Date: Sun, 20 Aug 2006 20:32:35 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Tables Were Turned, Part Four

THE TABLES WERE TURNED

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories at
groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

The Tables Were Turned, Part  Four


"Look, Tim, please... We've played for long enough....
Why don't you just let me out, and I promise I won't
hurt you...."

"Shut the fuck up, Steve!  One more word, and you'll
be locked in here and left to rot.  I'm not 'playing',
Steve, any more than you were with me and all the
others!   I certainly won't let you out.  And that's
your last reminder about 'respect' - speak properly,
or you'll be punished."

"Sir, please - you don't need me to wank...."

"I don't need you to, Steve, but it would amuse me.
Now, get down to it...."

I went to stroke my cock, turning away from him as I
did so, but he snapped "Have you forgotten the special
position you taught me?"

I don't know whether the blood that was rushing
through my cheeks and turning them red was from anger,
or embarrassment, or both.  I knelt on the hard
concrete (surprisingly difficult, as your toes hurt!),
put my feet together and spread my knees, then sat
"upright", my bum pressing into my heels.  I naturally
had my head bent, I found, as I looked down and
started to stroke my cock.

Try as much as I could, though, and I couldn't get the
damned thing to go hard.  I thought of every sexy
picture I'd ever seen, every woman I'd ever been with,
but it was no use - my cock just flopped there in my
hand.  I could almost see Tim laughing at my plight,
and that made my anger and embarrassment even worse -
I mean, what's worse than being made to wank yourself
in front of a seventeen year old?  Answer: being made
to wank in front of him, and finding you haven't got
the juice to make it happen.  No man likes to be
thought of as impotent, after all, and especially not
in front of a young bloke like Tim.

I was wondering what the fuck I was going to do when
we both heard the sound of a delivery van approaching
in the far distance - the sound carries well up in our
isolation.  "Don't go away!", Tim said, smiling.
"Think sexy thoughts whilst I go and see what this is,
Steve, and then perhaps when I come back there'll be
some life in that tired cock of yours."

He bounded up the stairs, leaving the lights on, and
shut the door - and I heard the lock being fastened,
too.  I wondered who or what it could be, as I hadn't
ordered anything recently, and the neighbours rarely
came to visit.

I was already on my feet when the door opened and Tim
came down, carrying two big packages with UPS stickers
on them.  "These are for you, Steve", he told me.  "I
ordered them off some rather specialised websites,
once I'd cracked your PC.  Not that it was hard -
fancy having 'MasterSteve' as your only password, and
using it everywhere.... I ordered these with your
credit cards... And if I was you, if I was going to
abduct young men and strip them and cane them and make
them wank, I would at least encrypt the photos so that
people couldn't see the sort of crimes I'd
committed..... But, anyway, not to bother...."

He started to tear open the packages and went on "But
you're still not erect, I see.  I wonder whether it's
worth having you kneel there until you do shoot a
load, or your cock is raw from the friction.... But
perhaps not.  We'll exercise  your body today, and
maybe tonight you'll be more in the mood for sex....."

I cheered up as he said this, as once up in the gym
there had to be a possibility of escape.  But once the
first parcel was open, I began to wonder:  Tim came
over to the bars and gave me its contents, and told me
to fasten the leather collar around my neck.  I did
so, with a sturdy buckle at the front, and then he
told me to turn around so he could fasten each of my
wrists in turn into cuffs at the back of the collar.
I stood there then and realised I was helpless - I
couldn't unfasten the collar as I couldn't reach the
buckle at the front, and with my wrists behind my neck
my whole body was very, very exposed - somehow more so
that when my hands were just cuffed behind my back.

"Good, aren't they?", he asked rhetorically.  "In the
catalogue it says they're ideal for keeping strong,
unruly playmates under control.... And I think I
agree.  But look at this....."

He'd finished unwrapping the second parcel, and showed
me something that looked a bit like a standard
domestic torch, but with a thin cane-like thing about
a foot long sticking out from the front.  "Specialised
farmers' suppliers..... This is a cattle prod, Steve.
Touch the tip to a cow or something, and it helps you
herd it.  I got interested when I saw all the warnings
about humans not touching the end..... Shall we see?"

He fiddled with something on the handle of the torch,
then lightly touched the tip to my bare skin, just
above my belly button.  I screamed - a desperate,
terrified scream, as the pain shot through me.  I
couldn't help myself - I fell to the floor.

Tim looked at me through the bars, and said casually
"Not as dramatic as a caning, perhaps.  But a lot more
effective.  And that was only on a quarter power,
Steve.  From now on it's set to fifty percent, so if I
were you I'd be very, very careful to keep away from
the tip of this thing:  you've got an awfully large
area of bare skin exposed, haven't you?  And it only
takes a little touch...."  As he spoke, he lunged
almost playfully towards me, and I scrabbled
backwards, terrified.

He laughed.  "Good, Steve - your body knows what's
best for it!  Now I'm sure I'm not going to have any
trouble, am I, as I open the gate and we go up to the
gym?"

He waved me back with the prod thing as he opened the
gate, then effectively "drove" me up the stairs.  As
we reached the top he said calmly "I wouldn't try to
run for it if I were you, Steve - a man with his
wrists behind his neck can't run as fast as a young
guy like me.  And if I have to chase after you, I'm
not sure I'll be able to prevent myself from ramming
this thing at full power right up your arse!"

I walked sullenly across the living room to the gym,
and he put me on the running machine.  "A nice seven
miles, Steve....  I want you sweating, and a bit
tired.  And I've learned a lesson, see:  you relied on
me staying on the machine, but I'm going to put this
belt around your waist and chain you to it - what a
lot of interesting things there are in that cupboard
downstairs.... I wonder how many of my predecessors
suffered with them?  Did you have tough, resilient
lads who tried to escape, as I did, Steve?"

"Yes."  I spat out the monosyllable, then, as he waved
the prod in my direction, added "...sir."

"But none of them did?"

"No... Sir.  You were the first.  They all made an
attempt at it, then I caned them.  Then some made a
second attempt as you did.... But I always caught
them."

"I suppose they all went down the hill the second
time, too?"

"Mostly.  So they were an easy catch.  One went up the
hill, but I found him, too.  It's a pity, as the ones
who do the second attempt are usually the best of the
bunch - with a lot of spirit and courage, and
generally they're all in pretty good shape, to - well,
before their punishment, that is."

"So if I hadn't outwitted you, I'd have been punished
again?  And worse than that caning?"

"Much worse, sir.  Much, much worse.  It shows you
weren't 'broken', only pretending to be, and that has
to be got out of you."

"Interesting, Steve!  I wonder if you'll 'pretend' to
be 'broken'?"

"Sir, tell me, though, how did you make it?"

"I used my brain, Steve, when you were busy using your
body!  I ran out, and reckoned that you'd think I
would go downhill towards the village again, so that
was too easy.  But I saw your trial bike's tracks
leading up to the fields behind us, so I knew that was
no good, either.... So I simply stood stock still
around the back of the cottage until you roared off -
then came back inside, and went down to the cellar."

"What?"  I was genuinely shocked.

"Well I couldn't stay outside, could I?  It was
fucking freezing out there, and if I had to spend the
night hiding from you, even if I assumed I could evade
you as you charged around the countryside, I'd get
hypothermia.  So I used my brain - I reckoned you'd
have searched the cellar, and wouldn't think that I
might just slip back in.  So I hid behind the door,
and, sure enough, you never thought to search the
cottage properly!"

Tim was laughing, almost sneering at me now.  "I
watched through the half-open door as you got your
money and stuff and took a last look at your bank
accounts on your PC.... Then, when you went off to the
village, I searched the place to find where you kept
that syringe and stuff that you'd used to capture me.
I was terrified when you came back - I knew I only had
one chance to stick it in you, and I didn't know about
the dose:  you got it from the vet, didn't you?  Did
you tell him you had a sick cow or something up here?"

I nodded.  "Well, I hid behind the front door, and
when you came in, I got you!  As soon as you were
down,  I cuffed you.  I must confess I was worried in
case I'd given you too much, but I reckoned any court
in the land would say it was justified if I had killed
you!  But I didn't want that, Steve - I didn't want to
kill you, as I want something a lot better - I'm going
to treat you as you did me and all those other lads."

He stopped his explanation then, and said "Now, up on
the fucking running machine, and make sure you keep up
a good pace - every minute over the target time earns
you two big red stripes on that arse of yours with the
cane!"

Look, I'm really fit, but running with your hands
cuffed behind your neck is no easy thing.  And sweat
was soon streaming off me as I watched the machine's
meter showing elapsed distance and target time
counting down.  I couldn't help noticing what Tim was
doing, though, as he sat at my PC all morning, and I
wondered what on earth he was looking at , as I
couldn't see any porno pictures or anything flashing
up.

When the machine stopped and I stood there with my
heart racing, gasping for air, Tim came over.  "Good,
Steve - but I set an aggressive target for you, and
you went a minute over it.  You'll have to try harder
tomorrow.  And I need to help you understand that when
I set a target, you have to meet it.  Now, lean
forward over the controls at the front for a minute,
will you?"

"Please... I did my best... It's not easy, cuffed...."

"Your best's not good enough, Steve.  Now, fucking
bend over, as I told you, or else your punishment will
be doubled."

He waved the prod thing around as he said this, and
there was not a lot I could do, cuffed as I was and
chained to the machine so I couldn't move far.  I bent
forward, resting my chest on the display at the front.


"So that's two stripes, Steve!  How many did you give
me, when you first caned me?"

"I don't remember, sir."

"I hope you're not lying to me, Steve!  Lying to a
master means punishment.  But I'll let it go - I think
you're rather  wilful, and I'm sure there will be lots
of opportunities for me to give you more punishment as
the week progresses.  But for now....."

He'd brought my cane up from the cellar, and swished
it experimentally through the air.  Then, without
warning, it came down right across my bare arse.

I screamed.  I hadn't meant to.  But the icy, stinging
heat of the cane made me do it.  Then as the crescendo
of dull, aching pain followed it, I tried to control
myself and stop myself from gasping and sobbing.

The second stroke was not so much of a surprise, but
if anything it hurt more and I screamed again.  Then
Tim came and stood next to me and I felt his hand
running all over my bum.  "Two big red stripes, Steve!
 Now you must remember to be a good boy in future, and
do exactly as I say, and be unfailingly polite.... Do
you understand?"

I hated it, but he was holding the cane and the prod,
and so I muttered "Sir, yes, sir."

He undid the belt holding me to the running machine
then, and gestured for me to get off it.  As we were
walking across the living room towards the cellar, he
stopped at the PC.  "Oh, I thought you'd like to see
this....", he said casually.

There, on the screen, was my on-line bank.  He keyed
in my account number and password, and showed me the
account status screen:  there, in clear black letters,
it said  "current balance 0.00, account closed."

Seeing my look of horror, Tim almost laughed.  "I said
you were stupid to use the same passwords everywhere,
Steve!  I'm a rich man now - you made a lot of money
in the past few years, and I have to believe it was
from those lads.... Well, it's all mine now:  I opened
a new account, and transferred all your money in to
it.  You're not only my prisoner, Steve, but you're a
pauper, too.... Or you will be, once I've sold this
cottage to myself, and reregistered that trail bike
and your van, and....."

"Look, please, sir... Can't we do a deal...."

Tim just laughed.  "And what have you got to offer,
Steve?  My freedom?  I already have that.  Money?  You
don't have any, any longer.  Your body for my
pleasure?  Well, I kind of have that, don't I?  A deal
requires you to have something to deal with, Steve!"

"Look, please, sir...."

"Silence!  Speak only when I ask you a question!  Now
get down into that fucking cage, so I can un-cuff you
- I want to go into town this afternoon as I need some
proper clothes -  yours are too big for me."

I went down the cellar steps and he locked me into the
cage, then told me to kneel so he could release my
arms.  He went up into the cottage and came back a few
minutes later with some sandwiches and fruit, which he
pushed through the bars, then said "Now don't worry -
it takes time to get to town, as you know.  And I want
to spend some of my new wealth on clothes and
stuff.... So you'll be in here for some time, but I
will come back.  And I've even been considerate enough
to send an encrypted e-mail to a buddy of mine in the
USA telling him about you being down here so that if I
get in to an accident and killed, he'll get the
encryption key tomorrow separately and will be able to
call the rescue services or something to get you out.
I don't really want you starving to death!"

With that he bounded up the stairs and slammed and
locked the door, and I just sat there, huddled in my
blanket, wondering what the fuck was gong to happen
next!  I'd always intended to stop when I got to the
end of the alphabet as each kid paid a good sum, and I
had a lot of money stashed away - but not any more.
And now here I was in this fucking cage.... Could
things get much worse?

As the time ticked away I realised how bored I was.
There was absolutely nothing to do, nothing to listen
to, nothing to see, and I began to feel a bit sorry
for some of the lads who I'd had to keep down there
for long periods to help in "breaking" them.  I did
some trunk curls as I like exercise, and then some
push-ups, but that didn't last long.  I started to
wank myself, and was glad when I was almost instantly
erect and shot a few minutes later - at least I wasn't
impotent, and my earlier problem must be due to being
forced to do it in front of, and at the order of, a
seventeen year old!  I had nowhere to put the cum,
though, as I didn't want to soil the blanket which was
the only fabric I had in there with me, so I had to
lick my hand clean, but that's OK.

I was so fucking glad when the door opened and Tim
came down the steps that I instantly sprang to my feet
(or was it that I was "learning" what  I was supposed
to do?).  But it was a totally different Tim - I'd
only seen him before in my oversize pullover and
jeans, or in his ridiculous "skater's" jeans sagging
down over his bum, with some sweat shirt with an
incomprehensible slogan on it - or naked, of course.
Now he was casually, but expensively, dressed in smart
designed jeans, a shirt that looked as if it came from
a really good shop and not some chain store, and those
expensive shiny chestnut-brown loafers with little
tassels on his feet.  With a pang of jealousy I saw my
expensive watch on his wrist.

"It was great, Steve", he told me.  "Being able to go
around the shops and buy whatever I wanted, and
knowing it as your money!  Now they've got PINs on the
credit cards, no one ever even looks at the signature!
 Mom and dad always kept me pretty short, but I've
always known the sort of stuff I'd buy if I had the
money."

"Have you called your mom and dad, sir?"

He looked sort of guilty. "I suppose I ought to have.
But there'd be too many questions.  They'd want to see
me.  They'd want to know where I'd been.... And I
could hardly tell them, could I?  And they can't come
here where I've got a naked bloke that I'm training...
And you wouldn't want me to leave you here, would you,
Steve?  So I think it's best they're in the dark for a
bit longer.  I've sent them an e-mail, via a buddy in
South Africa, telling them I decided to postpone going
to Cambridge and have taken off 'to find myself' for a
bit, and not to worry. They know I'm pretty
independent, and I said I was doing casual work to
fund the trip...."

"You were going to Cambridge, sir?"

"Sure.  I'm not just a handsome bloke you know!  I've
got brains, too.  I was looking forward to going to
Cambridge, and I expect they'll postpone my place for
a year.  But if they don't - who cares?  With a bit of
intelligent investment of that stash of yours, this
nice little place here to live in... I reckon I'm  set
up for life!"

"There isn't enough money to live on - yet.  Otherwise
I'd have given up myself."

"Ah no, Steve, not quite enough.  But then, you see,
I've got you, haven't I?  I think I'll send you out to
work - somewhere where the wages are really high, even
for common labourers, like London.  You can doss down
somewhere - share a room with a load of immigrants -
and send me most of your earnings.  I won't have to
touch the capital, as I'll have enough income...."

"You can't make me do that.... Sir!"

"Can't I. Steve?  I've compiled a little dossier of
your previous exploits - some of the pictures of those
lads.... And the stuff on where they went..... And
I've filed it with one of those centralised file
stores on the 'net, with instructions to release it
all publicly one week form today.... And all I have to
do to keep you in line, I reckon, is just to roll that
date.  What would you rather your future was, Steve?
Working to keep me in reasonable comfort, as a
labourer in the good fresh air, or what passes for it
in London; or being locked up in one of those rather
unpleasant jails?  And they'll throw away the key, I
reckon, as kidnapping is a really serious crime."

"Look, sir, please... Let's talk about this...."

He just laughed.  "What's to talk about, Steve?  As I
said, you've got nothing left to bargain with.  Your
choice is just a life of hard manual labour for me, or
life in prison.  But I'm not thinking about that yet,
as I've got more training to do of you, haven't I?
Now, come on.... Put this on, like a good chap...."

He handed me the collar and I reluctantly buckled it
on - well, what choice did I have?  It was either
that, or stay in the cell.  Tim then cuffed my wrists
behind my neck again, and, prod at the ready, he took
me upstairs.

As I sat on the floor by the side of the dining table
(with a manacle holding my ankle to the table leg, as
Tim evidently didn't want me even thinking about
making a run for it), Tim busied himself in the
kitchen.  He came in with only one plate, though, and
told me cheerily that of course I couldn't eat with my
wrists cuffed.

The smell of his lamb steak, that he'd grilled, made
my mouth water.  He sat there above me, calmly eating
away, then after about five minutes, suddenly thrust a
piece of meat on the end of his fork at me.  I shook
my head, even though I was hungry.  I wasn't going to
be fed like that.

"Oh Steve, I think you're heading for trouble", Tim
said calmly.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not hungry."

"That's got nothing to do with it.  Your master gave
you food, so whether you were hungry or not, whether
you like the food or not, is of no consequence.
You've got to work hard, and so you've got to eat."

As I watched, he put the piece of meat he'd offered to
me into his own mouth, and chewed it. "Mmmmm.... Very
good", he intoned.  Then as I watched he fished out
the half-chewed morsel with his fingers, and put it on
the tines of his fork.... A fork which was soon in
front of me again.  I looked at the meat, now chewed
and covered in his saliva, and shook my head.

"Last chance, Steve - refusing food is twelve stripes
at least, you know....."

My bum was painful from the two I'd had already, and I
couldn't face twelve.  So I opened my mouth and took
in the loathsome piece of meat.  I almost gagged as I
chewed it, feeling, rather than tasting, Tim's saliva
on it.

And so the meal went on - sometimes he gave me "fresh"
meat that he cut a moment before, and sometimes he
chewed and spat on it before giving it to me, and all
I could do was eat it.  Actually, thinking about it,
there's no problem really, is there?   I mean,
saliva's really sterile.  And when you kiss someone,
you exchange a fair old load of it anyway.  So why
should I have been worried about eating meat from
Tim's mouth?

He let me watch TV that evening - sitting naked at his
feet, of course.  He had me rest my back against the
edge of the sofa and then he put his legs on either
side of me, tucking his feet neatly between my thighs
as we sat there.  It was humiliating to feel his jeans
against my bare body, and especially so when he
occasionally ruffled my hair or gave my neck or ears a
little touch.  I didn't get to choose any of the
programmes, of course:  there was a big match on,
England versus Germany, and he would occasionally
"flick through" it as he channel-hopped - he wanted me
to see it was there, as he knew I loved sport, but was
tantalising me with it.  I knew he wanted me to ask,
just so that he could say that a boy in training did
not get to choose stuff, or that I was not to speak
unless answering a question, so I resolutely sat there
silently in a battle of wills.

We watched my porno DVD, too - the same one as before
- and I couldn't help getting hard as we watched the
woman being fucked.  He'd kicked off his shoes now,
and my erect cock brushed against his socked feet as
he sat there, something he noticed, then commented on.
 And once we got to the scene where the two blokes
were fucking, and I'd gone off the boil a bit, he told
me to move out in front, between him and the TV, and
to "get ready to wank".  I thought he was going to
tell me to wank myself, and that would be a good time
to try to escape as he'd have to let my wrists go
free:  I reckoned that if I could overpower him and
get him back down in the cage, I could probably pry
from him the secret of where the "evidence" against me
was filed; and I might even be able to "persuade" him
to give me my money back!

He was smarter than that, though.  He left my wrists
cuffed behind my neck, but told me to otherwise remain
in "the wanking position".  Then, as I knelt there in
front of him, with both of us at an angle so we could
watch the blokes going at it on the TV, his socked
feet began to caress my cock, and tickle my balls!  I
was hard again almost instantly, and Tim smiled
faintly "So, you're turned on by blokes fucking, are
you, Steve?  You're a bit of a fag at heart, I
reckon...."

"NO!  No, sir... I like women, sir....."

"...but you capture young blokes."

"Well that's different - it's my job."

He laughed softly, and carried on stroking my cock
with his feet.  I couldn't help it - I'm used to
wanking twice a day at least, and my balls were full -
I felt my cock starting to jerk slowly in response to
his "teasing", and he looked down and laughed softly
as he saw a little trail of pre-cum dribbling down
from underneath my foreskin.  He gripped my cock hard,
and used his two big toes to 'skin me back, then
complimented me on the size of my cock head and how
lovely and shiny it was.  Finally, he said "Do you
want me to bring you off, Steve?  Shall we get a dish,
to catch your cum, so you can lick it clean
afterwards?"

"No, sir, thank you."

He smiled again.  "I'm thinking of keeping you cuffed
tonight, Steve, so you can't wank yourself.  A big
stud like you needs to learn self control - and I saw
a fascinating thing on the 'net today, a sort of
sleeve to fit over a bloke's cock like yours, to stop
him wanking at all.  It ought to be here tomorrow as I
paid 'special delivery' rates.... This might be the
last time for several days that you get a chance to
shoot... I'm told that your balls really start to ache
if you stop wanking when you're used to doing it a lot
- it hasn't happened to me, of course, but it's in a
lot of stories and stuff.  So, Steve.... Do you want
to shoot now, or wait a week or so?"

I was blushing furiously now, as my cock was really
being stimulated by his feet.  But there was no way I
was going to let him wank me to a climax, so I
muttered "I think I'll wait, sir."

"Brave words, Steve!  Anyway, I'd better stop this,
then, as it's your bed time...."

He led me down into the cage, and told me he was going
to be merciful and not keep me cuffed behind the neck
all night -  so, with his prod thing pressed against
me, ready, he undid my wrists but immediately put them
in the very loose cuffs behind my back - the ones
where I could get my hands to my sides, but  no
further forward.  He left me then, and for a time I
squirmed and wriggled around trying to find some way
of rubbing my cock against things to make me shoot.
It's useless, of course - unless you're one of those
blokes with a very long body so you can curl right up
and get your mouth down on to it, there's no way that
scraping your cock against the concrete floor or
anything is going to bring you off.  I spent a pretty
miserable night, therefore, and when Tim brought me my
breakfast - he sat there and fed me, as I knelt before
him, he was laughing as he saw me still hard and
leaking pre-cum.

The postman had arrived, too, and after I'd eaten Tim
showed me what he'd bought for me - a long metal
sleeve that he slipped over my cock so that not even
the head was poking out, which had a small opening
ring attached which fitted around the base of my
balls, and which then closed and locked.  He spent a
few minutes fitting it to me, and I felt the heavy
weight of the metal dragging at my genitals once he'd
done.  He then showed me the tiny key-like thing, and
said how interesting it was that such a small thing
could take away my sexuality - there was no way  I
could open the ring around my balls without it, and no
way the sleeve could be got off with the ring closed
(except by tearing my balls off!).

I was made to exercise hard all morning as Tim
"played" on my PC, still with my hands cuffed behind
my back, and for the last hour or so Tim joined me -
now wearing my special exercise shorts (although on
him they were almost respectable, as he was not as big
as me).  I hated being naked - well, not exactly
naked, as this obscene metal thing covered my cock -
when Tim was clothed like that;  and, indeed, my cock
and balls were really aching as they were not used to
swinging around with stuff attached to them!

Afterwards, Tim led me to the big walk-in shower, and
turned on the water and indicated I should go in.  As
I watched, he stripped off "my" shorts, and, his cock
bouncing in front of him, he came to join me.
"Nothing stupid now, Steve", he said casually "You're
cuffed, remember?  And even if you do lash out at me
and escape, where are you going to go?  You're a
penniless fugitive, actually - I've changed the PINs
on your credit cards, and you've no money in the
bank.... And even if you kill me, the police are going
to get your dossier....  So simmer down, and let's
enjoy the shower, shall we?"

I knew how I used washing the lads with my hard body
pressed against theirs to make them feel even more
"controlled" and in my power;  and now, as Tim pressed
himself against me, and then began to soap my nips,
commenting on how hard they became, and then pressed
his soapy fingers down my ass crack, I too felt as if
I was now just some sort of plaything for him.  He
even picked up the metal sleeve around my cock and
gave it two or three little "jogs" - which made me go
hard inside.  "How are your balls, Steve?  Sore yet?
I've decided you can shoot when you ask my permission
- all you have to do is to ask me nicely if you can be
allowed to cum, and I'll think about it."

It was down to the cage then, and at last he un-cuffed
me and I was able to rub my arms and wrists - even
with a loose chain, it's tough to be held like that
for a long time.  "You might want to do some press-ups
and stuff this afternoon, as I'll have to cuff you
again this evening", he told me as he went up the
stairs, but all I wanted to do was to fiddle and press
and tug at the sleeve thing to see if I could get it
off my cock - after several painful "winces" as its
holding ring snagged my balls, I gave up.  I did do
some press-ups and stuff as I like to keep in good
shape, but all the time I kept getting erections, even
though they were not very "high" as the weight of the
metal dragged my cock down.

By the time Tim came down to attach my collar and neck
cuffs so he could take me upstairs to feed me, I was
pretty desperate:  I knew I was leaking pre-cum as it
would occasionally trickle over the end of the metal
sleeve, and I knew there's be a horrible build-up of
"cheese" under my 'skin as I couldn't shake myself
properly dry after I'd pissed, either.

I knelt there at the side of Tim by the dining table
as he fed me, as he had done the night before, and now
his socked feet (he didn't seem to wear shoes in the
house) also teased my balls as he casually moved them
around under me, occasionally tapping them upwards.  I
was rock hard, and after we'd eaten, Tim smiled at me
and put his face close to mine. "Is there anything
you'd like to ask me, Steve?  Is there anything you'd
like to do before we watch some porn?  Or perhaps
you'll ask me when the porn is on...?"

He led me over to kneel between him and the TV then,
and seemed to take a positive pleasure in "playing"
with my balls and sleeved cock as we watched another
of my favourites - this time with a couple of blokes
fucking a couple of women, and then ignoring them as
they found they preferred to explore each other.

My balls felt as if they were bursting, and they ached
with the need for release.  I tried to hold out,
knowing hat I'd probably have a spontaneous
ejaculation overnight - if I could sleep, that is -
but it was no good.  Finally I said "Sir, please,
sir.... Please may I wank, sir?"

Tim laughed.  "So, would you like me to watch you,
Steve?  Would you like another man to watch you wank
yourself?"

"Sir, please, sir, I don't mind, sir..."

"...and what about the cum, Steve?  What are you going
to do with the cum?"

"Whatever you want, sir."

He laughed again.  "See, Steve, you're easy!  You're
driven by your balls!  Who'd have thought that a big
strong bloke like you would be begging someone like me
to be allowed to wank in front of them!    But I
suppose I'd better let you, as you've asked so nicely.
 Come on, down into the cage."

He locked me in before undoing my collar and cuffed
wrists, then gave me the little key so I could undo
the band holding the sleeve over my cock.  Then,
calmly and commandingly, he said "OK, Steve.  You can
assume the wanking position, as I want to see what
happens with all that pent-up desire.  But be sure to
catch all the cum, won't you?  If there's any spilled,
that sleeve will go back on for a week at least."

I knelt there, and somehow the overriding sensation I
have is of my heels pressed into my bum.  But my head
was bowed in shame as I started to stroke myself - and
a few moments later, as that was all it took, I had a
really huge load of cum nestling in the palm of my
hand.

"Present it to me!", Tim said softly, and remembering
the way I'd made so many young lads humiliate
themselves, I put my hands together, and, head still
bowed, raised my arms up and forwards towards him.

I knew what he'd be doing - "testing" the viscosity of
it as I had done, but Tim had a subtle variation on
the humiliation caused - he reached forward and rubbed
his cum-covered finger all over my top lip, so my nose
was filled with the overpowering smell of my cum.
"Good, isn't it, Steve - nice and strong.  And really
gluey.  And so white....  A proper load of man cum."

I just knelt there, utterly ashamed, and his tone
changed.  "Steve, you answer when I ask a question."

I managed to muter "Sir, yes, sir", and then heard him
say "OK, then - clean yourself up - you know how to
get rid of it, don't you?"

Look, I've often swallowed my own cum before - it's no
big deal really.  I mean, in the marines, in the
barracks, I didn't want to carry bits of lavatory
paper around so I often licked my hand clean then.
But having Tim watch me was different - I was so
humiliated as I slurped my cum down, and then cleaned
between my fingers with my cum.  One man shouldn't
have to do that in front of another.

Fortunately he didn't make me put the sleeve back on,
and after he'd gone up the stairs to bed, I wrapped
myself in the blankets and wanked again.  And in the
morning when Tim brought me a big bacon sandwich for
breakfast and a mug of tea, I was even feeling
reasonably cheerful.  I knew that if I watched and
waited, and was careful, and respectful to him, I
could probably find some way of escaping.  And once
I'd subdued him as I was so much stronger than he, and
had him back here in the cage, I felt certain I could
get out of him the way of stopping the release of my
dossier.  All it needed was time, and I was determined
to be "the model prisoner".  So I knelt calmly and had
my wrist cuffs fastened behind my neck, said "Thank
you, sir" and all that crap, and tried to look docile
as he led me up the stairs to the gym.

It was Tim who had the upper hand as usual, though:
we didn't go into the gym, but out into the yard where
the shipping crate was still standing.  "OK, Steve -
you know the form!  You've used a lot of these...."

"NO!  You can't do this to me...."

"Oh yes I can, Steve - get in the fucking crate!"

I tried to run, but he sprinted after me and felled me
with  a stab of his prod - I remember screaming and
whimpering as I rolled and writhed on the grass and
mud.  Fearful, tearful, hurting like hell, and covered
in dirt, I was "herded" with the prod back to the
yard.  Tim looked grim as he brought out a hose and
sprayed me with it to clean me off - the icy cold
water adding to my misery.

"Please, sir, please, don't.... I'm
claustrophobic...."

"So was Chris, and Mike, I see from your records....
Now, unless you'd like another good prod, get in the
fucking crate!"

I had no choice.  Tim was determined, I was cuffed,
and he had the weapon.  I swung one leg over the side
of the crate, and then the other, so I was standing in
it.

"You know the form, Steve - sit down!  You even videod
some of the lads going in there - it's been really
useful to me, in knowing what else I have to do."

I sat down, my back against one wall and my toes
against the other - the thing's not very big, so my
knees were bent upwards.  My last chance came when Tim
bent into the crate to tie the restraint around my
belly, to hold my body to the side.  But he was smart,
and rested the tip of the prod on me as he pulled the
strap tight.  Then he fastened my ankles to the sides,
and pulled the straps that would similarly hold my
knees still.

"OK, Steve - I'm going to undo one wrist as I need to
fasten that to the crate, too - don't move, will you?
 If I have to prod you when you're in here, you'll
probably injure yourself as your body spasms."  He
just sounded so cold and calculating, that I knew he
was right, and simply obeyed.  Soon both arms were
along the side of the crate, with my wrists and elbows
secured to the sides.

I've done it myself, so I know the form - but putting
one of those bag things over a cock, the sort old
blokes wear when they've lost control of their bladder
- isn't all that easy.  It took Tim a few goes to get
it right.  Then he looked me straight in the eye.
"Any last words for posterity, before I put in the gag
and the water drip?" - he was confident now, secure in
the knowledge there was no way I could move.

"Fuck you!", I spat.

"Oh Steve.... And I thought I had you almost trained!
I do hope you're not going to regret that!"

End Of Part Fourv