Art pointed out he was a guy. Doyle said that he knew, he just didn'tcare. Art had a talent for it, he said. Besides, he would make sure noone found out. Art knew a threat when he read one. He had taken this allin. He desperately wanted to say no. He wasn't a girl! It had all been ahuge mistake! He didn't give blow jobs to boys on demand! He wanted tosay no, but he didn't. He still found himself in the toilet at lunchtimewith Doyle's cock in his mouth. He was happy for the company. The nextday, more texts from more boys. They all wanted some of the action,providing no one else found out. School was ending soon and they wantedto take any last chance they could. Art had obliged all those he could.It beat being cast adrift and alone, he figured.The very last day of Art's college life rolled around faster than he hadexpected. The school was abuzz with energy. Groups of girls gathered incircles, passing photos to each other, crying as if they would never seeeach other again. Boys goofed. Henderson looked at Lewis, saw his teeth biting his lower lip in feral concentration, a look of grim glee on his face. Then he shifted his gaze to Lewis' claw like, albeit manicured, fingers, one hand stretching Lewis skin and pulling apart the wound as the other held the scalpel that made the brand, two short cuts. They were painful enough to make him grip the sides of the table, but not as painful as Henderson expected. He was well past the possibility of another erection, but his testicles felt warm and heavy on his thighs and his lips parted in fervent acceptance of the pain and the mark.Lewis pulled a tube out of his pocket. "Now I'm going to put this stuff on it. It will pretty much stop the bleeding, but it will make it scar a little. So you can remember." He grinned his wolfish grin. Another frisson engulfed Henderson at the new pain.Lewis left and Henderson was engulfed in exhaustion, physical and emotional, total, thorough, complete exhaustion. As he lay there he savored.
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