The Abduction
(c)Copyright 1995 by MasterSarge e-mail mastrsrg@easyway.net ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
It was strange, but I wasn't the least bit impatient. I was perfectly calm and clear-headed as I hunkered down behind the reeking Dumpster in the dark, littered alleyway. Plenty of men passed me on their way to the waterfront bar down the street, many of them very good-looking. None of them was the man I was waiting for.
I knew he would be the right one before I even saw him. I could hear the unmistakable Harley throb several blocks away. He parked his bike between me and the block's only working streetlight, so I could see him only in silhouette, but I could tell this was the man I wanted. He was short, only five-nine or so, but broad-shouldered and muscular. The phrase "built like a cast-iron fireplug" went through my mind. Then I shut off all irrelevant thoughts, preparing myself for the job at hand.
I pulled the black ski mask down over my face and crouched deeper into the shadows. I could hear his booted feet ringing on the sidewalk as he approached, but the pounding of the blood in my veins was louder.
I had to force myself to wait until he had completely passed the mouth of the alley. Then I sprang after him. I pulled the black bag over his head and tightened the drawstring around his neck with one swift motion. One hand jammed a leather, sausage-shaped gag into his mouth, pushing the black nylon ahead of it. The other hand jerked his leather jacket off his shoulders, pinning his arms to his sides. I wound the gag's leather thongs tightly around his neck and dragged him backwards into the alley.
He fought, of course, but I was prepared for that. Several pieces of rope of varying lengths lay ready on the greasy concrete. I pushed my victim face down next to them. A quick constrictor knot secured his legs enough to allow me to then lash them neatly. I removed his leather jacket before I bound his wrists behind him. Then I put him head first into the industrial canvas laundry bag.
I'd left the back doors open, so it was easy to throw him into the black, windowless van. I quickly lashed the bag to the sides of the van so he wouldn't slide around on the corners. Then I locked and chained the doors shut from the outside, started the engine, and drove away as quickly but inconspicuously as I could.
I was tempted to take off in a different direction than the plan called for so I could enjoy my prize alone. I smiled as I imagined the others impatiently wondering where the hell we were. I dismissed the fantasy quickly, though. Tempting as the idea of one-on-one rape was, it would defeat the night's whole purpose.
The trip on the superhighway took less than an hour, and although our meeting place was less than ten miles from the Interstate, it was hard to imagine a more secluded spot. The place had once been a busy industrial concern which mined ice-age peat deposits to sell as soil conditioner to farmers and gardeners. The barn-like processing buildings had been deserted for more than twenty years now, and since the place was surrounded by a maze of bogs and stagnant drainage canals, it was almost inaccessible.
I turned off the headlights before parking the van in the doorless baggage room of the ruined railroad station. Next door, in the one-time waiting room, were my buddies' Harleys, already camouflaged with dead branches and brush amid the tangled wreckage of the fallen ceiling. I quietly removed our quarry from the van. I carried him over my shoulder to the old, rusty railroad bridge, where my buddy Big Bear was waiting in the darkness. We carried him carefully over the rotten, rail-less ties ten feet above the black, peaty river. As we had agreed, not a word was spoken. Signs were hardly necessary; we knew each other too well. Together we carried the wriggling burden over the soggy, weed-grown ground.
Once inside the main warehouse, which still had most of its roof, we dropped our bagged burden on a pile of moldering peat moss. We left him in the sack until I could remove my street clothes, put on my body harness, and exchange the ski mask for a black leather executioner's hood. All three of my blood brothers, no matter how little else they wore, had carefully covered their faces as well. Except for the occasional scar, mole or tattoo, there was nothing visible to identify us.
Not that we planned to let him see anything anyway. We left the black cloth bag on his head while we strung him up by his wrists from a heavy wooden crossbeam. We manacled his ankles to supporting columns on either side. When he was securely spreadeagled in midair, I motioned all my buddies but Thor to stand behind the victim. At six foot ten, the red-haired giant was the natural one to hold another, larger black bag over the victim's head. This bag was opaque but roomy enough for my hands to work inside it.
My Bowie knife slit the top of the smaller cloth bag, and I peeled it down just enough so I could re-cover his skull and eyes with the beginning of the full leather hood. This had no eyeholes at all to worry about. The next part was the tricky bit. To remove the rest of the cloth bag, I had to remove the gag that pinned it in his mouth. Though we were miles from the nearest farmhouse, we still didn't want him screaming his head off if we could help it. So, without warning, I gave him a good, solid punch in the stomach.
He gave a grunt, muffled by the leather plug. I knew I had knocked the breath out of him, so there was no way he could holler. I pulled the gag and the spit-soaked nylon bag out of his mouth with one hand, and jammed the leather plug back into his mouth. Since it was actually a small buttplug, his teeth would grip the narrow waist of it, and the wide, flat base would prevent the gag from being pushed down his throat as I covered the rest of his face with the mouthless leather mask. I buckled the mask's heavy leather strap around his neck and padlocked it shut. Once his whole head was snugly covered, except for two small nostril holes to breathe through, I nodded to Thor, who removed the temporary blindfolding bag.
My Bowie knife proved useful again as I slit the victim's clothes off his back. When he was naked but for the leather hood and iron fetters, Thor handed me a beer. I took a long, thirsty pull at the 16-ounce can, admiring my handiwork. We were finally ready to begin.
Our youngest member, nicknamed Angel for his long golden hair and beautiful, boyish face, knelt before the prisoner. Naked except for a black domino mask, he looked like a lanky cherub about to rob a bank. He tied a short piece of rope to the handle of a rusty galvanized milking pail, then hung the bucket from the prisoner's balls. With a push of his forefinger, he set the pail to swinging back and forth between the prisoner's legs. then he stood up and stepped back. When the evil acolyte's work was done, I, as the leader, took over.
I stood before the hooded victim and sized him up. With his face covered, it was hard to tell, but I guessed his age to be about twenty-five or so. As I had suspected, his muscles were impressive. His spreadeagled position could not disguise the thickness of his pectorals, and it displayed his broad back and narrow waist to perfection. He was deeply tanned, except for a narrow, bikini-shaped band of white around his loins. His thickly muscled legs were tensed against his bonds, and the weighted rope pulled his scrotum tight over his substantial balls. Only his cock was less than perfect: fear had shrunk it to a little, wrinkled nubbin. I wasn't worried, though. We'd fix that soon enough.
I took my own cock in my hand and aimed it at the bucket, which was now barely swinging at all. My semi-erect state made it difficult to start, but soon a healthy stream of piss rang loudly into the rusty iron pail. When enough had accumulated to cover the bottom, a continuous splashing added its voice to the ring of piss against the side of the pail, and the mounting weight of my pissload stretched the tied-up balls tighter and tighter.
Big Bear took his place behind the victim's back. His hairy paw hefted his beefy, uncut cock, and soon his piss-stream was mixing with mine in the rapidly filling pail. Thor and even Angel crowded close so they could join in. We fenced and parried each other's piss-swords for a while, then I shifted my aim a small but critical amount.
Now I was pissing on the victim's meaty thigh. I raised my aim to his crotch, where I saturated his equipment with my hot, yellow juice. As I knew it would, his prick begin to stir like a snake awaking from hibernation. I made sure his pubic hair was as wet as it could get, then continued raising my aim.
I wet his belly, then his chest, paying special attention to the triangle of straight brown hairs between his pecs. I aimed into each exposed armpit in turn. Only when his body was as wet as I could make it did I raise my aim above the neck.
His head was completely covered by the leather hood, of course, so I couldn't actually get his face or head wet. But I knew he could feel my piss-stream drumming on the leather, a fraction of an inch away from his face. For now, that would have to do.
I was beginning to lose pressure now, so I returned my aim to the bucket. My buddies' bladders, stretched by their habitual thirst for beer, had filled it nearly to the top. As I squeezed out the last of my load, the bucket ran over and foamy piss sloshed onto the already muddy floor. Bear and Thor played their prickstreams over the victim's back, and Angel re-wet the front of his torso, before they too were finally pissed out.
While watching my brothers piss, I lit a large, black, maduro cigar. When the stogie was going good, I puffed it into bright red heat, exhaling the smoke in the prisoner's face. I held the incandescent tip to the center of his chest, and was rewarded by the sizzle of the piss-wet hairs that grew between his pecs. The smell of burning hair and boiling piss rose to his nostrils and mine, complementing the masculine aroma of the aged tobacco. The cigar's heat made him writhe, or maybe it was just fear. Whatever it was, it made my dick jump. I knocked the cigar ash off by pressing it against his left nipple, took a couple more puffs, and went back to work.
While I slowly burnt off the rest of his chest hair, Thor began preparing his butt for the coming onslaught. The giant, red-bearded Viking twisted a greased, black buttplug into the bound boy's tight ass, then fit a rubber hose into the hole drilled through its length. The black rubber douche bag was already filled; Thor needed only to raise it high and open the stopcock. The hose moved like a living thing as the tepid water began to drain into our boytoy's guts. When the water level had dropped a bit, Thor topped off the douche bag with the last of his beer. We knew that the alcohol would quickly enter his bloodstream, getting him mildly drunk in a hurry. Our victim, of course, would know nothing about it. He'd just find himself mysteriously flying.
When the prisoner's chest hair was gone, my cigar began to remove his pubic hair, first from the left side, then from the right. This was a delicate job, as the increasing hydraulic pressure in his guts made the victim want to wriggle. More than once I had to move fast to avoid a burn. I didn't care so much about hurting him; I just didn't want to mar the beauty of his skin, so smooth and tanned on one side, so soft and white on the other.
I finished removing his crotch hair at about the same time the last of the diluted beer douche drained into his ass. I stood back and watched as Thor removed the hose from the buttplug, and quickly stemmed the gushing leak with what looked like a miniature copper harpoon. When the conical metal spearpoint was firmly plugging the ass-drain, he handed me the matching copper cockring.
It had a hinge and clasp like a bracelet, so I could snap it around the victim's tied-up balls without disturbing the rope that suspended the bucket full of piss. I arranged it so it encircled both his cock and balls, and so the little knobby contact stud pointed straight down. To this stud I attached the red battery cable, and Thor clamped the black one to the handle of the copper harpoon in his ass.
The black buttplug was made mostly from carbon, so it was an electrical conductor. So, naturally, was the copper cockring I had clamped onto the prisoner's meat. From front and back the cables ran to the rough pine table where the hand-cranked dynamo was bolted securely down.
I positioned myself before the victim, and lightly pinched his nipples between thumbs and forefingers. Only then did I give Thor the nod. Thor began cranking the dynamo as slow as could be. At the same time I twisted the victim's tits firmly, so at first, he didn't even notice the trickle of current through his loins. As Thor cranked faster, even my most vicious pinching couldn't mask the shocks any more. I imagined pain mixing with puzzlement as our victim tried to figure out what it was he was feeling. Thor stopped cranking for a second, then gave the crank random but vicious twists to keep our victim off guard. I don't know if he ever did figure out what the weird force was, but after a while, the only thing that mattered to him was the pain.
For the first time, we got an audible response out of him. Muffled grunts and moans pushed out past the leather dildo gag. Sometimes it was Thor's doing, sometimes it was mine as I intensified the torture to his nipples. Then Big Bear gave him a third source of pain.
I don't know the scientific name of the plant; I've never heard it called anything but splinterwood. It's a shrub or small tree whose brittle twigs strip off easily, but whose tough, flexible bark is all scabby like a pine cone. The scabs are needle sharp, and when they hit you right, they stick in you like a fishhook. Bear's gloved hand held a hefty switch of splinterwood branches, arranged so the barbs pointed backwards toward his hand. At first he merely drew it lightly across the prisoner's naked back. At that level of force, it was like scratching an itch, nothing more. Then he tapped the victim's back lightly all over, being careful not to draw the barbs into his skin. Even so, blotchy red spots began to appear all over the young man's suntanned muscles.
Without warning, Bear gave the prisoner a forceful, vicious slash. The bound boy twisted and thrashed like he'd been impaled. He seemed to levitate as far as the chains would allow as he writhed about like a speared fish. Thor's rapid cranking of the generator kept him twisting a long, long, time. We let him calm down, then Bear and Thor both hit him again. The way the two torturers made him dance in a perverted, hellish ballet was beautiful to see!
I motioned Angel to crouch before the writhing victim's crotch. In spite of the tortures, he had a full, roaring hardon now. I pushed Angel's head forward until his mouth engulfed the twitching, bouncing erection. Angel was safe from Thor's artificial lightning as long as his boot soles insulated him, but touching the floor was dangerous. Angel found this out the hard way when he put one hand down to steady himself. He pulled it back fast enough, I'll tell you! But I forced him to put both palms flat on the floor. I wanted to see if the current would take a new path through the victim, in through his asshole and out though the tip of his penis instead of the cockringed base. It must have made a difference, because his flailing became much quicker and jerkier as the voltage flowed through his sensitive, erect prick, and into Angel's tongue. Watching both young men jerked about simultaneously by an invisible but excruciating force made it hard to keep from laughing out loud.
Big Bear was flogging the boy's back like gangbusters. He put every ounce of his hairy two hundred eighty pounds into his ferocious lashing. I went around back to see how he was getting on.
The boy's broad, muscled back was crisscrossed by thousands of bright red lines, and peppered with the broken-off barbs of splinterwood. Many of the welts were bejeweled with tiny red drops. Their ruby color was what gave me the idea of abandoning the rubbing alcohol in favor of mercurochrome.
Big Bear is really into flogging; he didn't want to stop when I signalled him, but he knows who leads this gang. I poured mercurochrome into an old, cracked dish and dipped a two-inch paintbrush into the blood-red liquified pain. I painted a broad stripe from the base of the prisoner's spine all the way up to his hairline, and quickly stepped back out of the way.
I really thought he would break the chains. Either that, or pull the rickety warehouse down around our ears. He shrieked like a Kawasaki with bad bearings, and he arched backwards practically double. His thrashing hips threw Angel flat onto his ass. Nothing, but nothing hurts like mercurochrome!
Ignoring his screeching and thrashing, I slathered his sandblasted, splinter-studded back with the scarlet liquid agony. Only when the whole quart bottle was empty was I forced reluctantly to stop.
My dick was hard as steel, and my bloodlust was building to a peak. I'd had enough of foreplay. With one savage jerk, I ripped the buttplug from our prey's tortured asshole. Just as savagely, I rammed my raging hardon in to the hilt. I wrapped my arms around the sweating, trembling mass of pain and crushed him to me as I planted my cock deep into his guts. The douche had by now been warmed to body heat; it surrounded my cock with a warm, sensuous bath. the tight walls of his asshole massaged my cock as his pain continued to convulse his guts.
As my fat horsefucker sank into him, its pumping pressure practically burst the prisoner's bladder. A thick yellow stream of piss shot out of his erect dick like a jet from a firehose. Quickly Angel crouched and caught the golden stream in his angel-devil mouth. Bent over to crotch level, he crept carefully forward until he could suck the golden fluid directly from its source.
Urgently, I pointed at Angel and twirled my finger at Big Bear. The big lug didn't understand me, but Thor did. He pulled Angel off the fleshy fountain and spun him 180 degrees. Then, pushing him backwards, he forced Angel's butt to impale itself on the piss-gushing slavedick.
So Angel wouldn't feel too deprived, Thor took a good healthy leak in Angel's mouth himself, then plunged his still-gushing hardon deep into the pretty blond's urinal-throat. His rampaging fuckthrusts drove Angel's body involuntarily onto the slave's hard cock. Thor used our blond buddy like an extension of his dick to rape the battered slave's dick by remote control.
With the three of us occupied, that left Big Bear odd man out. A snap of my fingers and a pointing gesture brought him behind me, where he buried his bearded face between my buttcheeks. His rough tongue licked my asshole as I continued to fuck the slave's hot, tight ass. My cock pumped out dribbles and spurts of the beer enema as it cruelly invaded his overstuffed rectum. It trickled down my crotch until Big Bear licked it off my balls. Bear stood up long enough to take a hot, gushing leak of all over my ass and balls, then knelt again to lick his own steaming urine out of my sweaty, hairy asscrack. Somehow he managed to match my motions as I plungefucked our prisoner's ass, so his sucking lips and probing tongue never left my hole.
I reached around the victim to twist his tits again. I was rewarded by feeling his whole body wriggle and writhe. Even his asshole twitched and twisted, massaging my cock like crazy. I could tell by the way he was panting and wheezing that he was close to the edge of orgasm. I knew from experience that Angel had one hell of a sweet ass; I was sure our prisoner's dick was enjoying it.
Thor was having a great time too. He was ramming his big prick in and out of Angel's pretty-boy face. He held Angel's head still with his huge, red-haired hands while his hips rammed violently back and forth. His rusty pubic thatch repeatedly crushed Angel's nose as he drove his prick savagely into the blond boy's throat. Angel's left hand played with his own tits, and his right furiously whacked his long, stiff prick.
I could see Thor's green eyes roll up into his head, and his lids involuntarily closed. He lifted his face to the sky as if he were going to bay at the moon, but his mouth opened without a sound. His hips crashed into Angel one last time, driving the younger man all the way down onto the prisoner's raging erection. Milky white spunk oozed out the corners of Angel's mouth and twin jets of semen spurted out his nostrils as Thor's giant prick gushed out its load.
At the same moment, Angel reached his own climax. His jerking hand sped up to a blur. Then his back arched, his limbs stiffened, and an animal moan escaped his cock-stuffed throat. I could actually hear his huge load splattering on the dirty concrete floor. Every one of his lithe muscles twitched as his orgasm rampaged through every corner of his body.
Angel's quivering asshole was too much for our prisoner. His body tensed and urgent moans escaped his leather-gagged mouth. His asshole gripped my dick as if it were trying to wrench it off at the root. Trembling turned to violent spasms as he erupted uncontrollably deep into Angel's gorgeous fuckhole.
Big Bear's face was still pressed into my butt, so I more felt than heard him groaning. Then a warm, wet splash struck me in the balls as the big hairy bastard shot his load up into my crotch. The slimy scum spread to my cock, making it feel incredibly smooth and slimy as it plunged in and out of the prisoner's spastic asshole. I couldn't hold on any more. I practically pulled the fuckboy's nipples off his chest as I blasted my balls into him.
I didn't spurt repeatedly like I usually do. Instead, one long stream of scum shot out of my rigid prick. It felt like I was pissing lightning. I stopped seeing or hearing anything around me; my whole consciousness was centered in my orgasmic dick. The explosion felt like a whole universe being born. Time stopped as I experienced the most incredible orgasm of my life.
When I finally came back to earth, I wiped the sweat from my forehead. I was soaked from head to foot, and I smelled like a fucking plowhorse. When I pulled my chest away from the prisoner's back, suction made a loud slurping noise. Other than that, there was no sound anywhere but the panting of five exhausted, but satisfied men.
Slowly, we four gang members disengaged ourself from our victim. We hugged and high-fived each other as we savored the sight of the wrung-out fuckboy sagging limply in his chains. I held him in a bearhug while the others released his fetters, then I lowered him carefully to the floor.
There was only one more formality. I loosened the leather hood while Angel untied the piss-filled bucket from his balls. I removed the blindfolding hood with one hand and dumped the bucket of piss over him with the other. Then Thor covered his whiplashed, dripping shoulders with the brand-new leather vest bearing our club colors on the back. Before I kissed our newest brother, I said out loud, "From this day on, this man will be known to all as Bulldog. Congratulations, Brother Bulldog, your initiation's complete. Welcome to the Club."
END