Dustin struggled in Markie's hands, as the muscle-bound gay houseboy carried him to the stairs, and started to carry him up to his room. Somehow Dustin managed to get the shirt gag out of his mouth.
Dustin started on a royal rant, "Let me go! I don't have a concussion! Stop that! I'm not gay!"
"There, there, Dusty, everything's going to be okay. Your Markie's going to take good care of you, little guy" Markie said in a reassuring voice while wiggling his probing middle finger inside Dustin's rectum.
"I'm not a little boy! I'm - oooh! Aaaah! St-t-t-t-op!" moaned Dustin.
"Little guy," said Ty to himself. He bit his lip, and whispered, "Yeah, little."
Dustin yelped and was suddenly quiet. He had felt his rock hard cock straining against the denim of his jeans. Suddenly, there was no pressure on his swollen cock and balls. He felt air surrounding his still rock hard cock, and glanced down to see his bulge vanish. Where his tent had been, there now was a soft indentation in his jeans. He could feel his scrotum and cock shrink away from his hot thighs. Everything shrank, but he still felt as if his cock was rock hard, just a hell of a lot smaller. But that couldn't be? He started to sob.