Ropes, Gags, and Jockstraps: Volume Three

Ropes, Gags, and Jockstraps

Volume Three

A Keegan Kennedy Anthology

By Keegan Kennedy

Published by Kennedy-Empire Media

Copyright 2012, 2018

Smashwords Edition

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This book is a work of fiction. Places, events, and situations in this story are purely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is coincidental.

The opinions and comments made by the characters are not necessarily indicative of those of the author, Keegan Kennedy, the publisher, Kennedy-Empire Media or the e-Book platform from which this work was published.

Table of Contents:

Revenge

Roadside Assistance

The Interview

Other Titles from Keegan Kennedy

About the Author

Revenge

Original Publication Date:

August 14, 2012

Chapter One

I’d always heard there was a thin line between loathing and desire.

And I discovered it was true when I’d first spotted hotshot baseball jock, Brooks Patterson III.

Standing at five foot, eight, Brooks was a freshman with spikey brown hair, bluish-green eyes, and a gorgeous, prettyboy face that got him all the pussy he wanted.

I worked as a security guard at Queen’s Landing University in the college town of the same name in southeastern Louisiana. I was in charge of security at the Baseball Hub at QLU, so I saw the boy all the time.

Although it was hard not to, I couldn’t just stare his ass down. I had to be subtle. I couldn’t fuck around with my job, could I?

He had this presence, almost like glamour, so it was hard not to get lost in his spell.

He was short but built. Brooks had hulking shoulders, hard, rounded pecs, six-pack abs, and thick, strong calves. He had veiny baseball-sized biceps and shredded triceps. Curiously, the boy was hairless from the neck down. I was pretty sure that the narcissistic jock shaved or waxed to show off his perfect shape.

Not only had Brooks Patterson III been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but he obviously had some damn good genes. With all his advantages, the boy was a cocky little fuck and an arrogant prick.

Despite the fact that his father owned half of South Louisiana, the rich boy had ridden into QLU on a full baseball scholarship while some deserving, less-fortunate player had gone without a free ride to school. I hated to admit it, but the kid was phenomenal on the field. He was the best shortstop that I’d ever seen play.

Brooks actually drove a fully tricked-out red Ferrari 458 Spider—the fucking car was worth 300 thousand dollars. I’d heard through the grapevine that his rich daddy had bought it for him for his 18th birthday.

What in the hell kind of kid needed something that extravagant?

And off the baseball field, he didn’t wear a single article of clothing that didn’t have a Polo or Lacoste logo.

The kid was the entire package and as hot as fuck; he also knew it.

After five years in the United States Marine Corps with two tours in Afghanistan under my belt, I’d returned to my hometown of Queen’s Landing on the banks of the Mississippi River.

Now, I planned on chilling and working for a while before going back to school on the G.I. Bill. For five years, I’d been Drake Spartan, Marine. Now, I wanted to be Drake Spartan, Regular Dude, for a while.

Don’t get me wrong—I’d been damned proud to serve my country, but at twenty-three, it was time to start living my life.

Standing at six foot, five, I had deep-set hazel eyes, a brown flattop, and a square jaw. Being fresh out of the Corps, I was still adhering to my regular workouts. With massive shoulders, chest, and arms, I was pretty formidable. I had enormous hands and feet. In fact, I wore size sixteens.

I looked like your typical straight former Marine... masculine and cocksure. So very few out there knew that I was gay. I’d fucked many asses during high school and The Corps. In the vast spectrum of gaydom, I could best be classified as dominant power top. I’d never sucked a cock and had never been fucked—that wasn’t going to change. I usually went for cocky little butch fuckers like Brooks Patterson III. One of my favorite pass times was breaking-in straight boys and teaching them how to be submissive bottoms for my use. Being a dominant, I got off on showing them who was in charge, tying them up, spanking their asses, and taking complete control of them. With a little ass grabbing or dropping suggestive hints, I could usually uncover my fair share pseudo-straight boys willing to give up their mouths and asses to me.

Having grown up with the hardest working mom in the entire world, I’d been raised on the poor side of the tracks, but I’d never gone without. Mom had made sure of that.

Although I was pretty comfortable with my lot in life, it still chapped my hide how undeserving little fucks like Brock Patterson III had everything handed to them just because they were members of the lucky sperm club.

Guess I couldn’t win ‘em all.

My final tour had ended back in October.

Under the GI Bill, I could’ve signed up for the spring semester at QLU at no cost to me, but like I’d mentioned, I just wanted work and live for a while. After five years in The Corps, I was ready for something reasonably low-key and being the security guard at the Baseball Hub was pretty laid-back. Usually, my job was dull with the occasional exception of breaking up a fight between the baseball players here and there. Most of the time, I only gave people directions or told them where the bathroom was. It was pretty much cake.

I’d spotted Brooks during my very first week on the job. Rolling up in his red Ferrari, he had definitely made an impression. I had also spotted that arrogant attitude from a mile away.

Dressed in my tight black uniform t-shirt with SECURITY spelled out in white letters across my chest, I also wore my usual formfitting black slacks, belt, holstered gun, and my size sixteen black combat boots. Although I was allowed to carry a gun, that shithead Assistant Chief of Security made me carry it unloaded. Apparently, my Glock was just for show, but I secretly kept a single bullet in the pocket of my slacks just in case.

When I’d first spotted Brooks, he’d stepped out of his sports car and was instantly surrounded by his entourage of teammates and fraternity brothers. They seemed to regard him like he was a visiting celebrity. Over the weeks, I’d tried to make some eye contact with Brooks, but I’d gotten nothing from him. Usually, I could spot closeted straight boys eyeing the impressive bulge in my slacks or checking out my muscles, but the one time he’d looked my way, all Brooks gave me was a slight sneer.

About a week after I’d started, I’d been making my rounds past the baseball locker room and I’d caught sight of Brooks standing at his locker in only his jockstrap, cup, and baseball socks. Brooks had the most amazing bubble butt that I’d ever seen. I had momentarily gaped, but I’d quickly composed myself, tore my eyes away, and adjusted my cock before it got any harder. I had only seen that magnificent ass for maybe ten seconds, but his muscled globes framed in the white straps of his jock had stuck with me.

As I’d mentioned, I knew Brooks was getting a lot of pussy from the sorority girls on campus.

Late one night just before Christmas break, I’d overheard an extremely revealing conversation.

This chick with some random sorority letters across her tits had been waiting for Brooks outside of the locker room. She was a pretty girl, but apparently Brooks had gotten what he’d wanted from her and had thrown her away.

From my concealed spot down the corridor, I’d pretty much had front-row seats.

Brooks! she’d declared angrily.

There’d been no others in earshot.

What do ya want? he’d asked irritably.

Why haven’t you called me? Her voice was desperate. I’ve called and texted and I even left messages at the frat house!

Been busy, Brooks had grumbled dismissively.

You weren’t too busy when I sucked your cock! she’d returned.

Look, we had our fun... Can’t ya just move on, Penelope?

Penelope! she screamed. My name is Chelsea!

Whatever, Brooks had muttered. I don’t have time for this.

You told me you liked me! You sent me those flowers. Chelsea’s voice softened. You told me that you wanted me to be your girlfriend.

Brooks laughed mockingly. "I changed my mind… I suppose I’d fuck ya again ... maybe, but Cindy, you’re dreaming if ya think you’ll ever be my chick!"

Fuck you! she screamed, moving to slap him.

He’d caught her arm and shoved her. We won’t be having any dramatic slap moments here. I’m done!