Owned and Trained by Mr. X

[asslikker]

***

His lack of movement, him just staring at me, melted into an abstraction. I was enraptured by what he'd just done to me, like a deer bewitched by radiant lights on the horizon. It was impossible to process what had happened. All I knew was that my dick tingled; I wanted it again, or, if not that, something other that I knew only he was capable of. If I had just shot my wad with someone else, my mind would be searching for the nearest exit. With Mr. X. I felt the opposite. I wanted more of him, to know more, to discover more, to belong more to him. He was a flame for my thoughts. My mind imagined him practicing taboo and foreign arts. I pictured him overseas, entering exotic ports, each stop adding another souvenir to his body; sucking off a shipmate in some dark alley, both denying the next day anything had happened on shore; an unrepentant mercenary; a defrocked priest; he might have been a wrestler, holding high a championship belt, chest heaving, taunting Spanish at his beaten opponent, shaved, in tights, wearing a black mask. Spinning mind spun tale after tale drinking him in. Mind is a razor blade.

He opened my legs, moved in to examine. In the calm of an afterglow, his snake hand ran between my thighs, pushed four fingers into my hole. “Tight,” he murmured in the direction of Riggs who’d long ago collapsed into his own reverie. I looked over at Riggs. I felt a bit of pity. He was shoving the balls that had fallen out of me, now burying the fourth ball into his ass. Mr. X pulled out his fingers and felt the welt Duncan had given me, which seemed like lifetimes ago. “He likes beating?” he asked Riggs in a detached voice.

It took a while for Riggs to answer. “Ask him? I think he’s a horny little slut that would do anything for a big cock.”

Standing between my legs Mr. X stared at me. “You like to be beat?” It was the first time I clearly saw how formidable he was. His cock had gone down to an impressive swaying eight inches, soft. A tremendous amount of foreskin now hung over his cockhead. There was nothing accidental in how he used his body. I know he had asked a question. I had no idea what it was. His tool's soft foreskin, rolled over my withered dick. “You like to take beatings? I don’t like to ask twice.”

“Uh, I uh…” I trailed off unable to figure out how to answer his simple question. No, I did not; yes, if he wished it.

“How much did you give him his first time?”

Riggs, irritated to have to answer again, lolled his head on the bed, spouted, “Point three, maybe four. Can’t remember. Hard to find a vein. Boy squealed before I stuck him, but’s been loving it ever since, haven't you, pig boy?”

I was mesmerized by the sensation of Mr. X's foreskin rocking over my balls. There was a tattoo of a screaming mask right above his dick camouflaged in his thick bush. Where the mask’s tongue would be instead was his swaying dick. “Were you in the navy?” I asked Mr. X.

“Was I what?” He stared, puzzled. He called to Riggs, “He’s asking me if I was in the navy.”

I shook again in a cold fever, my teeth chatter. For a moment I mistook him for my father's older brother, Uncle Glenn. I shivered in a forgotten memory. I felt I was living through a dream with Mr. X, or a flashback with my uncle in his pool, alone, up close in a tub with me, tepid water washing over us, he brushing up against me obscenely. Me having inappropriate thoughts of my uncle. I was lost in the memory, whether it was even true, but I was also here, wanting more of this man's touch. I tipped my torso up to feel the heavy weight of his cock brush up against my shaved crotch.

“You fucked up little fucker. You want to come work for me, feel like this all the time?”

“Aw, fuck yeah. I want you to feel me all the time.” The words just floated out of me. No meaning, just sounds that I hoped he would like.

“I think you’d make a lot more money than working for Rigg Pig, isn’t that right, Mr. Pig?”

“Most likely. But I want a finder’s fee for that sweet cunt of his.”

“I need a test drive. You okay if I give him another spin?” asked Mr. X. “And what this tat on his ass?”

“What?” Riggs asked, now fully coming out of his reverie. He pulled the final ball out of his ass and got off the bed. He took up inspection next to Mr. X. I liked both men checking out my ass, pulling my leg to the side to get a better light. “Oh, that’s his dreamcatcher tattoo.”

“I think we cover it up with a black boot. How ‘bout that, kid? Nice big Mr. X boot on your ass, size thirteen stomping you?”

“Yeah, and piercing, like yours. And nipples. Big ones,” I blurted.

“Maybe eventually. But yours are small yet." He reached up to pull off the tit tubes. "Let me see.” He popped one off. The tit was blue and blistered, but for me pretty massive. He pulled the second tit pump off. I was shocked how enlarged they'd gotten. Each of the men pulled at them. “Maybe small piercings. Maybe a P.A. What do think, Riggs? A little P.A. on this pretty prick?” Mr. X picked up my dick, pinched it to open the piss slit, rubbed a finger over the soft interior skin. He reached over to a leather case on the table, unzipped it and took out one of several steel rods. He licked the rod and spit on my soft dick, slid one of the rods in only slightly and let it fall into my slit on its own weight. The sensation felt close to what his tongue had done to me, and produced in me a low growl. I began to rock in Mr. X's hand. “Hang on. Let’s get you slutted up. Another slam and see what surprises we can get out of you." He pulled out the rod and released my cock.

"Wait, what?" The last sentence tugged on an alarm. "Wait. No, no, no, no" I stammered realizing what he had in mind. "I'm so fucked up. I can't even."

Riggs completely ignored me. "He's a fast learning, you'll see." To me, Riggs said, "You’re not ready for home yet, are you? Don't you want to stay and play with Rigg Pig and Mr. X?”

“I do. Fucking A,” I said, “just...but I don't need to slam again.”

He and Riggs went over to the table with hushed voices. “I want to bond with him. Now,” Mr. X whispered to Riggs. “I’m in a sharing mood.” He showed Riggs the needle in his pocket. "This is the Czech shit I brought back. There is nothing purer."

"I hear you guys," I said, trying to imagine getting even higher than I was. "Please, I'm shitfaced."

“If I can’t finish," Mr. X continued, "you’ll need to do him.” 

All I could see was Mr. X's ass. As distressed as I was, my attention span was that of a flea. Mr. X removed his vest now stood naked with his back to me. The tail that began at his hand I could now see the detail of how it slid over his shoulder, slithered down his back, undulated with his breath and ended between his cheeks. I admired Mr. X’s broad back, a giant V that ended in a surprising small waist. I loved the dimples on his butt. The tail of the striped snake disappearing. While they quietly bartered, I obsessed how far the snake tail went if I were to spread his cheeks apart. That's all I thought about, spreading his muscular butt apart.

“That means we finalize the contract then," whispered Riggs. "You've had three weeks to read through his background.” Their words were distractions I wanted to bat away. I only wanted to dig in to Mr. X’s ass, find out how the snake tail ended. “Contract," however, echoed in the air, buzzing like a fly, raising a modicum of interest. A quiet siren launched, however far back it was in my lizard brain, buried beneath a heavy blanket of static. I remembered I was cuffed. I rattled my arms to see how secured I was. The answer was very secured.

“Fine,” Mr. X said, coming toward me wiping his arm with a wet pad. “The paperwork later. I want him now, just in this state. Have him sign it at some point.” 

Seeing that I was now quietly watching him, he addressed me directly. “Okay, this is what happens. You might remember some of it, probably not all of it, doesn't matter. No, I was never in the navy but I was a medic a long time ago. So, you put yourself in my hands. Okay?” He said over his shoulder, “Secure his head.” I saw Riggs carrying over a belt, which he strapped over my forehead, turned my head, smashing my left ear down into the pillow before I had time to think. When I caught up with what was happening, Riggs secured the belt under the sling and trapped my head sideways looking at Mr. X’s torso. I struggled, but realized escape wasn’t an option. Mr. X bent down, talking into my face. “Like I said, I think you can make a lot of money. In my bar, I have video studio and dungeon in basement. Much more equipped than this," he said indicating Riggs' playroom. "Many friends, too, and financiers and customers. Some not so nice but I protect my property. I specialize in a very select product. My talent also entertains for me, some very powerful clients. Some in government, some in police, some we don't talk about. Riggs convinced me you are a good investment. We are above board, totally legal, legally binding once you sign. And yet to see if we work out together, we need to...bonding,” he said, holding out the needle. He used a wet pad to clean my neck. Then he lay he cheek next to my ear. “Just you and me, Boy Scout. What you say?” he asked. “Riggs can slam if he wants, watch us, film us, hell, join if he wants. But this is our party, and how we know if we have chemistry.” He rose and displayed the needle, gazed at it lovingly, brought it straight to my face. “Exactly one gram of finest crystal. Pure, like you. You won't believe it.”

Riggs circled to the other side of the sling, a video camera in hand. He pushed my greasy hair out of my face to make sure none got on my neck or in the way of his shot.
“A full gram,” Mr. X continued. “Half of this point is mine, the other half yours. I want us have the best slam of your life, bring you into my world on beautiful magic carpet.” He ran his snake hand over my neck.

“Why the neck? Not the neck.” I was as coherent as was possible and trying to be lucid and calm. "Do the arm. Arm's good."

“You’re starting to make me think Riggs had it wrong, Boy Scout. Shake no if this is not what you want. I will respect your decision.”

I tried, but of course, he knew it was impossible. I snorted and heaved resigned. Snot ran down the pillow.

Mr. X came in close, licked the snot. He flickered his forked tongue up my nostrils. His eyes lusted vulgarly. “Your body tastes good, damn good. Mine tastes good to you, too. I see this. We will have good chemistry. I'm sure. We’re going to have the most fun you’ve ever had this side of dead. I promise you.”

Directly in my line of sight, all I saw was Mr. X testing his veins. He chose one that was the least bruised, held his needle against it at an angle, stuck it in, drew in some blood causing the clear liquid to turn red. He slowly pushed the plunger down to the .5 marking, then quickly withdrew it and raised his arm in the air. His large torso swayed for a second, then he grabbed the chain violently rattling the it. I thought for a second he was about to bring the whole apparatus down. He let out a roar. "FUCK!" He held tight to the bars, rocking me in the sling. His body quaked. Breathing rapidly, his head bent, he shook again. “Fuck yes!” he hollered. "Fuck boy, come here."

My line of sight was now directly facing his rising cock as he bent over me. I steeled myself for what was about to happen.

He held the needle, though his hand shook as he felt around on my neck. I tried impotently to plead again, but he bent down and looked into my eyes. He whispered, “You’re not going to fucking believe this sh....” He couldn’t finish the sentence. His eyes rolled up in this head and he steadied himself with a hand on my chest. "Fucking hell! Yes!" he yelled, almost a death rattle. He still held onto my neck. He focused intensely on me. “Not a muscle.” He found a pronounced vein, and emptied the remaining contents into my neck. "Now you with Mr. X."

Though when he withdrew the point, I felt something cold press against my neck, my eyesight went blind. I heard severe pounding in my ears, but made out nothing in front of me. I heard myself in my mind repeatedly saying "Fuck" as before, but couldn't hear myself speaking. A tongue entered my mouth, his tongue. It was the last thing I could remember. His tongue. I don't know how long I remained suspended, but someone had release my hands. I reached up blindly and felt his nipples. I crushed them and as I did so I felt fiery hands do the same to mine. The sensations of flicking tongue and fleshy tits drew me out of absolute blindness. I coughed several times. At one point, between coughs, I wasn't able to gasp in air. I heard a voice like a dark demon taunting in my ear, “Ride the fucker!” Hearing voices in dark corners, hoots and hollers, cackles and cries, indistinct, unrecognizable words, crazed in lust and mad laughter. As much as I tried to adjust to an unnatural amount of electricity coursing through my body, all I could feel was the rush of pounding in my ears, now in my heart, now in my groin, now in my asshole. My head was released from the belt, someone lowered my legs one at a time. I was falling forward, trying to stand upright, but unable. A moment of weightlessness, then giant arms caught me. Hairy arms. I stroked the hair. Some sort of animal's arms, a beast, strong and powerful, lifted me up, cradled me. A warm chest with a heart beating wildly, my heart beating wildly. I stroked the chest. Warm breasts, strong shoulders. Movement, moving through whiteness, fluorescent lights blinding overhead. Then a switch and darkness fell. Darkness clung to everything. Then falling, descending, lowering much lower than the room I remembered. Now red, burning my skin, feeling electric. The room was black and red. Unable to focus on anything but feeling I was more powerful than I'd ever been in my past life. A back that held me. Running my hand down a back, my other hand running down an abdomen. A hand sliding between my legs. No images, but a sense that the descent had stopped, replaced with being laid out on something soft, fetid, crusted, smelling. Someone moving an arm out and a leg. Another hand coursing over my body, through my legs again, diving into my anus. The room was not coming into focus, though something familiar was.

My body felt everything at once: it was a rag doll under someone’s control. Definitely not my control. Whatever took control I knew I wanted. My brain started to form around the words: fuck, fuck, fuck, until I found my voice mouthing it, then vocalizing it. Words in ecstasy. I felt someone lift up my prone torso. Coming into consciousness I saw in double vision Mr. X propping me up on the piss-stained bed. I threw my arms around his neck, frantically feeling up his body, pulling his tits, stroking his hardened cock, felt under his enormous balls, through his legs to his wet, creamy, moist hole. “Stay with me, boy,” he whispered. He slithered his tongue into my ear, then lay me down again and rolled onto me. His erection slid on my stomach as he maneuvered my legs apart. He spread and lifted them, and with one stab, popped the piece of metal on his cockhead into me. His length of shaft felt infinite. The pain I’d anticipated from the bars on his shaft instead created the fiercest pleasure I ever felt. I felt my anus rip apart in heat. Every metal bar rolled over my sphincter elicited another rush of pleasure. I was enjoying each notch as small destructions to my hole. There was no end to him driving ever deeper into me. His girth flayed me open farther than I thought possible, more than the balls that Riggs shoved in me. My hole only wanted to swallow him up. I repeated over and over in his ear to fuck me. My eyes were out of focus but there was a moving light above me. Riggs was up there, somewhere, moving with a camera. I forgot him in an instance. All that mattered was what Mr. X wanted and he wanted to descend into my hole. A voice behind the light prodded me to say what I was feeling. I found words to whimper, beg, demand Mr. X to rip me open, fist my hole, own me, take me, pull me into hell with him. Floodgates opened. A watershed of repression, tabooed yearnings, came flooding out. His massive size hit new depth inside my body. If not for the purple rush coursing through my veins it would not be possible to accept such a demon cock. Ring after ring he penetrated. At the point when I thought I couldn’t take anymore of Mr. X’s metal or flesh inside me, I started urinated uncontrollably. I heard Riggs call out, “Fuck, yes, boy. Look at him fuck the piss out of you! Be a pig I know you are.” I rubbed my hands over my belly, thinking I could feel Mr. X’s cock pound away like a creature ready to break out through my heart. I sucked my piss-covered hands, offered them to Mr. X, but got no response. He was in a delirium of his own, sightlessly fucking. I bucked up against him, pound for pound sharing his fevered pitch. The rhythm of his fuck intensified. He slammed my ass in every way possible. He twisted my body at an angle and fucked away. He growled in my ear frenzied foreign words of lust. I returned the intensity licking inside his ear, licking each nostril. I was facing him, legs in the air. He pounded even harder, slamming deeper, pulling fully out, cum shooting everywhere, plunging right back in, not ebbing a bit as he came. He quivered at his furthest point of penetration, but kept bucking, pulling out then stabbing forcefully back in. His frenzy caused me to gasp in tormented pleasure. He reacted by finally looking at me, ordering me to keep my hole open.

I felt the heat of Riggs' camera between my legs. “Hold your ankles,” Riggs directed me. I complied. Repeatedly, Mr. X pushed up his torso, revealing his full eleven-inch torpedo, before driving it back down, balls deep into my gaping hole. Not only had he found a more than will receptacle for his massive tool, but Riggs filming the act inspired me to beg for him to destroy it, to breed me and make me one of his boys. “Convert me,” I pleaded. “I want your toxic cum. Take every swimmer you have. Knock me up, Master X.”

“Yes, yes,” hissed Riggs. “That’s it, boy. Invite him to own you!”

Mr. X, at his peak arousal, quickened his pace. No longer fully pulling out, but only fucking me with the top few inches of weapon, then without warning, drove the entire fuckshaft deep into me. He repeated this pattern, first a few inches until he felt my hole relax, then punishing me with everything he had. I hollered in pain, and then begged him to fuck me again. This went on until he fell back into a less spastic, more steady rhythm. The intensity was still there in our fucking, but the regularity of it, the hours it felt like we were driving away, lulled me into a fugue state where all I was aware of being was a fuck object. All I knew of the past and what I could see into the future was being fucked by him. I was delirious. More hours passed in this state. I was fucked and rocked until I was sitting up fucking myself on his huge shaft. He ordered me to count down from ten and thank him every time I impaled myself. I forgot the order of things. I tried to remember numbers, gave up and, crazed in desire, I jacked him off with my stretched out colon. 

Riggs told Mr. X to spread my legs and show him my cunt. I was on all four over Mr. X. Riggs gasped. Mr. X turned me on my side, resumed pounding me, holding one leg in the air. I started bucking against him. I said I wanted to milk his monster, for him to plant his seed in me. I was ripe for him, ready for him to sew in fertile ground. Where these words came from I didn’t know, possibly Riggs whispering in my ear, but they kept spewing from me. Became my words, my intentions.

It remained a dark red room, a room of hellish pleasure. Hallucinations of being in a meet market, of being a puppet whose strings had broken, of men sitting in the dark watching me and Mr. X consummate our bonding, blended together. I came back to a semi-consciousness, not knowing how long it had been or what had transpired. I was flattened on my belly, unable to get out from under the enormous weight of someone relentless humping of my ass. I enjoyed the sense of futility and pleasure I was receiving by not being able to resist the cock forced in me. I found the pleasure of giving it up for my Top pushing up against Him, telling Him I was His. I forgot who was in the room. The fucker who was in me, flattening me out, a large figure who pulled out at once, bathed me in cum and returned inside me to pump out what remaining orgasm he had. He didn’t stop but continued to hump, first a dry hump between my butt cheeks, and then with my prodding and maneuvering him to reenter, and again I felt his tip spewing warm ejaculate at my entrance, warming my crack, and then stabbing me once again to make sure all his cum was received in my bowels.

He paused, my guts warming up to a now familiar afterbirth of urine, feeling my entire tract fill with liquid waste, until finally I leaked and wet the bed beneath me, dripping with another man’s piss.

This latest chem piss, I knew I was going to black me out, ramping up, in my unconsciousness, an even greater lust that nothing could slake. The figure rolled off. It was day, maybe afternoon I saw from the window. Time was only a vague changing of light. I saw a hazy figure of hanging nipples, piercings I tried to reach up and tug. Another cock was offered and I greedily sucked it. As I sucked, I said with my mouth full, it tasted of shit and cum. “It’s good,” I murmured. 

There was some deep laughter, and then I felt another stiff dick enter me. Arched to suck the one man in from of me, I felt the second man twist my pelvis so I was upright on all fours. My ass was slapped and fucked, and I moaned and thanked whoever was in me. I was told to turn around, and the man I sucked was now fucking me, someone larger and almost painful, but it provided me with such infinite bliss to have my hole used by this nameless satyr. I reached back and felt his fur-covered legs, reached under and felt his heavy, slapping balls. I pushed my genitals back in order to have my Satyr spew some of his leakage on me. I felt a bit of ass juice running down. I caught some and rubbed it over my puny nub. It felt incredible yet I knew I was infinitely years away from cumming. The Satyr pushed my face into the crotch of the other to suck his cock. The cock was large but only semi-erect. I did my best to provide him pleasure, but suddenly my mouth was flooded with piss. He instructed me to drink it, to suck it all down. I drank, but his piss was endless. My head down, he pissed his remains over my head, which ran down my back. A puddle formed on the bed with my face in the middle of it. My Satyr yanked my legs up so I fell into the puddle. The man in front rubbed his piss into my scalp. My Satyr lay on top of me, now humping slowly, his mouth next to my ear. “Suck the piss out of the mattress. This is where I'll keep you.” With slop in my mouth, he flipped me around so we could taste the mixture of piss, cum and ass slime together. I wrapped my legs around my Satyr, pulling him into me. Feeling my inner thigh slide along his hairy legs, my feet gliding down his legs to his feet. Only they weren’t feet, they were hooves, cloven hooves where his feet should have been. “Let me take you,” he growled. “Let me have your body. Surrender to me.”

I wrapped my legs against him again, not letting my ass separate from him as I felt his cockhead bulge. He slowed only for a moment to pop one of his huge balls into my canal, then the other. “You take my knot. You need your reward!” A lava of cum scorched out of him. My matted hair, his sagging breasts, his gap tooth gums chewed on my tits. I reach down and felt his dried rutting mat of hair between my legs scrubbing against me like sandpaper over my useless nub. As he flooded me to the point I gushed out between and around his mountainous member, I came with him, limp dick but shaking in orgasmic delight. The scorch of his cum oozed out of my hole, burning its way down my legs.

He lay inside me for minutes or maybe it was hours. I couldn’t say. I didn't want him to leave my ass. It was quiet. Everything was bathed in red light. Every so often he would spasm within me. Always hard, always leaking down my leg, I was so filled with him inside me. It would take a long while for us to unwind.

[Fillitup57]

Fuck this is so very hot.   I cam all over myself.  

[asslikker]

Joey's Choice

The first thing Duncan heard going down to the showers was Jeremy yelling, "What y'all's problem?" then scuffling, and Joey yelling back, "You're my fuckin' problem!" then more scuffling. Duncan burst in the locker room to see the two young men, naked, rolling around on the shower floor swinging at each other. Joey landed a blow to Jeremy's head and Jeremy was about to return the punch when Duncan interceded.

"Alright, break it up, break, it, up." Joey was seething, fists clenched and ready. Both boys squaring off. Jeremy wasn't backing down, but clearly didn't understand what Joey was upset about. He rubbed his ear. "What is this?" Duncan demanded. The rest of the boys were drying off and trying to get out of there as unnoticed as possible.

"This southern cracker knew I wasn't ready. I didn't even have my helmet on and hit me anyway."

"I thought New Yorkers could man up," Jeremy spat. "Guess y'all are just fast talking pussies." This set Joey off a second time. He tried climbing over Duncan to get at his adversary.

"Settle down now," shouted Duncan with Joey hanging on his shoulder. He smacked Joey's wet ass and set him down. "Get dressed, both of you." He was all wet from their clash, especially where Joey had climbed on him. He would forego the shower and opt for dry jeans and a tank. The rest of the boys had filed out; tension dispersed somewhat when it was just the three of them. Duncan broke the silence. "If I had a dollar for every blow I ever got when I wasn't ready, I'd be, well, I'd have a dollar." He laughed thinking he was funny. The boys didn't. "Jeremy, go on now and apologize."

You didn't buck Duncan's orders or your life would be a living hell. "Sorry, buddy. I was just playin'." Jeremy, a buff, five-eleven, former high school tight end with too many teeth, smiled shark-like, and held out his large paw to Joey. Joey slapped the hand away.

"Screw you, cracker barrel," he said putting on a New York Dolls t-shirt, then bent to tie his sneaker.

"That's enough! Jeremy, thank you for being a gentleman. You may leave us. You, Mr. Corelli, a word." With that, Jeremy strutted to the door. Before leaving and out of Duncan's sight, he looked at Joey and made a flicking motion—a flea off his large shoulder. Joey stiffened.

"The friggin' redneck sucker punched me." He looked straight ahead, avoiding Duncan's gaze.

Duncan smacked the back of Joey's head, not hard, almost affectionately. "What's a matter for you?" he mocked.

"Nothing's the matter with me. This place is the matter with me. Pretty boys and a hell of a lot of swishes, like Jeremy hiding under his redneck jock act. Right before class he thought it'd be okay to grab my ass. Front of everyone. I know Carson saw it, Kennedy probably too. I grab ass, nobody grabs my ass," he protested feebly. Duncan studied him. Angry New Yorker, yes, but covering a very sensitive talent, talent they would unearth here if he let them. One private note in his file stood out to Duncan. At fifteen he wrote to the Chinese government asking for Mao's Little Red Book. The FBI showed up at his parent's door asking if they knew about their son's request. Apparently they were rich New Yorkers in a communist cell, horrified that they'd been noticed by the government through their son's shenanigans. He had trouble with his parents ever since. Notes on him were he went through several high school phases very briskly: punk, Goth, Queer, serial killer; he landed on anarchist. Pierced eyebrow and tongue. He wore a permanent scowl and mostly black. He had a beautiful body, cheek bones that could cut glass, a long Roman nose, thin, gangling arms, a perfect black bush, just a sampling of hair beginning to grow around his nipples, an bit above average dick, and a very low hanging set of balls. They didn't get more perfect than this, Duncan thought.

"If I had a dollar for every time I got grabbed, well, I'd have what I have right now in me bank." Duncan clipped Joey's chin and got a half smile out of the boy. "Being talented, being famous, everyone's gonna want to grab yer ass. Me included." He finished buttoning up his jeans. "C'mon, I'll buy you a pint. How old did you say you are?"

"Nineteen," replied the young man, looking a little nervous and more than a little honored Duncan wanted to spend time with him.

"Well, you look twenty-one. I know a place that's pretty loose on carding a pretty face."

Joey scoffed out loud, not liking to be thought of as pretty. He fought against smiling and managed a neutral frown. He toed on his flip-flops, waited at the door looking impatiently at Duncan.

Duncan finished lacing up his leather boot, slipped a black hanky in his back pocket, left side, and escorted Joey out the door.

***

Like an extra-long piece of shit, I finally felt Mr. X's softening cock slither slowly out of my colon. I lay perfectly motionless, feeling every millimeter of his exit, each drop of sperm clinging to my wall, each bar on his shaft bumping over and out my sphincter. At the end I was empty, oozing copious amounts of cum and piss. I clung to him, put his hand in my mouth and sucked his fingers, but I could tell he was drawing away. All the traits of post-coital maneuvering to disengage.

“Time for you to rest. Other things to be exposed to, take you another notch down. Things others will expect of you. Not all pleasant but not all tonight. For now you need some quiet.”

“I don’t want to go home,” I pleaded.

“Far from it. There's more I want you to explore. One thing I want you to see in a little bit. I'll arrange. First Riggs and I need to do paperwork and you need rest. Afterwards, Riggs and I will put on a little show for you. You like a show? But to show I want you to lie still for a while. You’ll know when we end, at least tonight you will. Then you'll have a big decision. If you want to come to Bar X and spend a couple nights with me as your Master and some others good teacher. Or you pass on chance of  a lifetime.”

With that he climbed over me. His butt close to my face, I raised my head to show him proper respect and lick his hairs that dangled from his asshole. I only had a scant tasted of his moist, dirty hole. He pushed my head away, saying it was too soon for that. "You lie here, watch." He pointed to a screen that Riggs had been busy setting up.

Riggs flipped on the monitor that hung above the pegboard. On the screen a lithe, dark haired young man was being tied up. The guy tying him up was in an executioner mask, had long red hair tied in back and red sideburns that ended in points. They both looked familiar. The man in the mask had a tremendous body, big thighs, thick neck, bulging biceps and an enormous chest. The young man being tied up had a hood placed swiftly over his head but I noticed a pierced eyebrow like one of my classmates had. Heavy black hair in his armpits, an even heavy dark bush above a cock that was growing by the second. He was pulled up to the ceiling and swung there helpless. The red haired man stood next to him, stroking his body, fondling it lovingly, whispering in his ear.

"Is from last night, my place. My place is always interesting, yes?" Mr. X squatted next to me tossing a huge dildo, the head the size of my fist, the length of my forearm. It splashed in the muck puddled next to me. "Fuck yourself till I get back. Don't try for whole thing. Just watch video. All the things you see, you will do. Eventually. I want you to think of them with pleasure. Duncan is a great teacher of pain and pleasure. This Joey now knows," he laughed and slapped my butt. "We will teach you like we teach Joey."

"Yes, Sir," I said in disbelief. Joey was difficult but pretty innocent for all his posturing. Was that really him with Duncan last night. Even still druggy this blew my mind.

"Riggs, throw him poppers. He's got homework." Mr. X scooped up a handful of grease and stuck it up my shit chute. "Be pig. Show me how you want your hole and I show you example of how it will be."

Like a gauntlet thrown down, I flipped onto my knees and settled the dildo at the edge of the mattress. I poised myself on the mattress edge and squatted on it, all the while looking at Mr. X. In one "oof" I got the cockhead inside. Mr. X took my shoulders and lay me down on my side. "Very good. Riggs said you are quick learner. Now watch movie. If you get excited, take in more monster cock."

Riggs, by the door, said, "Mr. X, I do believe you've found a true pig."

"You should see what this boy Joey took last night," Mr. X said closing the door. "Pretty astonishing, even I say," his voice disappearing up the stairs.

***

Duncan draped his arm around Joey as they walked into Bar X. It seemed like Duncan knew everyone or at least they wanted to know him. Mr. X, who owned the place, took their gym bags and set them behind the bar. In a few moments he brought them back two large ales. Joey sipped his but recoiled from the dark beer's taste. Duncan said he'd get used to it. If they ever went to Scotland he'd buy him a real pint, not this swill. "It's not even alcoholic. Can't while I'm training, nor should you either."

Joey drank but wasn't liking the taste. Still, he was with Duncan, and Duncan gave him sudden burst of physical attention that he lapped up. Stuck close to him with his arm over his shoulder, slapping his back when he introduced him around. Joey glowed with happiness with each sip he took. In fact, halfway through the ale he couldn't remember a time when he was ever happier.

The bar started to fill the moment they went in. "This is the first leather bar I've been in," Joey called above the din.

Duncan, smiled, and pulled his and Joey's head together. "Get the fuck out, lad! I took you for a leather cub or an otter." Joey shook his head, smirking. "You ready for a lager? Mr. X!," Duncan called out, "my young friend here, of proper drinking age, is ready for another." The crowd was raucous. Lots of leather everywhere. Caps, cops, chains, bare-chested muscle-roids, overweight bear types, biker daddies, a few collared men with leashes. No one compared, though, to Duncan. He'd taken the band off his ponytail and let his long, burnished hair release. Joey was proud to be with him. He wasn't costumed, just simply a tremendous hulk of a man, arms busting out of a wife-beater wearing tight scruffy jeans. Joey spotted it in a second. A black kerchief sticking out of his back left pocket.

Mr. X burst upon them. Joey looked around in a flash of panic. "Boy, you see ghost?" asked Mr. X handing them new drinks. Joey frowned. Mr. X was a sketchy looking character. But then who else would be running a bar like this? "Drink slow, cowboys. Happy hour is till seven. If you need more quiet you can always use room upstairs, or feeling adventurous?" He grabbed Joey's angular chin. "A VIP like Duncan, always welcome in the dungeon." Duncan laid down some bills. "No," said Mr. X, "we take it out in trade." The missing teeth in Mr. X's smile startled Joey. Growing up in New York, he'd always been around, if not directly, then in the circus that was New York street life, the Felliniesque characters that color the city—starting with his parent's friends: the symphonic conductor with trite wild hair; his outrageously large soprano wife; his godfather who lost an arm in Vietnam and his legs to diabetes; the ancient Duchess that was rumored to be his maternal grandmother's lover; the skeletal man that was always the last to leave his parent's meetings who had something on his father. Mr. X would fit right in. As soon as he left, Joey felt more at ease, not only because he forgot about his parents, but more importantly, he was alone in a crowded, smoky, stale-beer-smelling bar, the best place on earth, ever! He took a long swig, finishing a third of it.

Flagging black, he hadn't forgotten. The Brooklyn commie socialite parent's anarchist boy knew his colors. S&M. Hard core. Left: seeking. He tossed back another full swig. As the bar grew even more packed he felt himself starting to drown between the pressed bodies. "I should go," he suggested, steadying himself.

Duncan wrapped on arm over Joey's shoulder, drawing him in. Joey felt the large man's strength and his warmth. The heat drew out his innate coldness and was on the verge of melting it. Duncan bent over and pressed his lips against Joey's lips. His heart jumped. This couldn't be happening. He'd always found his fight instructor was jacking material, but now, actually pressed to Duncan's lips there was nothing to do but reciprocate. It wasn't a tentative kiss. It was passionate, declarative, still with still attached to tenderness. Their kiss lasted minutes, long enough to cause others to notice. "Get a room!" someone close by shouted. "Should we?" Duncan suggested.

"Here?" Joey asked, feeling a flux of feelings. Anxiousness but oddly relaxed, horny, frightened, light-headed, incredibly turned on by Duncan. His touch, his smell, the arms he was permitted to touch, the waist he held onto, the butt he grabbed, the kerchief.

"Mr. X's building. His rules." Duncan stated, starting to usher Joey to the stairs. "Maybe later we'll explore the dungeon." Joey stopped before the first step. "Kidding," added Duncan, clownishly. They started walking up. "Not really, though. But only if you insist." Duncan was playing with him. They stop-started all the way up the stairs. "I'm kidding. No, not really. A joke. Not."

By the time they reach to top of the stairs, Joey felt like he was about to pass out. His mind was confused. Knowing he wasn't drunk, yet getting fuzzy on how he got here. He clung heavily to Duncan. A knee collapse and he lurched falling sideways. Duncan was able to catch him and brought him up in his arms. "Oh, baby," he said, truly concerned. "Don't pass out." Duncan knock on a few doors till he found one that wasn't occupied. He carried Joey only half conscious into the seedy room. There was a single bed near the window, a yellowed window shade pulled down, flapping mildly in the hot breeze. Duncan switched on a lamp next to the bed and set Joey down.

Threw drooping eyes Joey scanned around at the ripped flowered wallpaper, the empty closet with a few dangling wire hangers, the fading light outside. Duncan laid with him on the bed, looking into the boys face. "Love, you knocked it back so fast I couldn't stop you."

"I'm okay," said Joey straining to sit up. "Stop what?"

"No, we'll just lie right here. You're okay. You are a beautiful, beautiful boy. I want you." Duncan sat up, stripped off his top and tossed it over the metal headboard. Joey reached up to feel the chest he'd been longing to caress. He ran his fingers over the mass of muscle. Duncan looked down grinning as he flex each plate for Joey to enjoy. He bent close, telling him, "You are the most beautiful boy I've ever seen. I've want you from the first day in class." Joey pushed himself up to kiss Duncan. Duncan was open and engulfed the boy's mouth with a long, luscious kiss. He slipped off Joey's shirt then his shorts. He lay the boy back down and ran a hand up and down his entire torso, playing for a long time in Joey's bush, before finally wrapping a hand around Joey's long cock. Joey's erection bounced in Duncan's hand. He ground his crotch against Duncan sandpaper jeans, clutched his broad back, put a hand through Duncan's tight waistband feeling for his butt.

Duncan unbuttoned his pants. He got up off the bed only for a second to slip out of his jeans. He pulled off his underwear. Joey motioned for them. He handed them over to him and Joey took a long, happy inhalation of the crotch. Duncan laughed and tossed them on the floor and climbed on top of Joey kneeing his legs apart. Both writhed feeling each other's skin on skin. Joey clutched Duncan's triceps and biceps, kissing, biting and sucking on his ripped shoulder. Duncan ran his hand between Joey's legs, wetting a finger, then feeling for the boy's hole. Duncan drew himself lower on the boy's torso, licking his nipples, tonguing his belly button, sniffing the musk of the boy's black bush, wetting his finger again to tease the boy's hole. Finally finding Joey's cock, he ran his mouth and tongue over the entire long and slender piece, sucking the head, tonguing down the shaft, sucking the boy's heavy hanging balls, and, then briskly, lifting the boy's legs in the air to reveal Joey's hairy hole. Duncan bathed it in saliva erupting moans from Joey. He pushed his tongue in the chute, followed by a single finger. He probed him while Joey pushed out and gaped his hole for Duncan. Duncan took the invitation and drove deep into Joey's anus. The boy had definitely been working his hole at home. A bit of red showed without effort when Joey pushed. Duncan lathered it and pulled it apart with fingers from each hand. Pleased with how far it could easily open, how ready it was for him right then, he reached up the nightstand, felt around. Condom, lube, poppers—there were always lots of left overs laying around. He drew out a half-empty bottle of lube, held the condoms for a second. "Rubbers?" he asked Joey.

"I'm neg," the boy responded.

"Not me. So for you, baby, to stay that way—" Duncan opened a packet.

"Let me put in on you," Joey said. He knelt beside the bed, kneeling before his idol, directly in front of Duncan's cock. Duncan pulled the boys head onto it. Joey sucked on his member, getting it fully erect, loving Duncan's taste and smell. He played with his ball and ran an arm through the crack of Duncan's butt. Joey was very good at deep throating and eagerly swallowed Duncan down to his pubes. Duncan pressed Joey's head against his groin and waited for Joey to choke. He didn't.

"Aw, fuck boy! Where have you been?" Duncan rocked his cock repeatedly in and out of Joey's soft mouth. He let Joey bob on my member, felt Joey trace his tongue under his balls back to his cock, then held the boy's head while he skull fucked him with increasing severity. "Christ, Jesus! You're gonna have me blow already." He released Joey, wild eyed. "I want to fuck you so bad. Finish sheathing me."

Joey rolled on the rubber, then rapidly scuttled on all fours back to facing the metal headboard. He felt cold lube dribble down his crack, some being pushed into his hole. Then he felt Duncan stiff girth entering him. First in slow jabs, only the tip entering then a slow back and forth insertion, each time penetrating him just a little deeper. "How's that baby, feel good?" Duncan asked in back of him. He moaned a yes. "Let me know if it's too much." He encouraged Duncan by pushing his ass back on his shaft, taking in inches, letting him know he could go in deeper. Duncan understood and grabbed Joey's haunches, eased Joey slowly on to him in one stroke. He pulled the boy onto his shaft all the way to the hilt till Joey's butt rested against his balls. Joey gasped in pleasure and immediately began rocking against Duncan's cock. Minutes passed as hole and cock got to know each other. Once Duncan knew Joey could take it, he turned the boy on his side holding his leg in the air and ravenously impaled him. "I love fucking you, baby."

"Fuck, Duncan. I want you so bad."

"You've got me, baby. You got as much as you want." Duncan flipped Joey on his back and began pounding away at him. Joey looked up at Duncan, feeling him inside, frantically stroking his cock. Duncan continued to pummeled him. "Fuck baby, yessss." Duncan pile drove into the boy's ass with increasing savagery. He'd pull out and then stab back into the open hole. Joey loved it. He met each of Duncan's thrust with a thrust of his own. They met together in increasing rhythm, neither relenting in the brutality of the fuck. Joey was on the verge of cumming when he spotted the swollen head of Duncan cock breaking through the rubber. It's thick purple head tore the sheathe in half and was peeling further down the shaft with every stroke.  "Fuck I love your hole," repeated Duncan. "I love you, baby. I want you pregnant, baby." He put his hands on the boy's thin neck and began squeezing. "I want to knock you up. I love you, sweet boy," he intoned, as his grip increase. In horror, on the razor's edge of cumming, Joey had a second to choose between reaching up to stop Duncan's hands on his neck or cum. He chose to cum. His body spasmed, an orgasm as intense as he'd ever had, shooting rivers of cum over his and Duncan's chest. And blacked out.

[TTFN]

Didn't think Joey was going to get away with a rubber fuck.

If I have to have rubber in my ass it will be a dildo.

[pozcubsf]

Great story.  Need more.  Can't  wait for more slams and cunt wrecking!

[asslikker]

"Hang in there, baby"

Jeffrey Lewinsky grew up in Cleveland, Ohio. A second cousin to Monica Lewinsky, a public figure that summer. He shared a paternal Lithuania Jew grandfather with her. His material grandfather was an atheist and a Scotsman who lived, after his wife died, with him, his brother and his parents. He loved his grandfather. The old man used to regale him with ribald stories of the old country, the lads and lasses, the haystacks and kilts flying in the wind. When his grandfather passed away Simon was eight, he was sadder than anyone in the family, and suddenly we wanted to entertain everyone with stories he made up. When people ignored his antics he became sad again. His parents were concerned and took him to a shrink, where he was diagnosed, after weeks of counselling, as a manic-depressive. Later in college reassigned to be bipolar. Meds helped. He studied drama at Carnegie-Melon and received his Bachelor of Arts there. Circus arts he excelled in. He was agile, worked out obsessively, was wicked with a whip. Advised by a New York agent that said he would take him on if only he would think about changing his name. Jeffrey Lewinsky would limit him to Jewish roles. He thought that was stupid, so sitting in a Duncan Doughnuts reading an article in the Times about John McCain, he decided to take on the new name. He adopted his grandfather's brogue, just a lilt of it, and practiced the new identity with ribald stories of the old county. Looking at Joey who was starting to come to, he realized this new name and identity was two years ago this month, the same time he'd been off his meds.

Joey coughed, focused on him, blinked. He rubbed his neck with his free hand, rattled his other cuffed hand, rasped, "What the fuck?"

Duncan shrugged his shoulders innocently. "I bet it was the best orgasm you ever had."

"Uh-so what if it was? What the fuck, Duncan?" He rattle his handcuff again. "Key. Not funny. I'm getting dressed and out of here." Never one to apologize, Duncan insisted this is simply who he is. He was hard wired this way, and it's how he shows someone he liked them. "Hey! Jeffrey Dahmer, ever hear of flowers and a card? Jesus, asshole, you could have really killed me. And fucking unlock this. And what happened to your accent?"

"That's for fun, just like breath play—pretty common really: erotic asphyxiation, asphyxiaphilia—just like a lot of other things I like. And I like you. A lot. And that could be a problem. Well, we could call all this off right now, no harm, only a little foul. Wave goodbye to a ton of money and a beautiful life together."

"And you came in me. I remember. The rubber broke." Joey was beginning to get anxious. No, that was too simple. He didn't want to show it but aside from being nervous, cuffed to a metal headboard, he was crushed. Duncan had betrayed him. "Fuck, man, did you also put something in my drink?"

"Well, technically, Mr. X put something in your drink, but yeah, I came in you. Twice. While you were out the second time. It's another one of my things.

"You fucking fuck!" He put his hands to his head, trying to take this all in. He was naked in a ratty room with paint chips peeling off the ceiling, barebacked by a guy he really liked, choked to the point of passing out, and now the fuck was treating it like a joke?

"I couldn't help myself—you were irresistibly fuckable, or fucking irresistible." Duncan laid his hand on his captive's belly. Joey slapped it away with a get-the-fuck-out look, but his body betrayed him. As they were talking Duncan saw before Joey did that Joey had an erection. Sitting on the bed, Duncan gave a small bowed. "And the court rests, Your Honor."

"I'm done. This isn't a joke. My clothes. Key."

Mr. X  knocked, and barged through the door carrying a red leather case. "The anarchist is awake. Good. How is he?"

"I'm afraid he's not too happy."

"Maybe I have something to make him happy again." He unzipped the case displaying two capped riggs, ready and loaded.

Joey sprung to his feet but found himself on a short leased. He yelled for help but was covered over by the deep bass beats and the noise from the Friday night crowd downstairs. Mr. X took the precaution of closing the window, while Duncan struggled with the teen to pin him down on the bed. Joey became a wild animal trapped by his arm. He swung and connected some blows to Duncan, but the man withstood them like he was taking the swats of a small, naughty kitten. With his body weight he felled the boy easily and held him to the bed. "Your going to lose this match, lad, and I don't want to hurt you—not until you want me to. And I do want to." He crushed the boy until all appendages, one by one, couldn't move. Mr. X was busy at the foot of the bed with rope securing first one leg, then the other. Joey's uncuffed arm was tightly secured to the bottom of the bed, crook of the arm up. Mr. X put a tourniquet around Joey's bicep, found a large protruding vein, wiped it with a swab, sat on his hand, and stuck him with the needle. It registered, and he plunged this liquid swiftly into the struggle boy.

Duncan eased up on him but still knelt over his torso. Mr. X release the boy's bicep and arm, and Duncan raised the arm in the air. Joey coughed and then lobbed his head side to side. "Oh shit," was all he said. Duncan offered up his own arm to Mr. X. No trouble find a vein there. He picked a juicy one, registered and slammed Duncan.

"Come down when your ready. Your things are in my room. Don't dress the boy," Mr. X said gathering his things.

Duncan was finding it difficult to talk. He got out one question. "Cat?"

"It's hanging on the door. Try not to be too long." As he exited, he said, "We've got good house."

Duncan felt Joey's erection rubbing his hole. He slathered lube on the boy's pole and applied some lube on his hole. "Here's a first, boy-o," and punctured his hole with Joey's rod. Joey let out an enraptured sigh. Almost simultaneously, so did Duncan. He rode the boy for a good, long time, while he and Joey exchanged cries of contentment feeling the height of the rush going through them. It looked like this wasn't the kid's first time with meth. He rocked and slid the boy's long member in and out and side to side. Anything he did, both he and Joey extracted delight. He tweaked the boy's small tits, and with eyes closed Joey did the same to Duncan. The boy reached down and jerked Duncan's cock. Duncan poured lube on it and Joey took up a rhythm similar to him fucking Duncan. "I'm going to cum," Joey gasped. "Wait," said Duncan slowing down the motion. He didn't stop, it felt too good, but he wanted the boy heightened not spent.

"I could love you," Duncan admitted, hypnotized by the boy's young spear deep inside him. "I want to love you and have you love me." He took Joey's cock to it's head and slowly descended down on it, making it last as long as he could. Joey groaned yes. "Then let me hurt you. I'll hurt you so good, that's all you'll ever want anymore." Joey groaned yes again. "Like this torture, we'll never be closer. You'll be loved and I'll be loved. We'll be loved. You'll see." He let Joey slip out of him. Joey sighed like he was about to cry. He bent over the lad and lay his body on top of his and kissed his face; kissed his eye; kissed a cheek; kissed an earlobe. He whispered he wanted him to understand the allure of pain like he did, the sweet surrender to it. He would be there and never let him go.

Duncan uncuffed him, rolled Joey over face down on the bed, his head in the pillow. He took his member and pushed it into the boy's waiting butt. "Remember I love you. Say it to yourself like you would say it to me." Duncan saw Joey mouthing the words." He rolled off Josey, got up and took the cat off the doorknob. He  brushed it gently over Joey's back. He pick up the instrument and let the ends fall over the young man's slender torso. He picked it up once more, and this time flung it with a small amount of force. Joey hissed and Duncan brought the cat back to run up and down his spine again. Duncan slowly got the boy used the sensation, sometimes roughly, other times gently. Joey's hisses and murmur became interchangeable. With the increasing harder lashes, Joey started thanking Duncan into his pillow. This Duncan permitted to lash him more often. A Thank You Sir also increased the number of harsher lashes with less and less gentler ones. Soon all Duncan gave Joey were severe, though not yet violent, strikes. The boy bravely faced Duncan whip until Duncan felt Joey was ready. He didn't want him rehearsed, merely slightly prepared. He praised Joey, kissed his face, told him how beautiful he was. Only he knew how rare and precious Joey was. Joey was his, if only he'd agree.

Duncan rose him off the bed. He hugged Joey tenderly, stroking his hair, kissed him deeply, lightly stroking his back. The latter was painful for Joey but he endured, kissing Duncan at those times the most deeply. 

They staggered to Mr. X's room where Duncan found a pair of chaps and a studded codpiece. He found two executioner's masks and put one on. The other was for Joey once in the dungeon. They made their way down to the bar. Through the bar the naked boy elicited hoops and cheers. Not just a few hands ran over his naked figure. As in a dream Joey smiled all around at the adoring crowd groped and fondled him as Duncan led him through the mass of bodies. He warmed to the men's adulation, their clutching hands, their praise. Next to the bathroom was a guarded door. A man the size of Duncan let them through to the staircase that led below. Duncan guided Joey's shoulders down to the dungeon.

The stairs had a landing that splintered off in several directions. By going straight and down a few more steps, they ended in a spacious room with a single spotlight in the middle and a hook. Off to the sides was a rack of buttplugs like a rack of weights increasing in size. Across the room was another similar rack of dildoes also of increasing size. A fuckbench and a sling were also waiting in the shadows. There were men in the dark corners that Joey was aware of but didn't pay heed. Duncan had him. It was all he cared about. He kissed Duncan's shoulder. Duncan stopped in the light and flexed his bicep, then lifted his pit for Joey. Joey worshiped it, taking his time exploring the curls and swirls of Duncan hair, his tendons and sucking on his sweat.

Mr. X came out of the shadow, camera in hand. Again, Joey paid no attention, his entire focus was on Duncan. Duncan pushed the boy's head down. Joey mouthed over his bare chest, nursed his nipples, then was pushed lower to Duncan's studded crotch. Joey brushed his cheek against it and lowered himself to the floor. There, he licked his Master's foot. Holding the boy's head, the Master raised this foot. The boy held it and worshiped it as if it were a sacred object. He sucked the toes, licked the dirty bottoms of the heal and arch. Lowered one foot and repeated the worship of the other.

Duncan unsnapped his codpiece and his soft meat flopped out. Joey inhaled it, swallowed it to the hilt and gradually grew it with the slime of his mouth until it was fully grown. He licked his Master's balls, cupping them and bathing them with his tongue. He lowered and tilted his head so he disappeared between his Master's legs to attend to his holy ass. Mr. X swung the camera behind and illuminated the puckered hole the boy was attending with his mouth,  the entrance of the deity by his tongue. Finally his Master raised him up. It was time.

Joey was covered with a mask. It covered his scalp, eyes and cheeks, leaving only the nose and mouth exposed. Mr. X held up a rubber bit to place in the boy's mouth. The Master put it in his mouth and latched the back. The Master took his time with elaborate knots, first binding the boy's arms in front of him, then looping additional ropes to hoist him to the ceiling. The boy's feel dangled several inches about the floor. Now the boy's height matched his Master's. He spoke directly, quietly in his boy's ear. He stroked his body until the boy had a firm erection.

Like a magician's assistant, Mr. X brought instruments out of the shadows. First a riding crop and a cap of amyl. Duncan broke the cap under the boy's noise and then inhaled it himself. He took the crop and rapidly slapped the boy's buttocks and back. He spun him around and repeated the same intense slapping to his chest and groin. When he stopped the boy shouted, clearly, even through the bit, "Sir, thank you, Sir!" Duncan once again, harder this time, slapped Joey, intent on making him cringe from the crop. Joey didn't break, took every blow. When Duncan stopped, Joey once again shouted, "Sir, thank you, Sir!" Duncan raised Joey's hard member exposing his hanging balls. Duncan took the crop and whipped the balls with a hard slap. This made Joey buckle under. "Sir, thank you, Sir!" still came out of his mouth. Duncan then held a firm grip of Joey's slender dick, making the head hard, and started giving the head small repetitive slaps back and forth, increasing in intensity, until once again Joey broke in half to escape the pain. Yet again he shouted, once composed, "Sir, thank you, Sir!"

Mr. X brought out a large whip with multiple strands ending in small knots. Much larger than the cat upstairs, there was nothing gentle it could produce. Duncan brought it up to the boy's chest and let him feel it against his skin. Duncan brought his mouth to the boy and kissed him tenderly. Tilted back Joey's face, mouth agape, and spat in it. "Sir, thank you, Sir!" was Joey's reply. The boy had lost his hardon but a few flicks of the whip's tails brought it back alive. Mr. X bought over two caps of amyl. Duncan snapped one under Joey's nose letting him breath deep for a long time, then broke his and breathed in the chemical. He stepped back and brought the whip down hard against the ground. He then raised it and let one lashing after another lose on Joey. First from the right, then from the left, repeating back and forth without a break. Finally, Joey cried out in agony. Still Duncan didn't stop as the boy yelled but did not ask for mercy. He spun the boy again to expose his chest and genitals. He did not hit him with as great of an intensity but kept the lashings going far longer after the boy initially broke. The lad was in tears when Duncan stopped. "Sir," the boy cried, trying to catch his breath, "Thank you, Sir!" he spat out, a long trail of saliva running to the ground.

Both he and Joey were glazed in sweat. The camera examined Duncan unblinking while the whipped meat spun in the background. Then the camera focused on the body. Red gashes, red welts, spun around in a dreadful carousel. Duncan stopped the spinning and held the boy who's head dropped onto Duncan's chest. He felt Joey's hushed sobs. He comforted him, giving him words of compassion, telling him it was almost over, they'd soon be done. That he loved him for this. That he proved he belonged to Duncan's. The crying stopped and Mr. X brought the Master a long Australian single tale whip, a gift from one of the richest men in the world, and three amyl caps.

Duncan broke the first cap under Joey's nose letting him have as much time as he needed. He then broke the other one under his nose, absorbing it for a while then rejecting it to the floor. He broke the last cap under Joey's nose whispering in his ear. He again threw the cap on the floor and took steps far back from his object. He cracked the whip several times overhead. In the corners, the men murmured in dread and excitement. The Master saw the object tremble which aroused a full erection. A vein pulsed on Duncan's temple. He cracked the whip again and sliced it through the silent air striking his target. Joey let out a piercing howl of agony. His body swaying the from the impact from the lash. A thin stripe of blood flowed off his back. "No! Please, Sir, no!" he cried. Sweat ran into Duncan eyes. He wiped it out, cracked the whip twice more in the air and tore the whip back in the other direction, ripping another stripe of flesh off the boy. It left a bloody X on the boy's back. Joey screamed in anguish, beg him to stop. "More?" shouted Duncan to the dark figures in the corners. "More! More!" they shouted back.

Duncan doled out one, two, three, four lashes in a row. Five, six, a seventh. Joey shrieked in torment. "More!" demanded the invisible wraiths. Duncan heaved his chest, threw his arms open, and flailed the whip twice more with a thunderous crack that silenced the house. The spinning object swung silent from side to side. Duncan walked up to it, saw the stripes of blood running down the back he destroyed, felt it trembling without a word. He untied the rope from the ceiling, lower its feet to the ground but did not release it. He kicked its legs apart and began fucking it as it trembled in his arm. Its weeping made him harder. He made obscene motions of domination, bent it over, smacked its ass several times with the grip of the whip, spanked it as if it was a horse he was riding. He called for the bench. He fucked dispassionately as he undid his final knots. The fuckbench was brought to him. He bent the boy, positioned his arm and legs in place, then locked him there. He reinserted himself, and madly pounded to fuckhole, tearing off Joey's mask and grabbing a fistful of hair to propel himself into the boy's exposed ass, grimacing with every thrust. The boy was silent, in shock, head bent when released, broken. Mr. X was examining the wreckage, Joey's bloody back, the bruises on his arms and legs, his face immobile, streaked with tears. His eyes vacant. Duncan possessed erupted in orgasm, letting some of his cum fly over Joey's back, the rest depositing inside. A final indignantly. He pissed over the boy, rounded over to his face, opened his slack mouth, let a stream fill up there, pissed in a nostril, causing an unconscious quivering and peeing on the floor. Duncan then went back to the broken boy's ass and filled him with his waste till he was done. Mr. .X offered him a large buttplug and Duncan sealed his boy. The men in the darkness applauded wildly.

The darkened room rose dimly as the carnival barker, Mr. X shouted, "Step right up, pony rides, ten bucks apiece. Feel the most tenderized piece of prime New York beef this side of Coney Island." The men felt up the wreckage and then waited their turn. Mr. X brought in three hundred cash off Joey's spent carcass over the course of the night. He also had the raw footage for a decent video that he would put into circulation once the performers were paid off.

Joey didn't remember anything past the fourth single-tail whip. The pain, however, never left him; it was there, in the darkness with him, sealed in his unconscious, each inflicted gash was relived repeatedly once he passed out, etched itself into him like a tattoo on his brain, permanently branding for what he now was. The scars of the anonymous men who fucked him, he would never recall them either, though one left their imprint on him, too. With the haunting memory of that darkness engulfing him, he awoke in Duncan's apartment. Bright, sunny, the fragrant wisp of the sea fluttered the bedroom curtains. An unseen bee buzzed around a vase of purple lilacs on the nightstand next to him; a card with a kitten hanging from the end of a rope, "Hang in there, baby" it read, propped open in front of him—his flowers and a card. Tears welled in his eyes. Weighed under the vase, a large stack of hundreds ruffled in the breeze. Duncan lay behind him gently rubbing salve into his wounds. His touch was torture and yet soothing.

Duncan kissed his ear.

***

 

Edited January 10, 2017 by asslikker

[pozcubsf]

Great story 

[Guest Somebody]

Kudos.  It is hard to find stories that describe real BDSM.  Looking forward to more.

[asslikker]

Thank you. I appreciate your comments.

[TTFN]

Mr X is a true sadist, love it.

[asslikker]

And a licensed medic. Well, maybe not licensed. 

[deepfix]

On 11/01/2017 at 2:38 PM, asslikker said:

And a licensed medic. Well, maybe not licensed. 

Loving this story, the best on here - if Mr X is a medic then maybe we're going to hear about David getting the promised piercings .............. :-)

[asslikker]

;-) and more

[asslikker]

The Serpent

My eyes were closed. I wasn't asleep, only half listening to the video. I imagined what it would be like to have Duncan focused on me the way he was on Joey. I weaved my own web against the garage wall, giving up my ass in small bounces. I felt the effects of the enormous tool in me. It made me want to submit as aggressively as I could to any large assailable object. I reached around and disappointingly realized I'd only taken in a fraction of an inch. My big accomplishment was the head when Mr. X was still here. I was tired and resting like Mr. X said, lightly pushing against the dildo. I glanced up as the camera admired Duncan's body. The video filmed him at different angles, each shot more evocative than the last. A flash of his asshole, a bead of sweat running down his chest and falling from his tit. The camera worshiped him as I might worship him. Starting with his massive feet, panning up his veiny calves and boulder-like thighs. He couldn't help but flex whenever he swung the whip around his head and delivered his blow. The muscles in his legs bulged with each lunge he took toward his target. His ribs, each striation, light and shadow, expanded and contracted in his exerted breath, each time he gave Joey yet another stripe. With every blow another scream. An angry, devilish smile curled his lips.

The dildo penetrated an inch. I absorbed each frame into me, swallowing the cameraman's intent, examining as the lens zoomed in on Duncan's muscular butt. With the crack of a lash his dimple deepened. He shimmered in the hot light. The camera swung around revealing a close up of his dangling balls and rising cock. The sustained act of delivering pain aroused him, and the camera caught each growth cycle, cutting back from the cries of the quivering boy and forth to his engourging manhood. I thought about his phallus in me, his hand smacking my ass with every thrust. Pressing down on the mass of hard rubber stretching my hole, I increased the urgency as Duncan thrashed his whip wildly. Joey's piercing screams from the frantic beating started to recede until he hung lifeless.

With his erection at its peak, Duncan walked over to the injured sack of meat and roughly kicked the body's crumbling legs apart. He fingered the boy's hole and spit on his member. In a single thrust he pierced the lifeless boy and began his utter domination over him. The boy grunted, a small reminder that he was still mildly conscious. Duncan began ramming him relentlessly. He held onto the ropes above the quietly sobbing boy as the camera tracked down from Duncan's fierce warrior face, his flaring nostril and clenched jaw, down to the moist brown hair of his pits, following rivers of sweat running down his flexing torso.

 After a quick hit, I got in rhythm with Duncan's cadence. I imagined taking Duncan's invasion as I pushed against the garage wall. When he grabbed the boy's thin hips he quickened his pace and so did I. I closed my eyes, imagined I was his object, assailing me on a stage, revealing a passion we had between us to a sea of invisible observers. The poppers put me in a state where I was lost in my fantasy, pummeling myself against the instrument stretching me open. I abandoned all inhibitions with Duncan inside me. I wanted more and more, and gave up more and more. I imagined I would let him abuse me, do whatever he wanted as long as at the end he'd take me in his arms and let me surrender to him.

I broke out of my musing with the feeling of an obstruction, a speed bump protruding midway down the dildo. I realized my fantasy with Duncan had allowed me to swallow half the over-sized cock. I stopped rocking and felt the enormity of the object inside. I reach between my legs and felt my dick was starting to get hard again. I tried stroking, fumbling in my mind to get back to the imagined place I was with Duncan.

Duncan had taken and released his victim and had him on a bench that allowed Joey to be spread open on all fours. Joey's butt was exactly aligned with Duncan's waist, and Duncan easily slipped in to fuck him furiously. I picked up my jacking, getting harder with Duncan's every assault.

"Boy!" Mr. X announced over the static of an intercom. "Keep your hands off where I can see. Sun is almost down, and we don't want you to finish before we get there." I glanced above at the yellowed newspaper, saw it glowed orange. Next to it I saw a camera. "I can tell you this—maybe you know already—this anus you stretch for me, this anus I will own, can give you an orgasm as much as your dick. Take break. Get water. See if you go any farther on the monster before we come down. But don't you cum or I make sure all you have for orgasm is your anus. I have serious interest in training you. You must be as serious."

***

It came down to money: he didn't have any left. He spent the couple hundred he had from Dottie's and Coach Hubbard's parting gifts on rent, two weeks’ worth of food split with Leah, his new roommate from the Academy, and an itty, bitty bag of herb copped in the Castro. This third week in San Francisco, he was down to pocket change. Separately, Dottie and Billy, that is, Mr. Sweeney (pianist) and Mr. Saint Claire (drama teacher) from back home, and Coach Hubbard (assistant) and Coach Johansson (head), his former football coaches, each of the pairs had arranged two small funds for his summer at the acting school. The money, a hundred and a hundred twenty, respectively, was doled out in monthly installments. Dottie and Billy and the two bachelor coaches didn't know they were both funding him. It was better that way he reckoned. But even with the two funds, San Francisco was friggin' expensive. The plan was to find a part time job like he had in Knoxville, like at some big supermarket chain like a Bi-Lo he'd worked at last summer bringing in buggies, or a Food City or Walmart. His oldest sister, Katie Ann, was a pharmacist at Walmart, and Cliff, his older brother, had worked at Food City. Cliff was unemployed now and, sadly but not surprisingly, was using again. Trouble was, any supermarket anywhere near the city had five million applicants, that, or it was a small mom and pop, family run business, that, or he could barely understand the proprietor's accent or they his. And all the fast food chains paid crapola. So instead he smoked pot with Leah and played video games on her computer, or watched internet porn when she wasn't there.

The internet was awesome! There were places you could go that were even stranger than what you saw on the streets of San Francisco. Crazy, like, this one time, this guy he bought his cannabis from, in this a kind of alley—there were trashcans anyway. Anyway, he saw this guy dealing and bought a dime, and there was a guy next to him crouched on all fours with a dog mask on. I shit you not! But that's not the thing.

The thing he found on the internet, a seed of an idea that flipping coins in his pocket kept making him come back to, a germ of an idea he tortured himself with all week—did he, Jeremiah Tiberius Reynolds, who loved his dick—no, exalted in the Righteous Glory of his Pecker of Power—or as he called it, the Serpent—had he balls to go through with it? When he put it that way he steeled his nerve to meet the challenge. What did he have or not have the balls for? Well, see, that's the thing. One night when Leah was out, he was scanning some porn sites, and this one time he found an outrageous site where this kinda handsome older Italian guy made short video clips of smashing other guy's balls with a mallet. Or else like would crush a guy’s balls in a vice. Or one time he saw Vinnie, the guy who thought up all this insane shit, put a screw driver down this other dude's shaft and then—you must be fucking shitting me—electrocute it. Really sick shit! Sometimes the other guy wore a mask, not like a dog's mask or a clown mask or anything weird like that, but pretty creepy anyway. Stuff like a black hood with like zippers for eyes and a tube where your mouth should go, or more ordinary masks like at parties where you wear over your eyes so but the dude could still see what Vinnie was up to. But they'd be all tied up anyway and couldn't move, so what did it matter if you could see that Vinnie was attaching electrodes to your dick and balls, sometimes in the butt, too, but those ones he didn't like. The balls smashing and dick screwdrivers in the shaft clips, those ones were okay.

So the site charged something like $6.95 for 15 minutes to rent any of the full-length clips you'd want, but you had to have a credit card. He didn't so he only watched the short previews. They were for free, and he didn't need more than a minute or two of clips back-to-back, if he was really edging his meat, to get off watching a guy get kicked in his pecker. Shit! He did this kind of thing with his brothers after school all the time. Not naked jerking like, but just for kicks. Even at practice with some of the guys sometimes he did that, or just like they were going to. If you got hurt and cried or anything you'd be a pussy. No one ever cried, except this little guy at school, Jessie, but Jessie wasn't all there so he was mostly let be. Mostly. Except this one time, back of the stadium. Jeremy kind of felt bad about that time. But anyway.

The phone number for the site, Ball Busters, was always looking for "models." It was right there at the bottom of the screen: "Who you gonna call?" and then the phone number. Or you could use an email address application, which he'd sent on Thursday. Leah was with her girlfriend for the weekend, so when Jeremy got home from fencing class, he went online and found his email, peckerwood321—peckerwood123 had been taken—had a message. The message was from Vinnie. It said:

"Hey peckerwood321, are you for real? If you are pick up the phone and call me before you chicken out. If your doing this for wack off material fuck you and get a life! Send me a picture of you naked! You don't have to show your face. I pay you good money if you let me crack your nuts or maybe something else just as good. If you let me work on you with no mask I'll pay you even more money. You have to be 18 or under 35 and in decent shape. Call me now. Vinnie."

Jeremy paced all over the apartment. He had a bowl of Wheaties for dinner and used up the rest of the milk. Leah'd be pissed because she liked milk in her morning tea, but, Sweet Jesus! he thought rubbing his hands excitedly, maybe he'd have money by Sunday and he'd buy a quart of milk before she got back. He crunched the rest of his cereal in front of the screen. He was starting to jack off looking at a few new clips. Vinnie was hot. Looked like he was an ex-marine like Coach Johansson but dark and Italian. Jar head, pecs better than his, but he had more ripped abs than Vinnie, but Vinnie's biceps were bigger, but his triceps stood out more. So he froze the frame and pretty much jacked off studying Vinnie till he almost came. Crap! If he came he wouldn't do it. It was tempting to cum when Vinnie came on screen. Vinnie would torture a guy’s nuts, jacking himself and the other guy. Most of the time he and the other guy would cum but he had to hit the guy a lot of times before he, Vinnie, got off. If the other guy came too, well, good for him. But the video always had Vinnie shooting all over the other guy.

He put his bowl in the sink and rinsed it looking out the window. The kitchen was on the side of the building and looked at another kitchen across the way. A blonde guy was doing the dishes and an Asian guy came up behind him and wrapped his arms around the blonde guy. Jeremy poured a glass of water and picked up the kitchen wall phone. He dialed the number for the site. He had it memorized.

There were two rings and on the third it was interrupted by a phone machine: "This is Vinnie. Leave your phone number and I'll hit you back. Be sure to tell me what site you're calling about." It beeped but Jeremy wasn't ready, so started babbling, "Hello, Vinnie, my name is Jeremy Reyn—um, Jeremy, and here's my number." He gave it to him and quickly hung up. He thought for a minute, then dialed the number again. After the recording Jeremy said, "This is Jeremy again. I don't have a picture I can send you. I have a headshot but I would have to give it to you in person. It's not naked or anything but my shirt's off and if I gave it to you in person you could see what I look like. I could take off my pants so you could see that too." He paused for a second, then added, "I've got a big dick and huge balls." He thought for a second longer knowing this was a long shot. "And I used to kick my brothers in the balls and they kicked me too, in the balls." He was going to hang up but one more thought occurred to him. "I wanna use a mask, not the one with zippers, but just the eye kind. Good bye."

What had he done? He felt his heart leaping out of his chest. What if his father or brothers saw him? But his family didn't even have the internet. The family phone was the old rotary kind. Coach Johansson had the internet. He might see the site. He didn't think Coach Hubbard had the internet, he was older, but because they both lived in the same apartment complex, and were always at each other's places all the time, Coach Hubbard probably looked at Coach Johansson's internet. He knew Dottie and Bobby had it. They each had the own AOL accounts. Dottie was the one who first showed him dirty picture you could find. The first ones he saw Dottie kept in a folder labeled Celebrity Photos on his computer. They were supposed to be real celebrities, but really they were celebrities who's heads were pasted on other naked men. He thought it was funny seeing Tom Cruise's head put on a man that had a big 'ol dick. Yeah, sure! But then other times when Dottie was cooking and Billy wasn't home yet, he saw things that he couldn't believe. Boys doing things and girls doing things he thought were sinful and wrong, but stirred the Serpent anyway! He hadn't come across men doing painful things to other men like Vinnie's site. That he discover only when he got to the city and got to spend a lot of time surfing when Leah wasn't home. He did, though, come across girls peeing on men, men peeing on girls, and boys putting their hand in each other's butts. Some dog stuff with both sexes. He didn't like those. He like dogs, like Dukey back home.

But then the phone rang and he just about shit a brick! Should he answer? Don't be a pussy, he told himself. He picked it up really quick. "Hello?" "Is this Jeremy Ren." "Yes, Sir. Is this Vinnie from the internet?" "You got it. Jeremy," Vinnie paused, "you from the south or something." "Yes, Sir, I am." "And you got a big dick and big balls? How big a dick?" "About twelve inches. That's when I'm hard." Vinnie whistled. "Well, that's big. Not the biggest I've seen in my line of work. You didn't say what site this was for. You sound young. Is this for Daddy-Oh? "Well, sir, I'm twenty next month. And this is for Ball Busters."

Jeremy heard paper being ripped from a notebook and the sound of Vinnie scribbling. "So, Jeremy. What do you look like?" "Well, I lift weights, and was a tight end receiver this last year. I'm five eleven. What else? I got brown hair--it's kinda long right now 'cuz I was Tarzan--and blue eyes." "Hmm, okay, sounds good. Tarzan huh? You like girls or you like guys, Jeremy?"

Geez, no one had ever straight out asked that question before. He didn't want to talk about all the stuff he did with his coach or Mr. Saint Claire or Jeannette. It was too complicated. "Well, sir," he said, "I guess I like both. Is that okay?" "Sure it's okay, buddy." Jeremy heard a cigarette being lit. Vinnie exhaled. "So, can you meet me right now?" "Uh, right now? I guess I can. Where?" "There's a liquor store on Van Ness and 21st. Meet me in front and I'll take you to my studio. You sound nervous. Don't be. We're just gonna talk. You call all the shots, sport."

That made Jeremy feel a little better. He realized he'd wrapped the phone cord around his non-phone hand so hard his fingers were numb. "Okay. I can probably get there in twenty minutes. Van Ness and 21st. That's in the Mission, right?" "You got it, sport. Oh, what are you wearing?" "Right now? A tee shirt and underwear." On the other end of the line Vinnie let out a deep masculine laugh. That also made Jeremy feel better, although he got embarrassed catching now what Vinnie meant. "I'll have on jeans." "Great! Jeans and a tee shirt. Very distinctive. Hey, could you wear a chain or something so I can pick you out?" Jeremy thought a second. "I've got a hat, a white one?" "A fuckin' cowboy hat, all Midnight Cowboy and shit. Love it." "Yes, Sir." He was suddenly beaming. His favorite movie of all time, and Vinnie mentioned it! Maybe he might even like Vinnie. It's not like he knew a lot of people. Maybe they'd be friends. He was sure as hell hot enough naked in the clips.

"Oh, one thing. You aren't on any drugs are you?" "No, sir," he lied. Well, just a little. Pot was hardly a drug where he came from. Unlike his older brother, he stay far away from Oxy and H, he thought to hisself. And besides he only took a couple of hits when he first got home. It was now almost eight. He hardly felt buzzed at all. Maybe a little paranoid but that could be because of this phone call. Maybe he would put a doobee in his wallet just in case. Vinnie might be all righteous in your face about drugs and did them anyway. He was kind of like that to his little brothers and sister. A lot of people were like that. Didn't make them bad. Just made them people, Coach Johansson would say when they would light up on his couch in off season, watching sports and whatnot.

There was a long pause. "Jeremy, I think I'm going to like working you over."

"That'd be swell, Sir. I think I'd like that too. I'll see you in a little while. By now."

The phone clicked off. He stood up, went to his room and put on his jeans and boots. He looked at himself in the mirror. His cowboy hat was up in the closet. He put it on and adjusted it just the way he liked. Cocky, a little concealing his eyes, sexy, afraid of nothing and no one. He talked to himself like John Voight did in Midnight Cowboy. "Okay, here's the deal. You could take him if'n you needed to. He might look all tough and all but, dang it, you've taken guys bigger than him on. Member that transfer, Wilson Shafton last year in home room?" He leaned on the dresser and stared hard in the mirror at his own blue eyes. "You need the money, see, and you're going to get the money. You hear me? However you need to get it. And that's what." He pushed off the dresser, swaggered to the bedroom door, spun around and shot his finger at his reflection like he was shooting hisself.

He gathered his keys and put a joint in the wallet. He struggled with the door key to get it in the lock. His hand was shaking badly. He finally clicked the lock, and bounded down the stairs two at a time like this was nothing. Leaving his building he pinned the envelope that had his Tarzan headshot in under his arm and slid his hands in his pocket. They was still shaking when he rounded the corner into the night.

***

Jeremiah Tiberius Reynolds loved his cock, or as he called it, the Serpent. He loved its feel, its texture, its color—just a shade darker than his suntan skin. He loved its bulbous head, the length of its shaft, the girth the same size as the mushroom head, all the veins that swirled around it, especially the large protruding vein running down the top. He loved his balls, too, maybe not as much as the Serpent, but still he loved them. Ever since his older brother showed him what the Serpent could do, he gotten off with it every day, any place where he could find ten minutes of privacy.

JT Reynolds hated his cock, or maybe it was more fear, or more disgust, or maybe the evil temptation that came with it. "JT," his truck salesman father would yell, pounding the door, "get outta that bathroom right now. The devil has sway over boys who want too much privacy, and your sisters need their time before the bus comes." "One minute!" he answered, and that's about as much time as it took.

The Serpent ruled him. It made him experiment with temptation. He discovered playing with his balls made him ejaculate harder. It brought him to touch his butthole more than once laying in bed while he three brothers breathed heavy in their sleep. It was the Serpent that one time put the thought in his head, to stay in the shower long after his teammates left, with the touted league-winning Coach Johansson and Coach Hubbard lingering in their office, after the staff had gone home. The coaches, single men both, sitting behind the glass among the silent trophies. Coach Johansson, handsome, fit, square-jawed, sun-blond hair, broad shouldered, and as straight as can be, brought him a towel during the still-hot afternoon, telling Coach Hubbard JT probably forgot a towel. Coming upon JT and his gigantic weapon fully armed he initially feigned embarrassment. And thirty seconds later shower off, knees wet, JT got his first blow job. It might have been Coach Hubbard in the shadows, maybe just a trick of the eye when he came in Coach Johansson's mouth. No one ever mentioned anything afterward.

He'd let his one and only high school girlfriend, Jeannette, touch it on one of their drive-in movie date. She was repulsed and offended, but somehow let a wrist fall in his lap when they were alone on occassion. His father made sure that wasn't often. The beast responded to her touch, but it was Coach Johansson and even Coach Hubbard, who just by being around the corner, in their office, warm water running over the single-minded reptile when it would spring, all on its own, to life. There were no more accidental encounters with the rugged, scruff-face, Johansson, with Hubbard living in the shadows—for sin in this neck of the woods, especially with a teenager, especially a teen football player that everyone thought was maybe too pretty anyway, was punishable by firing, expulsion, public humiliation, banishment and probably much, much worse. The bachelors were beyond discreet—they were celibate. In their actions anyway.

In senior year Jeannette got JT to audition for the winter musical, The Music Man. Though JT couldn't hold a tune in a mason jar, or twist his waist in any recognizable manner on the dance floor, he could rap words and he could march in a straight line. He got the lead. Jeannette got chorus. His director, Mr. Saint Claire, worked hard with JT. Mr. Saint Claire's roommate and musical accompanist, Mr. Sweeney, together worked JT late into the night, often driving him home. Mr. Sweeney would sit in the backseat, behind Mr. Saint Claire, and reminisce about his years as a hair stylist on Broadway, and Mr. Saint Claire would shush him and put on a Judy Garland cassette. Dottie would ponder out-loud, whatever led him to this backwoods country, without even cable for goodness sake, he could just not imagine. The volume nob then went higher. JT found them a funny pair, until this one night, a week before opening, when JT forgot his lyrics for the umpteenth time. Mr. Sweeney threw up his hands and stormed off, yelling back at the stage, "It's 'P'—'P' for heaven sake—'P' stands for 'pool'! 'B' stands for nothing!" Mr. Sweeney swayed getting to the gym door. "'B' stand for bubkes! for beefcake! for banjo-playing hillbillies! for Billy!" Mr. Sweeney screamed up to the klieg lights. They found him later in the car drinking out of his flask. As usual, he sat behind Mr. Saint Claire on the drive to JT's house. After fifteen minutes of silence, Mr. Sweeney capped his flask and unleashed on his roomie. Did he know how in love Mr. Saint Claire was with him, what a handsome stud JT was, how JT could have any girl or—ominously—any man he wanted. So why did he have to have Billy? "Who's Billy?" JT asked, flummoxed. "He, him," Mr. Sweeney said, pointing a finger at the driver. "Dotty, shut it," said Mr. Saint Claire. "Dotty?" JT asked, pointing to the back seat. Mr. Saint Claire confirmed, "Douglas," and popped in a Barbara Streisand tape.

At the next rehearsal the library lady, Mrs. DeWitt, took over on the piano. The Music Man was a hit! JT was a hit—although Mr. Saint Claire convinced JT to use his regular name 'Jeremy Reynolds' in the playbill. At the final cast party, on the director's couch, Mr. Saint Claire opined, "Jeremiah would be little over the top, I would say, but Jeremy Reynolds—it’s the name of a 50s movie star, don't you think, Dottie?" Dottie had no opinion. He rose from the couch and said he'd bring out the remaining bean dip and Doritos. There was a long pause, people were starting to leave. Jeremy Reynolds attempted to break the silence. "I never had champagne before, Mr. Saint Claire. Is it always pink?" asked Jeremy. "Only in the better places," sneered Mr. Saint Claire. Mr. Saint Claire wanted to change the subject. "JT, I mean Jeremy," he said, displaying all his teeth, "what do you think if for the spring we put on Tarzan?" "That's a play?" asked Jeremy. "Well, it's a musical I've been working on with Dottie, and I think, we think, you'd be terrific as the Ape Man of the Jungle. It has a monkey chorus, Jane as your romantic lead, and you'd swing from cardboard tree to cardboard tree. What do you think?" "I love Tarzan!" Jeremy pounded his chest excitedly, drunk, going 'Oo-oo-oo!' "This one time," he confided privately, though the last guests were in the kitchen with Dottie," I got a boy doll Tarzan for Christmas, from aunt Aggie in Charlotte, but it got took. I don't know who took it, but I think it was my daddy." Thinking back on the muscular plastic toy he clung to in bed, feeling its plastic chest and no weener, the Serpent turned. Dottie ushered out the last of the guests and swept back through the room. "I didn't bother with the dip. I'm going to bed. I'll clean up in the morning. Can you drive the music man home?" "Of course I can. I only had two glasses of champagne," protested Mr. Saint Claire. "Four, but no one counted. You feel safe with Mr. Saint Claire, sugar?" Mr. Sweeney asked Jeremy with a double-edge of concern. "Course he does. Finish your drink, mister, and we'll go."

In the car Mr. Saint Claire put on the Bee Gee's Saturday Night Fever cassette singing along with them. His arm swung  as much as it could in the small VW. "Ah-ah-ah, stayin alive-ive-ive!" "There's my house, Mr. Saint Claire." All the lights were off, the street deserted. "So how about it, Tarzan." Mr. Saint Claire pulled the break, reached over and put his hand on Jeremy's thigh. Since the boy didn't flinch, he unzipped Jeremy's worn out corduroys. Jeremy helped him slip them over his knees. Mr. Saint Claire reached inside his boxers and let out a 'whoa!' He pulled out the Serpent which sprang out of Jeremy's shorts. Mr. Saint Claire lowered his head and within two minutes Jeremy came in his mouth. Mr. Saint Claire said, gasping for air, "I think we're going to need a bigger loincloth."

***

Vinnie was already there, smoking, leaning on the bricks when he arrived. He took a long drag on his Marlboro, offered up the pack to Jeremy, who waved off the offer but thanked him anyway. Vinnie took one more hit and tossed the butt in the street. He was silhouetted from the light out of the liquor store and made an imposing figure to Jeremy. They were about the same size but Vinnie was at least ten years older and thirty years more jaded. He wore a grey tank top that had "PIG" stenciled across the chest, black jeans, studded belt, and black leather boots. Jeremy caught that his jaw was repeatedly clenching and jutting from side to side. He'd seen that many times with the friends his brother hung out with. Maybe Vinnie was nervous, though, he thought trying to fool himself. Vinnie lit another cigarette and nodded for Jeremy to follow.

"So, which site was it again?" Vinnie said, as Jeremy quickened his pace to stride along side him.

"Ball Busters. I sure do like that site."

"Why's that? Jeffrey, right?"

"Jeremy. You can call me JT if'n you want."

"I can?" Vinnie changed into an Aw-Shucks voice. "Well that's a might neighborly of you."

Jeremy stopped, his back up. "You got something against the south?"

Vinnie sized him up. "Nah," he chuckled, waving away the threat. "Specially if the southerner's packing a twelve inch long horn. Where you from, cowboy." They started walking again down the street again.

"Little town right outta Knoxville. You from here?"

"Jersey, by way of Oakland. But been here a long time. Discharged in Oakland many moons ago. So you like my site, huh? It’s still coming together but it pays very good coin." Jeremy nodded vigorously. They went quiet. A little farther down the street Vinnie picked up again. "So what’re you into, sport? Fisting, saline, bi, orgies, daddies, sounds, what?" Passing a street light the older man looked at Jeremy's face.

The kid was obviously embarrassed. "Don’t know, Sir. I've been sucked off a couple of times, once by my coach, and once by my acting teacher, and, like I said, my brothers and me used to fool around kicking each other in the nuts. That's about it. Right now I'm looking for money. Your site said you'd pay good if'n I let you kick me in the nuts."

"An acting teacher and coach, huh?" Vinnie left it in the air without comment. "So you never fucked nobody? A girl or this acting teacher?" Jeremy shook his head. "Well, Jeremy, just so you know, I don't suck no cocks and I don't fuck nobody neither. That cool with you?" Jeremy agreed it was. Vinnie used the butt of his cigarette to light another one. "Sure you don't want one?" Jeremy took one out of Vinnie's pack, lit it from Vinnie's cigarette. Coughed. "I pay fifty bucks to video abusing you, seventy-five without a mask. If you dig Daddy-Oh I'd give you a hundred but there's no mask for that, and we'd have to arrange to bring in one of the regular daddies. It's without condoms, if you're cool with that." Jeremy frowned. They stopped in front of a warehouse. "Well, this is it. Game, cowboy?"

It was an industrial building that looked deserted. When they were inside, there wasn't even a light, but only a ghostly greenish light from the exit sign. Vinnie led them to the elevator. There was a lock instead of a button. Vinnie put in his key, turned it and the doors opened. He flipped on a switch inside and bright fluorescent blinked on behind a grungy plastic ceiling grate. Vinnie pushed 8. The doors closed and they started to climb. "So, what, you're a virgin or something?"

Jeremy tried to sound experienced. "Well, two blow jobs. And my girlfriend gave me a handjob once."

"Nah, kid, don't get me wrong. That's a good thing for this gig. The public likes first timers. But a good looking stud like you, what, first thing you want me to do is kick you in the nuts? You wouldn't want even a daddy suck you off? Maybe lay you or something?"

"Well, I wouldn't mind if you put a screwdriver in my pecker."

Vinnie laughed. "Aw, buddy, I think that's a little advanced for you. Let's just start off slow and see where that takes you. Okay, last stop. Housewares, linens, ball smashing."

When the doors opened there was a security gate that Vinnie had to unlock and slide open before they could get in. Jeremy was looking through the gate. The room was illuminated in the blue glow of a bank of monitors. Each monitor had screen savers randomly ricocheting around on the screens. Once Vinnie got the door open, Jeremy wandered over to look at all of them, set down his hat on one, and studied the random photos bouncing around. Fisting, sling fucks, tits clamps, blow jobs, men peeing on men, extra-long rods going in men's pee holes. The Serpent was definitely stirring.

"Video editing. I got this smart old perv that helps me with my sites, hooked me up for commerce, and showed me this editing software. I'm ready to dump him. But, I don't know, he also comes over if I want an extra pair of hands, either to move around the cameras or help me work over a guy." He switched a breaker switch on the wall next to the monitors and the dark room lit up warmly. It was like being on a sound stage, well, it was a sound stage of a sort. There was the black wall that Vinnie chained guys to and kick and punch their nuts, there was the table with all the eye hooks to bind a guy down so they couldn't budge while he did stuff to them, and there, hotly lit by four yellow klieg lights, was the famous bed with the leopard print and the pile of tiger pillows, where Vinnie would tie up guys, spread eagle. Jeremy lost his sense of fear and now only felt wonderment. He strolled over and ran his hand along the felt material and tested the fee;. It was real, not the internet.

He was entranced. The whole floor was like magic. Not scary like he thought. Big, open, kind of like a stage. It even had that dusty stage smell. Even the dark corners cast spells. He wished he lived here, had this much room. It was expansive. He'd never seen a space so big. Not the cold storage room of the Bi-Lo, but real warm, lit brighter than reality. Even with the bed and monitors it hardly made a dent in the room's size. A kitchen area was in the corner and a couch and chair by the front windows.

He really liked this place, and wanted to make a good impression on Vinnie. "Vinnie," he started, unsure if he should take the next step, "you want to smoke a doobee. I brought a joint in case you wanted to."

"Aw, dude, I'm disappointed. I thought you didn't do drugs." Jeremy couldn't tell if VInnie was being sarcastic.

"Only pot. I did coke with my brother, but it's expensive."

"You're not fucking kidding. Mm-kay, you twisted my arm. So, you bring your headshot or what?" Vinnie pointed to a yellow envelope Jeremy had been clutching tight under his arm since they met. "C'mon, sit." He pointed to the kitchen table stashed in the corner. Next to it sat a bench with a hot plate, toaster oven and a small refrigerator. "Wanna beer?" Vinnie waved to his fridge.

"If you’re having one. Thank you kindly." He sat at the table and slid his envelope over to Vinnie. Vinnie came out of the fridge with two beers and smacked them down on the table. Opening the manila envelope, he pulled out the photo. Jeremy as Tarzan, the Ape Man. He slid the lighter over to Jeremy.

“What’s this? A skirt?”

Jeremy lit the joint, took a drag and, a little offended but also hurt, handed the joint over to Vinnie. “I’m Tarzan. That’s my loincloth.”

Vinnie laughed, not at Jeremy, but how hot he suddenly realized the kid was. And the loincloth was exceptionally small for such a large hunk. “You acted in a whole play in this.” He took a long drag and passed it back. Vinnie took a long time examining the studly boy's physique. He'd seen lots of pictures like this in vintage model books but this was the genuine article. No pretense in that broad handsome face. Pure innocence, a huge, perfect smile, and nowhere near a pansy faker.

"It was a musical my teacher wrote, but they gave most of my songs to the lead gorilla. And one song they changed at the last minute to Jane’s. The school didn't exactly go hog wild over the show, but we did sell out every night for three weekends.”

Vinnie held up the glossy with Jeremy wearing a loincloth shorter than any of the short-shorts the Village People ever wore. “I bet you sold out. Bet a lot of repeat customers, too." He toked several times on the joint. "You are a very brave man, Jeremy Ren.”

"Jeremy who?”

“I thought you were Jeremy Ren. Isn’t that what you said on the phone?”

“Oh, I recon I didn't want to say my whole name to a stranger. My name’s Jeremiah Reynolds, but I don't want to use my real name if we do this.”

Vinnie stubbed out the half-finished joint against his wet beer can. "I'm sorry, sport, but this is dirt weed. I've got some stash that's gonna kick you country ass." He went to the leopard bed and pulled out a drawer under it and took out one of his own joints.

Jeremy slammed his hand on the kitchen table feeling justified. "I knew y'all wasn't all up tight about herb."

Vinnie smirked, put his hands up, caught red handed. “They for real call you Jeremiah back home, seriously?” He brought the joint back to the kitchen table, sat looking over the eye candy in front of him. He didn't know how he was going to use him, but use him he would.

“Well, they used to call me JT, but Mr. Saint Claire said I should use Jeremy Reynolds for the stage.”

“That your acting teacher, the one that blew you, Saint Claire?" Jeremy nodded. Vinnie lit the joint. "How about JT Wren?" he said handing the joint to Jeremy. "Sounds butch, don't it?" Jeremy started toking away on the new joint. He looked at the ceiling lights then over at the bed. He smiled and starting nodding his head. “So, JT, let’s see that twelve inch trout you’ve been bragging about all night.”

“Okay.” Without another word Jeremy undid his jeans and let them and his boxers drop to the floor. He fluffed up the Serpent and presented himself to Vinnie. Vinnie rocked back in his kitchen chair and gave out a low whistle. "And that's not even hard," said Jeremy.

Vinnie shot up and went over to his video editing table and got his Polaroid camera. “Take off your tee shirt, buddy. Mind if I snap a few?” Jeremy shrugged his shoulders and stripped off his tee. He flexed a bit for Vinnie. He didn't mind at all, in fact, he liked being looked at and having his picture took. Vinnie grabbed at his own crotch freeing up his own serpent. He took a couple of  Polaroids circling Jeremy. Front, side, back, close up butt, close up cock. “Mm-kay, cowboy, lift your Johnson and show me your nutsack." Jeremy swung his extra large bag of rocks. He was good at following direction like this. Kinda getting into it. His Johnson kinda getting into it too, from Vinnie's point of view. "Mm-kay, you better put 'em back on now.” A little disappointed, Jeremy pulled up his pants. He decided, though, to leave his tee shirt off. 

Vinnie took back his joint. "Good, huh?" He took a couple of short puffs and then one long drag and held it.

"I recon I never had weed this good before. Hits ya quick, don't it?" He was leaning back in his kitchen table chair, arms clasped behind his head, trying to show off the little bit of dark brown bush he had.  He was really feeling comfortable now. "I tell ya', Vinnie, I was nervous as a long tail cat in a room full of rocking chair fore I got here tonight. Now I'm as happy as a puppy with two peckers."

After a second processing what the kid said, Vinnie exploded smoke through his nose and gave a wail of a coughing laughter. He couldn't stop. He banged his head on the table.

Jeremy, smiling innocently, said, "Wha'?"

"Dude," he said, passing back the joint, "did you really just say that?"

"Say what?" Jeremy giggled. "I recon I did at that. But I mean—shit, dude, this is best dope I ever met. Makes me horny as a goat."

"You got that right, cowboy. How bout we get in the saddle and we do a little catch and release."

Jeremy couldn't wait to drop his drawers again. He excitedly undid his pants, dropped it all and ran over to the bed. He felt overcome with happiness and jumped up to a pole  hang from the ceiling that held two klieg light. Between the lights he started doing pull ups. Vinnie watched him, imagined what he wanted to do with him, this virgin's first night. Nothing too extreme or he'd never come back. At twenty pull ups Jeremy dropped. "That weren't  no regular joint. Now c'mon and admit it. I know drugs and that had more than plain ol' weed in it. Lil' angel in it?"

"Caught me again. It's laced with T."

"Crystal?" Jeremy frowned. "I smoked some clouds once and was up by myself all night. Swore I'd never do it again."

"We'll that's because you was alone, bro. I'm here, and you and me, we can stay up all night if we feel like it. Do things. Anything you like, bro. You just tell Vinnie."

"Like puttin' a screw driver down my Serpent."

"Well," Vinnie pondered, "how's about we start off with maybe a small sound. C'mon, get on this bed you nut job. I'll show you what that's like."

Jeremy ran over and jumped on the bed, leapt back on the plush tiger pillows and spread his arms and legs out wide awaiting the cuffs he'd seen so often.

With Jeremy wiggling in bed, Vinnie stripped in front of the attentive kid. Vinnie untied his shoes and placed his socks inside them. He took off his PIG shirt, revealing his strong, hairy chest. He rubbed a hand casually through the thick black forest that covered his flat belly and went right up and over his shoulders. He, too, then jumped up on the bar that held the overhead lights and did a couple of pull up to show off himself. He had a lot more hair everywhere especially his pits than Jeremy, and his knew his crotch was also a dark hairy jungle, not like the kid's who he suspected manicured the little that he had—not that that was a bad thing, far from it. Vinnie dropped to the floor and undid his leather pants, let them fall and stepped out of them. He flashed a Cheshire cat smile to Jeremy and teased his five-day old dirty underwear down bit by bit till they too were on the floor. He then picked them up and snapped the waistband and shot the briefs squarely into Jeremy's face. He wagged his own not-so-unsubstantial Johnson, slapping the semi-hardon sided to side. He strolled over casually—he wouldn't spook him—but Jeremy was oblivious enjoying himself to the hilt. He was so excited he rolled back and forth on the bed that he'd only seen before on a small monitor. Vinnie began the descent of talking young boy's down, getting them to relax. "Mm-kay, partner. You saw the videos. I gotta first get you hooked up to the bed like this." He took one of the cuffs and reached out for Jeremy's large paws. He put it in the fur lined cuff and locked it to the side of the bed. Jeremy looked more excited than scared. Vinnie found he was talking to a frisky but, so far, cooperative colt, putting out a hand as he circled the bed. "It's okay, cowboy, we don't do anything you don't wanna do. Mm-kay?" Jeremy nodded eagerly. Vinnie secured his other arm. Vinnie then climbed naked over Jeremy making sure his dark hairy balls brushing over Jeremy's hairless abdomen. Jeremy bucked up surprised and over-stimulated.

"Can I touch 'em?" Jeremy begged.

"Sure buddy. But remember we start off slow."

"I know, I know." Vinnie positioned himself so Jeremy could feel up his very furry low-hangers. Rolling Vinnie's balls gently around  like a soft sack of eggs, Jeremy spoke as if he was reading from a script, "Not till the end, then we crush each other's balls. Look at my dick. Look at my dick, is what you say."

"That's right, sport. Now your leg." Jeremy swung out a leg for Vinnie to cuff him. "Well, we'll see what we want to do as we go along. Right now, I'm going to cuff your other leg and then show you what a sound in your dick feels like." Vinnie worked quickly while in a side-ways glance he watched Jeremy magnum phallus rise to an extreme length. Fuck, he was going to make a fortune off this boy.

Once secured, Vinnie slid himself across Jeremy's chest again to get to another drawer under the bed where he kept his set of sounds and lube. He loved feeling his hairy crotch on top of  Jeremy broad chest. The kid was maybe as big as him but was completely smooth. It made his dick twitch while he slid back with his sounds in hand. The boy responded to his touch with abandon, pushing up his body to be felt everywhere he could. Vinnie ran his palms and his knuckles up and down the kid's torso. He was as close to a god as you could get, but still a wild animal waiting to be broken. He'd start with the colt's most prominent feature and improvise from there.

 He grabbed Jeremy hardened cock, lubed a small sound and squeezed some lube into Jeremy piss slit. The kid arched to the ceiling. "Calm down, buddy, we haven't even started yet."

"Okay, Sir. It was just cold." Vinnie placed the tip of the rod over the slit opening and let it slide down a quarter of an inch. "Shit, shit. Take it out." Vinnie did, cocking an eye at Jeremy. "That felt so weird."

"It's supposed to, sport. This ain't regular blow job sex. You just lie back, close your eyes." He took the sound again and placed it at the opening. He just inserted the tip before Jeremy jumped again begging for it to be taken out. "Should I start with the electric screwdriver then?" Vinnie asked, with a hint of anger and dripping sarcasm. Jeremy looked at Vinnie unhappily, shook his head and gritted his teeth. "Okay, Jeremy, this won't hurt, but it is going to feel extremely weird. But trust me it won't hurt. I'm going to use a lot of lube." Jeremy nodded his head trying to look brave.

Vinnie lubed the slit liberally, put the sound again to the tip and let it slide in. Jeremy stiffened as it went down his chute. About three inches down he uncontrollably began bucking. "Please, stop, stop!" he shouted, but he bucked the sound slipped out of Vinnie's hand and it began it's natural descent from it's own weight. He thrashed from side to side, begging Vinnie to remove it. "Sweet Jesus. Holy fuck! Make it stop!" he cried. The rod was long but not a long as Jeremy's cock. It had disappeared down his shaft. Vinnie could feel it in there but with Jeremy jumping around he had no way to pull out the sound.

"You have to stop or I can't help you," Vinnie tried to calmly explain.

Jeremy tried to relax, felt it buried deep and so unnaturally. He tried as much as he could to accept the sensation. By a few deep breaths he was able to live with the feeling. In another few seconds he became less frenzied, almost willing to have it within him though he wasn't liking it. His cock softened just a bit but it was enough to stroke it down and have the sound's head reappear. Vinnie used his discarded underwear to grab the slippery tip and slowly, gently pull it out. "Oh, Sir," Jeremy pleaded, "I can't do this."

"Course you can, cowboy. Just like riding a horse." Vinnie really liked the kid but maybe he was right. He just might be too wild to control. Then as he thought the night might slip through his hands, a thought popped in his head as he brushed Jeremy hard body with his impossibly soft skin. "So, JT. A lot of this takes time to get used to. And you look like Mr. Serpent is into it coming back to life so quick." Indeed, Vinnie noted he was stiffer than when they even started. "There is a short cut," he proffered, seeing what the boy's reaction might be. Jeremy, too, looked like he ached for the night not to be over "If you like the T-laced joint I know you'll love this, and you'll be surprised at how calm you'll get. Really nice and mellow after a fantastic initial rush. You won't believe how good it is." He reached in back of himself, and took a leather gag and ball from a bed drawer,  and put it in Jeremy's mouth. The kid didn't resist. He was afraid with the next part he would. He secured the strap behind the boy's shaggy head.

It was difficult to speak. Beneath the ball in his mouth he was able to get out "Okay, Sir." Vinnie pulled the strap taut. 

"Yep, 'Okay, Sir' is the magic word." Vinnie went around and secured the restraints much tighter. He saw Jeremy was forcing himself to relax and getting comfortable again on the leopard bed, though still he was a little anxious. He soon wouldn't be. He went back to his dresser and pulled out a rig and a spoon. He put some white powder in the spoon, added a bit of water and heated it up. Jeremy was watching him like a hawk, but surprisingly said nothing. His cock was dripping pre-cum, the veins looking like they might explode. Vinnie made sure the mixture had entirely dissolved, put a cotton ball in it, and loaded one of the points. He then set up two camera, one close up on Jeremy cock and the other one further back, a two shot that would capture him and Jeremy together. He glanced at the cowboy hat on the editing monitor and brought it over and set it on Jeremy's head. He tapped the side of the rig, looked over at the video monitors to make sure everything was right. In the drawer he found a rubber hose and tied it around the boy's outstretched muscular arm. He told Jeremy as he searched for a good vein, "I might you join a little later but right now let's concentrate on popping your cherry, or cherries." He tapped Jeremy's arm to bring out a vein. Jeremy flipped over forearm his displaying to Vinnie the largest protruding vein he had. Vinnie was surprised and broke into his Cheshire cat grin again. "Not your first rodeo, is it, cowboy." Jeremy looked up at him stoically, and shook his head. Vinnie stuck the vein, saying, "Now tell me if this burns." He gave Jeremy the entire contents without protest.

"Yesss, oh fuck yesss, take it, go with it," he coached the boy, stroking his forehead, as he saw the change come over him. There was a bead of blood where he withdrew the needle. Vinnie bent over and licked it, the last thing Jeremy saw before his head sank into the tiger pillows.

The boy was gone. The body alive for anything he wanted to do. Vinnie grabbed another set of sounds, a little different than the first. They were extremely thin as wires but had an octagonal bit at the end. While the boy was flying on his bed, he lubed it and inserted the bit in Jeremy's pee slit, letting it slide all the way in. Jeremy gasped and his Serpent jerked in Vinnie's hand. Once it settle in, Vinnie began twisting it in the depth of the Serpent. Only physically in the room his body trembled and swiveled his hips on the sound receiving sensation that were not natural to a body. Vinnie assisted him in intensifying the sensation by swiveling the Serpent around, drawing gasps and spasms in the body on his bed. Jeremy's abdomen shook in shock, trying to absorb the intensity of his internal forced extra-sensitivity. Vinnie wanted to exacerpate and build on what Jeremy was feeling. He took out another sound, greased it and entered it into Jeremy's urethra letting it join its brother in its descent. From far off somewhere deep in his brain Jeremy let out a cry of agony and satisfaction. He squirmed even harder in Vinnie strong hand. Vinnie took the two ends and began pulling them up and down within the kid's shaft. He felt the bits together with his fingers and ran then along the outside, following the internal motion up and down. "Better than a screwdriver, ain't it kid?" Jeremy was too far gone for words but present enough in body enough to rock his member in Vinnie's hand. "One more?" Vinnie offered. He expected no answer and inserted a third.

A hissing, sucking sound came out from behind the gag. Whimpers of euphoria gave over to heavy moans of overloaded stimulation as Vinnie, unrelenting, violently stroked his shaft with a ever-tightening grip. He could feel Jeremy stiffening and coming up against his first climax of the night. Vinnie gently extracted the sounds, mouthed Jeremy's mushroom head, and deep throated him down to the tuft of clipped hair sprouting from his groin. Jeremy forced out some unintelligible words trying to make them escape from the gag, trying to form thoughts out of his spinning mind. He didn't know if they were words of damnation or gratitude. If there existed words that were both, those would be the words. They fell on deaf ears as Vinnie was lost worshiping the newest offered phallus.

It wasn't the first time Jeremy felt the rush from a needle. He had his brother to thank for that. But it was one of the best. This time, though, a blow job wouldn't be the end of the encounter like the two he had—or third through hundredth if you counted the incestuous affair he long had with his brother Cliff. In his mind he was cascading far from where he started. He would be wise to cherish this ride tonight, the rush of bliss flowing from the Serpent's head to the farthest reaches of the world. There weren't that many more remaining.

 

[TTFN]

I'd love to try some sounds.