By Pfc Pfledge
Randy woke earlier than usual that Saturday, and then, realizing it was Saturday, snuggled back down in his comfortable bed, enjoying the laziness and half-awakedness of a day when he did not have to work. It was going to be a hot day in Atlanta, but right now, the temperature seemed just right. Randy had turned the air conditioning off the night before, and was enjoying the gentle breeze through his window, and the muffled sound of early morning traffic on Atlanta’s streets. He lazed drowsily under a single sheet, luxuriating in the pleasant knowledge that he didn’t have to work today.
His hard, lean, muscular body was naked, except for his close-fitting jock strap, which he had worn now for the past three days. He also, deliberately, had not picked up a boy to have sex with last night, though with his lean, hard body, good looks, and infectious smile, Randy could have had his choice of anyone.
But this morning was different. That night he had promised friends of his that he would take part in a “slave” auction, along with 10 or 12 other guys, the proceeds all going to AIDS research.
As he lay in bed, wearing only his packed jock, Randy reviewed how the auction would work. The “slaves” would appear in a private room behind the stage, where there as a place to store their clothes. Each man was to bring only a jock strap, which is why Randy had been wearing his for three days. It fit perfectly: tight and smooth.
Randy stroked the growing bulge between his legs, as his cockhead rubbed along the ribs of the jock. Additionally each “slave” was to have his hands tied behind his back before he appeared on stage. Then, when it was time, all the “slaves” would cross the stage in a chorus line, in the bright lights, facing the audience, showing their chests, legs, face, and crotch.
Then they would turn, so the audience could see that their hands were tied, and could observe their shoulders, arms, and ass. The “slaves” would leave the stage, to be called back singly and bid on.
The winning bidder was entitled to buy his “slave” dinner. If anything else happened, that was between the “Master” and the “slave.”
Randy knew the people who regularly went to that bar, and he didn’t think that he’d be doing anything more than dinner with the winning bidder. However, Randy was really turned by the thought of being tied up, nearly naked, and displayed on stage like a hunk of meat for sale. Which is what he would be. And there would be plenty of time after the dinner to cruise the bars in his shorts and tight t-shirt, looking for a likely candidate to lick the sweat off his jock strap and a whole lot more.
By that time, after three-plus days of wearing it, Randy would have created an intoxicating man odor in the jock strap, caused by days-old sweat, now dried, but reawakened by new sweat.
Whoever Randy picked up would soon be a grunge whore in Randy’s crotch, until Randy was ready to skull-fuck him, and maybe ass-fuck him, too.
In other words, Randy Dunn, hunky, built, horse-hung stud, was white-hot horny. Randy jack-knifed himself out of bed, admiring his muscled, hard body in the mirror. He was good-looking, young, and had a great smile. All in all, Randy Dunn was as attractive a stud as anyone in Atlanta. Or anywhere else. Including Sandusky.
He did not shower, and wouldn’t all day. Soon he’d go to the gym for a hard work-out, get something for lunch, and meet up with some friends for an 8- or 10-mile run. He would wear the same tight t-shirt and shorts to the gym and on the run this afternoon.
In Atlanta’s heat that day, Randy knew he would work up a beautiful sweat, and already thought of other things his crotch bitch would do for him. Yeah, bitch, thought Randy to himself, lick those armpits. Then get your tongue up my ass, whore, eat my ass out good. Lick my balls, cunt, all around my balls, then beg on your knees for my thick cock. It was only 10:00am, and Randy’s jock was straining from the rock-hard cock, bent in a lovely curve, each bull nut clearly outlined on each side of the packed meat.
With difficulty, Randy pulled on his gym shorts over the huge bulge between his legs. He had definitely decided to ass-fuck as well as skull-fuck whatever bitch he picked up tonight, after the dinner with the winning bidder was over. Spread your legs, you male cunt, thought Randy. I’m going to pound your tight hole, bitch-slut.
The work-out was a good one, and by chance, Randy met a friend there, and they worked out together. The gym was not air conditioned, and soon both young men were sweating profusely. Randy’s shirt, shorts, and jock strap were soaked.
“Come and have a shower, Randy,” his friend called, as they finished up.
“No thanks, gotta go. I’m late.”
“Okay, see you at the auction tonight!”
“You going to bid on me?”
“Fuck yeah!” Randy smiled. He liked his friend, who had the hots for him for years, but he didn’t do anything for Randy. They never had sex, and never would. Every hot stud like Randy has friends like that: with hopeless lust in their hearts, jerking off at home, thinking of their stud friend.
Randy grabbed some lunch, and then met his friends in the park. They planned an easy run of 10 miles, and set out. The heat was really building in Atlanta, and new sweat on Randy’s body re-ignited the older, dried sweat. Randy was most definitely in the mood to be displayed under bright lights, almost naked, his hands tied behind his back. His cock was rock hard now, and Randy knew that, as he strutted as a “slave” for sale on the stage, he would be showing a truly beautiful bulge between his legs.
It was six-thirty when Randy arrived at the bar, and entered the back room. Most of the other “slaves” were already there, stripped to their jock straps, their hands bound with rope behind their backs. Soon Randy joined them, his sweaty jock straining to hold his hard meat, his hands bound with rope. They were marched out on stage to the catcalls and whistles of the crowd. Randy couldn’t see anything because of the bright lights shining on the stage. The room was hot, and with the lights beaming down on them, the stage was hotter.
The “slaves,” Randy included, were visibly sweating. Then they were back-stage, and the announcer was calling out each “slave” individually, to be auctioned off. Each “slave” was identified by a number marked in delible marker on the upper arm. Randy was number 10. Slowly the auction wore on, and the excitement grew, as the “slaves” could hear the bidding. The average price seemed to be 500-800 dollars. It was a good auction, and would raise a lot of money. Some of the audience were well lit, and the catcalls and the remarks increased, but it was in good fun, and Randy enjoyed it. Then it was his turn. He climbed the short steps, and was out alone in the center of the stage, the white lights directed down on him. Sweat already was running off his face.
“Hey, queenie, spread those legs! Let’s see your crotch, girl!”
“Turn around, bitch, want to see your ass. That’s it, bend over, bitch, show us your fuck hole!”
And so it went. The auctioneer called for the first bid, and a sure confident voice said “5,000 dollars.”
There was a stunned silence.
Hesitatingly, the auctioneer asked for verification from the bidder, what casino operators in Monte Carlo, call la mise, meaning, bluntly, let’s see the money. Someone was coming forward, and Randy strained to see who it was, but the bright lights were in his eyes, and he couldn’t make the man out. There was a long pause. Then the auctioneer announced, “It is a valid bid. I have the $5,000 here in the box. Are there any other bids?” though he knew there would be none.
Down came the gavel, and Randy was sold to the anonymous bidder.
In the backroom, most of the “slaves” had changed back into their street clothes, and were awaiting their “masters” to take them to dinner. Randy was left standing alone, nearly naked in his jock strap, his hands still tied behind his back. He saw the owner of the bar.
“Jeff, what’s with no untying me?”
“Orders from your new master, Randy. He’s already collected your clothes, and you’re to be transported as you are.”
Randy nodded. He strongly suspected he knew who the “master” was, and had calmly resigned himself to being a male prostitute for the night, if that’s what the scene was to be. He wondered if the voice he heard when the $5,000 bid was made was the same voice he had heard twice before, on the telephone, but decided that it was impossible to be sure. If the guy was who Randy thought he was, he was in no danger, and would try to provide as good a time as he could. A $5,000 donation to AIDS research, under Randy’s name, would catapult Randy into everyone’s attention, and make future fund-raising that much easier. Besides, he would be known, within about 30 minutes, all over Atlanta, as the stud for whom someone had paid $5,000.
If being this guy’s escort and male whore for the night was all he had to do, he was ready to do it. There would always be another time for him to pick up a grunge bitch, and skull-fuck him.
But it didn’t happen that way.
The backroom was empty now, as each “slave” had been paired off and left. Each one of them came over to where Randy was standing to congratulate him, and a few remarked on how Randy was still tied and in his jock strap.
Then two twentysomething guys came in, and, by amazing coincidence, they were exactly the type of studs to whom Randy’s cock responded instantly. The two college age students hadn’t yet spoken, but Randy knew they were there for him, and he felt a tight, hard gathering in his crotch, and a wonderful butterfly feeling in his stomach. Something was unfolding, and while he didn’t know what it was, he liked it already.
Matt was the first to speak. “Hi Bry guy, I’m Matt. This is my buddy Andy. Congratulations on raising so much money.”
“Thanks,” said Randy.
“Do I get untied?”
“Well, no, Randy, not for a while. In fact, we have very specific and very detailed plans for you.”
“But what about dinner?”
Andy, behind Matt, was smiling. All three men were exactly the same height, and Matt’s warm, brown eyes were looking deep in Randy’s eyes.
“Oh, dinner has just started, Randy. You’re the appetizer, the main course, and you will most definitely be the dessert. By the way, Thad phoned me this afternoon, Bry.”
“Yes, your buddy from the work out this morning. He knows everything about you, and he called to tell me that you hadn’t showered when you arrived at the gym, and you didn’t shower after the work-out. Thad says that means only one thing, that Randy Dunn is hot for a grunge night, making some guy kneel and lick the sweat off your jock strap, on your thighs around your packed bulge, and the hairs at the base of your cock. Then, Thad told me, you skull-fuck the kneeling cunt until you cum in his throat. Thad’s got about a thousand photos of you in his apartment. I know, I’ve been there. He lusts for you so hard that, if I didn’t know he hasn’t a pot to piss in nor a window to throw it out of, I’d think he staged this auction somehow.”
“But where are we going?”
“That’s enough, Randy. Andy, ball-gag him, and prepare him for transport.”
To be continued …
COPYRIGHT 2013 PFC PFLEDGE & BBH LTD. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
This story is courtesy of Master Jack over at Bondagezine. It is posted here with permission.