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Party Time
Looking good--pleased to find that I like the way I look in my new, second-hand chaps. There isn't much time to admire myself though: Tom and Butch are on the way over. The basement's ready, except for a few details. I think I'm a little obsessive, lining up everything by size, making sure the chains are hanging evenly, but under the circumstances I don't want anything to interfere with Tom and Butch--enough! If the place is spotless, there's nothing for a slave to do. Not that their captive's going to have time for custodial work, if I know those two.
The sun has set: there's still a little glow in the west, but overall, a nice autumn gloom has settled over the house. One of the things I love about this house is the stonework wainscoting: in the shadows thrown by uneven light, it seems almost like a medieval castle--from some angles, at least. The outside steps to the basement look like the entrance to another world. I put flicker bulbs in two electrified oil lamps part way down--into the mines, or some such fantasy. I assume our captive will arrive blindfolded, but at least the atmosphere will inspire the three of us.
Here comes the van. Tom's backing it in, so no unwanted eyes will see them unload. By the time I'm at the basement steps, Tom and Butch are already pulling their captive out of the back. He's naked, and they've got him blindfolded and gagged, as expected. I help the guys get him down the steps and into the basement. The steps are stone, which feels exotic on bare feet. Another nice touch: the door sounds so heavy when it closes behind us: a deep, hollow boom.
"Spread-eagle," I order. "Let's see what we got!"
Good! The captive's struggling. I like it when they put up a little fight, at least at first. I hold his legs while the guys shackle his wrists over his head. Then Tom grabs one leg and I pull the other and we cuff them. By the time everything's snug, he's spread out pretty tight. Butch steps back, inviting me to begin the inspection. I pull my leather gloves on, so my touch will be alien, creepy. He's twitching--ticklish, that's fun. Decent build, nice definition, curly brown hair, nicely hung. Solid glutes. I give them a few light slaps.
Butch is going after his tits, already. Tom's digging through the butt toys, comes up with a hook and grabs some grease. I stand next to Butch, remove the gag and "inspect" the kid's mouth. Of course, he immediately starts swearing at us, so I muffle his mouth with my hand. I can feel his tongue pushing against my leather glove. Butch spins around and gives his ass a good slap, leans over his shoulder and yells into his ear, "Shut up, punk!"
"Nobody can hear you, punk," I add, pinching his cheeks. "You're in a world of shit--don't make it worse on yourself." I step away--far as the captive's concerned, I just disappear. Then Tom pops the ball at the end of the hook into the captive's ass.
"What the fuck--" the kid yells. Tom replies by pulling the hook up. "Oh, shit!" the kid says. Butch goes back to his tits.
I let Tom and Butch work for a few minutes, while I grab a head harness with a chin cup. The captive resists, of course, but it doesn't do him any good. In two minutes, the harness is on. I hook my fingers into his nose and force his head back, and Tom ties the end of the butt hook to the top of the harness, nice and snug. "He's good," I snap, and the three of us step back at the same time.
The kid makes some noises behind the chin cup.
"Listen up, punk!" Tom shouts into his left ear. "We got you, and we're going to have some fun!"
Butch growls into the kid's right ear, "It may not be as much fun for you, though."
I hold up a couple of collars: metal and leather. Tom chooses the wide leather one with silver studs and buckles it around the kid's neck. "You're collared, now, punk. Listen good." And he locks the collar. "You're locked in. We're in charge. We give you an order, and you obey it. Right away, no back talk. You give us any shit, you get punished." Butch comes up behind the kid with a riding crop. "You know what punishment feels like?" Tom asks, and nods to Butch, who lays a stripe across the prisoner's butt.
The kid yanks at his chains and yells through the chin cup.
"Hurts, doesn't it, punk?" Tom says, almost as if there'd been no interruption. "Remember how it feels, punk. That's what punishment feels like."
The captive whimpers. Poor kid can't even hang his head.
I speak softly, in a cold, calm tone that I've been told scares a lot of guys. "We're going to use you like a toy, punk. We're going to rape you. We're going to take your ass and you're going to suck our cocks, all three of us. And by the time we're done, punk, you'll be begging for more." I squat in front of him and snap a harness on his cock, forcing his balls down and separating them. Couple of strokes and he starts to get stiff. "Look guys! He wants it!" I work him up hard. "It's going to be a real nice night."
Butch starts tapping him with the crop, real light, all over. It doesn't hurt, but since the kid has no idea what the next stroke will feel like--or where it will fall--pretty soon he's panting with fear.
"You ready to kneel down and beg to suck cock?" I sneer, and assume his response would translate to "fuck you," or a similar sentiment. "No hurry--we've got all fucking night to work on you."
Butch steps away and Tom clamps his tits, then the three of us huddle a few feet away and discuss what we'll do next. About all our captive hears is occasional laughter. He's had at least ten minutes in the standing spread-eagle, so he'll have to come down, soon.
We start by shackling his legs close, so the best he can do is hobble. Then we release his arms, one at a time, and cuff his hands to his collar. Tom and I grab his shoulders and order him to kneel, jabbing the backs of his knees at the same time. Next, we untie the butt hook, run the rope through his collar, and tie it to the leg irons. Now, there's no way he's going to stand up. But he can crawl. "Here, boy!" Butch says, and the kid turns toward his voice. "Get over here!" Butch snaps, and I give the kid a jab in the butt with my boot. With my encouragement, he crawls toward Butch; as soon as he gets there, Tom summons him. The three of us are the points of a triangle, and we keep him crawling from one of us to another. If he slows down, he gets a little more encouragement.
At last, I call him to me and I undo the head harness. "Lick my boots!" I shout, and I push his face down.
"Fuck you!"
Butch swats his ass--hard. "Do it!" he orders. At the same time, Tom presses the back of his head down.
He licks, once. "Don't stop," Butch warns, and gives his ass another whap.
He obeys.
"Thatta boy," I say, encouragingly. "Clean them real good." After a few minutes, we shift him to Tom's motorcycle boots, and then to Butch's lineman's boots.
"Look at the sissy bootlicker," Butch sneers. "Work your tongue, punk. Get in practice!"
After the kid's had a few minutes on each of our boots, I order him to roll over. I steady myself on Tom and Butch's shoulders and plant my right boot on the kid's face. "Clean it!" I snap. At the same time, Butch slides his right boot under the kid's ass, tight against the butt hook.
"What next?" I whisper to Tom, while Butch keeps mocking the captive. He nods his head toward the pillory, which I've set waist-high.
"Chest up?" I whisper.
Tom gives me a puzzled look; I tip my head back and stick out my tongue, and he gets it. "Yeah," he grins. He nods to Butch, and then orders the kid to roll over and kneel up. A few minutes later, we've got everything off the boy's body except the collar and leg irons, and he gets his first real look at us and the dungeon. He's impressed. We man-handle him over to the pillory, bend him backwards and lock his hands and neck in place. I shove a stool under his butt to give him a little support, and Butch straddles him. I can see a handful of tit toys in his vest pockets.
Tom offers me first lick. I set my ass down on the kid's face. "Lick it, boy!" I put a little weight on his head, so he knows what could happen if he resists, and he goes to work. I slide my butt around for a bit, then spread my cheeks. "Lick my hole!" He obeys, licking frantically now, as Butch tightens clamps on his nipples. The kid's good at this, and I'm tempted to just settle in, but fair's fair, dammit, so I yield my place to Tom, who soon appears to be enjoying himself even more than I did.
Butch is still playing with the tit toys. I think I know what to get him for Christmas, if I can find a pair he doesn't already have. I kneel down behind him and start toying with the captive's privates, pulling the hair on his nuts and plucking a few from his crotch. In between the jolts of pain, I play with his dick, getting it hard again. "He likes it," I say, nice and loud. "Going to turn this punk into a real nice slave."
"We could leave him with you for a few days--sort of like paying rent," Butch laughs. "Nobody knows where he is, so we can do anything we want! Hey!" he yells, turning his attention to Tom. "Don't be selfish!" He swings his leg over my head. Tom sighs dramatically and yields his place to Butch.
"You know, we still haven't sampled his ass," I laugh, squeezing his balls.
"Yeah!" Tom agrees.
"Come on, you two! Give me a few minutes!" Butch answers. Tom shrugs, and the two of us get the fuck bench out of the corner. We give Butch a little more time, then Tom leans over and whispers in his ear. "First dibs," Butch answers.
I love the fuck bench. It's a custom job: I had the frame welded of heavy steel bars and rebuilt the cushion from an exercise bench. The legs are adjustable, so you can get the mouth and asshole at the right heights. And once the bottom's strapped in, he's not going anywhere, no matter how much he struggles. We bend the punk over and strap his arms and torso in place, then unlock his ankles and strap his legs in place. The end of the bench has a notch so we can drop his cock and balls through, and there are notches on the side so Butch can hang weights from his poor tits. Finally, I grab a tray with dildos arranged on it and set it on the floor in front of the bench, so the punk can see each and every one.
Tom's an ass man--I bet you could suck him all day and he wouldn't get off. But let him into your butt hole and look out. He skips the beginner toys and grabs a dildo that's about the same diameter as a garden hose, smears a little grease on it, and starts poking. It goes in pretty easy, and he starts moving it around until it hits the kid's prostate. The punk's cock gets hard and he starts to moan like he's in a porn movie.
That's Butch's cue to start slapping the kid's face with his cock. Butch has a pretty impressive cock: the head end is fatter than the base, so once it's in, it tends to stay. "You ready to suck some cock, punk?"
"Fuck you," the kid answers. But it comes out more like a plea for mercy.
Butch wants none of that. He steps away and returns with a jaw clamp, forces the kid's mouth open and locks it in place. "You'll like it, once you get used to being a hole," he teases, and slides the head of his cock in. "Go ahead, kid. Give it a lick. Taste it!"
Tom's moved up to a fatter dildo--ping-pong ball diameter. He's sliding it in slow and steady, nice and deep, then almost all the way out, then in again--it's almost hypnotic.
I drag the riding crop across the kid's back and smile at Butch. "Let me know if he needs encouragement." Butch grins and pushes his cock further in, hits the captive's gag reflex, and I give him a couple of strokes to distract him. "You know, punk, it's actually easier if you just relax and let him fuck you," I say, helpfully.
Tom's next dildo is almost as big as the real thing. They're getting to the kid: his rod is rock hard in my hand. Naturally, I let go. He whimpers, but I'm not sure which of us is the cause. I whisper in his ear: "Turning you into a real cock slave, punk. You like getting it from both ends? Imagine spending the next few weeks down here, all helpless with nothing to do but take cock. Shit, we could rent you out for parties. Would you like that, punk? Crawling around begging to suck cock? Waving your ass around so somebody'd fuck you?
Butch takes up the threats. "Or just hanging in the middle of the room, waiting to get a whipping. "You want to get your fucking ass--no, your whole body covered with welts? Begging for me to stop? We got all kinds of whips and floggers and shit: teach you to love each and every one."
"Hell, let's quit playing around, punk," Tom shouts. "Time for the real thing." And he drives his cock deep into the kid's asshole. It's not like the dildo. Tom plunges in, pokes around a little, pulls almost all the way out, then drives in again. In and out, real fast for a few seconds, then more deep poking. Nobody fucks like Tom. He's an artist.
Butch suddenly pulls out of the kid's mouth. "Dammit!" he yells, and shoots all over the punk's face, then smears the cream around with his cock and shoves it back in. "Clean it, cocksucker!" Butch sometimes has trouble knowing exactly when he's going to cum. He's usually good for two or three loads, though.
I'm still down on the floor, messing with the punk's junk. Unlike Butch, I have a knack for knowing just how close a guy is to popping. And the punk is close, so I take my hands away again. I've kept guys on the edge for at least an hour, easy. I love it when they start begging, promising to do anything I want, if only I'll let them cum. I don't think the kid's there yet, but Butch is keeping his mouth pretty busy, so I can't be sure.
"Hey, man! You want sloppy seconds?" Tom says. "I'm going to shoot my first load." I get off the floor and stand back to watch. Tom's pretty when he cums: throws his head back with his eyes tight shut, panting and snorting; every muscle in his body tightens; he grabs flesh wherever he can, and you can almost imagine his whole body just disappearing into that hole. Then he just yells, and waves his arms for a few seconds, and then starts to ease up, and lowers his body on top of the kid, gasping for air. "Oh, fuck, yeah," he says, over and over, until his cock slides out and he just sort of staggers away, looking for somewhere to sit. Mag-fucking-nificent!
I debate taking up Tom's offer for sloppy seconds, but it almost seems like sacrilege. Butch pulls out-- he's already rock-hard again, but he offers the mouth to me, and I gladly accept. Meanwhile, he gets in position under the bench with a handful of tit toys. "Just take it, punk," I growl. Butch already took the mouth clamp off, and the kid just accepts my rod. I can barely feel his gag reflex: Butch clearly took care of that. "Tongue the head, boy! Tickle my piss slit!"
He obeys.
I run my fingers through his hair. "That's a good little cocksucker. You keep up with that and I may just keep you for myself. Bet you'd look good all harnessed up, chained to the wall. Feed you some dog food once a day, maybe, get you a cock cage. Bet you'd love that, punk, just being my personal cum-dump."
"Kid gets much harder and his dick's going to split wide open," Butch says. "It's time."
Dammit! Just when I was--what the hell, I edged myself! I pull out, Butch gets out from underneath, and we unstrap the kid. "On the floor, punk!" Tom orders. "On your back!"
The kid flops to the floor. He's covered with sweat, and his tits look like they're on fire. Butch is right about his cock: it's sticking straight up like you could tie a flag to it. We surround him. Tom's boot is under his crotch. He stares up at the three of us, cocks aimed right at him. "Masters? May I cum?" he says, and his voice is scratchy.
"Not 'til we do," Tom says. The three of us grab our cocks. "One, two, three," he calls, and we all join in: "Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you..."