Date: Mon, 11 Feb 2008 01:57:12 EST
From: Glaucon55@aol.com
Subject: Masturbation Chronicles No. 4a

Masturbation Chronicles No. 4a
Security Guard Tony Bruno's Capture
February 10, 2008

Disclaimer:

If you are not yet 18 years of age, or if it is illegal to read materials
of this kind where you live, then please stop now. This story is for
adults, and contains descriptions of sexual activity between teenage boys
with older men.  This story is completely fiction, all descriptions and
names are also made up, and any similarities are truly just that, purely
similarities.  I do not engage in or condone sexual activity between adults
and underage boys which is regulated by law.  These are fantasies for
sexual private sexual enjoyment, not for emulation in real life.

This current series is entitled "The Masturbation Chronicles" and will be a
series of discreet stories focused around the theme of uncontrollable
masturbation and its consequences.  I would truly appreciate suggestions
from others for scenes or settings, and of course descriptions of real
scenes.  Often my stories have been woven from tales shared with me by
those of you who comment on my stories.  So please consider writing to me.

My stories are posted on http://www.pridesites.com/omelissokomos/glaucon/,
and on ASSGM.com, and on Nifty.  I would appreciate comments on my writing.
I certainly admire the good writers on the web, and consider myself still a
learner.  Please contact me at glaucon55@aol.com.  They stories posted
under the name of Glaucon55 or written by him are all his work product and
may only be published on other sites or anywhere else, with his permission.

Masturbation Chronicles No. 4a Security Guard Tony Bruno's Capture

The boy I have secured in the back of my camper reminds me of a buddy I had
in high school.  The kid I have now is about 5' 7" tall, stocky bild, blond
to the tufts on his toes, and sporting a nice thick, 6.5 inch boner,
straight up and stiff—a little fuller in the middle, tapering to the
head, and then a nice, fat, juicy cap.  The buddy I knew in high school was
closer to 5' 10" and he was black haired, green-eyed, and threw a 7" prick
that curved downwards, with a fat baseball knob on it.  His skin was pale,
he once described it as being "Black Irish."  But I didn't care.  He was
built like a long-legged tennis player, which is what he was.  On Friday
nights, it was "get drunk and wasted, and let somebody drain your nuts
time."  Now the kid I had in the back of my camper was not so cooperative,
but he would get the same treatment—and like my buddy in high school,
draining his nuts was what he was all about.  I've always had a soft spot
for this action, since high school, and for boys whose pricks are
constantly hard.

Cameron Collier, the kid from high school wasn't too particular.  He knew
he wanted to cum, and he didn't care if it was some slut sucking his cock,
or some dude's calloused paw jerking him off.  When I'd see him at snack in
the morning he'd complain that he'd had a hardon since 1st period, and
wished he could get a blow job at lunch time.  That was Cameron,
straight-forward and horny, just needing to get off as many times a day as
time and opportunity would permit.  I'd met him in Junior High, and trust
me, he was the same then.  His mom had been divorced from his Dad since he
was ten, and from that day on she had an endless stream of big dicked men
come to the house on Friday and Saturday nights to fuck her silly.  Cameron
would sneak to her bedroom door, and open it just enough during the bouts
of fucking to see the strong glutes of some hairy dude, his big balls
bouncing between his legs, driving a sticky, wet shaft into his mom's
snatch, making her squeal with pleasure as his knob worried her greedy
clit.  His own pre-teen pricklet would get stiff as a nail, all three and
one half inches of it, and he spontaneously learned to rub and squeeze it
till waves of dry sensation overtook him.  He was hooked on the goose bumps
and the shuddering, tit-hardening feelings that would overtake his
body. From then on he masturbated until junior high, when he found out that
both girls and guys would do it for him.  There were horny cum dumps
everywhere, from the older teen dude next door who paid him a buck each
time Cam allowed him to suck his cock, to the middle school girls whose
panties were always wet.  Cam was good-looking, with green eyes and that
dark hair setting off an Anglo-Saxon countenance, and his prick never went
soft---he had all the skills he needed along, with an arrogant confidence,
to get his nuts drained regularly.

Me, I just liked the way he was always ready to spunk wads of teenage
spooge from his ever bloated nuts that swung heavily between his legs.  I'd
only goofed around with Cam a couple of times in junior high, but both were
exhilarating, and I knew I wanted more.  His casual attitude toward sex was
the opposite of my anxiety ridden guilt over the lewd pleasures of grinding
my cock into my bed at night...wringing my own sweet dry cums from my
feverish rod.  But Cam taught me that pleasure was nothing to be guilty
about, and that it was easier to get than my horny, but shy, personality
realized.  The first time me and Cam hooked up was in the bus from a field
trip to a boring museum for history class.  By the time we'd finished the
tour and heard the docent's endless commentary, Cam was sitting next to me
in the back seat complaining about how stupid the trip had been, and how
horny he was.  He said that Jessica Raymond's panties were showing every
time she bent down to look at the captions of the floor exhibits, and that
had made his dick start leaking.  He was sure she was wet at the snatch
(and he would know), and he could see her cunt lips sticking to the soft
material of the panties.  I nervously laughed it off hoping that he hadn't
seen my own boner as he talked about his prick.  But as the bus got dark on
the ride home, he pointed out how hard his cock was.  The dudes across the
isle from us were sleeping, and so I openly starred at his erection as it
lay on his thigh, making a fat ridge in his pant's leg.

Finally, after whining a bit more, he lay his head against the window,
groaned softly as his fingertips grazed the erection, and whispered
casually that I should feel how hard he was.  Trembling, and looking around
to make sure no one was paying attention, I threw my jacket over both our
legs, and slipped my near hand underneath to grasp his woody. My heart was
racing, not sure where I had gotten the nerve to feel Cam's woody, but so
horny and desperate to do it, that I was willing to take a chance at
getting caught.  Fuck, his prick felt so thick and strong for a fourteen
year old kid, and he immediately closed his eyes and leaned back splaying
his legs, giving me room to work.  I found my fingertips drawn to his knob,
since his erection had a sort of curve that forced the middle down, and
stretched the material of his pants over the knob aimed down over his
thigh.  I knew how sensitive my own prick tip was, and somehow I just
wanted to see what Cam would do in this crowded bus if I teased his knob
and he had to remain silent.  When my fingernails drew across the material
of his chinos to tickle the bloated glans, he jerked, squeezing his legs
together to hunch away from my grasp, but almost simultaneously he jerked
his legs open again, inviting the awful tickle, because, as I would learn,
that's what Cam lived for.  The dude just wanted to get off, and the more
sensation—especially on his cock head, the better he liked it.  I
gripped his prick and let my fingers focus on fat tip, making him strain
his legs out reflexively and draw in gulps of air, stretching relexively as
his ejaculation became imminent.  Apparently he didn't mind spunking his
briefs, cause soon he was bucking gently as his prick launched his teen cum
into the white briefs, writhing and squeezing his eyes tightly, as my
fingers continued to drain every bit of his ejaculate from the turgid
shaft.  Finally, when he could stand the tickle no more, he pushed my hand
away, and panted quietly until he feel asleep for the rest of the ride.
For my part, I was determined to get my hands on Cam's big boy cock as soon
as I could.

The next time we hooked up was at a party held by one of the sophomore
girls from the high school.  We were fifteen, and soon would be in high
school, but had met some of the girls by going to the football games and
hanging out with the kids near our age.  The girl's parents were outta
town, and shit was going down all over the place.  Guys and girls were
drunk off their asses, and guys were sucking face, fingering pussy, and
pinching tit to beat the band.  But these were older guys from the high
school, and younger punks like us were out of luck.  Cam was trashed, and
when I saddled up to ask how he was doing when I spotted him in the kitchen
pouring himself more hard stuff, he just grunted how fucking horny he was;
his usual mantra.  I smiled, and with a heady temerity asked what he was
going to do about it.

"Fuck, how the hell can I do anything, with all these high school pricks
getting the pussy.  He reached down and gripped his telltale boner, and I
smirked and said "Shit, that hasn't stopped you before."  He looked at me
through his soggy eyes, and said, "you wanna have a dirnk?" and offered me
his glass, spilling some of the rum as his drunken hands reached out to me.

"Thanks dude...let's go down to the basement and party," I suggested
casually, and like a puppy dog, he followed.  I saw the door to the
basement, and when we went in, I looked around and latched it once we
entered so we wouldn't be disturbed.  I found that Cam, once drunk,
surrendered his body to whatever was going to happen, as long as he was
going to get his nut.  Within minutes, I had his pants at his ankles, his
shirt unbuttoned, his flip flops abandoned so he could flex his long toes,
and his prick firmly in my grasp.  He bucked and writhed over the old couch
we found downstairs, and as I reached up to pinch one of his tits, he
whined out loud and shot streams of his cock snot over my hand, and into
the air.  I let my roiling fist keep milking his boner after he'd cum, and
though he swore and demanded I stop--grasping my wrist with hands made
strong from years of tennis---he did nothing to actually stop me from
teasing his fat, swollen cock knob.  In his helpless, drunken state, I
started licking his stiff teats, and stroked his body from head to toe
until he was rearing and ready to cum again, and then thumbed another
sticky load from him.  I left him to snore on the couch after I buttoned
him up a bit, and I vowed that night would not be the last time I drained
Cameron Collier's spunk filled balls.  It wasn't.

Many a Friday night in high school, especially when we were sixteen year
old freshmen, but even later when he could not find a chick to bang in our
junior and senior years, I would offer to take him out to the drive-in to
drink.  That was our standard excuse, and it was our unspoken code.  We
never discussed our trysts and he would brag about the pussy he'd fucked
like that was his only predilection.  If he was interested, and more times
than not he was, we'd get together after dinner and I'd bring the booze.
We'd take my parent's van, and start drinking before we even gotten into
the drive-in.  We'd park toward the back, away from the lights and snack
area; there were always dead areas where guys and their chicks could fuck
and suck without drawing much attention.  We'd park, and then get in the
back seat where the tinted windows of the van offered us the maximum
privacy.  In the darkness of the lot, and secluded from other vehicles, we
had time to get drunk without drawing anyone's attention.

By the time we were seniors, I had added some spice to our meetings. I
never knew if Cam approved of the stuff I did, or just accepted it since he
was usually smashed by the time our exploits began.  I had been going to
internet porn sites from the time I was a sophomore and got my own
connection in my bedroom at home.  I'd discovered bondage, and the mere
idea of guys being restrained by women dominatrix, and then milked and
fucked, made my six inch spike throb with delight, and leak copious amounts
of pre-fuck.  The first time I tied Cam's arms over his head, and whispered
in his ear that some bitch had him bound and helpless, he later came like a
bull in heat in my rolling fist.  From then on, I had refined my methods,
and played that boy like a finely tuned instrument.

One of my favorite memories was while we were supposed to be watching "The
Russians Were Coming."  I had Cam in the back seat as usual, and he was
cooperatively stinko.  I took both of his hands, and wound the rope around
his wrists, tying them together, and then using the steel seat leg behind
us to anchor the rope and pull his arms over his head.  Then I reached down
and unlaced and pulled off his lowtops, sliding off his socks at the same
time.  Then I tied each ankle to the bottom of the front seats,
respectively, stretching his legs apart.  I stuck a pillow behind his back,
forcing his chest and stomach out and supporting his lower back; now for
the fun.

I always started by using my fingers to tickle inside his ears, over his
lips and under his nostrils, and then over his pronounced Adam's apple.
Straight guys have no sense of their own bodies, and Cam was always
pleasantly shocked by how sensitive he was to my fingertips and
fingernails, scratching, scraping, and flicking over his body.  Eventually,
I would get down to his pecs, still outlined by his shirt or t-shirt, and I
would scrape my index fingernail over the already stiff nubbins that
punched out the material.  Fuck he was sexy, and I plucked and pinched
through the material until his hip began to buck, he was groaning
appreciatively, and I could see a wet spot forming where his fat fuck tip
was rubbing against the material of his shorts and leg.  Finally, I would
unbutton his shirt, or tug his wife-beater out of his pants, and slide my
hand underneath the soft, warm cotton.  His firm abdominals would always
shudder slightly as my fingertips grazed over them, searching out his
deeply inny navel, my index finger rooting out any lint it could find and
tickling deep into the sensitive hole.  He would grunt and hiss, and his
cock would immediately burp more pre-fuck, beginning the inexorable slide
towards his much needed ejaculation.  Then my other hand would reach up,
and through the cotton, seek out his stiffly pointed nipples, an erogenous
zone I had helped Cam discover.  He didn't know his tits could be so
sensitive, but once I started plying them, he was like Pavov's dog, panting
for more.  I scratched my fingernail over each exposed tit, and then
grasped one, as my other finger continued to tickle and scratch inside his
exposed navel.  Soon I would have him bucking hard against the bonds,
pulling and moaning, as I whispered sick, dirty trash talk about pussy and
cunt into his ears.  Then I would slowly unloosen his pants and lower the
zipper, exposing his mounded boner.  My wicked index finger would seek out
his fat glans, and though the cotton briefs, find his wide corona and
deliberately scratch around its pebbled surface.  He'd swear, and demand
that I stop that shit and get him off, knowing full well I'd ignore his
orders.  From corona to glans, my nail continued its relentless torture,
while my other fingers under his singlet, scratching and pinching his
turgid nipples.  Fuck, seeing this handsome high school jock stretched out
and helpless would occasionally make me cum spontaneously, but my prick
would never go soft.

Before the nights would end, I could occasionally make Cam cum twice, the
first time in my calloused fist, and the second time using an old cotton
sock filled with lube.  I would twist and slide my hand around the sock,
using it like an oversized condom, spinning round and round his fevered
prick shaft and bloated glans.  I loved to watch how his toes would curl
tight, and his body would buck and grind after he came, but my attentions
to his helpless prick knob would continue.  When Cam and I graduated, I
never heard from him again, but at our ten year reunion he was there with a
beautiful, big-titted blond and pictures of two kids.  I wondered who was
taking care of his needs on the sly, knowing that his prick was too
insatiable to remain confined to blissful domesticity.  I made a mental
note to find out someday.  Even at 38 he looked damned good.

The kid I had in the back of my camper was a college kid walking home from
the late shift at the Bongo Burger at the edge of town, and a couple miles
from the campus and his dorm.  I drove past him the first time as he tried
to hitch a ride the last couple of miles, but it was late and no one was
out on the road.  I zoomed round the next bend, then drove back.  He paid
no attention.  He was just some goofy college kid, dumb as shit when it
came to common sense, and full of cum.  I turned my truck camper around,
and drove up again, this time slowing as he stuck out his thumb and smiled
broadly as I came to a stop.

"Where ya going kid," I asked as if I didn't know.

"Hey man, I'm just trying to catch a ride home to the college, just a
couple of miles down the road...can ya give me a lift? He asked with an
innocence that made my cock lurch in my pants.

"Sure kid, hop in..."

I offered him a beer, playing to his vanity, and he took it and had several
swigs before he put the can down into one of the cup holders.  About 10
minutes later he was out cold, the knock out drops I'd used to lace the
beer by injecting the can, had done their work.  I drove past the college,
and well into the nearby hills onto land I owned.  I parked inside the barn
next to my cabin, ensuring that we would not be disturbed in my van.  Then
I lifted him into the back of the cabin and began my work.

Stripping a mature college kid is not as easy as it would seem...but he was
out cold and I had no problem manipulating him to get his shirt, t-shirt,
pants, sneakers, and socks off.  I left his boxers on...I liked the way
they looked on his cut, muscular body.  He must have played tailback on his
high school football team, no where else to get that short, hunky frame,
with thick legs and broad feet, and a bubble butt that just ached to be
spanked.  His chest was deceptively powerful, with sharp plates for his
pecs, and berry red cones thrusting through the sworls of blond curls that
covered each breast.  I tied him face down on the cushioned recliner, his
feet hanging vulnerably over the edge.  I straped down his legs, turned his
head to one side and placed a buckling hood over it so he could speak, but
could not see.  The holes at his ears ensured he would hear everything I
had to say.  I gave him a small injection, the agent to counteract the
mickey that had put him to sleep.  As I waited for him to return from dream
land, I flipped through his wallet.

His name was Justin Connor Maitland, and he was 20 years old according to
the driver's license.  There were the obligatory pictures of friends posing
in clown like expressions, and a picture of a lovely blond girl signed
"yours forever, Karen."  He had his school I.D., and his employee card from
Bongo Burger, and nine dollars in ones and a five.  I put his wallet down
with the rest of his clothing, wondering if I had a boy that I could sell
on the white slave market, or just a one night stand.  While my land was
here, I didn't live here, so the chances of us running into each other
again were slim...I am always careful.

As Justin stirred, I reached over with my hand, and grasped his strong
heel, cupping it, and then sliding my hand slowly up his calf, to his
thigh, in between them, tickling over the boxers to graze his balls, and up
the line of his crack to his lower back and up the rest of his smooth,
unblemished back.  The hair that profusely covered his arms, legs, trailed
up his stomach and spread over his pecs, but was absent from his back.  I
would later find out that what he lacked there, he made up for in the
trough of his firm ass cheeks.  As he groaned, and then inhaled sharply,
trying to understand why he could not see, I gripped one of his firm ass
cheeks and squeezed it for good measure.

"What the fuck...dude...what the helll, hey, shit, fuck...lemme go...what
the fuck is going on?"  I love college students, they are so articulate and
erudite.  I could follow each of his emotions as he realized that he was
bound, hooded, and almost nude.

"Mister, hey, mister, you there...where are we...what happeded, Jesus, hey
mister, you there?"

Before I answered I made him realize that my hand was still on his butt
cheek by squeezing it again, and letting my fingertips trail down toward
his crack where the material was now getting damp from fear.  "Shit, get
the fuck off...hey, don't do that, who are you...shit, please say
something, and fucking stop touching me...Christ... where the fuck am I?"
My oh my, what happened to that sweet boy I had picked up on the
highway...suddenly he was so tough and in no condition to be so.  I'd tame
that soon enough, but I wanted to enjoy his confusion and fear.  I slid my
hand down from his butt over his hairy thigh, and down to his calf and
foot.  As my hand moved, he continued to ejaculate curses and tried vainly
to shift his body and legs, only able to curl his toes and flex them as
well as scrabble his fingers over his head.  When I got to his size 10
feet...big for a boy his size, I felt the soft soles and meaty pads of each
foot, separating the rather long, thick toes, and gently scratching
underneath them and across the ball to his instep.

"Shit...fuck...stop that..., his toes flicking helplessly, and straining as
my fingernails gently scrabbled across his muscular feet.
"Aaaaaaaahhhhhhh...shit...oooooooowwwww fuck, aaaaahhhhh, ha, ha, ha...ha,
ha, ha...sotp, stop...aaaaaahhhhhhhh..." He alternated squealing and
yelling, telling me to stop which only increased my efforts, and made him
clench his ass cheeks tight and continue to strain his feet in a hapless
effort to avoid the maddening tickling.  I did this for almost ten minutes,
making sure I wore him out a bit, before my hands began their trail up his
legs again, luxuriating in the thick and increasingly damp hair covering
them.  The perspiration was half fear, half exertion from the
tickling...but it all worked well, to make him seek a moment of quiet
respite and he didn't insult me as my hands felt him up on this trip.

When I got to his butt, I let my fingers push the damp material of his
boxes into his crack, and my index finger began to root a bit, searching
for the magic portal.  He grunted, and then begged.

"Aaaaaagggghhh...shit...please, please don't...fuck...please...don't do
this..." and he clenched his cheeks tight, hoping to avoid the inspection
that was inevitable.  I had a way to deal with unruly boys who tried to
resist...I pulled out the small slapper I had and snapped it against the
nearby counter.  He reacted by turning his head, and again scrabbling his
fingers and crinkling his toes...the realization that something bad might
be about to happen.  It was time for me to speak to Justin.

"Justin, you don't know me, but let me make it clear, you will do
everything I say and cooperate, and if you do, you'll be okay and be home
sooner than later.  But son, if you don't cooperate, I'm going to have to
keep you as long as it takes to make you understand who is in charge here.
Do you understand me, Justin?"  My tone was slow, deliberate and calm, and
as I spoke, I let my index finger tease into his deep cleft, and gently
tease and tickle at his tightly clenched portal.

"Why are you doing this, common Mister, I just wanna get back to school,
lemme go and I won't tell anybody, common, please---don't!  Please
stop...don't touch me like that, fuck...please, Mister."  As he spoke, my
finger increased its intensity in terms of wriggling into his now
perspiration soaked trench, and as I increased the pressure, his voice rose
and became more excited.

"Justin, just one more time, I'm going to ask you to cooperate."  As I
spoke, again deliberately and calmly, I snapped the slapper against the
edge of the recliner near his thigh, and he shuddered from surprise as the
shock of the sound registered near his body.  "If you keep resisting, I'm
going to punish you, and its just going to increase the time you spend with
me...do you understand?"  Then, as he still clenched his ass, I quickly and
suddenly snapped the slapper against his near butt cheek, and left a slight
red imprint under his damp boxers.  It wasn't meant to hurt, but to shock,
and it achieved its goal.

"Jesus...oh my god...Mister, please...fuck...oh God...Mister, please, don't
hurt me...don't hurt me!" he almost squealed.

"I won't Justin as long as you cooperate, so now, stop clenching you ass
muscles, and from now on, don't resist anything I do.  Otherwise, I'm going
to have to spread those handsome ass cheeks, and use my crop on you
asshole...and that will hurt...get my meaning, son?"  In a ginger, almost
defensive way, Justin began to force himself to allow my finger the room to
wander inside his crack...and slowly, I reached his sweet tight slit, and
scratched my fingernail against it through the soggy boxers.  This time,
his toes strained outward as he forced himself to comply with my
instructions in spite of his revulsion and fear, and when my finger tip
tickled the ragged entrance, something happened he did not expect, he
groaned loudly...Uuuuuuuuggggghhhhhhhh."

I looked under the raised surface of the recliner, and as I had it
designed, the opening at his crotch revealed the thick, stubby head of an
erection, thrusting through the fly of his boxers and exposed under the
recliner.  I reached under and slid a cloth collar with a Velcro fastener
around the beefy joint, and then secured it beneath the recliner to a bolt
in the floor.  That way, Justin's big boner was secured under the table so
he could not pull it back out, and the oversized knob was fully exposed to
my ministrations.

Now I grasped a pair of shears and cut off his boxers, revealing the hairy
trench of his ass, and let my finger dance and pry, finally tickling my way
into his hot, clinging hole.  Initially he couldn't help himself, and he
started to resist, so I whispered into his ear that bad boys had to be
punished, and snapped the slapper against his taut ass cheeks.  He yelped
in surprise, and begged me to stop, saying he promised to be good.  I
responded in calm tones as the slapper came down on his pale, hairy hinny.
"Whap, whap, whap..."  "Now I know you'll be a good boy Justin, a very good
boy..." "Whap, whap, whap..."  I hit hard enough to get his attention, but
not so hard as to hurt him or leave welts.  I must say, he ground his hips
into the table, and I wondered how he'd looked trussed up gagged, and
bound, fucking a girl as someone administered stinging swats to his
beautiful ass.  Looking under the reclining table, I also say that Justin
was a bit of a kink, his thick prick remaining rock hard and leaking after
his spanking.  I returned my fingers to his hole, and warned him against
any further foolishness... he whinned and moaned, but let me have my way.
Within minutes, I was gently masturbating his boy pussy, rubbing his fuck
nut, and making him wail and tug his prick as he moved his hips, but there
was no escape.

"Oh Jesus, Mister...ooooooohhhhh fuck...fuck...ooooooooohhhhh
shit...aaaaagghhh" "Ooooooohhhhhhh God...aaaaaaagggghhhhhh."

>From the level at which I had the recliner, I could easily reach under it,
and as I gently finger fucked Justin's itchy, hot hole, a place he had
never touched or investigated himself, my other fist cupped his bloated
fuck knob, and using a very soft touch, twisted my fingers and rotated my
palm around his leaking glans.  He couldn't pull his cock away, and his
toes again clenched helplessly while his hands scrabbled futilely, and he
begged sweetly.

"Oh god, oh Mister...oooooohhhh fuck... ooooohhhh it tickles... Stop, stop,
Mister, aaaaggghhhh...no, no...aaaaaahhhhhh, Jesus...help me...aaaaahhhh it
TICKLES!"

"Yes, Justin, it tickles, and we're gonna tickle it all night and see just
what a big boy like you can do..."  It took thirty minutes of teasing,
bringing him to the edge, then backing off and trying again, but Justin
helplessly shot a load worthy of a big boy, and filled almost half a shot
glass held under his flaring knob, and wide piss lips.  Then I teased two
more loads out of him in this position, and fed it to him before I would
agree to let him go.  The last time he came I used an electric tooth brush
on his glans, corona and circumcision scar.  He wailed and squealed so
sweetly as I tickled him mercilessly, and his toes clenched till they were
white from the pressure, before he ejaculated one last time.  I let the
bristles dance over his now exhausted cock head what he thought was one
last time, making him cry out and beg he would do anything if I just
stopped.  That was what I wanted to hear, so I retied him face up, his legs
over his head, and let him watch me as I masturbated him yet one more time
for good measure, this time into his mouth held open with a funnel gag.  As
the dregs of his last cum drained into the funnel cone, I smiled as he was
forced to swallow his own swill, and I tickled his Adam's apple with my
index fingernail as it bobbed.

The next dose of knockout drops was concentrated and the photos I took were
perfect.  Justin returned to school the next day, but from that night on,
he had a secret craving for fingers up his tight, blond ass, and his cock
was often made hard by boys who touched him in casual, buddy ways making
him blush in fear and secret longing.  It took another ten years, but his
secret was discovered by his boss at a construction firm where he worked
trying to support his wife and young child.  He ended up with a cock cage
and anal prod secured up into him every day and often many nights—only
freed to service his wife.  My prick leaked when I heard the news,
imagining how stiff and horny Justin would be most of the time, waiting for
his master to generously milk him dry when the occasion warranted it.

But Justin had been a passing dalliance; he was not the catch I was after
on this trip.  I was on my way after bigger prey.  I had learned of an
ex-Marine, now a security guard at a local prison, who had been married,
but at 31 had been divorced for four years.  Strange thing about this
security guard, while he hung out with the boys, and drank beer and talked
pussy with the best in deep masculine, kinda meathead tones, he went home
alone at night.  That peaked my curiosity and I decided to learn more about
him.

He grew up in Boston, the product of Irish and Italian parents, dark hired
smooth bodied; a big dumb chunk.  He was horny before he became an altar
boy, and even as he went to confession and said his "Hail Marys" he was
masturbating, sometimes under his robes.  It started by watching
professional wrestlers on television as a kid.  He would grind his eleven
year old four inch cock into the rug on the floor and achieve dry cums as
the men strained and fought, rubbing their big bodies against each other in
skimpy, clinging uniforms on the screen.  His eyes would close as the
powerful sensations overtook him, sometimes making him writhe and shake,
his pricklet expanding, and its fat knob scrubbing against the rough
carpeting.  But he had to be careful that his parents and siblings did not
know what he was doing, even as his preteen prick expanded and throbbed
from the sweet sensation. The sight of some big guy being subdued by
another guy, forcing him to submit using a sweaty, almost naked body to do
it somehow made Tony's big boy bone throb.  But he assumed that all boys
liked such things, and never thought for a moment that such feelings made
him less than a man.  Indeed, as his thick penis grew, so did his pride in
achieving cums, its classic dimensions and look earning his solipsistic and
narcissistic admiration.  Boys like Tony were tough and the bigger their
cocks, the more manly they were supposed to be.

He was never a big kid, but as he grew, like most short men, his sexual
libido at times overwhelmed him along with the love for his cock.  When he
started to cum, he would find ways to grind his prick into the cushions of
the sofa or in his bed, encased in a wash cloth or cotton gym sock, and
blast loads of sticky, slimy boy juice as often as was possible.  His
strong rump would rise and his does would bend backwards as he drove his
growing penis into anything that would chaff it into submission.  He would
even jerk off at school, in the john after P.E., using his damp jock strap
to wrap round his boner as he stroked his prick to the panting cums he
needed so often and so badly.  From the day he started watching the
wrestlers on the T.V., he liked the way some guys would take charge, and
others would just take orders.  Tony had to be a tough kid in his
neighborhood, but he liked being strong and silent, liked being the tough
follower, never the leader.  He was always one of the king's men...making
sure that things got done, and order was established.  Inside, he wanted
one of the boys he knew to take charge of him, but he just played along,
did whatever the guys did, whatever he was told without betraying any sense
of submission.  He was a strong, Catholic, meathead... destined to be a
Marine and do what he was told on an official level, and to have a body
that girls would want to touch and stroke.

My contact who had scoped out Tony, actually Anthony James Michael Bruno,
said he grew up street wise, but shy.  At the age of fourteen he started
screwing neighborhood girls, mostly because he needed to cum and
masturbation wasn't as good as someone touching him, making him cum.  The
girls he looked for were ones who would dominate him, take charge when they
fucked.  He liked that.  Once, one of the girls he was screwing reached
around and spanked his ass as he drove into her...and he came like a
bull...his imagination taking him places that he shared with no one.  When
he was a freshman in high school, he started to play football, and he
learned how good a mouth could feel, not from a girl though, but from
another guy on the team.  The two of them had decided to stay after
practice one day, and were screwing around on the wrestling mat, when he
sprung a stiff, thick, 6 inch boner.  The kid noticed, but said nothing
until they were halfway home in a park that they often cut through on the
way home.  He asked Tony if he had thrown a boner when they were wrestling,
and Tony blushed, flustered, and said yes.  He wanted to lie, but this guy
was taking charge, forcing the issue, making him confess.  His buddy, told
him that he could help him, and told him to come with him to the park
toilet.  Tony began to sweat, but his friend was so bold, so strong, and
was telling him what to do.  He just followed, quietly, and inside the back
stall, his friend shoved his jeans and briefs to his ankles, and reached up
under his t-shirt to pinch and tug on his nipples, while sucking his cock
furiously.  Tony had to grab onto the tops of the low partitions with both
hands to steady himself and his knees felt weak the moment the hot, wet
mouth engulfed his bulging glans, the tongue lashing round the sticky knob
whipping it into surrender.  He blasted the most intense load of teen sperm
he had ever shot---into another guy's mouth, and from then until he
graduated from high school, he wished they would end up in the park, or his
buddy's garage, having his cock blown to oblivion.  But they never spoke of
it again, and Tony did what he did best, he followed.  So his cock ached
for his buddy's hot mouth, but unless he took action it would never
happened again.  That wasn't Tony Bruno...it never happened again.

Tony was an offensive guard on the football team, and there he just did
what guys in the trenches do, block and hit, whatever the quarterback
says...in tandem, like good soldiers.  No one knew, but when the
quarterback barked orders, or yelled at the offensive line, it would make
Tony's prick harden—especially when he got mad and swore, calling the
line pussies, and telling `em "to fuck" the guys across the line.  He loved
it when he hit the guys on the other team, and they would knock him to the
ground.  Later, out with friends, he would find a girl to screw, get drunk
and fuck to the memory of those big boys hitting him and knocking him down,
or the handsome quarterback pointing his fingers and swearing.

The day he graduated he signed up for the Marines, and within a year, he
was married to one of the girl's he had screwed most often as a senior in
high school, one who put up with no shit and gave the orders he liked to
hear in the bedroom.  It was not so much that he loved her, but most of the
guys in the barracks had girls or fiancés, and Tony just wanted to fit in.
In the gang bunkhouse of the barracks, there was little chance to jerk his
bone, and he only had privacy in the latrine on occasion.  It was hard
work, drill, drill, and an occasional wet dream that marked his first two
years.  Strangely, the dreams were not of his wife, but weird dreams of him
in his Marine uniform wrestling with guys from the football team, and
somehow, at the end, his turgid prick would pop streaming ropes of thick
spooge into his shorts and onto the bedding, and his nipples would go
stiff, almost aching.  But Tony would not face these signs.  Instead, when
he had leave, he would go home and screw his wife silly, fucking like a man
on a mission, loving it when her nails scraped across his back, and she
swore at him, calling him a big dumb bastard, and nothing but a prick
without a brain--- demanding that he satisfy her.

Tony left the military after six years, and three years later he was
divorced.  He never really explained to his friends why he and his wife had
split, but that was Tony, few words and a quiet private life.  After a
while she grew tired of his dumb jock routine, and even her orders were not
reaching the level of satisfaction he needed.  But still he did not
confront his needs directly.  He just started a new routine and masturbated
to relieve his constant horniness.  When he joined the prison security
force after he left the Marines, he was always on time, clean and neat on
every work day, but with a quiet almost distant demeanor.  He would go out
with the boys on Friday nights to drink or go to a baseball or basketball
game, and once in a while they would get together for a road trip on the
weekends, but Tony said very little about his life.  He would laugh at the
jokes, talk pussy---mostly blushing, and he would join the guys in making
comments about the cunt they saw on the street or in bars.  But that was
it.  Little did they know, there was little more going on at home.

During the last year of his marriage, he started going to a seedy adult
bookstore at the edge of town.  In dark sun shades and with a baseball cap
low on his brow, he would go into a dirty stall at the end of the
bookstore, latch the door, and drop in three dollars in quarters.  The
first time, he kneaded his erect prick through his pants as he watched one
of the queer S & M films where a guy dressed like a Marine was subdued by
two others, stripped, bound and masturbated then fucked.  He had to take a
wad of Kleenex and stuff them into his fly and briefs to prevent the flood
of thick spooge squirting from his cock from wetting through his pants and
embarrassing him.  As he got up to leave, he saw a long, thick penis
sticking through a hole in the booth, dripping pre-cum.  He was freaked
out, and hyper-ventilating, but it did not stop him from coming back again
in two weeks.  This time, he alternated between watching the screen and
staring at the hole in the booth wall.  Finally, a finger came through the
hole and beckoned him to come to it.  He just stared, but when a napkin
came through the hole and fell onto the floor with writing on it...he
hesitated, then picked it up and read.  The note said "stick your cock
through the hole and I'll suck it."  He kept reading the note for what
seemed like minutes, staring at the words and thinking back to his buddy in
high school.  Finally he stood up and ignoring the glory hole, began to rub
the thick mound of his pants where his prick was pulsing and leaking in his
briefs.  After ten more minutes, he loosened his fly and pushed down both
his pants and briefs to his knees, exposing his unusually thick, six inch
cudgel with his legs slightly spread.  He did not touch his throbbing
boner, but looked down occasionally to watch drips of his clear pre-fuck
drool from the wide piss lips, down to the floor, and then returned his
gaze to the movie whirring ahead on the screen.  But then, without any
warning, he abruptly turned and slid his fevered boner through the glory
hole and hot wet lips, like the ones he had dreamed of since his freshman
year in high school, closed around his fat knob.  Minutes later, panting
and thrusting his hips, he was spunking bolts of jism into the vacuuming
mouth that seemed to hold him captive, forcing him to stretch out against
the partition and surrender to the unrelenting, siphoning lips.  From that
day on, about once a month, Tony would get his prick sucked, his hands
spread up against the wall as his cock was serviced and suckled into
submission, his nipples aching as they poked through his shirt and brushed
against the hard wooden partition.  He ground his body as closely as he
could against the wall, to get as much of his penis down the cocksucking
throat on the other side; fuck it felt so good he would close his eyes and
whine softly from the sweet, overwhelming sensation, and the sense that he
was helpless, in the control of the mouth on the other side of the wall.

After his wife left him, Tony went on the internet and found porn that
peaked his interests, both femdom and male domination sites.  And he would
find the time twice a week to fuck a fake cunt he had purchased on the
internet in the form of an inflatable plastic life size doll.  Yet even as
he fucked the doll, sometimes decked in his uniform, he would blindfold
himself, occasionally tie his hands behind his back, and even gag himself
once in a while.  On those occasions, he would shoot wads of thick gism
into the doll's pussy, lined with soft material that he could replace each
time and lubricate with soft tissue pads.  And when he came, he would
imagine guys from the Marines whom he had known, or guys from the prison
guard force, or even prisoners, who would be directing him in screwing his
"woman."  He was never in charge, and it made it all the more exciting to
Tony to imagine that these tough men were in charge of his sexual activity.
Anthony Bruno would still go to Mass, and even confession---and he was an
active member of the prison guard weight lifting team, going with the guys
on competitions that transformed his body into a tight, powerful machine.
He wasn't a pro, not cut and defined too sharply, and without an ounce of
fat.  But he was in top condition, as much to work out his constant sexual
tension, as to make him strong.  Tony would throw erections constantly, and
had to resist the temptation to jerk off each morning when he stood in his
bathroom to piss, his morning boner and beautiful body reflected in the
full length mirror as he finally willed down his erection and pissed.  Here
was a guy who was ready for selection, training and shipment, and I would
need to get some of his buddies among the local cops to help me, albeit
reluctantly.

Among the Suffolk County troopers were three cops named Dom, Chet and Rick.
I knew Dominic Christopher Morelli from a contact in the local lap dancing
clubs.  He was a regular, and one night he got caught buying a cunt for a
fuck on tape, after a lap dance.  From that time on, my contact made sure
that Dom was a "recruiter" for us.  He could stay with his wife and family,
nothing would change...but once in a while he was ours to use in a special
sting or just for the fun of it.  He hated those times, but knew that his
identity and life as a cop depended on our generosity.  If he produced,
then he had nothing to worry about.  Dom was a pure Guido, a dark-haired
Italian beef stick, with 7.5 inches of bull uncut cock, and heavy, hanging
nuts.  He was covered in dark whorls of curly hair over his pale skin, and
everything about him was big...his feet, his hands, his chest, his
nipples...his ass.  He was a big boy.  Even at age 30, Dom was beginning to
go just slightly salt and pepper, but at 210 lbs. of motorcycle cop, he was
a wet dream cum true.  Women would throw themselves at Dom and his buddies,
but most of the time they would go home with hardons and talk pussy.  Dom's
one night of indiscretion, cost him for years, and eventually would cost
him even more.

We roped two other meathead cops, law and order types, conservative on the
outside, but eating other men's wives' pussy and fucking them when they
could.  We used Dom to help us, help us get photos, audio tapes and video
occasionally on two other guys without them ever knowing how they were
compromised.  Chet Daniels and Rick Hamilton were the two muscleheads we
corralled.  The troopers and the cops from the local prison often drank
together at a pub outside Boston, near to where Tony worked at a club on
off-hours as a bouncer.  My operative made sure the blackmailed cops knew
exactly what they had to do, to meet my demands.  Their job was to secure
Tony for me.  Dom persuaded Tony to go out with him, Chet and Rick to drink
off the job.  They learned his habits, his schedule, and that he followed a
customary routine.

Finally, my night came.  Dom made sure he had a shift scheduled one Friday
night on the graveyard so he could be at the club when Tony finished his
shift and began the ten mile drive back to his home that followed quiet,
deserted streets through the industrial part of town.  On a back road,
almost an alley between dormant storage facilities, Dom put on the lights
of his cruiser and pulled Tony over.  Initially, Tony buzzed from the beers
he had been drinking, wondered who was stopping him.  But when he saw Dom,
he smiled expecting that his buddy was going to share some info with him
about their next get together, or just to shoot the shit on his late shift.
Dom took off his glove, and extended his hand to Tony, who reached out his
window to shake the big Italian trooper's hand. But when the hands clasped,
Tony felt a prick, and when he pulled his hand back, he looked at his palm
to see a circle of pin-pricks.  It was the last thing he remembered.  His
body slumped over in the seat, and he did not even see Dom reach into the
vehicle to turn the key and switch-off the engine.  My van came from behind
one of the nearby buildings, and soon, Tony was loaded into the back.  My
operative drove Tony's vehicle and Dom, quietly melded into the night, his
cruiser slowly driving out the area and back to his route.  As it turned
out, Dom and his buddies decided to try and pull a fast one on me, but I
would handle that later.  In the meantime, I had a big hunk Irish-Italian
prison guard, and it was about to be my favorite time; training time.

Tony had his uniform in his gym bag in the trunk of his vehicle.  I made
sure we took it with us, since I wanted to film him in his uniform.  When
he awoke, he was reclining, tethered on a back-board.  He was fully clothed
in his uniform, including his hat, boots and Sam Browne belt.  As he came
to...he realized that his arms were secured over his head, and his legs
were slightly spread and secured at the ankles in a manner that did not
allow him to move.  He was gagged, but not blindfolded...it did not matter
if he saw me.  He would never see me again.

"Anthony...you are a fine specimen of a man..." I smiled as I spoke.  His
eyes were almost expressionless, in spite of his situation.  He did not
seem scared, but his eyes did move from me around the room, and his head
turned as he looked.  It was not a startled movement, but a deliberate one.
I flipped a lever and made the reclining board straighten upwards.  As it
did so, Tony's big booted feet hit the floor.  I touched a switch and his
arms which were tethered over his head to the top of the board now rose to
the ceiling, and another switch secured his ankle stirrups to the floor
rather than to the board.  With a careful adjustment, Tony was standing
erect, stretched up, and his feet approximately 3 feet apart.  I wheeled up
a chair and sat down.  "Now that's better Anthony...now I can begin my
inspection," I smiled as I spoke, and removed his gag.  He finally reacted
after gulping down some water from a squeeze bottle I held to his lips.

In the deep baritone of his Boston accent, he spoke; not frightened but in
a curiously curious tone of inquisition rather than indignation.  "Whaaat
investigation...?"

"Why of your body of course, well...at least it's yours right now.
Anthony, you are a perfect piece of male flesh, and I need to confirm my
suspicions.  So, I'd appreciate it if you would cooperate, because if you
don't I'm going to have to use this nasty taser on you, and I wouldn't like
to do that.  You know from your line of work what a painful form of
behavior modification the taser can be.  So I hope you'll be a good
boy...cause that's what you are isn't it Tony, I hope I can call you Tony?"
My smile continued and my voice was so casual that Anthony, like a big dumb
lunk, just acted like the situation was normal.

I repeated my question, asking him if he was a good boy.  He looked
puzzled, but not angry.  "I'm notta boy, I'm a maaan..." was all he said in
that deep monotone.

"Yes, Tony, you are a man, but from now on you're gonna be my boy, my good
boy, and if you aren't then I have to use my taser.  So you're gonna
cooperate, aren't you?"
 H just looked at me, almost expressionless...but I noticed that his fly
was now bulging.  Something about telling him that he was my boy made
Tony's thick penis erect, and it was mounding his uniform fly---fuck I love
bulging crotches.  When I gazed down at it, so did he and he blushed deeply
but said nothing...his eyes averting mine now.  "Yes, I think you're gonna
be my big, good boy from now on Tony." I said with a smug attitude and
tone.

I reached down to his stomach, and unbuttoned his uniform shirt.  His eyes
did not go back to my face, but just looked down at my fingers.  He said
nothing.  After unbuttoning the shirt, I then slipped my index finger
inside rubbing it across his wife-beater t-shirt to root gently into his
deep inny navel.  He just stared at my finger...but as my finger tickled
and scratched inside the sensitive hole—pushing the material in as I
rooted into it, I could see the front of his pants tent even further, and
he took a deep breath...Christ, the big fucker liked what I was doing.

"Oh, Anthony, you like this...feel good does it..." and at the same time I
reached up to his powerful, sloping pecs and could barely make out where
his nipples pushed the rough, thick material out through both t-shirt and
shirt. Clearly he had big, stiff teats.  I used the index finger of my
other hand to scratch across the pec ridge of the stiff material, and when
I did that, his eyes closed and he inhaled rapidly, hyper-ventilating.
Just about that time, his tented uniform pants showed a wet stain at the
location of his fat, oversized cock knob.  His dick had erected so hard, it
had pushed from beneath his briefs and was lodged at an upward angle
towards his hip.  The exposed glans was now drooling his pre-fuck, and
apparently as I scratched into his navel and across his nips, he just
burped more and more.  Fuck, I love ex-Marines and cops...they are bred for
sex, its so deeply part of them, they are helpless to resist it.  I took
his tie and threw iit over his shoulder, and continued to unbutton the
remainder of his shirt, spreading the material exposing the clean white
ribbed material of his wife-beater.  His stiff nipples were poking out the
material, and I could whiff just a bit of sweat mixing with his deodorant,
the only acknowledgement that he was a bit anxious.  I reached up with both
index fingers and scratched across his hard nips, feeling them stiffen more
from my attentions, and Tony's knees buckled a bit and he swung slightly to
one side, his eyes closed.  "Oh yeah, that feels so good doesn't it Tony.
Those big boy tits need attention don't they.  I bet none of the hick girls
you knew in high school, or even you wife knew how badly those big boy
titties needed to be played with, worked, supervised."  I pinched them
gently, and twisted them, and he groaned out loud, his eyes still closed,
forcing his chest out towards my fingers.

"Uuuuugggggghhhhhh...fuuuuucccckkk," he grunted in his "Baston" monotone."

"Yes, that's it, get it all out Tony...tell me just how good it feels and
what you need.  I'm gonna make sure you get just what you need."  I looked
down at his uniform pants and fly, and the wet spot had grown to almost
three inches...shit, this big dumb Irish-Italian beef was a leaker...and a
copious leaker at that...fuck yeah.

I pushed up his wife-beater, and leaned close to inhale the masculine scent
of his hairy stomach, and to lay my head against the firm abdominals so
clearly etched.  I let my tongue thrust into his navel, and reached up
under the material of the wife-beater to reach those pointy tits
unobstructed.  When my fingertips grasped his tit tips and my tongue laved
out his sensitive navel, he grunted and moaned loudly---"Gaaawwwd
Daaammmnn, fffuuuuucccck...aaaaaaaawwwwww," finally allowing himself to
fully enjoy the sweet attention, twisting his hips in the vain hope that
his cock would also be serviced.  This is what this big goofball had always
wanted, through his high school days, through the Marines, and even at the
prison where he was in charge.  Many days he would have rather have been
left to the prisoners to let them manage his perfect body, do things to him
and make him perform for them...especially the younger ones, so cocky and
handsome.  He would stare at their big cocks in the showers, their big,
athletic feet, and their muscular chests crowned by luscious nipples, and
wished he was on his knees servicing them, growing hard in his uniform and
even panting a bit at the thought of being their slave.  Now I was giving
him what he needed, craved and would get from now on.

Within minutes I had him unzipped and his pants at his knees, his gleaming
white briefs damp with ball sweat and pre-fuck, his bulbous cock head that
had escaped from the confines of the white cage was leaking onto his hip
bone, rather than wetting the material of his pants.  I took the fingernail
of one hand and let it trail around his wide coronal ridge, scratching
gently as my other nail continued to flick and scratch his aching tit nubs.

"Aaaaagggghhhh...fuck...oooooohhhhhhhh shit... aaaaaaaawwwwwww," he
grunted, not yet articulating how much he enjoyed the attention, but by
every movement and sound surrendering to it.  He had not ejaculated in two
nights and his balls were full of his crud and his prick was desperate to
be fondled. This was so much fucking better than screwing his fuck
doll...and Jesus, his nips were getting pinched and twisted...oh fuck that
felt so good.

His wide piss lips opened again and another long burp of clear sap drooled
out, adding more to cover the straining glans now fully basted with his boy
juice.  So I grasped the sticky glans with my index finger and thumb and
rubbed, twisting at the same time, just enough to tickle him insanely, but
not enough to bring him over the edge he so desperately wanted.  His hips
bucked out, thrusting into my teasing ministrations, the tickle so sweet he
had to have more.  Then he pulled his hips back in the next motion, trying
to escape the wicked sensations that were focused on the helpless cock tip
in such a manner as to tickle and not to satisfy.  But I stayed with him,
sitting down and staring at his beautiful body in that uniform, opened and
exposed and helpless being milked and teased, swaying as I masturbated just
his fevered knob, making him squeal and whine, until he finally spoke.

"Jesus Christ...please stop, yer fuuucking killing` me...aaaaaaggggghhhh,
shit...please man, please, yer killin' me!"  He still had not expressed any
anger at his situation, only that he was aggravated that I wouldn't stop
teasing him.  I stopped and looked up, his eyes were staring at my fingers
now paused but still clinging to his cock head, rather than at my face,
sweat beginning to drip from around the brow of his cap down his face, his
chest heaving from his panting.  I smiled broadly and then responded,
resuming my wicked fingering, but much more slowly and even more gently,
barely feathering his pulsing glans.  He winced and groaned...thrusting his
hips out again, hoping to get a more thorough wanking.

"Tony, you are a brazen slut, a straight acting male who wants nothing more
than to have his big cock played with, but not by women, but by a man who
can make you toe the line.  And I'm gonna train and prepare you for that
life Tony, make sure we find someone who can supervise that unruly
fuckstick, and keep it under control."  He looked at me with the first
indications of fear, but it was tinged with hapless lust as my fingers
danced over and around his wet prick knob.  Instead, he began turning his
head back and forth, eyes shut, moaning softly and saying
"No...No...please, you can't do this man...please, don't fuuucck with
me...shit... please, aaaaggghhhhhhh."  But there was no passion in his
pleading, only submission, and I teased his prick tip mercilessly to the
edge of ejaculation, and left him panting and bucking.

After an hour, I pulled his briefs down to his knees to join his pants, and
let his untouched shaft snap up and slap against his abdomen, I pushed his
t-shirt up over his tits, exposing the turgid nubs and the sloping pecs.  I
wheeled over a cart, and picked up two small clips with slender wires
attached, and after licking and sucking, and gently biting his tits, making
them as stiff and hard as I could, I clipped both.  He winced again, and
groaned, but there was no begging, those slutty nipples finally getting the
kind of treatment they had needed for years.  Then I got down on my knees
and sniffed his big, smooth testicles, wet and funky with his pungent ball
sweat, but like a perfume to me.  I lifted the big nuts up, and there was
his ragged slit, exposed in his slightly spread legs, just revealing the
crack at the bottom of his ass cheeks in this position.  I produced a small
half inch round anal prod, four inches long and also wired.  As he watched,
I lubricated it with a gel I dipped it into, wearing surgical gloves to
protect my hands.

"You know Tony, I'll bet when you used to grind that big dick into girl's
pussies, you wished they'd take their long fingers with those red
fingernails and drive them up you asshole to soothe something deep
inside...that empty feeling, huh?  Well, I'm not going to leave you
unfulfilled son, I'm going to make sure that we get at the core of your
needs.  See this sticky lube, it's from Brazil.  Got a buddy down there who
gets it from the tribes in the interior of the Amazon.  You know they say
this stuff could make a man scratch himself to death.  That's why I gotta
keep you shackled when we use it on you...Oh, don't worry, I got an
antidote.  It's simple actually, but until I douche you with it, your
rectum is gonna feel like there is an army of ants crawling up inside you,
and it will itch like a son-of-a-bitch."  His eyes went wide, and he began
to hyper-ventilate again, but his cock was rock hard, leaking more and more
sap.  Yeah, I know my boy bitches.  I gently parted his ass cheeks, to
expose the ragged slit of his anus with just a patch of dark hair around
his rosebud, and then began to screw the small prod against the puckered
lips.  Within moments, the itch at the entrance of his butch male cunt made
him swing his hips wildly and start bellowing, forcing me to stretch him
more tautly to prevent his gyrations from preventing my efforts.  It took
about five minutes, but I eventually got the little prod lodged deep up his
fundament, its rounded head with numerous little bumps, brushing up against
his fuck nut.

"Oh Jesus fuck!..`AAAAAHHHHHHHH...OOOOOOOOOHHHH NNNNOOOOOO. FUCK, SHIT,
MAWTHER FUUCCKER...AAAAAAAAGGGGHHHH, HELP, OH GAAWD, STAAWP IT... STAAWP
IT...OOOOOOHHHHHH MY GAAWD...NO...NO...IT'S KILLIN` ME...OH JEEESUS... WHAT
IS DHAT, ITS ITCHIN'...STAAWP IT...OH FUUUCCK...OH MY GAAWD...STAAWP IT!"
Finally, I got the big Irish-Italian mug to beg and whine like the pussy he
was underneath, but to tell the truth no straight Navy Seal could resist
the power of that gel.  I once saw a sixteen year old girl tied
spread-eagle on a bed have waves of orgasms after the stuff was slathered
into her pussy lips and over her clit, and a soft brush was fixed to barely
make contact with her writhing flesh.  She finally fainted after screaming
for thirty minutes.  It was unbelievable, and so were the sensations
coursing through Tony's anus and rectum.

Finally I pulled out the piece de resistance, a clear plastic cap in a
flexible elastic sleeve.  The cap slid over the bugling crown of Tony's
cock, and had a rubber gasket around it that allowed the cap to snap just
under his coronal flange.  Tony was one of those guys with a very wide
corona, so the gasket clung securely under his prick knob and to his shaft.
The cap was lined with a soft set of bristles that were also clear, and
looked much like "angel's breath" used at the winter holidays to make
mantles look like they were covered in snow.  These were in fact a form of
conduit that conducted electrical current over and around whatever the cap
sat upon.  It worked superbly with the gel, combining the ferocious itching
with a pulsing vibration that would not allow the victim to achieve
ejaculation, but made him feel like he needed to rub his cock knob
furiously to relieve the awful tickle.  Unfortunately for Mr. Anthony
Bruno, there was no hand free to help him, and none that was willing.

I switched on the little prod that was still firmly installed in his
rectum, and when the vibrating hum reached my ear, I could see Tony's eyes
were wide...and the words that came out of his mouth were music to my ears:
"AAAAWWWWWW Jeeesus AND Maary, fuuucck...AAAAAGGGHHHHH,
NO. NO...MAWTHER-FUCKER...AAAAAHHHHHH, SHIT,
STAAWPIT---STAAWPIT...OOOOOOHHHH GAAWD DAMN...FUUUCK...NO, NO---HALP, SHIT
PLEASE HALP ME...AAAAAHHHHH FUUUCCK NOOOOOOOOOO!"

"Tony, I'll be back in about thirty minutes, the effects of the gel will
begin to subside, but some of the itching will continue to be intense...  I
like the way those titties of yours stay nice and stiff when you're
aroused...here, lemme pinch `em a bit to take your mind off your asshole
and prick."  I bent towards his chest removing the clips and put one of his
rigid nips into my mouth, gently biting it, and letting my tongue lave it.
At the same time, I scratched my index fingernail across the tip of the
other one, gently pinched it, and then twisted and tugged, giving him as
much sensation as I could.  Then I reattached the clips and turned on the
juice, sending another low charge of electricity through his nubs.  His
eyes closed tight, and he was panting fast, sweat pouring down his brow and
face, from under his arms, and on his torso—groaning and pleading.  The
horrible itch was driving him nearly insane, and he was relying on his
training as a law enforcement officer to keep as much control of himself as
humanly possible.  He would still shout, and squeal when an unusually
powerful tickle or itch would make him clench his bowels and drive the
merciless prod against his hard prostate, sending a desperate need to
ejaculate to his cock...but the stimulation was not of long enough duration
for him to squirt his spooge.  No, Tony Bruno was a trussed, dripping, fuck
horny buck, being teased for my amusement.

When I returned to Tony, the guards working for me had finished their work.
He had been unbound and stripped, his clothes soaking wet from perspiration
generated by the awful tickle deep inside him, and the corresponding one on
his fat glans.  His squeals and shouts had been reduced to a panting
groaning, and they had no problem taking him down and removing his clothes.
They stood him up, and attached a spreader bar to his ankles, cuffed his
arms behind him elbow to elbow making his chest thrust out, and gagged him.
Then they leisurely sponged him off, dragging the soft sponges over his
sensitive skin and erogenous zones, from head to toe.  The clips and prod
were removed, and he got a douche, standing up on his toes as they gingerly
slid the enema nozzle into his fundament, and a cock wash that made the
relentless itch subside but gave him another yearning erection, leaving a
constant irritation that sought an unspecified form of relief and kept him
tumescent.

Tony was then placed up on a plastic covered table on his knees.  His head
was placed down on the surface, and his arms remained trussed up behind his
back, elbow to elbow.  His legs were kept spread by the spreader bar and
lashed to the table, his big feet and long toes now free of the boots and
socks, the long, thick toes wriggling over the edge.  His head was also
tethered down to prevent him from moving, and a cord ran from his bound
arms to the top and bottom of the table, but above his body, to tighten his
security.  I had a blindfold put on over his eyes, and then a mister was
placed between his legs, with its small nozzle aimed at his ass pucker,
barely visible in the deeply haired trench of his firm cheeks.  The guards
pressed a button, and out shot a gently focused stream of oiled mist, that
caressed his clenching anus, creating a steady tickle at the entrance.
Tony's thick prick immediately hardened again, aiming up towards his head,
and drooling from the wide, deep, piss lips.  A small bolster with a
cushioned pad covered in soft bristles was placed on the table, just
perfectly beneath his bobbing prick, and secured to its surface by velcro.
Every few seconds, his bobbing prick would droop to the level of the
bristles, and on contact Tony's hips would wiggle from the sensation,
causing the sensitive area beneath the piss lips to get a nice scrubb by
the ticklish bristles.  That would make Tony's big boner lunge back up only
to start the cycle over again in a few seconds, eventually drooping down
against the pad to be irritated and scratched again.  He would gasp each
time it happened...and I felt this current status was worth another sixty
minutes of isolation.

Tony's nipples hardened as his thoughts were dragged back just over a year
to something he had enjoyed at work; an opportunity to express the
perversity that lived just beneath the surface and fueled his sexual
fantasies.  On occasion, prisoners from the local municipalities were taken
to the local state penitentiary when the County jail and their own
facilities were full.  On a Friday night shift at 10:00 p.m., only two
hours before he was to be off, Tony caught a delicious break whose memory
made his prick harden even more as he lay tied on my table.  A punk named
Morgan Ray Anderson had been brought in by a small nearby jurisdiction,
where his obnoxious, drunk behavior at a local country bar had gotten him
arrested.  The local police had arrived to calm down a potential fight
between Morgan and another guy over some buxom blond, but the stupid drunk
Morgan had gotten lippy with the cops and threw a wild punch at one of the
officers.  Forty minutes later he was being processed at the Penitentiary
since the local and county jails were full of Friday night traffic.  In the
process of being arrested, Morgan had gotten a pretty good bruise on his
forehead, and the admitting officer ordered a medical exam.  Morgan
continued his yelling and screaming at the officers, and out of sheer
revenge, the admitting offer insisted that he have a strip and cavity
search.  Unfortunately for Morgan, the doctor also had his hands full in
the infirmary, so he was assigned to an empty clinic exam room for the
women prisoners at the companion facility that shared medical services.
The officers stripped Morgan and took him into the exam room, and placed
him on the reclining exam chair, strapping his thick, hairy ankles and his
size 13 feet into the stirrup cuffs, resting his meaty heels on the foot
rest.  His arms were cuffed over his head, and the officers placed a gag
into Morgan's mouth "to prevent any possibility of him swallowing his
tongue" according to the records, but they just wanted to shut him up and
humiliate him.  The angry, hairy redhead roared into his gag, but he was a
pitiful giant, 6' 2" inches tall, a massive mounded chest, hairy from the
tips of his toes to his fingertips.  At 23 years, he was a well built
machine, designed for the pussy hunt and cunt banging each weekend.  But he
was also as dim as a bulb, and his daily job as a package delivery driver
was just the speed for his 180 lb. frame.

Since no prisoner could be left alone, Tony was pulled from his regular
assignment in the commons area to baby-sit Morgan, and it gave him an
opportunity that made his cock drip, though he did not fully understand
why.  He and Morgan were isolated from contact and with the infirmary for
men over subscribed and holding the doctor captive, he was assured of
privacy for at least 1.5 to 2 hours.  He recalled that when he entered the
exam room, his cock was rigid and his breath was coming in small gulps.  In
his fevered mind, Tony had decided that he wanted to be Morgan, wanted to
be strapped down and helpless.  But he could never admit that or say it.
But he wanted to see how a strong male body would respond to being used
like a toy.  Once he closed the door, Tony took off his hat, and pulled off
his jacket.  He walked up to Morgan, who eyes were narrow slits of hate,
and who was still bellowing into his gag.

Tony looked at Morgan expressionlessly, so excited that the young man's
body was like an extension of his own. He was sweating, wet stains
beginning to appear under his arms, darkening his uniform shirt.  He went
to one of the cupboards and opened it, searching through the medical
supplies.  He pulled out a large tube of medical lubricant, and then found
some small clamps and bandage materials.  He found packets of sealed tooth
brushes given to patients, and medical gloves...all things he instinctively
felt he could use.  He had been going to websites for months, and his
fantasies, when he allowed himself to masturbate, were filled with visions
of male cock control.

He walked up to Morgan, and without even looking into the young man's eyes,
he licked his index finger and lowered it to Morgan's mounded pectoral
muscle, searching through the maze of red hair that circled the areola, he
scratched his fingernail against the erectile flesh and watched as the fat
bud of the nipple nub popped up reflexively to the deliberate stroking.
Morgan's eyes widened as if he had been hit with a cattle prod, and he
bucked up on the reclining chair, thrusting up his hips, and straining
against the bonds that were holding him, even his hapless brain was smart
enough to realize that he was about to be queered.  With firm
determination, Tony kept working the tit, and then gripped the slutty,
stiff nip and twisted it one way, then the other, remembering how girls in
high school gasped when he did that to them.  He had played with own
nipples in the shower, sometimes facing the mirror in the bathroom, and it
made him gasp when he tugged on them, or used a fingernail to worry them.
Fuck, he knew what Morgan was feeling, and it turned him own to see the big
dumb punk helpless and his body responding like the slut that Tony
was... As Morgan's nipple hardened, Tony reached up with his other hand,
licked the fingertip, and went to work on the other tit.  Even as he
bellowed, Morgan's cock began to rise, and his eyes closed, squeezed tight
to avoid seeing what was happening to his body.  Shit, a cop was molesting
him in the goddamn jail...fuck...he was bound, gagged, and alone with this
pervert faggot...oh FUCK!  As the big pale shaft rose, its downward curve
arched like the neck of a flexible lamp---its fat knob bloated and larger
than the stalk itself.  Tony gripped the firm shaft just under the head,
and his smooth palm rolled up and over the glans.  Within moments, the
chaffing of Tony's fist produced bubbles of clear pre-sap from the wide
piss lips, and as he smoothed the natural lubricant into the knob, Morgan
groaned involuntarily, blood gorging his bloated cock and the tickle that
every man craves was itching the fevered cock knob.

Tony kept looking at the door and the clock as he masturbated the big
redhead, and plucked the boy's firm tits.  Tony suddenly stopped both the
masturbation and tit work on Morgan, and quickly slipped a glove over his
right hand.  He squeezed some lubricant onto his index finger, and with his
free hand, he spread the taut, firm cheeks, thick with dark auburn hair.
Using his free index finger to part the hair and scratch the pink halo of
Morgan's ragged slit.  Again Morgan bucked, thrusting himself up to escape
the touch of the faggot cop who was violating him, roaring into his gag
from the thought of some dude violating his sacred portal.  Then just as
quickly, Tony slipped his gloved finger into the breach, and wormed his
lubricated finger into the resisting hole.  Morgan bellowed and squeezed
his sphincter tight, but Tony patiently persisted, scratching and probing,
until Morgan, drunk and struggling to keep himself under control, lost it
when Tony reached up and pinched one of the raspberry nipples thrusting
through the hairy forest protecting each of Morgan's muscled pecs.  Taking
advantage of the distraction, Tony's gloved finger slid up and into the
warm, clinging fundament of the redheaded boy.
AAAAAGGGHHHHHHHHHH...NNOOOOOOOOOOO...AAAAAHHHHHHH! Morgan wailed into his
gag.  Tony abandoned the tit work only long enough to pick up one of the
tooth brushes, and then went back to masturbating the fat wet cock knob
with the bristles from the tooth brush as he simultaneously stroked the
firm knot of flesh he encountered deep in Morgan's rectum.  Morgan's eyes
bulged when the wicked bristles began to scour his bloated fuck tip, and he
continued to squeal and wail, but his hips bucked now reflexively to thrust
his pulsing boner into the worrying instrument of his torture that was
ruthlessly buffing his cock head, scrubbing it deliciously, and chaffing
the coronal ridge, making Morgan's long, thick toes curl tightly from the
overwhelming sensation.

Tony bent down, and closed his lips over one of Morgan's aching nipples,
and sucked hard, nipping and laving the stiff red nub with his tongue.
Morgan had never experienced so much sensation.  For him, sex had always
meant the excitement of driving his trophy prick into a tight, wet snatch
until the gripping cunt muscles mauled his fat knob into an explosion of
spooge, and the power of dominating the squealing, begging cunt he was
fucking. Now it was Morgan's body that was being dominated, and sensations
he had never known were overtaking him.  His ass was aching, and yet the
finger rubbing something up inside him made his cock flex automatically,
and his fat prick knob kept expanding into the relentless bristles of the
tooth brush, wringing pre-fuck and an amazing tickle from the helpless
erection.  Plus he had never had anyone focus on his nipples.  Yeah, a
chick would make him shiver from dragging her sharp nails over his chest
once or twice, but the way Tony's mouth nursed on the little prick like
nubs, competed with the finger up his ass and the twisting fist that was
driving him higher and higher, closer and closer to a massive cum.  A dude
was going to get his nut...AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH FUUUUUUUCCCCCK... NOOOOOOOOOO!
It took only ten minutes, and Morgan began sucking breath in gasps even as
he wailed into his gag, lifting his ass even as Tony's unrelenting finger
fucked in and out of the tight hole.  Morgan's fat glans expanded obscenely
and it went glass smooth as the unforgiving bristles dragged over and
around the huge unprotected knob...then eight long bolts of blue collar
spooge spurted from the flared lips, launching out onto the floor, and
coating Tony's now squeezing fingers.  He stared at Morgan's thrashing,
moaning, helpless surrender to the ejaculation that was consuming him, and
Tony wished he could be on the other side of the fucking and milking
fingers.  Morgan's explosive humiliation was Tony's fondest wish.

The moment Morgan blew his spooge from the taut, bloated cock knob, Tony
dropped the tooth brush and went to milking the cock knob ruthlessly with
his fingers and palm.  As he did so, Tony ejaculated spontaneously into his
own pants.  He knew the moment he saw Morgan dissolve into the massive cum,
the handsome redhead tossing his head back and forth as the sperm rocketed
from his bulging cock head, that that was what he craved and needed.  Tony
was fascinated by the young man's throbbing erection and how the finger up
his ass seemed to make more and more cum burst from the lips.  Finally,
Morgan was whinning, pleading through the gag for Tony to stop as his
finger continued to work the fuck nut deep in Morgan's ass.  Realizing what
he was doing, Tony stopped fucking the finger, and slowly pulled it out,
and wrung the last cum from the sensitive cock knob, making Morgan gasp and
grunt from each twist of his fist, his body spasmodically jerking to the
too ticklish fingers dancing over the still spamming glans.

Tony never forgot that night.  Little did he know that when the prison
doctor later came in to perform the cavity search that his gloved finger
would cause another spontaneous ejaculation from Morgan, his fevered brain
anticipating the amazing touch that Tony had introduced him to...a feeling
he would have to have again, even as he tried to forget how he had learned
of it.  For his part, Tony masturbated to the thrilling image of Morgan's
trussed humiliation over and over, wishing he had been Morgan, and the big
redhead had been in charge of him.  He wondered what it felt like to be
milked from the inside out.  Now, lying on the table, strapped down like
Morgan had been and his ass pucker being teased, Tony was drooling pre-cum
in anticipation of what he had wanted every time he gently inserted his own
finger up his ass while he showered.  Jesus fuck, he loved the way his
finger felt deep up his ass...and how it made his cock cum spontaneously at
times.  Now his prick was pulsing and his sphincter was clenching, waiting
for what he hoped would be what he had always wanted.

I walked up to Tony, and whispered into his ear..."Anthony, I'm going to
slip two fingers in your mouth, and I want you to suck them nicely, licking
my fingers with your tongue, and hollowing out your cheeks to suckle them
as strongly as you can.  But if you bite me, I'm going to cut off your
balls and feed them to you...do you understand?"  I spoke in such soft,
soothing tones he instinctively understood I meant what I said.  I removed
his gag, and introduced my index and middle finger of my left hand into his
mouth.  He started slowly, tentatively, but soon, he was sucking steadily,
and I fucked his mouth like a prick, making sure he understood his
role..."That's it Anthony, that's a good boy, suck Daddy's big
fingers...suck and lick `em, ooooohhhhh yeah, that's a good little slut,
show me how much you like to suck...yeahhhhh!"

"Now I'm going slide my fuck finger up your cunt, Anthony.  I want to see
you fuck that big, butch ass onto my finger and show me how much you
appreciate being finger-banged...cause you know that's what you want and
need...understand.  I'm gonna fuck you front and back, so you know just
what a big boned, hard titted, dick drooling slut you are."  Tony's cock
belched a big drool of clear sap onto the cushioned pad and his prick
barely vibrated over the tickling bristles that continued to rasp against
his bouncing prick shaft and knob.  Fuck, if he could just get some more
friction, he could shoot his cum... Jesus, he wanted to cum so bad.

I used my thick fuck finger to tickle through the wad of dark hair that
fringed his tight anal slit.  The moment my nail scratched against the
hidden entrance, Tony bucked his hips and reflexively drove his ass against
my finger.  Yeah, the big whore wanted it so badly his body tried to fuck
my finger up his hole on its own...and within a minute, my lubed finger was
deep inside the velvet tunnel, soft and slick, until I found his thick
donut and began to gently rub and then more firmly prod it.  He gurgled
around my fingers, trying to speak or squeal, but I didn't give a fuck, I
just continued to finger fuck his mouth as I masturbated his rectum.
Eventually I added my index finger of my right hand with the long fuck
finger, and I watched as Tony's long, thick toes squeezed and spread
helplessly from the aching deep inside him.  I was perfectly balanced,
driving my fingers into Tony from both ends, on his hands and knees, head
down, ass up, bound and spread for my use.  Fuck...it was unbelievable!

I brought Tony to the edge about every ten minutes for an hour...making him
plead finally when I extracted my fingers from his mouth: "Aaaaaaggghhhh,
Jaysus, oh fuuucck, oh gawd...please...don't...don't...aaaaaahhhhhhhh,
please, ooooowwwww."

"Tell me Tony, tell me the truth...say `Daddy, I'm a big boy slut, and I
want you to fuck me till I cum...say please Daddy.'"  He squeezed his eyes
tight, panting and whinning, and then asked me again,
incoherently..."Please owwww fuuuck...aaaaawwwwww, no, no, ah
shit...please, please...!"  I responded patiently, but without stopping my
fingers from their unerring mission deep up his rectum: "No, no...no what
Anthony...tell Daddy, say `Daddy I want you to fuck my big boy ass till I
scream for more...say fuck me Daddy, and make me your bitch...tell me Tony,
say I'm a big boy slut and I need to be fucked and milked for my own
good..."  As the hour drew to an end, Tony, covered in sweat and moaning
constantly, finally surrendered.

"AAAAAHHHHH...JAYSUS...OH GAWD DAMN...FUUUCK...YEAH, YEAH...PLEASE DADDY,
PLEASE FUUCK ME...FUUCK ME AAAAAGGGGHHHH, I'MMA A SLUT, I'MMA A
CUNT...PLEASE FUUCK ME, MAKE ME CUUUM...OOOOOOHHHHH
JAYSUS...MAWTHER-FUUCKER...MAKE ME YER BITCH, FUUUUCCCKIN' JUST LEMME
CUMMMMMMM!"

"I elevated the bristles under his prick, letting them constantly come in
contact with his pulsing shaft, then I reached under his chest and let my
left index finger scratch his nearest nipple, bruising the hard nubbin and
then focusing my fuck finger on his man nut purposefully, not letting up
when I knew he was close, but massaging it ruthlessly.  Tony wailed a long
deep cry, and his cock flexed against the scratching, tickling bristles,
wrenching a massive ejaculation from him.  Cum burst from the wide, flared
piss lips, wetting the bristles and making the unescapable contact even
more unbearable, and coupled with my strumming finger deep inside him, even
as his muscles clenched with each ejaculatory burst, and my other finger
working his hard nip, Tony just surrendered to the sensations he had
imagined and longed for over the years.

After he stopped yelling and cumming, I reached up and milked his still
stiff bone, concentrating on his wet, sticky glans by dragging it back and
forth on the bristle pad, making him plead again for mercy: "Oh
Crwist...stop, stop...I can't take it..oh fuuuck...please...oh Gaawd, help
me...fuuuuck...please...aaaaaaagggghhhhhhhh."  I made him do it my way:
"Tell Daddy you'll be a good boy and do everything I say, and tell Daddy
thank you..."  I chose to make him subordinate himself to me like a little
boy because I wanted to ensure his complete capitulation.  The macho
security guard who had faked years of Mr. Strong and Silent was now my
sniveling slut boy, wanting nothing more than to surrender his big boy
boner to his new master, but I needed him to articulate it, say it, hear
the words from his own hapless mouth.  "Oh Gaawd, yes, I'll be good,
please, I promise, I'll be good...aaaaawwwww, please I'm sorry, I was bawd,
but I'll be good...oh fuuuuck, please, yes, and tank you Daddy...tank you
Dude, please oooohhhhh."

"That's it Tony, that's my big boy..." I stripped the fat, succulent knob
one last wringing time, and then slipped my finger into his mouth, and told
him to suck them clean which he did
enthusiastically..."mmmmggggghhhhh...mmmmmmmnnnnnnn...hmmmmmm..."

Next I had Tony tied standing in a shower and watched as the guards soaped
him from head to toe, and administered two soapy enemas, leaving his hole
clean as a whistle, and gently lubed to allow him to recover.  His cock
sprung another hard bone, and they soaped it under my careful instructions,
making sure his circumcision scar and coronal ridge were thoroughly washed,
but short of another much wanted ejaculation.  He said nothing, but hung
his head with his eyes closed, panting when they brought him close to the
edge...only to leave his penis pulsing helplessly.

That night, before he went to sleep, I explained that he was now the
property of a wealthy owner in Argentina who had selected him specifically
from a field of potential candidates.  He would live a privileged life, but
would never again be allowed to touch his penis unless he was given
permission.  His eyes looked at me fearfully, the gag in his mouth
preventing him from protesting though he grunted helplessly into it.  But
even as I spoke, with him bound spread eagled on the bed, his prick snaked
up to full erection, thrusting up, and leaking again as I described his
subjection.  I held his pulsing, leaking boner, rubbing my thumb over the
sticky glans, and smiling I spoke gently of his new life.  "You'll get to
wear your uniform often Anthony, dressed to please your new owner, often
bound, with your hard prick thrusting out of the fly, leaking streams of
pre-jizz...waiting and hoping that he will milk you dry and give you the
relief you need and want.  You'll thrust out your hips and plead as the
drops of lube leak to the floor, panting and wheezing for a good cum.  But
the days of jerking that fat prick, and shooting scum to satisfy your horny
fuck lust, those days are over my boy.  That big prick is now the personal
property of your new owner, and you'll learn to earn your cums at his feet.
By the way, he's an Argentine internet zillionaire, and he's young enough
to be your son.  You'll start be learning to suck his long, thick athletic
toes...and work up from there."  The moment I said those words his prick
burped a slug of the sticky lube, pooling in his deep navel.  I gently
scratched my fingernail against his circumcision scar, making his prick
pulse and buck, and forcing him to grind his ass into the bed, his eyes
suddenly closed.  I grasped one of his hard tits and twirled it gently,
tugging and pinching, making him once again gasp for release.  But once I
had him worked up and ready, I got up, turned off the light and left him to
his fitful sleep.  He would be bound wrist to ankle and ankle bar,
blindfolded, gagged and a small anal prod inserted into his lovely rectum,
for the trip to the airport, before being tethered to a leather recliner in
a cargo container for his long trip, facilitated by an injected `mickey' to
keep him passive during the long flight.

He looked at me one last time before I left the room, his eyes pleading,
and I smiled and said good bye; "farewell Anthony, dream of how many times
per month you'll be allowed to cum, and how sweet it will be when you are
milked dry."  Then I left Anthony James Michael Bruno, his long, thick toes
wriggling helplessly under the blanket.  I was looking forward to the first
video I had requested as part of the deal, watching his new owner drain
Tony for the first time.