Juvenile Justice (BBBBT/m, bondage, humiliation, some torture) Part 2 of 2 by The Cheeky Chiquito

READERS, TAKE HEED BEFORE YE READ:

Heh, heh. That rhymes.

Anyway, this is a work of gay erotic fiction featuring one or more cocky adolescent boys who subjugate and take advantage of an unwitting and/or unwilling male. Typically this involves dominating him, exposing him, and placing him in humiliating sexual situations. Who doesn't like to read about that? Is it you?

Well your finger does, or it wouldn't have clicked or tapped all of the links needed to get here in the first place. Maybe your finger knows something that you should know. That probably explains why you've been inserting it into the places that you have. In any case, if you do not like the subject matter, if you are below the age of consent, or if it is against the law for you to read about such things, stop reading now.

Yeah, I thought so. Keep going, then, but now you have only yourself and your finger to blame. That's right. It's not my problem if certain consequences occur now -- consequences including, but not limited to: moral outrage; immoral outrage; abrupt nudity; tennis elbow; sprained wrists, fingers, or fists; blue balls; premature ejaculation; prolonged ejaculation; unexpected ejaculation; public ejaculation; soggy electronics; wet dreams; wet daydreams; wet paint; neglected partners; excommunication; pleased or irate deities; or TIFU stories. In choosing to read, you choose to accept full responsibility for everything that comes afterward. Even yourself, should that occur.

Yes, that was a long a paragraph, but at least we've covered our bases (and asses). In legalese, which isn't nearly as fun as some other things I could think of.

Ice cream. Totally going for "ice cream" there, you sick bastard.

-- The Cheeky Chiquito

Did you read all the way through that? Great! Can you tell me what it means?

Part 2: Doing Hard Time

"We're still gonna strip him, right?" Wyatt wanted to know.

The barely-restrained eagerness in the blonde boy's tone of voice made his preferences in the matter quite clear. On the other side of their captive, Tyson shifted expectantly. Neither set of fingers had strayed a single inch from beneath the waistband of Brett's boxer-briefs, the only article of clothing that remained to protect his modesty. There was not much of this left to protect, given how readily the young man's hardened estate impressed itself into the yielding fabric, making plain to all its length and general shape. The sight was a source of amusement and interest to four of the five youths arrayed around him, especially the two that were poised to expose it, their warm digits pressing into the young man's thighs, their hands only inches from its realization.

Brett fairly shook with nerves while Dennis gazed down impassively on his predicament. Sweat trickled freely along his right temple while his mind whirled frantically. What had motivated him, in the seconds before this outcome was precipitated upon him, to answer in the negative? He knew the boys would not accept the answer, no matter how true it was, knew they would take the obvious tent in his underwear as evidence to the contrary. To say "yes", however, would have required admitting his increasing exhibitionism, and that would have been difficult enough even if it did not come as part of a confession forced by a group of adolescent boys.

Besides, his response did not matter; he was trapped either way. Acknowledging the latent trait would give it legitimacy, prevent him from denying it ever again. Denying it played into its hands in another way -- at least this was true if the boys were really as intent on stripping him as they appeared to be. The two at his sides with their fingers thrust down inside his underwear most definitely were. Only Micah seemed put out by the thought.

"Do we have to?" inquired the Asian boy. "You said his trial was over."

"It is," responded Dennis, still watching Brett. "But he still lied."

The digits against Brett's thighs twitched in anticipation. The twenty-two year-old swallowed hard, terror and anticipation swirling in his gut.

"But he's enjoying it!"

"I know," Dennis replied. "We'll fix that, though." The teen nodded at the two boys waiting intently. "Strip him," he directed. "But use the knife. The prisoner doesn't get to keep any of his clothes."

Brett's heart plunged toward his fitful stomach as the fingers pressed against his skin slipped free. His shirt and shorts had already been reduced to ribbons; without his underwear...

"How -- how will I get home?" asked the twenty-two year-old weakly.

Dennis shrugged, and a rare smirk crossed his normally implacable features. "Naked, I guess."

"If you get home at all," added Micah.

Darien shook his head. "Don't be so melodramatic."

Brett stared up at the youths, aghast, even as he felt the pressure of the blade in Wyatt's hand trace a faint line along his right thigh just below the waistband of his boxer-briefs. He would never be able to cover the distance back to his apartment without clothes. They couldn't do this to him! Yet they were: the thin cotton parted easily under the sharp point and Brett's nerves, keyed into overdrive by his anxiety, registered the relaxed tension in the fabric as it began to peel away from his skin. The point descended again, this time trailing across the back of his right leg. He tried to remain still while the incisions were made, but his knees felt weak and his muscles rebellious, twitching with every passing second. Of all of his body parts, however, his cock was the least inclined to obey the orders from his mind; it actively strained toward freedom, throbbed in anticipation of it, urged onward by his surging exhibitionism. After all, he would shortly be naked in front of others!

Once Wyatt had finished cutting through the legs of Brett's underwear, he turned his attention to the waistband. Beaming maliciously, the boy hooked his fingers behind the elastic, missing the twenty-two year-old's hard-on by a fraction of an inch, and drew the yielding material down and out until the first tuft of Brett's curly pubic hairs was visible. Then he released his grip.

"Nnnh!"

Brett grunted as the elastic snapped back against his skin, stinging on contact and forcing his tool painfully against one thigh. The boys above and around him sniggered.

"I want to do that, too!" exclaimed Tyson excitedly.

The youngest boy dug beneath the band close enough to the thatch of pubic hair that his smallest finger caught on a tight curl for a moment before he pulled it free with a shake of his hand that caused the tangled strand to pinch its owner. The elastic tightened behind the boy's hand until it was a wedge that dug into Brett's hips, but the boy continued to yank hard at it as though endeavoring to see how far he could make it stretch. Brett squirmed and grimaced while the material bit into his skin and the sound of tearing fabric reached his ears. The backs of the legs had given way under the strain, leaving his underwear to be little more than a ragged loincloth for however long it continued to cover him at all.

Grinning broadly, Tyson turned to face him with the distended elastic stretched out before him for a heartbeat, purposefully prolonging the moment of its release. All Brett could do was wait with bated breath for a far worse sting than before. But Wyatt's eyes widened on catching sight of what was revealed behind the disfigured material, and the blonde boy abruptly swiped at the distended band, causing it to snap where the blade made contact. The twenty-two year-old stumbled a little while the shredded remnants of his boxer-briefs slipped across his hips, trailed a ragged edge along the underside of his turgid shaft, and then fluttered free. Tyson looked upset for a moment, but then his eyes found Brett's exposed form and he forgot to be annoyed. Brett was at last completely naked in front of the five fully-clothed boys.

Almost in unison the youths hitched forward, staring with wide eyes at the part of the young man which jutted proudly into the air before them: nearly seven inches long, wreathed at the base by a wild profusion of curly brown pubes, and crowned by a voluminous purple arrowhead shape which was now plainly visible, having escaped confinement during the course of Brett's involuntary arousal.

Brett could not watch; he squeezed his eyes shut again, quaking with mingled fear and elation. I'm naked! he thought with dismay. I'm naked in front of other people! exulted another part of himself. It was as though he could feel the five pairs of young eyes that roved over every exposed inch of his groin, carefully examining his sturdy erection and dangling balls, taking everything in -- and, in spite of his terror, the sense of their stares was intensely arousing.

After a moment, Darien commented, "It's pretty big. Look at those veins."

"It's hairy!" Tyson added, sounding a trifle put off by the thought.

"It's gross," grumbled Micah.

"What, yours looks better?" Wyatt jibed at the Asian boy. "Maybe we should compare them."

"Shut up!" Micah growled back. "This whole thing is gross!"

"Yeah, well, he started it," Wyatt reminded him.

"We're going to finish it," said Dennis firmly.

Click!

Brett's stomach knotted in fear at the familiar sound; his eyes flew open in time to see the teenager holding his phone in the air once again.

Click!

Belatedly, the twenty-two year-old tried to cover himself with his bound wrists, realized it was already too late. Wyatt, Darien, and Tyson smirked broadly and dug into their own pockets so they, too, could capture the naked young man's shape. Wyatt alternated between his phone and the one he'd taken from Brett, bending down in order to acquire an unobstructed view of his groin with both. Brett's shoulders sagged and he gave up the attempt to hide himself, permitting incontrovertible proof of his nudity and erection to be captured by boys who could turn it to any purpose they liked, share it with whomever they wished, spread it far and wide, and make a lie and mockery of all of his subsequent attempts at modesty.

How did this situation spiral so far out of control? the young man wondered desperately. How could a simple act of curiosity cost him his clothes and his freedom? What else would he lose before it was over? These boys had a naked adult bound and could do whatever they wanted to him. The question wasn't what a group of mischievous adolescents would do with such power -- it was rather, what wouldn't they do?

Once satisfied with the images he'd acquired, Dennis gathered his compatriots around him to discuss the answers to these questions. Brett could not hear what they were saying, but the sly grins and leers directed at him every so often were unnerving enough. To distract himself from this concern, the young man examined the area around him. Though the view from the street was blocked by the blue trash bin and the other construction equipment parked beneath the bridge, the enclosed yards that followed the length of the overpass offered a less-obstructed view. Many of the fences were simple chain link, which meant that anyone who chanced to glance out from their kitchen window would see him standing there with his ass bared while a group of youths debated a few feet away. They could be looking at him right now, strange and unseen eyes taking in every square inch of exposed skin. The thought was terrifying, yet undeniably exhilarating to his exhibitionism; so much so that his cock refused to soften in the slightest, in spite of his desperate efforts to think away the erection. The only saving grace for his battered sense of dignity was that his hardened state was visible only to the boys from this angle.

That was about to change.

As the huddle broke apart, Dennis declared, "We'll let you go once you've been punished enough for lying to us." He eyed Brett's erection meaningfully. "I think we'll know when that is."

Brett swallowed hard while the youths around the teenager chortled unpleasantly.

Turning to Wyatt, Dennis said, "You first."

The blonde boy's grin widened and he hopped back down into the dusty culvert where Brett waited apprehensively. Taking hold of the chain that bound Brett's wrists, he said, "Come on."

"Where -- where are we going?" Brett wanted to know, starting forward as the boy tugged demandingly on his arms.

"You'll see."

The twenty-two year-old was made to clamber clumsily out of the culvert, the chain restraining his wrists preventing the use of his hands. He had to back into the thirty-inch wall, turning his bare ass toward the boys watching him, then hop backwards onto the ledge; which caused his elongated dick and hanging balls to bounce and jiggle in time with his movements. This elicited a great deal of suppressed mirth from the boys above him, who snorted and sniggered while the young man's upthrust cock wavered back and forth in the air as he inched his way along the gritty, dirty concrete that scraped his bare butt cheeks. His face burned with embarrassment, but Brett had no option but to scoot backward along the rough pavement until he was far enough away from the ledge to push himself into a standing position. Though keen, his sense of humiliation was not quite enough to overcome his arousal, especially when he became aware that he was within arms-length of five boys, any of whom could reach out and take hold of him.

Now that he was this close to them, their eyes naturally slid south again, but the youths kept their hands to themselves. Tyson bent closer, though, his wide blue eyes intent on the young man's groin, until Wyatt finally took up the chain around Brett's arms again.

"I can't go out there!" Brett cried, going cold all over when he realized where the blonde boy was leading him. He stumbled forward, overbalancing when Wyatt jerked insistently on the chain; the ferocity of his grip increasing in proportion to Brett's terrified resistance.

"Sure you can!" the towheaded boy disagreed cheerfully. "Unless you want everyone in your contacts to see what we can see."

Brett's insides quaked but the threat persuaded him to cooperate. He was drawn forward again, the rectangular blue form of the trash bin looming ominously ahead. Behind him sounded the soft footfalls of the remaining boys, following as their captive was conducted around the side of the metal bin and toward a much more public revelation. Each step the twenty-two year-old took sent a jolt of fright through him while his mind shuddered beneath the onslaught of his two natures, each of which vied for total control of him. The well-behaved, docile young man that he was wanted to throw himself to the ground behind whatever cover still remained. The brash exhibitionist he was becoming sought to stride boldly out into the open, through the double gate and onto the sidewalk, where he and his raging erection would be manifestly visible from the street.

Wyatt evidently thought along the same lines as Brett's exhibitionism, for the blonde youth left his naked twenty-two year-old captive on the sidewalk beyond the chain link fence. "Stay here," the boy directed before turning back. "And don't move until we tell you to."

His footsteps crunched against the dirt for a moment, then fell silent. When Brett turned anxiously to look behind him, he saw no sign of the boys, but they clearly saw him.

"Turn around, dummy!" Wyatt's voice hissed at him. "We didn't say you could move!"

Swallowing hard, feeling light-headed, Brett reluctantly obeyed. Sweat beaded on his forehead, condensed on his bare chest. This was it, wasn't it? The thing that the hidden part of him had always wanted to happen was now happening. His stomach surged with elation but he also felt sick. Any moment someone would drive by and see him standing in this place, naked and hard. He glanced to his left. There were no cars. The road appeared deserted for several blocks, where the road vanished into the heat-shimmer radiating from the broiling pavement. The passing seconds seemed each an hour long while he peered anxiously into the distance. Still nothing. He glanced right.

Oh, fuck!

A delivery van was approaching the overpass, its trademark coffee-colored surface glaring in the harsh light of the sun. Brett heard excited conversation behind him; the boys, wherever they were hiding amidst the idle construction equipment, must have spotted it too. The twenty-two year-old began to quiver in earnest while the vehicle bore down on him. He couldn't move without upsetting the youths behind him. Could he maybe, carefully, so as not to incite his tormentors, adjust his arms until they fell just so? It wasn't a lot of cover -- his pubes and the base of his swollen shaft would still be visible to anyone looking carefully -- but with any luck the truck would pass quickly, before the driver had time for more than a cursory glance in his direction. Maybe he could get through this with his remaining dignity intact.

The boys had other ideas, however.

"Put your hands on top of your head!" Darien's voice ordered.

"And jump up and down!" Wyatt's added.

Shit!

Obediently, feeling as though he was going to throw up the whole time, Brett lifted his arms, resting his bound wrists gingerly atop his head. The thin metal links poked sharply into his skull and a snatch of breeze briefly tickled the twirling growth of sweat-laden hair sprouting beneath each arm. Swallowing hard, the young man sprang into the air. His cock slapped audibly against his taut belly when he hit the ground again, then bobbed ostentatiously before him. No one passing could miss seeing it.

"Keep going!"

Thoroughly humiliated, Brett complied, pushing against the concrete that grated against the bottoms of his bare feet, feeling the jolt of concrete on touchdown and the meaty slap-thwap against his belly. The truck rumbled toward him, and though he wanted to close his eyes, he found himself staring in horrified fascination anyway, curious and terrified of the driver's reaction to the sight of him this way.

Ten feet away. Six. Three. A moment of weightlessness, then the ground striking up through his feet and his cock striking his belly. He could make out the person behind the wheel of the truck now: a young man who appeared to be near his own age, with curly blonde hair and a clean-shaven and fairly attractive face. So at least there's that, Brett consoled himself while springing into the air again.

He saw blue eyes flick in his direction, flick back to the road. Then back to him. Blue eyes, definitely, but now the whites showed. Blonde eyebrows disappeared beneath tangled locks. The young man gaped visibly as he rolled past, his jaw going slack. His gaze plummeted like a stone, followed the bobbing form it found as the naked twenty-two year-old touched down again. Brett blushed fiercely and leaped back into the air. The driver's gaze rose and fell along with him; then slid cautiously, shyly toward his face. Something like electricity jolted the naked young man from head to toe when the other young met his gaze; a giddy thrill shot through him and, for the merest fraction of an instant he forgot the nature of his circumstances. He became instead a young man willingly baring his secret self to a cute young guy who was blushing a little himself now, his eyes wide but not daring to look away.

Not until the truck nearly mounted the curb, anyway. Looking flustered, the blonde driver wrenched his eyes away from Brett and wrested the truck back onto the proper course. The engine roared loudly as the vehicle surged forward. Brett thought he saw a flash of blue in the side mirror, but it was probably his imagination, and he watched the truck go with a touch of disappointment. This was his first experience of that tingling, vibrating sense of contact with another. It had been exhilarating, filled with promise, and had ended far too quickly.

Snorts of laughter exploded from behind him. Brett's cheeks burned hot with shame. For a split second he had experienced something intimate and profound, but it was no more than fodder for the gratification of these boys; as all of his intimate moments would be while he was at their mercy.

"That was great!" gushed Wyatt.

"Bet that was one package he didn't expect to see today," Darien agreed. This remark caused Wyatt to explode into uncontrolled sniggering.

"Yeah, but did it work?" Micah demanded aggressively.

Regaining his composure, Wyatt replied, "Let's find out. You can stop, Brett. And turn around so we can see how you enjoyed that."

Mortified, Brett did as instructed. He had enjoyed it, judging by the steel- hard feel of his erection, which had not flagged in the slightest. In fact, as he turned, he caught a momentary glimmer from the tip, where the first droplets of pre-cum had formed, no doubt in response to the vibrant feel of the young delivery driver's stare. Perfect. Here was one more intimate moment for the youths to mock. Bracing himself for more of their derision, Brett completed his turn.

But the boys did not remark on it. Perhaps they did not see it, or maybe they were more concerned with the fact that he was still erect.

"Looks your bright idea didn't work," snapped Micah.

"Not yet," Wyatt retorted. "Let's try again."

"Like it'll make a difference," the Asian boy grouched.

"You never know," Darien said. "Turn around, Brett."

A fresh torrent of dread coursed along Brett's nerves. He swiveled toward the street again, wondering uncomfortably how many times he would be forcibly exposed to passing vehicles before the boys were satisfied. Given how much the exhibitionist in him was enjoying the opportunity to be seen like this, he doubted very much that his rampant arousal would settle, unless the matter was taken in hand. There was an idea that appealed mightily to that side of him, so much so that he felt a shiver of anticipation course through him.

He quickly cast the idea into the darkness outside of his awareness, focusing instead on the deserted street with mounting unease. Who would be next to see him? Would it be a vehicle with multiple passengers? One carrying kids? What if one of the city buses came down the way? What if someone called the police? Worse, what if the police themselves drove by? They would never believe a bunch of adolescents had forced him into baring all!

The sound of many wheels buzzing against the pavement overhead reached his ears, along with the soft purrs and loud roars of engines in various sizes. The overpass creaked and thundered on occasion as the strain transmitted itself through the steel and concrete. But though the freeway above sounded busy, the sultry weather and the holiday weekend seemed to be keeping the surface streets clear. A few vehicles crossed the road in the distance, but none turned this direction and, after a few agonizing minutes, Brett heard Micah complain, "This is taking too long!"

"One more minute, okay?" urged Wyatt.

"Fine. One."

Brett shifted his weight apprehensively from one foot to the other, watching the empty street with concern and praying it would just remain empty for another sixty seconds. Though he could sense his heart beating rapidly in his chest, the passage of time was still excruciatingly slow. A rivulet of sweat dribbled gradually along his cheek, irritating because of its languid pace and because he could not wipe it away. Thirty seconds...forty-five...

The twenty-two year-old was mentally ticking off the final few seconds when the haze in the distance shimmered and twisted slightly, and the shape of a car emerged out of it.

Fuck! Brett's stomach swooped while the boys at his back stirred and murmured excitedly.

"Finally!" snapped Micah irritably. "But if this doesn't work, I say we try something else."

"Okay," Wyatt agreed.

"Should he jump up and down again?" Darien wanted to know.

Tyson's gleeful voice was the first to respond. "No! Make him swing his thing around."

Wyatt snorted, then called out, "You heard him, Brett! Swing it around. Like a helicopter!"

Fuck! Damn it! Once more he would be browbeaten into drawing attention to his naked dick in the most flamboyant manner possible. But there was nothing he could do. If he didn't comply, the boys would simply send pictures of him to anyone and everyone they liked. Either way, he would be exposed.

Grudgingly, Brett began to sway his hips back and forth, propelling his erection in a tight arc and causing his testicles to wobble sympathetically. He felt extremely foolish, felt certain he looked extremely foolish -- and yet at the same time he was thrilled to think that anyone could be looking. He began to wish the two parts of himself would reach some sort of accommodation, if only because it was exhausting to feel two sets of emotions at once.

After a moment he was able to perceive that the approaching vehicle was a compact car, a hatchback fashioned in a certain foreign automaker's distinctive style and painted a striking shade of blue. The bright sunlight glinting from the windshield prevented him from seeing the driver until the automobile at last passed beneath the shadow of the overpass. The naked young man went pale when he saw a young woman around eighteen years of age at the wheel. She chattered animatedly into a phone held against one ear; her curly brown hair was tied into a loose bun and large sunglasses on her face obscured much of her expression. Nonetheless, even without being able to see her eyes, Brett plainly recognized her shock and the three words her lips formed while her head swiveled in his direction. The phone tumbled from her hand, the car swerved erratically, and still she stared.

Brett could not look away because the only place he could look was down at his feet and that brought his whirling dick into view, which only emphasized the ludicrous nature of his situation. So he stared back, blushing fiercely while every pore that was exposed to her scrutiny seemed first to scald, then freeze, then scald again. The feeling of passing through fire and ice intensified when a pair of hands appeared in the window situated behind the driver, followed by a round face which pressed tightly against the glass to gape in shock and amazement at the sight only a few feet away. A boy perhaps ten or eleven years old, with the same curly brown hair as the driver, now caught his first glimpse of the shape and size of an aroused adult male. The youngster's startled brown eyes flicked across Brett's nude form, swung in a circle as they zeroed in on one particular piece of orbiting anatomy. His nose wrinkled while he considered what his eyes perceived.

Though he had not been told to stop, Brett was too self-conscious to continue. He checked his hips in mid-swing while a fresh upswelling of humiliation welled up inside of him. Boys like this one had tied him up and stripped him naked before putting him on display. He saw the grin form on the boy's lips, bright teeth glinting like the sly and mischievous twinkle in his eyes, and knew that the boy in front of him would gladly join with those behind him in this game. But this boy was not bound by the same rules as the others, who were all inclined to follow their dark-haired leader. This boy could do anything at all to him -- and for some reason that Brett did understand, the idea sent waves of exhilaration chasing along his swollen cock.

At last, the engine growled and the car abruptly corrected course, the tires squealing a bit as the vehicle accelerated. The youngster's gaze lingered on him as long as it could, then turned back toward the interior of the vehicle. Brett was too ashamed to feel relieved -- which was perhaps fortunate, since the back window of the departing vehicle slid down, allowing the boy's head to reappear through the opening. A female voice shouted at him to get back inside, but he ignored it, twisting around so he could extend both of his arms outside the car. Even as the distance between them increased, Brett made out the all- too-familiar rectangle pointed in his direction and, above the roar of the engine, his ears picked out a faint sound like an old-fashioned camera shutter closing.

Oh, no!

The twenty-two year-old squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling shakily, his embarrassment swelling to crush the last shredded remains of his dignity. His naked likeness was now in the wild, forever beyond control! He could never be certain of his privacy again; never be sure when walking down the street that the people he saw, especially the younger ones, had not somehow seen it, were not even then picturing him without his clothes. Even worse, he knew part of himself enjoyed the thought.

From behind him, Wyatt's voice wondered, "Did he actually manage to get a picture?"

"There's a kid who thinks fast!" Darien commented admiringly. "You recognize him, Tyson?"

"Nope."

"Too bad. You could have swapped photos."

"Don't give him ideas," chided Dennis. "No one needs to see anything from us unless our prisoner stops cooperating."

"And no one wants to," Micah added sourly. "Now let's see if it worked," he insisted.

"Okay, turn around, Brett," ordered Wyatt confidently.

Once again Brett turned to face his unseen tormentors in shame. Though more humiliated than he had ever been in his entire life, the young man's rigid hard-on stubbornly refused to go away. The idea of being seen by everyone -- helpless, naked, and erect -- was simply too powerful. Even as he thought this, he felt another little thrill shoot through him. There were, after all, five pairs of eyes still watching him; eyes that he could not prevent from seeing; eyes that missed very little.

"Part of him is really happy," Darien remarked dryly.

"Eugh. And leaking!" Wyatt added.

Startled, Brett glanced down to discover that the initial beads of pre-cum had been swept away by the slow but steady rivulet of the stuff now oozing from the end of his dick. It glimmered in the light, a crystal strand trembling uncertainly in the still air for a moment before spattering against the pavement. Fuck me! he thought helplessly.

"Is that pee?" inquired Tyson. "Is he peeing?"

"No, I think it's pre-cum," said Darien.

"What?"

"It's supposed to be kind of like lube that -- uh, you know what? You'll find out."

"When?"

"When you're older," Dennis said firmly.

"Everyone always says that," the ten year-old grumbled.

"Well, you're still finding out a lot more than your friends are right now," Wyatt pointed out.

Sounding more cheerful, the youngest boy said, "Oh. Yeah, huh?"

"Anyway," Darien apprised him, "I can tell you that it means he's having a really good time."

"Which means he's a freak!" said Micah angrily. "I bet he gets off on all sorts of weird shit."

Brett flinched at the disgust in the Asian boy's voice, the words seeming to curl out from his hiding place to lash at the his awareness and further agitate his own inner turmoil. What the hell was wrong with him? Why was he so turned on by this?

"Embarrassing him doesn't seem to be working, Wyatt," Dennis' voice observed.

"No," the blonde boy assented ruefully. "You must really like being naked where people can see you, huh Brett?"

At last, the inescapable truth. How could he hide from it anymore, when it was so evident that even a twelve year-old could see it? Brett's shoulders slumped, his immobilized wrists slipping from his head, face-to-face with the realization that he had changed somehow. He was not the person that he was. Now he was an exhibitionist; he wanted people to see him, was excited by the thought, and it apparently made no difference whether those people were likely- looking lads or good-looking young men.

"We'd better get him back behind the dumpster."

Wyatt's blonde head appeared inside the cab of the backhoe. The boy leaped down to the ground and jogged through the gate, slowing as he approached Brett and staring with a mixture of curiosity and doubt at the fluid still dribbling from the end of the young man's cock.

"Um...let's go."

He did not seem inclined to get any closer, but turned after a minute and gestured imperiously for Brett to follow; which the young man did, stumbling numbly along while his mind endeavored to process the truth he'd tried so hard to avoid. The shape of it was terrifying to what remained of his former self. It seemed that simply acknowledging it was not enough to dispel his fear of it, or perhaps he hadn't really allowed it to sink in. If so, it appeared more and more likely that these boys would find a way to break down the last of his resistance until he finally surrendered. Then he would not know himself anymore. Then he would know too much.

Once behind the blush trash bin, the five boys took up station around Brett again. The young man noted that Darien had retrieved his running shoes, and the reason for that was made evident in short order.

"Since embarrassment didn't work, we're going to get a little tougher on you," Dennis remarked.

"Tougher how?" the twenty-two year-old inquired apprehensively.

The leader of the boys did not reply. Instead he nodded to Darien, who bent down and began to manipulate the laces of Brett's shoes until he had worked them free. Brett watched tensely, uncertain of the boy's intentions since he was already bound, but willing to bet they were not benign.

Climbing to his feet, Darien said, "Okay, hold him for a minute."

At once a youthful limb snaked through each of Brett's, wrapping around his athletic forearms: Dennis taking up station on one side of him and Wyatt on the other. Stepping forward, Darien drew one of the two laces tight and, before the twenty-two year-old in front of him could protest, the rough texture of the cord slipped rapidly down his thighs and through the thatch of curly pubes to snag the base of his shaft. This was so surprising that Brett simply stared in shock while the tallest boy looped the tie around itself and, not until it was cinched tight did he think to speak.

"What are you -- nnnh! -- doing?"

He grunted at the mushrooming tightness in his hard-on, which only served to increase the flow of crystal fluid from the end. It ran freely, trickling down the angled length in a glistening trail. Was that the point? To embarrass him further?

Darien flashed a grin at him and replied, "I'm making a leash."

The boy coiled the lace again, this time winding it around the young man's dangling ball-sac before pulling it tight. The twenty-two year-old yelped in response to the sudden, sharp pain that stabbed in his groin as his balls were constricted painfully. Reflexively he tried to retreat from the source of this affliction, but the arms pinning his own kept him from getting very far. Wyatt snickered at his discomfort. Darien loosened the tie a bit before winding the lace around Brett's balls a second time and fashioning a knot. Naturally, this was pulled tightly to ensure it was secure, forcing another grunt from the naked captive's lips. Once certain of the bond's strength, the tallest boy knotted the second lace to the end of the first, then stepped back.

"You can let him go."

The boys at Brett's sides withdrew; the blonde one with a broad smile on his face.

Brett stared down with dismay at the makeshift tether, just over two feet long, that dangled from Darien's hand. The added pressure on his throbbing cock had become a dull, uncomfortable ache. The bands around his testicles would contract painfully at the merest tug; and, if this was not enough to motivate him, a second, firmer pull would tighten the cord around his shaft. Here was a lead that Brett would have no choice but to follow if he valued the continued well-being of his manhood.

As if to emphasize this fact, Darien yanked sharply on it. Brett grimaced at the pinching sensation and hurriedly took a step forward.

Turning to his cohorts with a satisfied expression, the tall boy asked, "Who wants to take him for a walk?"

"Me first!"

Tyson stepped up eagerly, accepting the slender cord from Darien's outstretched hand with a grin and a bright, alert look in his eyes. It was as though his greatest ambition in life until that moment was to haul a naked male around by the privates -- and, indeed, it was with no small amount of enthusiasm that he pulled Brett forward, saying, "Come on, boy!"

This elicited chuckles and guffaws from the older youths, but Brett was left with little time to come to grips with this new humiliation -- a ten year-old leading him around by the balls! -- because he found himself struggling to keep pace with the kid dashing back and forth across the open area behind the large blue trash bin. The gritty, rocky ground poked sharply at his feet while the bands around his nuts pinched tightly, and Tyson would often change direction suddenly, careening left or right at a sharp angle and causing the line to drag painfully until Brett could alter course. In spite of these distractions, the twenty-two year-old felt his sense of disgrace grow sharper with each step he took at the youngest boy's command.

"Hey, Ty, can I try now?" called Darien after conferring with Wyatt for a moment.

"Okay."

The ten year-old trotted over to the tallest of the boys, his naked twenty-two year-old captive in tow. The leash changed hands, and Brett wondered what new indignity had been contrived for him. The playful smile on Wyatt's face was disquieting.

Darien started forward promptly, towing Brett behind him -- only the tall boy was not interested in making his captive run simple laps back and forth. Instead, he bounded down into the culvert, yanking on the tether to keep it tight. Brett gasped as his balls were wrenched sharply toward the ground; he stumbled forward at the reflexive attempt to crouch so as to fend off the assault on his privates, and toppled painfully to the ground.

"Aaagh!"

Jarring pain lanced through his shoulder and right arm. He had managed to twist himself at the last moment so that he fell on one side, but the impact was no less agonizing for that. He squeezed his eyes shut against the discomfort, which only slowly began to subside. Nothing felt broken, but there would likely be a rather sizable bruise along one shoulder.

"You can do better than that," Darien remarked from above him. The noose around Brett's privates constricted twice as the boy pulled at it insistently. "Get up. Let's try again."

Brett opened his eyes to stare up in aggravation at the tall boy. His features betrayed no sympathy, only a cheerful disregard for his captive's suffering. How could anyone be so heartless? Brett wondered. Then he recalled that, from the boys' point of view, he deserved the treatment. He'd been tried and convicted, after all; the state of his involuntary erection used as evidence against him. Even now it continued to accuse him, its full length reddening while the ache in it mounted and the need for release grew. Pre-cum burbled freely from the end, spilling from it in a glistening trail onto the dirty ground beneath his thigh -- spilling like his secrets, his every intimate part on display just like he'd evidently always wanted.

Maybe the boys were right to treat him this way, then. Maybe there was something wrong with him that only the humiliation and abuse could correct. Why was he still so painfully hard? Even as he puzzled over this, even as the pressure around his nuts sharpened once more, he found the pain left behind it an oddly pleasurable echo that had not been there before. Startled by this, he frowned mentally, wondering if someone could learn to enjoy punishment -- and worried because, if they could, there would be no end to what the boys would do to him.

The harsh demands of the leash around his dick did not leave much further time for self-examination. Brett groaned and rolled quickly into a sitting position, then struggled to his feet. Dirt and grit clung to his sweaty skin but he was unable to do anything about it because Darien led him at once back to the edge of the culvert, hoisting himself up before turning to jiggle the tether in his hand impatiently, sending small spasms of sharp discomfort and surprising excitement through Brett while he clambered over the edge. No sooner had he reached a standing position than Darien sprang down again.

Somewhat better prepared this time, Brett was able to manage the leap without too much pain from any part of his body, landing somewhat unsteadily on both feet.

Darien shook his head as Brett straightened. "Not good enough. You can do better."

Once more he was prompted by a series of tugs on his groin to climb out of the culvert, then jump back into it. This time he hit the ground without wobbling, but Darien criticized his form nonetheless, saying it was not yet satisfactory. Again and again Brett had to haul himself over the edge, turn, and leap down, until his knees ached from the repeated shock of landing and he was breathing hard and perspiring freely. Each time the noose tightened, the savory feeling in his groin seemed to feed on every ache registered by his nerves: whether it was the impatient bite of the cord around his shaft and ball sac, the soreness of his muscles, or the burning of his lungs. Discomfort and delight at the same time, mingling in odd and unusual ways, stabbing needle- sharp pins in his midsection that quickly evaporated into ghostly caresses. Somehow the initial pain made the pleasure in his groin that much more enticing. In his twenty-two years, Brett had never felt anything quite like it. He wasn't certain what to make of it or what to think anymore. Everything he thought he knew about himself was falling away.

"That didn't work, either," Micah stated flatly when Darien finally brought Brett, sweating and panting and hard, to stand in front of his counterparts.

"Hm," Darien grunted, considering Brett's persistent erection with raised eyebrows. "No, he's tougher than I thought."

"We'll see." The Asian boy wore an unpleasant grin, and Brett noted with a start that he had obtained a board from somewhere, perhaps the trash bin: a dirty two-by-four about a foot long and splintered at one end. He watched nervously as the youth accepted the leash from Darien.

Hauling down on the line, Micah barked, "On the ground, freak!"

Grunting at the fresh agony in his balls, Brett hastily complied, falling onto his knees before the boy. Micah chuckled unpleasantly, letting the cord slip from his fingers while strutting around behind the twenty-two year-old.

"Don't move!"

Brett froze in the middle of turning warily toward the youth, his heart beating anxiously in his chest. Of all of the boys, Micah had been the most consistently hostile. What was he going to do with the broken board? All sorts of unpleasant things came to mind.

Something rubbery nudged him sharply in the back, causing him to tense. It felt like the sole of a shoe -- Micah stretching out one foot to push him into a prone position. Another nudge, more forceful this time. Brett fell forward onto his elbows, trembling all over because this position placed his bare ass at the highest point of his body and there could be only one reason the youth standing behind him with a board would want that. He glanced in mute terror up at the other boys, but they simply watched with interest, curious to see how events unfolded. They would not intercede. Why should they? He deserved this.

Rather unexpectedly, he felt a thumb and forefinger squeeze each of his bared ass cheeks, sharply compressing the muscle and flesh there. Brett grunted and tensed.

"No fat," observed the voice of the boy back of him. "No padding. Too bad for you."

The feel of the first heavy blow to fall on his exposed skin seemed to pierce his midsection like a jagged lance. Brett bit down against the pain, determined not to give the Asian boy the satisfaction, whether the punishment was merited or not. But the second blow scorched like fire when the board lifted away and he was not entirely successful at keeping the agonized grunt from escaping his lips while flame licked in a line along his backside and down into his gut. The third strike landed, and the fourth, and he saw stars in his vision and felt tears stinging the corners of his eyes. A fifth blow, and fierce agony radiated like intense, star-bright heat from behind him; his ass felt like it was being swallowed by an angry sun -- and when yet another fell, scattering red-hot, diamond-edged daggers in the midst of the inferno, he finally lost control.

"Stop! Please!"

Something descended on his right shoulder. Brett flinched away from it, expecting to be hit again; but though it was firm, the grip was careful and there were no further assaults on his bare backside. Through tearing eyes the naked young man was able to make out the form of Dennis as the teen knelt beside him.

"Are you still enjoying yourself?" the dark-haired youth asked.

"No," Brett whimpered, his lower lip quivering. Part of himself observed this reaction with clinical fascination. Was six swats with a two-by-four all it took for an adolescent to reduce an adult to a blubbering infant? But "six swats" hardly conveyed the torment that continued to scald his bare skin. Though the searing intensity of the pain was not quite as white-hot as before, though already it had begun to merge into the beguiling heat which radiated from his groin, he feared he would not be able to sit down for quite a while. At the same time, he felt diminished somehow, as if the teenager next to him had grown ten feet tall.

"I'd like to believe you," Dennis responded. "There's just one problem."

The teen ducked beneath Brett's right arm so he could retrieve the cord dangling from the naked young man's privates. Taking it hand, he stood up, drawing it tight and forcing Brett to climb to his feet quickly in spite of his seething backside.

"Your dick is still hard," the dark-haired youth said accusingly, jerking painfully at the line. "Why?"

Brett winced, then gazed down in consternation at his bobbing cock, which was just as hard as ever and which was drooling pre-cum just as readily as before. The twenty-two year-old gazed at the sight with a mixture of disbelief and despair. There was no way he had taken pleasure in the pain visited on his bare ass; there was just no way! Was there?

"I -- I don't know," he mumbled at last, staring at his feet in shame while his cheeks flamed anew. "I guess -- I guess I must have liked the punishment." The admission sent a chill shuddering through him, ending in a trembling exhalation of breath. His mind warred fiercely with the idea. It couldn't be true. Yet it was the only explanation he could think of, the only way to make sense of the continued reality that flaunted itself readily in front of him regardless of what the boys did to him. What did that make him?

"Fuckin' freak," Micah sneered. The board clattered loudly against the ground when he threw it down in disgust.

Brett shrank a little more. The boy's derisive statement was certainly an answer to the question he'd just asked himself, but not one that he liked.

Shaking his head, Dennis said, "Well, we can't just let you get away with spying on us." He turned to his companions. "Come on, guys! There's got to be something we can do that'll actually punish him!"

"I have an idea!" Tyson put forward.

"What?" his older brother asked.

The ten year-old grinned. "First, he's gotta sit on his big, red butt! And I've gotta get something." The boy dashed away, leaving his older counterparts looking bemused.

"Well, it won't be fun to sit down when your ass looks like that," Darien said after a moment.

"No," Wyatt concurred. "Come on, Brett. Have a seat." The blonde boy gestured at the ground in front of the blue trash bin.

Meekly, Brett approached the indicated area, trailing the tether still attached to his cock and balls and worrying what new torture was being devised. If he really liked pain, what else could the boys do to discipline him? Whatever it was, he hoped they would leave his ass alone this time. The ache at his back was slow to transmute into any other kind of sensation, though there were the tiniest of hints that the transition might proceed faster if things were properly soothed.

With great care, the naked twenty-two year-old lowered himself to the ground, leaning back against the corroded and dirty metal and gingerly settling onto his burning rear end. The thin layer of dirt pressing against his tortured skin was actually pleasantly cool, once the initial feeling of increased discomfort which came with the extra pressure applied to his abused ass had passed. His erection lay warm against his tight belly, the purple head slick and glistening in the subdued light beneath the bridge. The two adolescents standing over him eyed the sight with continued interest until their younger counterpart reappeared a moment later, bearing in his hands one of the larger water guns the boys had been using earlier. Though the smirking ten year-old was of greatest concern, out of the corner of his eye Brett thought he saw the pair surreptitiously adjust something about the fit of their shorts.

Wyatt frowned on catching sight of Tyson and inquired, "What, are you going to spray him or something?"

Tyson shook his head, a gleeful expression playing over his features. "No."

"Then what?"

"I'll show you if you grab his foot."

"His foot?" Wyatt repeated, sounding confused.

Tyson nodded. "And Darien, you grab the other one. You both need to hold them up."

"No way!" the tallest boy burst out. Brett caught the look of startled comprehension as it crossed his youthful face, followed by the incredulous smile. "Seriously?"

Tyson nodded and giggled, his eyes dancing with mirth and mischief.

Wyatt stared between the two in consternation. "What? What's going on?"

Brett wanted to know the same thing. What could the ten year-old possibly be up to? Then he saw the two short, quick motions Darien made with one forefinger extended -- jabbing first out, then up -- and dread flooded into his stomach, caused it to lurch violently.

Wyatt blinked, looking astonished for a moment as he, too, grasped the import of those gestures. Then he burst out laughing. "Holy shit! Um -- okay! Let's do it!"

Before their twenty-two year-old captive could object, a pair of hands descended on either side of him, taking firm hold of his ankles and lifting them into the air. He tried to resist but Wyatt bent down with his free hand to scoop up the cord attached to his groin, pulling it tight. Brett winced and relented at once, allowing his thighs to be pressed against his stomach to expose the last place, the very last place, he had kept private through this entire ordeal. And though he stared at Tyson in mute terror, pleading silently with the youngest boy not to do the thing he meant to do, his pleas were not acknowledged by the ten year-old who grinned and knelt down in front of him, his eyes seeking out his target.

"Gross!" the boy called out, his nose wrinkling. "There's hair down there, too!"

Wyatt and Darien snorted from either side, which only caused their young cohort to smile even more. He brought the water gun forward, rested it on his knees for a moment while he considered the view. No doubt he wondered about the logistics of his proposed undertaking.

Brett wondered too. He was trembling again, quaking all over even worse than before; his stomach turning somersaults, his breaths coming in short gasps, his brow fluttering like his heart was fluttering. No boy should have been able to contemplate doing what this one intended, to say nothing of finding himself only seconds away from carrying out the act! This boy had, this boy was, and there was nothing he could do to save himself from it.

"He's not happy," Darien observed.

"Nope!" Wyatt agreed. "You might be onto something, Ty!"

"This'll punish him for sure!" Tyson asserted, flashing a smile at the pair. He scooted forward a little; then, taking the plastic water gun in both hands, he hefted it carefully, then nudged it forward.

Brett was not ready for it. His nerves were so badly frayed by this point that he could barely see straight -- but still he had to look, had to get an idea of what was coming at him. The white plastic barrel of the toy weapon extended for perhaps five inches beyond the stock. It was maybe half an inch across, except for the brightly-colored and tapering nozzle, which was somewhat narrower. The naked young man swallowed hard. For all of that, it might as well have been a club.

Brett was a virgin. Though he knew the theory, though occasionally he would finger himself with interest, nothing had ever -- ever -- penetrated him; not even a digit. Notwithstanding his natural curiosity about the matter, he always felt a little weird about the mechanics. He knew he might have to get over it eventually, but the guys he'd messed around with had seemed satisfied with the occasional hand-job between roommates. Now a ten year-old was going to take his virginity in the only way a ten year-old could: by violating him with a suitable object. One look at the eager faces around him assured him the outcome was inevitable. He could not fight it, could not prevent it, or worse pain would descend upon him.

The athletic twenty-two year-old held his breath, bracing himself against the moment of stretching, spiraling horror that broke at last when the bright plastic nozzle brushed briefly against the rose-pink gateway protecting the last of his secrets, leaving a tingling trail in its wake. He exhaled sharply while the pleasurable sensation spread. The touch of his finger in the same spot had done something similar, whispering the discovery of forbidden delights against his skin, if he only had the courage to explore a little further. He never did. Now it didn't matter; now a boy would plumb those depths for him.

The youths situated on either side of the prone young man bent closer, all but one of them a fascinated observer of the ten year-old's antics. Micah continued to glower down at him from the right, but on the left Dennis seemed just as interested as his friends. Tyson determinedly repositioned the barrel, and once again the muzzle pressed roughly into Brett's clenched hole, with more force this time. The stress against the point of entry grew as the ten year-old bore down inexorably; it turned into an ache, then a dull pain.

"Nnf!" the twenty-two year-old grunted, while the unpleasant sensation built and built. Sweat ran in rivulets down his forehead; he tried to relax into the intrusion but his circumstances wouldn't allow it. He couldn't just permit this boy to penetrate him while his older cohorts watched! Somehow to do so was even worse than being bound by them, stripped naked by them, publicly humiliated and abused by them. It felt like the ultimate humiliation. Allow this, and he could never refuse the boys again!

But in this, as in all else that had occurred, it did not matter whether he allowed it or not. He was at the mercy of boys who knew that he was -- and who intended to press home their advantage.

And in this, as in all that had come before, Brett found part of himself thrilled by the idea of what was taking place.

"Boy's tight," Darien quipped after a moment.

"Guess he was telling the truth about never being with a guy," Micah stated, stirring from his place.

Wyatt snickered.

Grunting a little as he continued stubbornly wedging the nozzle against Brett's resistant pucker, Tyson said, "What's -- nnh! -- that mean?"

"It means he's never had anything up his butt before," Micah replied. "You're gonna have to use some of this."

He held out a small bottle to the ten year-old. The pain stabbing into Brett subsided for a moment while the youngest boy stared curiously at the Asian boy's offering.

Wyatt laughed. "You keep hair gel in your pocket?"

Micah shrugged, scowling somewhat. "Not all of us like to be bald."

"Yeah, but at least I don't have to keep hair gel in my pocket," Wyatt shot back. "You got a comb in there, too? You got makeup?"

Micah responded first by shoving the blonde boy. "Shut up. Just be glad I have it or you wouldn't be able to watch Tyson stick this guy. And then what would you jack off to tonight?"

"Your mom, like always!"

"Not his dad?" Darien joked, earning a reproving scowl from the blonde boy.

"What should I do with this?" asked Tyson quickly, taking the bottle before the boys could continue arguing.

"Smear some of it on the end of the gun," directed the Asian boy, still glaring angrily at Wyatt.

The ten year-old made a face. "Really?"

"Unless you'd rather use something else," Darien suggested. "Like the pre-cum our boy's leaking all over himself?"

"Eugh. No! Blech! Don't be gross."

Looking disgusted with the older boy's recommendation, Tyson sat back on his haunches, flipping the water gun on one end so its nozzle was in the air. He popped the cap of the hair gel bottle open and squeezed a generous dollop onto the bright plastic. After handing the bottle back to Micah, the ten year-old took his thumb and forefinger and spread the glob around the nozzle and across the first inch or so of the barrel. Brett looked on with nervous anticipation. Any lubrication at all would probably make penetration less painful, but then what? If he enjoyed the process, the boys would have to find a different way to torture him.

"It's sticky," Tyson remarked, grimacing while continuing to work the viscous gel around the nozzle.

"That's probably good enough," Wyatt told him.

"Good!" the ten year-old said, sounding relieved. He scooted forward again, took aim, and rammed the water gun forward without preamble. Brett felt the clinging gel adhere to his skin as the muzzle of the weapon collided with his puckered hole. In spite of its lubricating qualities, pain speared up into him once more.

"Agh!"

"Maybe you should twist a little," Dennis put forward.

Tyson glanced up at his older brother, then turned back to the gun and began to rotate the barrel back and forth while driving the gun forward. Brett winced as the dull pain against his hole sharpened into a needle that jabbed keenly through his innards. The older youths around him gazed, eager and expectant, while the youngest of their number drilled implacably into the naked young man in front of them, oblivious to the way every revolution caused him to squirm and grunt, the sense of urgency rising insistently in spite of his discomfort, insisting that he let go, just let go, let it in...

Abruptly, the nozzle slipped forward a quarter of an inch. Brett gasped in astonishment as the tight ring protecting his last secret unexpectedly gave way before the onslaught.

"Unh!"

Tyson gasped, too. "It's going in!"

"Yeah! Keep going!" Wyatt urged the younger boy.

Nodding, the ten year-old resumed twisting the barrel. Brett began to pant in earnest as the nozzle slowly worked further inside of him, jabbing sharply, forcing its way across the distended threshold. It was inside of him! The thought made him dizzy, and it was accompanied by a weird sensation of ticklishness, unusual but not entirely unpleasant, which spread around the base of his rampant erection. It made resisting the penetration more difficult, however. He moaned involuntarily when his hole stretched a little wider, allowing the barrel to slither a little deeper.

"He's taking it!" crowed Wyatt. "He's taking it!"

Five pairs of young eyes watched in amazement as the bright plastic nozzle vanished from view, followed by the first inch of the barrel. Tyson continued to drive the water gun forward, rocking it back and forth like an awl, unaware that the motion set up a soaring and swooping sensation in his captive's midsection, sending rolling breakers of delight crashing against the base of his rigid dick. Back and forth, a little further, and then --

"Unh! Ohhhh! Shit!"

Without warning, the last of Brett's defenses crumbled beneath the boy's insistent ministrations. Tyson inhaled in surprise as the gun suddenly skated smoothly through the puckered opening into the naked young man, all five inches quickly swallowed up until the stock bumped against his cherry-red rear end. Brett moaned more loudly this time, shuddering as an odd but pleasant feeling of fullness speared rapidly into him. Then, as it came to rest, the tip of the gun brushed against something, something he had never felt before, but which sent an electric current buzzing along the length and breadth of his dick, increasing the sense of urgency in his groin by a hundredfold.

"Ohhh, god!" the twenty-two year-old breathed, arching his back reflexively.

"Holy shit!" Wyatt shouted, clutching his head with his his free hand and chortling maniacally. "Fucking A, dude! Do you guys see this?"

Darien nodded, his eyes wide. "Wow."

"I see he's getting off on it," Micah observed sourly.

Tyson was too astonished to do anything but stare. Without the ten year-old to maneuver it, the nozzle invading Brett remained poised against that spot, whatever it was, and the ticklish sense building at the base of his erection started to effervesce up toward the tip. Brett bit his lower lip against the incredible feeling, his nostrils flaring with every unsteady breath. It was too much! He had no words to describe it. No one had ever told him it would be like this, that it could be like this!

"Who cares if he is?" Wyatt retorted. "The whole thing is fucking inside of him!" The blonde boy hastily pulled his phone from his pocket. "I've gotta get a picture of this. Shit, dude!"

His phone clicked several times as he contorted his body, trying to capture the view from several angles while keeping Brett's right foot elevated. Still breathing heavily, still caught in the throes of pleasure he had not looked for, Brett did not have much attention to spare on worrying as the other boys followed suit, recording the evidence of his first penetration for posterity. The ache and need in his bound cock had grown, mingling with the tingling, vibrating energy arcing from deeper within. A sizable pool of pre-cum had formed on his taut belly and now overflowed down his side. It didn't matter anymore that he was naked, didn't matter that he was being used by a bunch of boys, that his intimate parts and moments were being used to entertain them -- nothing mattered but the pleasure swelling inside of him. He bit his lower lip again, fighting the rising tide but knowing he would not hold out against it for long. Not if kept feeling like this!

After a moment, Wyatt said, "Hey, Ty, can you pull it back out? So I can get a picture of how much you stuck inside him?"

"Okay."

The friction against his constricting hole was like a pleasant heat that singed and comforted at the same time. Yet the emptiness inside when the barrel was fully withdrawn, when the nozzle slipped free of his hole, was almost more than Brett could bear. Only a few minutes before he had not known anything; now he knew, and he needed to know it again, especially the thrill of that stimulating spot inside of him. Just the memory of how it felt was enough to force a shaky moan past his lips.

Micah's lips twisted into a sneer. "He sounds like a slut."

"How do you know what a slut sounds like?" asked Darien, turning toward the Asian boy with a wry smile.

"Haven't you ever watched porn?"

Holding his phone carefully before him to record the size and shape of the water gun, Wyatt added, "Or heard his mom?"

"Shut up about my mom already!" Micah snarled, aiming a kick at the towheaded boy.

Wyatt winced as the blow struck his bare leg below the knee, but he was not inclined to move while taking one snapshot after another. Or was he recording video now? Brett didn't know and hardly cared anymore.

"Whatever it sounds like," Dennis interposed, "Micah's right. It looks like he's enjoying it."

"Oh, yeah?" said Tyson, repositioning the water gun. "What if I do this?"

Grinning maliciously, he jabbed the barrel at Brett again. The nozzle thrust smartly against his yielding hole, then entered the naked young man as before. He winced and grunted while the boy slammed the weapon roughly forward, burying the barrel inside of him as deep as it would go. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Brett saw the ten year-old's finger on the trigger twitch.

A surge of fluid spewed inside of him, plumbing deeper even than the gun itself, filling him, spreading that sense of fullness everywhere. This, the urgency in his cock, the touch of the nozzle against that magic spot again, the youthful eyes watching him -- all of it was more than the beleaguered young man could take.

"Ohhh, fuck!" the twenty-two year-old groaned while his deepest recesses tingled with promise, while electricity arced across his rigid length to burble and buzz at the purple crown, while his hole constricted and spasmed around the five-inch barrel planted inside of him, burning with a heat that fed the fire in his groin. His aching balls churned and seethed, his heart hammered in his chest and the dam in his mind broke at last under the weight of so much tantalizing stimulation.

"Nnnh! Fuh -- fuuck!"

The naked young man's hips convulsed and thrust forward of their own accord; his seven-inch erection surged, springing away from his belly for a moment, and the first jet of creamy white erupted violently from the end. There were sharp exclamations from beside him as his hot and sticky jizz splashed across his chest. The boys holding him scrambled backward while he strained against the intense pleasure coursing through him, hardly aware of his surroundings. Every nerve seemed to ring inside of him like a bell, jangling loudly as one wave of bliss ran into the next, washing across his groin, his belly, his thighs and spilling out of his mouth as a protracted, incoherent moan. Before the feeling released him from its iron grip, a second volley had exploded out of him, raining ivory pearls across his midsection -- and a third upwelling spewed out onto his belly, overflowing his navel before trickling down toward one hip in a trail of glistening white.

Sinking back against the ground, panting and trembling, with echoes of ecstasy continuing to reverberate through him, it was all Brett could do to think. His mind reeled beneath the weight of what had just occurred. He could not believe it had happened, here, in front of these youths -- that it had been brought about by them!

The boys around him were likewise stunned, their cheeks stained red, their mouths open and their eyes wide. It was several minutes before Wyatt finally broke out of his trance and turned to Tyson. "Um. Did you mean to make him cum?"

"N-no," answered Tyson, sounding thunderstruck and a little shaken. "Is that what he's got all over him?"

"Yeah, it is," Darien said. "I guess he really, really likes having things shoved up his butt like that."

The ten year-old made a face. "Ew. That's gross."

"No shit," growled Micah.

"No, cum!" Wyatt laughed, grinning as he found his wits again.

The Asian boy rolled his eyes. "That's not funny."

"No, it's runny!"

"Knock it off, dickhead!"

"Yeah, that's where it comes out!"

"Gah! Dammit, Wyatt!"

Shaking his head, Darien turned to Dennis and inquired, "What now? I mean, his dick is finally going down, but..."

"Yeah." The dark-haired teen scowled at Brett, as though the explosive climax they had just witnessed was entirely his fault. Brett flushed under the scrutiny and could not match his gaze. He looked down. Now that the ardent demands of his groin had been satisfied in a manner that continued to resound gladly inside of him and in spite of his whirling mind, he was all too aware of his present state: bound and naked, covered in his own cum, lying prone before five adolescent boys who had plumbed his every last secret. Oblivious to this humiliation as ever, his slowly-softening dick continued to tingle happily, dribbling a rivulet of thick and creamy jism into the quivering, shimmering pool on his belly.

After considering the naked twenty-two year-old for a moment longer, Dennis shrugged. "Still, we've got the pictures."

"And I've got video!" Wyatt chimed in, still grinning at how annoyed Micah appeared.

Dennis acknowledged him with a nod, then turned back to Brett. There was an unsettling glint his eye. "And now there's one more thing we can do to make sure you learn your lesson."

Brett swallowed nervously. Learn his lesson? He'd learned a great deal, but it would take time to understand all of it, especially since a strange lassitude had spread over his mind; its reaction, perhaps, to the overwhelming stimulus it had been struggling so hard to process only moments before. He felt numb. He felt ashamed. He felt small. In spite of both feelings, he also had a sense of being unusually free and strangely happy. And then, when Dennis spoke again, he felt cold.

"We're going to walk you home like this."

Darien started and turned to regard Dennis with a strange expression, something like understanding dawning on his face. His mouth opened as though to ask a question, but it died on his lips as he seemed to think better of it, his mouth closing instead into a knowing smirk. Wyatt chortled, Tyson giggled, and even Micah seemed to appreciate the idea, his scowl brightening into what was merely a frown.

Brett's overloaded mind struggled to grind back into gear. They were going to walk him home? Like this? Naked was bad enough, but bound and with his own semen congealing on his bare skin? With a water gun hanging out of his ass? There were twelve blocks to traverse. Anyone and everyone would see him. They would see him like this, see everything, and they would know exactly what kind of person he was.

Again defying his emotional state, his cock twitched at the idea.

There was no escaping it, of course. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't fight these boys any more than he could fight himself. Maybe that was the point, what he was supposed to take away from all of this, the lesson Dennis insisted he learn: when to submit. Brett wondered if acknowledging the idea meant he was submissive, on top of everything else. Was he submitting to these boys, allowing them to dominate him?

They had done that already, acting by turns cruel and kind; uninterested in disciplining him more than he deserved but willing to do what they deemed necessary to achieve that. So there were twelve blocks to go. And if the boys decided to invite themselves in once they arrived at his apartment? If they decided to punish him further?

His cock twitched again.

The twenty-two year-old swallowed a second time, then squared his shoulders and did the only thing he could do. It was, he now realized, the only completely truthful thing to do, the first such thing he had done since he did not know when. Bending forward, taking the end of the cord still wrapped around his groin, he offered it up to the dark-haired teen.

"You'll need this," he said softly.

Please play nicely with your toys! The story above is a fantasy. In real life, there are consequences to actions such as the ones portrayed in this story. Fantasies wouldn't be fantasies without bending the rules, and though my goal is to write the most vivid and realistic fantasies I can write, they are still just fantasies. In the real world, all of your playmates must be of age to freely and legally give consent, and must give it, before your play begins.

If you liked what you just read, please consider being generous to Nifty, since they are generous enough to host this and many other fine erotic stories at no charge to you and me. You are also welcome to let me know that you liked it at the e-mail address below.

If you hated the story and have constructive criticism, please let me know that, too. If you think you can do a better job of writing it -- by all means, hammer out your stunning, prize-winning masterpiece of erotic literature and tell me when it's done, if only so you can watch the tears cascade down my face while your soaring, masterful prose forces me to question my manhood, my God, and my reasons for living. Just be sure to give credit where it's due.

If you simply want to rant incoherently, you are free to do so. I have a special place in my life for those who rant incoherently. It's right over there, inside the old well by my garden. Bend way, way over and you'll see it.

I can be reached at neverspam.cheekychiquito@gmail.com. You can figure out the real address if you're human enough. I do not promise to reply to all e-mails I receive, but I do promise to consider all worthwhile ideas and criticisms carefully, and to respond if moved to do so and when time permits.