Dangerous Games Ch. 01

I felt more pity than disgust for him. I asked myself: What is this kid doing? Is he trying to kill himself with booze? He's way too young to be feeling this much pain.

"You know..." Johnny said in a hushed tone, "...two guys have already tried to hit on me--it gives me the creeps--what kind of place is this?"

"Out of town businessmen stay here," I explained. "Some of them tend to lose their inhibitions when they're away from their wives."

He was getting near the bottom of his drink and I wanted to make this an early night. I decided it was time to remind him of our bet.

"It's been a long day," I said, "why don't we go to your room when you finish your drink?"

By the expression on his face, I knew he'd forgotten all about our wager.

"Why would you come to my room with me?" he asked suspiciously.

"We made a bet on a pool game last night and you lost," I replied.

I saw the wheels turning in his head. "I think I would remember if I made a bet with you..." Then he added: "I always pay my debts, but you and I didn't shoot pool last night!"

I've known a couple guys like Johnny who suffer black-outs when they've had too much to drink. It's actually incredible when you think of it--a person drinks-and-drinks and continues to function as though they were sober, but have absolutely no memory of their actions after a certain quantity of alcohol.

Most people pass-out when they've had too much to drink. The unfortunate ones only suffer black-outs and continue to act as though they were fine. To the average person, these people may appear slightly drunk, but you'd never know they are basically sleep-walking, and would not remember what they said or their actions from the night before.

The people I've known who suffered black-outs were so scared of their behavior, they either cut back on their alcohol consumption, or quit all-together.

Apparently the loss of memory doesn't bother Johnny. In fact, it seems as though it is precisely the condition he desires.

I heard the rattle of ice and turned and saw him drain the last drop from his drink. Then I saw his eyes. They were watery, and he had the same far-off look as last night.

It was almost frightening when I realized he'd just entered his 'black-out zone.'

He turned to me and smiled.

"How about another drinky?" he asked in a rather high-pitched voice.

"Don't you think you've had enough? I'll help you back to your room," I said with all due concern.

"Noooo..." he whined. "It's too early...one more drinky--pleeezzzzzzz."

Then he pointed to the cribbage board on the back bar and said, "If I beat you at cribbage, you'll buy me another drinky, okay?"

I was honest with him. "I don't think you'll beat me at cribbage, it's one of my favorite games."

His face went from angelic to a twisted snarl.

"You're not gonna beat me, old man--the only better cribbage player than me is my dad!"

I had the bartender make him another drink. I decided to lose the first game then make the same wager with him as the previous night.

It worked like a charm. I beat him easily the second game; the liquor made him careless and sloppy.

On our way to his room, I took his hand and placed it on my bulging crotch. He didn't object or remove his hand, instead, when I moved his hand back-and-forth over my shaft then suddenly pulled my hand from his, he continued stroking and squeezing it on his own.

Inside his room, I flipped-on the light, opened my slacks and pushed them and my boxers to my knees. I sat on the bed and watched his reaction. He stared hard at my erection thru his watery eyes. I leaned back on my elbows and waited for him.

He kept staring at my hard cock then abruptly turned-off the light and sat next to me on the bed. His hands went to work on me and I lay back and enjoyed his expertise.

My original plan was to keep Johnny around for a week or so before I contacted Tommy, but I'd grown tired of having to play silly mind games with the boy. Besides, his drinking would send my bar costs thru the roof. I would have a talk with Tommy the next day.

Tommy, Ernie and I have been close friends for over thirty-years. We're all in our early fifties, and we're all gay.

Over the years we've perfected a system that works well for us--I'd find a sexually confused boy and Tommy would groom him into being an obedient cock-slut. When Tommy grew tired of the boy, he'd conveniently 'lose' him to Ernie by shooting pool, or playing golf.

Ernie had a totally different training method than Tommy. While Tommy was kind and gentle and understanding, Ernie used threats and punishment to ensure abject obedience.

The biggest difference was Ernie would share his boy with me, and others. Tommy rarely allowed his boy to pleasure other men. Naturally, I preferred Ernie's method.

In fact, the second bedroom in his apartment is mine. I would stay there most nights when Ernie is in town. Currently, he and his boy, Percy, are on vacation in Thailand and won't be back for another week leaving me to settle for handjobs from Johnny.

It is a good life. Every night, Ernie takes Percy to his bedroom, and while Percy satisfies his man, I wait patiently until they are done then Ernie sends Percy to my bedroom to perform whatever sex acts I want him to do that evening. It is a sweet arrangement.

Getting handjobs from Johnny is a far cry from using Percy's well-trained mouth, and deliciously tight pussy. Oh well, at least I'm getting my rocks off.

Yes, I'll arrange for Tommy to meet Johnny tomorrow night, I told myself. The sooner Tommy trains the boy, the sooner I'll get to use the smug and arrogant boy's mouth and pussy.

Johnny's hand moved faster on my cock. I groaned in the darkness. Damn he gives a great handjob!

When I imagined his pretty lips wrapped around my prick I blew an especially heavy load.

TOMMY'S STORY

I could always count on Jerry. He is a loyal friend. When he called and described Johnny to me the timing couldn't have been better. It had been several months since I'd had a boy in my life, and I was getting restless and irritable.

Sure, I can always find someone to suck and fuck for a night, but I preferred the closeness and intimacy of having a boy for a longer period of time.

Jerry filled me in on the basics. Johnny sounded like the typical closeted boy, too ashamed to admit his true sexuality, and sadly, addicted to getting high on liquor to escape the demons in his head.

A few years earlier, Jerry set me up with a similar type boy. I will use the same strategy with Johnny that worked well with the other boy.

Some of you may disapprove of the method I use with Johnny, but some boys are so inhibited, and deathly afraid of revealing their true natures, they require extraordinary measures to help them achieve independence of thought, which is necessary for them to arrive at their goal--freedom from inhibitions, which in turn allows them to fully accept their sexual desire for men, with the results being happiness and a peace of mind they have never known.

Those may sound like lofty and meaningless words and phrases, but trust me, in all my years of helping boys achieve their potential, all of them--every single one--have been eternally grateful that I awakened them from their sexual slumber.

Jerry had moved Johnny into 'The Playroom' at the motel earlier that day. He told the boy an arriving couple who came every year always wanted his room. The boy had complied without protest.

I made sure to arrive at 'Rods' a few minutes before Jerry and Johnny. I took the liberty of ordering three drinks then found a cozy booth near the pool tables.

I wanted to observe the boy going from dead-sober to his 'black-out' phase. I needed to gather the clues, facts and quirks of his personality. I had to make sure I was taking the right approach with him.

Sex with him the first night was not my intention, no, it was 'behavioral science', but from Jerry's description of the boy, I was fairly certain I would be feeling his hand wrapped around my prick later that night anyway.

Two-minutes later I saw Jerry enter, followed by one of the prettiest boys I'd ever seen. A smile unconsciously formed on my face as they approached me. I silently saluted Jerry for his exquisite taste in boys.

"This is my friend, Tommy," Jerry said to the boy; he turned to me and added; "...this is Johnny."

The boy leaned over and shook my hand and said, "Nice to meet you."

"The pleasure is definitely all mine," I beamed and watched as Johnny averted his eyes from mine while his face became beet-red from my gushing words.

Good, I thought to myself. He has low self-esteem--he doesn't know how to accept compliments or praise--it makes it much easier to break down a boy's barriers. The cockiness and arrogance Jerry told me about are defense mechanisms hiding his insecurities.

Jerry had the boy slide into the semi-circular booth between us. I was close enough to Johnny to smell his freshness; his boyish odor. My prick twitched and I smiled again.

This may sound strange, but I'm not physically attracted to all boys, so it is a great relief when I feel lust and desire for the boy I'm about to train. In fact, gazing at his pretty face, I was eager to have him kneeling between my legs, bobbing his head back-and-forth over my hard cock.

We made small talk, at least I did. It was difficult to coax more than one word answers from him. He was very shy, but I noticed his reticence fading with every gulp of whiskey.

He definitely used alcohol as a crutch, which played right into my plans. Over the next few days, I would slowly wean him off booze. I would force him to confront his inhibitions face-to-face. He wouldn't like it, but this was the 'tough-love' strategy I always employed with great success.

Once he downed his third drink, he announced he wanted another drink, and that he wanted to shoot pool. His shyness disappeared, the cocky attitude emerged.

I gave him a twenty-dollar bill and told him to bring us another round.

"Awwww..." he pouted. "Can't you or Jerry get the drinks?"

I calmly said to him: "Since I'm buying the drinks, you will contribute by going to get them...you don't get a 'free-ride' with me."

He blushed at my abruptness. "Oh--sorry..." he said as he took the money from my hand and walked to the bar.

Jerry chuckled and said, "You haven't lost your touch--that was the first time I heard him apologize for anything!"

"He's a good boy at heart" I said, "...the alcohol gives him false confidence...it appears when he is sober, he is respectful, and quite passive...we're very lucky..."

"How so?" asked Jerry.

"He's passive to the point of being submissive--I think he'll make an excellent bottom," I said as the boy reappeared with our drinks.

I smiled at Johnny and said, "Thank you--now you may go play pool."

A blush of confusion covered his pretty face. It was obvious he was not accustomed to being spoken to in that manner.

Just as Jerry had told me, the boy was a pretty good pool player from three-to-six drinks. I rated him as a B+...good enough to beat most players, but he'd lose to the sharks. I wouldn't have a problem beating him when I needed.

He held the table for six-straight games, all the while guzzling down whiskey. When he emptied a drink, I'd taught him to come to me and ask, "May I have another drink, please?"

He had drained his seventh drink when someone finally beat him. He gingerly came back to the booth and sat down; I could see his eyes beginning to water over. I gave him more money and told him to get us two more. I think he was impressed I was matching him drink-for-drink.

He was oblivious to the fact Jerry had left much earlier.

I watched him walk. He had the saunter of a man on a mission, but he was clearly unsteady on his feet. It was an amazing sight--a boy that sloshed, still acting as though he was in total control.

I had him sit close to me, and he readily obeyed. I saw the far-off look in his eyes that Jerry had described, and knew it was time to get personal. He was now receptive to my questions. Like many shy, introverted boys, the liquor loosened his tongue and now he couldn't shut-up.

There's an old saying 'A drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts'--much of the time I found it to be true, and I listened to him carefully, separating what I believed to be fact from fiction.

I began touching his arms and legs; I stroked his neck and back. If he was aware of my hands, he didn't say anything.

After his eighth drink, I placed his hand on my crotch and made sure he felt my semi-erection.

"It's time we go to your room and you make good on our bet," I whispered in his ear. We hadn't played pool or had a wager, but I had a suspicion it wouldn't matter.

"What? Huh? Oh--yeah...I always pay my debts," he said thru glazed eyes, slightly slurring his words.

I helped him out of the booth, and before we left I tipped Eddie the bartender an extra twenty-dollars. Eddie has the skill of making drinks in front of a customer without actually pouring liquor in the glass. Instead of drinking vodkas all night, I had actually consumed eight soda waters with lime.

Once outside, I placed my arm around Johnny's waist to keep him from falling.

I admit to taking liberties with the boy during our short walk; stroking his back and neck; caressing and fondling his buttocks; and running my hand beneath his untucked polo shirt, squeezing his breasts and nipples.

He never pushed me away, or even verbally protested. In fact, his physical response was quite heartening...his nipples became hard points, and when we were in the shadows of the walkway to his room, I stopped, pulled him to me and boldly ran my hand between his legs, up-and-down his crotch. His tiny dick was stiff as steel, and he began to gasp and whimper.

'The Playroom' where Johnny was now staying served many useful purposes. It was equipped with sophisticated audio/visual devices and many mirrors.

Sometimes couples wanted tapes made of their lovemaking; sometimes businessmen wanted a video and audio recording of sensitive business transactions. Other times, well, I'll just say Jerry recorded secret trysts for their 'entertainment' value or more nefarious purposes.

When Johnny was able to finally open the door, I turned on the lights and sat on the bed. Just as Jerry said he would, the boy turned the lights off. He then joined me on the bed.

Typical for a boy like Johnny, in the recess of his mind he believed he was about to perform a dirty and forbidden act, and he needed darkness to shield his actions.

I gently stroked his back, found his head then leaned in and kissed him on the lips. He reacted like he'd been struck by lightning.

"NO—NO—NO!!" he cried out and pushed me away. "I'M NOT QUEER—I'M NOT QUEER!!"

He sounded like a scared little boy. His bleats and pleas were pathetic; my heart went out to him.

He had been so thoroughly brainwashed about the 'evils' of homosexuality, I knew then and there I was justified in using my 'tough-love' approach to properly train him.

"Shhhhhhhhh..." I whispered in his ear. "Calm down...relax...we're not going to do anything you don't want to do..."

And when he slumped against me, and his breathing returned to normal, I said: "But I did win a bet--are you going to welch on our bet?"

"No--no...my father taught me to always pay my debts..." he replied.

His hands opened my belt and unfastened my slacks. I lifted my hips to allow him to pull down my slacks and boxers. A warm hand gripped my aching hard-on; another hand cradled my balls.

There was no doubt in my mind the boy had performed this act with other men, and he was probably never sober with any of them. It is a shame how many boys need drugs or alcohol to overcome a crippling inhibition.

He applied the pressure I liked, but he was in a hurry.

"Slow down," I said softly. He obeyed me without question.

I would have loved to have been naked with him; to caress his soft, warm flesh; to kiss his lips; nip at his ears; but it was too soon.

It was time to gather information. It was obvious he'd done this before, and now I wanted him to tell me his story.

"Is this the first time you've stroked a hard penis with your hand?" I asked him softly.

I heard his voice catch in his throat. "Well, uh..."

"Johnny, tell me the truth--what does your father say to you about lying to your elders?" I said softly yet firm.

"It--it's wrong--I have to tell the truth..." his voice sounded distant, like he was somewhere far away.

"How many men have you masturbated? How many hard penises have you held and stroked and caressed?" I asked in a whisper. In this situation, too loud of a voice can spook the boy back into denial.

"I--I don't know..." he replied.

"Johnny, don't lie to me--you must tell me the truth--you must obey your father," I said to him knowing the reference to his dad would loosen his tongue.

"I'm sorry--I think there were five of them..." he whispered.

"Five what, Johnny? You must speak in complete sentences--I'm not a mind reader," I gently scolded him.

"F-Five men...I've masturbated five men--"

"You've held five hard penises in your hand and stroked them until they came--until they ejaculated...is this correct? And give me a complete answer!"

"Y-Yes--I have masturbated five men until they shot their cum on my hands..."

"You love the feel of a hard penis in your hand, don't you?"

"I-I...oh God, yes, I do love the feel of hard penises...they're so hard yet the skin is so soft and smooth and warm..."

"You love to give men pleasure, don't you? It makes you happy when you can get them to cum, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it's exciting to hear men moan...I love it when they shake and move their hips just by using my hands."

"Have you ever kissed a hard penis? Have you tasted men's cum?"

"No-nooooo..."

"Why not? Why haven't you taken a hard penis in your mouth?"

There was silence then he said, "Well, it's because...uh, because no one ever asked me to..."

My goodness! That is a telling answer! He would have actively taken the next step if only someone had suggested it?

"If someone had asked you, or told you, you would have sucked their hard penis, wouldn't you?"

"Y-Yes, I guess so...if they'd told me to--I would have sucked their hard penises--"

"And make them cum in your mouth!"

"Yes, and make them cum in my mouth."

"And you would have swallowed their cum!"

"If they had told me to--yes, I would have swallowed their cum!"

"Good boy, Johnny...it's good to tell the truth--you feel better for telling the truth, don't you?"

"Yes...I should always tell the truth--it makes me feel good!"

"How did you meet these men, Johnny, where did you meet them?"

"There's a park in my home town...late at night men go there to meet other men--'Loring Park'."

"Did you choose the men, or did they choose you?"

"They chose me...they'd walk up to me and say things like 'Hey, you're cute--want to sit in my car with me?' or 'Do you want to go home with me?'

"How many men did you go home with?"

"Just one--he lived nearby--we walked to his place."

"Tell me everything that happened that night--don't leave out a thing, okay?"

"Okay...we went inside his apartment and sat on the couch...somehow we decided to play strip poker...during the game he kept passing me a joint...afterwards, when I was naked and he still had his shorts on, he led me to the bathroom...he had some sort of cream...he dipped his finger in the cream and made me spread my legs wide...I felt his finger on my hole--pushing against my hole until it went inside me...the cream was cold--it felt cold inside my hole...he made me push down his shorts and put cream on his hard penis...he took me to his bed and had me get on my hands and knees on the far end of the bed...he stood behind me--he put his penis against my hole and pushed it into me...it was too big--I didn't think it would fit...I told him I couldn't do it--he got mad and called me a cock-teaser--I felt bad for not going thru with it...we sat on the couch; he had a towel over his hard penis...I stroked him until he came in the towel."