A Good Citizen
by Wrestlr
4.
Joe was in the school library after classes had ended for the day, and he was angry as hell because Ron had not shown up—again.
Last Friday, they had gone down to the shower room in the back of the gym to circle-jerk with the guys, each showing off how big his hard-on got and how far it could shoot cum; and afterward, Joe and Ron had lagged behind and pumped each other off, shower-wet and soapy.
And Ron had not shown up at school since then. As far as Joe could tell, he had just-plain disappeared. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday—Ron had not responded to messages. No one at his crèche knew where he was. He had not shown up at the library after school, sitting opposite Joe across the table and shoving his shoe-sole into Joe’s crotch as a silent sign that he was horny, ready to go to one of the places where they could get their rocks off, the alcove at the end of the hall, or the dim-lit restroom in the basement where the guys pretended not to know each other while they beat their meat, or the old shower room at the gym where the studs were wiser and showed off their dicks and how far they could shoot, some of them even willing to trade hand-jobs the way Ron and Joe did.
Joe tried to concentrate on his studies, but he missed Ron; Joe was horny, and he could not stop thinking about getting his rocks off. “Shit!” he muttered to himself, a little too loudly, earning a ping from the e-librarian for silence, then quieter: “I’m going to the gym.”
He swung to his feet, clapped his backpack over one shoulder, and sauntered from the library, and his jeans scraped against his always-ready prick. He had stopped wearing underwear, not even a jock-strap under his jeans, just the way Ron did, and maybe it was the pressure and rub of the coarse cloth against his genitals that kept his balls working overtime ever since.
Joe tromped down the corridor, and a couple of younger guys came from the stairway, eyeing his crotch openly, probably seeing the outline of his thickened cock. Hell, Joe decided, he did not give a damn if a guy checked how he was hung. Ron had taught him that. Ron had shown him that he sure as hell was not the only one who jerked off. Ron had introduced him to the meat-beating sessions with the guys—shit, everybody does it—and Ron had been right about how Joe could shoot more cum, and farther, than any of the others he had jerked with.
And now Ron had just plain disappeared!
Joe had messed around with Ron, both of them bare-ass and cock-hard, squirming around together and working each other up, pumping each other off, and Joe had always felt more satisfied when he traded cum with Ron, more satisfied than when he circle-jerked or showed off with the other guys. But Ron had disappeared, and Joe already had trouble remembering the touch of his body, the slipperiness of his balls, the hardness of his dick.
“Crap!” He tromped down the stairs and out from the building, heading for the gym. “There’re plenty of other guys around, if Ron doesn’t show up!”
Joe had always gone down to the shower room in the back of the gym with Ron, but this time he was going alone. He entered the warm, silent locker room and inhaled the humid, sweat-scented air, and his cock throbbed with rising sex-hunger. Ever since Ron had shown him the deserted shower room, Joe had been turned-on by just coming into the male-and-disinfectant smelling dressing room. Sucking in a deep breath, he strutted down the main aisle and through the small doorway at the rear, down a short hallway, into the shadowed, musty area normally used by the swimming team.
Rusted lockers lined the walls, and a tiled corridor at one side led to the showers and the pool beyond. No one was there, but Joe tried to appear casual as he tossed his backpack into one of the lockers and began to undress. The tension rose in his loins, and his genitals fell free and heavy when he peeled off his jeans. “Yeah, I’m ready!” he muttered, stretching and flexing his maturing muscles.
Naked, he strode down the tiled hallway, and he grinned as he heard the sound of running water coming from the shower room.
Just one man was in the room: Jonesy, the solidly built athlete Joe had beaten in a jerk-off contest.
“Hey, stallion,” Jonesy said, lathering his muscled shoulders and smooth, full-arched chest lazily. “How’s it going?”
“Okay.” Joe started one of the showers and doused himself thoroughly before reaching for the soap. “We got the place to ourselves, huh?”
“Yeah. I thought Tony might show up.” He faced Joe, washing his thick, amber-crowned cock and loose-sacked testicles openly. “You know Tony, right?”
“Sort of. You guys play football together, right?”
“We play a lot of things together. Like you and Ron do, maybe.” He pumped his swelling prick. “Is Ron around?”
“I haven’t seen him for a couple of days.” Joe toyed with his stiffening iron, grinning. “Ready for another shooting match, Jonesy?”
“Hell, that’s for beginners,” the football star scoffed as he rinsed and turned off his shower. “Let’s hit the towel room where we won’t be disturbed.”
“Uh, okay. Sure.”
Joe washed quickly, flicked off the water, and hustled after Jonesy into the large, shadowy room. Soiled towels were piled on the floor, and he grabbed a clean one from the stack by the door, drying hastily.
Then the husky athlete was coming toward him, naked and cock-hard. “I’ve wanted to get you alone for a long time,” Jonesy grinned, pressing flat against the youth. “I’m going to drain your nuts dry, stallion!”
“You’re asking for it, buddy!” Joe exclaimed, dropping his towel and embracing Jonesy hungrily.
“Damn right!” Jonesy ground their warm, aroused bodies together for a moment, then eased back. “Shit, I better show you what Tony and I like to do.”
Abruptly, Jonesy dropped to his knees and gripped Joe’s rigid prick, and he rocked forward, pressing it to his lips. Joe tensed, staring straight ahead as he felt the taunting pressure, and then the warm moisture of Jonesy’s mouth was encircling his arousal-swollen glans and swirling about the shaft. Joe gritted his teeth, and his muscles quivered with tension. Jonesy’s strong hands rose between his thighs and cupped his churning testicles, tugging them gently as the lips moved downward again, consuming more and more of the inflamed column. With a pleased groan, Joe grasped the crouching man’s shoulders, and then he let his gaze drop. Jonesy’s head bobbed slowly, lips visible around the vein-etched shaft, coming closer and closer to the thicket of black hair at the base. Joe dug his fingers into the muscled flesh and eased his hips forward, offering himself completely. He wanted to plunge his throbbing ram to the depths, but the young athlete held it partway, tongue-turning with aching slowness.
“Jonesy—?” Joe broke off, not sure what he was asking.
Jonesy drew back to the wide-collared flange, applied a renewed pressure as he drove downward again, then pulled all the way up and released the spit-glistening spike. Joe shivered at the sudden air-coolness.
“That’s one hell of a chunk of meat,” the kneeling athlete muttered. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and got to his feet. “Your turn, stallion.”
Joe recognized the challenge and hesitated. “I—I dunno, Jonesy.”
“Shit, go ahead.”
Joe sank to his knees. The muscular athlete stood before him, massive legs spread, one hand on his hip, and the other hand wandering lazily over his solid chest. Joe stared at the rigid, masculine rod thrust toward him. The smooth, rounded head gleamed with hardness, topping a sleek, marble-like shaft that sprang from a tangle of dark wire below the pale, flat-curved belly. A hand slid down and half-covered the hair-matting as the fingers supported the base of the column, aiming it toward Joe’s face.
“Suck on that rod, stallion!”
The body warmth wafted against Joe’s nakedness, and he could smell the lush, fresh-washed scent of Jonesy’s maleness. Joe bent forward, letting his lips touch the athlete’s swollen knob, slightly moist and sticky. Joe opened his mouth wide to take the thick club, and he gagged at the unfamiliar taste and sensation. “Crap!” he grumbled defensively, not wanting to admit his inexperience. “Fuck, if you can do it, so can I!” He took a deep breath and tried again, imitating what Jonesy had done, slowly drawing more and more of the rigid tool into his mouth, running his hands up the muscle-tight linings of the thighs until his fingers found the full, loose-swinging testicles. Fascinated, Joe played with them as he pressured the pulsing cock more securely, and then his lips met the thick, strong fingers still supporting the shaft. Jonesy pulled his hand away. Joe eased forward to consume the tantalizing erection completely.
“That’s the way, stallion! Yeah, man, you’ve got all of it!”
Spurred on by the hoarsely whispered encouragement, Joe applied increasing suction and felt the muscles quiver in response, and he hardly noticed that his hands were being carried up over Jonesy’s belly and outward. Then the brawny athlete was holding Joe’s head in place and hip-pumping aggressively. Choking at the sudden onslaught, Joe tried to free himself, and the powerful thighs locked about him, forcing him to accept the lunging cock again and again. The iron-hardness jammed into his throat, and the clearly marked tube along its underside pressed down on his tongue.
“Now, damn it!” Jonesy groaned. “Yeah!” An instant later, the rod convulsed and the first explosion of Jonesy’s thick male liquid came spurting from it. “Aw, yeah!”
Joe swallowed automatically. His body shook with the thunder of his heartbeat, and he could hear Jonesy’s sharp, animal cries of relief.
“Aaah! Aaah!”
Clinging to the man’s hips for support, Joe plunged forward, drinking the hard-flowing stream thirstily.
“Aw, fuck, yeah!”
When the surge was over, Joe pulled away and sprawled back on a pile of towels, covering his eyes with one arm. His body trembled with nerve-aching tension, and his throat rasped with gasps for air.
After several moments, Jonesy hunkered down to rub one palm over Joe’s heaving chest. “You liked that, huh, stallion?”
“Crap! It was—” Joe shivered, then covered the young athlete’s hand with his own and pushed it downward toward his still-erect prick. “It got me so fucking hot!”
“You’re telling me! Shit, your pecker’s dripping the way Tony’s does when he’s all worked up.”
“Get me off, like I did for you. I need to pop my load.”
“Any time, buddy.”
Jonesy dropped to his knees between Joe’s limp-spread legs, and his lips clamped surely about the bulging, slick-rounded head of the youth’s stiff cock. “Yeah, Jonesy!” Joe watched the man press downward until the dark-haired head was buried in his crotch, felt the powerful arms wrap about him, the hands rubbing the backs of his thighs and rising to cup the muscled cheeks of his ass, groaned from the maddening excitement churning through him, shuddered at the sensuous suction on his rigid prick, writhed helplessly as the pent-up fury overwhelmed him—
“Jonesy!” he whimper-warned, and then it was too late. “Agh!” The climatic pleasure ripped through him, his balls pumping, semen overflowing, the searing ecstasy racing the length of every nerve in his tortured cock-head and shaft, the churning cum exploding in sharp, wrenching bursts. “Ah!” The hands beneath his butt jerked him upward, and the warm, hungry lips suctioned steadily. Joe arched his body, straining to drive himself even deeper into the shattering pleasure, which crested, held, and then began to fade. He collapsed, spent and exhausted.
Jonesy lowered the youth on his back, released him, and stretched out next to him. “That was fucking hot, stallion.” He put one hand on Joe’s chest, smoothing the sparse hairs to the heaving curves. “You damn-near drowned me. You sure shoot a lot!”
“So do you.”
“Worn out?”
“Hell, no.” Joe opened his eyes and grinned at Jonesy. “Ever see me quit after just one hand-job?”
“Damn,” Jonesy snickered, watching his fingertips stroke over Joe’s wide, dark nipples. “If Ron doesn’t show up again, Tony and I’ll make sure you get plenty of action.”
“You guys mess around a lot, huh?”
“Shit, that’s the only good thing about school. Nobody gives a shit about what we do as long as it’s not illegal, no one gets hurt, and we’re in by curfew. No one cares if we buddy up and mess around with each other every chance we get. Hell, we’ve got all these hormones and we’re horny as shit all the time and always looking for action. This is when we’re supposed get it all out of our system before we graduate into citizenship and have to calm down for the rest of our lives. So we might as well have plenty of action together, right?” Jonesy chuckled. “You ought to see the football team after a good game.”
“Yeah?” Joe wondered if Jonesy was right about school—no one had ever described the way guys seemed to buddy up and mess around quite that way to him before. He squirmed on his back. Hell, maybe Jonesy was right? All the Civil Security posters and everyone who had graduated extoled the virtues of calmness as the key to being a law-abiding citizen, but being horny all the time made Joe feel antsy, the opposite of calm. Adults still fucked around, but sex seemed more like stress relief for them, not a driving need the way it felt for Joe. What if Jonesy was right, and buddying up and messing around was what they were supposed to do?—Burn the sex-need out of their systems before they graduated and became full citizens? Maybe that was supposed to keep them from becoming sex-rebels. Yeah, Joe decided, that made a lot of sense, and he breathed a soft sigh of relief.
Now Joe could relax and enjoy the quiet time he knew would soon lead to more balls-hot sex. Hell, he thought, grinning, maybe an experienced stud like Jonesy could even teach him a few new tricks? No harm in asking. “Ron said that most of the guys around here go for—” He broke off, hearing a shower start in the other room. “We’ve got company.”
“No sweat.” Jonesy rolled to his feet, his prick dangling free and loose. “If it’s one of the hand-job beginners, I’ll get rid of him.”
Joe watched the burly football player saunter from the room, and he smiled to himself, remembering the all-out excitement of his body locking up against Jonesy’s mouth, of getting his cock sucked, of sucking a guy’s dick for the first time, of drinking male cum, of blasting his own load down Jonesy’s throat—and he heard muttered voices from the shower room. He suspected who Jonesy was talking to, and his prick stiffened and slapped back against his belly with renewed strength.
A male body appeared in the doorway, black-haired and swarthy, built like a tank, and pawing his crotch: Tony!
Tony had rough-cut features, and his thick, short neck melted into muscle-bulging shoulders. His broad, barreled chest was already plastered with dark man-hair, wide nipples, and his solid torso trimmed neatly to the strip of swarthy, untanned flesh at his hips. His massive thighs were sleekly muscled, and his heavy-shafted cock curled outward and down, partially hiding his large, free-swinging balls.
For a long moment, eyes narrowed to slits, Tony stared at Joe, and then he gripped his thick prick, stroking it slowly as he advanced toward the youth sprawled back on the piled towels.
Joe felt mesmerized as he gazed at the huge, naked man looming over him, and he rose on his knees, his eyes fixed on Tony’s swelling iron.
Without a word, Tony stepped forward, pressing his genitals against Joe’s face, and the kneeling youth trembled through a surge of excitement. Tony’s beefy hand cupped the back of his head, caressing, drawing him deeper into the heated crotch, and Joe felt surrounded and dominated by Tony’s total, confident maleness. Obediently, Joe ran his lips over the crinkle-sacked testicles, nuzzled them, lapped them with his tongue, suctioned gently, first one and then the other, licked hungrily upward to the massive, swollen cock.
With a grunt, Tony pulled back and thrust the tip of his dick against Joe’s lips, and the youth took the slick-coated glans into his mouth. He swallowed the lusty, masculine taste, and Tony’s hand on the back of his head urged him forward. Joe gulped down on the powerful cock, finally taking it all the way into his throat, his lips against the coarse hair at the base.
“Suck!” Tony ordered sharply. “Suck!”
Now, years later, the images faded as the probing machine helmet receded, and Joe blinked, finding himself back in the present. He was a prisoner, naked and stiff-dicked from reliving his sex-memories, and he was being questioned by a policeman named Parker while the others looked on and Lefty typed steadily. Joe focused on Whit, and he remembered the virile excitement of going down on the burly cop, like those times back in school, and just thinking about those days had the images trying to come back, and he almost lost himself again in the memory of that day when he had knelt obediently in front of Tony and sucked him off—
“So—”
Parker’s voice snapped Joe back to the present.
“You liked trading blow-jobs with Tony and Jonesy?” Parker asked calmly.
“I traded with Jonesy,” Joe replied, and he realized he was definitely in the present, lying there naked in that damn interrogation chair with a damn hard-on. Hell, these guys had seen him throw a rod before. “Tony never sucked.”
“He fucked you?”
“No.” Joe did not want to talk about getting his butt screwed. “What’s the crime I’m supposed to have committed, damn it!”
“Joe needs some exercise and a change of scenery,” Parker said to the other men. “Take over.”
The men moved in, unhooked Joe from the chair, and hauled him to his feet, shoving him through a doorway Joe had never noticed before at the rear of the office.
The heavy door clanged shut behind him, and the black walls of the room were solid and windowless, pulley-hung ropes dangling from the ceiling, torture equipment laid out and waiting.
A fist smashed into Joe’s midsection, and a new nightmare began. The athletic, bare-chested men surrounded him and punched at his nakedness with their fists indiscriminately. Fingers locked about his balls, and he fought against the crippling pain stabbing upward from his groin. The cooperation collar and the lingering effects of the chair had him too woozy to defend himself. The chained cuffs on his wrists bit into his skin, and maybe he screamed.
The beating continued, slowly, methodically. Whit drifted up in front of him, and Joe viewed the cold, rugged policeman with dazed curiosity. Whit was stripped to the waist, and his broad, full-curved chest was washed with silky, flat-lying black hair. Powerful muscles were etched across his dark-tanned shoulders, and his physique narrowed sharply to his slim hips and low-dipped trousers. Joe remembered kneeling in front of the brawny cop and sucking his huge, aroused cock, and he wondered if he was smiling.
Whit drew the long, wide belt from the loops of his uniform pants, wrapped the buckle end in his strong paw, moved out of sight behind Joe. Joe braced himself, sensing what was to come: the whistle as the belt cut through the air, the brutal snap of leather against his bare skin, the searing pain slashing across his shoulders, the long pause while the agony turned to numbness.
Then another stroke. And another. The flogging continued at a steady, calculated pace.
The belt ate its way down Joe’s quivering back and across his tight-clenched ass, and then it returned to his shoulders and began crisscrossing the earlier crimsoned streaks. Joe thrashed helplessly, gasped, cried out, groaned, edged toward unconsciousness. “Whit,” he hissed at last. “Please, Whit!”
The whipping ended abruptly, and Joe sagged on the bindings holding him upright. He blinked, and he was still in the original interrogation room, still helmeted by the machine that ate into his memories. The beating had not actually occurred—Joe had dreamed it—and the thought occurred to him that a machine which could make him relive his own memories as if they were happening then and there, all over again, could certainly make him live through some new scenario as if it were real too.
“Yeah, he sure didn’t like that punishment scene,” someone said from far away, a smirking tone.
Joe blinked again, still panting, slowly focusing: the windowless interrogation room, the half-naked guards, blond and tanned and grinning Chet, redheaded Lefty—and Parker’s face bent down over him. “Ready to confess?” Parker asked with his usual coolness.
“I—I can’t,” Joe mumbled, as the guards unhooked him from the chair and pulled him to his feet. “I ... don’t know what to confess to.”
“The Police are Your Pals,” the interrogator quoted automatically and turned to Lefty. “Want to take this stud off the way he took your load yesterday, farm-boy?“
Lefty nodded and grinned. “I surely do!”
Joe saw the grinning youth come forward eagerly, shirtless, wide shoulders, lean physique, running his fingers over Joe’s sweat-glistening chest, dropping to his knees in front of Joe.
Joe looked down and saw that he had a hard-on, and he could not make sense of why he had thrown a rod during that flogging scene they had put in his head. And then Lefty was licking and sucking his stiff dick, gulping, swallowing, wanting his cum.
Joe remembered when he had gone down on Lefty and the way Chet had come up behind the aroused farm-boy to embrace him as he orgasmed, and Joe felt a man lock up against his back the same way, holding him tightly in a special way, like Chet had held Lefty.
Whit?
Suddenly Joe was spurting his cum-load like a damn kid—like he had shot off in school when those forgotten studs had taken him off—like when it had been more than just getting his rocks off—
Whit!
Everything ended in fire and skyrockets—and darkness—and Joe must have passed out because the next thing he knew, he was coming back to life back in his small, dimly lit cell.
Joe lay face-down on the narrow cot, and a shaft of light speared from the doorway as someone entered.
“Joe?” Lefty’s gentle drawl. “Whit gave me some stuff to put on your wrists.” Pause. “If it’s okay for me to spread it on you, it’ll help you to heal faster.”
“Go ahead.” Joe rolled onto his back and lay flat on the bare mattress, arms and legs spread, eyes closed, and he felt the youth sit beside him, then the ointment-cool fingers sliding over his forearm. Joe examined his wrist as Lefty smoothed salve over it. He must have struggled against the restraints during the punishment dream and torn up the skin on his wrists. And now Lefty was applying dollops of cool ointment to the angry whelps. “You always take care of the guys Parker and them interrogate?”
“Nope, you’re the first. Whit said to.”
“How come?”
“Danged if I know. He has a style all his own.” Lefty worked the medicine into Joe’s raw skin gently, and he gave an easy laugh. “It was mighty pleasin’, first havin’ you suck me off so fine, an’ then suckin’ you in return today.”
“I blasted my load like crazy,” Joe admitted softly. “It was kinda special.”
“That ’cause Whit was holdin’ on to you from the rear?”
“Shit!” Joe exclaimed, then relaxed again. “What’s Whit’s story, Lefty?”
“I ain’t never figured him out,” the drawling youth answered thoughtfully. “I do believe he’s got his rocks off with almost every feller he’s wished, me included, but he don’t go back for seconds, know what I mean?”
“Yeah,” Joe murmured. “Fuck ’em and forget ’em, right?”
“Somethin’ like that.” Lefty spread the soothing ointment over Joe’s other wrist. “Only for Whit it ain’t because of an Adjustment Appointment. The police are exempt from that, and Whit don’t wish to go. Fer him, it’s a personal thing.” Joe paused, then snickered. “I’ve got a feelin’ Whit wishes to fuck your little tail.”
“No way! I don’t go that route.”
“Dang!” Lefty gasped in surprise. “You ain’t no way still a virgin back there, are ya?”
“Hell, no! It’s just that ... Well, I don’t like it, and I don’t go that route.”
“That first one to fuck you—was it that feller at your school? The one you told us about? Tony? Or, maybe Jonesy? Or—”
“No,” Joe whispered, remembering. “Don’t tell Parker, okay? I don’t want that damned machine digging though those memories.” He took a deep breath. “It was ... just before my graduation to citizenship ... Steve and me in the gym ... And the coach ...”