"Please," the guy was saying as Chuck and Luke marched him into the alley where I waited, "just take my wallet. I've got at least five hundred in there. Credit cards, too. Take what you want and let me go. Please."
Poor guy has no clue what he's in for, I thought. No turning back now. Up until this moment, all I'd done was secretly take pictures of the man having dinner. Aside from the slight risk of being spotted and recognized by his date, that had felt just like a day at work: photographing a slightly younger, extremely attractive man wearing expensive clothes, in this case a leather jacket over a dark silk shirt, same as he was wearing today. Of course, I personally prefer the jobs when the man is modeling expensive underwear. Well, maybe before the night was out....
We'd known he would pass by this alley on his way home. Since he'd never met any of us, the plan had been for Chuck, who was of medium build, about his own size, and didn't look particularly threatening, to stop him and ask directions while Luke closed in from the other direction. If he wasn't alarmed when Chuck casually took hold of his arm, he definitely must have been when Luke's meaty hand closed around his other arm. Now he was being led deep into the shadows of an alley and found himself outnumbered three to one. Which was overkill; unless he was a black belt or something, it was pretty obvious that either Luke or I could have overpowered him singlehandedly.
"You can take my watch, too," he said, his voice cracking in panic. I hadn't really heard his voice clearly when I was a few tables away in the restaurant, let alone from across the courtyard of the motel, but his body language had radiated total confidence and charm in the company of his date -- a marked contrast to how he held himself now, surrounded by other men, looking suddenly small in his faux tough-guy leather jacket.
"Sure," Chuck said dryly. "Nate, take off his watch. Hold out his arm, bro."
The guy would have taken it off and handed it to me if we'd let him, I could tell, but Luke helpfully held his wrist for me while I worked the leather strap loose. It was actually kind of hot, pulling up his sleeve and relieving his hairy forearm of what it had worn. The watch was the kind men buy as a status symbol, when much cheaper ones keep much better time, and I doubted Chuck was actually interested in keeping it.
"You can have anything you want," he said nervously.
"Oh, we will. That looks like a nice jacket. Take it off him, Nate."
I stripped the leather jacket off his shoulders. It did look nice, and so did the dark silk shirt he was wearing underneath. Eying the top button eagerly, I awaited further instructions. I could always hope.
"Hand me his wallet, too, since he offered," Chuck said. I reached into the man's back pocket and slipped it out. Chuck flipped it open, ignoring the cash in favor of the other contents. "'Vincent', huh? This your wife and kids, Vince?"
Misunderstanding, the guy's eyes widened in alarm. "Look, do whatever you want with me--"
"Oh, we will!"
"Just don't hurt them."
Chuck looked indignant. Genuinely so, I knew. "That would never even occur to me! This is something to settle between us men. What I'm wondering is, did you give any thought to them when you started dating Jennifer?"
Vince looked startled. "How did -- Who are you?"
"Did you tell her you were married, you scumbag? Did you show her the baby pictures, the family portrait? I know Jennifer didn't show you her family portrait, or you'd have run the minute you saw my face."
"Wait! You... you're, um... Chuck?"
"So she told you my name? Somehow she forgot to mention yours. Or that you even existed."
"Look, man, you don't need to do this. We can settle this in a more civilized--"
An unmarked van pulled up, nearly blocking the alley entrance. "Finally!" Chuck said softly. He caught Luke's eye, silently exchanging a private joke.
Clearly realizing the van meant he was being kidnapped and not just robbed, Vince tried to make a break for it, as though he thought he could squeeze past the van before we could stop him, but he failed to break Luke's meaty grip. I hooked my foot behind his knees, sweeping his legs out from under him, and caught his ankles as his flailing feet flew toward me. The two of us carried him, struggling, to the van. As soon as we had him under control, I said tentatively to Luke, "Late as usual?", trying to show I was in on the joke.
"Yeah."
"I thought that was just holiday dinners and such."
"Chuck says Brad's always been like that," Luke told me. "Late for the school bus, late for family dinners every night."
Chuck grinned at me briefly as he passed us, as if belatedly trying to include me in the family joke. I appreciated that.
"Think about what you're doing, man," Vince said fearfully, paling under his rather nice tan, as Chuck slid the van door open for us. "It's kidnapping. Have your hired thugs let me go, and I won't press charges, I swear!" He failed to notice Luke and I exchanging a grin. "I won't even tell anyone this ever happened. And I'll break up with your wife, of course."
Chuck climbed into the van, saying to the driver, "Remind me, if I ever take up bank robbery, not to have you drive the getaway car."
"I got here all of two minutes after--"
"This isn't a dinner, Brad. Two minutes is a long time." He threw the jacket in the corner behind the passenger's seat and reached down to take Vince's ankles from me and swing them into the van. Vince was still trying to break free.
"You might want to stop struggling," I suggested. "What are you trying to do? If you manage to make Luke lose his grip on your shoulders, your head comes crashing down on the floor of the van, maybe even the metal edge."
"I won't let that happen," Luke said. "He can squirm all he likes; I've got him."
"See?" I said. "Give it up, buddy. We've got you now." Seeing that his shirt had come untucked and ridden up to the bottom of his rib cage, and having both hands free for the moment, I couldn't resist emphasizing my words by reaching out and lightly tracing the the fine trail of hair that ran from his navel down to somewhere below his belt. He squirmed all the harder, choking down what sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
I climbed in after Chuck, reached outside, and got a firm grip on Vince's biceps through the thin layer of silk. "Got him," I said when I had both arms firmly in my grip, and Luke let go of his armpits. It must have been unnerving, being passed feet-first up into a van.
"Set him down here for a minute," Chuck said, and they laid him out on the floor of the van, where the seats had been. Once I'd slid the door shut and Luke had planted a knee in Vince's chest, Vince seemed to realize how little hope he had of escaping. "What are you going to do with me?" he asked, his eyes wide with fear.
"Don't worry," I said, patting his exposed belly, "we're not planning to hurt you. We're just going to make you understand that we could do anything to you we want to." Satisfied that he was under control, with Chuck pinning his ankles and Luke kneeling on his chest, I rose, careful not to bang my head on the roof, and unfolded the portable massage table.
"By the way," Chuck said, "these guys aren't thugs." He slapped Luke's meaty shoulder affectionately. "At least, not hired thugs."
"Hey!" Luke said in mock indignation, poking Chuck playfully in the stomach. Chuck laughed and retaliated. They grappled, trying to tickle each other through the armor of their flannel shirts. Normally I enjoyed watching them roughhouse more than I cared to admit, but not while they were supposed to be working together to pin down a third man. I was nervous about staying parked here, in case someone had seen us in the alley and called the cops. Also, in close quarters one of them was bound to get too enthusiastic and accidentally slam an elbow into the door, my jaw, or the table I'd just set up, which took up almost all the space freed up by removing the rows of seats from the back of the van.
I figured I'd give them five more seconds to have their fun. But after two seconds, Brad said from the driver's seat, "ready to roll?"
"We should probably get this guy strapped down first," I suggested.
"Just his legs for now," Chuck said. "I want his shirt off."
"Ready, Nate? On three."
"What? Put me down!" The struggling prisoner managed to kick Chuck in the chest while Luke and I were lifting him onto the table.
"Oo!" I said in sympathy. "Sorry, Chuck, I should have--"
"My own fault, bro," he said, clasping my shoulder warmly. He rarely touched me like that, and wasn't in the habit of calling me "bro"; he reserved that almost exclusively for Luke. "You're doing fine. I really appreciate you doing this. I knew I could count on Luke, but I never expected you to help. Not for something as extreme as this."
"Of course," I said softly. I knew Luke would do anything for Chuck, and I wouldn't let Luke do something like this without me by his side. If standing by Luke wasn't worth the risk of a felony conviction, I didn't know what was. Well, maybe I did: the feel of Chuck's grateful hand on my shoulder, and hearing him call me "bro" -- that was a reward all by itself.
"Ready?" Brad said, watching over his shoulder.
"You can see we are," Chuck said impatiently. The van lurched forward.
"Hey, who taught you to drive?" Chuck said.
"You did, mostly, and Dad."
Chuck laughed. I was glad to see the tension ease momentarily between the brothers. I'd noticed that Chuck had not actually thanked Brad, not in my hearing anyway, whereas he'd thanked me and Luke effusively when we'd first agreed to help. Of course, only Luke had gotten that long hug. But those two had been close long before I'd even met Luke.
"I've changed my mind," Chuck told us, rubbing his chest. "I want his shoes off first."
"You okay?" Luke asked. "Let me see. Any bruises?" He reached for the first button below Chuck's collar.
"Nice try, buddy," Chuck said, laughing. "Get off me and get his shoes off."
Luke grinned, flashing me a look that said well, it was worth a try, and began unlacing one of the polished brown dress shoes. I took the other. He didn't make it easy; even as I finished sliding the shoe free of his foot with one hand, I had to hold his socked foot firmly imprisoned in the other.
"No, leave his socks on," Chuck said as Luke started pushing the sock on his side down to the ankle.
I elbowed Luke and whispered, "Told you. You didn't really think he was going to--"
"Take off his shirt," Chuck said.
"Now you're talking!" said Luke. He eagerly moved to the middle of the table, while I slid around the other side until I got to the end.
"Get off me!" As the handsome man struggled in my grip, I held his shoulders down while Luke unbuttoned his silk shirt. Unlike his three captors, he had an undershirt on underneath. Nevertheless, even with no bare skin being exposed, I was already getting hard just watching him being forcibly stripped. I hoped Chuck didn't notice, although I wasn't sure he'd mind that I was getting off on watching his helpless rival's shirt being removed.
"What are you going to do with me? Why are you undressing me?"
"Nice! Looks like he's got a hairy chest," said Luke, who didn't. He brushed his fingertips against the hairs that curled over the neckline of the undershirt, then hooked a finger under it and tugged the white cotton down to reveal a few inches of it. "She always did like hairy chests."
"Must run in the family," I said teasingly.
"OK, stop playing with the man's chest hair and get his shirt all the way off," said Chuck, one hand idly massaging his rival's socked foot as he watched. "Let me at his armpits."
Once his expensive silk shirt had been tossed in the general direction of his leather jacket, we pinned Vince's wrists firmly to the padded table.
"Stretch his arms out as far as you have room for," Chuck said. "In sort of a goalpost shape."
"Like this," Luke instructed me, moving the wrist he held to the corner of the table so that Vince's hairy forearm lay along the edge, parallel to his body, with his upper arm stretched out.
"Yeah, I know what a goalpost is, Luke."
His exposed armpits had just enough hair to stick out in black tufts against the background of the white sheet we'd covered the table with. "We really did it," I whispered to Luke. We were on our way out of the city, not a siren to be heard, and we had our unwilling passenger completely under our control. I didn't intend to fully let down my guard until Chuck let us strap his arms down, but for the moment I kind of enjoyed feeling him struggling in our grip to no avail.
Chuck edged toward us along the side of the table, but got sidetracked halfway when he noticed how our prisoner's undershirt had ridden up again when we raised his arms, to expose the lower half of his navel and an inch of wispy hair between that and his belt. His belly was very pale, as were his shoulders; obviously, he didn't do much sunbathing or use a tanning bed, like every underwear model I'd ever had the pleasure to work with, at least the ones who weren't naturally brown. Fair enough; it was probably healthier for him not to expose his fair skin to the sun, and unlike the underwear models, he'd never expected to have his body presented for the inspection of other men.
Chuck nudged the undershirt up a little further, revealing how the trail of hair continued up his belly. "Feeling vulnerable yet?" he taunted. The paleness of his belly made him look all the more vulnerable, if that was possible; we were obviously laying bare parts of his body he wasn't used to exposing. Chuck stepped close to me and reached for an open armpit.
"Don't touch me, you faggot!"
Chuck squatted down, getting right in the guy's face. "First of all, if I were gay you wouldn't be in this predicament, would you?"
A little oversimplified, I thought, but I saw his point.
"Secondly, you're lucky: some jealous husbands would have had you beaten to a pulp, especially if they had two big bruisers at their disposal." He glanced up at Luke, his eyes warm with affection, and then, to my surprise, turned that look on me, all too briefly. "Hold him tight." He dug his fingers into both hairy armpits at once.
"Third," Luke continued for him, "there are only two faggots on this van."
"Who are... are you calling... calling a..." he tried to say, but already laughter was competing with speech for oxygen supply.
"Don't try to talk," I advised. "You're better off not getting that word out again anyway."
He didn't have much choice about following my advice at this point; he was already roaring with laughter as the implacable fingers of his mistress's husband attacked his defenseless armpits. It seemed to have driven the insulting word right out of his vocabulary. Along with every other word that wasn't "Please!" or "No!" or "Stop!"
When Chuck finally did seem to relent momentarily, it was only to attack his exposed belly, which proved even more ticklish. Then he produced a hairbrush from a bag he'd stashed in the van earlier, and attacked the soles of his feet through the socks. After awhile he had Luke strip away even that meager protection, and continued tormenting the bare soles of his rival's feet with the hairbrush and various other diabolical instruments, even an electric toothbrush, with which he invaded even the spaces between his toes. He invited Luke to help, standing shoulder to shoulder as they simultaneously attacked both feet. That left me to pinned both his shoulders down singlehandedly, which was easy enough once I centered myself with the top of his head against my crotch.
"Please!" he said, almost weeping. "I've learned my lesson. Just let me go and I promise I won't do it again."
"We're just getting started," Chuck said, leaning forward between his legs to toy with the wispy trail of hair that he'd laid bare between his undershirt and his belt. Vince moaned and tried to twist out of reach, but he couldn't get far with me pinning his shoulders and his legs strapped down.
Luke said, "You're not getting out of here before we've stripped away every shred of dignity, and every scrap of clothing." He's been telling me all along that Chuck would allow us -- would tell us -- to strip the guy completely naked. I was still betting he'd just have us finish stripping him to the waist, if it even went that far. But Luke knew him a hell of a lot better than I did.
So I wondered if Luke was just bluffing when he backed up Luke's statement. "That's right. This is what happens to any man who threatens my marriage." Giving his rival's belly a mockingly companionable parting pat and straightening up, he added almost sheepishly, "If it makes you feel any better, I'm pretty sure that includes me." He glanced briefly at Luke, with a nervous laugh.
"Oh, yeah," Luke confirmed, almost under his breath, but emphatically. I think he meant it, too. I got the impression that, for just a second, he was picturing Chuck stretched out in front of him, with half his clothing removed, his armpits exposed, his bare shoulders held firmly by our four strong hands. I know I was. I could visualize it easily, since I'd seen Chuck in a tank top once. The day we'd first met, in fact.
"But that's never going to happen," Chuck said resolutely. He pointed an accusing finger at Vince. "What did happen to my marriage, is you. Strip him to the waist!"
Even though we'd had Brad turn the air conditioner up to maximum by this time, we all were sweating a little in our flannel shirts. Our captive was sweating even harder, from all his useless attempts to fight us off. He renewed his struggles now, protesting as we peeled his damp undershirt up to his nipples. Finally we got it over his head and off his arms, and I was free to slam his bare shoulders back down on the table and pin him again as he lay there panting.
"Wow, nice!" Luke said, running his hand over the hairy pecs. "Almost as hairy as Nate's. And definitely hairier than yours, Chuck. Sorry, bro."
"No way!" Chuck scoffed. "Your memory's failing you, dude. When's the last time you saw me with my shirt off?"
"Take it off, then. Refresh my memory."
"Nice try, buddy!" Chuck said again, chuckling.
"Also, look at how trim he's kept himself." Luke slapped the helpless man's belly, as if to show how hard it was. "Whereas you're starting to put on a few extra pounds."
I thought that was a little unfair. Sure, Vince's belly was so flat it was slightly hollow, but that was because we had him stretched out on his back. If Chuck's waistline had any bulge at all, it was too slight to show under his tucked-in flannel shirt. But Luke continued, "This time it's nowhere near Thanksgiving, so no excuses." He lunged forward and grabbed Chuck by the belt buckle. "See, I should be able to slip my fingers in between your belt and your belly, much further than this."
"Actually, no: you totally shouldn't," Chuck said, still chuckling.
"See, I can do it to Vince here." Releasing Chuck, Luke shoved his hand under the shirtless man's belt up to the wrist.
"Sure, you can do that," Chuck said. "You can do anything you want to him. He's ours to play with as we see fit. I don't mind sharing him with you; you know that." He worked his way to the front of the table. The table left almost no room for two average-sized men to edge past each other, let alone an average-sized one and one with bulky muscles, unless the two were real friendly. Fortunately, that wasn't a problem for Chuck and Luke. He squeezed behind him, casually touching Luke's shoulder as he went by, and finally loomed triumphantly over his helpless rival's bare chest as I continued to hold him down for him. He reached down to brush thick chest hair away from a nipple. Luke and I both watched him with interest. Stroking it with his thumb, Chuck asked, "Does she like to do this? Does she like to put her --?"
"Dude!" Luke protested, his face screwed up in disgust.
"Oh. Sorry, man!" Chuck said.
Personally, I was very relieved I wasn't going to have to hear Chuck talking about what his wife liked to do in the bedroom. He might not respect my distaste for hearing about straight sex, but at least he understood how inappropriate it was to talk about her like that in front of Luke.
Chuck ducked between my arms and squatted next to his rival's head. To give him room, I had to back up until my back was against the back of the driver's seat. We were still touching, and I was basically embracing him from behind while gripping Vince's shoulders, but Chuck didn't seem to mind the contact. We'd sort of started our relationship that way, with the three of us working together in close quarters, in all kinds of awkward positions. He and Jennifer had just bought a new refrigerator and they'd asked Luke to come over and help him carry it from the truck into the kitchen. Luke had brought me along, which even Jennifer had to admit was a natural thing to do. The fridge was huge, and even with three men, we barely got it inside without bashing it on the doorframe. Not unlike Vince.
Chuck now placed his nose almost touching the pale skin halfway between Vince's armpit and the edge of his chest hair. He inhaled deeply. "Nice cologne. I recognized it the minute we grabbed you. That was how I first suspected she was seeing someone, you know, and asked Nate here to follow you. I smelled you on her. But I never confronted her about it. I wanted to settle this man to man."
"You call this man to man?" our captive said dully.
"Well, with a little help. 'Men to man.' Here's the important thing, and I want you to listen very carefully: I'm not planning to tell her I found out about you, and you're not going to tell her, either, if you don't want to wind up right back on this table. You know we could be doing a lot worse to you than this." He dug his fingers into his rival's ribs. He started to double up laughing, and Luke planted a hand in the center of his chest and slammed him back down. He again began begging for mercy, swearing to do whatever we wanted if we'd just let him go. Then he was laughing too hard even to beg.
So that we didn't have to keep holding him, we strapped his arms to the table, still in the same position. He did smell good. It seemed to me it wasn't the cologne alone, but a combination of the cologne mingling with his natural musky scent. Now we had him bound and helpless, armpits exposed, and our hands were free. Chuck had us each tickle an armpit while he started in again on his ribs. I wondered if he was enjoying the sight of his rival exhausting the last of his strength, back arched, muscles straining against the bounds, half as much as I was. The helpless man's struggles were growing feeble, and his breath ragged, as Chuck's relentless fingers made their way slowly down to his belly. After awhile, he unbuckled his rival's belt and began removing it. Vince whimpered softly in anticipation.
"You want his pants off?" Luke asked.
"No, let's leave them on for now. For now I just want to get at this area just under his belt. He's so ticklish just below his belly button, I'll bet he's even more sensitive a little further down." He undid the pants, revealing the waistband of striped boxer shorts. He pushed that down just enough to expose an inch of creamy white flesh, a shade lighter than the torso above it. The trail of hair that ran down from his navel continued as far down as we could see; obviously it merged with his pubic hair, which had to be almost under the waistband at this point. "You guys can take a break if you want. Don't worry, I won't unstrap his legs without your help. Hand me that feather, would you?"
By this time Brad had parked the van on a side road in the woods. We left the shirtless, barefoot prisoner to his rival's tender mercies while we stepped outside to get some fresh air.
"Feels great to be able to stand up straight," Luke said, stretching his hands over his head as far as he could, and arching his back. "Ironic that our prisoner's the only one who's able to stretch out in there."
"You mean, be stretched out. I can't believe Chuck's taken it this far."
"You didn't really think he was going to leave the guy's undershirt on, did you? I'm still betting he has us strip him naked sooner or later."
"Did your sister only ever date guys with hairy chests?" I asked, enjoying the cool breezes playing over my own though my open collar.
"As far as I know. I can't say I got to see all her boyfriends shirtless, but we had a pool, so.... And most of them wore button-down shirts, open at the collar, so I could tell, if I looked closely. Which I did."
"I'm sure you did," I said with a knowing laugh.
"When they were just hanging out, not trying to impress Dad, and not on their way to someplace fancy, they usually left the top button undone, like you've got yours," he said, hooking his finger in my shirt and peeking at my own chest hair. "Sometimes even two." He undid one for me. Then another. I made a show of resisting, because he always liked that, then allowed him to grab my wrists and bury his nose in my chest hair. He inhaled deeply and appreciatively before raising his head. Then he trapped my head in the crook of his elbow and pressed his mouth insistently against mine, pulling me close.
I was unsurprised to feel his erection grinding against my own. I couldn't take much credit for this one; I was sure it was partly the memory of his sister's past boyfriends shirtless, and mostly the reality of the current one we had under our power in the van. I felt his tongue slip between my lips, seeking entry to my mouth. I resisted with my own tongue, but his free hand was busy untucking my shirt and slithering inside it, up across my back, until my lower torso was exposed to the night air and his hand was gripping my shoulder. His thumb now rested casually about half an inch from my ticklish armpit, and his other arm, wrapped around my torso and half supporting me, was positioned so his fingers were splayed across my ticklish ribs. Surrendering to the implied threat, I relaxed in his arms and let his tongue explore my mouth.
I didn't even hear the van door sliding open about three yards from where we stood, not until it stopped with a thud. Luke didn't hear either, or maybe just didn't care, but I broke away.
"Wow, when you guys take a break, you really take a break," Chuck said. "No need to make out in the bushes when we have a perfectly good private van."
I only wished we were in the bushes; we were standing there in plain sight. Guiltily, I buttoned my shirt back up.
In a more serious tone, he added, "When you get a chance, I'd like you to come in and strip Vince to his shorts. Your camera is in the van, right, Nate?"
"You really think pictures will shame him enough to keep quiet about this?" Luke asked.
"To remind him to keep the promises he's been making, over and over, whenever he's not laughing too hard? Yeah, I do."
"He'd promise anything to get us to stop," I said. "How do we know he means it?"
"Yeah, and what about making sure he stays away from Sis?"
"Dude," Chuck said, "he's going to be scared to death of us. I've told him that our no-violence policy only applies to this first warning. If he so much as calls her again--"
Luke said, "I still say we should leave our initials on his chest, or 'PROPERTY OF Chuck' or something, so he'll be ashamed to let her see. That tattoo artist buddy of mine--"
"I've got another idea," I said.
# I took plenty of pictures before we did it to him. Pictures of Vince lying bound and helpless in his striped boxer shorts, with and without the man he'd cuckolded posing triumphantly behind him. I'd crop or pixelate Chuck's face out of the copies we sent him after we freed him, and also the ones we would threaten to post on the Internet if he didn't cooperate.
I myself had an appreciation of both hairy and smooth chests, and tonight I was going to be able to capture both, from one man. He whimpered as Luke and I smeared every square inch of his chest and belly with the shaving cream Brad had purchased from the nearest drugstore before driving us back to the secluded spot.
"Really seems a shame," Luke muttered as the last of the chest hair disappeared beneath the foam.
"You'll have the pictures I just took to look at whenever you want," I said.
Vince whimpered as his romantic rival approached him with the razor, and looked pleadingly from me to Luke.
"Look, whatever he's paying you guys, or whatever hold he has over you--"
"Don't you get it?" Chuck said, casually shouldering his way in between us. "They're family."
"Some kind of organized crime family?" he asked, eyes widening.
"Hell, no! These are my brothers-in-law."
I looked sharply at Chuck, pleasantly surprised, but he didn't notice. He was too busy picking which part of his rival's chest he was going to start with. Vince whimpered again as he helplessly watched the first stroke of the razor remove a swath of his lush chest hair.
Personally, once we'd wiped his now-smooth chest down with a towel, I actually thought he looked even more attractive this way. What chest muscles he had now stood out much more clearly. Even though he belonged to Chuck and not to me, I couldn't resist running my finger down the length of his now-hairless torso, along the declivity of his sternum, from the hollow of his throat to the hollow of his navel. I took more pictures and a few seconds of video, showing Chuck running his hand over his rival's denuded pecs, tauntingly drawling, "Smooth!" It was obvious that Vince wouldn't want anyone to ever see how utterly he'd been in his rival's power, much less his less-than-brave reaction to it. His face was tear-streaked by this time.
"Now... let's see what I've been up against," Chuck said, snapping the waistband of his helpless rival's shorts cruelly against his belly. "Take his boxers off."
"Told you he'd want him stripped naked," Luke muttered to me. He grabbed the waistband and tugged the boxers down, revealing a shriveled penis and a ball sac hairy than mine but not as hairy as his own.
"Is that all?" Chuck sneered when his rival's genitals were revealed.
Vince, who had struggled uselessly when we'd stripped him to the waist and later when we'd taken off his pants, now just lay there defeated, breathing hard but not bothering to resist as his last scrap of clothing was removed.
Luke stopped when he had the boxers down almost to his knees and said, "Could you each grab one foot while I unstrap his legs?"
Now it was my turn to stand next to Chuck, our shoulders pressed together. It felt warm and good, and he didn't seem to mind, probably because he was focused on the bare foot in his hand. Then again, he never seemed to mind physical contact with me, at least when we were joining our strength in a common cause.
Almost simultaneously, Chuck and I decided to take advantage of the opportunity for a little more tickling during the few seconds it took Luke to slide the boxers down his legs as far as his ankles. Then we had to shift our grip to his legs as he pulled them over his feet.
"No contest at all," Chuck said, inspecting his naked rival's equipment closely without touching it. "I don't see why--"
"In all fairness," Luke interrupted, "what counts is when it's erect." He tossed the boxer shorts on top of the pile of clothing and strapped the naked man's legs down firmly again. Then he engulfed the limp cock in his fist -- he'd never have been able to make mine disappear so completely in his fist, if only because mine would have been fully erect in this situation -- and began pumping it. Vince moaned softly. I couldn't tell if it was despair or reluctant pleasure.
"Still looks pretty soft," Chuck said after a few dozen strokes.
Continuing to pump with his right hand, Luke gripped his brother-in-law's shoulder earnestly with his left, saying, "This is the way it will get whenever he so much as looks at Jennifer again, now that he associates her with tonight. Every time he looks at her, he'll remember being bound and helpless at the mercy of a jealous husband with two big guys to back him up. Stretched out naked, with every stitch he was wearing scattered at our feet."
"And knows he'll be getting a lot worse next time, if we find out he so much as looked at her," Chuck added.
Seeing Luke's hand on a cute guy's cock was the second or third hottest thing I'd seen in the past hour. So I probably shouldn't have said anything to discourage him, but I just couldn't resist messing with him. "Are you sure you want to be touching that thing? Knowing where it's been?"
"Ewww!" He jerked his hand away from his jerk-off attempt, like a man dropping a hot frankfurter. Well, more like hot penne pasta, cooked until limp. Well, not quite until it was limp; he'd managed to get it al dente by now.
Our prisoner had been lying there defeated through all this, silent except for the occasional whimper, a few gasps that might have been pleasure or pain or surprise, and of course the occasional laughter that had been forced out of him by the foot tickling. Now he managed the first defiant words he'd gotten out in some time: "Are you afraid of a real man's cock, faggot, because it's been inside a pussy?"
"Shut up!" Looking like he wanted to punch him, Luke settled for slapping an open hand on his belly, leaving a handprint that lingered for minutes afterward.
"Ah... dude..." I told Vince, "you might want to avoid the vulgar talk when you're tied up naked at the mercy of the lady's husband and her brother."
"You're her brother?" he said to Luke, his eyes widening in alarm.
"That's right, you little punk," Luke said, putting his face about two inches away from Vince's. "Didn't you notice my eyes? Everyone says they look exactly like hers. Or are you one of those bastards who never even notice the color of a woman's eyes, because they're looking further down? Well, next time you look deep into her eyes -- which had better be never -- remember what we -- look at me!" He took the guy's chin in his hand and forced him to look into his eyes. "Remember tonight, lying here utterly at our mercy, and what we did to you. And what we could have done to you." With his free hand, he stroked the man's nipple. I took over pumping his semi-soft cock at the same time. This was kind of hot; we really ought to try a three-way with a willing partner sometime.
Eventually we gave up on trying to get him any more than half erect. Not before we'd kept at it to the point where it must have been getting almost painful. I took another set of photos showing him stretched out naked with his balls cupped gently in his rival's hand. On his brother's instructions, Brad had bought a large case of beer, along with ice and a cooler, at the time he'd bought the shaving cream and razor, and we'd had to get three of them into Chuck before he was willing to be the one to touch another man's balls. I'd have been happy to do it instead, but I felt it was more poetic if it was Chuck whose palm his balls rested in.
We used the remainder of the beer to celebrate our triumph. The three of us, I mean; Brad sat out, on the excuse that he had to drive, but maybe also because he didn't want to play our impromptu drinking game. The rule for the game was that we had to roll each ice-cold can along some part of our prisoner's naked body, or hold it against at least three sensitive spots, that hadn't yet been tormented. Then we could make another player open it and drink it. One of the most obvious pairs of targets immediately shriveled to a little prune under the onslaught, as though trying to take refuge in the warmth of his pubic hair.
Other targets no longer had anywhere to hide; we'd rendered his nipples naked and defenseless. Or so it seemed to me by the time we'd finished the case of beer, and the fact that I thought for one moment that chest hair would be any real protection against an ice-cold can of beer probably meant that the beer had shriveled some of my key brain cells, and probably my liver too, even as it shriveled our prisoner's nipples and scrotum. I'd stop paying attention to which part of the can the others touched to his body, and I'd swear the last beer Chuck handed me tasted a little of smegma. Not that I could remember that word at the moment, but I recognized the smell, which was not too different from my own or Luke's. Or other men I could name from my earlier years, and a few I couldn't.
I looked up from contemplating my beer to see Chuck chugging the one his brother-in-law had handed him, having taken it out of an armpit. Chuck had undone a couple of buttons of his shirt, maybe under the influence of the beer but more likely because he was sweating from our exertions in the close confines of the van. All three of us were wearing flannel shirts tonight. I was wishing I'd worn a T-shirt instead, or even worn one underneath so I could have taken off the flannel. Instead, like Chuck, I'd had no choice but to undo a couple of buttons. I know that lots of guys feel more powerful strutting around with their shirts off, especially guys who have as much muscle as I do, but for me, exposing all that skin just makes me feel vulnerable. I'm sure Vince would have agreed. I didn't feel I shared that level of intimacy with Chuck, let alone his brother. Besides, I kind of liked the idea of three fully-clothed men looming over one naked one.
Unbuttoning two buttons hadn't helped me much. Chuck's shirt looked like it was of thicker material than mine, so he must have been sweltering. As for the beer, he actually seemed the most steady on his feet of the three of us. I'd lost track of how many we'd forced him to drink. I'd been picking mostly on Luke, while Luke and Chuck had concentrated mostly on each other. Chuck had to be feeling it too, being the lightweight, relatively speaking. I'd seen him slightly drunk before -- in his own home, at holiday parties. I'd never gotten drunk with him, because I hadn't felt comfortable getting even a little drunk in his house, afraid his wife wouldn't let him invite me back if I got too openly affectionate with her brother. Although at this point maybe I was safe; it was almost a tradition for me to come. Let's see, Luke and I had been living together for three years by that October day that we'd helped move the refrigerator, the same day Chuck had invited his brother-in-law to bring me to Thanksgiving for the first time. So it had been three or four times by now; I couldn't do the math in my head at the moment. I was always careful to be on my best behavior in front of her. Ironically, she seemed indifferent to her husband getting roughly affectionate with her brother, which he tended to do once he had a few drinks in him.
"I'm going out to take a break," Chuck said. "It's either that or give you your wish, bro. He fanned himself with his shirtfront, giving me tantalizing glimpses of a chest that was probably as hairy as my own.
"Come on, man, stay inside. Don't let up on him just because you don't want to take off your shirt!" Luke grappled with him and pinned him to the rear of the passenger compartment, then worked to free one of his hands so he could get at his next shirt button.
"Sometimes those two really need to get a room," Brad muttered, as if to himself. He was still sitting with his back to us in the driver's seat, the only place there was room for him.
"I know, right?" I said, moving forward and draping my hand companionably on the seat back behind his shoulders.
He looked up at me. "Does it make you a little jealous?"
"Hell, no!" I refrained from adding that I thought it was kind of hot.
"What about when they're off somewhere alone together?"
"What," I scoffed, "you don't think--"
"Oh, no way, nothing like that!" Wistfully, he said, "I just mean, ballgames and fishing, when they're doing stuff together and you're not invited?"
Oh. And all these years, I'd automatically attributed his coldness toward Luke to homophobia. Maybe I'd jumped to conclusions. Could it actually be jealousy?
"Well, maybe a little, when you put it that way." It was true, just a little. "Although I'm not into fishing or watching ballgames. We should talk about this sometime, man. Some other time, when we're not... you know..."
"Busy torturing our sister-in-law's secret lover?"
"Yeah. That," I said, feeling a warm glow that wasn't due to the beer. Chuck's earlier words had been going through my head: These are my brothers-in-law. Now his brother had referred to "our" sister-in-law. They'd both said it so casually. I dropped my arm off the seat back and squeezed his shoulder, possibly the first time I'd ever touched my -- what was he to me? My brother-in-law-in-law-in-law, I guess.
Luke had Chuck's shirt entirely unbuttoned by now, and spread out to either side. He was now trying to push it off his shoulders, but since he had our brother-in-law pinned against the wall, getting it all the way off was going to be difficult. Contrary to all the ribbing earlier, Chuck's chest hair was definitely as thick as my own was and his rival's had been, and his belly looked flat enough to me, at least in this supine position.
"Seriously, dude, get off me. I'm really working up a sweat now. I really need to go outside to cool off, shirt or no shirt."
"No shirt!" Luke said cheerfully.
I grabbed my drunken lover from behind and pinned his arms behind his back, pulling him off our brother-in-law. "Enough," I said in his ear. He knew I was turned on by it, though. Not only did he know me all too well, he must also be able to feel my erection pressing against him as I held him.
"Thanks for the rescue, man." Chuck picked himself up. I expected him to escape outside, or maybe to immediately button his shirt, but instead he lunged at his restrained brother-in-law and quickly unbuttoned his shirt in retaliation. He ran his fingertips up and down his belly; I couldn't see, but from the immediate reaction I was sure he was tracing the vertical trail of hair on his belly, even wispier than Vince's. It was the only hair on his torso, and the only really ticklish spot on his whole body. Maybe it should have bothered me that our brother-in-law knew exactly where my lover was ticklish, but for some reason it didn't. Luke struggled in my arms, laughing helplessly, but I had a good grip.
It only lasted a minute. Then Chuck, breathing hard, mopped his brow with the loose flap of his shirt and slid open the door to get out. As he was about to close it, I said, "Wait, I gotta take a leak."
There was one tree nearby that was wide enough to offer some privacy. I was pretty sure we'd all been peeing against the same tree, all four of us. Everyone except the naked man tied down inside, and if we kept him much longer we should probably let him use it too. Minus the privacy, of course. Not that we had to worry too much about him making a break for it, barefoot and naked, miles from town.
Chuck was sitting on a fallen log, his shirt still wide open, when I emerged, zipping my fly. I sat down beside him.
"Hey, thanks again, buddy," he said.
"Any time. It was fun. We ought to gang up on Luke more often. I can pin him sometimes, but it never leaves me with a hand free to tickle him. You really got him good."
"I mean thanks for all of this." He slipped his arm around my shoulders. "I couldn't have asked for two better brothers-in-law."
"Thanks, man." I get mushy and sentimental when I'm drunk. I reached around and put my hand on his far shoulder in turn, my arm resting diagonally across his back. Outside his open shirt, of course. "You know, I think tonight is the first time you've ever called me your brother-in-law."
"Really?" he said, sounding puzzled.
"It makes sense that you wouldn't. It's sort of once removed, right? And after all, the only 'law' part is your marriage to his sister."
"What are you talking about? I call you guys my brothers-in-law all the time."
"Really? To who?" I was sure I'd have noticed.
"Friends, coworkers, anyone I mention you to. Anyone except Jennifer, of course."
"Of course."
"I mean, talking to her I say 'your brother and his partner' or just 'Luke and Nate.' Oh, and talking to Richie -- who probably isn't old enough to understand anything I say yet, but still -- I say 'your two uncles.'"
"Thanks a lot," Brad called out sardonically. He was still in the front seat, but the passenger window was down for ventilation.
"I think he meant to say 'your two maternal uncles,' Brad," I called placatingly. I wasn't quite drunk enough to forget the readymade terms that families headed by heterosexual couples had for referring to the two sides of the family.
"I know what it is! At Thanksgiving dinner or holiday parties, when I introduce you, I say 'This is Jennifer's brother Luke and his partner Nate.' Is that it?"
"Yeah, exactly."
"Well, shit." He pulled me closer than most straight guys, relative or not, would ever do while sober. "I'm so sorry, man! I never meant to make it sound like you're not my family too. I was just trying to be, you know, precise. For all they know, I have two sisters and you're their husbands. It might weird them out if they saw you holding hands or kissing. Or they might get the idea you're both her brothers, and then it would be really weird."
"Like we'd ever hold hands or kiss under your roof!"
"She can learn to deal with it. If you keep it lower key than my cousin and her new boyfriend last Thanksgiving--"
"Not a very high bar!"
"Exactly. And she didn't say a thing. And at the holiday party, well, she's the one who insists on putting up mistletoe."
"Anyway, why not just say 'This is Jennifer's brother and brother-in-law'?"
"No, I don't like the sound of that. You're not just hers. I want to stake a claim in you too, big guy." He tightened his grip on my shoulder muscles and thumped my upper chest possessively with his other hand. "Ever since I finally got to meet you, I've always thought of you as family. I thought you knew that."
"I'm not sure your wife considers me to be part --"
"Doesn't matter!" he said vehemently. "That's the thing about relatives. People don't get to choose them. We're stuck with you whether we like it or not." He gave my shoulder another affectionate squeeze. "And I'm glad. If I did have a choice, I'd pick you any day."
"Thanks, man. I feel the same way about you."
"And that was before what you did for me today. You probably saved my marriage."
"Glad to help." Especially since his marriage seemed like the weakest link in the chain that bound us as brothers-in-law. A surprising thought.
Renewed hoarse laughter and pleading reached us through the open windows of the van.
"Want to go see what your lover is doing to my rival?" he said, letting go of me to begin buttoning his shirt.
"Wait, leave it unbuttoned."
"You're as bad as he is," he said with a grin.
"I was thinking we should get some pictures where you pose bare-chested with your naked rival, showing off your chest hair and how you've deprived him of his." I couldn't believe I was suggesting this.
"Well, when you put it that way... Sure! I will if you will, bro."
"Me?"
"Your chest is just as hairy as mine." I realized he'd not only got a good look at it partially unbuttoned tonight, but also glimpsed it fully open when he'd caught me making out with Luke. He fingered the top button of my shirt playfully: a casual act for him, but I wondered if he understood how much it aroused me. For a second, I thought he was going to start unbuttoning my shirt, and I could already feel myself getting hard at that prospect. I couldn't make up my mind whether to just stand there and let him, or put up a token resistance, which would be more fun but might discourage him. Surely he knew how effortlessly I could fend him off if I seriously wanted him to stop.
To my disappointment, he let go of the still-fastened button and squeezed my shoulder through the flannel. "So how about it? We can take turns with your camera, and then Luke can take one of us together."
Breathing hard, I said, "It's a deal... bro."
He waited expectantly, and I began unbuttoning my shirt, conscious of his eyes on me. "Man," he said, "you must work out a lot." Confident that I was going through with it, he removed his own shirt entirely, which I approved if since it would show off a hundred percent of his chest hair in the picture. He tucked it under his belt.
"I don't know what Luke was talking about when he said you were putting on weight," I said, by way of returning the complement. I gave him a friendly poke in the stomach, which was not particularly soft.
"Well, he's known me longer, and he's probably right that I should start watching it. I used to have abs like you. Those look rock hard." He reached out before I could stop him and ran a finger along one ripple of my abs. "Ah! I see you're as ticklish as your partner." He did it again deliberately, just to be sure, and I doubled up laughing. "I'll have to keep that in mind. Now get that shirt off and let's get back in the van."
***
Luke didn't look up when we shut the door behind ourselves. It was a measure of how utterly focused he was on what he was doing to Vince; normally two shirtless men appearing unexpectedly would have grabbed his attention. Granted, he'd probably seen our brother-in-law bare-chested plenty of times before, and he definitely knew my body as well as his own. I was about to step forward and ask him to hand me the camera stowed behind him when Chuck grabbed my shoulder, indicating that we shouldn't interrupt.
Apparently our prisoner's ball sac, which had shriveled defensively while we were taking turns applying cold beer cans to it, had had enough time by now to loosen up again and become exquisitely sensitive to being stroked with a soft feather. Chuck draped his arm casually across my back as we crouched there watching his other brother-in-law continue the humiliation of his vanquished rival.
