The Telemachus Story Archive

The Corner Bar
By Telemachus

Tony couldn't wait to finish work. It had not been a good day. It was after seven in the evening when he finally finished the 'simple, five minute' plumbing job that had actually taken him all day to do. He returned to his truck moving as fast as his burly 6'2" frame would carry him without actually running. He pulled off and threw his tool belt into the back then pulled on his red check shirt over the white cotton t-shirt, letting it hang open and loose above the scruffy, torn blue jeans. He thought about dumping the big black construction boots for some trainers he carried next to the seat but decided he couldn't be bothered. It was late, he just wanted to get home and relax. He glanced in the side mirror, his dark, italian good-looking thirty year old face looked straight back. He grimaced, he would need to shave again if he was going out tonight, that fresh stubble wasn't going to impress the high class ladies he liked. He paused, he felt tired, maybe a night at home with a pizza and a cold beer would be better.

As he turned to climb into the truck he noticed a small cellar bar on the corner. "Gee, I could sure use a beer" On the spur of the moment he turned and headed for the steps. As he approached he looked down, he hadn't been in this particular place before and all he could see was that it was small and dark, but - hey - if it served even half-decent beer it was good enough for him.

In fact it was very dark. Evening was coming on fast and the barkeep hadn't switch many lights on yet. There was only one other customer in the whole place, a middle aged man dressed in a scruffy suit at the far end of the bar, nursing his drink. He didn't even look up as Tony noisily entered, cursing the darkness.

Tony didn't feel like socializing and the guy in the suit seemed to have the same idea so Tony settled on a stool near the door. The barkeep lazily approached. "Beer" said Tony curtly, staring at the stained wooden bar, thinking about the jobs he should have done today. The ones he would have to do tomorrow instead.

The barkeep took an age to draw the beer. Tony looked around. If he hadn't been so desperate for a drink he would have walked out. And he doubted he'd be back, certainly not to a dump like this, stinking of spilled beer and cheap whores. So empty that it was obvious that even the locals avoided it.

The beer finally appeared. He greedily gulped it down, careless of the quality and ordered another. Without looking up he noticed that the guy in the suit had finished his drink and was walking towards him. "Shit, he's gonna want to talk" he thought. Right now all Tony wanted was a quiet beer and his own company.

But he was wrong. The guy just walked straight past and out the door without a glance.

Just then the barkeep walked over to the door and switched the "open" sign to "closed". Then suddenly he locked the door and turned to face Tony.

"Hey…" said Tony. He quickly stood up in alarm but a wave of dizziness made him stagger. He clutched at the bar as the barkeep walked lazily towards him. Tony hadn't really looked at him before. He was tall, well built, around Tony's age maybe, white, clean shaven, short brown hair and with a glint in his eye that spelled trouble. And as he pulled off the white apron Tony saw that he was dressed all in black.

"Here let me help you buddy" said the man, almost in a whisper. His low, deep voice was almost hypnotic. Tony suddenly realized that he couldn't move his legs, it was only his left hand gripping the bar that kept him standing. The man slipped his left arm around Tony's waist and lifted Tony's right arm over his shoulder, supporting Tony's weight. "Huh... wha... wha.... " Tony staggered forward, trying to get to the door. The man stopped him, held him even tighter around the waist, his right hand placed firmly on Tony's big chest. "Another helpless drunk, one special and they're history, why do I always get them?" the man whispered to himself with a smile. Tony was dimly aware that the hand on his chest had started to massage his big, muscular pecs through the white cotton.

Even in Tony's befuddled state he knew that he had been drugged. And there was nothing he could do about it. The man half-carried, half-pulled Tony's stumbling form into the back room. As they passed through the door Tony managed to grab the wood and hold himself steady for a moment, swaying gently. The man's hand was still gripped around one pec, his other hand now slipped from Tony's waist to gently claw at his denim clad bubble butt, allowing the rough faded blue cloth to caress his palm.. Eventually Tony staggered forward, unable to stand unaided any longer. The man caught him again, then helped him across the small back room and sat him heavily onto a low bunk situated against the back wall. He then slipped Tony's red shirt off, holding Tony steady with one hand on his shoulder as he worked the sweaty shirt down Tony's arms before dropping it on the floor. Then the man sat down on the bunk and pulled Tony towards him, turning sideways to face Tony, letting Tony's head fall on the man's shoulder, his two hands going to work on Tony's big chest and broad back again.

Tony wasn't unconscious, but even raising his hand was impossible, it felt so heavy and he felt so relaxed. He could just about tell what the man was doing now, but everything was all mixed up in a blurred confusion of soft noise and pale light.

Two strong hands were working their way gently across Tony's chest and back. Rubbing, massaging. Slowly, carefully. Feeling every contour, every ridge of muscle through the smooth white cloth as it turned damp with perspiration. Tony was surprised to notice that his nipples were hardening. Something that the man had clearly noticed too. He stroked and gently pinched each one in turn, then the hand started to head due south. He paused at Tony's crotch. He stroked and pinched the bulge and lazily rubbed Tony's inner thigh, stroking the seam of the worn jeans. He was aware that the man was speaking, a low, whispering, deep voice. "Mmm, you smell of honest sweat after a long, hard day's work. Now it's time for you to relax and have some fun. Let me help you...."

Tony could only watch and feel, unable to move. Like he was a spectator trapped in a gay porn movie, unable to join in, yet unable to escape. He could feel his dick rising. The drug was making him feel almost weightless, euphoric. He started to wonder what it was, where could he get some.

The probing hands continued, never resting. Somehow the man had moved around to sit behind Tony, one leg to either side of Tony's sitting form, his back leaning against the wall. Tony was now lying back against the man chest, his head resting on the man's shoulder, he could smell the man's breath, it smelled of beer, he was aware of the man's lips brushing his own, the man's hands running under Tony's arms, around the sides of his torso and cupping and massaging his two big, bulging pecs, then slowly sliding down to pull up the white cotton, exposing the dark curly hair on his chest and belly, one hand running up gently through the black forest to play with his prominent rock hard nipples again, the other sliding down to massage his stiffening dick through the denim jeans.

Then they stopped.

Tony felt a pang of disappointment. He was enjoying this. Then he realized why the hands had stopped. Carefully they were opening the front of his jeans. In moments his sweaty, proud dick sprang out, on full display, thick and full, a drop of clear liquid slowly emerging from the tip. The two hands now slid down and pulled his damp balls out into the open air. Tony sighed as his head fell back, coming to rest on the man's shoulder, his eyes rolled up and closed in ecstasy as he slowly passed out completely, all thought of tomorrow completely gone...........................