Fir Hollow, ch. 8: Team Players (Patreon)

“I’m just sayin’…how are they even gonna know if we stayed here all night,” Wyatt asked.  The nervous brunette eyed the decaying room around them, wishing he’d brought more than a flashlight.

“Dude, don’t start,” Paul sighed, reaching over to tousle the other man’s hair.  The dark-skinned stud was just as nervous, but he was doing a better job of hiding it.

“Because we have to send updates throughout the night, remember,” Blake said, his tone stern.  The beefy, burly blonde had been listening to his friends whine ever since they got to Fir Hollow and he had long since lost his patience.  “It’s just an empty house.”

“Easy for you to say,” Hector said, shuddering slightly.  The stocky, dark-haired hunk rubbed his tanned arms as if hit with a chill.  “You’re the one who got us into this mess.”

“It’s not my fault you guys fucked up last game,” Blake spat.

“But we’re not the ones who made the bet!  ‘Best players on the Piledrivers’ my ass!  Why the fuck would you even rope us into something like this?  We’re two hours from Pikesburg in the middle of goddamn nowhere stuck in a horror movie just waiting to happen,” Wyatt cried, jamming a finger against Blake’s meaty chest.

“Awww, is the little baby afraid of the spooky ghosts,” Blake cooed, swatting the other man’s hand away.

“Not the ghosts I’m worried about,” Paul muttered under his breath.  “Whole town gives me the creeps.  People say some weird shit about this place on the internet.”

“Good thing you didn’t look up the history of this house, then” Hector added, rolling his eyes.  “Apparently the Newcomb family got up to some good old fashioned whoring.  Whole place used to be a brothel for the guys working at the mill and the mine.  Didn’t end well, either.  One night, all the way back in ’46, people reported that the place was full of strange lights and weird noises.  The next day, all the women, and the unlucky men still inside, were just gone.  No signs of violence or a struggle, and no trace of what happened or where they went.  Place has been empty ever since.”

“Lovely,” Paul groaned, shaking his head.  “Guess that explains the look on the gas station dude’s face when we told him what we were doing.”

“Look on the bright side…maybe one of you’ll get laid tonight,” Blake laughed.

“We don’t have to pay for it, big guy,” Wyatt said, patting the beefy blonde’s muscle gut.  “But there’s an idea…if the whole football thing doesn’t work out for you, maybe you can come back here and open up shop.”

“Fuck off,” Blake growled.  “Let’s just find the best spot to post up for the night and get this over with.”

Hector looked towards the dusty grand staircase and shook his head.  They’d made a quick pass of the house before all the daylight had vanished, finding the sprawling estate mostly empty and barely standing.  The walls were weathered and faded, the floors were nearly rotted away in some places, and while it was clear the vast house had been beautiful once, those days were long gone.  They’d regrouped in the entryway as the place had gone dark, fighting the urge to bolt through the massive front doors and into the moonless night beyond.  “Not upstairs.  Those rooms were creepy enough when there was still daylight.  I vote for the big room across the hall over there.”

Wyatt and Paul nodded in agreement, so the group grabbed their bags and shuffled over to the empty, inky parlor.  When they’d seen it earlier the space looked like it had been set up as a lounge or sitting room, with a large hearth in the center of a far wall and ornate woodwork throughout.  It had been pretty then, in the way a fallen, fungus-covered tree rotting on the forest floor could be seen as beautiful.  Now it just reminded them of how alone they were.  As the darkness took hold they were increasingly aware of the immensity of time, and how the house had been sitting empty, and hungry, for decades.  And like the fallen trees on a forest floor, decay and neglect didn’t equate to absence.  Life of an alien kind thrived and flourished in such environments, and though it was different from the sunny surroundings, the energy was no less potent.

That energy grew around the nervous jocks with each passing minute.  No one wanted to give voice to it or lend it any more power, but there was a palpable tension in the air.  The old creaking, settling sounds of the house became more consistent and repetitive.  They told themselves it was just an animal, that the place had to be infested with all manner of rodents, conveniently ignoring how heavy and distinctly human the footfalls sounded.  Wind passing through empty hallways became ghostly whispers, the gentle drafts cold, caressing fingers.

After a few tense hours, Blake had to move.  The thick hulk wasn’t used to sitting still as it was, and as they approached midnight, he felt like he would snap if he didn’t stretch his legs.  Out of all of them, he felt he had the most to lose if he let his fear show.  He was the star player on the Pikesburg Piledrivers, and his ego was already wounded enough by losing the bet.  He didn’t want to damage things further by being seen as a pussy on top of it.  His intention wasn’t to go far, only to pace around the room, but that plan was derailed as soon as he stood.  All at once his body seemed to go rigid even as he felt himself moving, his heart racing when he realized he didn’t have control.

“Guys?  What’s…what’s happening?  I can’t stop!”  Blake wasn’t sure he actually spoke the frantic words.  He couldn’t feel his mouth move, though at the moment he couldn’t feel much of anything.  He was a helpless passenger in a body on autopilot, slowly propelled forward by an unseen force dripping its way through the veil between worlds.  Each plodding step caused the floor to ripple like the surface of a pond, sending a growing mass of impossible little waves bouncing around the room.  They ran up the walls and across the ceiling, colliding against one another and leaving a different reality in their wake.  Weathered floorboards became smooth and shiny, threadbare rugs were suddenly whole, and the dim beams from their flashlights were replaced by the light of a now-pristine chandelier overhead.  A fire roared to life in the equally immaculate hearth, illuminating the deep crimson wallpaper that had somehow gone from worn and dusty to spotless and vibrant.  Furniture sprouted from the wavering floor like weeds as Blake passed, filling the formerly empty space with plush leather armchairs, chaise lounges, loveseats, and a peppering of small tables throughout.

As shocked as Blake was by the changes to what he saw, it was the change to what he heard that truly alarmed him.  The silence of the empty house was shattered by the staccato rhythm of a piano suddenly blaring from a record player in the corner, followed by a jazzy saxophone that caused his hips to sway.  The murmur of a crowd filled in the empty spaces between notes, and when Blake turned back around he found himself staring at a cluster of unfamiliar faces.  Hector, Paul and Wyatt stood in the center, surrounded by half a dozen men of varying shapes, sizes and ages.  Beyond the crowd and the rejuvenated room Blake could see a house that looked as dilapidated as it should, but his attention was focused on his three friends.

If they were at all alarmed by the impossible crowd it didn’t show on their smiling faces.  Instead of reacting with fear and pulling away from the men they leaned into them, seeming to seek out the groping hands that reached from all directions.  When one of the apparated strangers slipped an arm around Hector’s waist, their hand dropping to the front of the tanned stud’s pants, the young jock just grinned and held it there.

Blake had no way of knowing that his friends had fallen under the same kind of spell, unable to give voice to the frantic cries clawing desperately up their throats.  As he pressed the leering stranger’s hand against his hefty package, all Hector could do was stare at the man, wondering where any of them had come from.  His first thought was that they’d been laying in wait for the group, either sent by the guys on the team or by the guy at the gas station, but that wouldn’t explain the changes to the room, or his own behavior.  If it was an ambush he should have been running away, or fighting back, not lustfully eyeing the man’s barrel torso as it strained against his checkered button-down.  The sleeves were rolled up, exposing a set of strong, hairy forearms that perfectly matched the rest of his stocky, bulldog frame.  His face was far from handsome, but Hector still felt a confusing thrill shoot through him as he searched the other man’s rugged features, seeing a hunger that he somehow knew he could take advantage of.  Whoever he was, this man wanted him, bad, and that meant he could charge a premium.

The thought made the young jock’s stomach drop.  He had no intentions of fooling around with another man for any amount of money, but even as he tried to tell himself that, he could feel his thick log swelling against the stranger’s meaty palm.  And as they watched Blake strutting up to the front of the room, he caught himself reaching back to do the same to the stranger.  He could see Wyatt and Paul in a similar predicament on either side, only with twice the attention, as usual.  Even with the bizarre circumstances his handsome friends were still the center of attention, both of them holding a man in each arm and seeming just as eager as when they were out at the bar.  Hector couldn’t believe his eyes as he watched Paul lean in to kiss one of the men, a young, fit redhead, while the other, a strapping blonde built like Blake, lifted the bottom of his shirt to reveal the dark-skinned stud’s chiseled abs.

Not to be outdone, Wyatt’s jeans had already been opened by the thin, older man who’d slid around behind, while his thicker counterpart was preparing to push the grinning jock’s denim to the ground.  The athletic brunette’s checkered boxers matched the men’s shirts as his pants landed at his ankles, but instead of looking horrified at standing in his shirt and underwear, Wyatt just batted his eyes and began toying with the buttons on the shirt of the man in front of him.

Though, despite his outward appearance, Wyatt actually was terrified.  His mind raced as he tried to figure out how any of this could really be happening.  Like Hector, his initial suspicion that it was all a prank had been obliterated by his own odd reaction.  A part of him wondered if they’d all been drugged, but he’d been to plenty of parties and had experimented with enough hallucinogens to know there wasn’t a substance on earth that could do this.  It was too controlled and precise.  He also knew his own body well enough to recognize that he wasn’t viewing the unfolding nightmare through a haze, but in terrifyingly clear detail.  He could smell the stale cigarettes and beer on the breath of the wiry man behind him as it warmed his neck, just as he could feel the strength in the big bruiser hand’s as they’d tugged his jeans down.  The skin was rough and calloused against his legs, the hands of someone who worked in a mill or a mine, but why that thought made his barely-covered cock twitch was entirely unclear.  Wyatt had never been attracted to a man in his life.  He’d certainly been around enough naked ones in locker rooms over the years to know by now if he had any hidden desires.  He was fairly certain that wasn’t the case, but as he stood wedged between the conjured pair, there was no denying his growing lust.  Despite having never even thought about fooling around with another man, Wyatt realized that he was already planning what he was going to do to each of them, and what he’d let them do to him in turn.  More importantly, he was calculating a price, starting with the handsy strip down the men were giving him.

Paul was doing the same.  He was just as baffled as the others, but he knew for certain the meter started running as soon as the hands made contact.  His kisses didn’t come for free, nor did access to his striking physique.  His t-shirt had been worked up to his shoulders, and Paul broke off the kiss, lifting his muscled arms just long enough for it to be pulled free before returning to the flushed ginger’s lips with the passion of reuniting lovers.  The blonde on his other side seemed more interested in what his chiseled frame had to offer from the neck down as the hunky stranger kissed his way across his perfect pecs and furiously tore his pants open.  Paul paused the kiss and grinned when the blonde shoved his pants down, exposing his turquoise briefs, and gave his straining bulge a rough squeeze, seeming perfectly at ease in what should have been a panic-inducing predicament.  Instead of resuming the kiss he reached down and toyed with the front of the redhead’s pants, his bright briefs slowly tenting against the cluster of pawing hands.  While a small voice in his head railed at his actions, a louder, reassuring voice reminded Paul that his new friends could kiss and touch him all they wanted, as long as they were willing to pay.

Back at the front of the room, Blake’s ordeal was just beginning.  While his friends were busy being undressed, the beefy bear was eagerly doing the same to himself.  With the vintage, striptease soundtrack pulsing from the record player, he slowly worked his t-shirt up and off, revealing his hairy muscle gut and thick slab of a chest.  More than the embarrassment he felt flexing and pawing at himself in front of the small crowd, the lumbering lump of muscle was surprised at how gracefully he moved.  He was perfectly in synch with the sultry rhythm, timing his swaying and bending just right, as if he’d performed the burlesque routine countless times.

Blake’s stomach dropped at the realization.  Burlesque was exactly what he was doing.  This wasn’t the crude bumping and grinding of a strip club, but a more measured performance.  He knew it wasn't a coincidence, his odd behavior and the house’s history, he just didn’t know any of it could really be happening.  He could feel his expressions shifting through an array of smug smiles, seductive pouts, and naughty chiding as he strutted around the front of the room, his vision blurring.  His body seemed to shift and change, taking on several dainty, feminine shapes before his eyes cleared and he once again looked down on his familiar bulk.

As he began working his pants off it occurred to him that the shirt he should have seen laying on the floor was nowhere in sight, but his attention was quickly pulled back to what he still had on.  The moment he opened his pants there was another ripple in the air, and instead of revealing his baggy boxers, he flashed a sheer, pink thong to the crowd.  His fat cock and heavy balls could be seen through the pastel material, and a large, white bow rested on his muscled cheeks, accentuating the size of the plump cakes.  Blake’s eyes went wide and he put a shocked finger to his chin, his mouth falling open in exaggerated surprise as he kicked the pants free.  His bulky thighs shook with the motion, and he could feel his bare, ample cheeks doing the same as he resumed his strutting.

The ripple that tore through the room when he’d opened his pants seemed to have a similar effect on his friends.  Wyatt gasped internally as his boxers turned into a pair of black panties with white lace trim, and his t-shirt went from thin cotton to a matching black and white corset.  The feminine underwear was at least cut for a man as his long cock and low-hanging balls were, barely, contained, but there was no mistaking the French Maid outfit for what it was.

While Wyatt grappled with the shift in his wardrobe, Paul was busy doing the same.  His turquoise briefs stayed the same color, popping against the dark brown of his thighs, but they shrunk to a small, elastic pouch around his girthy package.  The bright bulge bounced and lengthened as the blonde and his ginger friend took turns hefting the free-floating equipment, each one simultaneously toying with one of Paul’s firm, bare cheeks.

As with Blake, none of them saw their discarded clothing when they looked around, and even Hector, who’d still been dressed, found his familiar outfit replaced by significantly less.  Instead of jeans and a t-shirt he was suddenly clad in a sheer white robe trimmed with pink fur, the short garment stopping just below his waist and doing almost nothing to obscure the matching bikini bottoms.  The tanned, dark-haired stud felt ridiculous with his broad, stocky frame straining against the dainty outfit, but his humiliation was tempered by an impossible sense of familiarity.  Never in his drunkest days had the burly jock ever worn anything like his current ensemble, yet it felt perfectly natural.

That odd sense of normalcy still fueling his own actions, Blake shimmied to the last remaining stranger, a handsome, lantern-jawed hunk who hadn’t taken his eyes off him.  The man looked to be in his forties, with a thick head of salt-and-pepper hair and a fit, athletic frame that reminded him of their coach back in Pikesburg.  As the thought brought on a fresh wave of dread, it carried a simultaneous surge of lust and ambition, driving the blonde bear on.  Blake turned his back on the man and wiggled his hips, his hands clutching coyly at his chest while he batted his eyes.  The stranger reached down and tugged on the bow, causing the pink thong to come untied and leaving the thick jock entirely exposed.  The naked Blake turned and grinned, grabbing the man by the collar to pull him along.  “Want to take this upstairs,” he asked, in place of the frantic questions swimming around his brain.

“Absolutely,” the man nodded, giving Blake’s plump cheeks a swat.  As they passed, instead of giving his friends a pleading look, the sauntering bear nodded, his expression closer to the one he wore when they were all about to take the field.  It was a mix of confidence in himself and his teammates, an unwavering assurance that they were all about to do well.

When they stepped out of the opulent front room and into the foyer, Blake wasn’t surprised to see the ripples spread.  They ran up the walls and ceiling in a similar fashion, leaving a rejuvenated mansion in their wake that struck him as familiar as everything else.  Somehow, the brawny jock knew exactly where to go as he led the man up the grand, polished staircase and down the hall, opening the door on a well-appointed bedroom.  A massive, four-poster bed sat on the opposite wall, but instead of pulling him to it, Blake pushed the man up against the door as it closed.  He undid the buttons on the stranger’s shirt in a flurry of motion, his hands slipping through the curly, salt-and-pepper forest on the man’s strong chest.  The blonde’s fat log was rock hard and ready, just as his friends were downstairs.

“Ah-ah,” Paul said, tapping the redhead on the nose as the lean young man started to pull the pointless pouch away.  The strapping stud’s ten inches were at full mast and about to spill free any moment, but there were details to work out first.  He looked back and forth between the two, raising an eyebrow as he clutched their perky bottoms.  “Are we doing this together or individually?  There’s no group discount here,” he laughed, batting his solid pouch against the blonde’s leg.  Paul didn’t know where the words were coming from, and he struggled to hold onto the thought that this was all wrong as the two exchanged a quick glance and a nod.

“Uh…together,” the redhead said, his pale, freckled face blushing.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Paul purred, slipping a hand into each of their pants and pulling them along by the front of their waists.  Like Blake, he shot a knowing glance at each of his friends before sauntering up the stairs.

“And what about you two,” Wyatt asked, slipping out from between the two older men.  “Is this a joint function?”

The lean man sighed, his hand resting on the handsome brunette’s trim waist as he nodded over at his bruiser of a friend.  “Carl just likes to watch.”

Wyatt nodded, unfazed.  “If he just wants to watch it’s fifty, if he’s going to jerk off it’s a hundred.”

The wiry man nodded.  “Hundred it is.”

“Let’s not keep him waiting, then,” Wyatt grinned, his mind reeling from the fact that he’d just agreed to get fucked by a stranger while another man watched and jerked off.

Hector winked as his friend led the pair out of the room before turning his attention to the remaining customer.  “So what’ll it be, friend,” he asked, his meaty pecs pushing the front of the skimpy robe apart.  He grinned when the man blushed, keeping their eyes locked despite his own confusion.

“I just…I’m a little nervous,” the heavyset brick of a man started before pausing.  “I like to go slow.  A doll like you, I don’t want to rush things.”

Hector was both thrilled and humiliated at the man’s usage of “doll”, a confusing fluttering breaking out in his stomach.  He reached over and rubbed the man’s gut, a seductive grin on his sharply-featured face.  “If you can afford the hourly rate, we’ll go as slow as you want.”  The man swallowed hard and nodded quickly, taking Hector’s offered hand and following the young jock up the stairs.

The night passed in a haze of lustful frenzy.  Blake spent most of it face down against the mattress, his plump cheeks getting hammered by the handsome stallion.  He still didn’t know the man’s name, he knew better than to ask if it wasn’t offered, but whoever he was he had the biggest dick the thick young man had ever seen.  Far from splitting him open as he feared, the colossal organ slipped in and out with ease, a fact that was less comforting when Blake thought about the implications.

Wyatt’s evening was similar, though the young pretty boy had a witness to the mediocre hammering his muscled cheeks received.  The wiry man was nowhere near Blake’s stallion, and at one point Wyatt was surprised to find himself wishing that the burly brute watching and jerking off was the one riding him instead.  Not that he let it show.  His lack of enthusiasm was obfuscated by his ecstatic moans and tortured expressions as he bucked and writhed like it was the best sex of his life.  People paid for a good show in addition to a crack at his body, and he couldn’t let a paying customer down.

Paul’s night was considerably more adventurous.  The sculpted Adonis spent it sandwiched between his two new friends as they took turns simultaneously filling his handsome mouth and supple hole.  Always driven to excel, Paul took the pair like a pro, the coordination that made him a star easily translating to the athletic hunk’s new playing field.

For Hector, the roles were reversed.  His bashful customer wanted the dark-skinned stud to fuck him, not the other way around, and the stocky jock was all too happy to comply.  He felt a little bad for the man, who, more than anything, wanted to pretend that what they had was real.  They spent the night locked in a passionate embrace, and while Hector realized that he usually liked being on the other side of things, he still enjoyed busting out the old skills.

That last thought, the idea of their college jock days being “old,” was one all four of them shared.  As the hours wore on and new memories began to trickle in, the group still recalled their former lives.  They were still college jocks, though now they were the only openly gay guys on the football team, and they’d taken a new, divergent path.  Instead of coming down for a weekend dare, they’d all left school and decided to relocate to Fir Hollow for good.  Like the new memories of their frequent hookups with other men and their former teammates on campus, they recalled the discussions they had about how they could monetize their collective talents.  They knew there was money to be made in the mountains, especially for a group of fit, handsome young studs like themselves.  It was Blake who’d found the old Newcomb place and its history, and from there the plan seemed to write itself.

They knew it wasn’t true.  Deep down, there was still a kernel of awareness reminding them that they’d stumbled into an abandoned house, only to have their lives rewritten.  Like the house that rebuilt itself around them over the course of the evening, their new reality had been constructed by strange, outside forces.  It was clear that the Newcomb estate was much more than an old brothel, but what exactly had gone on in the house, and by whom, they doubted they’d ever know.  Even after only a few hours in their new existence that kernel of awareness had been pushed far out of reach, barely registering as little more than a vague sense of anxiety amongst the new images of their brisk, thriving business.  And by the time they were counting their earnings in the now-opulent estate the following morning, it was almost obliterated altogether.

“Not bad,” Blake said, nodding and scratching at his hairy muscle gut.  The burly blonde was still naked as he put the money in the small safe, wanting to get it tucked away before cleaning himself up.  He looked at his three friends huddled in the office around him, feeling like he was forgetting something important.  “Your dude must have loved you, Hec.”

The dark-haired hunk shrugged and flashed a smug grin.  He was clad only in a pair of leopard print bikini briefs, and he gave his stuffed bulge a squeeze.  “What can I say?  To give is to receive.”

“Don’t talk about receiving,” Paul groaned, wincing slightly.  Like Blake he hadn’t dressed, giving everyone a chance to see the copious dried cum splattered all over his statuesque physique.  “It’s gonna take me an hour to wash all this off.”

Wyatt reached over and hefted his friend’s thick hose, a quick stab of fear running through him when he made contact.  It passed as soon as he felt the other man’s organ start to plump and swell, his own thick log joining in.  “I’ll help with that,” he grinned, giving a few strokes.

Blake rubbed his stubbled jaw as he watched his friends, mistakenly thinking he’d landed on what he’d wanted to say earlier.  “I’ve been wondering…instead of having to deal with appointments all the time, what if we recruited?  There’s still plenty of space in the house, and I’m sure some guys in town would be interested.  If not, what if we took a trip back to campus and advertised up there?  I mean, hell, WE wound up down here.  Gotta be a few other guys willing to make the trip.”  The words felt wrong as Blake spoke them, but the others only grinned and nodded.

“We could use some fresh blood around here,” Wyatt said, folding his arms across his prominent pecs.  “Let’s see what the boys up north are getting into these days.  Maybe we can get some of the old team back together?”