Children of Lightning Ch. 1

Children Of Lightning (by Mafisto)

Chapter 1 of 3
[Fantasy casting: Jimmy Wlcek as Trent Malchek, Shane Meier as Tommy Malchek, Marco Sanchez as Carlos Valchez, Chuck Norris as Ranger Chuck Walker, Jason Cook as Shawn, Jay K. Johnson as Phil, Aaron Van Wagner as Jason.]

Mrs. Wise sat on the edge of a worn chair in the Lightning Eyes office. She treated it with the same disdainful way she treated every object in that office, not to mention the investigators themselves. She spoke with affectation, enunciating every syllable so distinctly her words sparkled like crystal.

“The thief did not make any noise, nor were there any signs of breaking and entering. My son Jason got up at 6:00 AM for football practice, and noticed that the safe was wide open. My most precious jewels were missing, including a priceless brooch, but the thief left the money in the safe.”

“How much money?” asked Trent Malchek, rubbing the blond stubble on his chin.

“About ten thousand dollars in hundreds,” she said, with a hint of pride.

“You mean the thief took jewelry instead of hard cash?” asked Carlos, astonished.

“That is exactly what I mean,” she said. “Now, the brooch is a family heirloom, and is inlaid with ten tiny rubies. I have a picture of it here I can leave you. It has invaluable sentimental value. The police…” she said, eyeing Carlos, who used to be an officer, “… cannot do very much. You must find it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must pick up Jason at school. He’ll be late for his Karate class.”

“Your son takes karate lessons?” asked Trent, intrigued. “I don’t think I have him in my class.”

She let out a pearly laugh. “Goodness, of course not. Jason attends a professional martial arts institution, the Lion’s Claw Karate School. It is run by Mr. Richard Jackson, who has a Master’s degree in martial arts.”

Trent winced at the put-down, but kept a cool attitude. Of course her son would study with Jackson, his omnipresent nemesis; he fit the profile exactly: rich and probably arrogant. “We all have our standards. Very well then, Mrs. Wise. We’ll do whatever we can to find out the author of these robberies.”

“What do you think?” asked Carlos after the snob left. Did the room seem warmer now?

“It isn’t the only robbery of its kind, is it? There has been two others recently, two unrelated well-to-do families. Same M.O., no forced entry, only high-tech electronics or jewelry missing.”

“Yeah, if it’d been an isolated incident, we could suspect an inside job, but the only people in the house when the robberies took place were family members. Three different families. We can safely conclude it’s someone from the outside. I can check out the pawnshops for a start, it’ll be fun to play dress-up.”

Trent got up and readjusted his tight jeans. “Good idea. Me, I’ve got to practice before my class tonight.”

In the yard of Lake Highlands High School, Tommy Malchek was trying to convince Shawn and Phil, two guys from his class who trained in karate at Lion’s Claw, to join his brother’s dojo instead.

“Karate isn’t about power,” he said. “It’s not about imposing yourself on others. It’s about inner strength. Strength over our emotions. The philosophy is much more important than the techniques.”

“Philosophy is for faggots like you and your bro,” said a voice from behind him.

Tommy turned around to come face to face with Jason Wise, the rich bully.

“What do you mean, faggot?” Tommy asked, his voice faltering.

Jason poked him in the chest. “You don’t think I’ve seen you trying to check me out in the showers after football practice this morning. What the hell were you doing in the locker room at that time anyway?”

Tommy panicked; he was busted. “I was… looking for a book I forgot in there,” he blurted out.

Jason laughed. “You were looking for it in the showers, I suppose? Because I saw you look in there while I was washing. Did you find what you were looking for, faggot?” His tone became more aggressive. “I don’t like faggots watching me. Now, let’s see if all this karate philosophy and inner strength can help you.”

He did a flashy karate turn, jump and double kick, which Tommy unsuccessfully tried to block. Tommy fell to the ground, his nose bleeding. What really hurt him, however, was Shawn and Phillip’s laughter.

“I’ll take power over philosophy any day,” said Shawn, as he followed Jason out of the school grounds.

“Bye, bye, faggot,” said Phillip. “Did you want us to join just to watch us change into our kimonos?”

“What happened to you?” asked Trent, now in kimono, when he saw Tommy come in with dried blood on his face. “Did you get into a fight at school? I told you not to use karate to start fights.”

Tommy was seething. “I didn’t start a fight. I tried to avoid one, with those useless moves you taught me. But the guy knew karate much better than I did, and everyone laughed at me and called me faggot.”

“And why would they call you faggot?” asked Trent, hitting and kicking a punching bag.

Tommy looked down, uncomfortable. “That guy caught me spying on him in the showers at the gym.”

Trent stopped in mid-move. “What do you mean he caught you? He thought you were spying on him…”

“He didn’t ‘think’ I was spying on him,” said Tommy, in a mix of embarrassment and anger. “I was spying on him and he caught me.”

Trent was stunned. He looked at Tommy silently, then his face flushed and he shouted: “Why did you do a thing like that, Tommy? You don’t spy on other guys at the gym, that’s perverted and disgusting. Only faggots do things like that.” He calmed down and whispered: “Were you just curious? Or are you… gay?”

Tommy glared at his brother so coldly Trent took a step backwards.

“And if I was a faggot, Trent,” said Tommy, disturbingly composed. “What would you do about it?”

He calmly waited for an answer. None came. Tommy ran off, with Trent too shocked to go after him.

Carlos entered the Lightning Karate studio through the office, dressed in a black suit with the pants unzipped; he was buttoning up a wine satin shirt. “So, I’ll start with the pawn shops on 4th Avenue, then…” He paused when he saw Trent furiously attacking the punching bag, with a chaotic combination of foot, knee, fist, elbow, shoulder and head blows.

“What’s the matter, Trent?” he asked. “I’ve never seen you this worked up before.”

“Nothing’s the matter,” muttered Trent, without even slowing down. “I’m practicing that’s all.”

“Well, that’s one violent punching bag that won’t bother us again.”

Trent gave the bag one last kick in frustration. “I’m not sure I can do the father thing anymore.”

“Is this about Tommy?” asked Carlos, zipping up. “He was beat up again? Or did you find out…”

Trent whirled around to stare at Carlos, who lowered his gaze. “Find out what?” He kept on staring, then said: “You mean, you knew? You’re my best friend, you knew my brother was a faggot, and you didn’t tell.”

“Well, the fact that you’re calling him a faggot proves I was right to do so.” Carlos pulled out a purple tie from his pants pocket and started knotting it. “And no, I didn’t know for sure. But I caught him checking me out a few times while I was changing.”

“Apparently you were not the only one who caught him. He’s not only… gay, but a peeping tom.”

Carlos grabbed his friend’s shoulder. “Ah, come on Trent. He’s a teenager. He’s just rinsing his eye.”

Trent shook his shoulder free. “Don’t touch me. One… gay person in my life is quite enough, thanks.”

“Mr. Malchek,” said Richard Jackson, pacing his office with a smug smile, “I’m not sure I understand why you want to train with me instead of with your brother. My classes are quite expensive, you know.”

Tommy was too enraged to notice Jackson’s vulpine manners. He said: “Trent is too much of a straight arrow to include me in his life as I am. I can’t live up to his standards. I don’t need him to replace Dad, anyway; I don’t need him giving me orders all the time.”

Richard grinned maliciously; he considered something. The door between his office and the studio where his students were practicing was open. Tommy had seen Jason, Shawn and Phillip in there, and they had noticed him as well. They kept glancing in his direction, puzzled, until Richard closed the door.

“Tommy, you know that opportunity is not a lengthy visitor. What if I told you that your best option is not to study with me, but to teach a lesson to your brother?”

“How would I do that?” asked Tommy, intrigued. “Anyway, I’m not here only because of my brother. His techniques are too soft and defensive. I need a real teacher, who’ll teach me how to fight and win.”

Richard laughed loudly, and even threw his head back a little. “That’s certainly flattering. Wait here.”

He left. Tommy got up his chair and looked around the room. Posters of mean looking men violently fighting covered the walls. Images of punches, kicks, drool and blood surrounded him. He needed manly power and virile strength; with all the soft morals of his preachy brother, no wonder he turned out gay. He peeked out the crack in the doorway. Richard had left, and he saw Jason staring at him. He quickly went back to his chair, trying not to think too much about how sexy the wealthy jock looked in a kimono.

Richard came back with a small antique box covered in blue velvet with oriental patterns. He placed it on his desk, opened it, and took out pieces of blue satin, delicately embroidered with gold Asian characters.

“Do you believe in magic, Tommy?” he asked.

Tommy laughed nervously. “No, not really. Why? Do you?”

“Of course. There are mysteries beyond what we understand of our universe. This is part of a deal I made not long ago, and it has proven quite rewarding. These are belt tips, ornaments hundreds of years old.”

“They look new.”

“That’s because they are magic. They cannot age.”

Tommy rose from his seat, irritated. “Are you expecting me to believe even a word of this? These look new because they are new. Period. My brother was right about you. You’re a liar!”

Richard kept his cool. The thick, rounded features of his face gave him leonine looks. A fox in lion’s clothing. “Then I’ll prove my claim. I have two pairs of belt tips here. This one pair has characters which spell ‘sempai’, or master student; on this one, they spell ‘deshi’, or disciple. I use this last pair to reward my honor students. Attach the sempai tips to this belt here, and tie it around your waist.”

“Over my jeans?”

“Yes.”

Tommy humored him. As he tied the belt around his waist, he sensed a brief inner buzz. Could it be magic? Nah, he was probably expecting something so much that it was becoming true.

“Now, let’s call one of my students, Shawn Bradly.”

“I’m not that interested to see that one in particular,” said Tommy, concerned.

Richard ignored the remark and called Shawn, who came in and looked at Tommy with scorn.

“Sensei, what is Tommy Malchek doing here? We told you he tried to recruit us in his brother’s school.”

“Things have changed. Take off your belt, attach these belt tips to it, and put it back.”

“But I was last week’s honor student. This week’s Phil. Is that why you just took these back from him?”

“Do it, Shawn.” Richard’s tone was unequivocal. Shawn shut up and did as he was told. When he tied the ornamented belt around his waist, Tommy saw a brief flash in his eyes.

“What now?” asked Shawn, getting impatient.

Richard whispered something in Tommy ear, who then looked straight at Shawn and said: “Obi-Deshi.”

Shawn instantly stood up straight, bowed towards him, and said: “Sempai.”

Tommy scrutinized him and noticed his vague and empty look. Richard had a wide grin on his face.

“You can ask him anything now. He’ll just do it. He’s in a magical trance.”

“No way,” said Tommy, unimpressed. “He’s just faking. If you say he’ll do anything, I’ll try something I know he’d never do, even to fake. Shawn, take off your kimono.”

Tommy stared at Shawn, expecting him to quit the act, but Shawn did not even blink. He immediately divested himself from the white cotton, and soon stood there wearing only dark blue plaid boxers. Tommy could not believe it; he was half-amazed at the apparent obedience, and half-aroused by seeing the dark-haired handsome teen standing in nothing but his underwear. He was still skeptic though.

“Now go tell the other students that you are a faggot.”

Shawn mechanically walked inside the dojo, announced loudly, “I’m a faggot,” and came back into the office. Tommy saw the look of astonishment on the other students’ faces. That could not be faked.

Richard gathered the belt tips and said to Tommy: “Once you’re finished with him, just tell him Arigato. He’ll wake up and won’t remember a thing. You see, these belt tips establish a temporary magical hierarchy of control. Tying up the belt indicates your level in that hierarchy. The effect lasts for three days, or 72 hours, even if you remove the belts afterwards. Anyone who tied the one with the ‘sempai’ belt tip can control one who established he was at the ‘deshi’ level.”

“Are there ‘sensei’ belt tips?” asked Tommy.

“They’ve been lost through the centuries. As were the rumored ‘shihan’ belt tips.”

Tommy got Shawn to put on his kimono, and then released his hold on him with an ‘Arigato’; Shawn returned to the studio, unaware of his ‘coming out’. Tommy thanked Richard and left with the box of tips.

Carlos had been at it for three hours now. He had drawn lines between the houses that had been robbed, and drawn a star in the center of that triangle. He had started from that point and moved in a spiral, visiting every pawnshop in the vicinity of the star. The next one to visit was on Blossom Street, about 10 miles from the triangle’s center. As he was walking down Blossom Street, just as he was about to reach the pawnshop, he had a sudden impression of being watched. He stopped and turned around. Just behind him was a very old Asian man with paper-thin skin, standing in front of a door. It was strange how Carlos had not noticed that narrow building just wide enough for that door — it was nestled between the pawnshop he was about to enter and the bookstore he had just passed, where he could have sworn there was an alley just moments ago.

“Tell the boy I have what he’s looking for,” said the Asian man. “I’ll be waiting.”

Carlos shook his head. Most crazy people are in the streets, not in asylums. He entered the pawnshop and a dead-rat-like odor assailed him at once — he almost turned around and left. But this one stocked more jewelry than the others, as well as a shitload of electronics, even recent stuff like DVD players and Playstation 2’s. The first robbery consisted of electronics, he remembered. Carlos pretended to look for some specific piece of jewelry, and then made a move towards the door. A small Latino man blocked his way.

“We keep the best stuff in the back, sir,” he said, nodding towards a tiny room beyond flowered curtains.

Carlos followed him inside the room, where he sat before a small wooden table.

“What are you interested in, anyway?” asked the man.

“Something fancy and expensive for a chick, like a necklace, or a brooch. To buy a piece of her pie.”

The man smiled knowingly, opened a large safe, and then took out a few cases. “I have some great new stuff here.” He showed Carlos some bracelets, necklaces and a pair of emerald earrings. When he opened the next case, Carlos could barely restrain himself: there was Mrs. Wise’s ruby brooch, right before his eyes.

“I can see this one attracted your attention, sir,” said the man. “We Latinos know what the ladies want.”

“They certainly don’t want stolen jewelry,” said Carlos, taking out his gun. “Who sold this to you?”

Trent pretended not to notice Tommy when he came in early for his 8 PM class.

“Trent, I’m sorry I ran off like that.” Tommy put his gym bag on the floor, and then took out the Deshi belt tips. “Here, I bought these as a peace offering.”

Trent accepted the gift. “I know about these: they’re ornamental belt tips. They haven’t made these in centuries. Where did you get this? They look new, but it’s obvious they were made by hand.”

“I found them in an antique shop. The owner was Japanese and made these cheap imitations himself.”

“Well, I hope you didn’t pay too much for them. I’ll try them on.”

He removed his belt, and ceremoniously attached the tips to it. “Those symbols mean Deshi, or disciple. The lowest rank… Who cares? They look great. Thanks, Tommy.” He put on the belt and Tommy could see the same brief flash in his eyes that he had seen in Shawn’s.

“What does Obi mean?” Tommy asked.

“Belt… Eh, I just felt a burst of energy. You know, these were supposed to hold great magical power.”

“I know. What does Obi-Deshi mean?”

Trent immediately stood straight, and bowed towards Tommy. “Sempai,” he said, with an empty look.

Tommy had the urge to pinch himself. Could it be true? Was his big brother really standing there in a trance, ready to do whatever he asked him to? “Bark like a dog,” he said. Trent barked a few times, and then howled. Well, that was original. How about something even less Trent-like? “Say filthy, dirty things.”

“Hell, do I need some pussy,” said Trent, completely out of character. “I want cunts to lick my fucking dick, cream it dry… To shove my huge cock into their dripping vaginas and fucking make them squeal…”

“Ok, stop…” Tommy was folded over himself in laughter at hearing these words from his prude brother. He had to hurry before the other students arrived. “OK, tonight will be a guys only class. You’ll send home all the girls and all the boys under sixteen. You’ll use all your charisma to convince everyone to take the class half-an-hour in their underwear, half-an-hour in the nude, for some test or something. Understand?”

“Yes, sempai. No girls, no children, and no kimonos.”

“Good, it’s great to see you’re still intelligent in a trance. Now, Arigato.”

Trent opened his eyes immediately. “I’m sorry, did you ask me another Japanese word to translate?”

“No, that’s okay Trent. I’ll go change.” As Tommy went into the locker room, he heard Trent tell Jane Donner, a student who was coming in: “Sorry, Jane. Tonight, it’s guys only. Oh, and I can’t take Timmy either, only boys sixteen and older. We’re doing a test. See you next week. Sorry for not telling you earlier.”

Class started as usual, then Trent announced: “We will try something different today, that’s why there’s fewer of us. Humility is of major importance in karate. You must remember how vulnerable you are, and not brag when faced by opponents. Now, we’re all guys here, and the windows are closed. To give you the proper decorum, I want you to remove your kimonos. You will do half this class in your underwear.”

The students protested of course. Tommy looked as shocked as the rest. But Trent didn’t need magic belts, his charisma worked like a charm. Soon, Tommy watched as all the guys in his class stripped off their kimonos and stood around in their underwear. His favorite fantasy. He hurried to take his own kimono off.

As the class progressed, he tried not to look too interested in George Forrester, the tall basketballer wearing long loose boxers, and in his dick that came out of them regularly; or in Darren Clemens, the red-headed, freckled boy who delivered pizza, and in his bubble ass neatly hugged by white boxerbriefs one size too tight. After the first awkward five minutes, everybody forgot about being half-naked and started to act natural again. Those kicks and moves really showcased every part of these boys’ bare bodies.

“You see how comfortable it is to let yourselves be vulnerable. Now, next half hour will be in the nude.”

Now, some students really balked. “No way,” said Raphael, a black student who was into soccer. He had classic white briefs on, and they contrasted nicely with his dark skin. “I’m not taking these off.”

“Listen, all of you. You’ve seen me at church; you know I’m no pervert. You all take showers with other guys at school. Come on, don’t disappoint me. The test is humility. What you’re showing me is pride!”

Tommy admired his brother so much for his convincing ways. And there, Darren was the first, exposing his freckled bubble ass. Then Sam, a thin blond guy whom Tommy had never suspected to be so hung. Tommy was the third, but he felt self-conscious of his dick, a bit too small for his taste. George too was hung, as Tommy suspected, even more than Sam, a nice long cut tube. Finally, Raphael succumbed, but he kept his hands in front of his package. At least, his ass looked great, dimpled and all.

It was a fantastic experience, and Tommy had to keep extremely focused to keep his dick soft. He even got to teach 10 minutes of the class, and so got a nice front view of everyone. Again, only the first few minutes were weird, then a sort of locker room feeling prevailed. Tommy noticed that what Raphael had tried to hide was a huge hard-on, so he made him come in front to help him practice some moves. There were snickers when his big secret was exposed, and Raphael excused himself, saying he had to leave early.

Some of the guys said it was one of the best classes ever. After they left, Trent started to get on his case. “You were quite sloppy today, Tommy. No self-control. I watched you teach, and you were not a good example for the others. I bet your mind was filled with sex, not practice. You think too much about sex.”

“You know, Trent, it’d be fun to see you out of control for a change. I have an idea… Obi-Deshi.”

“Sempai.” Trent was immediately at attention.

“Listen carefully. From now on, whenever someone mentions alcohol, you will feel as if you had drunk whatever drink he is talking about. If someone mentions a glass of wine, bang, you’ll feel like you drank a glass of wine. Understand?”

“Yes, sempai,” Trent said, drone-like. “Any drink I hear about will make me feel as if I drank it.”

Tommy smiled. It was nice to be in control, even arousing, as his half-hard dick indicated.

“Trent, another thing. Physical activity will make you horny from now on. The faster your heart beats, the hornier you’ll feel. The closest you get to your maximum heart beat, the less sexual self-control you’ll feel. When you get real close, you won’t care what goes on around you, you’ll only think about sex, whatever the consequences to you. Of course, you won’t force yourself on anyone. Understand?”

“Yes, sempai, the higher my heart beat, the hornier I’ll feel, and the less self-control I’ll feel.”

“One last thing, whenever we practice together, you’ll do it in your underwear. You won’t ask yourself why; it’ll just be the way it’s done. Now, Arigato…” Trent snapped out of trance, and Tommy asked him: “How about an hour’s practice, then, bro. I want you to show me that self-control you were talking about. Then we can have a beer together,” he said, joking. Then he saw Trent repress a burp.

“Sure, Tommy. I’m always up for practice. Let me just take this off.” He quickly took off his kimono, and then stood before Tommy in a tiny pair of black briefs. Boy, did his brother look sexy in those skimpy black briefs. Such a perfect, tight, muscular body, and such a thin waist.

He let Trent guide him through a kata, then said: “You know, at school, they said that even one glass of wine can make you woozy. And two more will make you drunk enough not to drive.”

Trent was in the process of showing Tommy a kick; he stumbled a few times before being able to do it. This time, he burped loudly. “Excuse me,” he said, embarrassed. “I feel a bit weird.” He was all in a sweat.

“How about a little one on one?” asked Tommy, determined to make Trent’s heart beat faster.

“All right.”

Despite his numbed reflexes, Trent was still quite an adversary. The increase in activity had given him a hard-on. The tight tiny briefs were stretched to their limit. Whenever he felt self-conscious, Tommy distracted him. When Tommy grew tired of always losing, he said: “I bet you an entire bottle of vodka that I will win this time.” Trent immediately started to lose his balance and his concentration, staggering all over the place. Tommy could kick him, and his reaction came seconds after. He stumbled to the mat most of the time, a dumb grin on his face. He was rubbing his crotch more and more frequently. He started to divagate, “huge breasts…” After a supreme effort to keep up with Tommy, he fell one last time and then just quit. He slid his briefs off, and started to jerk off as if it was some major emergency, ignoring Tommy completely. He came in jets of cum all over his chest, and then immediately fell asleep, with a low, gentle snore.

Tommy wiped his brother’s chest carefully, and then cleaned him up with a damp towel. He locked the doors, and then lay down next to his brother, his head on his chest, stroking it gently. He fingered his brother’s softening dick, just to get a feel for its size. How he longed to have one like it. He kissed Trent on the cheek, and then dressed him back into his briefs and kimono. He went to sleep on the mat next to him.

A faint clicking noise woke Trent, who instantly felt a painful throbbing in his head and a bad taste in his mouth. This wasn’t his bed. He sat up and looked around. Why had he fallen asleep in the middle of the studio like that? And what was Tommy doing, asleep beside him, in his kimono as well? He heard footsteps in the Lightning Eyes office. His watch showed 1:32 AM. He sprang up, which briefly made his head whirl and his stomach churn. When his body calmed down, he quietly opened the door to the office.

He and Carlos jumped at the sight of each other. Trent’s heart quickened and he felt his cock harden instantly. Embarrassed, he sat behind his desk before Carlos noticed the sudden bulge in his kimono.

“What are you still doing here so late?” Carlos asked. “I tried your home and not even Tommy was there. The other kids have gone to bed by themselves.”

Trent was about to answer when he noticed Carlos’ state. His shirt hung out of his pants, scratched in three places and imbibed with blood; patches of dirt soiled his suit in several spots.

“What happened to you, man?” Trent asked. “Did you get into a fight?”

Carlos paced the tiny room, overexcited. “I found it, Trent! In some pawnshop on Blossom street, right in the backroom. Mrs. Wise’s brooch right before me. The guy right in front of my gun. The next second, some guys who knew karate were all over me. Before I knew it, my gun was kicked out of my hand, and I was licking the floor. Unlike you, I suck at this hand-to-hand combat.”

“How did you escape?”

“One of them was familiar to me, and I was familiar to him. He convinced the others that killing me would only anger the cops, who hate cop killers. So they knocked me out and I woke up in some gutter.”

“Did you send the cops at the address?”

“Sure, as soon as I saw a phone, but there was no trace of them when the cops got there. The owner of the building is some guy in India, who said the building was vacant. They must have been squatters.”

“Someone must have seen them leave.”

Carlos’ face brightened. “The little old Asian guy! He stood right next to the shop. He’s a bit of a lunatic — he rambled about having something some boy needed.”

“Then we’ll look for him first thing in the morning. Right now, I need some sleep.”

“Trent… Would you teach me some of those karate moves? I want to defend myself better.”

“Sure thing, Carlos. Right after we find the old little Asian man. It’ll be fun to see you in a kimono.”

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