Writer's note: This story includes some fantasy bondage setups which in real life would be immensely dangerous and should not be attempted by anyone ever!
So, a little background first. My name's Doug. I had to get a job as a security guard, you have to do what you can do, I suppose. The money's shit and the hours are long. Plus the fact I was working at Meadow Place. Have you not heard of it? Well, let me describe it to you. It was a huge quarry once, but then in the 90's when everyone was going crazy with money, some developers bought it and decided what we really need in this town is yet another huge out of town shopping centre. The plans were great, a big eight storey tall central mall, with 100 shops, a gymnasium, cinema, loads of parking etc. The only minor problem was, there wasn't enough money to finish it all. Someone ran off with some of the money, or someone cooked the books, anyway, the whole thing ground to a halt. It's one of those places you see in the newspaper, almost finished but never opened, with work tools and cranes and diggers and everything just sitting around, waiting for the work to restart, and it's been like that for nearly a year. Anyway, there's some sort of legal thing going on about it all, in the mean time the whole 200 acre site is closed off, boarded up, because it's in a quarry you can't even see it from the surrounding land, it's as if it never existed. However the administrators pay the smallest amount they can to keep a few security guards on site, patrolling, to make sure no-one breaks in and steals all the building materials.
Anyway, there a team of four of us on this shift, working 6 days on, 12 hours a day. Occasionally they ask us to do a double, which means when its midweek it can run right round to the next shift so you can be on site for 36 hours straight. Well, I need the money. For the first three months there was rarely any trouble, in fact it was almost fun at times, the place is a bit of a maze, and you have to patrol it, going to certain points and touching these tabs on the wall which electronically show you've actually done the patrol. Between the four of us, that's me, Angus, Mack and Peter, we create games to make the day go smoother. We have this pick-up truck and we've turned a bit of the patrolling into a sort of rally-cross route, racing round the site in the pick-up, through the muddy part of the quarry that hasn't been developed yet, up and down the three multi storey car parks, along the main mall (The sliding entrance doors have been left on so you can drive right up to them, they open, and you can drive along inside, and then out the other end of the building, via one of the bigger stores) and then loop back to the site hut, stopping all the time to touch the patrol points as we go, see who can do it fastest.
Anyhow, as I say, no real trouble for three months. And then, one day, I'm doing the rounds, doing quite a good time in the truck, and I come breaking to a halt at the main doors, because, painted in yellow letters six foot high across the glass is one word:
Tamp
I get out to have a look, and realise its painted on the inside, someone has actually painted it backwards on the inside of the window so you can see it the correct way round from outside. And that was just the beginning. The yellow tags started popping up everywhere. Whenever you turned your back, the word Tamp' seemed to pop up on a wall or a fence. We used to get glimpses of the tamperer' as we called him, on the CCTV, but at first we never saw him in the flesh. And then, one day when I'm up on the roof of car park one, the two-way radio goes.
`Tamperer spotted in car park two!'
I run down the steps to ground level, across the road and into car park two. I'm not that fit and the exercise wears me out.
`Top level! Top level!'
I can't make out whose voice that is, but I see Angus running up the exit ramp and I follow him. There's eight levels of parking, and when I get to the top, the other three are already there, looking about
`Where is he?'
`I thought you were on him...'
We all look at each other. Who made the call?
The radio crackles. `Over here!!!'
We look around, and there, on the roof of car park one, is the tamperer. He's a young sexy looking guy, about 19, shaved head, wearing all the usual hooded top and baggy pants, and he's got one of our radios. The tops of the two car parks are only about twenty feet apart, but there's no link between them except by going back to ground level. And he's smiling, a really cute smile.
`Come on boys, he says, you're gonna have to try harder'
Much as I hate the little petty vandals and thugs who hang around this town, I couldn't help but smile. There didn't seem to be any malice in his voice, it seemed like he was playing with us. The four of us were all too unfit to run back down all those ramps and get after him, so we all just stood there, panting. Then, for some reason best known to him, he lifted up his sweatshirt, and flashed his stomach and chest at us. He had an impressive physique, wiry and strong, and he wanted us to know it. We wanted to shout, to tell him this was private property etc, but instead we glanced at each other, and responded to him in kind. We all raised up our shirts, and flashed our beer bellies at him. He laughed, but not in a mean way, almost as if we were old friends having a bit of a joke, and then he did an incredible thing -- he jumped from the roof onto a lighting pole, and slid to the ground, and he was away, bouncing like a spring. I've seen those parkour people on the TV, jumping from rooftop to rooftop, well, this was what this crazy boy did, jumping over fences and skips as he disappeared across the car park.
From then on, it became a cat and mouse game, with one super fit and agile mouse pursued by four slower, out of shape cats. He would be all over the place, one minute on the roof, another in the mall, always moving, fast, and agile. We would sometimes almost get him, but he would always get away. He would toy with us, once he sprayed his tag on the outside of the portaloo while I was inside.
Interestingly, he never was on site when the other shift was on, only us. He had taken a liking to us. And, to be honest, despite our threats and taunts, we all liked him too -- he was a dash of colour in our dull lives.
Then, he stepped his game up. I was outside the hut one day, taking a cigarette break, when I heard a noise round by the car park. I walked round, curious, to where I could see the pickup truck, parked on the other side of a chain link fence. And there was the tamperer, standing in front of the van. I couldn't at first work out what he was doing. But then I moved a bit to the left, and realised he was jerking himself off! He had his baggy pants around his knees and was rubbing his cock violently towards the bonnet of the pickup
From where I was standing, I couldn't go directly to him, because of the fence, so I just yelled `Hey!'
He turned to look at me, but he didn't stop jerking. `Hey Felix!' he called (He had named me Felix, all of us had been given cat names by him)
`What the hell are you doing?'
`Giving you.. UHH... a present!' he yelled, between panting breaths
And with that, he came across the bonnet of the pick-up, two or three good gushes across the paintwork. I heard Peter yelling from the other side of the car park. The boy hitched up his pants, smiled that cute smile, and yelled `Merry Christmas' (it was the middle of March at the time) before he was off and running. We tried to catch him in some sort of pincer movement but he easily outmanoeuvred us and was away. All four of us gathered at the Pick-up to look at what he had done. There was several streaks of pearly white fluid across the green paintwork. Some had even got as far as the windscreen.
We shook our heads in amazement. I should point out at this point that we were all straight guys, as far as I knew. We didn't socialise together outside work, this was our little world, and the tamperer was playing with us. We knew things had gone to a different level now. Back in the hut we discussed what we would do if we ever caught him. Up until that day it would have been a case of calling the cops and letting them take him away. But what harm had he really done? He had painted on the wall of a building no-one really wanted in the first place. He had brightened our lives up a bit. Giving him some sort of criminal record and locking him away hardly seemed fair. I don't know who suggested it, and I don't want to remember, all I can say is that, between the four of us, we came up with another way to teach the boy a lesson if we ever got our hands on him, Cats play with their prey when they catch it, so that's what we would do.
But he still had a few surprises in line for us. Once, for example, we had pursued him round the outside of the main mall, and then lost him. We were all standing around, panting as usual, and we decided to light up. And that's when it started raining. Only, it wasn't rain. What the hell was it? We looked up and there he was, our nimble foe, and he was pissing on us from the roof! We all cursed and dashed in different direction, but he managed to get us all with a good spray before we could get clear. He laughed again, and was off. We all stood there, looking at each other, soaked in the teenager's piss. Angus had half a damp cigarette hanging from his mouth. It was outrageous, except, well, we all began to laugh. I know what you're thinking, some guy pisses on you, you should be furious, right, and I suppose we were, but the whole thing was just so ridiculous, the four of us there, dressed in damp security uniforms, pursuing someone twice as young and twice as fast.
He pulled his cum trick again too, several times. Once I went to my car in the car park, reached to open the door, and found my fingers smeared with the freshly sprayed boy juice which had been left on my door handle for me. All the others had the same experience, whether it was on tools, or door handles, or anywhere he could get to. Once we saw him dash out of our lunchroom, and we went into discover our lunches had been -- interfered with. If we hadn't seen him leaving, we may have never known that out sandwiches had an extra topping that day. For some reason, I was sorely tempted to eat that sandwich, I know it's disgusting but the Tamperer had wanted us to eat some of his cum, and I bizarrely wanted to find out why...
Another time he appeared on our CCTV monitor, waving to the camera, and we all ran out onto the site, to the location of that camera, of course nothing to be seen, but when we got back to the hut, we immediately knew he had been there. On the TV screen, a distinctive smear of fluid across the glass, and a postage note, saying `Tamp'. It occurred to me that because we had gone to where he had been standing, we would have been standing there, on camera, while he wanked over the screen. In fact, he would have been wanking over our images.
Anyway, one day we were pulling down a double shift plus one, so 36 hours on site for all of us. One hour in and we were all settling in for the long haul, when we heard someone yell, and a crash noise. We all dashed outside, and looked up, and there he was, our mouse, hanging by his trouser leg from the hut roof. He was obviously up to one of his little games, because his fly was undone and his cock was out, but he had slipped, and the baggy trouser leg had caught on the guttering, leaving him hanging upside down from the roof in a most undignified fashion. The hut is only one story tall so he could practically reach the ground from where he was hanging. We stood there and laughed.
He looked surprisingly cool for someone who has just got himself caught. He grinned.
`Hey boys. How about you get me down and we'll forget all about this?
`What were you doing up there?' I asked
I was just going to give you a little present through the skylight' he said I don't mean any harm. I like to play with you guys. Are you gonna call the police on me, Felix?'
I looked at the other three. We all grinned. `I don't think that will be necessary, Tamperer. We've got something else in mind. We know you're a speed freak, so thought we'd take you for a drive round the site'
We reached up, and dislodged him from the drainpipe.
Ten minutes later, he was ready. We had stripped all his clothes except for his boxer shorts, and then we had tied him up. We tied his ankles together, and his wrists together behind his back, and then tied his ankles to his wrists, so he couldn't move. All the time we were doing this, he never uttered a word of complaint. And then, we tied him to the bull-bars on the front of the pickup truck, facing forward. It was quite a cold day and he shivered a bit, but his voice sounded clear and unafraid.
`Where are we going?'
`Well, I know you like this truck, because we had to clean your spunk off the bonnet. So, we're going to show you what we can do with this truck. We're going to take you on our rally route round the site...
And we did. I went first round the site, first cautiously, then at speed, with the 19 year old wiry and muscular boy strapped to the front of the pick-up, his kegs and hands tied firmly behind him. I could see his head and naked shoulders twisting and turning into the curves, and could hear him yell out in surprise from time to time. We followed the familiar route, splashing through the clay coloured water on the undeveloped but of the quarry (which created a wave that doused the boy from head to toe), before skidded up and down the car park ramps, getting up to 70 or 80 on some of the straight bits, and then entering the centre, whizzing up and down the aisles, in and out of the supermarket, doing handbrake turns in the middle of the foyer, looping round and back to the security hut. I got out and checked on the boy, He was soaked and filthy, but he seemed ok. As if to prove it, he looked up at me, and he smiled his pretty smile. `More' he said.
Everyone else then took a go. We added extra obstacles, on one occasion me and the other two waited by the roadside as Angus came past at fifty, and we each threw a bucket of ice cold water at the passing truck. I'm pretty sure I got the boy head on. At some point in these trips, the boy lost his pants too, I think one of the others ripped them off him, meaning he did a couple of laps completely naked. As he went past one time I could see a rock hard erection on the boy... We decided to stop soon after, for safety reasons, as everything was getting a bit crazy. We were playing with him but we didn't want to hurt him. When we untied him we noticed he didn't complain, he seemed like he was buzzing with adrenaline. As far as I was concerned we had completed our punishment, now we should let him go. But we hadn't finished with the boy, yet. There was plenty of other equipment for him to play with. We asked him if he wanted to try something else and he breathlessly said yes.
The site had a fully functioning automatic car wash, so we strapped him to the roof of my Volvo, face down, and we took him through. I had said to him before hand to let us know if it was too much, and I could see his head through the sunroof in case he wanted us to stop, but as the spinning brushes first waxed and then scrubbed him clean, he seemed to be enjoying it. One of the others kept by the safety cut-off just in case, but we didn't need it. It was a sight to see, him getting soaked in foamy water, and then those hard, spinning bristles running over and over his skin. By the time he came out his skin was red raw all over.
`More' he said.
We did many fun things with that boy. In the centre of the foyer of the part built building was a fancy glass elevator, which rose through an atrium the full eight stories of the building. We tied him under that, hanging by ropes under his arms, with his limbs still bound from before, and took him up and down the shaft twenty or thirty times, still stark naked. We threw things at him as he hung there -- eggs, paint, water, anything we could find. The lift shaft looked like a bomb had hit it by the time we finished, but we were having too much fun to care. He enjoyed that so much that we strapped him to one of the cranes that were littering the site, and lifted him up into the air, taking him on a panoramic tour of the site, butt naked and tied up with rope. We tied him to a doorframe, and someone tipped a can of paint over his head. We smeared him with plaster dust. We even took it in turns to slap at his butt with our belts.
Finally we stopped, and just admired his body, still hanging there, spread-eagled, naked, coated in paint and dust, with a bright red butt from the smacks with the belts. Each one of us had fondled him somewhere as part of our session, either on the butt, or felt his arms or his stomach, but there was one area we had avoided. He had not complained once. We were out of ideas. But he came up with one.
`Would one of you jerk me off?' He asked
We looked at each other. This was a test. We instantly knew it had to be done, but who among us would do it? The boy decided for us.
`Felix? Would you do it?'
I wasn't sure I could, but I looked at the others, and realised it didn't matter who actually did the act, I saw hands already rubbing their own crotches, and I knew we would all be getting off on it. So I spat on my hand, reached round, and grabbed the boy's already hard cock. I had never touched another guy before, and it felt weird. But my buddies egged me on. I jerked him, gently at first, then harder and harder. The boy seemed to like it. Angus had pulled his own cock out, and was rubbing it. The other two followed suit. Oh, well, in for a penny... I unzipped my own fly and reached for my own cock.
We would have made a sight if someone had walked in right then -- four uniformed security guards, standing around a bound up 19 year old boy, jerking him and ourselves off.
I can't remember who came first, but I know that at least one of my colleagues stepped up behind the boy and spurted over his pretty, rounded butt. I came at about the same time as the boy, my sperm splattering onto his feet as his own slicked my hand and the floor in front of me. I kept that handful of sperm, and I stepped behind the door and licked it, surreptitiously, as I didn't want anyone to see me do it. It was salty and still warm.
Finally we let him down. He was shivering from the cold. We took him back outside and threw him his clothes and he held them to his chest.
We were outside the comfort station, which had washing and showering facilities. `Any chance I could get a shower?' he asked. That was the wrong question. Angus smiled.
Oh yes,' he said, we owe you a shower, from that time you gave us one outside the main building'
And with that, he unzipped his flies again, and got his cock out.
`Wait, not on my clothes!' The boy yelled, hurling them to one side, just in time, for Angus let loose, spraying the boy full in the chest. He played the stream up and down the boy, who sank to his knees. The boy tipped his head back, he even opened his mouth and let some of the fluid in. I suffered a strange mix of disgust and arousal. That was enough for the rest of us, we unzipped too and also let fly, soaking the boy from head to toe. Angus also turned to where the boy had thrown his clothes, and pissed on them too, soaking them.
When we had all finished, the boy was kneeling in the middle of an expanding puddle, filthy, soaked, a slight steam rising from him in the cold afternoon air. He said nothing, and reached for his soaked clothes, and began putting them on. He looked a sight, soaked in piss and mud. I immediately felt sorry for what we had done, I got a blanket from my car boot and put it around his shoulders.
`Would one of you take me home now?' he asked. I agreed. I felt bad for the boy -- maybe we had gone too far? I hope we hadn't hurt the little bright thing that had bounded into our lives. I opened up the door of the Volvo and he sat inside. I decided the rest of us needed to talk about what just happened, so I walked back to where the other three were clearing up. We talked briefly -- had we gone too far? Everyone looked down, they had all gone to places that they had never been before. I was only gone about five minutes, and then, as I walked back to the car, the boy leapt out. I thought we had hurt him, but his grin was as bright as ever, all over his face.
He was pulling up his trousers. `Merry Christmas' he yelled, and he ran off, laughing. I looked in my car, and saw he had given me another of his special presents, a splattering of white Christmas snow all over the dashboard and the steering wheel.
I felt sure then that everything was OK, and that we had not seen the last of our sexy trespasser...
THE END