Date: Wed, 4 Oct 2006 05:42:37 -0700 (PDT)
From: Christopher Marlowe <marlower15@yahoo.com>
Subject: Speedo Boy's Daredevil Challenge - Part 5

(M/b cons bond, cons tort, cons s+m, fistfucking etc)

(WARNING: This story is utterly fictitious. Nothing like it has ever
happened in real life, nor should it, for very obvious reasons. This
fantasy fiction contains graphic descriptions of consensual sex,
consensual bondage and consensual torture involving a man and a preteen
boy. Please do not read any further if you are likely to be offended by
such tales. This is really heavy shit and very sick, so please GO AWAY if
you don't like that sort of thing. Also, remember that this is a work of
imagination...no boy should ever be subjected to the horrors depicted
here...keep real boys safe!)

After the sudden and savage fucking, the twelve year old boy lay on the
poolside for some time, his little chest heaving, coughing up the last
dregs of water he'd swallowed. The young swimmer's eyes were slightly
glazed but there was a dreamy smile on his face.
"Had enough, young man?" inquired Lord Wolf.
The boy lay there for a while, gazing contentedly up at his master,
before he said "Gosh, that was BRILLIANT sir! I've never done ANYTHING as
good as that before!
But you haven't done that thing with your fist yet, sir, have you!".
The boy flipped himself over onto his back like a young otter, raised
himself up on his elbows, and then hauled his little black speedos back
up, adjusting them carefully so that he looked just like a little boy at
his local swimming club taking a breather in a tough training session.
"Are you sure, boy? You have to want to do it...don't just do it to
please me..."
"You bet sir! I'm ready...I just need a drink to take this taste out of
my mouth...I feel like I swallowed half the pool!"
"Of course Rob..what can I get for you?"
"Could I have some milk please sir...and....um...could you warm it up a
little for me, please?" the boy looked up imploringly from under his
dripping wet fringe of brown hair, his large, trusting brown eyes
appealing to his master to look after him, to fortify him for the
difficult task that lay ahead.
Suddenly, wet, shivering, exhausted and prone, he looked about ten years
old again, just like the younger Rob, who had visited Posiedon Manor two
years before.
(NOTE TO READER: These earlier adventures are recounted in "Boy
Daredevils in Speedos", also available in the Nifty Stories Archive or
via a Google search).
Lord Wolf threw the boy a large purple swimming club towel with trident
motifs, and strode away to order one of his unseen servants to prepare
the beverage the boy had requested so politely. Rob wrapped himself up
the the towel and sat on the floor, staring ahead blankly for a few
minutes, contented, but grateful to do nothing for a few moments.
When the dungeon master returned, he allowed the boy time to gulp down
his drink greedily and gratefully. The boy wiped drips of milk from his
full red, sensual lips and his little chin and grinned, his vigour
restored. The enormous man lifted the the little swimmer up and towelled
him down briskly, professionally, just like a swimming coach who has
dried off the bodies of many little boys in speedos, after they have
performed for him, and pleased him.

They he carried the boy back to the black leather torture bed and laid
him down on his tummy. Rob's little cock hardened as he felt the black
leather cuffs close around his slender wrists and ankles. He rubbed his
little penis deep into the black leather bed in a brief attempt to
masturbate, as he heard the rattle and clank of the chains attached to
the cuffs being fixed firmly to the bedposts. This was his favourite
position in the whole world. He was ready for anything...anything...
He knew his master wouldn't allow him to attempt to masturbate for long,
and sure enough he soon heard an enraged growl, and the sound of the
aristocrat fumbling in one of the many cupboards in the torture chamber,
evidently searching for some kind of instrument to chastise him. Then the
boy heard a cruel noise, which made even more of his fresh boyblood
pump even faster into his preteen cocklet. It was the crack of a huge
leather whip on the flagstones of the dungeon.
He heard Wolf breathing heavily as the enormous man flexed his muscles,
ready to give his twelve year old schoolboy a truly savage flogging. The
little swimmer adored being whipped...even at the age of ten he had
withstood the most extraordinary lashings.
Young Rob continue to grind his little cock defiantly into the leather
couch which was his prison, only stopping when the first almighty blow
cracked across his young shoulder blades, knocking all the air out of
him and instantly drawing blood with its cruelly barbed strips of
leather.
With a force of unjustified anger that frightened the little lad, his
master began to tear his boyslave's beautifully formed back to ribbons.
Thirty-nine times, the bullwhip found a fresh part of the boy's body to
rip open. The wild man grunted between the blows, muttering words like
"Disobedient little scoundrel!" and "Lascivious little boywhore!", which
thrilled the boy, amid the violent onslaught of the whipping. As the
brutal man worked his way down the youngster's body, Rob could feel his
tight black speedos being ripped to shreds by the force of the blows.
Soon the garment was in tatters around his bloody little body, and at
this point Wolf stopped, leaning heavily against the bed, exhausted by
his efforts to discipline the little scamp for daring to stimulate
himself sexually without his master's permission. The boy could have
ruined the whole elaborate game if he had climaxed at that point, and
then used his safeword to bring the proceedings to a halt.
Rob lay there, luxuriating in the waves of pain that wracked his body..he
loved being whipped so much that he did it to himself in private at
boarding school...but having someone else doing it, and doing it
extremely hard sothat it drew blood, was far, far sexier. Especially when
it was a big savage man like Wolf, whose enormous cock he worshipped so
fervently.
He felt his master rip the shredded, bloodstained blackspeedo from under
him, chafing his little cock and balls with the friction of his abrupt
action.
Then he had a request for his master:
"Sir! Could I have some more speedos please? Some clean ones? I always
like to do stuff in my speedos, sir, not naked...is that possible sir,
please?"
"No boy, that is NOT posible at this stage of the game!" came the curt
reply.
"But sir...it's not decent...I shouldn't be naked in front of a grown man
sir...it's not right...I'm only twelve! You're not my Daddy, are you
sir!"
Wolf could recognise Rob's little tricks a mile off...the little rascal
was as cunning as he was brave and sexy, like all really wicked little
boys...and Wolf knew exactly how to match him.
"I have a surprise for you boy...no speedos...but...Mmmmmmmm....you can
have the speedo logo if you like..."
The boy looked over his little shoulder at his master, puzzled by his
statement.
"Logo?"
"The speedo logo, speedo boy...work it out..."
"Ummmmm...." the little boy's sweating forehead furrowed in bewilderment
"You mean the kind of arrow logo on speedo swimming trunks, sir?"
Lord Wolf nodded, and wandered away slowly to another part of the
dungeon, out of sight.
Rob mischiveously used the opportunity to grind his naked little penis
into the black leather bed some more...he desperately needed to jerk off
now. He was a little athlete aflame with burgeoning sadomasochistic lust,
fresh as a daisy....but then he heard his master beginning to return, so
he lay obediently still again.
When the boy he dared to look over his little shoulder again, he gasped
at what he saw in his master's hand. He knew straight away what his
master had in mind for him.
It was a white-hot branding iron.
The searing tip of the iron was no more than an inch or so long, shaped
into the familiar arrow shape of the speedo logo Rob had adored wearing
since he was seven years old. Speedos were part of his religion, as a
boy, a swimmer, a diver, a wrestler and a boyslave. The first time he had
ever been molested, he had been wearing little red and white speedos, so
they were full of precious memories for him.
The aristocrat knelt over the prone boy, and sank his strong
fingers around the boy's slender waist, raising him up slightly with one
hand. He calculated exactly where the speedo logo would have sat on the
side of the naked boy's waist, had he been wearing any swimming trunks.
Then, with a wolfish cry, he raised the branding iron to the ceiling of
the dungeon. The boy squealed heartrendingly in anticipation of the pain
he knew his master was about to inflict on him, and then the boy's whole
field of vision turned suddenly and blindingly white, as the branding
iron seared its way into his tender boyflesh, branding him a speedo boy
forever...
The child's scream rang around Wolf's head forever afterwards like a
nightmare. It would haunt Rob's dreams for the rest of his life too. It
was not only the pain...its was the knowledge that he was now marked for
as long as he lived with a deliberately inflicted burn in the shape of an
speedo logo...a constant reminder of his status as a swimmer slaveboy. In
the years to come, whenever either the boy or the man saw a preteen boy
in speedos, flexing nonchalently by the pool or diving into a wave, they
would think of the branding that had taken place that night. Speedo
boy...a speedo boy forever...
The twelve year old's whole body was shaking uncontrollably from the
shock of the pain, and his was foaming at the mouth, so his master found
some balm, and applied the soothing ointment to the livid burnmark in the
preteen boy's skin. Lord Wolf's potions and lotions had been carefully
devised over many years, to enable young boys to bear the torments he
liked to inflict on them , so that he could continue with his dark games
for as long as possible before the boy brought the game to a halt. Every
boy had a moment when he did that, and the aristocrat prayed silently
that young Rob would know when that moment had come, rather than plunging
blindly onwards to his destruction at such a young age, while he was
still so full of beauty. Every boy had his breaking point...

Without further ado, the sadistic aristocrat began to lubricate the boy's
anus, deeply and thoroughly. He easily inserted a finger as the boy
obediently raised his bubblebutt upwards to make his master's task as
easy as possible. Two fingers...no problem...easing, massaging and
stretching his preteen slave's boycunt as thoroughly and as carefully as
possible, so that it at least stood a chance of accommodating his huge
fist, which was the size of a large orange. Three fingers....the boy was
wincing a little, so Wolf gave him a wooden stick to bite on, to help the
twelve year old to bear the pain he was about to inflict.
Four fingers...the boys eyes were rolling around wildy as he struggled
not to scream.
He called out to Wolf: "The ballgag sir! Put it back on me, then I can do
it! It's here somewhere sir...I think it fell off while you were
hammering the nails into the cross..put it on me, then I can't say my
safeword...I'll just do it for you sir...just do it...just do it..."
"No ballgag boy" came the reply "I want to hear you scream, and I want to
hear your safeword!"
The four fingers were right inside him now, though not deep inside, and
the Wolfman introduce his thumb tentatively, prompting a sharp intake of
breath from the boy. The child's body was dripping with sweat, and he
squirmed around feverishly within his bonds, in a mixture of fierce
sexual anticipation and sheer terror. The man's fingers and thumb were
still straight...he hadn't made a fist yet, and most of his hand was
still outside the youngster's body. Gently, gently, slowly, slowly, a
fraction of an inch by a fraction of an inch, he reached inside the body
of the boy who had given himself so willingly for experimentation. The
bravest boy. The boy who was allowed his master to physically touch
him deeper inside his preteen body than anyone really had any right to
do. The boy who wanted to prove himself to be the toughest, wildest,
wickedest boy ever. The Peter Pan who let the Captain penetrate him with
his hook. The Jim Hawkins who let Long John Silver sodomise him with his
wooden leg....
Wolf tried desperately to make his hand as slim as possible as he
ploughed deeper inside the child, who was whimpering now in an impossibly
confused state of pure sexual pleasure and wretched, painful despair.
As he took the plunge, and finally buried his whole hand as gently as
possible into the young boy's anus, the twelve year old treble gave an
agonsied animal scream so utterly brutal and piercing...:"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
...that it physically damaged the aristocrat's ears - causing them to
bleed internally. He actually had to stop what he was doing an cover his
ears up for a few seconds because the sound was too loud and too
penetrating and too cruel to bear. He had never heard a boyslave yell in
this way before...it was a scream that showed that the twelve year old
was now enduring levels of pain utterly undreamt of, even by his master.
Wolf hoped fervently that it would not prove to be the young
swimmer's death cry.
Then, Wolf grew accustomed to the terrible scream, which showed no sign
of ending, and he began to like it. He was glad the session was being
filmed, for it would make quite a document. Young Rob was an awesome
little performer.
He heard the wooden stick between the twelve year old's teeth
splintering, and another animal wail rose from the very soles of the
child's feet, up thru his legs, deep from below his lungs, up and out
through his choirboy throat. It was the sound of a twelve year old boy
having his body torn asunder, whilst still in the midst of deep sexual
passion...a masochistic sexual passion, but a passion nonetheless. Soon
enough a small, thin trickle of blood emerged from the boy's rectum.
It ran down Wolf's arm, down the man's body, and became lost in the mass
of public hair around his enormous penis, which was dripping copiously
with pre-cum.
With great reluctance, the man decided to withdraw his hand. But when he
began to do so, Rob's head spun round and he glared at Wolf furiously,
and yelled lustily at him, using his little private schoolboy swearwords:
"Don't you bloody well dare stop now sir, you bloody idiot!"
Normally of course such words would have earned the youngster another
whipping, but Lord Wolf knew that the boy was, quite literally, under a
considerable amount of stress and pressure, so the benevolent
aristocrat deigned to let it pass. He proceeded to slide his fist and the
whole of his forearm gently up and down, right inside the
fiery-hot boycunt of the child tied down underneath him in bondage, on
the black leather torture bed. He marvelled at the way the boy threw his
charming head right back in agony as his fist split him deeper and
deeper. Eventually, he was able to reach into the boy up to his elbow, so
that he had a peculiar sensation that his fingetips had dissolved right
inside the child. They had almost become melded into one single creature.
Wolf was sure that it the boy hadn't been tied down, he would have been
able to raise up his strong fisting arm to the ceiling with the preteen
still impaled upon it, like the Statue of Liberty holding aloft her
torch. He was absolutely certain that he was so deeply embedded inside
the boy's body that the impaled child would not have fallen to the
ground.
Deeper and deeper into the boy he went, wondering mischievously whether
it might be possible to enter the boy so deeply that his very hairy
armpit would end up slapping against the entrance to the twelve year old
boy's smooth anus.
Beneath him, as his body was continuously pounded, the youngster was
reaching a state of absolute delirium.  He seemed to be babbling at
random about people and places that had been important to him in his
life...most of it seemed to relate to the sexual, physical and emotional
abuse that he had suffered.  The boy kept talking about a hospital, and a
swimming club, and a cub scout camp in the New Forest. Diving lessons,
and a private school, and being left alone, and being abandoned by his
family, and being tortured, and shadows coming into his bedroom at
night...and into his hospital room. Men who were death. Men who had come
to kill him. The Childcatcher. Lord of the Flies. Water torture
chamber...the boy who survived when everyone said he would die...and then
the child began to shout about the boys he was sexually attracted to at
boarding school...Michael...Jon with the blond hair... Timmy with his
Speedo bag...Johnno with his legs apart..and he began babbling about a
young British diver of exactly his own age called Thomas who he'd seen on
TV, and had fallen in love with from afar...Thomas was going to win a
gold medal in the London Olympics in 2012, when he'd be eighteen...Rob
would be eighteen then too...if he lived that long...if he survived all
this...all these thoughts spewed out of the boy's mouth as his slender,
bound body was pounded unrelentingly by his master. Then the boy seemed
to wake up and shouted urgently "Sir! Sir! You're making me come! I have
to come Sir I can't stop"
"Hold it in boy, hold it in!" barked Wolf, pistoning the twelve year old
mercilessly, lost in his own delerium of intense sadism. Then he felt the
boy's whole body shudder and judder as he reached an extraordinary sexual
climax. The boy wept freely as he ejaculated a small amount of boycum
into the man's free hand. Wolf smeared the precious boyjuice onto his
tongue and swallowed it, enraptured by the fresh taste. Nothing tastes
better than twelve year old boycum. Then the child's penis kept
ejacualting so that his little body was wracked with a series of dry
orgasms which showed no sign of stopping. The boy was sqeaking with
excitement when he wasn't sobbing in agony.
Gently, gently, slowly, slowly, Wolf withdrew his bloody forearm and his
massive fist from deep inside the boy's quivering, torn frame. The
aristocrat had to use another of his purple swimming towels with the
trident motifs to stem the gush of blood from his boyslave's utterly
ravaged little boycunt. The boy lost consciousness as he lost blood, and
Wolf released him swiftly and took his to the medical room, where a team
of doctors was waiting to operate on him. The aristocrat considered
fucking the unconscious boy on the operating table before the treatment
took place...it would make a wonderful DVD extra...but he decided that
that would be a rather selfish and irresponsible act.
The boy was patched up extremely fast, and the doctors marvelled at the
lad's levels of endurance. One even joked that the little athlete's next
speedo should be one of those that you see boys wearing sometimes with
the word "endurance" embroided onto it. Wolf snorted in derison and said
the only speedos this boy would wear would be emblazoned with the
word "Boyslave", to remind the youngster of his position of servitude.
Against the doctor's advice, Wolf began slapping the boy hard around the
face to wake him up. The twelve year old groaned a little, and managed to
open one eye a fraction. He gazed lovingly up at his master and
whispered:
"Did I do OK sir? Was I the youngest boy ever to do it?"
Lord Wolf looked grimly back at the boy he had wrecked, and said coldly:
I have a final challenge for you boy...and this one WILL kill you!"
Rob shivered and stared at his master in utter disbelief. He could not
speak...his head whirled in boyish confusion.
Wolf disappeared from the medical room for a few moments, and came back
carrying a black leather sack. From the sack, the sadist produced the
biggest black dildo young Rob had ever seen. The boy felt his cock twitch
unexpectedly with excitement when he first saw it, but then he noticed
with alarm that the instrument of torure was covered with little
knife-blades, razors and needles. Wolf ran the instrument across the
boy's chest a little , cutting him easily as the demonic blades
"This device, boy" boomed Wolf, "Is the Dildo of Death! No boy has ever
agreed to test it out for me...Do you consent to its immediate use, to
complete our little training session?"
The boy looked up at Wolf and tears filled his eyes....it was so
unfair...and he began to protest fervently "Sir...I'm twelve years old!
You've just given me the most enormous fist fucking ever and I....I did
it for you...Sir, isn't that enough? I loved it Sir, even though you
ripped me up inside ...but this..." The child looked in absolute terror
at the deranged instrument, and something finally clicked in his mind.
Suddenly everything fell into place. He was no longer confused....he knew
exactly what he wanted.
He spoke clearly and confidently, raising himself up a little from the
operating table as he did so.
"I don't want to die sir...I want to be a boy, and I want to swim and I
want to dive and I want to have boyfriends and do bondage 'n' stuff!" His
eyes shone with excitement, and he glared defiantly up at his master and
said "I'm not going to die for you sir...and here's my safeword to prove
it..."
In his gorgeous choirboy treble, the schoolboy called out the word:
"Ganymede. GANYMEDE. GANYMEDE. GANYMEDE. I'm free! I'm a boy and I'm free
and I've done it! Ganymede!!! Gosh I want to go home now please
sir...I've done it sir...I've done it!"
Lord Wolf breathed the most enormous sigh of relief and hugged the boy
gently for a long time, and all those present were amazed to see a tear
trickling down the aristocrat's face. He was so relieved, he could not
contain himself. Rob had been the hardest boy to train in more than
fifteen years of experimentation.
The boy and the man held each other, knowing that they had each saved the
other from a kind of hell. The boy angel and the man angel...celestial
beings of fierce white light.

A week later, Rob was fully fit and recovered in mind and body, thanks to
the expert attentions of Lord Wolf and his medical staff.  The final
farewells were fervent but chaste, and Rob had an open invitation to
return if ever he wished to do so.

As before, the boy was taken home in a big black chauffeur-driven car. It
had massive leather seats which allowed him to sprawl around without
inhibitions. He was the only passenger, and the chauffeur never
spoke. Rob put his hand inside little trousers and gently stroked his
preteen cock through the gorgeous silky fabric of his tight little black
speedos. As always, he could never resist a little extra masturbation. He
climaxed silently, stifling a boyish little cry, and licked his own
boycum discreetly but eagerly from his fingers.
They seemed to be coming out of the dark countryside now,and into the
city. The London suburbs looked as bleak as ever...but he needed to see
something ordinary after the feverish activity of Lord Wolf's domain.

The back door of his home was left open, as always, and he walked back
in.

"Hi Mum! I'm home!"

"How was swim training camp, darling?" she asked warmly, giving him a
hug.

"Great! I'm really fast now!"

"You look even taller" she said, ruffling his hair.

"Oh...don't do that!" he grinned up at her.

"Are you OK darling? You're walking a bit funny..."

"Yeah, swim training was really hard and I'm aching all over....but Ill
be fine ...it was just BRILLIANT Mum...I'm SUPERFAST now!!!"

He looked out of the kitchen window. His dad was playing football with
his younger brother in the back garden. He wandered upstairs and threw
his swimming bag into his cupboard. Then he stretched out on his bed and
stared
at the ceiling.
"The youngest boy EVER to do it" he whispered to himself, grinning with
boyish delight "And I still came out alive....I'm the boy who lived...the
boy who lived.".

(ENDS)

(Thanks again for all the feedback, guys! Please send any comments,
on-topic pics or photos to marlower15@yahoo.com I'd really,
really appreciate it!
Er...one final word of warning again..this is fantasy fiction...don't try
any of it at home, and remember to keep boys safe! This is to jerk off
to, but in no way copy in real life cos...er...that would be kinda
sick!!! But you all knew that anyway, right?!)