The Blister Boyz
Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 14 Nov 2010
Blister Boyz — Ch. 43: Siren's Call
Troy Manning – Heat Blister
Jason Klein – Ice Hazer
David Mercer – Smaqdown
Dennis Lowder – The Humiliator
Walt Hemingway – Major Fry
Brian Tannon – Murky Menace
Jorge Vasquez – Poison Punisher
Keith Grady – The Sticking Point
Walt, in costume as Major Fry, hovered over the squat, ugly brick apartment buildings on the southern side of Brickstown, looking for his contact. Brickstown was the location of Paragon City's prison, the Ziggurat. As such, it was an unpleasant, dangerous, impoverished community. Crey's security forces swept the area looking for escaped convicts and rampaging Freakshow. Unfortunately, Crey tended to take a “shoot first, ask questions later” attitude and were just as dangerous to the community.
Walt was out of his league here if anybody started trouble, but this was also a prime location to meet with his information broker. Nobody came to Brickstown unless they had to. He wasn't likely to be spied on. And now that he was able to fly, it wasn' t quite as dangerous as it used to be.
He used the night-vision targeting reticle he had made part of his costume to scope out the rooftops until he found the man he was looking for, lurking in the shadows next to a large AC unit on a three-story building.
He watched for a few minutes to make sure his contact was alone. Seeing nobody he flew down to the rooftop, silently joining the man standing there in the black trenchcoat and matching duster hat.
“Well, well, look at you, boy!” the man said. “I knew you had gotten powers, but didn't know if I'd ever get to see you in action. Now I know why you haven't contacted me for more web grenades and the other little toys you used to use.”
Walt knew the man only as R.C. He was in his early 30s, darkly handsome, Latino, probably Puerto Rican, with a nice, beefy build. He had short black hair, dark eyes, and a sexy, trimmed soul patch/goatee combo highlighted by a permanent five-o-clock shadow. He had a winning smile for somebody who dressed like a combination between a spy and a cowboy.
If anything, R.C. was like the polar opposite of Coach Baldwin. The coach was gruff, laconic, and came down hard on the boys, but ultimately had a good heart and the boys loved him. R.C. was a friendly, dashing, talkative man who could charm the pants off a guy (and frequently did). But he was not a nice man. Not at all. And those who dealt with him learned that his expertise at procuring hard-to-get items and information came at a very steep price, a price that never actually included money.
“Did you get the information I asked for?” Major Fry asked.
“What, no foreplay?” R.C. smirked. “Is it possible you've gotten even more brusque now that you've got powers? I didn't think that was possible. You're starting to sound like your dad.”
“Don't,” Major Fry warned. When Walt had started his secret heroics, various black market experts directed Walt R.C.'s way. When Walt first met the man, he was shocked and nervous to discover that R.C. knew all about Walt's secret past and that one of Paragon City's biggest villains, Nemesis, was his biological father. R.C. teased him about it whenever they met. He even let slip once (R.C. rarely gave out anything for free) that he had helped provide information to the heroes that ultimately led to the rescue of Walt and his “brothers.”
R.C. was an information broker, and probably one of the best. He also had absolutely no morals. He would sell to heroes and villains alike. But you had to be willing to pay the price. R.C. never asked for money. He acted as though he didn't need any. Instead the price was your ass — literally — for R.C. to do with what he wanted for a duration that varied depending on what you asked for. For the little stuff, one night. For big stuff, customers were essentially his punishment and sex slave for a few days. And he played rough. David could take lessons. Hell, the trolls could learn a thing or two.
Walt had never asked for anything that required more than one night with the man, but that was enough for him. He was concerned about the price for what he was asking for this time. It was a little more than just some low-level tactical devices.
“Yeah, I got it, buddy,” R.C. said. “Don't I always?”
“How much will it cost me?” Walt asked.
“You're a very lucky boy,” R.C. said. “The information was not very secure at all. They were either overconfident or weren't expecting anybody to be looking for it. It'll only be one night. A pity, really. I'd love to have you for longer.” R.C. let his eyes take in the younger stud's firm body.
Walt really didn't have much choice. Earlier, accompanied Heat Blister and Jacob Brass, he went to the Freedom Corps headquarters in the Galaxy City neighborhood to see if they could get access to their files on the Crimson Brotherhood.
They were flat out denied. They lacked the “appropriate clearance” to access files related to Rogue Isles groups. Furthermore, the Longbow agent was completely dismissive of the Blister Boyz, telling them they were far too inexperienced to even be thinking about tackling any Rogue Isles villains. Not even Jacob Brass's presence as one of Paragon City's top-ranked heroes made a difference.
It stung because it was mostly true. The Blister Boyz had been together for less than six months. There were dangerous parts of Paragon City they weren't yet permitted to enter, let alone information related to Rogue Isles, which was not even technically on American soil. They haven't proven yet that the Blister Boyz were to be treated seriously by the heroic establishment.
So that left R.C. Walt nodded his head and said, “Let's do this.” R.C. strode
over to him, grinning his charming smile. He reached around and grabbed Walt's ass and treated
him to a rough kiss. Walt rolled his eyes, but had no choice to accept what was to come if he
wanted the information.
“Hold on tight,” R.C. said as he squeezed Walt's left cheek. Then he grabbed his belt, pressed some hidden button, and the two of them disappeared in a flash of bright light.
Back at the frat's private indoor pool, the rest of the Blister Boyz were introducing a new hazing ceremony to the house, but this wasn't for the pledges.
Five upperclassmen in the frat, wearing just their jockstraps, were in the “penitent” position on five starter blocks facing the pool. The penitent position was on all fours, knees, feet, elbows and hands on the floor, ass raised up in the air, as in hardcore prayer. The position allowed for good hard frat paddle swats without having to worry about the guy getting knocked over. The victim needed to be elevated though for good swings, and the starter blocks were perfect for that purpose.
From left to right, Greg, Mark, Terrell, Henry, and Eddie were getting their asses good and paddled by the Blister Boyz, in costume. Well, technically Greg wasn't getting paddled. His tough red skin and healing abilities had rendered it next to impossible for him to feel actual pain through traditional means, so Dennis had psychically bonded him with his buddy Mark, so his ass felt whatever Mark's ass felt, for better or worse (usually worse). Dennis was paddling Mark and the two of them yelped in tandem. Troy was paddling Terrell, David was paddling Henry, and Jason was paddling Eddie. The five of them whimpered and their bottoms quivered as the hard swats cracked across their cheeks.
After a good hundred whacks, Troy called on the boys to stop the punishment.
“You lazy asses think you've got what it takes to be heroes?” Troy growled.
“Yes sir!” the five echoed in unison.
“NO!” Troy shouted, smacking Terrell's ass with the paddle for emphasis. “When I'm in costume, it's 'Yes Heat Blister, sir!' Understand?” He smacked Terrell's ass one more time. He was enjoying playing rough with these boys. As the president he had to be a little more restrained so as not to be too intimidating (that was David's job). Here he could cut loose a little more.
“Yes Heat Blister, sir!” the five boys echoed. Troy nodded.
“What do the rest of you think?”
“Well, these three have withstood the trolls,” David said, gesturing to Terrell, Henry and Eddie. “Tore their asses up good inside and out and they kept coming back for more.”
“And Mark and Greg have endured doubling of their punishments with me,” Dennis pointed out.
“I would agree that these five jocks have shown they've got what it takes to be heroes,” Jason said. Jorge, Brian and Keith, standing by watching, murmured their support.
“Very well, then,” Troy said. “The Blister Boyz are in agreement. You may join us as reserve members.” The other Blister Boyz began to cheer. “AFTER!” he interrupted, “You are christened with your hero names.” He grinned at David. David nodded and stood behind Eddie. David then activated his powers and his hands glowed blue, encompassing the paddle in his hand.
Eddie Chang had developed psychic powers like Dennis, but more limited in scope and more directly focused. He could launch psychic blasts that caused the target extreme mental pain. As such, they didn't really lend themselves to use around the frat and not really fun for punishment play. Also David had made a rule that he couldn't use them on anybody else in the frat or else he'd be spending a week with the trolls.
“Eddie Chang,” Troy pronounced, “You are hereby christened Migraine!” Troy nodded at David. David reared the paddle back and slammed it across both cheeks. Because David's powers were activated, the force of the swat actually launched Eddie into the air, ass up, almost like a cartoon character. As he yelped in surprise and pain, he flew a good fifteen feet before landing with a splash in the pool. The Blister Boyz all laughed.
“I did say you were going to be christened,” Troy said. “The pool seemed appropriate.” The other boys' butts quivered nervously as Eddie swam over to the edge of the pool. He grabbed the edge to stay afloat, then rubbed his ass in the pool, looking up at the boys in surprise.
“Damn!” he muttered.
“No cursing,” David responded, as he lined up behind Henry. “That's 15 swats, buddy.” Eddie crawled up out of the pool as Troy joined David next to Henry.
Henry had developed the ability to generate and manipulate strong winds capable of blowing people down, as well as chilling them to the bone. He had been getting his ass busted good and raw and getting knocked around by the troll Donny to force Henry to learn to improve his powers. It had worked out fairly well with Henry's need to be an aggressive, physical bottom.
“Henry Gant,” Troy said. “You are hereby christened Bluster!” The boys chuckled at Henry's code name, which was also a pretty good description of his personality.
“Bring it on,” Henry growled at David as he raised his ass up expecting the same paddle blow Eddie received. David raised an eyebrow at this and then turned and winked at Troy. Instead of raising the paddle, David focused his powers downward and caused his right foot to glow blue. He took a quick step and a hop and WHUMP! He kicked Henry right in the center of his ass with his powers fully activated. Henry whooped in shock as the kick launched him nearly up to the rafters, before he came falling back down, clutching his bruised bottom, nearly all the way on the other side of the pool with a loud splash. Everybody laughed and cheered, even the other four hazing victims. Henry climbed his way out of the shallow end of the pool, completely unashamed of egging David on, and gave him a thumbs up.
“I swear that guy ...,” David chuckled as he lined up behind Terrell. Terrell had developed the ability to drain the strength and speed of anybody he was in close contact with and add it to his own abilities, making him a formidable fighter. After some sparring, David realized Terrell would eventually be able to hold his own against him, even though David's boxing expertise made him a superior fighter.
Terrell Jackson,“Troy said.”You are hereby christened Siphon!“David returned to the paddle and sent Terrell flying into the pool with a swat. Mark was next. Mark had developed the ability to manipulate rock and earth, turning it to mud, hardening it again, trapping people where they stood. It was a very difficult skill to master , and much like Jason, he was requiring quite a bit of discipline in order to focus his powers. Dennis was more than happy to oblige, even though Greg also suffered from the swats.
“Mark DePue,” Troy said. “You are hearby christened Mudslide.” David hit him with a good hard swat, causing both Mark and Greg to yelp in tandem. Only Mark went flying, though.
“Finally, we have Greg Randall,” Troy said. Greg and Mark were both skilled gymnasts. Greg was focusing on training to combine his natural acrobatic skills with his superpowered toughness and healing to take on gangs of attackers. Troy promised to introduce him to Jacob Brass to get some additional training if he agreed to become a hero. He figured the two of them would probably have fairly similar fighting styles.
“Greg, you are hereby christened the Scarlet Scrapper.” David had lined up behind Greg with the paddle, but Mark shouted out from the pool, “Go with the boot! He's not gonna feel the paddle.” David laughed, then shrugged and obliged. PUNT! Greg went flying up into the air a good fifty feet, landing with a splash. He surfaced, laughing. He didn't feel a thing, but it was a fun ride.
The five young men gathered again at the end of the pool to the applause and high fives of the Blister Boyz.
“Tomorrow you boys are going to fill out your official hero forms and then head over to Icon to put together your costumes,” Troy said. “Terrell, I'm putting you in charge of the reserves, and if for whatever reason, the Blister Boyz aren't around and there's some sort of problem or crisis, you call the shots.” Terrell nodded.
“The five of you are also going to be responsible for trying to recruit others from the frat into becoming official heroes,” Troy continued. “There's change coming to Paragon City, but I can't really explain it to you right now. This city needs us and I want to see our boys as the guys Paragon turns to. We're the big men on campus. It's time to take it even bigger.”
There was another hidden reason Troy had recruited these boys. He didn't know what Walt was up to tonight, but he made it clear they were about to be sailing into some dangerous waters soon trying to tackle the men who attacked Andrew Porter. Jacob Brass and the Augurer weren't enough backup. Somebody needed to be able to help if things went awry.
Walt grimaced and tried to keep from crying out as the black leather strop smacked hard against his tight, muscular bottom. He was bound atop a padded long table. It was jointed in the center (not unlike the tables Walt saw in the replay of the Crey experiments at the prison), allowing it to force Walt to bend or lay straight as his tormentor saw fit. His fatigues had been pulled down to mid-thigh.
“You don't have to hold back, you know,” R.C. said gently as he raised the strop up and laid on another firm lash. “Nobody can hear you scream or cry or beg except for me.”
The dichotomy between R.C.'s calm soothing tone and the harshness of the punishment he was administering drove Walt crazy — it always did. He preferred David's alpha male smack talk or Dennis's sarcastic observations. But R.C. always sounded like he was comforting you, even as he beat your ass raw, like a nurse talking sweetly as she jabbed you with a needle.
And R.C. knew just how to get to Walt. His tough butt was used to the paddle. They break across his tough backside. So using a strop instead caused a different kind of pain, and he was less able to play it stoically.
Walt had no idea where they were, though he knew they were in caves underground (or perhaps under the water, since they were on the coast). This underground lair of R.C.'s was full of all sorts of high-tech equipment, among other things. R.C. claimed it was absolutely