The Telemachus Story Archive

Haggling over the Merchandise
By Amalaric (Illustrated by Amalaric)
Email: Amalaric



Market day and the muscle futures are booming. Corn fed, Mid-western bulls in their twenty-something year old prime go for a premium. Back room trading takes up where the mass marketing on the busy floor ends and one of the studs is brought in for inspection and possible sale. Looking around the room with wide brow creased in worried reluctance and eyes filled with fear, for all the world like he was being led into a slaughter house, the handsome commodity shambles under the prod and takes up his position where the light can show him off to best effect. The trader knows this specimen will fetch a fine profit, but the buyer is playing it coy.

Already shirtless, the meat submits as massive biceps are tested and the depth of his hairy chest is prodded and probed. Firmness of flat belly, back up to his bull-like neck, juggular pounding sexy anxiety under the creamy skin of his throat- the trader sweats his anticipation of the astronomical price. 'Turn around.' The peremptory command knows no contradiction and, bowing his head, the big stud complies, showing off a broad back ripped with thick bands of muscle just begging for days of hard labor under the sun. He flinches like a colt as a trembling hand runs the length of smooth skin- from the nape of his neck down the long groove of spine to the loose waistband of denim clinging to the hard rise of his ass.

Ordered to turn back around, the tall stud reddens with embarrassment as the light treasure trail broadening in its course down the flat expanse of abs is tweaked pensively. 'How much did you say you want for him?' A low whistle greets the reply followed by a nearly imperceptible shake of the head. The trader knows a twinge of nervousness and decides to play an irresistable card. 'Drop your trousers, boy.' Frozen with apprehension the hairy bull stands stupidly waiting, hoping for a change in the weather, maybe pretending he is too dense to understand... So, the trader impatiently does the job for him, roughly spreading the denim fly and, in a quick motion like skinning a rabbit, hikes the stud's jeans down to his ankles. 'This one's a breeder.' The self-evident statement is quickly ratified as the bull's ripe balls and thick shaft of arching penis are intimately examined. Suddenly, the buyer's interest seems to re-engage and he mutters, 'Been well trained?' Ahhhhhhh, thinks the amused and very relieved trader- We're back on track. He shrugs and fishes a well worn leather strap from his briefcase. 'All of our livestock are carefully trained to full obedience with a variety of disciplinary aids. A full manual and guarentee are, of course, provided.'

'Well,' the customer rakes the long, muscular body of the stripped bull with his hungry gaze a moment longer then, with supreme effort, turns away and engages the trader, 'I think he may be what I had in mind...but...' And the haggling begins.