Happy Holidays from Sam and Derek! Read ALL OF “Sam #1” RIGHT HERE

Yeah, why not! You’ve earned it, listening to all my bitching. And if at some point you want to just stop reading it here, and buy “Sam and Derek: The Whole Story,” with all five stories for just $2.99, well, there’s the link. And yeah, it’s also still in Kindle Unlimited.


What do you do with your last five bucks?

Sam knew what he was going to do with his, after he woke with a start from his nightmare. He’d been running through a dark forest, sensing, knowing, that some pursuer was on his heels. An animal? A man? Men? Monsters? Even asleep, his training kicked in, demanding the information he needed to assess the threat. But dreams were lousy at filling you in on the details you’d need in real life. All the dream would let him know was that something was after him, and being caught would be…so bad.

His heart racing, he scrambled through the undergrowth, his rational mind trying to tell him that everything he was doing was wrong – leaves and twigs crunching noisily under his feet, branches snapping as his hands brushed them aside…he might as well be a fucking fire truck, howling down the street.

He could hear it behind him. Breathing. Panting. Man or beast? Hard and fast and hot, and close, so close. He couldn’t turn to see it, to fight it, he couldn’t stop and pick up a rock, a branch, anything to defend himself. All he could do was run, and not fast enough.

Then there was a shout and it was on him. He was down on the ground, still no way to tell if it was man or beast on top of him. But there was this pressure…pressure on his ass, right on his asshole. He could feel it pushing apart his ass cheeks, entering him…

It was his own shout that woke him up, his own hard, fast breaths he’d heard. His hands were tangled in the sheet he’d torn off the bed. And his fucking sneaker was there in the bed, the source of the pressure on his ass as, thrashing, he’d rolled over on top of it.

“Fuck,” Sam whispered, throwing the shoe at the wall. The room was roasting hot, even with the windows wide open on the noisy city. The July heat that had been trapped all day in the tarmac was still being released into the air, and the only comfort to be had came from his nightmare sweats, cooling on his naked body.

And on top of that, he had a raging boner. And not a piss boner either. What the fuck was that about? He rolled over onto his stomach and unconsciously rubbed his hard cock against the thin, pilly sheets, the rough abrasive texture feeling almost good.

Sam flipped back over and started stroking his dick, trying not to think about why he had a hardon. He looked down at his dick, his hand pistoning up and down on it, the city light enough for him to see and admire himself.

He stood up and watched himself jack off in the cracked mirror over the sink. Still fit, still lean and hard. Big dick. This is some bullshit, that you’ve got to fucking jack yourself off instead of having some girl sucking your dick. Got to change this situation.

His foot brushed the shoe he’d thrown across the room and he picked it up. Without thinking about it, willing himself not to think about it, he rubbed the shoe on his balls, tapped them a couple times with it, felt his dick getting bigger, harder, more insistent in its demands for relief.

One night, back in the service, he and a few buddies had pulled a practical joke on another guy, a very sound sleeper. They’d tied his boots around his balls by the laces, and then faked an alert. When he jumped up and out of bed, the boots fell off the edge and snapped taut, nearly yanking his sack off.

That was hilarious, Sam thought, sitting on the edge of the bed and quickly tying the laces of his sneaker around his own balls. Then he fell back on the bed, stroking himself, thinking about the moment, the right moment, to nudge the shoe off the bed…

Big dick, he thought, big fucking dick…big fucking dick…pump it…pump it… The shoe fell on its own, the knot in the laces holding fast, and the abrupt yank on his ball sack made him yelp.

BAM! It was like someone pulled the trigger on his balls. His load shot everywhere, muscles deep inside his tight tense hard body firehosing his cum out of him. Sam flinched as a gob landed in his open panting mouth, but he was too deep into his orgasm to stop blowing his load, even as he spit the salty goo out, revolted as any straight man would be by the taste, the idea of it.

Finally, spent, Sam got up and wrapped the sheet around his waist, threw the cheap thin towel over his shoulders, and grabbed the room key. He checked his watch – just past midnight. Well, at least there wouldn’t be anyone in the shower.

He padded down the hall to the bathroom. It was dirty as usual, he thought as he flinched at the filth, wishing he had a pair of flip-flops to save his feet from the moldy floor. But at least the water was hot. That would last about five minutes, and then be cold for the next hour for anyone else who wanted a shower. Weekly hotels weren’t big on providing a lot of creature comforts.

On his way back to his room, a door creaked open. Sam kept his eyes straight ahead, knowing who, what was in there. A little drag queen who’d smiled and flirted with him his first night, and he’d smiled and flirted back, until he’d finally seen the Adam’s apple and the hint of stubble and backed off, horrified. He wished he’d put his shirt on, and he quickened his pace.

Safely back inside his room, he threw on a pair – his only pair – of jeans, a t-shirt, and the sneakers so recently touching his ass and balls. He checked his pocket again to make sure he was right. Yep, he still had the fiver. And that was it. His rent was paid for three more days, and then he’d be out on the street if he didn’t find work soon.

The dive bar on the corner was just what Sam needed. Pabst Blue Ribbon for a buck apiece. That meant that for his money, he’d get four beers after the tip. He was a big guy, six three and two hundred pounds on a well-fed day, so four beers wasn’t much to get fucked up on, but that would have to do the job. He’d been hungry lately, so there wasn’t much food in his system to get in the way of the booze, so that was good.

The bar was pretty packed, and Sam realized it was Friday night. All those fucking people with paychecks, out spending them. And a legion of hipsters who probably made fifty bucks an hour, acting like they had to live like Sam, like they had to get fucked up on one dollar beer. Sam was still, barely, in his twenties, but they made him feel a lot older.

He fought his way to the bar. Mick the bartender ignored the noisy kids and nodded at Sam. “How’s it going, Mick,” Sam asked, no need to put in his order.

Mick handed him a can, took his five, gave him four. “Busy. Some software types opened up a tab.” He poured Sam a double shot of Jack. “This one’s on them.”

Sam smiled, sliding the obligatory dollar back across the bar. “That’s nice of them.”

“Ain’t it?” Mick said, deadpan as always. Sam had the feeling the rest of his five would go to tips tonight as he got trashed on someone else’s expense account.

Even the alcohol couldn’t dim years of training, skills built over gifted instincts, when he felt a pair of eyes on him. Sam wasn’t deliberately scanning the room – he just did that as a matter of course – always, even here, on the lookout for trouble. So the pair of eyes that watched him were seen, filed, discounted…until they stayed on him.

Sam looked the guy in the eye. He was in the middle of the software kiddies, but older than the rest of them. Nice suit, no tie, nice glossy expensive shirt open an extra button to reveal a smooth, tanned chest. His dark hair was short but long enough to be gelled into a little pushup thing in the front – Sam had no idea how else to describe it. Not a pompadour, but kind of like that new Spiderman actor guy’s hair.

His face was a strange mix…rough, hard features, a craggy face but so surrounded by the high finish of grooming and styling as to offset it. One of those faces you wanted to call ugly but couldn’t, like Daniel Craig’s. This guy was a darker-haired, darker-eyed version of the actor, but the meaty brutality was definitely there in his face, his eyes.

In a matter of seconds, Sam unconsciously processed the look he was getting from him, moving it from “curiosity” to “potential threat” before finally filing it under “creepy gay guy.”

The hipster crowd was a mix of gay and straight, kids who’d grown up not giving a shit about things like that. Sam shifted uncomfortably on his stool as he watched one of the gay couples, facing away from him, hands down the back of each other’s pants. He could still remember the pressure of the shoe on his asshole, the dream of being pushed down…

A girl he’d dated once had tried to stick her finger up his ass while he was fucking her. He’d practically levitated off the bed. “What the fuck are you doing!” he’d shouted, scaring her.

“Haven’t you ever…” She trailed off, her shock transforming into a smirk at his…what? Panic? Inexperience?

“I’m not queer,” he said, instinctively covering his privates after her assault on his ass.

“You don’t need to be queer to like your ass played with.”

He snorted. “Whatever.”

She’d shrugged. “Well, some day when your prostate finally gets touched, you’ll think of me.”

As he watched the hands go deeper down the pants, a voice startled him. “You know that’s a new relationship.”

Sam startled, cursing himself. His gaze had been so fixed on the ass-grabbers that he’d failed to realize that Spiderman Craig had sidled up next to him.

“Why’s that,” he said, politely conversational.

“They can’t keep their hands off each other.”

Sam had to smile at that. “Yeah, give it time.”

“Does it bother you?” The man’s voice was dark, warm, silky, radiating his intelligence but also a touch of underlying coolness. An invitation and a challenge in the same words.

Sam shrugged and looked away. “Different strokes for different folks. But I don’t stroke that oar.”

The man nodded and extended a hand. “Derek.”

Sam shook it. Derek’s hand surprised him. He’d expected soft office hands, maybe some gym calluses, but not the hard, rough, meaty grip he returned in kind. “Sam. These your employees?”

Derek smiled, a strange smile, as if compressing one side of his mouth tightly forced the other side up and out. “Why, do I look like the adult supervision around here?”


“And so I am.” Derek signaled Mick. “Another whiskey for my friend here. Also on my tab.”

Sam flushed with embarrassment. “Sorry, man. I…” he trailed off. I what? I didn’t mean to steal your money? He was suddenly ashamed of himself, of his poverty, of what he’d let it do to him. He pulled his four ones out of his pocket. “Here, for the shot I drank on your tab.”

Derek waved it away. “It’s on me. I’d say ‘thank you for your service’ but that’s pretty lame from a civilian, isn’t it?”

Sam looked at Derek. Dude was observant, for sure. He’d noticed Sam drink a shot of whiskey without paying, and he’d marked him as ex-military, all while holding a conversation with his circle.

“How’d you know?”

“Lots of things. The square jaw. The buzz cut. The clear blue eyes. Quarterback eyes, scanning for receivers, defenders, all the time. The big build. The careful way you put on a blank and neutral face when I asked you if the gay dudes bothered you. You know, the look you put on your face when some moron of an officer is saying something moronic and you have to make damn sure your contempt and rage at his stupidity isn’t showing on your face.”

Sam looked at Derek, his turn now to be the examiner. “And you, not exactly a civilian. Ex-military yourself. Not U.S., though.”

“No? Why not?”

Sam shrugged. “You carry yourself like a European. You’re too…smooth to be American. Perfect American accent, though. Intelligence, or something. You’ve wielded a rubber hose or two.”

Now it was Derek’s turn to put on a mask, but contracting pupils don’t lie, Sam knew. He’d hit the mark.

“Very good.” Derek indicated Sam’s whiskey. “You earned it.”

Sam nodded. “Thanks.” He knocked it back and chased it with the last of his Pabst.

“Level C?” Derek asked.

Sam knew what he meant; in the context of this conversation it could only mean one thing. Sam had made it to Level C, the highest level of SERE training – Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape, a level designed for those who could expect to find themselves behind enemy lines.

“Yeah,” Sam said.

“So you’re a badass.”

Sam tried to read Derek. Was he being sarcastic? The irony was, it was exactly the kind of thing they did in SERE training, trying to get a rise out of you. Sam turned to give Derek full neutral face, a look that went with a full neutral statement.

“No. I’m a fucking badass.”

Derek laughed, the trap sprung and evaded. “So are you in need of employment?”

“Maybe.” Sam braced himself for the standard offer – security work, private contractor slash mercenary, any or all of the things he’d been turning down for a year now.

“It’s out of the ordinary.”

That was a good sign. “Go on.”

“You’ve been hunted. In training, and in real life.”

“Go on.”

Derek eyed him levelly, his dark eyes betraying something deep. “I’m a hunter.”

Sam blinked. “I see.” This was weird. But weird was good right now. Weird was a lot better than the usual offers of work he got, which would mean spending 90% of his time bored as fuck and 10% getting shot at, which was what he’d sworn he wouldn’t do again, no matter what.

“Here’s the deal. I have some land I use for my hobby. You come down for a weekend. You evade me for two days, I pay you ten grand.”

It was Sam’s pupils that dilated now. Fuck yeah, he thought. He’d been good at what he did, really good. “Cash?” Robbing the tax man didn’t count as a violation of his honor code.

“Cash. There’s a catch, though. If you get caught, you have to submit to me.”



Sam sighed. Fucking too good to be true, of course. Tomorrow he was going down to casual labor again. “I’m not queer.”

“No, I know. I’m not, either. It’s just a…predilection I have. Making another man, another straight man, give his mouth and ass up to me.”

Sam scowled. Yeah, he could see this guy in Intelligence, all right. The kind of guy who fucking lived for interrogations. Who got a boner from it, from the game, from the break, from the power. “And that doesn’t make you queer.”


Sam got up. “Well, thanks for the drink.”

Derek put a hand on his forearm. “If I do catch you, it’s still a thousand bucks.”

Sam smoothly brushed Derek’s hand off. “I’m not a prostitute.”

“You’re not being paid for sex. You’re being paid to give me a chase.”

Sam laughed. “I’m being paid to give you my ass. That’s prostitution.”

“Not if you don’t get caught. You’re good enough not to get caught, aren’t you?”

Like most people who were really, truly good at something, Sam didn’t talk about how good he was. He just fucking did it and people could, or couldn’t, see for themselves. But the truth was, he was good at SERE. Really good. In the field good. And if he’d elected to stay in the military, he could have been teaching it.

What had he been looking for, since he’d left? Something. Something exciting, but not deadly. Something that didn’t require him to say “yes sir” all the fucking time to anything any idiot said. Something he was good at.

He looked at Derek again. Dude was smart, fit, observant, probably well trained. But he had that upper class thing of thinking more of himself than he had a right to, the rich man’s way of telling himself he obviously deserved it all just because he had it. I could win, Sam thought. I would win.

“I’ll think about it,” he said.

Derek smiled, as if he’d already won. “Here’s my card. And expense money for your trip down to the site.” He caught Mick’s eye, twitched a finger at Sam and nodded. Mick nodded back. Sam was getting hammered for free tonight.

“I’ll mail the money back to you if the answer is no.”

“It won’t be,” Derek said, walking away. Sam turned the card over; folded underneath were two C-notes.

With nothing much else to think about, Sam thought about Derek’s offer as he switched to drinking shots of Johnny Walker Blue and Green, and chasing them with Stella.

He thought of something MMA fighter Chael Sonnen had said on a recent episode of The Ultimate Fighter. He was talking about that phrase, “Failure is not an option.” And Sonnen said, that’s not true – failure is always an option. Failure is the only option that’s always available. Just…give up and fail. Any time you’re ready.

But for guys like Sam, failure was not an option: the possibility of failure had been drilled and trained and starved and beaten and chased out of them. All that any failure meant was that it was time to try something else, then something else, until you were dead. Death was the only failure because then –only then – you were out of options.

But “refusing to fail” wasn’t just an act of blind will. It meant constantly thinking about the situation, constantly looking for options, the weaknesses of the enemy you could exploit. Derek’s weakness was his vanity, clearly. Sam didn’t underestimate him, no, no. But he was already starting to see the holes, the openings, he could use.

He didn’t even “think” about whether or not he was going to do this. His training had kicked in, the machinery of calculation already in play. He wouldn’t have to give up his ass, because he wasn’t going to lose.


“I’m in a meeting,” Derek snapped when Sam called him the next day.

“You’re on,” Sam said.

A pause. “I’ll call you back. Five minutes.”

Sam sipped his coffee, as always sitting in a window seat in the cafe, no qualms about breaking the first C-note now that he was on the job. He felt…good. Really good. The way you feel when you haven’t been working for a long time and suddenly you are, you’re doing what you’re meant to do, and you’ve got money in your pocket again.

His phone rang. “A car will pick you up Friday afternoon. Give me the address.”

Sam gave him the address of the weekly hotel. “Where am I going?”

“You’ll be taken to my hunting grounds. That’s all you need to know.” Derek hung up.

“Asshole,” Sam said to the phone. A girl looked up from her laptop, a regular here, and smiled at him. He smiled back. When this is over, I’ll get a real apartment, honey, and then I’ll ask you on a date.

He spent most of the expense money at the army surplus store on things he didn’t have, or didn’t have at hand, most of his stuff being in storage. Derek hadn’t said what he could or couldn’t take with him, or what he would or wouldn’t be provided with. So Sam picked out a small grey-black camouflage backpack, some dehydrated food and protein bars, a water bottle, some water sterilization pills, a flint, a small LCD flashlight (for emergencies only as the light could give away his position), a small first aid kit, and a Mylar “space blanket.” He already had a compass, and his own excellent knife, of course; that was something that would never go in storage.

He went to an Internet café and looked at Google Maps for the outlying areas. Derek couldn’t be more than an hour or two out of town, he guessed – the man had a business to run and travel time was wasted time. There was plenty of deep forest to the south, private land from the look of it. Lots of big houses miles away from each other. A few creeks, which meant he’d be able to find water easily. If this was where he was going, he qualified.

All the same, he had to make an educated guess if he was going to get an advantage, so he spent a good hour memorizing the landmarks and terrain in the area. If he was wrong about the site, he’d adapt; if he was right, he’d have leveled the playing field a bit, since Derek would know his own land like the back of his hand.

The July weather meant he could travel light in terms of clothing, but it would be cool at night out there, far cooler than the city. So Friday afternoon he dressed in layers, black UA t shirt under black UA long sleeve under a black North Face zip up jacket – any and all of them light enough and easily folded up and stuffed in the backpack, or, if the backpack was taken away, still easy enough to manage in the pockets of his black camos. He was nearly out of money, and didn’t want new boots that would rub and chafe, so he took black shoe polish to the tan desert boots that had served him so well in so many places, but were far too bright at night. Sorry, guys, he said as he defaced them.

Finally, he went out and spent the last of his money on a good dinner. Steak and potatoes, something that would sit in his system feeding it for a while if Derek stripped him of the food he’d bought.

Sam felt good, he felt ready; he even flirted with the waitress, thinking about how different life would be with ten grand in his pocket. How he could start dating again, pay the dinner bill, hold his head high.

He wouldn’t underestimate Derek. But he thought he had the measure of the guy. Rich prick, gone a little soft since starting his office life. Arrogant, smug, entitled. He smiled, thinking about Derek’s speech about how he wasn’t queer, just liked to dominate other guys. He remembered a guy he’d met on a beach once. Some Eastern European dude, talking dirty about the girls around them, about what he was going to do to them. Then he said, out of the blue, “I have been on feeshing boat for seex months.” A pause. “I am not-a gay.”

Yeah, right, Derek, you’re not-a gay.


On Friday afternoon, a black Town Car pulled up in front of his hotel. Some of the locals hollered at him as he got in, including some of the street’s regular prostitutes.

“Oh, you got a nice ride there, honey! You better put out good if you wanna ride in that again!” He smiled and waved and got in the back seat.

The black glass divider was up between the front and back of the car, so he couldn’t see the driver. There was a 19 inch TV screen in the back of the seat, turned off now. Sam settled into the comfortable seat and got ready to take a nap. “Sleep when you can” was drilled into him, and he knew the next few days might be completely sleepless.

Just as he was about to doze off, the TV came on. The picture was shaky – someone had a GoPro strapped to his head. It was evening, still light enough to see, and the man with the camera was running through the woods. Sam could hear the branches and leaves smash and crack beneath his racing feet. Then he saw the object of the pursuit – another man, running almost as fast – almost. Sam had come in at the end of the chase; the quarry was near the end of his race.

The hunter closed the distance. Then the rabbit was caught – a snare in the leaves was triggered and the man was yanked off his feet, suspended from a tree by one ankle. The hunter stood beneath him, breathing quickly but not panting – he was in excellent cardiovascular shape, Sam thought, to be barely out of breath after a chase like that.

“Game’s over,” the man hanging upside down.

“No,” Derek said. Sam recognized his voice instantly. “Not quite yet.”

“Come on, man. Isn’t this enough for you?”

“You know the price.” Derek’s knife flickered and cut the rope and the other man fell to the ground.

“Fuck me,” the man whispered, not a request but in the way you’d say “I’ll be damned.”

Derek laughed. “Yep.”

The man broke into a run. Derek reached down, grabbed the end of the rope trailing behind his captive, wrapped it around his waist, held on tight with both hands and waited. All of which took two seconds. Two seconds after that, the rope went taut and the victim flew off his feet, smashing face down into the ground.

Derek was on him, on top of him, his forearm around his neck in a rear naked choke. “You…signed…a contract. And I’m going to hold you to it. You understand?”

The man frantically clawed at Derek’s forearm, to no avail. “Or, I can let you go, and sue your ass off. You got the money for a good lawyer?” He released his grip slightly, enough to let the subject answer.

“You wouldn’t,” pant, “let the whole world,” pant, “know what a fucking sicko you are.”

“Wouldn’t I? Do you know how much money I have? I’ll tell you. I’m worth Fuck You dollars. You know how much that is? It’s enough to say Fuck You to anyone.”

Sam could see it happen – the total surrender, that thing inside an animal, an evolutionary switch a billion years old that flipped inside your brain when it was all over and made dying easier. “Fine. You win. You better fucking pay me my thousand bucks.”

Derek could see it too. “There you go,” he said gently. “Relax.”

He had the man’s arms behind him and zip tied in a flash. Sam swallowed. Derek was not a fucking dilettante, not the vain preening rich Eurotrash bastard that Sam had thought he might be…well, he was, but he was also a trained killer.

Then the knife flicked, sawing at the back of the man’s fatigues. The dude was ex-military, just like himself, Sam thought. And he’d lost. Derek pulled the fatigues up by a belt loop just enough to slice a hole in the back of them.

“Oh shit!” the man cried out, but he was too smart to struggle under a moving blade. Sam could see his white underwear, then that too had a hole cut in it.

Derek got up, took off his own small backpack – nearly the same as the one Sam had selected. The prey hadn’t had one, Sam realized. Had Derek made him go out with nothing, or had he lost or discarded it along the way?

Derek pulled out a plastic container and unscrewed the lid. Sam could read the label – Albolene, what the fuck is that? Then he watched with every (straight) man’s groin-clenching horror as Derek’s fingers plunged into the jar and came out with a thick smear of the stuff.

Derek spread his big, dry hand over the small of his prey’s back, then roughly jammed two greasy fingers of the other hand through the hole he’d cut.

“FUCK! AAAHH!” The man cried out as Derek violated him hard and fast with his long slick digits. His body weight was pressed down on the man’s back as he held him in place.

“Easy now. Better to get torn up with two fingers than with what’s coming next.”

A few more quick thrusts of his fingers and then Derek let go, unbuttoned his own pants, and pulled out his cock, making sure the camera got a good look at it.

“Holy crap,” Sam whispered without thinking. That had to be a dildo he’d kept stuffed in his pants. That was too fucking huge to be a cock. Sam had been told by girls that his dick was big, but compared to Derek’s it was a midget.

“Virgin ass,” Derek whispered to himself, drunk with lust, stroking his huge tool with his greasy paw. As he pulled it down and let it bounce back up and around, Sam realized it was fucking real. “Mine. My ass.”

He didn’t hesitate. They were deep in the woods, and nobody heard the scream as Derek plunged his cock through the hole in the helpless man’s pants, unerringly punching through that sphincter’s remaining resistance.

Derek was an animal, he fucked like an animal. One hand held the man’s shoulder to keep him from getting off Derek’s cock, while the other hand pushed his face into the leaves and dirt.

To his horror, Sam realized he was getting a hardon. The cruelty of it, the reckless rough abandon of it…no tenderness, no care, just taking. It was all about Derek, what Derek wanted, and what Derek wanted was to inflict pain, to inflict humiliation, to take his pleasure with his dick as violently as an animal would tear out the throat of its dinner after capturing it as Derek had captured this man.

Sam’s hardon disappeared as he realized what had happened. I just got a boner from…gay porn. From a fucking scene of…from that.

Then something really rattled him – a change in the sounds coming out of the man getting nailed. From “Aah! Aah!” to “uh, uh,” to “ahh, ahh…ahhh!” Was he starting to enjoy it? Derek could tell the difference as well, his thrusts slower but deeper, his head, and the camera, coming closer to the bottom’s face.

The look on it was one of dull, dazed, almost narcotic pleasure. Sam thought about his conversation with that girl about his prostate, and realized that Derek was using the head of his cock to push the dude’s deepest, darkest pleasure button, that he was getting jacked off from inside…that it felt good…so good…

Then his training kicked in. Psyops. This was Derek rattling him. This was Derek making him focus on defeat. What defeat looked like.

Sam’s face went blank. He watched the rest of the scene impassively, cursing himself for letting go this long. Derek probably had a camera in here, had probably already seen the reactions he hadn’t masked. SERE training prepped you for almost everything – almost. There was no section in the manual about how to handle getting fucked in the ass.

The scene came to its brutal end. Derek pulled his monster cock out and stroked it a few times, then his cum started spewing out, so much of it that even in the dimming light, you could see it. That was when he plunged it back in to the wreckage of that asshole and began to pound it even harder, faster, the man’s stilled cries renewed now at the fresh assault. Derek’s breathing was finally fast now, as he truly exerted himself to punch every drop up the gut of his prey.

Finally he was done. He pulled out, got up, yanked up his pants, as the camera captured his last gesture – reaching into his pants for a money clip, ten Benjamins in it, which he threw on the exhausted man’s ass. “Game’s over.” And then he reached up and the camera went dead.

Then the speakers in the car whispered to Sam – his own voice, looping over and over. “Holy crap, Holy crap, Holy crap” – the words that had burst out of him at the sight of Derek’s cock. Sam’s training had slipped, he’d let a reaction show, but you don’t kick yourself for that, you just put the mask back in place and move on. He’d been one of the toughest candidates in SERE when it came to psyops, and no doubt he’d be angry that he’d slipped so early in this game…angry later, when there was time for emotion.

Derek’s obscenely huge penis had rattled him, no doubt, but that slip was over. Derek would take every advantage of it, naturally, mocking Sam with it, but so what. It was huge, anyone would say Holy crap when they saw that.

You know what? Fuck that guy and the huge cock he rode in on.


Sam watched the landscape, mapping it in his mind against the aerial photos from Google Maps he’d burned into his retinas. Sure enough, he was heading south, into the forest. He’d sat at the computer in the Internet café for a good two hours, zooming in and out until he had the lay of the land memorized.

The car took a gated service road, the gate open now with the padlock and chain wrapped around it, as if it would be locked again soon enough. It was a well-graded dirt road that wouldn’t mess up the Town Car too badly, other than to get it dirty. They went about a mile up it until Sam knew they’d be hitting a clearing, and sure enough, there was Derek in the clearing, standing there waiting for him.

He got out of the car, and as soon as he and his backpack were clear and the door was shut, the driver rolled back down the road, leaving the two of them alone. Derek extended his hand for Sam to shake. His hand was just as Sam remembered it, a laborer’s hand, not a desk jockey’s.

He did a double take as he realized what Derek was wearing. The commando sweater with shoulder patches and the small backpack didn’t surprise him, but he had to look again to make sure that Derek wasn’t wearing pants. Nope – just matte black tights, the kind you’d wear under your ski pants. And they did absolutely nothing to conceal Derek’s massive cock, dressing left nearly to his hip joint. Long and fat, it was like…

Sam looked away. The tights made sense, he thought, cursing himself for not thinking of it. Pants rustled, swished, caught on shit. Derek was dressed like a cat burglar, for stealth and silence. Also, Sam thought ruefully, he dressed like that to show me his dick. Psyops again.

And were those…ballet slippers? No, they were Vibrams, the toe shoes. Those would be like cat feet in the woods. Sam kicked himself for not thinking of that. Wearing his boots in situations like this was too ingrained in him. Never mind, he thought. You didn’t have a hundred bucks for new footwear anyway.

“I had a pack ready for you,” Derek admitted, indicating a camo pack on the ground next to him. “I should have known you’d have your own. However,” he pulled a fish scale out of his pocket, “I do have to impose a weight limit on you.”

Sam nodded and hung his pack from the hook of the scale, watching the arrow move to show its weight.

“Seven pounds,” Derek said. “You’ll have to lose two. And, no mechanical or electrical equipment. You have anything like that in there?”

“A flashlight,” Sam said.

“That’ll have to go.”

Sam nodded. He’d expected Derek to go through his pack, but Derek trusted his word, his honor. The mini flashlight hardly dented the weight allowance, though, so next he tossed most of the food, keeping a few packs of dehydrated meals with him. The protein bars were more convenient, but at a couple ounces each, they were an easy discard. He emptied the first aid kit and tossed the plastic box it came in. When he looked at the mylar space blanket and realized it was a shiny gold that would show up far too easily in the dark, that went, too.

The bag was still just a little too heavy. He extracted the knife and sliced off the front and side pockets, and then he was good. Derek nodded. “Good idea.”


“Okay.” Derek looked at his Luminox. “You’ve got fifteen minutes. Starting…now.”

Sam broke into a trot, knowing Derek wouldn’t bother to watch him, because of course the first direction he headed in would be a feint.

“What did you think of the in-flight entertainment?” Derek called after him.

Sam spoke over his shoulder, not breaking stride. “Was I supposed to be entertained?”

“You were excited. I could tell.”

So he had been watching. Sam stopped and turned around. “I was shocked. The reactions are quite similar.”

He turned back around and started off again, breaking into a run to maximize his time advantage. He heard Derek chuckle and then he was in the woods.


Sam felt great. He was in his element, for the first time in a long time. This is what I do, he thought, his breath coming deep and regular as he penetrated the forest. This is where I belong. He headed for the stream to the west, where he could move without leaving tracks – and where the sounds of the stream would mask his own.

He found some blackberry bushes, and picked a few at random, not leaving a pattern from which Derek could discern he’d been this way. They were sweet and sour and just the right amount of energy for now.

His training days came back to him now. He remembered his first day, memorizing the acronym S U R V I V A L.

S – Size up the situation. He’d memorized the text in the FM 21-76 and still recalled it perfectly. “If you are in a combat situation, find a place where you can conceal yourself from the enemy. Remember, security takes priority. Use your senses of hearing, smell, and sight to get a feel for the battlefield. What is the enemy doing? Advancing? Holding in place? Retreating? You will have to consider what is developing on the battlefield when you make your survival plan.”

He could still hear the instructor’s voice in the classroom. “How do you size up a situation? Observation! You must be observant! Any little detail can give you away to an enemy as well trained, or better trained, than you. And vice versa. In fact, we are going on a training exercise tomorrow. And I will allow an extra two pounds of weight to anyone who can find a typo in the FM 21-76.”

Sam’s hand shot up even as the others frantically flipped through the manual. “Bradley!”

Sam stood up. “Sir. Chapter two, paragraph one, last sentence.”

“Read it, soldier.”

Sam didn’t need to pick up the book. His excellent memory was already serving him well in this course. “Sir, ‘Having survival skills is important; having the will to survive is essential. Without a desk to survive, acquired skills serve little purpose and invaluable knowledge goes to waste.’”

“Bradley, are you suggesting that the United States Army has made an error here?”

“Sir, yes sir.”

“You don’t think you need a desk to survive in the wild?”

“Sir, no sir,” Sam said with a straight face, ignoring the snickers around him.

“If the United States Army tells you to strap a desk to your back, what do you do?”

“I would strap myself to the desk, sir.”

“That’s not what I asked you, son.”

“I don’t think I could carry a desk on my back, sir. But I would carry out the order to the best of my ability, sir.”

The instructor’s face was impassive but Sam, without of course looking directly at him, could detect a faint smile in his eyes.

“Well then, you’re not fit enough for this program, are you?”

“No sir, no excuse, sir.” The next day, Sam had loaded his bag up with two pounds of rations, and he’d been the last man standing three days later, long after most of the others had been captured, or given up, faint with hunger.

U – Use all your senses, Undue haste makes waste. Sam got to the stream and carefully picked his way along its shallow edge, just deep enough that it would erase his tracks. His mind was clear, cleansed of thoughts of money or daily worries, only one thing to occupy it: Where to go next, what do to next, how to do it without Derek detecting his actions.

R – Remember where you are. He was in enemy territory. This was Derek’s land, and Derek would know it better than Sam ever could from just aerial photos. Derek would know all the best hiding places, and would be systematically checking them over and over the next few days, just to make sure Sam hadn’t stumbled and picked one of them himself.

As dusk approached, he found a culvert where the stream had been channeled through a hill. Exactly the kind of place an amateur would hide, Sam thought. Exactly the kind of place Derek would know Sam wouldn’t hide. Derek would check it to make sure, then move in another direction. It wouldn’t occur to him that Sam would hide so close to an obvious place. Or so Sam hoped.

“Keep the following formula in mind when selecting a hide site: BLISS. B – Blends in with the surroundings. L – Low in silhouette. I – Irregular in shape. S – Small in size. S – Secluded.”

In the trees on the slope above the culvert, Sam made a hiding place for himself where they were thickest. He could look down on the culvert and, if Derek decided to head his way, he would have time to make a break for it up the hill. Then he settled in and waited.

That was the hardest skill he’d had to learn – doing nothing. Watching and waiting. He was a man of action and he hated, hated, hated, sitting still and staring into space. Guard duty on base was the worst, because there was nothing to see, nothing to do, and reading or listening to the radio was forbidden. You had to balance drawing on your internal resources, thinking about something to keep yourself occupied, while maintaining a sufficient awareness of your unchanging unexciting surroundings that nothing could take you by surprise.

Dusk came, and Derek with it. Sam watched as Derek crept along the stream just as Sam had. Derek looked around before he crept into the tunnel to check for Sam, and Sam deliberately looked away. He knew that some men had a sixth sense about when someone was watching, the way an animal knows it’s being stalked by a predator, even though it can’t see, smell, or hear it.

But he had to look again. Derek was a big dude, 200+ pounds of solid muscle like Sam, and the black tights showed every curve of his round calves and oak-like thighs…and his firm bubble butt. He’d have to be big and strong to take down guys Sam’s size, of course, but the surprising thing to Sam was that Derek’s movements were so…catlike. So light and agile. If Derek hadn’t been European, Sam would have marked him as a wide receiver. He reminded Sam of Eric Decker of the Broncos. A lot.

Sam shook his head. That was a gay fucking thought! Why do I know so well what Eric Decker looks like, anyway?

Derek was in and out of the culvert in a few minutes, then back the way he came. Sam’s heart rate had risen just slightly, and lowered again. He watched to make sure Derek was long gone back the way he came, before he allowed himself a few minutes’ nap. It would be a long sleepless night, and ten minutes now would carry him through.


The dream was as surreal as dreams always are, but just real enough to be convincing. Sam was running through the forest in the dark, and Derek was chasing him. Sam could see his feet, because Derek was wearing white sneakers, same as the one he’d tied around his balls the other night, that had pressed into his ass in his sleep. Sam ran fast and Derek ran faster, and then Sam tripped, and Derek was on him, on top of him, the weight of his big solid frame pressing Sam into the dirt.

Sam struggled but it was no use. Derek had the sneaker in his hand now, and he thrust its toe into Sam’s crack. Sam yelped with shock and terror as Derek rammed it up against Sam’s ass, and Sam’s pants magically split along the seams to let it in.

“You want it,” Derek whispered in his ear. “You want to be caught. You want it up the ass.”

“NO!” Sam yelled, waking himself up with a jolt. He rolled over, his ass sore. He looked behind him – a tree root. He’d been enthusiastically rubbing his ass along the root, as big and fat as Derek’s cock…

“No,” he repeated, careless of his training, careless of being heard. “Fuck no.” He jumped up, grabbed his bag, and started moving.


It’s hard for a human being to move in truly random directions. Sam had to keep his mental map in focus as he moved, deliberately doubling back some times and not others, making sure no pattern emerged that Derek could zero in on.

He hit the stream twice to refill his canteen, dosing it with the pills that would kill any giardia or other random bacteria. He ate once, but his body was running now on adrenaline, only needing water to keep going.

It was Saturday evening now, over 24 hours down and less than 24 to go. It was hard not to start thinking about what he’d do with $10,000, but he had to vanquish the thought. They taught you V – Vanquish Fear and Panic, but they didn’t teach you about how idle dreams of your next hot meal could be just as corrosive to your alertness, your survival, as any fear.

At dusk he heard it. Or didn’t hear it. His subconscious mind was tuned to the birdsong, its rising and falling patterns through the day, and he could hear the absence as clearly as the presence. Little drop outs as something – someone – passed through their midst, ensuring discreet if brief silences.

Derek. He was moving now with little care for being heard. Closing in. Sam wondered if he’d been on his tail all this time, just waiting for him to relax, let his guard down. Had he? Or was Derek just that good?

“We need stress because it has many positive benefits. Stress provides us with challenges; it gives us chances to learn about our values and strengths. Stress can show our ability to handle pressure without breaking; it tests our adaptability and flexibility; it can stimulate us to do our best.”

Yeah, Sam thought. Well, I’m under stress now. But it was time to slow down, not speed up. To think. Why was Derek letting himself be heard? Or was he underestimating Sam’s ability to hear the drop outs in the bird song? Few people had hearing as acute as Sam’s. But he didn’t peg Derek as someone who’d underestimate him.

It was time to head for deeper cover. And as much as he hated to do it, Sam took his boots off. It was time for a lighter tread on the ground. He tied them around his neck and moved deeper into the woods.

He didn’t see the snare. The pressure of the rope against the top of his foot made him freeze. He looked down – he’d almost triggered it. He would be hanging upside down right now if he hadn’t taken his boots off. Damn, that was close.

“Movement in enemy-held territory is a very slow and deliberate process. The slower you move and the more careful you are, the better. Your best security will be using your senses. Use your eyes and ears to detect people before they detect you.”

Eyes and ears, hell. It was his sixth sense he’d need to detect Derek. He walked lightly, his thick socks and hard-soled feet protecting him from the worst the ground could do, until he found a small clearing, with an old sawed-off stump in the middle of it.

He heard something moving through the air and turned around, but it wasn’t behind him. It had been above him. Derek, landing on him now and his velocity and weight slamming Sam to the forest floor.

His solar plexus was jammed right into a rock. The impact knocked the breath out of Sam, and as he struggled to get Derek off him, he grew weaker. He couldn’t breathe, he had to breathe…

“Fear is our emotional response to dangerous circumstances that we believe have the potential to cause death, injury, or illness. This harm is not just limited to physical damage; the threat to one’s emotional and mental well-being can generate fear as well.”

Derek had a knee in his back, and Sam could only claw at the ground, at Derek behind him, his lack of oxygen sapping his strength as his diaphragm locked, convulsed, at each attempted breath. Derek had his hands zip-tied behind his back before he knew it. How the hell did he do that to me? How could this happen?

“Relax,” Derek said. “Breathe.” His prisoner restrained, he let up the pressure on his back.

Sam finally took a long gasping breath.

“Good, that’s it,” Derek said, calm and professional as a paramedic. “Take it easy.”

Sam relaxed. Derek wasn’t really going to fuck him in the ass. The hunt was over. Sam had needed more motivation than just the run of the mill…

That was when he felt Derek run a finger through his rear belt loop. Pull his pants up and away from his ass. And quickly and efficiently slice a hole in them.

Sam struggled now, but Derek was stronger, so much stronger, and in the better position. He hauled Sam up by his wrists and Sam’s body followed, to keep his shoulders from getting torqued out of joint. Then Derek thrust him down on top of the tree stump so Sam’s face was in the dirt and his ass was pointed at the sky.

“Nice,” Derek whispered. “The view through a hole’s not enough of you. I want to see all of this ass.” Derek yanked Sam’s pants down, and laughed. “Gray boxers. You are straight.”

“Be realistic. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.” That was all the manual had left to offer Sam.

“Let’s get it over with,” he said.

Derek froze. “What?”

“Just fucking do it,” Sam said defiantly. “Just fuck me in the ass and get it over with.”

Derek laughed, a huge, disbelieving, happy laugh. “My my. You know, that is the first time anyone I’ve caught has actually asked me to fuck him in the ass.”

“I’m not asking!” Sam shouted.

Sinuously, Derek covered Sam’s body with his own, his huge and rock-hard cock pressing against Sam’s bare ass, only the thin fabric of Derek’s tights between them. His weight pressed on Sam, his head next to Sam’s, Derek whispered in his ear.

“No? You think you’re in control? You think you get to say how this goes?”

In a flash, Derek was up and off him, in front of him now, a strong hand lifting Sam’s head up off the ground. With his other hand, Derek yanked his tights down and all Sam could absurdly think of was a Jack-in-a-box, as Derek’s massive cock was pulled down by the tights and then released, bouncing wildly around as it came free.

Derek put his hand around it, his huge hand still barely enough to completely encircle it, and he aimed it at Sam’s mouth.

Now Sam really struggled, like a wild animal, recklessly, carelessly. It was one thing to be captured and ass fucked…maybe because he’d already seen that on the video in Derek’s car and some part of him had adjusted to that possibility. Some part of him had thought of how to disconnect his head from his body and not…be there when it happened. But to have Derek’s cock in his head, in his mouth….no. No, no no.

But he was no match in his current position for Derek’s huge strong hands, one of which held the top of his skull like a ball player would hold a ball, as the other one forced Sam’s mouth open. Sam could taste the forest on Derek’s fingers, the pine tar and the old leaves, the salt of the sweat he’d wiped off his brow, the acrid soil. Then Derek’s other hand came off his skull and grabbed his cock, pointing it at the hole he’d opened in Sam’s head.

Sam closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see what was coming. Then as Derek entered his mouth, he opened them in surprise.

The head of Derek’s cock was huge, but…so soft as Derek pushed it slowly past his lips. Like silk, like a woman’s skin. Sam had no idea cocks were so…it made sense, duh. How else could his own dick be so thrilled by his strokes, if the skin wasn’t so sensitive. His own fingers were so rough and desensitized that they’d never detected the softness of his own dick’s head.

Derek’s cock kept coming, and Sam flashed back to his first time, losing his virginity, the sensation of…entering a woman, for the first time, after so many fantasies, so much porn, so much jerking off. Now he was losing his virginity again, being entered, being taken. Derek was slow, but insistent. Sam was too stunned by the sensations to resist them, to resist this…invasion.

Only when Derek’s cock touched the back of his throat did he react, choking, coughing, his head coming off it. He wanted to vomit.

“Easy,” Derek said. “Slow down. Take a deep breath.”

“This is crazy,” Sam said. “Let me go. I don’t want any money.”

“Okay,” Derek said, putting his cock away, startling Sam. “You lose. Loser. Quitter. Cheater.”

Sam saw red. “No. I’m not.”

“You are. A deal’s a deal. But if you want to renege on it, break your promise…”

“No!” Sam shouted. There was something at stake here, something more important than losing his “gayginity” to Derek. “No…”

“You sure?”

Sam nodded.

“I need to hear it. I need to hear yes.”

“Yes. I’m sure. Go on, then.”

Derek stood in front of him now. “Open wide. Open up for me.”

So this was how it was gonna be, Sam thought. Fine. V – Value Living. “All of us were born kicking and fighting to live, but we have become used to the soft life. We have become creatures of comfort. We dislike inconveniences and discomforts. What happens when we are faced with a survival situation with its stresses, inconveniences, and discomforts? This is when the will to live – placing a high value on living – is vital. The experience and knowledge you have gained through life and your Army training will have a bearing on your will to live. Stubbornness, a refusal to give in to problems and obstacles that face you, will give you the mental and physical strength to endure.”

Sam would submit, but he wouldn’t surrender. By accepting Derek’s cock everywhere it was going to go, he would win, not by refusing to take it, but by refusing to quit.

Sam opened his mouth wide, as wide as it would go, and yet still it seemed it was hardly wide enough for Derek’s huge tool. When it met the back of his throat, he suppressed his gag reflex with all his might. Just as he thought it would smother him, Derek’s cock moved backwards.

“Watch your teeth,” Derek said. “Keep your lips over your teeth.” Sam obeyed. “Not that far, now I can feel your stubble on it. No wait…that’s fine. Feels pretty good.” Derek’s hand caressed Sam’s face. “Couple days stubble, it gets a little soft. Nice.”

You are gay, Derek, Sam thought. You don’t admit it, but you are. I’m not. I’m not.

Derek moved slowly, methodically, in and out, and his dick began to leak in Sam’s mouth, a slippery salty precum. So that’s why girls hate to swallow, Sam thought. It’s like…caviar. You have a taste for it or you don’t.

“That’s it,” Derek sighed. “So good. Get it ready for your ass.”

When’s the last time you were with a woman, Derek, Sam thought defiantly. Then Derek was out of his mouth and behind him. Sam braced himself for the worst. It would happen and it would be over and he would be free and he would be gone and he would never see Derek again or think about this ever again.

He heard a pop, familiar enough to any single man, the sound of the flip top on a bottle of lube. So it wouldn’t be the Albolene for him, then. Then Derek’s fingers were on his asshole and he jumped.

“Whoa, easy now,” Derek said as if calming a horse about to be broken. “Steady, fella.”

Sam gritted his teeth. Derek’s slick fingers touched his asshole. “Relax. Take a deep breath.” Sam did. “Let it out.” Sam did. And as he did, his asshole relaxed automatically and Derek’s finger slid in.

Sam’s asshole had been penetrated twice now, once by a doctor in the service and once by the girl who’d tried…this. He remembered the doctor’s words, cool and distant, right out of the script: “The more you clench, the more this will hurt.” Words he said to every man every day who came in and bent over for his fingers.

Sam started breathing, steady, regular, calming exercises he’d learned long after SERE training. Maybe they taught those now, meditation techniques and all that, he thought – they sure as shit should. He’d seen the Marine Corps survival manual; they told you to pray – dumbasses, he smirked. In, out, in, out, one two, one two…

Derek had two fingers inside him now, generously lubed. Sam had no idea how sensitive the flesh inside him was, how…well it responded to being touched. Derek was massaging his asshole, giving him time, giving him space, in a way he hadn’t given the man in the video, who’d been quickly and ruthlessly ass-rammed. Sam relaxed. That was the reason for the greasy Albolene. This wouldn’t be so bad. He wasn’t going to just slam it in there and…

Then he did. Derek’s cock was well-lubed, and Sam was unclenched, but the shock and the pain were incredible. The ring of his sphincter was shattered, blown out, blown away by a single thrust of Derek’s huge dick. Psyops, again, dammit, he realized even through the bright shards of pain in his ass. Derek had tricked him, the oldest interrogator’s trick in the world, the kindness and the cruelty back and forth.

“Fuck yeah, you’re a fucking virgin all right,” Derek hissed, grinding his hips up against Sam’s ass, fully embedded in his hole.

Sam grimaced, his mouth shut tight. I won’t scream. I won’t shout. I won’t give him what he really wants. Derek began pumping with his hips now, in and out, smooth and regular, fast hard strokes. Now the pain was deep inside Sam, as Derek’s fat head pushed up as far as it would go. That’s my prostate, Sam realized. That’s what she wanted to touch.

Then Derek stopped. “Fuck.” Sam felt a single twitch of Derek’s cock inside him, like a hand inside a puppet, making him dance.

“No,” Derek said firmly, and Sam realized he was about to cum, it was about to be over.

But no. Derek had self-control, too. He willed his cock to calm down, and Sam thought, I should buck and kick now, I should make him cum. But he didn’t. He couldn’t say why. He waited.

Then Derek began to move again, slower now, and that was when…other areas of Sam’s brain began to light up. Endorphins, he told himself, getting released to block the pain. Endorphins feel good. That’s natural, nothing to be ashamed of there.

But it wasn’t just endorphins. The sensations in his ass were…good. In and of themselves. The gentler, slower, lighter pressure on his prostate was…oh shit. His cock was getting hard, pressing, grinding against the rough surface of the tree stump. And it was…juicing. Derek was pushing the juices out of him.

“Fuck yeah,” Derek whispered. “So good. Such a perfect fucking ass.”

He picked up the pace. Lights were going on in Sam’s head, new and unexplored parts of his brain activating for the first time. Connections that had always been hooked up but never turned on. He felt so full inside, like a great empty hole inside himself he hadn’t known was there was…gone. All the natural human reactions to touch, to massage, were turned on, turned inside out, and it made sense since it was his insides not his outsides being massaged, stroked, pressed, kneaded, pounded…

Derek was pumping hard now. Sam’s sphincter had accommodated it, the pain dulled to an ache dulled in turn by the sweet stinging pleasure-pressure on his prostate. I’m getting jacked off from inside me, he thought as his cock got harder, which was pain-pleasure in itself as it rubbed against the stump, as his juices leaked out, lubing it, keeping it from being sanded down by the wood.

“Oh fuck oh fuck,” Derek whispered, and Sam knew it was coming. And that was when another part of his brain lit up. His well-trained brain, his will to win.

Derek went harder and faster and Sam ignored the pain, ignored the…fucking pleasure, dammit. It was almost time to strike.

“Oh shit,” Derek sighed, and just as he stopped, trying fruitlessly, painfully, to stop himself from coming, Sam clenched his asshole again and again, as if coming himself.

And as Derek shot, Sam said, “That’s it, gay dude, love that ass, love that ass like the queer you are.”

Derek was helpless to stop himself, he twitched and bucked and shot his load deep inside Sam.

“So gay. So fucking gay the way you take that ass.”

“NO!” Derek shouted, but his own prostate was in control now, his own puppet hand controlling his body.

“You’re gay. You’re a homo. When’s the last time you fucked a woman, Derek?” Sam asked him, panting himself now as his own orgasm exploded, his prostate declaring itself fed up and blowing off the pressure Derek kept applying as his own eruption diminished.

“Goddamn you,” Derek said, and Sam laughed, gasped, the intense, insane pleasure of his own load gushing out of him too much to bear. “You’re queer, you’re fucking coming too.”

“Biology, bitch. That’s all. Too much rubbing and pushing on my button. You love it. You love fucking guys because you’re gay. You love man ass.”

“Goddamn you, goddamn you,” Derek said, but it was almost as if Sam had reached inside Derek now, pushed his button, and Derek came again, a fresh eruption, a fresh cycle of thrusts.

Sam was laughing now, with pleasure, with satisfaction. He’d given his ass to Derek, but that was all. He hadn’t been like the guy in the video, broken, pleading, spent, used up.

Finally Derek was spent, collapsed on top of Sam, his sweat dripping from his face onto Sam’s head. A moment like lovers, then Derek shook himself and jumped off, his dick’s dramatic exit from Sam’s asshole the last shock to Sam’s system.

A flick of the knife and Sam’s zip ties were cut. He pulled his pants up and rolled up to his feet. Derek was already walking away, speaking into a phone. “We’re ready. Drop site three.”

Sam felt a twinge of regret, though he couldn’t say why. He’d hurt Derek, instinctively, automatically. He’d fought his captor, of course, who wouldn’t? So why did he feel bad about seeing Derek walking away now, not like a dancer, a predator, but like a wounded animal himself?

He followed Derek for fifteen minutes at a discreet pace, sucking down the last of his water. The Town Car was waiting on a service road. Derek got in and left the door open, so Sam got in too.

The drive back to the city was quiet. Sam’s cum was drying in his pants…Derek’s cum leaking out of his ass, which was getting sore again. Derek looked out the window, away from him, silent, a wall of silence forbidding Sam from speaking.

Sam slept at last, exhaustion taking its toll. He was safe now, here in the car, in Derek’s car. The game was over. He’d lost…and yet. He’d won…and yet. It was too much to think about now. Sleep.

The absence of sound woke him. They were outside a hotel – not Sam’s dingy weekly, but a posh luxury joint. “Your room key is at the desk,” Derek said, handing him a fat envelope.

Sam looked inside. Fuck me…

“That’s ten grand.”

“Yes it is,” Derek said, looking straight ahead.

“But I lost.”

Finally, for the first time since the game began days, years ago, Derek looked him in the eye. “Did you?”

“You tracked me, caught me, tied me up, and fucked me in the ass. I think that means I lost.”

Derek shook his head. He tapped his own forehead. “I didn’t catch you up here. You got away from me up here. Where it counts.”

No, I didn’t, Sam wanted to say. It felt…he didn’t want to think about how Derek’s cock had felt.

The driver opened the door for Sam. He got out. As he walked away, he heard Derek behind him.

“You know what this means, don’t you?”

Sam turned to see Derek smiling.

“I expect a rematch.”



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