Garland grinned wolfishly. He stood and removed his handcuff bracelet. “Deal,” he said. “Get up and put your hands behind your back. I’m cuffing you here. You’ll follow me up the stairs with everyone watching.”
Matt stood while Garland cuffed him. Grimaced as the single strand cheek plate ratchetted into the double strand, clamping his wrists.
Garland checked the fit, asked if it was too tight.
Matt shook his head.
Garland leaned in and whispered in Matt’s ear. “Ever since I heard there was a freshman GM kid nicknamed ‘Mustang,’ I’ve been itching to meet him. Turns out you are as high spirited and wild as an untamed horse.”
Garland patted Matt’s hair as though it were a stallion’s mane. “The Cherokee perfected the art of taming wild mustangs, not breaking them. Breaking is when a horse forgets its wild nature and will submit to anyone, even a child, even pull a plough. Taming means that horse only submits to the man who subdued him.”
Matt’s eyes went wide.
“Before we’re done tonight, Garland soothed, “you’ll be my trick pony. My cock will fit in your mouth like a perfect bit. You will ache to do my bidding.”
Garland walked towards the door. “Now follow me, Mustang.”
Matt felt all eyes watching him as he trudged up the stairs, hands cuffed behind him. He trailed Garland—who took his sweet-ass time.
Part of Matt felt deflated, outsmarted by the older man. Resentful.
Part of him took a certain pride knowing that Garland had come to this party with the specific goal of bagging him—here, at Nicholas’ and Bradley’s house, in one of their guest rooms. It was as though Matt had been chosen, culled from the herd. As though he had been selected to be bridled and ridden; face fucked into submission. Tamed.
Part of him bristled at every step forward. Part of him couldn’t wait for it to begin.
The slow trek up the stairs provided him plenty of time to peruse the various plaques, certificates, and awards covering the walls. They spanned Nicholas’s career in local television news. He had worked his way up to Assistant Producer and been recognized by the Oklahoma Broadcaster’s Association on more than one occasion. Nicholas’s name was everywhere, sometimes in script, sometimes in blocky letters. Always the same: Nicholas Covington.
Matt connected the dots. This was the same “N. Covington ‘81” whose name was written in theStar Warsstormtrooper mask he had worn for Paul’s GM interview! Nicholas had worn that mask for every new member interview between ’77 and ’81. Matt loved that connection to GM history. He couldn’t wait to tell Nicholas.
Garland led Matt into one of the bedrooms.
Matt could hear, through the walls, the soft creaking of a mattress, presumably as balding guy fucked Todd in the adjacent room.
Matt stood unflinchingly while Garland inspected his horseflesh. Flicked his nipples. Traced the outline of his lips. Tugged his boxer briefs down to reveal his erection. The briefs slid to Matt’s ankles, trapped there by his sneakers. He was, to a degree, now cuffed and hobbled.
Matt ached for Garland to touch his cock.
Garland shook his head. “Your cock’s not getting any action tonight. So quit whimpering. Your lips, tongue, and throat are what I paid for. Understand?”
Matt nodded.
Garland slapped Matt’s cheek. Not hard. Enough to get his attention, though. “It’s ‘yes sir’ from here on. Got it?”
Matt suppressed the urge to head butt this man who had just slapped him, regardless the fact that he had earlier consented to having it done. Only one other person had ever slappedhim: his father.
Matt gritted his teeth. “Yes sir.”
“Good. Now on your knees.”
Matt did as instructed, which wasn’t easy considering the whole hobbled and cuffed part. Eventually he was in proper kneeling position. His confused, still-erect cock, waggled like a happy dog ready for play time.
Garland towered over him.
“Look at me,” Garland said. His voice was soft, but commanding.
Matt looked up, watched as Garland unzipped his pants, pushed them down his thighs. He stood there in his 2 (X)IST briefs, ball sack neatly cupped, cock straining against the fabric.
Matt felt Garland’s hand on the back of his head, pulling him into his groin. Matt’s nose and mouth were buried in Garland’s briefs, breathing in his tangy scent.
