Thirsty Old Men

A word to the wise: This is a work of complete fiction. Never happened in real life. Also, I debated long and hard before posting this one as to where to post it. Finally, I settled on "Gay Male" because it is about gay men. HOWEVER, you should know that this almost landed in "NonConsent/Reluctance". I don't condone rape. This is a fantasy about a young (straight) man who is pleasured against his will. If you have a problem with this (in fantasy as well as in real life) then I suggest you stop reading here and now. Please know that comments made about the content of the story in this regard will be deleted hastily. Constructive feedback is, however, most welcome!

Thank you,

TRK

Gareth Prince was ready for the best summer of his life. He was 18 years old, had just graduated from high school, and had a brand new Mustang convertible that he'd nicknamed 'The Batmobile'. To top it all off, his parents and younger sister, Ansleigh, were in Sweden for the next couple months where his father was working on a project. Gavril Prince was a successful architect and the money he made had bought the Prince family a mansion in one of North Atlanta's most exclusive subdivisions. Right now, Gareth was stretched out on one of the lounge chairs perched on the deck overlooking their infinity-edge pool. His well-muscled body already had a subtle tan and he knew it'd be even darker by the end of the weekend. Before graduating, Gareth had been both quarterback of the football team and a lead swimmer on the Wolverton High School Aquatic Team. His body was chiseled and he kept it hairless because he intended to keep swimming once he got to Georgia Tech in the fall.

At 6' 3", he was bigger than most of the guys at school and with his light brown hair, ice blue eyes, and dimples he was the dream of just about every girl (and some guys) in the district. Though he was a jock and quite popular, Gareth was one of those guys who could get along with anyone and he was well-liked by just about everybody. While most of his close friends were fellow jocks, he had at least one friend in every clique.

One of those friends, Marshall Clancy, was coming to meet him in a few minutes. Marshall had been the president of the Honor Society and captain of their Science Bowl Team. He was the quintessential nerd and a lot of other people picked on him, but Gareth had always treated him well because their mothers were friends. Marshall was on his way over because he wanted to talk to Gareth about an opportunity to make some extra cash over the summer. Gareth really didn't need any extra money, but Marshall assured him that this job would involve almost no work and he'd be compensated handsomely for his time.

Gareth heard a car pull into the drive and when the car door slammed, he shouted to Marshall that he was at the pool. Within a few seconds, a red-haired young man with a medium build appeared at the pool gate. His green eyes widened behind thin wire-rimmed glasses at the sight of the tall and sexy jock who lazed so openly on a lounge chair on the other side of the pool. Luckily, he was able to reign in his reaction before Gareth noticed anything. Marshall had always had a crush on Gareth. Some might even say he idolized the friendly and handsome jock. Hardly anyone knew Marshall was gay, but those who did knew that his dream man was none other than one Gareth Prince – who happened to be straight as they come.

"Sup, Clancy," Gareth called and motioned for the nerd to come on over.

Marshall made his way to him, doing his best not to flush as Gareth offered him a friendly smile. "Not much, Prince," Marshall managed to reply, his voice cracking nervously. He usually did better than this around Gareth, but there were a couple of things working against him today. One, the near-naked condition of Gareth's body exerted an inexplicable tongue-tying, brain-befuddling force on Marshall.

And, two, he was feeling a little bit guilty for what he was about to do to his friend. He hadn't been completely honest with Gareth when he told him that he could make some extra money with an easy summer job. Sure, he'd make a ton money, but the fact was that it wasn't a job at all. Sure he wouldn't have to do any work, but by the end of everything, he was going to be exhausted. Still, Marshall couldn't bring himself to back down now. He'd already made promises that he couldn't break to people who were counting on him.

Gareth frowned when he noticed that Marshall was staring at his feet and seemed to have zoned out. He glanced at his watch and sighed. "Hey, man, I don't mean to rush you, but I gotta start getting ready. Allison McCahill is having a party tonight and I think it's gonna be crazy fun. What's this job thing you wanted to tell me about?"

"Right," Marshall cleared his throat. "Well, it starts tomorrow morning at 8:30..."

"8:30! Dude, I don't even need to hear anymore! No way, I'm gettin' up that early on summer vacation to go to work!"

Marshall put his hands up to stop Gareth from talking. "Hear me out, man! You know the big mansion on Mt. Paran? The one you can only see from the road in the fall and winter when the leaves are gone?"

Gareth nodded, "Yeah, it's old man Davenport's place. Old money, creepy old house. The guys and I used to try to sneak into the place on Halloween when we were younger."

"Yeah, that's the place." Marshall confirmed. "Well, my Uncle Tyson is his doctor and the old man hasn't been doing too good."

"He's not that old is he?" Gareth asked, curious as to where this was going. Davenport Manor, as everyone called it, had been the subject of much gossip and trepidation for the neighborhood kids for generations. Gareth and his buddies had always wanted to see what the place looked like on the inside, but they'd never had a reason to go in. Plus, if he was being perfectly honest with himself he'd always been a little leery of the chateau-like mansion.

"Nah, he's not

that

old. He's in his late 60's." Marshall replied and Gareth couldn't help but notice the light tremble in his friend's voice.

He chucked an ice cube into his mouth and crunched into it before asking, "So, what's this got to do with me? How can I help?"

Marshall swallowed and took a deep breath.

'Here goes nothing'

he thought as he laid out the lie that would trick Gareth Prince into one of the most life-changing experiences of his life. "Ok, so my uncle's been having me help out with Mr. Davenport. You know, getting towels and hot water when he needs it. But sometimes, we have to lift Mr. Davenport in and out of bed and the two of us just aren't strong enough."

"Uh huh," Gareth grunted, finally seeing where this was going.

Marshall continued with a nervous laugh, "Ya see, Mr. Davenport can be kind of ornery sometimes, especially when we...uh...ya know...drop him."

At this, Gareth burst out laughing. He knew Marshall's uncle pretty well. Tyson Clancy and his nephew had similar builds and the thought of the two of them struggling with the rather husky Charles Davenport was too funny.

Marshall cracked a smile and relaxed a little bit. He could feel his luck turning. "Yeah," he said sheepishly as he ran a hand over the back of his neck, "that's where you come in. We're pretty hopeless. Mr. Davenport said that if we could find someone strong to help lift him, he'd pay the guy a couple thousand bucks a week."

"WHAT?!" Gareth had stopped laughing. That was way more money than he'd considered. "Like, all I gotta do is help y'all lift him in and out of bed? How long do I have to stay?"

"Well, we only have to move him in the morning, for his bath. Then he stays in bed for the rest of the day. So that's it. Just once a day. I mean, we might have to call you for an emergency if he's demanding a second bath one day, but that's it."

Gareth shook his head in disbelief. "And he's willing to pay me a couple thousand dollars a week just to lift him in and out of bed every morning?" He stared at his friend. "Are you sure that's it?"

Marshall nodded a little too quickly, "Yeah, man. I mean, he hates my uncle and me doing it and he's a mega millionaire. He can afford to do whatever he wants with his money." He bit the inside of his cheek in an effort to remain calm. Marshall was a horrible liar and he wasn't sure if Gareth was buying his story.

"8:30?" Gareth double-checked with a playful grumble.

Marshall nodded.

"And you'll be there, too?"

Marshall nodded again.

"Alright," Gareth grinned, "I'm down."

Marshall couldn't the stop the sigh of relief that escaped his chest as he stood to shake hands with Gareth. "See you in the morning, then," he smiled as he made his way back to the pool gate. As he swing the thick wrought iron door open he looked back over his shoulder to see Gareth pulling his long body off of the lounge chair. He watched as he stretched his arms over his head and rolled his head on his neck. Marshall licked his lips at the play of muscles in Gareth's back as the jock leaned down to pick up his towel. The sight of Gareth's ass in his board shorts sent a tremor straight down the length of Marshall's dick and he couldn't help but whimper at the thought of what the next day would bring.

|~*~|

The next morning, Gareth slammed his hand down on his alarm clock and squinted at the bright blue numbers that seemed to glow brighter in the early morning light.

7:30am.

He slowly pulled himself out of bed and stood on unsteady feet. He stretched for a moment and his skin prickled against morning chill. He shivered as he remembered that he'd cut the A/C down when he came in from the party last night. He'd danced up a storm with a few different girls and he was dripping sweat by the time he'd finally gotten home around 4:45 that morning. Since he had the house to himself, he'd slept in the nude and a quick glance downward told him that his arms and legs weren't the only parts of him that were feeling the chill. He quickly stepped into the hall to bump the temperature up before heading to the bathroom to pee and take a shower.

Clean and freshly shaved, he emerged from the shower about 20 minutes later. He ran a brush through his short light brown hair and threw a drop of gel into it before getting dressed and making his way downstairs for some orange juice and a protein bar. He was out the door by 8:15 and pulling into the long, winding driveway of Davenport Manor by 8:28.

As the old mansion came into view, he felt a flutter of uncertainty in the pit of his stomach. The place was just as foreboding as he remembered it.

'Quit bein' such a puss,'

he chastised himself and pressed his foot a little more firmly on the accelerator.

He relaxed just a bit when he spotted Marshall's old BMW and Dr. Clancy's Volvo SUV in the circular part of the driveway that ran in front of the main entrance. As he pulled to a stop behind Marshall's beamer, the front door opened and Marshall appeared. Gareth took off his seat belt and watched Marshall turn his head and say something to someone he couldn't see inside the house. He wasn't sure if it was just his overactive imagination, but Marshall seemed more nervous than usual, even fearful of the person he was talking to.

Still, Gareth stepped out of the car and made his way up the stone steps that led to the grand entrance of the mansion. "Hey, Clancy," he greeted Marshall, injecting some a little extra pep into his voice.

"Hey, Prince," Marshall replied but he didn't actually look at Gareth.

Gareth shrugged and stepped into the house. As soon as the door closed, he spotted Marshall's uncle, Dr. Tyson Clancy, behind the door. Unfortunately, he hadn't spotted the syringe the doctor held. The same syringe that was now embedded in the left side of his neck. He didn't even get to protest before everything went black.

"Well done, m'boy," Charles Davenport growled from the top of the spiral staircase that overlooked the foyer.

Marshall cleared his throat nervously. "My uncle's the one who stuck him, sir."

Davenport chuckled, his deep voice reverberating off of the mansion's marble walls. "No, no. I meant well done on your selection. Just look at him! He's perfect. I don't think I could have chosen a better specimen myself." He made his way down the stairs, the picture of health and virility, regardless of his 66 years of age. Charles Davenport was a large man, but it wasn't fat. He was husky, but it was mostly muscle. He had a head full of thick grey hair and a sexy 5 'o clock shadow to match. His eyes were a deep shade of green and sharp as a tack. He was clearly at the top of his game in every way and he exuded power from his very pores. This was a man with whom one did not fuck.

As Charles Davenport got to the bottom of the stairs and walked over to the unconscious jock, he smiled wickedly. "Mmmm, yes. Very nice indeed." He bent down for a closer look at Gareth's face, which looked even more youthful in his current sleep-like state. "What's his name?"

"Gareth Prince, sir," Marshall squeaked.

"Prince...Prince, I know that name," his Uncle Tyson muttered. "Wait a minute! This is Gavril and Abigail's boy? You really

did

choose well, kid."

Davenport looked up at the doctor. "Why is that?"

Dr. Clancy smiled and pulled a gurney from the front hall closet. "Because, sir, the Princes are out of the country and will be for the next couple of months. We've got this boy all to ourselves without any interference from them."

"Oh," Davenport was nearly purring with satisfaction as he turned back to Marshall with a wink. "I might have to up your finder's fee a bit."

"Come on," Dr. Clancy grunted as he started to lift Gareth onto the gurney. "Help me get him to the basement."

Once they had Gareth on the gurney, Dr. Clancy and Davenport took him to the elevator behind the stairs. Marshall followed, his eyes greedily raking over the jock's body. His mind was running wild with the thoughts of what was about to take place.

|~*~|

Gareth awoke with a grunt as he slowly opened his eyes, then immediately panicked when he realized he couldn't see. He realized that something was covering his eyes because as he focused, he could feel the soft material of some sort of blindfold. When he went to move his arms to remove it, he found that they were secured to the cushioned surface he was laying on – one strap around each wrist, one above and below each elbow. There was also a strap over his chest, as well as his stomach just below his below button. A strap on each thigh, below each knee, and at each ankle insured that he would not be able to move any part of his body, which he was horrified to realize was totally exposed.

He also discovered that his head was being held still by some sort of clamp that had pads on the spots where it met his temples. Had he been able to see himself, he would have surely been alarmed by the chrome device that surrounded his head. Several chords ran from it to a computer behind his head. Above his body was some sort of unit that had buttons of varying sizes and colors as well as ports where different instruments and their cables could be attached. It was probably for the best that Gareth could not see any of this. He was one the verge of a panic attack as it was.

His breathing had increased to a tempo verging on hyperventilation when he felt someone's breath on his left ear. Then he heard a familiar voice whispering, "Are you ok, Prince?"

"Where the fuck am I?" Gareth demanded, but was quickly shushed.

Marshall threw his hand over Gareth's mouth. "Sssshhh! I'm not supposed to be talking to you, but I didn't want you in here all scared."

"Too late," Gareth whispered angrily. "What the hell's going on?"

Marshall sighed and leaned closer to Gareth's ear. "Ok, so I wasn't completely honest with you about this job."

"No shit, dumbass," Gareth seethed.

"Hey, do you want me to tell you what's about to happen to you or not?" Marshall waited for Gareth to nod, or as close to a nod as he could get within the confines of the chrome device, before continuing. "Davenport's not sick, in fact, he's probably in better shape than a lot of the guys you hang out with. Anyway, he's as healthy as a horse, but he's got one little problem. He can't get it up."

"Viagra?" Gareth suggested.

"He tried that and every other drug on the market. It works for a couple of weeks, then his body gets used to it and it wears off. A few of his other rich cronies have the same problem." Marshall stopped when he heard footsteps overhead. "They're coming."

Gareth panicked again, "Dude, you gotta help me get out of here!"

Marshall shook his head, then remembered that Gareth couldn't see him. "No way, man. Then neither of us will get paid!"

"Paid for what?"

"Listen, Davenport's been searching all over the world for a cure to his...problem, and he thinks he finally found it in Denmark. There's a group of scientists who've been studying the male reproductive system and they think they've discovered the key to returning a certain level of virility to men who may have lost it."

Gareth gnashed his teeth. "What the fuck does this have to do with me?"

"What these scientists discovered is that impotent men can regain their manhood by ingesting large amounts of semen and oxidized urine from other, more virile men...men who have higher testosterone levels than ordinary men. Like...athletes."

Gareth seemed to go completely still. His breathing even slowed. "Ingesting? As in drinking?"

"Yeah," Marshall answered.

Gareth tried to shake his head and struggled against his bonds but nothing budged. "Dude, I'm not gay. I can't cum for another dude!"

But Marshall wasn't listening. He'd gone over to a cart that was on the other side of the table Gareth was laying on and picked up a jar and a small paint brush. "Just think about it, man. If this works for Davenport, all his friends will want your junk, too! You'll have the most in-demand dick in the state!"

"What the fuck?" Gareth was shocked. He'd never heard Marshall speak that way. "Dude, come on..."

"Oh, I almost forgot!" Marshall exclaimed as put the jar and brush down by Gareth's head. Gareth immediately recognized the scent of cinnamon wafting from the jar. He was just about to ask what it was when he felt Marshall pinch his nose. When he opened his mouth to inhale, a ball gag was inserted into his mouth and quickly secured his head.

Gareth grunted against it, his muscular arms and legs trembling as he struggled futily against his bonds.

Marshall picked up the jar again and dipped the tip of the paint brush into it. When he pulled it out, a clear reddish paste clung to the bristles. He slow swabbed the substance onto Gareth's right nipple, causing the jock to groan and shrink away slightly.

"I just love this stuff," Marshall murmured before lowering his head and flicking the first application of paste from the suddenly stiff nipple. His tongue wriggled like mad over the nipple and he alternated between sucking it and lightly nipping at it between licks.

All the while, Gareth grunted and whimpered in fear and disgust. Why was his friend doing this to him? Why was any of this happening?

"Mmmmm," Marshall moaned as he gave up the nipple. "Delicious!" He dipped the brush into the jar again and repeated the same actions on Gareth's other nipple. By the time he finished, he was pleased to see that despite his struggling, Gareth's dick was semi-hard. He loaded the brush again and put the paste on both nipples, but this time he didn't move to lick it off. Very quickly, Gareth began to notice a tingling sensation on his nipples. He groaned as it became more of an itching sensation, and finally after about 30 seconds, it began to burn. He whimpered as his nipples felt like they were on fire.