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The story of Randy and Bob begins. Two straight guys meet by chance in a bar. They find themselves descending into a relationship that tests the body and mind of both. One angers the other and pays a price. It will be the crucible of their intense, lifelong union.


He took the Hollywood Boulevard exit from the 101 and turned left.  It’s strange how small decisions, insignificant at the time, can sometimes lead us down a road that changes our life forever.  If only he had turned right …….

As it was, the left turn brought him to the shabby end of the Boulevard and he pulled over to the curb.  In the July heat he was soaking wet.  Sweat had soaked through his tank top, denim shirt and jeans and he realized that denim and boots were probably not the best clothes for Southern California at four o'clock on a baking afternoon.  Raised in the northeast he was used to the cold and was always taken by surprise by the oven heat of Los Angeles.  But he had driven seven hours straight and needed a drink – then sleep.

His thirst, at least, could be satisfied right away as a Cocktails sign was flashing up ahead – a small nondescript bar that had seen better days.  He locked his car and walked to the door – really just two big strips of leather flapping in the breeze.  Inside, total blindness as he stood inside and waited for his eyes to adjust to the blackness.  Gradually he became aware of what he had walked into.  Not much – a small, dark bar, almost empty except for a couple of early drinkers at a table in the corner and a guy at the bar who looked as if he had just got finished work at the nearby construction site – black T-shirt and Levis and big muddy boots.

The new arrival stood at the door getting his bearings.  Needing to get cool he pulled off his shirt and stood in just the tank, jeans and boots.  The tank clung damply to his sculpted chest and he was quite a sight.  Tall, dark haired, handsome, with an obviously muscular body, his arms and chest profiled by the clinging shirt.  A tough looking, masculine man he would make heads turn in any bar.  Self-assured, confident he was the image of what's known as an alpha male.

He strode to the bar, sat down and looked over at the barmaid, a blonde with a great figure.  Her face, like the bar, had seen better days, but her body caused a stirring in his groin.  "A Bud," he said when she came over, and she produced one without a word.  She was bored, having pulled the afternoon shift – few drinkers, no money – and she was not interested in talk.

The beer went down well and quickly and he got another.  As he relaxed he became more aware of his surroundings, and especially the construction guy sitting two stools away.   

"You look beat," the guy said. 

"Yeah, I just drove nonstop from San Francisco. On my way south of the border.  I'm just taking a quick breather here, a few drinks and a few hours sleep in my car before I move on.  I'm Bob."  

"Randy," said the other holding out his hand.  Bob moved over to the next stool and the two hands clasped. Randy asked, "You live up north?" 

"Yeah –I've lived with my wife in San Francisco for six years now."

Bob had guessed right about him as Randy said, "I'm taking a breather too.   Work on the construction site next door – so me too, I need a few drinks and then sleep." 

Bob looked him over and breathed in the smell of stale sweat.  His black T-shirt was stained with it and he looked as if he hadn't showered n a while.  He was tough looking, a three-day growth of stubble on his handsome face. 

He was stunning.  Swarthy face, square jaw, unruly dark hair.  And the body was a evidently a tribute to years of hard manual labor … chiseled pecs straining under the tight T-shirt, bulging biceps, broad shoulders tapering down to the narrow waist of his dusty cargo pants.  He looked as if he could take care of himself – as if didn't give a shit about anyone or anything.

Bob asked, "You going back home to the wife?"

"No, she's back in El Paso.  I go where the work takes me and right now it's two months in L.A.  Gives me a chance to play the field – like Sheila there," nodding at the barmaid.  "She and I get together every week or so.  She's hotter than she looks – she’ll try anything.  How's your wife?"

"Not so great.  Well – that's why I hit the road.  We've been fighting for months and finally I snapped, jumped in the car with just the clothes on my back and took off – nonstop.   Need time to think.  Fighting with her, no sex for a month.  You get the picture."

"You shouldn't have any trouble getting laid.  Great looking guy like you must have women crawling round him."

"Too fucking pissed off to think about that.  Just need to drink, sleep and hit the road."

Bob's sun glasses had hidden his eyes, but they were the kind that became clear in the dark.  Suddenly they were light and Randy was able to see his eyes.  As he looked into them there was a split second, a jolt – something in their gaze that held and….  well, never mind.  They had both felt it but then instantly forgot about it.

Randy bought another round and they sat for a while, talking a little, drinking a lot.  Finally Bob said he was now not only exhausted but drunk too and he needed to sleep.  He asked if there was a safe place where he could sleep in his car for a few hours, or if motels here would rent him a room for a while.

"Hell, they rent them by the hour round here," Randy said. "But look, you can crash at my place for a few hours.  The company puts us out-of-towners in a motel.  Mine's round the corner.  Buckingham Palace it's not ….  more of a roach motel ….  but it has a roof, air conditioner and a shower, so you're welcome for a few hours of oblivion."

Bob was so drunk and tired he was in no mood to argue.  Randy gave a salute to Sheila and the two guys went out into the blinding sun.


 Unsteadily, Bob followed Randy the half block to the motel.  As they entered the room Bob realized that Randy had not exaggerated.  Spare, faded, with peeling walls, the room was a mess. One chair, a small table and a good sized double bed …. unmade, with messy sheets and pillows.

Sun was streaming in so Bob instinctively went to the window and slammed the blinds shut.  Randy gave him a strange look and Bob smiled. "Sorry, I did that without thinking.  My wife always says I'm such an alpha male that I never think of anyone else.  Always take the lead.  Sorry, it's your room.  Do what you like.

"I will," Randy said.  He was pissed that Bob had taken charge like that. Alpha male! He was about to say more but then he realized his anger was taking hold, that familiar anger that could be ferocious and that he was trying to control.

"That's OK.  Make yourself at home." Randy threw himself fully clothed onto the bed, lying on his back with his hands propping his head.  Bob sat in the chair and tried to settle down.  He closed his eyes but the chair was about the most uncomfortable he had ever met.

Randy laughed.  "You're not gonna get much sleep there.  Come to the bed.  There's a ton of room.  Get comfortable and sleep, man."

Bob stood up.  His jeans were soaked and his feet were stinking, so he kicked off his boots and pulled off his socks, and jeans. All he left on was his sweaty tank and his white boxers.  Randy squinted at Bob and, now he was near naked, thought again how this muscular, good-looking guy would have no trouble with the ladies.  Then he was asleep.

Bob almost fell onto his half of the bed, rolled over, his back to his bunkmate, and fell into a deep sleep, brought on by exhaustion and booze.  But he soon began to dream.  He hadn't thought about sex for a long time but he dreamed about it now.  Various images of women crowded into his mind until one broke out of the pack – Sheila, from back at the bar.  They were in a bed, on the floor, him fucking her every which way.  Finally his dream faded as he held her in his arms and slept with his head on her chest.


The two guys must have slept for quite a while and would have slept for a lot longer but something was making Randy stir.  As he came slowly to consciousness he was aware of an arm around his neck, and a head on his chest and a leg hooked over his.  He woke up with a start and realized that Bob was draped over him.  Worse, Bob had a big boner in in his thin white boxers

"You fucking pervert!"  Randy leapt out of bed, then bent down and slapped Bob in the face.  "Faggot!"   Bob woke startled and bewildered.  What the fuck was happening? 

"You were coming on to me, shithead. Me!  You didn't tell me you were a fag. Look at this," he said slapping the bulge in Bob's briefs.

Bob shook his head and protested.  "I must have been dreaming …. Sheila or something.  I was having sex with her.  You gotta believe me.  I'm as straight as you are."

But Randy had lost it.  The anger was back.  Before Bob could react or defend himself Randy hit him across the face again and again until the big man was in a daze, barely conscious.  Randy walked over to the wardrobe and pulled out a bag.  The stuff he had used with Sheila in what she called 'kinky sex' would come in handy after all.

Bob had a vague idea that his body was being manhandled but he was too weak and dazed to react.  When he came to it took a while to realize where he was.  He felt a tightness on his wrists and ankles and he realized he was tied, spread eagled on the bed.  Randy looked down at him and smiled.  "You cheap piece of shit.  Now you'll pay."

“What the fuck …. ?”  Bob started to panic.  “Hey, man this is crazy.  You gotta believe me.  Let me out of here.  Just untie me, we’ll forget the whole thing and I’ll get the hell out.”

But Randy had other ideas.  Bob struggled against the ropes and tried to get free.  Randy just stood there and watched and he had to admire the straining muscles and frantic, handsome face.  He was going to enjoy punishing this man.  He waited patiently while Bob fought to get free, straining every muscle, until he slowed down and finally accepted the fact that he was a prisoner and at Randy's mercy.

"What are you going to do to me?"

Randy didn't reply.  Instead he pulled a leather collar from his bag and fastened it around Bob's neck.  Then he tied a couple more ropes over the bed so Bob was almost immobile and unable to thrash around.  There was a long pause while the two men looked at each other.  Sure, there was fear in one and anger in the other, but other things too.  They could not help admiring each other, the sweating stud in bondage and the swarthy, greasy construction worker standing over him.

Without another word Randy pulled the belt out of his pants and laid it on Bob's heaving chest.  "Now it begins," he said.  "Don't even think of yelling because by the time anyone comes you'll be finished.  Just take it like a man.  Prove you're no faggot."

Bob knew what was about to happen and he braced himself.  Randy lifted the belt and brought it down lightly on Bob's chest.  Then again and again, harder and harder.  Bob gritted his teeth and willed himself not to shout.  He tried to use reason.

“Please man, don’t do this.  I swear I’ll never tell anyone.  Just untie me and I’ll leave.”

Randy made no reply.  Instead, he put his hand at the top of Bob's tank top and with one move ripped it right off his body.  There the big man lay, helpless, stripped down to his shorts, chest heaving, muscles straining, waiting for more punishment  The belt lashed down on the now naked chest and just when Bob was about to scream …. it stopped.

Bob knew better than to plead any more.  Randy jumped on the bed, astride the naked, suffering man, and looked down at him.

“I’ll teach you not to mess with me, you shithead.  You think you’re so big and tough ….. a real hit with the ladies.  Well if they could just see the big stud now, tied up and helpless.”

He put his filthy boot on the heaving chest, then onto his face, grinding it into the bed.  Then he dropped to his knees over him and stared into Bob's face.  Two straight, dominant muscular studs, they locked eyes and suddenly that fleeting look that had troubled them both in the bar came back.  Neither knew what it was exactly, but they both instinctively realized that this was becoming something more than one angry construction worker punishing a stranger who had pissed him off. 

Bob looked up in awe at the beautiful, swarthy muscle stud straddling him.  Slowly Randy brought his hands to his lips.  He licked his finger and lowered them to Bob's chest.  There was a sharp intake of breath as Bob understood his tormentor's next target. 

"No!" he pleaded softly.  "Not that." 

Randy brushed his wet fingers against the other man's swollen nipples, causing another gasp of breath.  Then he began to twist them, slowly at first but then more and more painfully. 

As his fingers dried, the pain in Bob's nipples became sharper and he knew he had to scream.  Randy knew too and reached down to pick up one of Bob's stinking socks from the floor.  He rammed it into Bob's mouth just as the agonized man screamed in pain.  Randy had him.  The punishment continued and all Bob could do was plead with his eyes.  He gazed at his captor and willed him to stop.  Just when he felt he would pass out, the punishment suddenly ceased.

As Randy stood up and looked down at his captive, face in agony, muscles straining and streaming with sweat, he knew he wanted more.  This man was his.  He untied Bob's ankles first, pulled off the shorts and then retied the feet together.  He did the same with the hands, tying them behind his back.

Then he made him kneel on the bed and tied his hands to his ankles behind his back.  Bob was hogtied, butt naked, on the bed in front of his tormentor.  Again he struggled to get free but Randy took hold of the collar and started to twist it.  Bob realized he was beaten and stopped still.

Randy pulled a whip from his bag with many strands of leather – a cat.  He knew he could torture his slave for longer with this.  And so he began to flog him.  Bob struggled to avoid the whip, falling over on his side, then face up, still hogtied, then kneeling again.  But the whip kept raining down, on his chest, his back his legs and, worst of all, on his ass.  His whole body was writhing in pain. 

The big construction worker finally pushed his victim backwards and he fell on the bed whimpering.  Bob looked up at his master, and Randy saw that the look was no longer simply one of fear.  The pleading was for him to stop, but somehow he knew that the sweating stud was really pleading for more. 

Randy sat in the chair, relaxed and gazed at his victim.  “You are one tough son-of-a-bitch,” he said.  He was filled with admiration for this handsome, muscled straight guy who had suffered so much, lying hogtied, naked and drenched in sweat.  “I know what you need, man.”

He untied his captive's feet and made him get off the bed and kneel on the floor.  Taking him by the collar he led him, still on his knees, stumbling, to the bath room.  He made him get into the shower and kneel down.  Bob was beyond thought by this time but he felt the sharp pain in his knees of the tiles. 

To his great surprise he felt Randy come behind him and slide the bathmat under his knees to ease the pain.  In that act Bob understood.  He looked up at Randy at the big construction worker and their eyes connected again.  Bob knew that both of them wanted this, man to man, each admiring the other and feeling an intimacy they had never felt with anyone.

Randy made him stand up and began the nipple work again.  They were really sore by now and Bob's chest was soon heaving in pain. 

"There is one way you can stop this," Randy said.

“Anything,” Bob moaned.

"Beg me to piss on you." 

Bob recoiled at the idea and groaned, "No way, man!"  So the torture continued and just when Randy was about to plug Bob's mouth with the sock again, the whimpering man said, "OK, I give up.  You've won."

"What do you want?"  

Bob hesitated.  "I want you to piss on me."

"Is that all you've got?" Randy taunted him, giving a vicious twist to the nipples.

"OK, OK.  Please, piss all over me ….. sir.   I beg you.  Do want you want with me.  I want it.   I'm begging you, sir."

His captor pushed him back down on his knees.  Randy had earlier fallen asleep so suddenly that he had not even taken a leak, with all that beer inside him.  There was a pause while Bob looked up at Randy's cock.  Then it began, a dribble at first then a steady stream and then a gush.  The hot, yellow liquid streamed all over the muscular naked body, making it gleam with piss.  For a long time it streamed all over his face, neck chest until Bob's entire body was soaked. 

Bob looked up at his master.  "Thank you sir." 

"We're not done.  Lie down."  Bob lay on his back in the shower with his feet and legs up against the wall.

"Ok, now," Randy ordered and Bob knew what he had to do.  He too had a day's piss in him and he let it go – all over his own gleaming chest onto his face and through his hair.  By now he was lying in a deep pool of urine; he had been thrashed, beaten and humiliated, at the total mercy of his master. 

Randy looked down at him and stroked his meat.  Gazing down at this gleaming, straining muscle stud, a slave who had been dominated completely, he couldn't hold back.  As Bob looked agonizingly at him he needed just a few strokes.  His muscles tensed, his body went rigid and he yelled, “Yes!” as his cock erupted in a stream of white liquid.  The hot cream hit Bob's face with full force and poured down his cheeks, his chin, onto his chest.

Bob gazed up at the magnificent stud whose body heaved with the release of orgasm.  When he was finally still Randy ordered Bob to lie on his back and to stroke his own meat.  It didn't take long.  Bob gazed at his master and felt a sensation building in his body that he had never felt before.  A warmth began in his legs and ran up his whole body, focusing finally in his groin.  His body tensed, spasmed and then went rigid.

He screamed as he felt his cock pulse and explode with hot semen that flowed all over his own chest and face. It mingled with the pools of his master’s cum and Bob stared wildly at man who smiled down at him.  It was the most incredible orgasm he had ever experienced.  Finally he sank back in the pool of piss and cum, exhausted. 

With one last look at the beaten slave he now owned, gleaming with piss and cum, Randy left the bathroom.

This story continues.  The two straight guys struggle with their feelings; they are torn between ending the thing right now – or going on.  And the action develops – more intense than before.


TO BE CONTINUED in “A Trial Of Strength” – Part 002

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