Pete collapsed onto his bed and put his arm across his eyes with a deep, satisfied sigh.
"Heavy session?" Asked Mike, looking up from his book. There was a crooked smile on his lips.
"Oh shit yes, my mouth aches," replied Pete happily.
Mike nodded knowingly, closed the book he'd been reading and turned onto his side so he was facing his friend. "Still, he knows how to use it, does our Mr. Cartwright."
"Oh God, does he know how to use it!" Pete put his hands behind his head, his curly black hair springing back across his forehead.
Mike ran his eyes along his friend's body appreciatively - bare feet; tight, faded Levis showing an inviting bulge at the crotch; bare chest, tanned and developed from the hard manual labour around the farm; strong neck; a single tattoo in the shape of an eagle on the left bicep; and a good-looking face with brown eyes. His own cock stirred in his jeans at the sight. He kneaded the growing erection gently with his right hand. "Did he make you cum?"
"Yeah - and how!"
"Pity," said Mike. "Lying there like that I could rape you."
Pete smiled at him. "You wouldn't get much out of me - I'm drained." He yawned prodigiously. "And anyway, we've gotta put the other bed in here - New Boy's arriving this afternoon."
Mike sighed. "Yeah. D'you know anything about him?"
Pete shook his head. "Only that he's called Martin. Recommended by a friend of Mr. Cartwright's, I hear."
"Hmmm. I wonder how he'll react to the 'extra' duties. Funny thing - when I first came here, and Mr. C started his little games with me I hated the idea. Always thought of myself as straight, and put up a bit of a fight at first, but I soon got addicted. He's just so damned GOOD at it.
Pete nodded. "Yeah, me too. D'ya remember when you and Robin had to chase me in the Land Rover, tie me up and haul me back?"
Mike laughed. "Sure do. That was right after your first session with him. Mr. C always says that give him three sessions with a boy, and the boy'll do anything he wants. He's right too - it only took you another couple of times and you were hooked."
Pete sighed. "Happy days. Wonder what Robin's doing now - he was a hunk and a half.
"Martin's gonna have to be good to replace him."
The two friends lay in silence for a while, thinking back to their early days on the farm. Each of them would do anything for Mr. Cartwright, he was about as good a boss as you could get - strict but fair, generous, gave them plenty of time to themselves, paid them well - and above all, used his muscular body and enormous cock to satisfy both their and his own sexual needs with consummate skill. Pete and Mike, and the other farmhands who had come and gone over the years, had become completely dependent on that cock. The boys had sex with each other, sure, but Mr. C had only to call, and whatever they were doing they would happily come running. It was a good life.
* * *
As it turned out, Martin was a vision: tall, blond, blue-eyed, and built like a brick shithouse. He was twenty-two, and had never been on a farm before in his life. He settled in quickly, learnt the way things were done, and accepted the 'extra' duties with Mr. Cartwright with only the usual short-lived problems. He, too, was very soon hooked on the solid body, the skill and the horse-cock of the boss. As yet, though, he had not played around with either Pete or Mike. "Hey man, like, I'm straight," huge would say, laughing and shaking his blond head while fending off their advances. "What happens with Mr. C is different."
The other two would smile sadly and understandingly. However, having a blond stud like Martin sharing their room, walking around in cut-off faded Levis and doing pull-ups in the door frame did nothing to make it easier for them. Their right hands began to develop calluses.
Life on the farm went on much as usual, but it soon became apparent that Martin was not, in fact, a good worker. Several times he had to be bawled out by one or other of them (twice even by Mr. C himself) for not doing his work properly. He was lazy, untidy, and unreliable.
One afternoon in late August Pete was putting the combine harvester away for the day when Mike rushed into the barn. "Hey Pete," he whispered urgently, "come with me. Martin's got a girl in the hayloft."
"WHAT?" Pete dropped out of the cabin, shut the door and followed his friend round to the hay barn.
"Shh." Mike put his finger to his lips and tiptoed inside. They climbed silently onto a bench and then up onto a couple of oil drums that stood on top. This brought their heads just to the level of the loft above. Between two bales of hay, they could see what was going on. Martin, stripped and wet with sweat, was lying face-to-face with a dark-haired girl. The fingers of one hand were tracing patterns around her left nipple while his mouth worked on the other. From where the two boys were, it was impossible to see what she was doing to him. Suddenly Martin gave a violent jerk and grabbed her arm. "I've told you - NOT MY BALLS."
The girl giggled, and must have moved her hand away, as Martin relaxed again and they continued playing about.
Mike put his mouth close to Pete's ear and whispered almost inaudibly, "What d'ya think Mr. C would say if he knew?"
Pete shook his head slowly. "He'd go fucking spare. I think we'd better remember this - it might come in useful one day."
The girl nuzzled Martin's ear and then pushed him over gently until he was lying on his back on the hay. Mike gasped as his solid, long cock swung into view. She giggled again and asked him something - the boys couldn't hear what she said, but it seemed that Martin agreed to whatever it was she wanted, as she clapped her hands together and laughed with anticipation. She took a piece of rope and tied his ankles together with it, then fastened the other end to a wooden post beyond his feet. She made him sit up, and tied his wrists together behind his back with a second rope. He lay down again and moved about until his hands were comfortable underneath. Then she knelt by his side and took a single long piece of straw from the floor. Lightly she played it around his nipples and across his chest. Martin closed his eyes and smiled happily. As the girl gently poked the straw into first one armpit and then the other, his cock shot to full erection. He moaned with pleasure. "Oh God, I love being tickled like that."
She trailed the straw down his washboard stomach, and played the end of it along his cock, which jerked in response.
Suddenly, with a look of pure wickedness on her face, she began to tickle his balls with the straw.
His reaction was instantaneous and unexpectedly violent - he screamed in hysterics and tried to sit up - but she dropped her body over his chest and used her weight to hold him down. Martin was a strong boy, but in his present position there was little he could do. He struggled and bucked, and tried desperately to draw his legs up so that he could curl into a ball to protect his ticklish testicles - but the rope on his ankles, together with the girl's weight on his chest held him down while she continued to use the straw to tickle all over his horrendously sensitive balls.
His screams of laughter became more insane and his struggling became more violent until, after just a few seconds - and without even touching his cock - he shot his load. His spunk fountained upwards, arced in the air and came down in hot sticky pools all over her back and on her legs.
As he came, and she stopped tickling him, his hysterical laughter metamorphosed into furious swearing. "You fucking stupid BITCH!", He raged. "I TOLD you not to touch my fucking balls. I TOLD you I'm too fucking ticklish there. Now look what you've fucking done - and I haven't even screwed you yet."
The girl's look changed abruptly to stubbornness. "Well you needn't have bloody well cum - that was spite."
"It was not." He was calming down a little now. "I can't stop myself cumming if someone tickles my balls. I've always been like that. I don't have any control over it."
"Well you should have said. Anyway, you'll be ready to go again in a few minutes."
"If only." Martin shook his head. "No way. It always takes me hours before I can cum again. You blew it."
They stayed motionless for a while, avoiding each other's eyes, then Martin sat up. "Get these fucking ropes off me."
Pete and Mike had seen enough. Without a sound they climbed back down and went out into the late summer sunshine. Back at the barn, Mike smiled at Pete. "That gives me the beginning of an idea," he said.
* * *
The summer wore on into autumn. Martin's work continued to be unsatisfactory and Mr. Cartwright was having serious thoughts about replacing him.
"Give him until Christmas - we'll try to get him into line," said Pete.
Mr. C smiled. "He doesn't deserve mates like you two. Okay, till Christmas then. See what you can do." He sat down at his desk and sorted through some papers until he found what he was looking for. "Oh - two things. First, the inspector from the Ministry of Agriculture is coming on Thursday morning - the sheep dip's got to be cleaned out and some approved dip got from town. They've changed the regulations and the stuff we're using now's not good enough." He sighed. "More expensive, of course." He dropped the paper back onto the desk and leaned back in his chair. "Secondly, I've invited the usuals round on Thursday evening for a session with Martin. The group hasn't been introduced to the new boy yet and they're looking forward to it." He laughed at Mike's expression of disappointment. "Oh don't worry - you two'll be required as well. In fact - " he leaned forward, "I've decided to have a little competition between the three of you. I'm not saying what it is, but here's a tip - don't waste your spunk between now and Thursday - it might give you an advantage."
Mike and Pete smiled knowingly. They had a good idea what was on the cards.
"Oh, and the cellar needs tidying up and the gear servicing - we'll be using it."
The boys' faces lit up. Martin didn't yet know that below this very office there was a fully-equipped dungeon. it was reserved for special occasions, and it meant that some serious bondage was going to be on the agenda.
That evening Mike came thundering into the dorm and stood fuming in the doorway. "That bastard's nicked my fucking bike!"
Pete turned the TV down and stared. Mike's Harley was his pride and joy, and no-one would even think of touching it without his permission. "He's... How do you know it was him?"
"Well who the hell else could it have been? It was in the garage this afternoon and now it's gone. I'll crucify the little bastard."
Pete turned the TV off and put the remote down. "OK, calm down. All we can do is wait till he gets back and hope he hasn't damaged it."
"You're damn right I'll wait. That Martin's a problem we gotta sort out."
Mike was having a shower when they heard the bike coming back. He toweled himself dry quickly and pulled on his clothes. "OK, let's go."
Pete laid a friendly hand on his arm. "Now don't go and do anything silly - it's better if Mr. C sorts it out. You get into a fight with Martin and you'll be out of here as well as him - and then what am I gonna do for a fuck?"
In spite of his anger, Mike smiled. "Yeah - you're right. Come on."
The Harley was parked in its usual place and, to Mike's relief, completely unmarked. Of Martin there was no sign. They searched the farm from end to end without finding him, until they came to the hay barn. Sure enough, there was light coming from under the old wooden door. Repeating the maneuvers of the other week, they climbed onto the oil drums and looked. Martin was there with another girl - a blonde one this time - and he was fucking her in the missionary position.
Mike was almost apoplectic. "Of all the fucking cheek!" He whispered fiercely into Pete's ear. "He borrows my Harley to bring some fucking woman back here."
Pete waved his hand in Mike's face to shut him up, then climbed down and drew Mike after him. Outside, he said quietly, "listen - let's not do anything about this now..."
"WHAT?" Mike began, but Pete silenced him.
"No - it's Okay. Listen, we have three options." He ticked them off on his fingers. "One: we can go up there now and there'll be a fight. Result - Martin out, and probably you as well. Two: we can tell Mr. C. Result - Martin out. Neither of these will give you the satisfaction you want - we BOTH want. but, there is a third: we can settle it ourselves. A while ago I thought up an idea for dealing with young Martin. It didn't come together, though, until Mr. C told us about Thursday night. Here's what we'll do..."
As Pete outlined his plan, Mike's expression gradually changed
from fury, to a frown, then interest, amusement, quiet laughter, and finally
to glee. "Yes! Yes! Brilliant. Pete, old mate, you're a fucking genius."
* * *
Thursday dawned bright and sunny. All three boys were up early to prepare for the visit from the Min of Ag inspector. The sheep dip was spotless (although Pete had had to finish it off when Martin got tired and complained of muscle cramps), and Mike had just arrived back with the proper chemical dip. Together they filled the concrete pit and went off for a well-earned coffee break.
"So what's this about a group coming round tonight?" Asked Martin.
"It's something Mr. c likes to do now and again, " replied Mike.
"Some friends of his who are into slightly more 'interesting' sexual activities come round for dinner, and afterwards we all go down to the dungeon for fun and games. It's great."
"What kind of 'sexual activities'?"
"Oh nothing very much - bit of bondage, and the usual fucking and sucking." Mike avoided looking at Pete, who was laughing into his coffee cup.
"And what's the 'dungeon'?"
"It's a room in the cellar with some equipment in it."
"Hmm. Sounds good to me."
"Yeah - it's a very special treat to be invited down there with the group. They' re dying to meet you. Mr. C's been telling them what a stud you are, Martin."
Martin smiled. He stood up, faced the boys, and cupped his bulging cock and balls through the tight denim cut-offs. "And you know something? He's right."
With a grin, he went out - and the boys dissolved into silent laughter.
Mike and Pete had been instructed to report to the dungeon at 7:30pm, Martin at 8. The two boys would warm Mr. C and his friends up for half and hour before Martin - the star performer of the evening - made his entrance.
It was not 5 o'clock, and time to put the plan into action.
Mike opened the door of the dorm right on cue. "Hi Martin - is Pete around?"
Martin looked round from the TV and shook his head. "He said he'd got to repair one of the milking machines."
"Oh shit." Mike started to close the door, and then popped his head back in. "Don't suppose you know anything about bikes, do you?"
"Sure do! Why?"
"The Harley's broken down. I don't know fuck all about engines."
"Have you got a spark?"
"Wouldn't know where to look."
Martin sighed and turned the set off. "Where is it?"
"Down by the wood - I was gonna get some mushrooms."
The blond boy, wearing only a pair of gym shorts, slipped his feet into some trainers, and said, "Okay - let's go."
The Harley stood by the big Oak tree. "It got here okay but it won't start now. There's plenty of fuel in the tank so it's not out of gas."
Martin switched the ignition on and stepped on the kickstart. Nothing. "Hmm. got any tools?"
"Yep, in the saddle bag." Mike moved round to get them and Martin had to step backwards out of his way. At that moment the lights went out as a canvas hood was slipped over his head from behind."
"NOW!" Shouted Pete.
Moving like lightning to a prearranged plan, Pete tripped Martin so he fell to the ground. Before the boy knew what was happening, Mike had cuffed his hands behind his back and Pete had slipped the nooses of two ropes around his ankles and drawn them tight. Pete had prepared the roped earlier - they went up, over a thick branch and down the other side, and had been carefully hidden under the leaves.
"What the fuck..." Martin's protest died on his lips as he felt his legs being raised into the air. With both boys pulling on the ropes, within seconds Martin was hanging upside down from the branch, his legs spread wide apart. The hood had a drawstring which had been pulled tight around his neck, preventing it from falling off. Muffled curses came from within. "You fucking bastards - I'll fucking get you for this. What the fuck are you doing to me?"
"You'll find out shortly." Mike produced a pair of scissors and cut Martin's shorts off. Apart from the trainers, he was now completely naked.
Pete climbed up the tree trunk and out onto a branch above Martin's tied feet. He started to arrange something up there.
While his friend was doing this, Mike stood in front of the helpless boy. He drew a deep breath, and spoke clearly and quietly. "Tonight, you are gonna be the star stud at Mr. C's little games. He's expecting an awful lot from you." he bent down and plucked a long blade of grass. "And you'd better perform, Martin boy." He touched the tip to Martin's left nipple and tickled it around the boy's chest. "Of course it would be a shame if you couldn't, now wouldn't it?" Slowly, drew the grass towards the left armpit. Martin pulled his arms tight to his sides to keep it out, but Mike worked it into the sensitive pit and tickled.
"Oh no man, please don't do that." His cock, which so far had been limp, began to rise. "Don't tickle me - I hate it."
"But your cock doesn't seem to hate it." He took the grass out and ran it up and down the rapidly growing length of Martin's cock. The organ stiffened quickly and was soon fully erect. "I hope you've been saving that spunk of yours for Mr. C's friends tonight. There's gonna be a little competition, y'see. Everyone knows what a super stud you are," he laughed softly, "in fact Pete and I have taken every opportunity to build your reputation up." He continued to tickle the boy's jerking cock with the grass, "and they're all expecting your performance to be more spectacular than anybody's. I wouldn't be surprised if Mr. C's got a small bet on it - in fact I know that he has. Now Mr. C is not going to be pleased if you let him down in front of his friends, is he?"
"Please don't - don't make me cum. If you do I won't be able to later. It takes me ages to cum again. Mr. C will skin me alive."
Mike laughed quietly. "Yes, he probably will."
Martin was getting scared. "Look. I'm sorry if I've caused you problems. I'll work better from now on, I promise."
"Oh it's a bit late for that, don't you think?" Mike looked up at Pete, who gave the thumbs-up sign. He was ready.
"Okay, here's how it's gonna be. We're not gonna jack you off..."
Martin groaned in relief, "Oh thank you."
"...We're just gonna leave you here for a couple of hours to think about things. Things like having girls in the hayloft," he ran the grass blade up the underside of the erect cock, "things like not doing your share of the work," he tickled the glans, "and things like borrowing my fucking Harley without asking." He stroked the blade over the glistening tip of the quivering penis. "You bastard - you deserve worse than this. We'll get you down in a couple of hours or so." He turned to leave. "Oh, just to make it a bit more interesting, Pete's rigged up something you'll like."
Up the tree, Pete was lowering something down between Martin's legs. It was a large goose feather tied to a piece of string, with a weight on it. He positioned it just right, tied it off, and jumped down.
There was a slight breeze - nothing much, just a breath - but it was enough. The feather turned gently in the wind and stroked across Martin's naked, unprotected balls. Counterbalanced by the small weight, it dipped and rose in a most delightful way, tickling up and down the sides, across the front, and even getting behind the vulnerable and excruciatingly ticklish testicles.
At the first touch, Martin let out a howl of laughter and began to struggle violently. There was, however, absolutely nothing the poor boy could do. The more he struggled, the more the feather moved. Sometimes it would turn so that it wasn't touching the boy at all - but it always, always, came around again to do its automatic and quite unstoppable work on his balls.
Mike and Pete leaned against the tree for a few moments and watched, then left the boy to his punishment. They hadn't got very far when Martin's hysterical laughter, echoing through the woods, suddenly turned into a howl of orgasm as he shot his load.
But there was no stopping the feather - and after he'd cum, he discovered that immediately after orgasm, the human body's level of ticklishness increases by orders of magnitude. His laughter turned into screams, and then into insane shrieks as the feather tickled, tickled...
The boy who had once told the girl it took him hours to be able to cum again, shot his load five times in those two hours. When they finally came to take him down, he was totally and completely drained, and covered with his own spunk. The canvas hood was soaked from when he had lost all control and pissed himself.
But he was still screaming.
They had to half carry him back to the farm between them, and he was trembling as they showered him and dressed him in his sexy faded Levis (with nothing on underneath - just as Mr. C liked them). As they got him ready, they took great delight in feeling him all over - they ran their hands over his chest and stomach, buried their faces in his armpits, kissed him, took turns to lay on top of him with their cocks gripped between his muscular, denim jeaned thighs; they ran their fingers through his blond hair, kissed his neck, pushed their mouths into his crotch, tonguing his cock and balls through the sexy, tight faded jeans he had used to pricktease them with so many times,; and rammed their horny, stiff cocks into his mouth and made him suck them for a while. They did everything they'd wanted to do for so long, and he was in no condition to protest - through it all he meekly did what they wanted.
By the time they left him to report to the dungeon themselves, he had, to a large extent, recovered from his ordeal on the tree - but he was unusually quiet, and he avoided their eyes. They, on the other hand, were feeling great. "Shit, I'm horny," said Mike.
"Yeah, me too. I could easily've cum while we were working him over just then."
"Well now, Pete, I'll let you into a little secret. I've had a word with Mr. C. He knows what's been going on, and he knows that Martin boy's not going to be able to perform tonight. He'll have told the others by the time we get there, so they'll all know what the score is. They're gonna go through the motions as if nothing was up and then when Martin can't deliver, they're gonna strap him to the table and work on his balls with feathers and brushes until he can. Martin sure ain't gonna forget tonight in a hurry."
They had arrived at the door of the dungeon, and they stopped before knocking. Mike whispered, "and I'll tell you something else - from now on Martin's gonna be a good little worker, and you and me, Petey boy, are gonna get to do whatever we want with him, whenever we want it." He knocked respectfully on the oak door.
Pete was beaming. "It seems we have gone and got ourselves a hunky blond tickle-slave."
They forced themselves to assume neutral expressions and, with eyes properly downcast, entered the dungeon.
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