Tables Were Turned

THE TABLES WERE TURNED

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

The Tables Were Turned, Part Four

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But none of them did?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?" I was genuinely shocked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I don't remember, sir."

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

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

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

The second stroke was not so much of a surprise, but if anything it hurt more and I screamed again. Then Tim came and stood next to me and I felt his hand running all over my bum. "Two big red stripes, Steve!

Now you must remember to be a good boy in future, and do exactly as I say, and be unfailingly polite.... Do you understand?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Look, please, sir...."

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

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

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

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

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

"It was great, Steve", he told me. "Being able to go around the shops and buy whatever I wanted, and knowing it as your money! Now they've got PINs on the credit cards, no one ever even looks at the signature!

Mom and dad always kept me pretty short, but I've always known the sort of stuff I'd buy if I had the money."

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

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

"You were going to Cambridge, sir?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We watched my porno DVD, too - the same one as before - and I couldn't help getting hard as we watched the woman being fucked. He'd kicked off his shoes now, and my erect cock brushed against his socked feet as he sat there, something he noticed, then commented on.

And once we got to the scene where the two blokes were fucking, and I'd gone off the boil a bit, he told me to move out in front, between him and the TV, and to "get ready to wank". I thought he was going to tell me to wank myself, and that would be a good time to try to escape as he'd have to let my wrists go free: I reckoned that if I could overpower him and get him back down in the cage, I could probably pry from him the secret of where the "evidence" against me was filed; and I might even be able to "persuade" him to give me my money back!

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

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

"...but you capture young blokes."

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

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

"No, sir, thank you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Whatever you want, sir."

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

Come on, down into the cage."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"OK, Steve - I'm going to undo one wrist as I need to fasten that to the crate, too - don't move, will you?

If I have to prod you when you're in here, you'll probably injure yourself as your body spasms." He just sounded so cold and calculating, that I knew he was right, and simply obeyed. Soon both arms were along the side of the crate, with my wrists and elbows secured to the sides.

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

"Fuck you!", I spat.

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

End Of Part Fourv