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The Blister Boyz
Chapter 43: Siren's Call

by Redspkscott

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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

The heroes:
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 impossible to track anybody here, even with the most advanced GPS system and satellite technology. He even apparently had magic totems arranged to prevent any sort of supernatural scrying. Nobody would be able to find Walt, even if he wanted to be rescued. And now that he knew about the secret of Oranbega, Walt realized the magical protections of the lair prevented the Adepts of Discipline from spying on his punishment.

KRACK! Walt gritted his teeth and grunted as the strop raised welts across his ass. Walt knew that R.C. was going to beat him until he broke, yet his stubbornness kept him from making it easy. It had been twenty minutes. R.C. had already told him the stropping would last for at least two hours and then he would “have his way” with him. It wouldn't be a solid, methodological stropping like the paddlings he got from David. Sometimes it would be fast, sometimes slow, and the intensity would increase and decrease. Nevertheless, it would be harsh at the end.

“Look at that beautiful bottom, so red and raw,” R.C. said as he repositioned himself on the other side of Walt so he could apply the strokes evenly. KRACK! WHACK! WHAP! Three quick, harsh licks from the strop and Walt gasped. His eyes moistened, wanting to cry, but he bit down and refused.

Not that it mattered, as the punishment went on and on. An hour into the stropping Walt finally started to actually cry. R.C. stopped for a moment and kneading Walt's raw cheeks.

“That's what we like to hear,” R.C. said. “Maybe I'll finally get you to beg me to stop for once.”

“Don't fucking count on it,” Walt growled.

“I love how tough you are,” R.C. as he started laying on the strop again. “You really make it worth my while. Most of my guys break far too quickly.”

Walt managed another thirty minutes until the cries turned into howls of pain. His ass was beginning to turn purple from the stropping. He gasped as tears streamed down his face. But he absolutely would not ask R.C. to stop. R.C. forced him to take another thirty minutes, whimpering, hollering and sobbing, before the stropping finally ended.

“Very good boy,” R.C. said, rubbing an aloe cream deep into Walt's absolutely wrecked cheeks. “You are my toughest client, you know that? I'm not just saying that. You know what comes next, right?” R.C. pressed a button on a remote and the bottom half of the table started tilting down, eventually making it look as though Walt was standing bent over.

The next ten minutes would be as hard as the two hours of punishment for Walt. Walt was completely a top when it came to sex. He did not like the feeling of being fucked. So he never really got used to the insertion feeling and it still hurt like hell. R.C. unzipped, slapped on a condom and some lube, then roughly inserted two fingers coated with lube into Walt's tight rectum. Walt barked with pain.

“Still tight as ever, I see,” R.C. said. “Gotta loosen up, boy!” Walt responded by growling. After a couple of minutes of inserting his fingers in and out, R.C. lined up behind him and forced his thick, hard cock in. Walt winced and whimpered just a bit as his ass adjusted to the forced stretching.

“Yeah, there we go,” R.C. said, as he began to fuck the bound young man. Walt choked back more tears as R.C. moaned in pleasure. R.C. spoke to the boy soothingly as he thrust in and out. If you didn't know any better, it might have seemed as though R.C. actually cared about Walt's pain. But he didn't. He fucked him good and hard until he was about to cum, then pulled out, yanked the condom off, and sprayed his semen across Walt's sore cheeks.

After he was done, he reached down between Walt's legs. “Want a happy ending?” R.C. asked.

“No!” Walt snarled and realized immediately that was a mistake.

“Aww, too bad,” R.C. said and jacked him off anyway. Walt shook his head and tried to resist, but soon enough his dick grew hard and eventually, despite his resistance, he ejaculated down the padding of the table and onto the floor.

“Good boy,” R.C. said. “I'm gonna release you so you can clean yourself up while I get the flash drive with the info you want. You remember where the shower is?” Walt nodded as R.C. released him from his bondage.

A few minutes later, after Walt had washed some of his shame away, R.C. handed him a flash drive.

“Just to summarize to save you some time,” R.C. said, “These guys have set up some sort of satellite piggy-backing relay out in Siren's Call. It appears as though they're remotely hacking their way into various security cameras in Paragon City and relaying images out somewhere to Rogue Isles. I can't tell what the targets are without visiting the relay site, but I wouldn't be surprised if they were near or even in Paragon U. I've got the location of the relay identified on a map of Siren's Call for your boys to check out. I also have Longbow's files on these guys that they refused to share with you. I think the reason they denied you access is because of how little they know about these guys. Longbow has not been successful taking on the Crimson Brotherhood. Be careful. I would hate to lose my hottest customer.”

“I didn't tell you they denied us access,” Walt said.

“You didn't have to,” R.C. said. “Let's get you back with your buddies.” R.C. reached around and grabbed Walt's ass again, chuckling as Walt yelped in pain. He grabbed his belt again and teleported the two of them back to the rooftop. He stole yet another kiss from Walt before letting him go.

“I'm not kidding,” R.C. added. “Be careful. I'd hate to see anything happen to you boys. All that hotness on one team. It would be a shame.” Walt nodded while rolling his eyes again.

“Thanks for the info,” he said and took off without another word.

“Thanks for the hot time,” R.C. called after him as he flew away. R.C. watched him go. He knew much more than what he told Walt, but Walt didn't ask for anything more and probably wouldn't have been willing to pay the price. R.C. knew about Master Manacle's slave cuffs and what was happening to the Longbow agents. He was also quite certain that the relay station was a trap. It was all far too clumsy for a team of villains that had been managing to keep Longbow at bay. The Brotherhood wanted these Blister Boyz. It would be a shame, R.C. thought, if the boys ended up dragged off to Rogue Isles. Then he'd never get the chance to play with some of the others.

Two days later, The Blister Boyz took their very first trip to Siren's Call. They were a bit nervous at first. Siren's Call was an honest-to-god war zone. Longbow agents fought with Lord Arachnos's troops for control of various parts of the beachhead. While not downplaying the risks involved, the Longbow sergeant responsible for the team's orientation did assure them that their records indicated the Blister Boyz were definitely strong enough to take on the foes here.

“Arachnos treats this place as a proving ground for his young up-and-coming troops,” the sergeant explained. “Don't let their uniforms intimidate you. They don't have any more field experience than you do. Fight strategically and don't get surrounded.”

“Understood,” Heat Blister said.

“Oh, and one last thing,” the sergeant said. “Anybody you boys take down, you make sure you bust his ass good and hard. Give 'em something to think about the next time they consider setting foot on our turf.” Then he gave the boys a wink. The heroes all laughed as left, pleased that their tactics had gotten them some notice and support.

And sure enough, they took him to heart. As they slowly progressed to the location Walt had uncovered, they had left behind a trail of defeated Arachnos troops, stripped of their black and red armor, bent over and paddled good and hard. The troops didn't have powers, but did have painful energy guns. As long as they didn't attempt to take on too many men at once, the Blister Boyz had matters well in hand.

“It feels good to actually be able to take on honest-to-god 'bad guys,'” Ice Hazer said as he froze a group of men in place. Murky Menace enjoyed being the top for once, sitting side by side next to Smaqdown (instead of across his knee) paddling the troops.

Major Fry kept mostly to the air to scout the surroundings (and keep an eye on their destination). The Sticking Point stayed on the ground for hand-to-hand (or hand-to-ass, as the case may be) fighting. Heat Blister and Poison Punisher used their powers at a distance to scorch enemy tail, and the Humiliator focused on using his telekinesis to eliminate any weaponry brought to bear. On the rare occasion an Arachnos soldier managed to injure somebody with their energy guns, Poison Punisher was quickly able to eliminate the pain and heal the burns.

Two hours of slow advance brought them to a small cinderblock building with a satellite dish on top.

“This is the place,” Major Fry said landing down next to the team.

“Murky Menace, armor up and take point, Smaqdown right behind him,” Heat Blister ordered. Brian shrouded himself in his shadowy armor, good at deflecting physical assaults. “Make sure the inside's clear. Then Major Fry and The Humiliator will examine the systems to see what we can figure out.”

“Ready?” Murky Menace asked Smaqdown.

“Yes.” Murky Menace kicked the door in then tumbled low into the building, Smaqdown running in behind him. The others followed quickly behind. The main room was empty. Quickly the team scouted out the small, two-story bunker-life facility. There were no people in the building at all. Up on the second floor, a small computer on a simple desk had wires up leading to the roof.

“This is it? This is what's connected to the satellite?” Ice Hazer asked.

“It might be all they need,” The Humiliator said. “Let me check it out.” He looked at the monitor and began typing. “It's not even password protected it looks like. I don't understand.”

“We're pretty deep in,” Major Fry said. “Maybe they weren't expecting anybody on our side to find this?”

“This doesn't make sense,” Dennis said, after consulting various programs on the computer. “Yes, it's transmitting data, but it's drawing this information from files already on the computer. It hasn't hacked into anything at all. It's all saved video.” Dennis opened some file folders and showed the boys some random security footage that had been saved on the hard drive. “This isn't a feed at all, it's ...”

“It's a trap,” Major Fry said. “Shit, shit, shit. We didn't leave a guard outside.”

“Down and out, now!” Heat Blister ordered. The team stormed back downstairs and out through the door.

They were waiting there for them, fifty yard from the entrance to the building. Seven men in costumes, along with four large robots. They recognized the ninja they had met before, whom they knew now was called Ambush Viper. The Crimson Brotherhood had arrived.

“Greetings, Blister Boyz,” said a blond man wearing a lab coat over blue body armor covered with circuitry and a symbol of a red scorpion. “I'm Master Manacle. I'm here to ...”

“TAKE THEM DOWN!” Heat Blister ordered. The Blister Boyz charged. As did the Crimson Brotherhood.

NEXT: Finally! Years in the making! The Blister Boyz vs. The Crimson Brotherhood!

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