Big Game Preserve

Copyright 2006 by Luc Milne lucmilne@telus.net. All rights reserved. One copy may be downloaded for personal use.

Each part of this series is a separate tale or "document" connected by the overall fantasy of a manhunting game reserve. The idea of "Special Boys" is from Garth Wells' fine story HORSE (see Yahoo group SlaveNow) although I have taken it in a different direction.

BIG GAME PRESERVE 6

The Scout, Part One

"Breaking the Banker"

Nick Tarn was Head Scout for the five Big Game Preserves owned by The Pleasure Corporation around the world. His official title was Game Stock Purveyor and he was responsible for finding, acquiring and delivering new fresh animals to the various Preserves for indoctrination, conditioning and enhancement. It was a job which involved constant travel and a wide variety of contacts and techniques for securing the appetising animal flesh that would satisfy the desires of hunters on the Preserves. Sometimes he met in fashionable private men's clubs to negotiate the "gifts" of sons, grandsons, and nephews from wealthy gentlemen who were interested in having the Preserve Laboratories remodel their boys into Special Boys for their own use, after a contracted period of service as prey on a Preserve. Other times he trawled the streets of neighbourhoods ruled by inner-city gangs meeting secretly with contacts who could supply him with "wild meat" for training. And he had a "black book" of names and numbers for various high school and university athletic coaches who were likely to offer up a promising kid in exchange for free hunting vacations. In nearly every state and country he had pals among the penal services who were constantly on the alert for big-dicked prisoners who might be choice meat for the Preserves on their release from jail or prison.

His principles and rules were very simple.

Never buy or take an animal who will be reported missing by family and friends.

Never take meat under the age of 15 years or older than 30. (That didn't mean that no animals on the Preserves were more than 30 years old--in fact some of the most desireable prey were older guys who had honed their skills at evading capture and who were confident enough after years of being hunted to turn on their hunters and track them down for their own savage pleasures. A significant number of hunters enjoyed becoming prey themselves once in a while).

And finally, never ever take on a guy who "volunteers" himself for training and service as prey. Even in the best trained animal the residue of "resistance" to his role and the seeds of rebellion in him were essential to the creation of a challenging target for the hunter clients.

The only exceptions to the "no volunteers" rule were certain "Easy Kill" boys who often accepted a scout's offer of "work" without balking. The Easy Kills were generally street teens and young drifters trained by the Preserves for the use of novice hunters. They were easy to "kill" and went willingly to their abuse, their cocks swinging between their legs, ready to let their bodies be exploited by hungry, but inexperienced clients.

On his scouting trips Nick Tarn always had a "shopping list" of the kinds of animals needed by the different Preserves. The African Preserve, for example, was generally in need of white boys and men to satisfy the ravenous appetites of black clients drawn from the ruling and military classes of African dictatorships. Hunters on the European Preserve in Czechoslovakia wanted "exotic" prey: thick-dicked turks and arabs, extravagantly cock-enhanced african blacks, and cunning asiatic monkey-boys and tiger-cubs. Hunters at the Brazilian Preserve had an insatiable taste for the most extreme mutant products of the Enhancement Labs, so the animals acquired for them had to have massively over-sized equipment to start with.

It was all more than one man could handle, and Chief Scout Nick Tarn was only one of a cadre of scouts, but he was the one all the assistant Game Purveyors admired and tried to emulate.

On his current trip Tarn had three primary items to procure for North America Big Game Preserve (West):

1. A top quality thoroughbred animal, smart, aggressive, and hung big enough for enhancement to at least a 12 inch cockhang with dense nuts to match. An athletic body was wanted, and if possible the animal should be taken from an upper-class U.S. eastern seaboard Ivy League milieu.

2. A black "Thug" type, preferably from New York, Chicago, or Los Angeles, street smart and wild, a challenge for hunters who wanted maximum testing of their domination skills. The Labs wanted enough natural meat to make enlargement to a hang of 15 inches feasible. Outright purchase from a gang chief was authorized.

3. A 15 or 16 year old "Farm Boy", rosy-cheeked and corn-fed with a stocky body, solid butt, and a thick, workable, 8 or 9 inch cock. He would not be meat-enhanced by the Labs but his semen production would be heightened to maximum levels of supply for prolonged milking, sucking, and ass-filling. (This last item was likely to be difficult to find: rosy-cheeked farm boys usually had rosy-cheeked families who kept track of them."

There were other "wants" on the list--the usual range of Easy Kills and Oriental Exotics, but these three were priority items.

The Banker

Mr. Nicholas Van Dykson (one of Nick Tarn's "working" aliases, sat on the bench in front of his guest locker in the dressing room of The Downtown Athletic Club in a large American city on the eastern coast. He had been swimming in the luxurious club pool as part of his scouting routine, since the rules of the club prohibited the wearing of swimming trunks--an echo of days when all gentlemens' clubs required nude swimming. Even with the natural shrinking effects of cool water on cocks and balls, Nick was able to make a quick survey of the available meat and see the bodies in action. Besides, it was a belief of his that if a man looked good wet, he'd look even better spread out and tied up to dry. Two possibilities came immediately to his eye: a lanky green-eyed beauty with a lightly sculpted body and a limber length of cut meat, and a trim black haired adonis with perfect pecs, jutting ass cheeks and an uncut dick that looked as if it might grow to an impressive length if treated right. The two men went to the sauna and Nick followed them, hoping to get them talking. His own clean cut looks and mature physique with its long dick heavily veined from years of "testing" the stock was perfectly at home in the luxurious atmosphere of the club.

In the sauna the two other men sat on the top shelf, side by side, their legs splayed, their heads back against the wall, breathing deeply in the hot dry air. Nick sat on the other side facing them his eyes keenly keeping track of the semi-tumescent meat between the men's thighs. Green Eye said "Did you get Ginny's invitation to dinner on Sunday." Black Hair replied, "Yes, but I'm not going to be able to make it."

There followed a rambling conversation in which Green Eye teased Black Hair about avoiding his wife Ginny's matchmaking and Black Hair made it clear that he had no steady girlfriend at the moment and no plans to get one in the near future. Green Eye called him a "homo" and said people were going to start talking. He said it was a good thing Black Hair's parents were gone or they'd be hounding him for a grandchild. Black Hair said he was just glad he didn't have to put up with the mess of brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles that Green Eye did.

"Yeah," said Green Eye, "but just remember, if you don't get married and have a kid, the Hallwell family name is going to die out, for good."

"Well," Black Hair replied, "that's the price you pay for complete freedom."

So, Nick Tarn knew exactly which of the two was his quarry and shortly after, in the juice bar of the club he sat down next to Black Hair and introduced himself. "Nice to meet you" the man said, "I'm Drew Hallwell." Then they downed some nasty, but healthful smoothies of mysterious fruits and grasses, as Nick began his seduction. He introduced himself as a "headhunter" for an agency that recruited high level executives for corporations specializing in the Leisure and Entertainment field. He said he was looking for some "young blood" to join the staff of a conglomerate that owned a variety of luxury resorts. When Hallwell said that he was a financial analyst for a private bank, Nick hinted that he was looking for someone with a "money" background. He indicated that the young executive he was looking for would have to start fairly far down on the corporate ladder but that the opportunities for advancement were almost unlimited. He amused himself with quick fantasies of just how far "down on the ladder" Drew Hallwell would find himself, when he was strapped to the cock "volumizer" getting his dick stretched out to a permanent 12 inches. Before long he'd made a date to meet Drew in the bar of his hotel for a proper drink that evening after Hallwell finished up his day at the bank.

In his room at the hotel, Nick prepared the bed for the anticipated "testing" to come: his "travel" ankle and wrist bindings were slipped under the mattress so the stud could be spread out and tied down for free access. He put the digital camera in the drawer of the bedside table, ready to snap a few shots of the prey's assets when he was all pumped up and ready to play. These pictures were necessary for the Pleasure Corporation's records and to use as blackmail if a subject absolutely refused to cooperate and threatened to go to the police. ( It was amazing how the possibility of obscene photographs of himself circulating the tabloids made a man stop talking about police charges and lawsuits. ) He laid his toy kit on the floor by the bed ready to dip into for tit clamps, cockstrap, ballgag, blindfold and penis whip--all the tools that might be needed to determine how well the subject responded to use and abuse. Then he slipped a little vial of powdered viagra into his pocket to spike Drew Hallwell's drink, just to get him in the mood for an invitation to "come upstairs for a little talk". As he moved to the door he caught a glance of his face in the mirror: his eyes glinted with the excitement of his own variety of "hunt".

In the quiet elegance of the hotel's cocktail bar he greeted Drew Hallwell and asked the man to sit alongside him at the banquette table he'd chosen. He dazzled his new young friend with the offer of a French 75, a sophisticated cocktail of gin and champagne with a sprinkle of sugar and a dash of lemon juice. It was perfectly designed to cover the taste of the viagra which he tipped into Drew's glass as the younger man leaned down to pick up the cigarette case Nick "clumsily" dropped on the floor when he opened it to offer a cigarette to his guest.

Handing back the slim black leather case, he said he didn't smoke but wouldn't mind if Nicholas did. Nick thought that was lucky because he liked to light up in the breaks between the acts of the "performances" he coaxed from his captives. He even liked to take a puff then french kiss the smoke into his victim's mouth, sucking it back up into his own so he could taste the sperm-flavoured second-hand smoke from the guy's well-fucked throat. He found that these days a non-smoking man was likely to be more shocked by this act than by almost anything else you could do to him.

The first French 75, bubbling in the flute glass and laced with chemical aphrodisiac, mellowed Drew Hallwell out without noticeably giving him a hard-on. In fact it wasn't until the third cocktail that his eyes began to glaze over with something like unfocussed lust. In the meantime Nick pumped him to find a little more about his circumstances. Relieved to hear that the man lived alone in a rented apartment, he moved on to Hallwell's job.

"So, how do you like your work at the bank, Drew? Does it give you any challenges."

Hallwell shook his head and said morosely, "No, it's a pain in the butt most of the time. Four years at Princeton and an MBA at Harvard and all I do is help rich old fuckers get richer without taking any risks. I tell you, man, hedge funds have taken a lot of the fun out of investing."

"So what do you do for fun," asked Nick.

"A little running, a little racket ball, a little pussy chasing. Nothing spectacular."

"Why don't you take some time off and look for something a little more exciting?" suggested Nick.

"Funny you should say that," replied Drew. "This was my last day on the job for a while: starting Monday I've got three weeks of vacation. I need to do some thinking about my future, I guess."

"You got any plans? I'm going to an isolated spot out west, one of those resorts owned by the company I'm headhunting for. It's a kind of nature Preserve, a good place to chill out. Start seeing things from a new perspective. (Like lying flat on your back, looking up at a hunter's cock dangling in your face, he thought.) You should come with me. Getting back to nature can make a big difference is a guy's attitude."

"That's nice of you Nick, but I don't know, I think...uh...I think I...uh...is it getting hot in here or is it just me?" Drew loosened his tie and the top button of his shirt as he spread his legs out wider on the leather of the banquette bench. His thigh came into contact with Nick's and stayed there. Nick glanced down at the man's crotch and saw a tell-tale bulge inching its way down one leg of his trousers. Nick casually let one hand drop to his guest's thigh as he gestured the waiter over to order another round.

"Have another cocktail, buddy. That will cool you off a bit." He moved his hand up an inch to come into contact with the tube of meat there. "Or why don't we go up to my room and get comfortable. You can't take your coat and tie off here in the bar, but upstairs we can let things hang out. Maybe order up some room service. I feel like eating something. What about it?"

Drew was staring down at the hand pressing against his swelling cock. This guy's a fucking fag, he thought. He's actually feeling me up in a public place. No guy had touched his cock since his history tutor at Princeton had blown him on the floor of his study. He knew he should cold-cock the groper, but his dick seemed to be enjoying the unexpected attention.

"I gotta go. I gotta date," he mumbled.

But Nick petted him soothingly beneath the table as he waved the waiter away. The man's smile as he walked off indicated that he had a pretty good idea of what was happening down below.

"It's only 5:30 Drew, plenty of time for a quickie upstairs. Maybe watch a little porn on the closed circuit TV channels. Come on buddy, let's loosen you up a little."

As Nick urged the groggy Drew to his feet, the waiter returned to accompany them to the door, shielding the young man's swollen package from curious eyes. In the elevator Drew slumped against Nick's shoulder and breathed heavily, letting himself be carried along in the sex fog that seemed to surround him.

Once in the room, Nick positioned Hallwell against the side of the bed and pushed him down on it, twisting his torso so he fell with his head toward the pillows, leaving only his legs to be lifted and positioned. Hallwell protested a little, making incomprehensible sounds of resistance.

"Yes, I know, Drew. It's hot and you want to get comfortable. I'm going to get some of these clothes off you so you can stretch out and relax." He was practised in undressing half-drugged horny men, and before long he had Drew down to his tartan Abercrombie and Fitch boxers, with the rosy head of his uncut cock beginning to peep out of its covering of foreskin as it stretched below the edge of one leg. Resisting the impulse to lean down and lick at the bead of precum glistening there, Nick made the necessary attachments of ankle and wrist straps, leaving the magnificent body open to his undivided attentions, then undressed himself quickly, feeling his heavy rope of cock sway in anticipation of the fun to come.

He knelt on the bed between the young man's thighs, gripped either side of the fly opening and ripped the shorts apart, leaving a ragged circle of naked crotch to work on. Later he would use his swiss army pocket knife to cut the boxers completely away, but it was part of his style to let his victims know from the beginning that they were at his mercy. And ripping their underwear off them was a clear sign that they were in for a session of domination and abasement.

Drew began to come out of his fog and started to strain against his shackles. "Wha' the fuck you doin', you fag? Lemme go or you're gonna to be in a lot of trouble. I'll have you up on assault charges. You'll go to prison, you creep."

Nick got the ball gag out of his bag of toys and strapped it around Drew's head. "Just be quiet, stud. We don't want the neighbours complaining. This isn't going to hurt at all. In fact I think you're going to like it. This dick isn't complaining. The harder I squeeze it, the longer it gets. I think it's got a taste for rough treatment--its pretty little cocklips are drooling like crazy."

He began a slow massage of the young man's shaft, pulling the loose skin up to form a fat rose of flesh over the dewy head, then moving back down slowly, uncovering the whole swollen glans, twisting slightly with his fist as he stroked. He continued this slow milking until so much honey streamed from Drew's cocklips that the skin began to make a wet slurping sound when it caught on the thick ledge of the meatus where it met the shaft and had to be forced over it on its passage up and down. Drew moaned obscenities behind his gag and strained against the straps for the first half hour of this mesmerizing cock massage, but gradually subsided into a rhythmic ripple of muscle contractions and releases, accompanied by a crooning whimper on each out-breath.

Nick's hands began to tire from their alternating turns on the cock, but he never broke the pace, knowing that the repetition was a crucial part of this preliminary test to see if the animal was a likely candidate for training. He began a spell of two-handed stroking, one fist moving slowly up and down the shaft, while the palm of his other hand circled the head, pressing firmly against the cockslit, prompting an even heavier flow of precum.

The wet rasp of his tormentor's palm on the tender lips of his cum canal brought Drew out of his stupor and caused him to arch in paroxysms of torturous pleasure. The palming continued relentlessly until he also began to accept that manipulation with eagerness, the shudders turning into attempts to push the head of his cock even harder against the constant circling caress.

Time flowed on as the two, hunter and victim, played out a long game of torment, resistance, acceptance, entrancement, and new torment in cycles of rising lust.

After an hour of continuous milking, Nick was ready to introduce his captive to the thrills of lips, tongue and teeth.

Now, when the upstroke created the foreskin-rose above the cockhead, the stroker leaned down and probed with his tongue into the sweet nectar at the very heart of the blossom. He circled his tongue around the cocklips and dipped its tip into them, tickling out more of the heady juice. Then as he slowly stroked the skin back down he let his tongue swirl in ever widening sweeps over the pulsing crown, finally gripping the deep ledge of the corona with his lips and teeth, while his tongue lashed at the meat caught in his mouth. He continued this agonizing combination of lip pressure, biting and tongue lashing for a long twenty minutes, as his fist continued to slow-jack the skin of the shaft below. Drew's moans became a kind of yelping whine and he rocked from side to side trying to shake off the beast feasting on the tenderest part of his meat. But this only had the effect of making Nick grip harder with his mouth, teaching the animal the lesson that the more he resisted, the more agonizing the torment would become. And once again the continuous head-sucking became more pleasure than pain and Drew drifted off into an panting ecstasy, surrendering to the obsessively spiraling tongue.

Finally, about an hour and a half into his "testing" of the potential addition to Preserve stock, Nick reached up with his free hand and removed the ball gag from Drew Hallwell's mouth. Before the man could speak, he thrust two fingers into the cavity and pumped them back and forth in the hot saliva, leading the prey on to a new and perhaps never-before-experienced joy. Gradually, as Drew adjusted to the invasion of his mouth, Nick introduced a third and then a fourth finger, stretching the full, sensuous lips and probing deep into the silken cavity. He pressed against the back of Drew's tongue giving him a hint of a more intimate pressure which was to come. The young banker began to gag, but Nick was infinitely patient and determined: he kept moving his fingers in the spit drenched mouth, inching a little deeper with every probe, showing the captive that the gagging was just part of the pleasure and nothing to be panicked about.

He was ready to move on to one of the most crucial and most dangerous of the "testing" procedures. Keeping his fingers in Drew's mouth, he straddled the athletic torso and kneewalked up the body until his cock hung menacingly above the finger-stuffed lips. With his other hand he reached back a grabbed the man's nuts in his fist and squeezed hard. Drew jerked at the sudden assault on his balls.

Nick knew that it was time to shift into a higher and more brutal gear. "Stay still, bitch, or I'll nut you for good." He squeezed again and the body beneath him suddenly went quiet, stunned by the hand mauling his balls, but even more frozen by his rapist's words. "That's right, bitch. That's a good girl. Just lay still and let Daddy teach you how to be a good little slut."

Nick knew from long experience that straight, upper class men were often more shocked by being called a "bitch" and a "slut" than by the physical attack itself. He moved quickly to take advantage of that shock by turning his four fingers over in Drew's mouth leaving them palm up, making a kind of groove for his swelling cock. He slid his cock into that groove, until the man's mouth was stuffed with the "cock-in-hand" of his master. This yawning stretch of Hallwell's lips and the levering open of his jaw had two purposes: to keep him from realizing immediately that he had a cock in his mouth and to help protect his attacker's meat in case the victim bit down on the invaders.

Nick kept up his insulting encouragements: "There you go, girl. That's the way. Suck your man's cock, make him feel good. That's a good bitch. Make your man feel good." Nick also knew that after the initial shock of being called a bitch, a straight man would take a cock more easily into his mouth if he had an image of himself as a women strongly implanted in his mind. Somehow it was okay for a woman to suck cock--natural even, and if he was a bitch slut, then that's what he deserved. Of course, men being what they are and cocks being made for mouths, once a guy had meat between his lips he usually gave into natural cocklust and let his throat be used in the same way he would use a slut's cunt. And the more precum spice he got on his tongue, the hungrier he got and the louder he slurped.

And that's just what happened with Drew Hallwell: Nick's fingers were long gone from his mouth, but the pulsing sausage remained, lightly probing at the back of his throat, edging its way down into the warm saliva pooling at the gag ring. He looked up into Nick's smiling face, seeing the lips move, hearing the words "good girl, good bitch" crooned again and again, and gradually his throat relaxed and the tube slipped easily into his deepest gullet.

Nick saw something happen behind those blue eyes, a kind of melting of resistance, and knew that this prime piece of flesh was going to make a fine hunting animal, so long as the Labs didn't condition too much of the innate resistance out of him. It was one of the hardest things for the psychological retrainers to do: make a man into prey, without dulling his instinctive masculine wildness and his independence.

The scout sensed that his own cum climax was imminent, so he pulled out of the younger man's throat and rolled off him, flicking at the head of his own cock to suppress the rising gorge of semen. There were two more acts to be played in this drama before his job was over for this evening.

First he had to check Hallwell's ass, make sure that he didn't freak out completely when he was invaded from the other end. Some prospective game animals had to be passed over because it became clear that no amount of seduction or coercion could ever accustom them to the ass fucking that would be so vital a part of their captors' pleasure on the Preserve.

Taking a stud's mouth cherry was much easier that taking his ass cherry. The Labs had lots of techniques for making an animal into an aggressive manbutt fucker--that was no problem--but if a trainee had a deep fear and dislike of being fucked himself, there wasn't much they could do to convert him.

There were two ways for scouts to test a prospect's "fuck receptivity" as the Techs called it. One was the direct and sudden thrust of a hard cock into his ass without warning or preparation. If a scout suspected that the man he was testing was probably a secret "ass slut" then he used this method. It was quick and had the advantage of determining early on if an animal had the natural ability to stay hard while being fucked. That was a valued attribute, because most clients liked to squeeze and jerk at their kill's cock while they pumped into his hole. Many of the hunters used the animal's hard cock as a kind of control stick, tormenting it to guide his movements during a fuck. For example, if you pinched his swollen cumlips hard while you porked his butt, his sphincter would usually clamp down involuntarily on your shaft, giving better friction. And if you fisted his shaft in short quick strokes, bringing him to an endless edge of climax, his whole fuck canal would begin to flutter on your plunging cock. The down side of the brutal approach was that some men passed out from shock and pain and were too traumatized when they became conscious again to do anything but lie there like dead meat. And the trauma never seemed to go away, no matter what the Labs tried.

The second method of testing the "fuckability" of prospective stock was the slower "four-stage" seduction system: first a teasing and tongue washing of the pucker flesh; then an easy spit-lubed finger- probe as far as the prostate. This was followed by the gradual introduction of penis to a depth of about five inches, pausing to let the animal control any panic; and finally a balls-deep exploration leading to full-powered pistoning. The approach could be done doggie style or from the front with the subject's legs pushed up to his shoulders as he lay on his back. This last position had the advantage of letting the tester watch the animal's expression at the same time he monitored the condition of his cock and balls.

Nick felt reasonably sure that Drew Hallwell, in spite of the drug induced horniness, needed the slower and more subtle approach. He'd come to that conclusion when he'd seen tears begin to trickle from the corners of the young man's eyes as his mouth was being stuffed with scout cock. It was a sign that he felt humiliated even though he eventually sucked without resistance, and Nick didn't want to risk the crippling psychological blow that a direct assault on his ass hole might give.

So he released Drew's ankles from the cuffs and gently and cut the rags of his shorts off his body, then firmly pressed his legs up to where they could be cuffed with another pair of straps hanging from the bed's headboard. This opened up the rosy virgin pucker winking in the smooth ass crease that was lightly sprinkled with black hairs. He slicked up his middle finger with spit and circled the hole with it, moistening the entrance.

"Please, don't ," Drew moaned, his chest heaving with the uncontrollable thrill of having his ass touched by a man for the first time in his life. The circling continued relentlessly with the pressure steadily increasing. "Please, Nicholas" begged the young banker, "you can suck my cock if you want, but don't do this."

"Don't fight it, stud. Don't worry. This isn't going to hurt you. This will made a real man's man out of you."

Nick had abandoned the "bitch" scenario now and moved on to the suggestion that getting butt fucked was somehow a "guy" thing and nothing to cry about. He worked up a mouthful of saliva and drooled it down into the crease, then followed with his lips and tongue, washing the whole warm valley with loving swabs: he let the tip of his tongue travel lightly over the rippled flesh of the pucker itself, until the hole began to quiver with desire.

Between tongue strokes he kept up a seductive litany of questions:

"This is what all men secretly want, isn't it, Drew?"

" A hot tongue on your asshole, teasing yout rosebud? Isn't that what you want, stud?"

"Doesn't matter whose tongue--man's or woman's--just so it doesn't stop. Right?"

"Just so it goes on and on, like this."

Drew began to purr, making a sound deep in his throat like a tiger being stroked by its keeper. Then Nick replaced his tongue with his finger again, but this time pressing in and through the pucker, lightly reaming the velvet lining of the ass canal. Bit by bit he inched closer to the prize, until he felt that little swollen knob that could trigger volcanos of sperm: he pressed it, then tickled it, finally crooking the digit and pulling back and forth against the nub with little tugs of his arm. Drew bucked and thrashed, and his lead-pipe of cock bobbed up and down, slapping against his abs, leaving wet slime trails of fuck lube on his stomach.

"Yes, yes, yes," Drew muttered again and again, gasping when the incredible sensation stopped. "Please," he said, "please. Don't stop."

By now Nick realized that, strictly speaking, the next two stages for checking Hallwell's fuckability weren't necessary. Clearly the man responded very actively to the probing of his ass and Nick didn't need to deepfuck him to prove it. Yet the sight of the muscular body twisted into a cock-teasing "come-on" couldn't be resisted. He moved forward on his knees and lifted his bloated cocksnout to the wet hole, pressing it gently through the sphincter ring: Drew's ring muscle contracted quickly around the rim of the glans and held it firmly. That was a sure sign to Nick that he could thrust as hard and as deep as he wanted into the warm pulsing sheath beyond, and that's precisely what he did--one massive push slicking down into the fuck chute until his crotch hairs ground against the tender stretch of skin between the young man's ass and balls. Drew drew in a mighty breath, held it for as long as Nick let his cock rest deep in the inner heat, then let it go in a long satisfied sigh as the scout began a slow-pump in and out, never abandoning the hole, always pulling back just to the point where the muscle ring caught at the corona ledge, then pushing back down, relentlessly forging ahead to the goal.

He looked down at Drew's rapt face: his long lashes fluttered on half-open glazed eyes, and a flush of pleasure spread across his cheeks. His mouth parted and Nick bent down to take in the sweet fragrance of sex rising from it. He was suddenly overcome with an immense sadness mixed with anger and regret: in another life, he thought, this man could have been a lover, a life partner, someone to cherish and protect. But Nick knew he had chosen a different path: he was no lover; he was a rapist, a user, a spoiler of innocence. His fucking grew harder and rougher. Drew responded to this violent assault with an eager acceptance, his sphincter contracting with equal violence around the driving shaft. This only spurred his ravisher on. Fuck you, thought Nick, you're prime meat, boy, and I'm going let the Lab doctors turn you into a trophy for any hungry cockhound who can bring you down.

Just as he reached the point of no return, he pulled out of the shuddering asshole and shot his cum all over Drew Hallwell's cock, which rolled heavily across his stomach. While he was still shooting he put his hand over the gushing cumlips and coated his palm with thick milk: he covered Drew's gasping mouth with it and felt the man's tongue lapping greedily at the gism. He scraped the rest of his scum off the young banker's body and let him lick both hands clean, Then he leaned back on his haunches and looked a long time on the ruin that he had created. The anger was gone, but an echo of regret lingered. Releasing Drew's ankles he lowered his legs to the bed and recuffed him with the original straps. No use in risking a late panic rebellion as the effects of the virility drugs wore off. Once a prospective animal was tested and approved, Nick never took chances with the property.

He rolled off the bed, took the camera out of the bedside table drawer, and snapped some quick shots of the magnificent sweated body with its tumid meat draped across a thigh and heavy balls dragging down onto the bed in the vee of its legs. Then he went into the bathroom and put on one of the hotel's fleecy robes before coming back into the room to sit at the desk with his laptop, ready to write up his report for emailing to head office.

When he pulled down the menu of forms he had to fill in he thought, damn, I haven't finished with this fucker yet. I must be losing my touch.

He hadn't pulled the required load of cum from the subject--an important step in the evaluation of an animal's future usefulness. He went back to the bed. Drew was drifting in a fuckhaze, but fortunately his cock still throbbed, bloated and wet, not yet tapped of its load. Nick took the warm tube in hand and jacked it hard--about 15 tight-fisted pulls on the shaft. As Drew's breathing quickened and his torso began to heave, the scout put his lips in a tight vacuum seal around the gaping cumlips and sucked up the flood of cum that erupted from his skillful pulling. He rolled the cream around on his tongue like a wine taster teasing out all the flavours of a promising vintage, then let it run down his throat in measured swallows, testing for what wine connoisseurs called the "finish", that aftertaste or tail that a really good wine has. The best cum would leave a lingering richness that brought back, even hours later, pleasant memories of the sucking that had produced it. Some hunters on the Preserve kept Semen Diaries with entries describing the flavours and the textures of each of their kill's climaxes. They would sit in the Great Room of the Lodge after dinner and compare notes, arguing about whether a prize animal's sperm tasted more like vanilla or coconut.

Anxious to finish his report, he went back to the computer screen, called up the "Semen Evaluation Form" and began typing: "The subject's product is copious (eight or nine thick spurts amounting to an estimated three ounces) and the texture is that of whole milk with a slight froth of cream at the end. The flavour is somewhat salty, but that can be repressed by the Sperm Enrichment Lab when they sweeten and augment the natural flavours. The saltiness prevented an accurate analysis of the basic taste, but there was a ripe, delectable quality to the finish."

He took a short break to pick up his phone and call a junior scout waiting in a cheaper hotel nearby for his orders.

"Josh," he said, "he's ready. Call transport and make arrangements to get him to the jet. You'll need to give him something to keep him docile, but we don't want to have to carry him out. Make it look like you're helping a guy who's had a little too much to drink, okay? As soon as I finish my report, I'm leaving, so I may not see you. I'll leave the key at the desk and you can check out for me. I'm on a red-eye to the coast to do a deal for some black meat with our "gangsta" friends."

He put down the phone and continued with his evaluation of the animal he had successfully "recruited", making some suggestions about the way the Corporation should handle Hallwell's sudden "resignation" from the bank for his "new position" out west. He also asked them to make sure that "cleaners" went to the man's apartment and cleared out his things, squaring any outstanding rent with the landlord. Then he dressed and packed his suit case: as he stowed the "toy" kit into it he had a momentary regret that it hadn't been necessary to use the clamps and the whips to make the young stud submit.

Before he left he stood at the side of the bed looking at his "kill" sprawled tantalizingly, in luscious spread-eagled repose. With a rueful smile, he leaned down and whispered in Drew Hallwell's ear: "Good luck, buddy. You're going to make a lot of guys very happy."

In the elevator he took the shopping list out of his pocket and crossed off the first item--the "top quality upper class Ivy League thoroughbred animal" was in the bag. Now for the next item--a black "thug" fresh off the street. Maybe he'd be able to use some of his toys on that piece of merchandise!

(end Part One of The Scout)