This material is owned by Dionysos and may not be made public in any way or form without his express permission. The following story deals with situations that you may or may not be allowed to read about depending on your age or how uptight the place you live in is. Enjoy it even so.
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Note: I know it's been a long time coming, guys, but here it is finally, the next part of Colin's adventure. Keep sending me mail. I love the attention.
Part 5
By now Colin is getting quite the case of blue balls. On the tour he has seen every kind of debauchery he could have imagined, and quite a few he couldn't have, but so far none of it has involved him. He's tried reassuring himself with the notion that all the boys who got fucked so far also got themselves screwed, and although that is true it goes only so far to calming a blazing twelve-year-old libido.
And besides, it isn't completely true. All through their journey Spike has broken things, complained about things, stolen things only to break them later, and generally made a nuisance of himself. And nobody's done anything back to him. Worse, he's getting exactly what he wants.
"Onwards to the Sadomasochistic Dungeon," says Willy, marching ahead of them down a long beige tunnel that makes Colin feel like he's walking inside an anus.
Yes, Spike is getting away with everything. And it is starting to piss Colin off, even if the boy does have a beautiful bottom. A bottom he'd like to stick his tongue into, to lick it clean before he fucked that pretty arse with his hard five inches of manliness...
At the end of the tunnel is a glass elevator, only big enough to hold the five of them. Again Colin wonders what would have happened if Bo or one of the others had made it this far with them.
"Basement level," Willy announces jovially and with a flourish. "S&M accoutrements and men's underwear."
It is dark and gloomy here, not at all cute and fluffy like the design of the rest of Wanker's factory. The bare stone walls can only just be made out in the light of the flickering torches that are the room's only source of lighting. Even the Humpy-Pumpies have gotten into the theme, dressed as they are in leather briefs, rubber masks and studded dog collars.
It gives Colin the creeps. But Spike seems right at home.
"That's more like it," he says with a smile, rubbing his hands together. "Dad, suit me up."
Spike's father helps him take off his pouch, exposing his pretty little cock to the world once more. He then takes out a metal ring which he fastens behind Spike's dick and balls, a cockring, Colin seems to remember hearing somewhere. Spike takes off his own dog collar and replaces it with another one, this time with bigger, golden spikes. He swishes his whip a few times for practise. Now he's ready. To Colin it's like watching an athlete preparing for the race of his life.
"Little boy-" ventures Willy Wanker almost lazily. But Spike's already off and running.
First to feel the sting of his designer whip is a Humpy-Pumpy who'd made the mistake of standing idle and looking too vulnerable. Two well-placed snaps of the whip make its leather briefs fall to ribbons, exposing its cock, balls and butt. Red lashes quickly appear on its bronzed behind as Spike rages on with wild abandon.
"Yeehaw!" he crows. "This is the life! Beg, Pumpy, beg for your master!"
The handsome midget comes crawling to Spike's feet, kisses them, and quivers in fear. Colin can see its cock is hard as a rock -- and so is his, soon after. Spike makes the Humpy-Pumpy lick his hairless armpits and eat out his ass, pressing its tongue inside the pretty pink hole. Colin sticks a hand in his pants and tries his hardest not to moan. Spike has no such worries. He spasms and screams like a dog in heat.
"Enough, slave!" Spike commands eventually. "Now do me!"
Initially the Humpy-Pumpy misunderstands, and he assumes the customary position for rogering Spike from behind. But with a few well-placed slashes of his whip the young master explains that what he wants to receive is pain.
Spike takes the paddling without crying or even cringing. In fact, he shouts and complains that the bronzed midget isn't hitting his red ass hard enough. Next, the chrome nipple clamps, which Spike attaches dumbbells to because otherwise, he says, he doesn't feel anything. Just watching the display makes Colin squirm in discomfort, but Spike takes it all, from huge dildos with electric currents running through them, to complicated torture tables that have him bend over backwards and upside down like a contortionist. He even yawns at one point. Spike's father smiles broadly from behind his leather executioner's hood.
"Well well," Willy says quietly. Even he seems a little impressed.
At last Spike seems to grow tired of trying out the wide variety of Wanker torture implements, and he comes back to the group showing a scowl that's as large as the stiffie in Colin's trousers.
"That was nothing. Haven't you got anything you can really feel?"
"Well, there is the..." Willy begins, and then halts. "No, that's far too dangerous."
"Fuck danger!" yells Spike. "I want to feel something!"
"Alright, because you insist."
Out of his sleeve Mister Wanker produces a remote control with one large red button on it. As he presses it, Colin is sure he sees a strange, almost mischievous glint in the great inventor's eye. But a moment later it is gone, and everybody stares in amazement at the device that has just risen out of the floor.
"I call it," Willy says with a dramatic pause, "the Holo-Erotic Chamber."
It's a glass tube, large enough to easily accommodate a grown man, and a boy like Spike even easier. It soon does. The little sadist jumps up and down in immediate frustration, shouting angrily at Wanker to turn it on. With a sigh that Colin has begun to expect from him, Willy turns a lever at the side of the tube, which immediately begins to throb and shake with activity.
"Alright!" yells Spike.
Two thin steel cables start moving up Spike's bare legs, sliding their way towards his groin with the grace of snakes. One forces its way into his bum hole without any lubrication, but Spike is used to that and merely trembles with pleasure. The other coils around his hard little dickie and starts squeezing it. Colin catches himself wishing that cable was his hand.
So far nothing really special has happened. Colin has seen so many amazing things today already that a robotic masturbating arm doesn't really impress him. But then the other cables come. One clamps down on Spike's ballsack, another joins its fellow in his arse, and two more cables press at each one of his ears. There's even one prodding his bellybutton.
"Awesome," Spike only just has time to moan before two cables push themselves forcefully into his mouth, making talking an impossibility.
Now that they're all in place, the cables begin to move and vibrate, pushing in and out of each and every one of Spike's orifices all at the same time. No one could endure this kind of treatment without cumming, not even him. Soon Spike is spasming and flailing about as a white jet shoots out of his cocklet and onto the wall of the glass tube.
"Well done," says Willy, clapping rather enthusiastically. "Now, let's move on."
But Spike isn't finished, and neither are the slick silver cables. They continue to fuck every hole the boy has, and again with the same sticky result. Willy frowns and pulls the lever on the side of the machine -- but it proceeds to break apart in his hand.
"Uh, well, that sometimes happens."
The cables are still fucking Spike. If anything, they seem to be going faster. Mister Wanker quickly gestures to his Humpy-Pumpies, who waste no time in carting the tube off and out of the room, with Spike still kicking about inside it. Also kicking about is the boy's bear-like father, who needs to be restrained by six of the muscled midgets as he is led away.
"Does this mean he'll have a permanent orgasm?" asks Colin, his mouth open wide.
"I suppose," Willy shrugs. "And I imagine it won't be as pleasant as it used to be after going through it for five hours. But then again, who knows what his sort enjoy?"