Date: Sun, 15 Jul 2007 19:55:21 -0400
From: Matthew Wilson <deeplyshallow@gmail.com>
Subject: "Wolf"

Disclaimer: No minors are depicted in this story. This is a work of
fiction.

"Wolf"

Copyright Brian Black 2007

CHAPTER 1

That summer he was usually standing around the flagpole near the parking lot
around noon shooting the shit with his friends; blond hair damp with sweat,
shirtless, too- tight adidas track pants rolled up over his calves, tight
around his full ass. He was probably sixteen or seventeen, blond, cocky,
exhibiting a tight and beautiful body that had not yet full matured.
I forgot how I got him into my apartment, with flattery or a bribe, but I
told him I was a photographer and wanted him  for a shoot. He followed me
home; I could feel nervousness and a little excitement radiating off him. I
unlocked the main, let him in, locked it after him. I watched his ass
muscles move under his low- slung pants as he ascended the stairs, the drop
of sweat that rolled down his strong back and down under the damp
waistband.  I let him into my studio, the room across from my apartment. I
put my hand on his shoulder, squeezed the muscle gently.
"You want a beer before we start?"
"Uh, yeah." I got a Bass out the mini- fridge in the corner, opened it,
handed it to him. He sucked it down pretty fast; he looked more nervous. I
knew I had to get him to relax a bit before I could get what I wanted.
"Another?" He nodded, I got him another. He tipped it back, he had his thumb
hooked into his track pants, pulling the waistband a few inches lower. I
thought I glimpsed a bit of soft blond pubic hair. He'd finished his second
beer and was sweating a bit harder. The room was sweltering. I opened him a
third beer without asking if he wanted it and flicked on some of the studio
lights. His discomfort, his sweat was a turn- on.
"Let's start with some easy ones, to get you warmed up. Relax. There's the
rest of that 12-pack in the fridge if you want 'em"
"What'dya want me to do?"
"Just pose for me."
I picked up my camera and snapped a few of him just standing there. He
warmed up a bit and started to strike a few poses, copied directly from
magazine shots of arrogant celebrities. He was so nervous and so vain. Eyes
slanted, muscles tensed. His body was showing off but his eyes were wary, of
me, of the camera.  Some of the sweat that drenched the waistband of his
pants was nervousness, I guess, but a lot of it was heat; it must have been
95 in my apartment.
"This ok?" He kept striking the cliched poses. I had only taken a few
photos, none of them of his poses. I had a nice one of his ass spread under
his adidas as he bent over to grab his fourth beer, another of his lean,
smooth chest stretched out as he drank the last few drops of his fifth, the
bottle tipped up over his head. And I caught a nice action shot of him
stumbling as he walked toward the fridge for his seventh.
"Shit, I'm getting pretty drunk." I hung my camera around my neck and walked
over to him as he opened number seven. I put an arm around his shoulders and
risked drawing him a bit closer to me. He drunkenly leaned into my sort-of
embrace and I figured that he was now lubricated enough to be pushed a bit
outside of his normal comfort zone. I reached for a beer for myself, and as
I did I slid my arm down lower to his waist. His eyes expressed something
between alarm and curiosity.
I reluctantly pulled my arm of his warm, firm, sweaty body and picked up my
camera.
"Look, let's get those trackies off, ok?"
"No way." His words were slurred.
"Take the fucking pants off."
"No way, faggot. No fucking wa-" he stopped mid- sentence as I pulled out my
walled and rolled up two fifties in between my finger and thumb.
"C'mon. Ok, just slide a hand down the front. A little. I'll make it worth
it."
I guess he was drunk enough to be bought, because with a lot of eye rolling
and a little sigh he stuck his hand into his adidas and hooked his thumb
over the waistband, tugging them down a bit.  He revealed a little line of
elastic hugging his hips.
"For 'nother hundred I'll lose em."
Little whore, I thought. "Ok, you got it man. Get your gear off."
He made a big show of hemming and hawing this time but he slid the adidas
down to his ankles and to my great joy stood there, still sort of posing, in
an adorable pair of tight white briefs. I couldn't help but let out a low
whistle. "I want you to turn around and put your hands on the wall, like a
police search." He actually did it;I got great shots of his ass with the
damp cotton a bit transparent, hugging his tight, high ass.  "C'mon," I half
joked, "Spread 'em. C'mon kid, open up wide." He edged his feet apart. I
held the camera low and got a shot up in between his legs. I could see a
sliver of his balls under the cotton and no hair. "You shave?" I asked,
handing him another beer. "Yeah, I guess." He muttered, a little
embarrassed.
"Listen, relax," I said. "This is nothing, ok? A chance for you to bring
home some extra cash and show off a little. Just give me what I want and
we'll be fine."
He drained the beer, belched, grimaced and snorted. "For a thou I'm yours
for the night."
"Great, man! That's great. You got it. I'm getting some great shots." I
could barely help laughing; when he'd said "yours for the night" I'll bet he
had no idea what he was in for.
"Take your briefs off. " I dropped my casual act, this was a command. His
ego and his inebriation predictably eclipsed his suspicion at this whole
situation. He hooked his thumbs into his waistband, slid the briefs down,
over his ass first, his dick and balls popped out next, then down below his
knees and into a wet pile on the floor. I was delighted; he was beautifully
groomed. His pubes were trimmed short, his balls smooth. His deliciously
fluffed- up dick was uncut, short but fat. He has the lean and muscular
thighs of a soccer player, a narrow waist and a broad chest. I breathed in
hard. I picked up my camera and started taking photographs in earnest. He
was breathing heavy, too, his tight stomach moving in and out, the bright
studio lights reflecting off his sweaty skin.
He moved to show off his body, and the stupid poses were gone. I had him
sit, stand, turn, lie down, turn over. I stood over his naked body and
photographed his back, I pushed him against the wall and photographed his
grimace, I bent him over and photographed his perfect, untanned ass. As I
posed him, I had touched his face, his neck, his arms, his chest, his back,
his stomach, his thighs. I wanted more.
"How far are you willing to go?"
 "Whatever, man." His words tried to convey a cool nonchalance, but the tone
of his voice revealed his nervousness.
"I want you to stroke it under the shorts. Get hard."
He began to. But in front of the camera, his nervousness got the better of
him. He couldn't get it up.
"Take a whiff out of the bottle on the dresser; it'll loosen you up."
He did. He recoiled a bit at first. The drug was new to him. But as he
continued to work himself, his shorts were soon tented by his erect cock,
and drawn tight against his ass. As his labor continued, sweat poured out of
him. My bedroom must have been 95 degrees. The waistband of his shorts was
soaking, the nylon turning a darker blue. A spot of this same dark blue
began to spread forth from the front of the shorts, where his piss slit and
the tip of his glans stood out in relief. I zoomed in on a trickle of sweat
as it trailed from his shoulder, down his chest, and down the dark, humid
sliver of air between waistband of the shorts and the V of the boy's
abdomen.
"Good boy."
I snapped more photos, and he (whatever his name was) began to run with it.
He worked himself until his body was quaking. The shorts came off. His cock
was slim and pale, like he was. His sweat provided ample lubrication; his
fist made a slapping sound as it impacted with his lowest abdomen, sweat
dripped off his hairless balls, droplets were flung into the air by the
frantic motion on his hand. The camera caught the drops of sweat, the
clenched fist, the tears at the corners of his eyes, the thick, undulating
river of precome that swung like a bolero on the tip of his cock before it
was flung across the room. His pretend bravado cast a light of innocence
over the scene, this naked annonymous boy masturbating in my bedroom, shorts
around his ankles, damp with sweat.
"Stop." It killed me to say it; the boy was so desperate, he wanted it so
badly, that I almost felt tortured by denying him completion. But I knew
that the moment he blew, the shoot would be over, he'd collect his wits, his
shorts, and leave. And there was much more I wanted to photograph.
By this time between the two of us we had finished off the first 12-pack and
were halfway through a second. The studio heat was getting to me too, my
shirt was off. He was getting looser and I was getting braver.
"You have... a beautiful ass." I whispered it into his ear, and he gave a
shitfaced grin.
"Bullshit, faggot." He pushed playfully against my chest. I cupped one firm
asshalf in my hand. I squeezed.
"Fuck off! Fuck... off!" He tried to pull away, I was afraid I would lose
him. He made for the door, grabbed the knob and opened it and was about to
make down the steps before it hit him that he was butt naked and sporting
half a woody. I jumped, grabbed his arm and pulled him back in the room. I
knew I had to get him back. I put a hand around his sweat- drenched half-
hard dick and began to stroke it. Despite himself, the boy hesitated. His
eyes closed. A tiny moan slipped from his lips. "Have you ever done any
bondage stuff?"
"We're going to keep going. You're going to stay."
"Uh... ok." I stroked his slow up and down the full length of his cock; it
was engorging in my hand with every rapid heartbeat.
"We're not done. We have to keep going."
"God... ok. Ok. Ok." He breathed hard. I stretched his foreskin up and down
over his glans; he was shivering despite the heat.
"Let's go across the hall."
"Fuck... ok... whatever you say." I led him by the dick across the hall into
my apartment. He stumbled in the hall, fell to the ground, his cock slid out
of my grasp. He moaned. I picked him up, his hard, heavy body, and kicked
open my apartment door and carried him through. He gave another drunken grin
and threw his arms around my neck; I almost dropped him but I managed to get
him into the bedroom and tossed him onto the bed, where he bounced and
laughed. He was back in high spirits. He was jerking himself off slowly, he
got on his knees and bent over, waving his ass in the air, still laughing.
The sight of the cocky straight boy now trying ineptly to seduce a man was
both hilarious and impossibly sexy. My own dick was now rock hard.
The boy's attention was now off me and totally focused on his dick. He was
stroking himself harder and faster. I moved toward him; I didn't want him to
come yet.  While his head was turned away I grabbed the handcuffs out of the
nightstand; he was drunk enough not to notice them behind my back as I
kneeled over his prone body. I took his free hand and moved it to the brass
rails at the head of the bed and clicked one cold metal bracelet around his
left wrist. Before the haze in his brain cleared I interrupted his busy
right hand's work and forced it up and into the other bracelet and secured
it. His eyes went wide; he knew he was trapped. He pulled against his
restraints, he kicked his legs.
"What the fuck, man? What the fuck are you doin' to me?"
I grabbed the cameral; I recorded his pointless struggle. His muscled
contorted, his legs flailed,  he rattled his chains, his ass contracted and
relaxed, his face was a tense and contorted grimace. I pulled off my shoes
and yanked down my jeans and briefs as fast as possible. My boy freaked out.
"Fuck you, asshole! Fuck you! Get the fuck away from me!" He tried to kick
in my direction, I dodged his attempts easily. I grabbed his ankles out of
the air, forced them down, and sat across his thighs. I grabbed a gag out of
the nightstand.
"Now baby, if you keep screaming, I'll use this. But if you relax, you might
like what I'm about to do to you. But if you don't, remember there's still
the gag."  I grabbed the ankle cuffs from under the bed. I am not a
practicer of silk- scarf, low- wattage restraint.
"Now baby, you gotta behave." He looked like he was about to cry but he was
still totally erect. He was only about five inches long fully hard but as
big around as my wrist. I grabbed his ankles and stretched them over his
head, all the way down next to his ears. My own cock sprung up in my jeans
as I tightened the leather cuffs, the boy was now mine. I secured them to
the bed with the cuffs and went for my camera. His ass was up in the air,
totally exposed and vulnerable, waiting for me. I took a few shots. My boy
wriggled and clenched his ass as if that would maintain his dignity. My own
dick begged for release; I wanted to plunge my eight inches into his
certainly virgin ass, to fuck him wildly and make him hurt and make him love
it, but it wasn't time yet. I put the camera down and got back on the bed. I
ran my hands all over him, pinched his nipples, gently pulled his hair,
massaged his straining thighs.  I turned him to face me. I trailed a finger
from his high, fine cheekbone down to the nape of his neck, then licked the
salt from my fingers. I could almost smell the fear rising from him, but
there was excitement, too. He was shivering a bit despite the heat.  I
spread his still- clenched ass with my hands as exposed his flexing, pink
asshole. When I took my hands, dripping with his sweat and mine, away from
his ass he tensed it up again and I ran my forefinger along his tight
asscrack. I applied a little pressure.
"Fuck, man, don't fuck me..."
"Shh. Good boy. Relax. You'll enjoy this." I got up and grabbed my camera
and the wet briefs from the floor. "Besides," I said as I balled them up and
stuffed them in his mouth, "We're getting some great shots."
"God, please, arrg don't fuck me."
"Shh.... No talking now, baby. Don't forget the gag. I'm gonna do what I
fucking want to, like it or not. Just take it baby, take it." I pushed my
finger into his warm velvet insides. He bore down with his ass, trying to
expel my invasion of him, but his bouncing dick betrayed, on some level, the
desires he would not admit to himself.
"Relax baby, relax."
He tried to yell, or scream, as the reality of his position hit him. There
would be no more bravado, no more showing off. I snapped a few shots of his
naked, exposed ass. I laughed when he tried to clench it, as if that would
maintain his dignity. My now rock- hard cock was beginning to cause me some
discomfort beneath my jeans, so I unbuttoned the fly and stripped them off.
My sweaty tee came next, then my briefs. The boy's eyes widened; he though I
was take him right there. He was right, in a way, but not just yet. I slid a
calloused fingertip up and down and up and down his ass crack, each time
stopping for a bit longer at the twitching entrance to his gut. His screams
of protest, or perhaps pain, were muffled by the shorts as I rammed my index
finger into him. I loved this: hard, posturing, pretend tough boy on the
outside had given me unrestricted access to his tender, warm insides. His
asshole sucked at the base of my finger, so I began to fuck him a bit with
it. It was too much for him, I could tell. He was bucking wildly, trussed as
he was, his whole body thrashing and heaving, eyes wide and panicked. His
cock, miraculously, was still hard as granite and bobbed and whipped as he
twisted and began to cry.
I finger- fucked him harder. He grimaced and gritted his teeth, but he
didn't yell. My boy was learning quick. My finger, lubricated with out
mutual sweat, slid in and out of him, and as the fucking sped up his ass
began to relax, inviting me to go deeper and harder. His ragged breath
started to match the rhythm of my forefinger and despite his visible disgust
I thought I heard a small muffled moan escape his lips. I added a second
finger, and because my boy was behaving so well, I curled my fingers up
inside him to gently stroke his prostate.
The result was electric. His wriggling ceased and his whole body froze, he
emitted a loud grunt. I continued to stroke and massage his gland as I
fucked him, and finally, as I had predicted, he relinquished his young body
to me. He began to move with me in earnest, his ass slamming against my hand
as my fingers slammed into him.  He grunted at each impact, he willingly
accepted a third finger. His whole body twitched and quivered, his face was
now slack and his eyes rolled back, he was an animal, my baby, my boy, my
whore.  My captured prey.
His cock was livid and purple, the veins stood out like ropes beneath the
skin. His ass began to convulse, squeezing and unsqueezing faster and
faster. His abs were flexing, his thighs were quivering, his nipples erect
and his chest tight. Because it was the cruelest thing I could think to do,
I withdrew just before the moment of climax and pulled out the gag. He
looked heartbroken for a second, and then...
"Jesus christ, asshole, finish me off! Fuck me, fucker!"
He was almost crying, he lifted his now- empty ass toward me, his face
looked panicked. I put a hand on his chest and moved over him, careful to
avoid his cock which was still primed to explode. I moved my face close to
his; I put my free hand on his cheek.
"No, baby, that's  not how it works. I get to say when you come, not the
other way around. I'll forgive the outburst this one time, but don't forget
you're mine now. You'll come, but only when I say so." I was running my cock
across his asscrack, he tried to impale himself on me but I pulled away. I
desperately wanted to get off, to officially claim him as my own, to plunge
into him and burst up inside his gut, but I got even greater pleasure out of
watching him beg. And now that I had shown him what I could do, what I could
make him do, I had a very important question for him.
"Baby, I want to fuck you. But only if I can fuck you on my terms. So I need
to ask you something. Who do you belong to?"
"Oh, God, you. I belong to you."
"Good boy. Do you want the collar? Think hard about this. If you say yes,
you become mine. I say what you do, what you eat, when you sleep, when you
come, where you go. If you take the collar, you're all mine until I'm done
with you, until I let you go. You can't change your mind. I'll own you. I
released his restraints.
He looked at me, fear and hope in his eyes. I got the keys from the drawer
and undid his manacles; he was free. For the only time in our relationship,
my future was in his power.
"Give me the collar."
I could barely restrain my smile. He was a good boy. I got off the sweat-
soaked bed. I went into the bedroom closet and took the collar from the
back. It was a steel collar, padded with black leather, a hinge on one side
and two interlocking rings on the other. The collar was attached to a 10
foot long steel chain that had a lockable ring on the other end. I handed
him the collar and the combination padlock that went with it. He took the
collar with reverence and closed it around his neck and then took the lock.
He was exhausted, his body racked, but he got off the bed and kneeled on the
ground with the open side toward me. He put the lock in my hands.
"I want you do do it."
I ran my fingers through his wet blond hair, maneuvered the padlock through
the rings, twisted it into the closing position.
"Are you sure? This is you last chance to go home."
He nodded, silently. I clicked the lock shut, and the boy was mine.

I dressed and kissed my boy hard on his full, soft lips. I picked up his
lead and led him to the door. I hooked a thumb in his lower lip and he
sucked on it, tasting his own sweat again.
"We're going somewhere else, somewhere private where I can keep you. But I
can't tell you where, so you're going to wear a blindfold. I locked his lead
to the bed, left the room, and got his discarded track pants, still wet,
from my studio across the hall. I came back to him, his chest still heaving
and his eyes longing, and tied the wet nylon around his face.
"Stand." He got up. I couldn't resist slapping him on his hard ass, almost
as hard as I could, and he yelped.
"There's more where that came from," I whispered into his ear, "I'm going to
hurt you and pleasure you whenever I want from now on."
I led him out and down the stairs, still naked. It was dark, so no one saw
as I hustled him into the back of my van. I locked his chain to a ring
welded onto the side of the van and got behind the wheel. I drove him out of
the city, miles out. I drove for hours while my boy sat on naked on the cold
steel floor in the back of the van. We finally arrived at the house, a small
home surrounded on all sides by acres of forest. I got out, opened the back
door of the van, and unchained my boy.
"Stand up. Get out." He did.
I led him into the house, through the front door, down the steps to the
cellar, and lifted the grill that obscured the entrance to the sub-basement.
I opened the final door to the sparse, soundproof bedroom below.  The room
had a concrete floor, an iron- frame cot in the center, and a toilet and
shower in the corner. There was an iron ring sunk into the concrete floor
near the far wall. I locked my boy's lead to this ring, then shortened his
lead to about four feet with another lock. He had just enough room to get
onto the bed and reach the facilities; I offered him these luxuries for his
good behavior. He could not get anywhere near the door or the light switch.
"Sit."
He did, and I removed the blindfold.
"This is your new home for as long as I want to keep you. There are some
rules here which you will follow, or you will be punished. Is that clear?"
"Yes."
"Good. Here are the rules: One, I own you, as you know. I will fuck you when
I want to fuck you. I will make you come when I want to make you come.  I
will hurt you when I want to hurt you. Two, you only speak when I ask you a
question.  You will neither beg me for anything nor protest anything I do to
you. Three, you way not masturbate. If I find semen anywhere in this room, I
will punish you. Four, you will never, ever try to escape. You cannot get
out; you will be severely punished for any attempt. Five, if you violate
these rules or in any way displease me you will be punished. You have, so
far, earned the right to sleep on a mattress and use the facilities; you can
also walk around a bit and I will keep your light on during the day. If you
misbehave, you will lose all these privileges. I can shorten you chain to
less than a foot, or I can chain you spread- eagled to these four rings on
the floor. I can keep you light off all day and night. If you really
misbehave, I will put you in the hole."
I wheeled the bed aside. Underneath, in the floor, was a grate about twelve
by eighteen inches. It covered a rough- hewn pit about nine feet deep.
"I can put you down there, shackle your arms to above you, and fill the hole
with water to an inch below your nose. I've left other boys like that for
days.  I can run a few copper wires attached to a battery down there if
you've been especially bad. Do you understand me?"
His eyes were filled with fear, but he promptly mouthed "yes."
"Good boy."
Watching him, chained, naked in his new room, my cock began to stiffen.
"Are you hungry?"
"Yes."
"Good."
I walked over to him, I ran my hand across his face, my thumb on his lower
lip.
"Open"
He opened his mouth obediently. I unzipped my jeans and fished my now- hard
cock out of my fly. I waved it in front of him before resting the tip of my
dick on his lower lip. A drop of my precome squeezed from my slit, ran down
the purple head of my cock, and melted on my boy's lip.
"How does it taste?"
"Sweet. It's sweet."
"I'm glad you like it."
I rammed the full length of my cock down his throat. His eyes went wide and
he gagged on it, he began to tear up.
"Shh. Take it, take it. Breathe through your nose, relax. You'll get used to
it."
He started to suck air through his nose and I began to fuck his face,
holding his hair in my fist and slamming his face into my pubic hair again
and again. He had no idea how to swallow cock, but the panicked jerking of
his gag reflex created a surprisingly pleasant sensation. I pounded him
hard; I enjoyed the sight of my cock hammering in and out of his open,
drooling mouth. And my boy needed to be broken in, of course. I released his
hair and the back of his head slammed up against the wall, again and again.
The pain did not seem to bother him, and he had become enormously erect
since I started fucking him. He moaned; the vibration sent a thrill through
my cock and up and down my spine. I let a moan escape my own lips. I slowed,
I didn't want to come too quickly, I wanted this to be a special experience
for me and my boy.
My boy's hand came up, pressed against the crotch of my jeans, tugged my
balls through the denim. I came. Come exploded out of my balls and down into
my boy,  spurt after spurt blasted in rivers down his throat as I buried my
cock to the hilt in him. He was drowning it in; rivulets of my spunk
trickling from between his lips. He gagged, coughed, choked around my cock.
I pulled out of him, my still- hard cock bathed in my own come.
He smiled up at me, opened his mouth, swirled my come around with his
tongue, swallowed me. I slapped him as hard as I could across his face.
"You fucked up. I didn't tell you do do that. I wanted to make your first
fucking long, slow, special. But you, it seems wanted it as fast as
possible, like a whore."
His face fell.
"But I..."
"Don't talk! How could you have forgotten the rules already? You know what I
have to do now, correct?" He was silent. "What do I have to do? Answer me."
"You have to punish me."