Disclaimer: The following story is a work of fiction. All names, places and descriptions are purely fictional, and are not based on any real person, living or dead. Please leave now if you are underage, or dislike vivid descriptions of sexual activity between men.
Please send any comments to andymann303@outlook.com. And please consider donating to Nifty at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
Gay / authoritarian: anal, oral, M+/t
Taken And Shaken - Part 2
Devon and George half-drowned me when they dumped me in a bath of warm water, and then began cleaning me up with a sponge and a scrubbing brush. They forced my head under the water several times, and when I came up for air, they targeted my face with hot water from the shower head.
"I really like this one, George," said Devon. "He's a proper weak and willing schoolboy, and so-o-o pretty."
"You said that about Five," said George, "when he first arrived. Glittering baubles, that's all they are, and you fall for them every time."
"Yes," said Devon. "I'm a real sucker for bony white boys and their bony cocks."
I was clearly no match for their superior strength, so I flounced about in the bath as they took full advantage of my "weak and willing" body.
"Bozz is gonna like him, too," said George. "He'll torture him real good."
"Yes," agreed Devon. "Bozz is bound to keep him on the bondage bench for a couple of days. He's crazy like that."
The words "torture" and "crazy" triggered an adrenaline rush that sent me in to a blind panic. I had nowhere to go, especially with Devon's powerful hands holding me down, but still the urge to flee took over my entire body.
"Hold him tight, Dev," barked George. "The little fucker doesn't want to play nice anymore."
"Silly boy," said Devon. "Mister Rudolph's boys have no say in their training. They simply bend over and endure the pain or pleasure."
George slapped me hard across the face, which hurt like hell.
"Don't play up, boy," he said. "Bozz is one of our best trainers; he's firm but fair. So if he likes you, Mister Rudolph won't lease you out to any other guest trainer."
It was then that I was hauled out of the bath and handed a small towel. I only had a few minutes to dry off before my wrists and ankles were bound tightly with Velcro straps.
"Because of the bag, boy," said Devon, "I don't want to gag you. So keep your mouth shut during the 'carry in'. Clear?"
I nodded my head as Devon left the bathroom to get "the bag".
Everything went black when a sleeping bag was placed over my head and dropped to the floor, and then zipped up fully. With only my feet sticking out of the bag, the men secured luggage straps around the bag at various points. I was then grabbed by one man and thrown over the shoulder of the other, before being carried out of the bathroom and into another bondage room.
My fate was now irrevocably sealed. Mister Rudolph owned a high-end bondage resort; a place where well-off masters could get away from it all and have some fun with a few schoolboy slaves.
My cock began to twitch as I was carried into the bondage room by either Devon or George. My traitorous stem had clearly decided that I was in need of some intense training; and the devil within me was keen for the "crazy" man to slap me around a little.
I just couldn't believe how ambivalent I was about this potentially life-threatening situation. On the one hand I was terrified of being punished and tortured, and possibly maimed; on the other hand I was happy to submit to my abductors, in the hope that they would release me as a reward - clearly my cock was ruling my head in the latter scenario.
A lot of door-banging occurred as I was unceremoniously brought into the room and dumped on the floor.
"Sorry the delivery is late, sir," said Devon, "but we had to get the sweat off him, and then spruce him up. Mister Rudolph wanted you to have him first, so we rushed him over as fast as we could."
"No problem, Devon," said Bozz. "I have Number Three on the bench at the moment, and two more slaves in the boxes back there. What's this one called?"
"Number Six, sir," replied George. "Mister Rudolph secured him on a Lend-Lease arrangement."
"Excellent," said Bozz. "Let's hope Number Six likes rubber bondage, breath control and electro-torture; plus a little ball-bashing and forced milking. The boy on the bondage bench has been wriggling about in that rubber sleep-sack for almost an hour now. He so wants to shot his load, but I just can't get his testes to give up their seed. He must be so frustrated."
All three men laughed as I was suddenly pulled to my feet and unzipped from the sleeping bag. I peered out through half-open eyes as the lights in the room dazzled me for a minute or two.
The bondage room was large and spacious, and lit with two rows of fluorescent lights. The brick walls were painted white, as was the ceiling and concrete floor, and the room resembled a cellar that had been converted into a clinical torture chamber.
I wobbled and nearly lost my balance when George dropped to his knees and hastily removed the strap securing the sleeping bag to my lower legs. He then freed me from the bag completely.
Bozz smiled as he looked me up and down. He was a tall, muscular man, with an unsettling air of menace about him. I swallowed hard as I took in what he was wearing: a full set of blue scrubs, as worn by surgeons, and a pair of white, mid-calf, rubber boots.
George squeezed my right arse-cheek as the bondage master stared longingly at my cock and ball-sac.
"You will call me 'Sir'," said Bozz. "I know the title is well overused in these situations, but we do need to keep our relationship on a sound footing. I will call you whatever I want, and promise to do my utmost to make your stay here as uncomfortable as possible."
George squeezed my arse-cheek again, to prompt me into answering the man with respect.
"Thank you, Sir," I said passively. "I will do my best to..."
"Obey and suffer," said Devon.
"He's a fine looking boy," said Bozz to Devon. "I'm sure I can turn him into a well trained slave. He has 'wimp' written all over his face"
"Do you want us to remove the Velcro straps and chain him to the wall?" asked George.
"Yes," replied Bozz. "He can stand and observe what a pupil-cum-slave must endure to keep me amused."
The straps securing my ankles and wrists was swiftly removed; and once free, I was frogmarched over to the nearest wall by the two black henchmen. My arms and legs were then spread apart and restrained by manacles to four ring-bolts anchored in the wall.
I stood against the wall and shivered. My view of the room was now unrestricted - Devon and George had stepped aside to admire their handiwork. The torture chamber was more oblong than square, with three wooden, coffin-shaped boxes standing upright against the far wall. They were painted white and bolted to the brickwork.
The long wall on my right was bedecked with all manner of bondage and torture equipment. A row of leather hoods and straps topped a row of riding crops, paddles and whips. All the above items were black in colour, as was the ropes and rubber tubes on the bottom row of the array.
Four black latex suits hung in a line from the wall on my left. The frogman-like suits looked quite menacing, as they eerily watched over the bondage bench in the centre of the room.
The sturdy wooden bench was black in colour and fitted with an array of restraining rings. It was the size and shape of a large bed, and stood some three-feet off the floor. The rubber sleep-sack, which held Number Three, lay centre stage, and was secured to the bench by a dozen or more leather straps.
The shiny black cocoon held its hapless captive in limbo, with only his hard-standing cock and hairless ball-sac exposed to the light. Two small straps, with electrical wires attached, were wrapped around his genitals. The wires ran off to an electrical control box, which bristled with buttons, lights and switches.
The slave's head was enclosed in a tight-fitting leather hood, with some kind of gas mask attached. A short, rubber breathing tube protruded from the mask, which reinforced the impression in my mind that I was looking at a giant insect, or shiny black alien.
"Where did you find the two boxed-up slaves, sir?" asked George.
"Oh, they belong to Max Hayward," replied Bozz. "They took the wrong pills at the wrong party and were nabbed by the man himself. He spent a day or so initiating them, then asked me to train them for a couple of weeks."
"Have they been blacked yet?" asked Devon.
"If not," put in George, "we could do it."
"Yes," said Devon. "We'll power-fuck 'em overnight and give 'em a good overdose of black cock."
"I've seen you two at work," said Bozz. "Those boys will be walking funny for a week. So no, not this time around."
I stared at Devon's firm buttocks, and then George's. They were mighty powerful pieces of flesh, and looked real sexy. I could just imagine them hammering away at my skinny, white arse. I then looked at the men's flaccid cocks and began to have second thoughts. Both cocks looked formidable, even when limp; so what damage could they do when fully erect? I bit my lip and decided to sacrifice myself on the altar of black-on-white intercourse. After all, I was always looking for ways to broaden my horizons.
"Can we watch you bring Number Three off?" asked Devon. "We won't get in the way."
"And you did say, last time, that an audience helps you get the best out of a slave," added George.
"True, true," said Bozz.
I stood and watched the two henchmen high-five - their coal-black bodies looked just as stark and sinister in the white room as the bondage bench, the latex suits, and the array of torture equipment. The sight of their muscular bodies made my cock twitch - I so loved the look of all that raw fuck-power on display.
Bozz and his two admirers walked over to the bondage bench. They gathered round the cocoon's midsection, and left me with the view of one bare-arsed man flanked by the bum-boy's enclosed head and feet.
The first groan I heard was swiftly followed by the sight of the bum-boy's head jerking back and forth wildly, as if it was on a spring, and his feet moving up and down inside the sack at a rapid rate of knots.
His muffled groans continued as he thrashed around within the confines of the sleep-sack. The zapper attached to his genitals was causing his body to twist and turn every few minutes. The poor sod was trapped in his second skin and suffering badly.
All three men seemed delighted with the boy's convulsions, and the sounds he was making - he was certainly emitting some pretty strange noises as Bozz stimulated his cock to the nth degree.
After a good twenty minutes or so, George moved aside to allow me to see the end of the torturous edging. A muffled outburst of verbal abuse filled the room as the bum-boy's cock released a torrent of creamy, white spunk. The boy's body continued to convulse as he was encouraged to, "Keep it coming, boy. I need to see more."
I stood and shuddered as I realised the zapper would be attached to my cock soon - I would be forced into one of those rubber wetsuits, or a sleep-sack, and milked by Bozz for hours on end. I looked down at my traitorous cock and saw that it was fully erect.