Track and Field

Track and Field 3

by GGDC

Author's Note: This is a tale of how a young college student's abject surrender to stronger males who use him to gratify their unnatural lusts. It is set seven or eight decades in the future where STDs are completely under control, nudity taboos are almost absent from social life, and medical advances have extended the human life span to several centuries. The USA is fully on the metric system.

It contains graphic descriptions of the male human body, of consensual and non-consensual sexual activity between adult males, the youngest of whom is eighteen years old, i.e. above the age of consent, and some light bondage and discipline. The use of words or terms like 'boy', 'teen', 'youth' etc, are purely to identifying gender and are not meant to imply that the characters are below age.

If any of this would offend a reader, read no further. This is not intended for persons younger than an age where they may freely and legally select their reading matter in whatever jurisdiction that applies.

It is offered for entertainment. If it manages to both amuse and to provoke prurient interest, it will have succeeded in its aim. Writing this tale has been the most fun the author has had wearing clothes in a very long time, well since parts one and two.

It is entirely fictional, with no resemblance intended to any person living or dead.

Before you ask, this is the third and last tale in a three story arc. Readers who like these stories might also try my 'Jungle Boy' stories in the Gay/Authoritarian section of the Archive. My 'Daphne Boy' stories and a separate story 'Naked Prey' are in the Gay/Historical section.

Comments and feedback welcome.

Chapter 1. Toujours le Choupinou

The lithe American youth followed a dirt road as it dipped into a swale in the low mountains of Haiti. He ran in the relative cool of early morning, not that it was ever really cool in Haiti. Just as well he was nude. He wiped sweat off his face with his arm and ignored the dust he raised as he ran on. It didn't matter how much dust settled on his bare flanks anyway and got streaked with sweat He would shower afterwards.

The tropical climate here was even warmer these days, a dozen years from the end of the twenty-first century, thanks to global warming. The down slope leveled off. Soon the blond youth was leaning forward into the climb up the next ridge, arms pumping with the effort, slender legs pushing powerfully. He ran past the slopes planted just yesterday with seedlings of fast growing trees. The reforestation program in the low mountains of Haiti was making good progress, thanks to careful monitoring and quality control. That is where Kyle came in.

Still two months short of nineteen after his sophomore year in college, Kyle was working his second summer as a civilian aide for the UN sponsored reforestation of the bare slopes that had for so long been Haiti's environmental shame. In time the new forest would restore the watershed to control erosion and silting, provide timber and firewood, and help this poor country assume a more dignified place in the family of nations.

Twice he passed parties of young men and boys already heading toward the areas to be planted this day. They waved to the young American clad only in a sheen of sweat, as he loped along at a pace that really ate up the kilometers. A talented runner, Kyle was into track and field in college and conscientiously maintained his training regime during the summer. The sunlight glistened on a slender utterly hairless physique drenched in sweat and streaked with dust, blond locks plastered to his brow.

As he neared the base camp, the naked youth poured it on ignoring the way his unsupported dangly bits bounced about. That came with the territory. All competitors -- males anyway -- went naked and barefoot these days in track and field and in aquatic sports, soccer too. He dropped to a trot then a walk during the last half click to cool down.

The young men and boys at the base camp gazed appreciatively at the young runner. Already past his growth spurt, he clearly he would never be taller than his current slight stature: only 168 centimeters (five and one half feet). He had flagged a bit there at the end. It can be hard to pack away energy stores in a frame that carried only 56 kilos (122 pounds), especially for a runner who had a surprisingly strong upper storey. His body fat percentage had to be in the single digits. Kyle was a bit too muscular to be called skinny, but he was boyishly slender.

He was their favorite 'mec ˆ poil' or guy in his birthday suit. His physical beauty was extraordinary. Kyle was tanned, taut, and toned, with incredible muscular definition. He was pretty as a girl, his features delicate almost elfin with a straight nose and green eyes topped by a blond thatch.

No one expected the young American to put on a pair of pants like the rest of the crew. In fact all his clothes had been confiscated so he would spend the whole summer entirely nude. Kyle had come back voluntarily for a second summer knowing full well that, like last year, he would be the camp mascot, their 'joli choupinou' their pretty pet or twinkie boy.

This season the assistant manager Franois hadn't even waited till they got to the camp. At their warehouse in the capital he simply told Kyle to hand over all his clothes including those he had arrived in. They would be kept in storage at the warehouse. Kyle tried to protest. Sure he liked to run around in the nude, but shouldn't that be his call? The tall Haitian grabbed Kyle and kissed him roughly, putting his hands all over him, overwhelming him with his strength and virility. The boy felt his resistance crumble at the rough treatment from the black man. Franois came on so strong and masculine, his manly odor so overwhelming, his personality so assertive and commanding. Kyle was aroused, his pulse pounded at his temples; he got weak in the knees, trembling with lust.

Little Kyle was a sexual submissive, small and passive. All the American youth could do was stand there passively, whimpering a soft "please" which Franois deliberately mistook for assent. He ripped the trembling boy's T shirt apart and shoved his loose shorts down to his ankles rendering him naked in two seconds, bringing a gasp from the dismayed youth. It had happened so quickly, one minute a young man, the next a stripped boy, and he had just let it happen, just standing there as the tall Haitian stripped away not only his clothing but his manliness, just like last year, reducing him to a naked slut boy. Franois put his foot on the jumble of shorts and flip flops and made Kyle step out of them. Then to emphasize the lesson, he tore the shorts and flip flops apart, and threw everything in the trash.

The boy hung his head and offered no further resistance to Franois or the virile use he made of his so much less manly self. Falling into his familiar submissive role, he let himself be turned around and bent over a rough crate and accepted a preliminary spanking and then a forceful shag. Franois thrust into the submissive boy, taking possession of the lad with his manly cock, emphasizing his renewed status as a fuck toy, small, naked, hairless, complaisant.

The tall Haitian then had driven Kyle to camp in a truck with the boy entirely naked in the passenger seat, with Franois occasionally toying with his manhood, rubbing his thumb over the sensitive head or squeezing the orbs. They passed a big truck whose driver looked amused at little Kyle, who in his shame parted his slender legs and tucked his manhood between. With his thighs pressed together, it disappeared from view, rendering him suddenly sexless. Kyle's face burned as he stared straight ahead, trying to ignore the trucker who simply shook his head as he watched them drive past.

The young American aide thus arrived at camp already plucked and fucked, provoking general delight and good hearted greetings for the popular boy, the pretty white lad, the plucked chicken, who was so obligingly placing himself at their disposal once again. And like the first season, this second tour of duty was proving be an exciting summer for the over-sexed teenager.

As mascot, Kyle's role each evening was to entertain the lucky winners of the nightly drawing among the several hundred males in the camp who sought his sexual favors. They would show up at his tent every evening in twos or threes and never took no for an answer. As the only 'blanc' in the camp, Kyle was alone, outnumbered, surrounded, tired from a full day's work, and already nude, not to mention being small in stature, slender, beardless, and hairless everywhere, hardly in a position then to assert his masculinity. But his suitors were and they did. There was not much the boy could do except submit as they bent him over or put down on his knees or on all fours, as he surrendered himself for their sexual pleasure.

Kyle was deeply submissive, so last year, when this mascot business got started, he hadn't resisted very long then yielded to the importuning of the young men in the crew. He was, after all, no blushing virgin. Although not quite eighteen at the time and looking younger, he was an experienced bottom both in casual encounters or with his three roommate-lovers. Besides, hadn't he been really been asking for it, running around perpetually nude, bending over to plant seedlings or to inspect their work, taut brown rump in the air and genitals hanging freely between, crinkly anal ring visible in his hairless cleavage. Carrying on like the worst kind of cock tease. That was why, almost before he knew it, he was turned into a sex toy for the whole crew.

Truth is Kyle got terribly turned on when he was helpless and outnumbered as their hard black flesh took his white boy body for their toy. Like him they were all lean and muscular but from hard work and a simple diet. Their dark flesh looked so exciting against his much lighter tones. Their strength made him nearly swoon with the frisson of his own helplessness and vulnerability. He had surrendered himself servilely into their power, so yes, let them bend him over or throw his legs up in the air, or spread him like a wishbone. Isn't that what bottomless boys like Kyle were born for? It all made him feel incredibly slutty.

Only that one time last year had he made even a feeble gesture of protest. The camp manager M. Malherbe and Kyle's Haitian counterpart Franois had listened impatiently to Kyle's mild whining over the liberties the men were taking with him and the way they humiliated him as part of the foreplay.

"Dr™le de choupinou" Silly twinkie boy.

Franois had simply taken the smaller male by the arm and laid 'le petit', the little one, over the back of a chair. With a sharp command of Žcarte-toi, the young Haitian told the boy to spread 'em while he tied his wrists and ankles to the legs and crossbars. The boy had enough sense not to resist this latest indignity, a deep sigh at his helplessness the last sign of feeble resistance. Bent over, tied hand and foot, tight rump in the air, a hand squeezing his tackle, thumbs stretching his anus, lubricating his orifice with a bit of hair gel, the small youth would have to take his punishment for getting uppity. Who did he think his boy holes belonged to anyway? The manager let Franois spank the boy with his strong right hand then himself took a strap to his rump. Then they both fucked the last embers of rebellion out of him.

As they saw it, the blond's servitude was a way of righting the balance: a reversal of historical roles as the 'rich white boy' from America served as a virtual sex slave for the native blacks.

The new camp was in a different section of the mountains, but that was not the only difference from last year. His new tent was larger but there were no walls, just mosquito netting. Last year the netting had enclosed only his cot. This year Kyle would have no privacy at all whether for sleeping or for sex play. His nude body would always be visible to anyone in the camp. Along one side of the tent was a platform raised to waist height, with a queen size futon on top. It was large enough and sturdy enough for several males at a time to disport themselves with Kyle.

"Now here is something quite special mon petit," Francois said, lifting a tarp.

It revealed a low rectangular table, feet anchored in the ground, with a strange metal contraption screwed onto the top that could only be described as a fuck machine. Its base was made from three steel bars bolted to the surface, the long one in the middle with two cross pieces centered at the ends. Cuffs for hands and ankles were attached to the ends of the cross pieces. A metal collar was fixed atop a post up front. It had padding for the knees and elbows.

"Oh no!" Kyle groaned. "Don't tell me I'm going to get fucked in that thing."

"Exactly. Why don't we try it out?"

"With ten guys watching us, Franois?"

"Why not? Surely you cannot be shy."

Apprehensive and wondering how he got himself into these fixes, Kyle got into position on all fours, knees and elbows on the table, trembling while Francois locked him into the machine, first the ankles, then the wrists, and finally the neck. Now he was utterly helpless and vulnerable, his legs spread apart, his manhood dangling forlornly between his slender thighs, cleavage and bunghole exposed to view. Franois stroked the boy's sides and ass appreciatively. He was such a slender youth, firmly muscled, with narrow hips and taut buttocks. So submissive too, climbing up onto the fuck frame without further objection, laying his trembling limbs into the steel restraints, biting his lower lip apprehensively as the steel circlets were locked in place, squeezing his eyes shut as the last circlet snapped shut around his neck.

It felt so good to run his hands over the chevrons of the lad's ribs then up the bumps of his spine. That fine taut rump of his was made to be spanked and fucked. Spanking turns the cheeks red, suggestive of arousal, and sets the buttocks to trembling, waiting for the next slap with an open hand. First though Franois would fucked Kyle in the mouth. The boy looked so good down there, fixed in place, head level with Franois' groin, looking up apprehensively, pouty lips around the Haitian's black cock, surrounding it with a velvet warmth.

Franois saw a string of pre-cum dangling from the boy's cock confirming the boy's own arousal. He leaned forward to feel Kyle's ass, letting his fingers slip into the cleavage. Just as he expected the randy lad's hole was twitching open, just begging to be filled. The Haitian slipped a finger inside, then two. Kyle moaned, surrendering himself to the good feelings coursing though him as the Haitian came and filled his mouth with his manly gism. He swallowed all of it obediently. A while later, Kyle's ass got a prolonged reaming out with Franois screwing into him, thrusting, probing, and prodding. The boy's cock was rigid against his belly as the Haitian reached under and took it in his strong right hand. Then the older male stiffened as his cock shot his seed deep into the boy. He quickened his stroking of Kyle's cock, bringing them both off together.

Afterwards, Franois released the boy, pleased with the fuck machine's baptism of service. Kyle stood up, a bit unsteady on his feet and accepted a big hug from the Haitian, though feeling humiliated as cum slid out of his hole and down his inner thighs. At least it had only been Franois this first time. The onlookers had not joined in. Kyle sighed, suspecting he would spend a lot of each evening in the fuck machine or in his large bed, servicing the men in groups just like the previous summer. Francois ignored the boy's embarrassment. It was obvious from the enthusiastic way he shot his cum how intensely the whole experience turned on their sexy little choupinou. After all, he had volunteered for this.

That evening, Kyle and the first group of suitors got to try out the big futon. Kyle was in heaven, once again getting a gang bang from enthusiastic young Haitians. Hands were all over him, holding him, turning him over, spreading his legs like a wishbone. He loved the feel of their hard muscular bodies, thrilled to their scents, shivered with excitement as they threw his legs up and penetrated his ass while another young man filled his mouth with a black cock. They all took the boy at least twice. The finale found Kyle on his back, folded in half, his own cock pointing at his mouth as two men held his legs apart with another stroking his cock. Two more were at his head ready to splooge on his face at the same time he did. All he could do is call out inarticulately as his totally aroused body cut loose with shot after shot matched by the two black men. Afterwards, the totally spent boy slumped back as helpful fingers brought the shots that went astray to his tongue, letting him slurp the gism from all three of them at once.

Chapter 2. The Germans

A few days later Kyle was walking to a new planting area. He was alone since the crews were already at work there. A large late model Land Rover, pulled up to him to ask directions. The two gentlemen in the car, both handsome and in their mid-twenties, were surprised to find a naked white boy trudging along the road. After starting out the conversation in French, they switched to English when they learned Kyle was American.

"Oh, I'm with the reforestation project. I check to make sure the seedlings are put in right like the right mix of species, the right distance apart, at the right depth, and so forth."

"Vell, I can see" the bigger one began in slight German accent, "you have that planting tool hanging from your wrist but why no clothes?"

"Well I run competitively in track in college so I'm always naked in races and in training. We don't wear much around the dorm either at at college. Besides, in this tropical heat, clothes aren't much use."

Indeed Kyle's water bottle and straw hat were what he needed to cope with a climate made hotter by global warming. As Kyle also pointed out, it was easy to get dusty or muddy out here, but also quite easy to wash it off, sometimes just by standing in the frequent rain showers. No laundry or worry about being caught out in the rain either. Not when you were nude anyway.

The two men, Karl Stern and Horst Mueller, gave him a lift to the worksite, having Kyle sit right between them. Karl drove with one arm over the boy's shoulders. Horst's hands rested on or stroked the boy's smooth thighs. Upon arrival, the Germans got an impromptu tour of the operation. As Kyle guided them around, they clapped him on his shoulder and patted him on the back though soon their busy hands slid down to his shapely rump. Kyle welcomed their attentions. More suitors then. Should he be surprised?

The two handsome Germans complimented Kyle on his fine physique, almost the Aryan ideal: slender, blond, handsome, though rather short. Horst rather liked Kyle's smooth look, not a hair anywhere on his body, not even at the fork of his legs. He thought the boys shapely genitals looked better for being so visible.

Kyle told him that his family, the Kretchmers, was originally from Schleswig, a borderland that was sometimes part of Germany or part of Denmark. He had both strains in his blood line. That no doubt explained his blond hair and green eyes.

"Ach, a young Viking then!"

They laughed. Kyle really must visit them at the rubber plantation they had just bought some twenty kilometers away. Could they send a car for him on his next break? Kyle said he would like that. Yes he could get away for the long weekend coming up.

"What should I bring for three days and two nights? I don't have any clothes to wear. What you see is what you get."

"Not a problem. Just bring yourself. You won't need anything else. We are very casual away from the homeland; no one will expect you to dress for dinner." Mueller answered with a wink, looked pointedly at the young American's nakedness.

In that case, if they didn't mind, go ahead and send directions to his comp via email. Kyle could just run over at dawn. It would be part of his training. He could be at their place by eight a.m. Fine but then they should drive him back the last morning before his shift started. That way he could spend three nights with them. So it was agreed.

Came the day and and Kyle drank his fill of cool water and left camp with the dawn. He would eat breakfast with his hosts. After an uneventful run, Karl Stern saw him trot through their gate.

"My, my the way you look my young friend, all sweaty and breathing hard like that, it's simply wunderbar, like you just had terrific sex!"

"As I am sure we shall see for ourselves soon enough, Karl," Muller pointed out.

Kyle took a quick shower under a stand outdoors making a show of it to display his lithe form, then sat down to a hearty breakfast on their patio, not one of those snacks that passed for a morning meal on the Continent. After the long run, he needed fuel. The two Germans then showed him around the place, the workers looking delightedly at the pretty white boy, completely nude and shameless about it.

With oil running out, natural rubber was the coming thing. Always better quality rubber than the synthetic product, natural rubber from countries that had the right climate and the lowest transport costs to markets in North America were ideal for the new plantations springing up. In their own way, the German investors would be reclaiming worn out lands and turning them into a productive asset for this country and for its people, one that would earn foreign exchange to pay for higher technology imports.

For their part, the two young Germans expected not only to make a lot of money but also to live well. Servants were prohibitively expensive back home but in the Third World amazingly cheap. They were conscientious employers too, not simply trying to exploit poor jobless folk. The days of blatant exploitation were over. They were delighted Kyle would be staying with him. They hoped he would visit again if they made a good impression on him.

"We hope you don't think it presumptive of us not to assign you a separate room?" After all, he would not be changing clothes and had brought nothing with him, not even a toothbrush. And he would be sleeping in their big bed, wouldn't he?

"Of course," Kyle laughed stepping forward into a triple embrace.

That settled, his hosts asked their young guest would they be presuming if they did not wait till the evening. Could they all go upstairs together.

"Like right now?"

Kyle readily assented though he was quite surprised when Muller threw him over his shoulder slapping his ass, taking the steps two at a time. Purely for form's sake, playing the damsel in distress, Kyle kicked ineffectually and pounded his fists lightly on his captor's back, laughing the whole way. Stern rushed ahead to open the door to their large but simply furnished bedroom and to pull back the sheets. The next few hours were everything they had hoped for.

Kyle was a joy to behold and quite talented in bed for one of his years. His youth and slenderness was emphasized by a smooth and utterly hairless physique. Like many young guys these days, he had used the standard depilatory cream which meant a lifetime of never having to shave his face or anywhere else including down there. He was slender yet muscular, tanned, taut and toned with strong shoulders, well defined abdominal muscles, and narrow hips. His hands were small and his legs well muscled with veins prominent under the skin because of his low body fat. No hair interrupted the flow of his faultless lines.

His sex was in proportion with a smooth cock, foreskin concealing the head, the scrotum the size of a large peach but with the divided curvature of a plum and held close to the belly. How nice too that his genitals didn't look all shriveled up like with so many guys. His cock was smooth not gnarly with purple veins. Yes, like Europeans he still had his foreskin; it reached just past the tip of his cock head. Cock and balls were reasonably large but he wouldn't be scaring the horses. It took both his small hands to cover his erection, but only one when it was soft.

"Which is just fine when you were running cross country bare ass with your dangly bits bouncing about," Kyle explained to his hosts.

"Really, why had anyone bothered to invent the athletic supporter in the first place? It's not like you could shake things loose" he added.

The two Europeans found the young American a delight in bed and out of it. Completely uninhibited, shameless wasn't he. Kyle related how he had arrived at the work camp already naked, after being roughly stripped naked and his clothing torn apart. The rest of his garments in this country were confiscated and put in storage in the capital. They were a bit shocked when it emerged during their conversation that he surrendered himself nightly to the attentions of the young Haitians. As the sex toy for the whole crew, he figured he got fucked at least a hundred times a week.

"A hundred times a week?"

"At least that many times, probably more. Sometimes my hole burns like I have hemorrhoids or something."

Actually Kyle had not intended to share such confidences, not on a first date anyway, but it is hard to be discreet about one's sexual adventures when you were lying in bed with two studs one of whom still had his cock up your ass and the other had sagged back on the pillows leaving his copious ejaculate in your mouth for the third time in a couple of hours, some of which was dribbling down your chin while your own semen coated your chest and belly. Intimacy like that tends to encourage frankness. To overcome the youth's last bit of reticence, Karl put the boy in a half nelson rendering him helpless while Horst tickled him mercilessly until he confessed everything. Even after he told all, the big German gleefully tickled the boy until he was reduced to helpless laughter, tears in his eyes. The German's had early on spotted Kyle's weakness. He was ticklish.

His hosts were hardly surprised they were not the first to poke at his rear entrance, but what could they do but congratulate the randy boy on his wide circle of acquaintance. Purely out of their concern for his health, his hosts inspected that area carefully, fingering the anal ring to see if there was the least evidence of injury. Fortunately not.

After that it was Kyle's turn to attend to their bung holes, rimming them, sniffing at their nether orifices and smooching their anal rings. You really knew you were a shameless bottom boy when you were licking a man's asshole, kissing his anus, then sticking your tongue up his chute, poking it in and out. Isn't it something only a hopelessly servile boy would do?

Kyle had heard some submissive boys even accepted stinking turds from the anus of a master, chewing each thoroughly then swallowing them with a piss chaser. Kyle knew he wasn't ready to go that far, not by a long shot, submissive boy though he was. Yes, a few times he had been swallowed a guy's urine, even been pissed on by the team in high school as an initiation. But serving as a a urinal, much less as a toilet was as yet beyond his experience, and he hoped it would remain so.

Well there was no hurry. Kyle had a long time ahead of him to indulge in sexual exploration and experimentation, several centuries really. It's not like he was getting any older. Kyle and the two Germans had benefited from advances in the understanding of obscure structures called telomeres in chromosomes. The genes of their embryos had been tweaked before implantation in the wombs that bore them. They would spend the next three or four centuries youthful, hardly aging at all until the very end. They could sow wild oats for decades. The same gene therapy also protected them against all forms of cancer.

It would be some time before all social classes even in the advanced countries enjoyed extended life spans much less the people of what was still one of the poorest nations on earth. This created social tensions within and between nations, and had profound demographic, economic, and social implications. Both secularists and religious people were grappling with the moral implications for the species, but most people realized that the beneficiaries were not themselves to blame for benefiting first.

Chapter 3. Dieter

It was three weeks before Kyle could get away again for a visit and after that not till the end of his tour when he had six nights free before his voyage home by fast sea ferry. He was surprised to find Karl and Horst leaving for a business trip to the capital, something that couldn't wait. Terribly disappointing for everyone, but why not stay? Cousin Dieter would act as host till they go back.

Dieter was a bit older, in his early thirties and ruggedly handsome. Outwardly he was polite and, no, as guest host, he did not expect Kyle to share his room and bed with him. Kyle had his own room, as was only proper. Dieter was the perfect host, always hovering about and attentive in a physical way. His hands were often on Kyle's shoulder for reassurance. He liked to stroke Kyle's belly with his knuckles during conversation, and sometimes he pinched one of his tiny nipples as he made a point. Of course he complimented Kyle on his fine physique.

"Yes, the smooth look was just right for a slender young man like you my friend, with such a fine looking manhood," he said, weighing it in his big hand. "A gay boy doesn't need secondary sexual characteristics like facial or body hair to prove genetic fitness in the mating dance. His fitness for a male partner is evident in his beauty of face and of form and in his eagerness to submit to a dominant male who takes the active role in their relationship."

He knew how often Kyle had surrendered himself to dominant males all summer. This was a boy with a bottomless need to yield and to be used, but it was high time he learned that quality in sexual partners was at least as important as quantity.

By evening, it would have seemed almost churlish for Kyle to object as his host took him by the arm and led him into his own room instead of into Kyle's. Maybe it was that third drink that made Kyle more suggestible. He didn't usually drink much or very often either, just wine occasionally with dinner, and his slight body weight magnified the effects of alcohol.

Dieter was a fastidious man and led Kyle into the bath for a quick douche. By now Kyle was used to being taken in charge and ordered about by stronger males, giving them access to the most intimate parts of his body, letting them purge him in preparation for sexual service. So Kyle didn't object as this man, a near stranger flushed him out then inserted his fingers coated with a slippery oil to lubricate his anus. He was long past embarrassment about the use others made of his nether orifice as an entrance for cock or dildo, butt plug or douche.

He was rather surprised at the restraints Dieter brought out, but the Haitian crew liked to tie him up too, lest he thrash about unthinkingly. Being trussed emphasizes a boy's helplessness, making him more amenable to any use his betters would make of his lithe body. A little rope burn afterwards is a good reminder till the next time of his place in the social pecking order -- at the very bottom. In truth though, Kyle's lusts and his growing need to submit and surrender were as strong a bond as their ropes.

So Kyle stood meekly trembling from excitement and lust as Dieter placed him in a set of leather restraints buckling and locking and trussing his wrists behind his back in a leather harness attached to his neck. Then Dieter hobbled him as if he were a frisky colt. Next he wound a leather thong around his genitals, first around the entire package, then around the root of the cock, next another the top of the scrotum, and finally to separate and tie off each ball. A leash snapped to the leather collar around his neck completed the ensemble. Dieter let him see what he looked like in the full length mirrors in the dressing room. A captive slaveboy. His erection was so hard it hurt.

That was the scenario for the evening, nothing too intense or painful, mind you. Dieter was seducing this delicious boy, not trying to break him down physically though he fully intended to use his riding crop on the vulnerable rump and trussed up manhood to humiliate the youth who had so obligingly put himself in his power. Dieter knew that deep within this young American was an abject bottom begging to be controlled and used. He, Dieter, had long practice in making such silly boys realize their own destiny. Harsh physical measures were not needed. For his purpose he liked to mind fuck his boys.

For starters there was their differential in size and age. The man towered over little Kyle. The blond youth felt very small before this giant. Helpless too. With hands cuffed behind him and hobbled, he could do nothing the protect his vulnerable front or his ass. Their proximity accentuated they youth's own nudity, and the man's khakis and that riding crop in his hand symbolized the authority and power the man had over him. The strap around his genitals emphasized that they too, not just his limbs, were in bondage.

Dieter eyed the lad critically. He put his big hands on the youth's shoulders, slid his palms over the rounded deltoids, ran his hands down the impressively scalloped belly and ran his fingers over the boy's sharp hip bones. Impressed by the smooth musculature, he turned the boy around and ran his hands down Kyle's shoulder blades and flanks to the flare of his hips and on to the roundness of his buttocks, giving them a firm squeeze that left bruises. He slid the blade of his hand between the buttocks, giving an appreciative grunt as he stroked the small hole in between, feeling it twitch open as his fingertips touched it. Then Dieter reached forward testing the firmness of the muscles on the back of Kyle's thighs and of his calves. The boy was impressively muscled for one so slight of build.

How erotic it was; the lad's slenderness was accentuated by the way his cuffed wrists pushed his chest forward, accentuating his the vulnerable belly. The older male spun the youth to face him once again, smiling at the boy's embarrassment. The intimate visual and physical scrutiny had stimulated his cock up, making it plump up; a drop of fluid glistened at the tip of the foreskin. Dieter took the boy's ball sac in his fist and squeezed it though not too hard. How vulnerable the boy was like this. It took just a bit of a squeeze to bring out an ecstatic grimace on his delicate features. Though Kyle moaned at the rough treatment of his precious balls, his erection never flagged. This kind of excitement was why he had surrendered himself in the first place.

The big man frigged the boy's cock, drawing the foreskin back to reveal the purple head. Dieter slicked a clear drop of fluid on his finger tip and offered it to his captive. Kyle obediently took it on his tongue and swallowed. The German did it again, this time rubbing the boy's tongue piercing and letting him suck on his finger. Then he pulled the stiff member out at a forty-five degree angle and let it slap back to his belly with an audible whack. A man of the world with long experience in such matters, he knew that sometimes to get the attention of a young male, you had to grab him by the balls, and a stiff prick made a good handle too. Dieter turned a bit to see the boy in the mirror and so his video camera could get a better shot then pulled the tumescent member down nearly parallel with the floor. The resulting smack was louder.

That was when Dieter laid the boy on the bed face down with his rump in the air and gave him his first fuck of the evening. It was long and erotic, building the boy's pleasure almost to the point of release, then letting him cool down. An old tactic, teens were always so quick to come. Delaying orgasm it was just the thing to make them realize who was in charge and how much they wanted a strong hand to rule them and their sexuality.

Left to himself, a randy lad would come too soon and too often. Under the controlling hand of a master, he would learn the unmatched intensity of an orgasm coming after hours of arousal. Solid spanks to his rump reinforced the boy's subordinate position. A real man does not get spanked but a boy does. Submissive boys like Kyle needed to be spanked often and hard and by men who knew how, men like Dieter. The blindfold make the boy concentrate on the sensations on of touch and smell as his hormone drenched body approached climax.

Finally, frantic with lust, Kyle begged abjectly for release, promising to serve Dieter however he wanted if only he would let him come. He now belonged to Dieter, he was Dieter's slave boy, Dieter was his master, but please Master let him cum. With the boy's slender legs now over his shoulders and his cock buried deep in his fundament, drilling his hole, Dieter finally allowed his sexual captive to cum, aiming the boy's engorged member so that the arc of his own ejaculation splashed onto his face. The older man slicked the boy's cum on a finger and fed it to him, occasionally squeezing and stroking the boy's tender cock, now at that painful stage when even a light touch brings both pain and pleasure deep in the sensitive head. That is the way you get through to a boy like Kyle.

A short while later, Dieter released the boy. They took a quick shower then slept together in the comfortable bed. During the night, Kyle scooted his ass back to Dieter's hip, spooning his small body into the bigger man.

Over the next two days, Kyle became ever more slavishly responsive to Dieter and the rough treatment he dealt out. Not that he was in love. It was simply an intense physical reaction to his servitude and loss of control that touched a deep chord in his submissive personality. His hole started twitching when Dieter touched him anticipating who knew what heights of sexual pleasure the man would take him to. He felt tingly and servile in the man's presence. Yes a mind fuck indeed.

Dieter liked to apply clothes pins to Kyle's erogenous zones, holding them up for him to see and letting them snap shut right in front of his face. Dieter snapped a clothes pin on a nipple, bringing a hiss from the boy. Kyle's abs flexed as the struggled to accept the insult to his bodily integrity. With each added clothes pin, Kyle felt more helpless, less in control, as the German worked over his spread-eagled little body. He pulled uselessly at his bonds and looked appealingly at the big man for relief. Instead the man clamped another pin to his scrotum or to the shaft of his cock or used two really big ones to squeeze his testicles. Dieter always saved the best for last: a big pin right on the head of the cock.

Already sweaty from the heat and his writhing, Kyle's tormented body poured out a wave of nervous perspiration giving it a fine sheen. His cock glistened in the spotlights Dieter trained on his willing victim. Yes the pins hurt, but the sensation set fireworks off in Kyle's hormone drenched brain. He would have to get a set of clips to use on himself when he got back to college.

Dieter liked to taste all the precious bodily fluids he could coax from a young male: spit and sweat, seminal fluid and ejaculate, tears and blood. Just a trickle of blood mind you, say from sharp alligator clamps applied to the nipples to pierce the skin and get the red fluid flowing slowly over his ribs down his chest. The trickles traced an irregular track down to the hip and to the belly. That was about as heavy a trip Dieter would use on Kyle.

Dieter knew Kyle would make someone a good live-in slave boy. Too bad he did not have to time to properly train the boy. What could a man like Dieter do but sigh. So many boys, so little time. Although born just a few years too soon to benefit from gene tweaking, Dieter would still live a very long and healthy life thanks to longevity research in regeneration, purging of free radicals, etc. He would age slowly but gracefully. Still, he would not be perpetually seventeen or eighteen like boys like Kyle.

In truth Dieter had his limits. He hoped this beautiful lad would never fall into the hands of true sadists, cruel men who enjoyed not only dominating pretty boys the way Dieter did, but actually hurting them. Dieter was a dominant and liked to tie up and discipline his boys, but the pain he inflicted on his boys was not an end in itself; it was a tool to instill discipline and obedience and to stimulate perverse arousal. He enjoyed seeing a boy arc his body away from the sting of a strap on his ass, to make him writhe, pulling on his restraints. A boy's moans and groans aroused Dieter; they mimicked the sounds of orgasm. Most of all Dieter liked to hear a boy whimper, so indicative of his helplessness, pain, humiliation, and shame.

Dieter never inflicted pain for its own sake and never damaged a boy permanently. What greater sin could there be to destroy the beauty of a lovely youth like Kyle. His beauty was a gift to be shared as widely as possible, not tossed aside for the perverse pleasure derived from inflicting pain on another human being. By the same token, bondage was part of the scene but only during sex play or very infrequently overnight. Dieter had no interest in keeping a boy in chains long term, much less against his will.

Karl and Horst arrived back at the plantation a couple of days later and readily fell in with Dieter's initiative. Yes, their young American house guest looked so good on his knees or bent over a log or a chair. Such a lithe form, so slender you could almost put your hands around his waist. That small shapely rump just begged for the slap of a man's strong hand or the sting of a riding crop. In the arms of the three dominants, Kyle was lost in a sea of sensation as the men took him again and again, sometimes double penetrating his tiny orifice.

To add to his excitement the Germans lead Kyle around the plantation on a leash, exhibiting him to the amused staff, sometimes tweaking his defenseless nipples or pinching his pert bottom. Except for the collar and cuffs that held his wrists behind his back Kyle was totally nude and hairless. Sometimes they grabbed his stiff cock and pulled him along. Poor Kyle blushed all over at being seen and displayed in so lascivious a fashion, leaving no one in any doubt that the slender American youth was a shameless fuck toy.

Scenes of degradation at the hands of stern masters turned the randy youth on terribly; his nearly unflagging erection gave proof of that. He got all hot knowing that much of this action was being captured on camera for posterity. How terribly naughty and wanton of Kyle to have abjectly surrendered himself for such physical, psychological, and sexual games. Just as well they were punishing him. A shameless boy like him deserved no less.

The Germans all agreed that it was too bad they couldn't take the boy back to Dieter's well equipped dungeon in the family's half ruined castle near the Black Forest. Dieter entertained dominators who brought their young submissive boys for a night or a weekend in a congenial atmosphere.

Kyle too would look good stretched out on the St. Andrew's cross, limbs bound in a huge X. The whole thing rotated so you could turn a boy upside down leaving his mouth at just the right height for oral service. Dieter's rack had spring loaded restraints that lessened the chance of pulling a muscle or dislocating a shoulder, but still kept the boy bound to it helpless for anything his masters might care to inflict. On the cross, Kyle would at last fully realize the depths of his body's hunger for pain, submission, and sexual servitude.

On their last evening, their hosts ended their role playing. Once again they were solicitous host and Kyle their welcome guest. His hosts decided to make his going away dinner truly memorable with good food and drink, soft music playing in the background. All during the dinner they fed the boy tender morsels and let him sip his fill of a fine wine chosen for the occasion. Afterwards, in the living room the Germans sat Kyle on their laps, playing with his manhood one last time, taking wagers on how many times the boy would cum during during the evening. Kyle's score was six shots, the last little more than a dribble, if the truth were known. Finally the boy fell asleep, or got drunk or maybe a bit of both. It was hard to say. His hosts bathed the exhausted boy in a warm bath and laid him in a soft bed alone. He looked like an angel, innocent, pure, and beautiful.

By the time they dropped him off at the capital early Monday morning, he was one very tired but very satisfied bottom boy.

Chapter 4. Junior Year

There is more to life than just sexual adventure, however exciting. So Kyle headed back to his junior year and his upcoming twentieth birthday at Colby College looking forward to his reunion with his three lovers Jean-Michel, Jason, and Tommy and to resuming his studies. Kyle really got into his role whether as a whipped slave boy or a pirate's cabin boy, of the white captive of the Comanches. Yes in retrospect even he could see how bizarre it all was, but during his role playing, it was so incredibly arousing.

Tommy Houlihan was his best friend and roommate at the residential college, though not southern born like Kyle. It had taken him a while to fall in with the casual public nudity common in this section of the country, so much affected by global warming. It had taken the tall red-head even longer to admit that he himself was bisexual and had fallen in love with a boy.

Jean-Michel was a dark-haired French-Canadian student who insisted that, to help his new friend perfect his French, they must always speak it in their room, even or especially in bed. Tommy had to learn too just to keep up and so they couldn't pull pranks on him. A couple of years older, Jean-Michel also taught the younger boy love making techniques. Sometimes Kyle got two lessons at once as when Jean-Michel put his much smaller roommate on his knees and bent him over and slapped his ass with a lusty 'Žcarte-toi'. Kyle, little bottom boy that he was, had better figure out that meant 'spread 'em'.

Jean-Michel was the tallest, with dark hair and fine arching eyebrows. The redhead stood five inches taller than the blond boy at just under six feet (182 cm). He had a strong but lean build. As befits his Irish heritage he had a milky complexion with just a dusting of freckles, though very few on his face. His body was naturally hairless on chest, arms, and legs. Both exuded sex appeal with their good looks, robust health, and fine athletic physiques, both on the lean side.

Jean-Michel majored in history, Tommy in civil engineering, and Kyle in geography. Their differing perspectives made for intelligent conversation. Jason majored in math. His dad wanted him to become an actuary, but he really intended to be a labor economist.

Kyle had been posing as a nude model for an art class where Jason was one of the students. Kyle had noticed the cute student and at first managed to restrain his arousal. Unfortunately his good intentions could not withstand his intense attraction to the dark haired student. Jason's dark good looks were a match to Kyle's spun gold and they were just the same height and build. Their features were different but devastatingly attractive. Think the youthful Rob Lowe of "St. Elmo's Fire" paired with Ryan Philippe in "White Squall." Ten minutes into their session, the art teacher had had to send the two randy boys into his office to deal with the problem of Kyle's painful erection, much to the amusement of the other students.

The boys soon fell back into their familiar routine. They helped each other with their homework, library research, and writing assignments. Tommy laughed at how unself-consiously the boys, himself included now, could sit before their screens writing, doing homework, reading, all so intellectual and earnest yet all four of them buck naked, usually with the door open too for anyone to look in. Kyle shrugged at the thought and said it was clothing that was artificial. Naked was natural, the default status.

At night in the dorm room the four lovers shared there was a constantly shifting constellation of youthful bodies. Often Jean-Michel took the lead, and he and Tommy usually double-teamed their little blond roommate. Then Jason and Kyle made love; they especially enjoyed sixty-nining because of their matched physiques. Afterwards, Tommy liked to spoon himself to Kyle's smaller frame, enjoying their physical closeness. Often the two smaller boys would sleep in the middle with their bigger protectively on the outside. Asleep they looked more like four angelic innocents than the lusty young men they were when awake.

Most of the guys in the dorm straight or gay were just as casual about dress: a sarong, loose shorts, even loincloths were common sights, and students thought nothing of running around bareass in the hallways, sunning and reading on the patio or swimming in the nude. The recreational pool was a natural wide spot in the creek with the near bank shored up with field stone along the deepest stretch where kids could dive.

At the pool on the college grounds no one wore a suit. The swimming pool was a single gender area, as most of the campus was. Males had their preserves and the rest of the campus was open to mixed company. Single gender education had become the norm with students from twinned schools socializing, sharing laboratories and some lecture halls but mostly going their separate ways.

Kyle and the other student farm hands who helped out in the large communal garden never wore clothes as they went about their chores. The garden was sited all the way on the other side of the college property, beyond the low wall encircling the grounds of the college proper. It was very large since it had to provide produce for a student body of over five hundred plus faculty, staff, and their dependents.

Tommy occasionally dated girls because he enjoyed that kind of socializing and dancing. Someday he would get married and start a family but he was in no hurry. He couldn't bring a girl up to their room of course. Jason was on a mission to persuade any straight guy he could corner to admit that a pretty gay boy gave better head than their girlfriends. He got many takers who appreciated a good blow job as much as the next man and were taken with how pretty the small youth looked down there on his knees before them. Jason never counted his conquest complete until he got his partner to French kiss afterwards, both of them tasting his masculinity in a lingering kiss. Jean-Michel had the most conventional love life. He liked his roommates, and except for a summer fling with a local boy while home in QuŽbec never looked for others.

Thanks to Dieter's warning, Kyle was careful about indulging his darker desires for bondage and discipline. He had no wish to be ripped from his pleasant existence and enslaved by some sadist. He already knew the difference between kinky games and real captivity from his experiences with the Morlocks and those escaped criminals a couple of years earlier.

So Kyle joined a private club where he could indulge his occasional forays into BDSM in a safe environment. Sited on the outskirts of Colby, it offered an inconspicuous rendezvous for dominants and submissives from metropolitain Atlanta. It offered both discretion and safety. No one could take a boy from the premises in fetters who hadn't brought him there in the first place. Dominants were full members and paid membership fees. A submissive kid like Kyle could come with a Dom or alone, offering himself up as a slave for the evening. He did not have to pay membership fees or for food or drink.

As a bottom boy, Kyle gave up his freedom and any clothing at the door of the club. Boys took pot luck as to which stern master would have control of them. During that time almost anything might happen though nothing terribly painful or that would permanently damage him. Surveillance monitored by artificial intelligence systems ensured the health and safety of the subs while safeguarding privacy. These were evenings and days of humiliation and sexual servitude as little Kyle was fucked, fisted, double penetrated, or whipped, and paddled while he lay stretched out on a rack or hung spread-eagle from an overhead beam or over an arch. There were many volunteers for the privilege of whipping the lovely boy who responded so well, writhing, tugging on his bonds, moaning and whimpering so sexily.

As with canings in high school Kyle was brave under the whip. He did not cry out at the first cut with the cat or at the second. His slender body arced away from each blow, but he let out no more than a groan. The lashes fell on his back and his ass. Some wrapped around his ribs. He writhed. Again and again the cat landed from shoulders to ass to back of the thighs leaving red welts though not tearing the skin. A clever master knew to work from behind the boy, so the tortured youth could never see it coming, and avoided a predictable rhythm the victim might anticipate. It was not long before the boy was crying out with each slash of the whip, sobbing, tears running down his cheeks, though always with an iron hard erection.

Of all the staged whippings, Kyle felt most humiliated with the riding crop. It like getting whipped and raped at the same time. The painful snap of the crop on his butt made him drive his hips forward in a parody of a thrust. The heavy breathing and moans mimicked intercourse. A master could shove the handle of the crop up the rectum like a cock in a rape. A riding crop delivers stinging blows to a male's generative organs. A master could snap the crop at the balls very fast. Nothing is more emasculating than having another man abuse your sexual equipment, grabbing it for a quick squeeze then hitting it with the stinging crop, making fun of Kyle's hairlessness down there, calling him whore boy then proving it true by raping him for real.

Then there was the plasma globe. Stuck on the end of a rod, the globe was the size of a grapefruit. A master could keep his victim lightly bound, sitting or kneeling on a table, just so long as he could not get away or use his hands to defend himself. Electric bolts crackled within the globe and delivered a sting when pressed to the skin. Just getting close was enough for a spark to jump the gap. Great with the lights dim when you could easily see the spark. The boy would cringe from the globe, then cry out as he was touched and whimper afterward. The fear induced sweat on his slick skin just made for a better electrical circuit.

Kyle really got into his role whether as a whipped galley slave, or a pirate's cabin boy, of a white captive of the Comanches. Yes in retrospect even he could see how bizarre it all was, but during his role playing it was so incredibly arousing he kept going back for more.

Kyle's three lovers had no interest in these kinky activities. They wanted Kyle and needed him as a roommate, lover, friend, fellow student, and teammate but not that way. Still he always told them before he left for the club's isolated grounds at the edge of town, letting them know how long he would be gone. It might be a few hours or occasionally a weekend. Typically he simply ran over in the nude, taking clothing out of the equation from the very beginning. When he returned from his ordeal, his lovers soothed his bruises and welt marks with kisses and cool creams and lotions, knowing that, now that he had got it out of his system for a while, they had their lovely Kyle back with them.