The Paperboy delivers

[billyinri]

The afternoon sun was already dipping behind the rooftops, casting long shadows across the suburban street where Leo made his paper route. At eighteen, he was lean and coltish, all nervous energy and a fresh-faced innocence that hadn't yet been tarnished by the world. Mr. Henderson’s house was the last on his route, a stately two-story at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac. The man who lived there was an enigma—handsome, impeccably dressed, and always watching Leo with an intensity that made the boy’s skin prickle with a confusing mix of fear and fascination.

Today, Mr. Henderson was waiting on his porch. "Leo," he called, his voice a low, smooth baritone. "Come here for a moment. I have something for you, for all your hard work."

Leo’s heart hammered against his ribs. He approached cautiously, the heavy canvas bag slung over his shoulder. Mr. Henderson smiled, a slow, predatory curve of his lips. "It's inside. Much cooler."

Hesitantly, Leo followed him into the cool, dimly lit house. The air smelled of old books, expensive cologne, and something else… something metallic and clean. Instead of the living room, Mr. Henderson led him toward a door in the kitchen, one that Leo had never noticed before. It was a heavy, steel door, incongruous with the rest of the home.

"I have a special collection downstairs," Mr. Henderson murmured, his hand resting on the small of Leo’s back, a touch that was both proprietary and electric. "I think you'll appreciate it."

The basement was not what Leo expected. It wasn't a storage area for forgotten boxes and old furniture. It was a dungeon. The walls were painted a deep, matte black, the floor was polished concrete, and the space was meticulously arranged with equipment Leo had only ever seen in whispered online searches: a St. Andrew's cross, a padded sawhorse, chains hanging from the ceiling, and a wall lined with whips, paddles, and gleaming metal implements. In one corner, a series of professional-looking cameras were mounted on tripods, their red recording lights glowing like malevolent eyes.

A wave of vertigo washed over Leo. He should run. He knew he should run. But his feet were rooted to the spot, a strange, potent cocktail of terror and a dark, thrilling curiosity holding him captive.

"I see you understand," Mr. Henderson’s voice was a silken whisper against his ear. "You feel it, don't you? The pull. The need to let go."

Strong hands guided Leo toward the center of the room. He didn't resist. His mind was screaming, but his body was pliant, betraying him. Mr. Henderson was methodical, his movements precise as he undressed Leo, folding the boy’s clothes neatly and placing them on a bench. Leo stood naked and trembling, his pale skin stark against the darkness of the room.

"You're exquisite," Mr. Henderson breathed, his gaze raking over Leo’s body. He fastened a soft leather collar around Leo’s neck, attaching a thin leash. The symbolism was not lost on Leo; a final, shivering point of no return.

He was positioned over the padded sawhorse, his wrists and ankles secured with soft leather cuffs. The position was vulnerable, humiliating, and deeply, undeniably arousing. His cock, half-hard with fear and adrenaline, was trapped against the rough leather of the horse.

Mr. Henderson moved behind him. "This is your gift, Leo. Your true beginning. And we will share it with those who can appreciate true art."

A cool, slick finger probed at Leo’s tight entrance, and he gasped, his body tensing. "Shhh, relax," the voice soothed. "Let me in."

The preparation was thorough, stretching and lubing him until he was loose and open, aching with a need he couldn't comprehend. The cameras whirred softly, capturing every twitch, every shudder, every bead of sweat that traced a path down his spine.

Then, he felt it. The blunt, hot pressure of Mr. Henderson’s bare cock against his hole. There was no barrier. The thought was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. With a firm, steady push, Mr. Henderson breached him.

A sharp cry tore from Leo’s throat. It was a searing, intense burn, an overwhelming fullness that stole his breath. There was pain, yes, but beneath it was a current of dark pleasure that bloomed from his core, spreading through his veins like wildfire. Mr. Henderson began to move, setting a deep, punishing rhythm that claimed Leo completely. Each thrust was a statement of ownership, a branding of the boy's very soul. The pain began to melt away, replaced by a profound, electrifying pleasure that made Leo’s toes curl.

He was lost. The world narrowed to the sensation of being filled, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, the low grunts of the man behind him, and the ever-present hum of the cameras. His own cock was trapped and throbbing, leaking a steady stream of pre-cum onto the horse. Mr. Henderson reached around, his strong grip closing around Leo’s shaft.

"Come for me," he commanded, his voice rough with exertion. "Show them."

A few rough strokes were all it took. Leo’s orgasm ripped through him with the force of a tidal wave, a blinding, all-consuming pleasure that left him shaking and sobbing, his release spilling over the older man’s hand. As his body convulsed, he felt Mr. Henderson stiffen, a deep groan echoing in the room as a flood of heat erupted deep inside him, marking him from the inside out.

Leo collapsed against the sawhorse, boneless and spent. For a moment, there was only the sound of his own ragged breathing and the soft click of the cameras being turned off. He felt… changed. Purified and defiled in the same breath.

Mr. Henderson withdrew slowly, and Leo felt an odd sense of loss at the emptiness. He heard the man zip up his pants, the sound unnervingly casual. He expected to be untied, to be allowed to get dressed and leave this strange, transformative world behind.

Instead, he heard the heavy steel door at the top of the stairs creak open. Footsteps. Not one set, but several, descending the wooden steps with a heavy, deliberate tread. Leo twisted his head, his heart lurching into his throat as he saw them.

A line of men. At least half a dozen, all naked, all erect, their eyes fixed on him with a raw, predatory hunger. They were different ages and body types, but they all shared the same look of dark anticipation.

Mr. Henderson’s hand came to rest on Leo’s head, a possessive, almost gentle gesture. "You were a star, my boy," he said, his voice laced with a chilling satisfaction. "The paying audience loved your performance. And now, they want their turn to be part of the show."

Leo’s blood ran cold. Paying guests. The cameras. It hadn't just been recorded; it had been broadcast live.

One of the men on the stairs, a wiry man with cruel eyes and a menacing smirk, spoke up. "We've all paid for the privilege, Henderson. We were promised the main event." He stepped down, his gaze raking over Leo’s exposed, used body. "I've been saving my load for a fresh one like this. Can't wait to knock him up."

Another man chimed in, his voice a low growl. "Yeah, give him the gift. Make him one of us."

The horrifying words crashed over Leo. Infect. Knock him up. The gift. HIV. The realization struck him like a physical blow, a terror so profound it eclipsed everything that had come before. He wasn't just a performer; he was a sacrifice. His deflowering had been the appetizer, and he was the main course for a feast of infection. He struggled against his restraints, a renewed panic giving him strength, but the leather held fast. His pleas were muffled by the gag he hadn't even realized Mr. Henderson had fastened.

The first man reached the bottom of the stairs, his cock jutting obscenely before him. He ran a hand over Leo’s exposed flank, his touch like a brand.

"Don't worry, kid," he leered. "By the time we're all done with you, you'll be a true brother of the night. You'll carry all of us inside you, forever."

The line of men began to move down the stairs, their shadows falling over him, their promises of poison a chorus of damnation in the silent, black dungeon. Leo closed his eyes, a single tear tracing a path through the sweat and grime on his cheek, as the first of many took his position behind him. The night was young.

1%

[DutchGuy1977]

Wow, Hot start!

[Guest This is full]

This is a full complete story. 

[DutchGuy1977]

3 minutes ago, Guest This is full said:

This is a full complete story. 

Are you sure? I think there will be more...