the other side of the blond's waiting body. My prick strained with its own weight as I went behind him and once again studied the beautiful ass. It was standing right up in the air, his legs had been spread apart by Mr. Benson's hammering, the balls, now relaxed after his orgasm, swung low away from his body with that fine blond hair covering. The red marks on his mounds still stood out in stark contrast to the pale skin.

I took my hard shaft and poked at his hole, he moaned slightly, was it from pain or anticipation? I hadn't fucked anyone for months. It's hardly my forte. But, here it was, the chance to stick it into one of America's most beautiful men. The opening was wet, and I slid past the barely resisting ring of muscle. A loud gasp of air came from both of us. And I started pumping at the incredible warmth of his body, grabbing hold of the firm waist, watching the sharp triangles of muscle on his sides. "That's right, boy, fuck that slave's ass." Mr. Benson's hand came out and whacked an encouragement on my cheeks

"Slam it in."

My pumping became harder, my thrusts came more quickly, the thought of the man's cum dripping out of my mouth while I watched Mr. Benson's prick grinding into him burst out into my own orgasm quickly and violently. I shot my load deep inside his gorgeous ass, growling in victory, and receiving another hard whack from Mr. Benson.

I stayed inside him quietly. Amazed at myself for getting so hot over fucking someone and waiting for Mr. Benson to give a new order, I looked over at him, he was clothed in his uniform , the strong arms were crossed over his chest. Mr. Benson looked very pleased.

"Okay, Jamie, pull out of him and go shower. I want to talk to this slavemeat alone." My cock popped out of him, I jumped up and went into the shower room and quickly got under the warm and full flow of water. I felt foolish for my misgivings, however breif, of having a second Isave in the house. Now, it all seemed hot and wonderful and I wondered when it could happen again. I liked the idea of someone else listening to Mr. Benson talk about me: his number one slave - it was an affirmation I appreciated receiving.

I remember that under that shower, I was as happy to be

Mr. Benson's Isave as I ever would be.

When I returned to the living room, the blond was on his hands and knees - fully dressed this time, kissing Mr. Benson's feet. I must have missed the final command, because he got up and left without a word.

Mr. Benson and I stood at opposite ends of the room as the man put on a sheepskin jacket over his flannel shirt - it was a quick vision of a cigarette ad when the whole outfit was on and then he left.

I looked over to Mr. Benson. "Come here, boy."

I went over to him and followed the order in his eye to drop to my knees. He reached over and took the back of my neck, pulling my face into his crotch, rubbing it against the leather covered bulge. "You're a good boy, Jamie. You're learning very quickly. I like that. We'll have to find a way to reward you soon."

I put my arms around my master's legs and embraced him, thinking then that I needed no greater reward than that - to be with him.

I had no way of knowing what Mr. Benson had planned for me.

To be continued

y Three New ng New Fiction CIT rummer Discove

Steel by Aaron Travis

Johnny is hung. Big cock on a blond boy's big body. Oily cock gurgles in his shafting hand. Takes his pulse, two fingers and a thumb squeeze the head. Slit splits open, leaks a thread of gluey spittle.

Don is victim. Lies belly-down on a beam of wood, hands and feet tied to ends. Dark and naked - grown up Botticelli boy. Nipples lie taut on firm stretched pecs, pierced by a ring of Chinese needles, tips around the aureoles. Two tits, twenty needles. One needle in the center of each tit, inserted half an inch into the tiny hole. Don moans as the pins sway (ever so slightly) in the rustling air from ceiling fan. Like the potted palms sway, ever so slightly, in the heavy dense rays from the low skylight. Solarium / Greenhouse / Rumpus Room.

Don's cock hard. Hangs thorugh hole in wood. Harder than hard - nuts and shaft strangled by steel collar. One cock, two balls, thirty needles. Fat cock bristles, bulbous porcupine worm pork tube, boiled salami radiating steel. Pincushion ball sack. Needles draw pain out of flesh, like conductors, expand the sensory area of Don's genitals out to the blunt ends of the needles.

No needle in slit. Thin plastic tube there, takes shallow dip then up to Don's mouth, taped shut. From bladder to mouth, closed loop, Yellow bubbles in tube. Keeps Don quenched.

Deep alien slither, then Don's cock is empty.

Catheter gone. Tape ripped off lips. Don hisses, Golden froth from red hole.

Johnny straddles the beam. Huge thighs hug the polished wood - cock juts out like a taproot.

"Gonna suck it now. Fuck your mouth." Slow drawl, Houston boy. Used to ask to have his hting sucked. Some said no. Learned to tell them. All said yes then. All.

Don looks up. Golden face blue eyes hover far away, fixed above mountain shoulders. The fan blades whirl slowly around Johnny's head, makes him look like some crazy flying man-machine (supermen can fly), some cyborg, perfect golden man made by hungry queer conglomerate. Huge arms huge chest.

Stomach like tightly twisted steel cables covered by taut flesh, rubber one side silk the other. Perfect symmetry centers eyes on body's perfect center: huge cock.

Johnny slaps his face. Double slap: right left right left. Slapped Don's ass to ready it for a fuck. Slaps his face to loosen it for a fuck. Slaps til Don's face swings with the blows, neck limp, throat loose and ready.

Lifts the head by the curly black hair. Mouth hangs slack, More golden froth. Head in. Mouth opens wider, effort. One shove. All the way in. All the way. Don's throat bulges out of his neck like the thick tube bulges on the underbelly of his hard cock. Throat stuffed with Johnny's long and hard. Cock pulses. Don feels the pulse in his throat. Hardly aware that Johnny is pissing.

Cock out to head in mouth, Let him taste it. Let piss fill his mouth. Let it run yellow over his red lips swollen and limp like novacaine flesh splash to the floor. Cock back in: let him feel the pulse.

More needles called for. Ten needles for Don's twisted underthroat. Just a prick, they snag, stand straight out like teeth from a hairbrush, Cock fucks throat, In / Out. The needles on Don's throat undulate, bunch up and brush one another, spring up straight again in rolling waves.

A tape recorder on the floor plays back sounds from earlier in the session. Sharp gasps as steel nettled Don's cock. Loud whimpers when the needles entered his nipples. Sharp smacking of palm against hard sweaty assflesh. Then fuck sounds: liquid pumping, Don begging — "Oh God yes oh " words mesh, devolve into grunts at 4 / 4 time. God …

Don has a clit in his throat, like Linda Lovecock, a hard knotty surface deep inside that responds like a prostate. Only Big Johnny's long and thick can reach it. Johnny's power tube snarling and twisting in his wet mouth hole. Great pleasure. Also pain. Don moans on the tape recorder. Neck stings in ten places like bites of metal ants. Ten needle points form a cellular grid of pain: this cell damaged, calls an SOS to surrounding cells. Needles craftily spaced so their sensory epicenters overlap, form solid grid of pain. Needles in tits, needle grid covers cock and balls. Johnny in throat — all things balanced.

Loud plop from the tape recorder as Johnny's cock leaves Don's ass. Don's voice: "You gonna fuck my throat now Johnny? Please fuck my throat." A slap, heavy groans, a hiss, tearing sound — athletic tape — then silence. the catheter went in both ends.

Johnny grunts. Cock feels good. Real Good. Every time Don gags feels like a greasy fist clutching, begging. Johnny lives for his big cock. So does Don. So do others. They're hard at home alone now thinking hard of Johnny hard. A grid of desire over the city, a hundred points radiating desire, infecting men who have never seen him with lust for Johnny. They hit the streets, looking for Johnny. Anxiously feel up handsome blond stud boys in dark corners - no, that's not Johnny.

Johnny lives for Real Good. Real thing pounds the clit in Don's throat. Don's pleasure mounting. Must restore balance - force orgasm in spite of pain. More needles. Three in upper lip, three in lower. They twist in Johnny's pubic hair as he fucks, catch a little against his balls. Hurts Don more than Johnny.

Johnny feels teeth on his shaft, Slaps Don's face, hard, Cockflesh on throatflesh, teeth have no place, sharp calcified tumors in Don's fuckhole mouth. Should pull them out, make it smooth as his asshole, take a slick ride. But the animal needs them to survive.

Ready now. Big Johnny swells longer, thicker. Ready for orgasm. Cock sings, Cellular grid of pure pleasure wrapped around thick meat. Now!

Control: out a little, let him taste it. Let him swallow. Swallowing makes the neck needles dance, Let it run white slag over the pins in his lips. In again, deep — feels so good — let him take the pulse with his throat. Hit the spot, one last time. Don jerks. His cock bobs like a porcupine wand. The tube on the bottom of his cock ripples needles like his throat ripples neck needles. Graphs, marking mass movement.

White slag spits out, slaps on floor with faint rain sound, mixes with stray piss on the floor.

Johnny's voice on the tape recorder: "Gonna suck it now. Fuck your mouth." Then slapping sounds.

Johnny meat softens in his mouth, softly pulses. Lives for cock. Lives for Real Good.

Ride by Charles Arnold

I knew it was going to be all right when the first guy pulled off the road and said he had to take a leak. He was big and good looking just like some of them I had seen in my collection, and he stood just beyond the hood of the car so I could almost see him, and he definitely was fantastic. I couldn't help getting an erection, and I was sure he kept spying at me from the corner of his eye, but I didn't do anything because I wasn't sure. It looked like he was shaking it off for a long time before returning, and by that time I had to piss too, but I was too embarrassed to say anything, so we just drove off and got back on the highway.

"So you're headin' west," he said, straightening his tie and pulling the knot tighter, while he lit a cigarette.

"Trying," I sort of muttered, because I was still real excited and didn't want to stutter, so I didn't say too much. "Frisco or Hollywood?" he laughed, and I said "Hollywood," and he laughed even harder because Hollywood was a million miles away and somehow just couldn't happen. "You gonna be a star?'

I just smiled and didn't answer, because that's exactly what I was going to be, but I didn't want him to tell me any different like the rest of them.

"You know what they say," he said after a long while as the wheat blew like slow motion in the wind and the sun got big and red. "It's not who you know …

But if you're good."

"Hell, everybody's good," he said. "You just gotta know who to be good to.

"You mean the big ones," I said, meaning the producers, but he grinned "yeah" grabbing hold of his crotch with his hand and sort of fiddling with it, and then I knew he was looking at me, and it wasn't out of the corner of his eye anymore. He was staring straight without a flinch as we just missed a big semi and went swerving into a ditch with the dust blowing around us, and the cinders popping, and us bumping around sideways before we finally came to a full rest up against a clump of bushes. Jees, I thought. That was a close one. "You all right?"

"Yeah, I think so," and we both breathed heavy before we could pull ourselves together to laugh about it. "I think maybe I owe you one," he said, "Why don't you let me put you up for the night. That'll be for almost getting you killed."

"You don't have to if …" "I want to," he said, and that was all there was to it. It was my first night out in the "big, cold world," and already I had a place to stay and someone who I thought was going to be really nice to me.

It was sterile clean, but I don't remember the town, and we are downstairs in the hotel restaurant. I are chicken, and he had a big steak that was soft and pink, and I knew he liked it because he took big bites, and I watched the way he chewed it with a lot of gusto, and it must have felt good and tasted good.

I couldn't get over how big he was, not bulky, but big eyes and a large mouth, and his hands were twice as huge as mine, and a large mouth, and in smallowere twee as nige as filler, and when he grabbed my leg one time, just fooling around, he could wrap his fingers all the way until they almost touched. "You ever been with a man before?" he

"I don't know."

"We're gonna share the room," he went on, forking in another big mouthful. He belched once and put his napkin to his lips. "That doesn't mean you gotta worry, but you sure as hell are a pretty lookin' kid. Those bastards are gonna eat you alive out there. You gotta take care of yourself." "Oh, I'm all right," I said. "I'm not a kid," and I wasn't.

I was twenty - almost twenty one,

He grinned and leaned back in his chair and put his fingers inside his pants a little and shook his head, and I knew what he was thinking, because maybe, all right, I was young, but I wasn't a fool.

One time I saw this frind of mine, Bobby, jerking off in his dingy bathroom. I watched him through the window, and I still think he knew I was there, but we never talked about it, and when he shot his load across the toilet, it just splattered up against the tank like someone threw a wad of cream with all their might. He really had a lot of determination, and I thought that was hot, but that was all I ever saw - and I saw that only once.

"You ready to go up?" he said, and I just nodded and there we were in the elevator with my heart pounding a mile a minute. He knew I was scared, and I think that made him feel good, but he did come over close and very briefly put his arm around my shoulder as if to tell me not to worry. That was nice, and of course it helped. A warm arm always helps.

The room was lit from the neon sign outside, and everything looked sort of blue or grey. He draped his jacket across the chair and took his tie off with a lot of care and hung that up too. I was shaking as I fumbled at my shoelaces and naturally made a knot which took some awkward minutes for me to bite out.

"Christ, I smell like a pig," he said when he got down to his shorts and undershirt. "You want me to take a shower or what?"

"I don't know. You don't have to," because I wanted to be polite, but he thought I should smell him closer just to see. He was so nice that I truly felt very grateful.

I smelled his chest, but he said, "No. Here," and raised his arm and firmly pushed my face into that warm hollow with the thick mat of hair brushing against my nose and lips, It smelled strong and safe and wonderful, and my dick got hard in nothing flat, and I wasn't afraid at all anymore. "Whaddya think?" he said. "Should I wash?"

I could hardly breathe before he let me out to answer, and I just shook my head and smiled. After that, he knew he didn't have to worry about me, so he sat down on the chair and lit a cigarette. "So you never been with a man." "No."

"You are now, you know."

"Uh-huh." "Scared?"

"Good," he said. "Come here. I got something else for you to smell, just to make sure.

He was beautiful sitting in that chair with his shorts and undershirt on. His legs were thick and hairy, and his arms much bigger than they seemed in his suit. He must've done something special to get the muscles he had, because you couldn't look like that driving around in a car all day.

I stood in front of him, and his eyes just stared into mine like I was his brother, and I understood that we were, even though I had never been with anyone like him before, but I knew what he was thinking as if it was some natural thing that I had always known,

"Why don't you kneel down here," he said, pointing to the carpet with his foot directly in front of him.

Then he spread his legs so that I could almost see in that space between his shorts and leg, but it was dark and all in shadow, but he pulled me gently by the hair into that dark secret so that I could smell the warmth again, only stronger and warmer and much more wonderful, if such a thing could be. "Whaddya think?" he said. "How does that smell? Too much?"

"Like heaven," I breathed, and I didn't want to ever move again for the rest of my life,

"Yeah," he said, and finished his cigarette while I sniffed around at what it was like to be with a real man who knew how to handle somebody like me. It wasn't any kind of game that all the guys used to joke about, but something real and powerful, and better than anything else I could think of do-

"A lot of dudes don't like it down there," he said, "but I knew you would. I watched you when I was pissing, and I saw a hungry little piggy sittin' in my car."

"I was afraid.

"Yeah, well, I'll get you outta that in about one minute," and he stood up almost knocking me over and strode off to the bathroom.

"How'd you like your supper?" he shouted. The light went on but the door stayed open. "Great," I said. "I appreciate it. Really."

"Whaddy gonna do for it?" "Well, you know," I said, and I felt the stammer coming

back.

"I can't hear you!" he shouted.

"What do you want?" I asked, taking a few steps toward the open door. "I just wanna get off," he said, "like I never got off before. Think you can handle it? Think you can do that for me?"

'I don't know. I … "Whyn't you come in here a minute," he said, and my heart started pounding again, and I could hardly breathe. "Are you all right?" I asked. It was such a stupid question. "I wanna show you somethin'."

I stepped into the brightness of the bathroom, and there he was standing over the toilet with his cock in his hand, looking down at it like he wanted to piss. All the things I said about his size were nothing compared to the beauty of his cock. It was brown and heavy and full of veins and arteries that vearned to burst through the flesh. I reeled back against the sink in astounded ecstacy, and he laughed because he knew how surprised and delighted I was. Cocks, in retrospect, were always secondary to the rest, but with him, that first time with my first man, it was perfection raised to the level of magnificence. It was a dream although it pulsed with life.

"That's what you've been sniffing around for," he coaxed.

"I didn't know."

"Well, now you do. A little puppy dog for his bone."

All of a sudden, a bright stream of urine shot into the toilet and splattered against the sides, and then stopped. He glanced at me briefly, and then it happened again only for a moment longer, and then a third time as I stood mesmerized in ecstatic

"What the fuck," he finally said, "Do you want it or not?" and before I knew it, I was drinking the wine he was drinking when he was sitting across from me at the supper earlier. "Yeah," was all he said as the endless fountain poured the nectar down my throat like warm tea on a winter night, "Yeah," and I drank until my stomach bloated and he was through shaking the last few drops across my face and smiling warmly in exchange with mine. "Yeah," and I knew the joy of a man.

He stood at the window and he was naked, while I waited on the bed, thin and shivering in expectation, waiting forr whatever next to happen. Silhoutted against the blue neon, his body was that of a god, a Greek Olympiad contestant, chiseled stone, but then he moved and his eyes caught the light, and he was truly there and not a statue or an apparition at all. I waited while he let me wait knowing the anticipation was supreme.

His ass was a perfect arch, the word is callipygous, supported by muscular thighs and bulging calves, as he stood staring down into the street while I gazed in admiration, beginning to stroke myself, because there was no way that I could help it. He turned, and in the shadow, I saw his huge appendage begin to swell as he came closer to the bed, and I was more than ready. As he walked, it slowly swung from side to side and expanding with each step, as if some choreographer had preordained the movement in some madly erotic ballet,

"You're gonna like this," he said standing over me, "because I know exactly what you want. I'm gonna give you everything, and you're gonna feel good, and you're gonna thank me for it, because there ain't no bullshit gonna come down here tonight. Now, lay back and get yourself comfortable, because I gotta lot of cum I wanna feed the hungry boy," and I layed back and almost fainted for a minute before I caught myself as he climbed on top and made himself at home.

When someone small, such as myself, lies beneath a man such as I have just described, there is an inescapable sense of dominion and submission, strength and weakness, power and inheritance, and in that night in that town which I've forgotten, that sense was magnified ten fold by the newness and totality of the moment. I was subjected to the potency of a creation beyond two people, for in my mind on that very first night, was the upmost longing to be beautiful and desired and to please. It was that innate grasping for perfection.

Quietly, I felt his hardness slide slowly up between my legs as it poised for just a moment before entering into my ass, which I thought of as pink and eager, as it slid slowly with just the slightest force deeper into me, and he whispered softly, "It's in," and I knew it was just the beginning, as I was slowly forced to open wider to accept it all, and still there was some more, as he wanted me to take it all, and I wanted nothing more than to have the whole enormous thing shoved up inside, and as he pushed his final thrust, I screamed out in the most exquisite pain I had ever felt, and the man was totally inside of me, his cock pushing up and up, his arms like granite pulling me deeper into who he was, so his chest heaved in massive gasps against my own, and his mouth found mine to enter, and I knew that single moment of oneness when two are one. "Yes," I gasped, and I gasped over, "yes," again and "yes," and deeper and with all his strength, he took me as a man to pleasure him and to give me everything that I could ever want. He pumped me and he pushed me and he held me, and he breathed his heavy breathing in my ear and told me, "Yeah, this is what we're here for," and I felt the crumpled sheets stuck and moist beneath us, and everything was hotter than the summer.

"Wait!" and he suddenly stopped, and everything spun around as all sensation slowly drained to where it was when first he had his dick upon my ass between my legs. "Wait, and I said "why?" and he said, "Because I want to see it. I want to remember. Yes," and he breathed heavily for a moment catching his breath, as he slowly pulled it out from my ever grateful ass. could see him clearly, as he sat, his massive chest sweating and glistening in the neon glow, heaving, breathing, his mouth emitting short and panting breaths. And then he smiled again, just like the first time, the smile that made me feel we understood each other and there was nothing anywhere that could interfere. I watched him, and of course, I loved him.

"Prop your head," he said. "Get a pillow," and I did, and he knelt up between my legs, and his cock shone like a rain-slicked tower in the blue-grey light. He grabbed it firmly with his hand and began to stroke it just for me, and my eyes went from that to his and back, and I knew joyously that thing about to happen as I had waited all my life for just that time,

"For you," he said, as he worked the waiting cum from the sack of weighty balls. "I'm gonna do this one for you. Everything I've eaten - everything I've touched is just for you tonight. How much, little boy, do you want my load of cum?" and I said, "More than anything," and he said, "Yeah, and that's why I'm gonna give it to you," and by the time he said the final word, I saw it start to shoot, and watched in awe as streams and spurts of hot liquid wine s find their mark against my face. Not once, but twice, then twice again, and then another, until my face was hot and soaked with him, and beyond all measure, my load had reached miraculously to the walls beyond and dripped like streaks of rain down the darkened face of the television screen. I saw nothing but a blurry vision of a beautiful man knelt before me in a slump of total satisfaction and contentment.

"Yes," I said, and I said it over, for that's my favorite word, and he smiled that smile that I have come to know and love, and he said, "yes," and that was all.

The night passed quickly, and the words of course could not come close to what it was, and I finally made it to Hollywood, but I never became a star, except for once, in that town that I can't remember somewhere deep among the wheat fields when I was almost twenty one.

The Barge by David Mitchell

I arrived at the boathouse at dusk. Four men in worn clothing looked up as I entered. Though fully dressed, their bodies were nakedly apparent through second-skin fittings of shirts, vests, levis. Their combined sexuality affected my breathing. I was forced to take short, quick gasps of air through my mouth.

Without words, a sweet-smelling cigarette was offered. It tore into my nostrils, raced like simultaneous, violent eruptions to my sex and head. After several deep drags, an aftertaste like cum lingering in my mouth, I relaxed into tingling anticipation.

From across light and darkness, in and out of stage-like spots, an albino-skinned, white-haired man advanced. Smiling, he placed a finger at the edges of my teeth. Biting gingerly, I ran my tongue over his nail, into his palm. Unbottoning my shirt, his fingers curled playfully around the hair on my chest. Four pairs of eyes warmed me, like mid-August sun (or bonfires on midnight beaches).

From behind, a savage-looking Negro placed gentle hands on my nipples, causing them to harden. The fair, large-muscled satyrman tickle / kissed my eyelids, ears, the corners of my mouth. The tip of my tongue, like a rattle snake's, darted quickly into a pool of cupped saliva.

Outline of enormous cock pressing against my ass, huge hands unbuckled, unzipped, let drop the gossamer-weight trousers I wore. I was naked.

Two in front, two behind, they marched me to a large black barge. Placing me in the center, they pushed off for an undisclosed destination. Their presence (their eyes) produced a body hard-on. Tip to toe, I pulsed with the caged blood of a gigantic erection.

One of the four, a man with fantasy proportions - chest, waist, outline of cock — gave me an order, "Play with your-self," he said.

Turned on by the words, my choice situation, I ran my tongue over my bicep. I loved the fresh sweat, the highly peppered taste like active cum. Sn rough pubic-like hairs with the tip of my tongue. I caressed my tits, made them salute the rugged, square men who watched with liquid eyes.

Sharing the beauties of my cock, I traced purple-blue veins, explored in detail the head, piss lips, slipped back the tough, twistable, inches-long foreskin.

Squeezing balls into prominence through tingles of exquisite pain, I said, "Jump, Cock. Jump." Standing, I shared the picture: pre-cum oozed from piss lips, spread to cover the Head of Creation, dripped to splatter at my feet. Catching drops on my fingertips, I anointed myself. Like a connoisseur I tested the aroma, the taste of the one-of-a-kind vintage. Fingers covered with manhood, I forced them up the roman-tick, cock-hungry dark chocolate-flavored valley of my ass.

Was ever anyone as lucky as 1? I wondered.

In a gazebo on spacious lamp-lighted lawns, I was refreshed with cool vanilla waters sprayed from atomizers, left to dry by indiscreet winds.

I must have slept.

When I awoke, no one was about. In the distance, the twinkling of quiet blue lights. Curious, I started toward them. Trying the door of an old weather-beaten mansion, I found it open. With an unexpectedly long sigh, I turned the knob and entered.

It was like stumbling into paradise. Or innocence. In a large room, men were free to be themselves. "This is me," each seemed to say. (Some of them, the lucky ones like myself, were naked.)

My hand cupped around my cock, I took in the sights. I wandered through hallways, into rooms, out-of-the-way passages, into a tall stuffy attic, onto open courtyards, to tents at the beach (the sound of waves). Everywhere, men were fucking men. Men kissed men; they showered together, washed their bodies, or a buddy's, a stranger's. Taking turns - active and passive, being totally male - they fucked, were fucked, sucked, were sucked. I was surrounded with cocks, balls, assholes; strong handshakes, deep beautiful voices, smiles, farts, kisses and laughter.

As I passed a darkened room, a voice called out. "Come here!" Cautiously approaching, a quiver in my bowels, my body was pulled into one totally clothed.

"You're so easy to love," the bearded man said. "So easy."

I felt safe and protected.

He toyed with my tits, my cock. "I'm old enough to be your father," he laughed.

"I don't know about that.

"I'm sure of it." Fingers tickled my asshole. Kisses, caresses. Endless gentle pinches, squeezes. How wonderful, I thought. This man receives pleasure, doing what gives me so much pleasure. Sweet kisses, sweet.

"Hold me!" "I'm here."

"Your hair, your beard, your strong, iron body …" My hungry fingers unbottonted his fly. His cock, his pubic hair were moist with sweat. "I want to cum on you. Want you to cum on me."

"Yes, yes."

I had it out. "Beautiful cock … like hard rubber, like a hose between your legs. Put it … Put it on my stomach, on my tits, my face. Let me smell it. I want to taste it!" On my knees, my hands caressing mighty thighs, buttocks, I took his cock in my mouth. His balls were huge. Under them, through the sac, I could feel cock roots twisting into his groin.

"Hey. What the fuck's goin' on in there?"

Frightened, I jumped up. Someone snapped on a light. A giant of a man, through unzipped leather, pulled somewhat violently at the fattest, juciest cock I had ever seen. His hand, large as it was, could not encompass it. "You, baby, are going to get fucked," the bearded man said.

"I don't know …

"You have no choice," The words thrilled me,

"I'll open you up, get you started for that big one of his."

I thought nothing could be better than the fuck the bearded one gave me (the pain in my ass, the memory of it in my mind remained long after he left). But then, the giant led me by the neck to a dust-covered room with ancient ominous odors.

"Get on the floor."

Timidly I lay on my stomach, breathing deeply the strangely familiar air.

Using my ankles, he twisted me to my back. My legs wrapped around his head, his baseball bat dangled at my hole. His cock was incredible - the size, shape, the brutal beauty of it. My ass said, I can't, but I will. Reaching back, animal to animal, I grabbed it. It was rough, like splintered driftwood. (From so many fuckings, I thought.)

Half a can of Crisco around, in my asshole, and the stallion cock began to force its way inside.

"Relax … asshole," the man cooled in my ear. "You want it. You know you do. Guys like you love this stuff,"

Continued on page 56

CALIFORNIA SUPERMEN

Terry offers color 35mm physique contest photos. All hot and hunky. 8 different bodybuilding contestants per set. Sets G and H available now. Each set $10 plus $1.50 postage and handling. All photos sent insured mail. Send Money Order or check — no cash, please. (California residents add 61 / 8 tax.)

TERRY PHOTO

BOX 31241 SAN FRANCISCO, CA 94131

to, 2 $5.00 extool; Story of Q; Shaving four Slave

44 4 1 No. 3 FFA; Born to Black Pipe Victory $5.00 Hell; Raise

$3.00 No. 6 Orlando Paris' Playing With Fire; L.A. Slave Auction; Branding, Piercing & Tattooing

1 11 13 343

No. 7 $3.00 Jack Wrangler Interview; Jock Itch; Leather Wedding

No. 8 $3.00 Cliff Raven / Val Martin bodypainting; Famous Sadists in History

$3.00 VO. 9 he Cycle Slut fold Coast Party Sluts: Geronimo;

HOT TO HANDLE! DRUGGIER BACK ISSUES

BACK PACKS

Serialized Drummer Books:

FIVE IN A TRAINER'S ROOM by Scott Masters, complete in issues 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

EPILOGUE by Robert Payne, complete in issues 6 and 7

MURDER IN CALIFORNIA by John W. Rowberry and Rue Dyllon, complete in issues 9, 10, 11

POGEY BAIT by George Birmisa, complete in issues 12 and 13

TRY OUT TIME by Steve Masters, complete in issues 12, 13, 14

S&M GYM by G.B. Misa, complete in issues 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28

MY BROTHER, MY SLAVE by Kurt Kreisler, complete in issues 16, 17, 18, 19

TRAPPED! by Houston Smith, complete in issues 18, 19, 20, 21

SOLDIER by Derek, complete in issues 20 and 21

PRISON PUNK by Frank O'Rourke, complete in issues 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32

15 HARRIETT - SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA 94103

Please send me the following back issues (circle):

(2) $5, (3) $5, (6) $3, (7) $3, (8) $3, (9) $3, (10) $3, (11) $3, (12) $3, (13) $3, (14) $3, (15) $3, (16) $3, (17) $3, (18) $3, (19) $3, (21) $3.50, (22) $3.50, (23) $3.50, (24) $3.50, (25) $3.50, (26) $3.50, (27) $3.50, (28) $3.50, (29) $3.50, (30) $4, (31) $4.

Prices are postpaid in the U.S.; Foreign orders include 50c per issue ordered.

Guys like me, I thought. How about you?

Violently he shoved in; I screamed out. Pain? Pleasure? What?

"Easy," he said. "Easy."

Covering my eyes with my hands, I said, "Please … I can't."

Not moving, he coaxed, whispered, kissed everything but my lips.

With a fantastic effort I squirmed from his grasp, quickly got on top. I wanted that cock badly. Needed it. Would have it. I sat on it, felt myself stretch to impossible proportions. Because I was doing it, because I had taken over, because I trusted myself, I got it — all of it — inside me.

It fit like a glove; filled every fucking centimeter. It was an expert inside massage, where it really counts. I could taste it, feel it fucking brain cells …

Another quick surprising maneuver, and I was inside him! Tight asshole, the memory of married men. As he squirmed into me, with piston precision, the smell of scortched, satisfied flesh reached the inner circle of my consciousness.

Giant explosions later, I stood above him, pissed on him. Like a happy puppy, he lapped it up, kissed my cock, my balls, pulled me down to gently kiss my lips …

Walking dazed along a deserted outdoor path, I encountered a fantastic young man (black hair, green eyes, white skin, hairless muscled body). A shy aggressiveness could be seen just behind his eyes. He wanted, but was afraid to suggest … except with his eyes.

My hands dug savagely into firm young buttocks. Their beauty demanded bruises, scratches, bites. Around his asshole, the hair had the consistency of fine wire. The hole was a pulsing perculator; outside edges were rough inside, hot quicksilver!

Awakened, bold now, he placed me on my back (sand on my body, waves in my mind). On his knees, he lowered himself (as I had minutes ago) to sit on cock. His ass was hungry, starving, alive, burning. He lived there, in his ass. Wanted cock there. Always and forever - and more. More and more hard cock, He worked at it, for it. Gave back pleasure as he captured it from the cocks he must have.

Squeezing his legs, bringing them together at the knees, his asshole widened, elongated. Closing my eyes, writhing, screaming, I fucked man-cunt, my arms reaching up to squeeze his tits, his cock (enormous for one so slight).

Sand made its way into my asshole, bit like insects at my back, my underarms, around my cock. Placing teeth on his lips, I bit hard, drawing blood. Screams of joy as he rubbed spit and blood over our bodies.

After a time, I allowed him to walk me to the shore, bathe away with cool ocean water the last traces of the lust we had shared.

With an amused, somewhat coy look over his shoulder, a twinkle in his (beautiful green) eyes, he muttered, "So long, and disappeared.

Totally exhausted, I stumbled into an underground cell. Hoping to rest, to sleep, to collect the thoughts insanely careening through my mind, I was unable to do so.

The four men of the barge, the Club Members (my sponsors) waited for me there.

They positioned my body. While one sucked my cock, another ate my ass. A third worked over my tits and the last (the beautiful albino) kissed, bruised, drew blood from my once-more hungry lips.

I lost my equilibrium. Cocks fucking my ass and mouth, I reached out to find others waiting. Dildos. A fist covered with lubricant..

Sperm ran over my chest, down my legs, dripped from my ass. I saw (or invisioned) an army of waiting soldiers - beautiful clothed men, their cocks jumping from unzippered crotches.

Hours later, years, a lifetime, I found myself again on the barge. One hand dangled in sperm-like waters.

"Are we going back," I asked.

"We don't go back," one of the men answered. "We go on." Good, I thought, Good. Yes. into it.

Yes!

GALA HOLIDAY

PHOTOGRAPHIC PORTFOLIO

In 1973 Philip Masnick opened one of the most startling shows in New York art gallery history. The show was so shocking , even to the self-styled revolutionaires of SoHo, that it was closed within 24 hours. The closing – or censorship, as many would have called it – produced a flurry of contro- versy and debate. What was the function of the artist in society? On what basis should a piece of art be judged? Quality of the artist's work or the content the artist chose?

The debate smoldered for years. The questions, of course, were never an- swered. Then, in 1979, the year that finds New York with no less than four art galleries specializing in homoerotic art, the show is back on. The invitations were sent out by Foto Galery, 492 Broome Street, New York, Foto isn't even one of the gay

MASNICK by John Preston

If your card doesn't offer you 1400 rooms, on 64 floors, with 30 steamrooms, 25 saunas, 24 whirlpools, and 8 swimming pools, then you haven't got THE CARD…

Get It Everywhere

CLUB AKRON Onio (216) 784-0309 CLUB ATLANTA Geo (404) 881-627 CLUB AUSTIN TEXAS (512) 446-7929 CLUB AUSTIN TEXAS (512) 476-7986 CLUB BALTIMORE Md (301) 827-6229 CMB (627) 426-1451 CLUB BUFFALO NV (716) 825-6711

CLUB CAMDEN NJ (609) 964-1861 NJ (609) 964-1861 NJ (1973) 37-0080 CLUB CLEVELAND Ohio (218) 961-277 CLUB W. 91h 5T CASSONIA Ohio CLUB COLUMBUS Ohio (612) 222-2274 CLUB DALLAS TREAS (214) 221-1990 CLUB OALVAS TREAS (214) 22

CLUB DETROIT Mich (313) 875-5516 CLUB HARTFORD COM-12031289-8318 CLUB HOUSTON Texas (713) 699-4998 CLUB HOUSTON Texas (713) 699-4998 CLUB INDIANAPOLIS Ind (317) 635-5796 CFL (904) 318-745 CLUB KANASA CITY MO (816) 561-4664

CLUB KEY WEST 24 hr. Marel Accomds. Fix (305) 294-5239 CLUB LOS ANGELES C; (213) 663-5858 CLUB MIAMI Fix (305) 448-2214 CLUB MIL WALKEE

CLUB MIL WALKEE Wisc (414) 276-0246 CLUB MINNEAPOLIS Minn (612) 332-4581 CLUB NEWARK NJ (201) 484-4848

CLUB NEW HAVEN CLUB NEW HAVEN ------------------------------------

CLUB ST. LOUIS Mo (314) 533-3666 CLUB SAN FRANCISCO Ca (415) 392-3582 CLUB TAMPA Fis (81-3) 273-5181 CLUB TOLEDO Ohio (419) 246-391 CLUB WASHINGTON DC DC (202) 488-7317

CLUB LONDON Ontario (519) 438-2625 CLUB TORONTO Ontario (416) 366-2859